Philoctetes (continued)

Onward the fatal hours and minutes steal,
To-morrow shall his archery commence,
And Troy's proud walls be left without defence,
Open and mortal as Achilles' heel:
To-morrow that old suitor shall exact
Grim vengeance, now for ten years overdue —
For Menelaus and Oenone too —
The adulterer shall be slain — the city sackt:
Night falls — The mighty bow lies still on board,
And dips and rises with the heaving wave:
The ship-light flickers on that thirsty hoard
Of arrows, which the twelve-fold labourer gave;
The night-watch halts beside it, pondering all
The dreadful purport of his chiefs recall.