There was a man who lived once. If God did not create him, Homer did.
The Oracle told him that the first man who put foot on the Trojan shores
would die. He knew this before he started on his voyage for Greece. He
left a wife and home behind him, whom he dearly loved. I wonder if he
used to pace the deck of the rich barge, and listen to the men
chatting around him, and smile as they planned of returning, proud and
victorious, to their homes and their wives.

All the while under his smile he knew he was to die, not in the glory
of fight, although his sword swung sharp and bright at his side, in any
thrilling fashion, to be sung of and wept of by his fellows.

All the while the heavy barge sailed on, and at last land came in sight.
I wonder if his heart was full when he saw it? Did he remember his wife
and his home? Did he feel his life strong within him, and eager as a
battle-horse, as he neared the land where wars were to be fought, and
glories won?

All the while his heart was firm. He stood the very foremost of them
all, as they drifted quite in to the green, green shore. Around him
men talked and laughed, and the sun shone. He may have laid his hand
commandingly on some youthful shoulders and pushed back the eager boy
who longed to bound first into this new world. He may have saved him
thus from death for life. We do not know.

All we do know is, that with his own brave feet he marched ahead of them
all, solemnly, smilingly, with the oracle in his heart. From the vessel
to the green, green shore--such a little step. He leaps from the Grecian
barge to the Trojan land, alive. Does he turn to look at his comrades
and off eastwards, beyond homewards, with a great thrill before he falls