Chorus
Joy, joy! [455] sweet champion sent by Zeus! Only may Zeus, throned on high, keep jealousy, resistless foe, from you for your words! That fleet of ships from Argos never brought, [460] neither formerly nor now, among all its warriors a braver than you. How I wonder will Achilles, how will Aias stand the onset of your spear? Oh! that I might see that day, my prince, [465] on which you may wreak vengeance on them, gripping your lance in your death-dealing hand!
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