In Hush of Night by Helen Gray Cone

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OBERON

When nightfall on the Dardan plain / Brings truce, and stilled are sounds of Mars, / And mournful, mournful moans the main, / And Simois' ripples take the stars,-

When thoughts of home float o'er the sea / From fields afar, and heroes' breasts, / At last from brazen corselet free, / Soft-heaving take those gentle guests,-

Ah then, who sinks to sleep away, / In tent, or galley scarlet-prowed, / Nor doubts some deed he did to-day? / That taunt was harsh, that boast was loud.

How failed his eyes to recognize / The god behind the foeman bold? / Why gave he, under friendship's guise, / That mail of brass for mail of gold?

Oh, is there one, of either host, / Who never, sighing, weighs his cause / At this grave hour, nor feels a ghost, / Cool-handed, bid his courage pause?

Two: dog-like droops the dreaming head / Of mean Thersites evil-eyed; / And Paris on his broidered bed / Sleeps well at swan-white Helen's side.

No scruple sharp the selfist finds; / The wrangler no remorses fret: / The loved of gods in lofty minds / Have room to house a high regret.

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