hbor: "Always _olives_, always _peace_: that's
all your music's good for!"

The boy spoke too loud, and Homer caught the discontented tone and words
with an ear quicker than the speaker had given him credit for. He ended
the prelude with a sudden crash on the strings, and said shortly, "And
what is better to sing of than the olive?"

The more courteous Philistines looked sternly on the young soldier; but
he had gone too far to be frightened, and he flashed back: "War is
better. My broadsword is better. If I could sing, I would sing to your
Ares; we call him Mars!"

Homer smiled gravely. "Let it be so," said he; and, in a lower tone, to
the captain, who was troubled at the breach of courtesy, he added, "Let
the boy see what war and Mars are for."

He struck another prelude and began. Then was it that Homer composed his
"Hymn to Mars." In wild measure, and impetuous, he swept along through
the list of Mars's titles and attributes; then his key changed, and his
hearers listened more intently, more solemnly, as in a graver strain,
with slower music, and an almost awed dignity of voice, the bard went
on.--

"Helper of mortals, hear!
As thy fires give
The present boldnesses that strive
In youth for honor;
So would I likewise wish to have the power
To keep off from my head thy bitter hour,
And quench the false fire of my soul's low kind,
By the fit ruling of my highest mind I
Control that sting of wealth
That stirs me on still to the horrid scath
Of hideous battle!

"Do thou, O ever blessed! give me still
Presence of mind to put in act my will,
Whate'er the occasion be;
And so to live, unforced by any fear,
Beneath those laws of peace, that never are
Affected with pollutions popular
Of unjust injury,
As to bear safe the burden of hard fates,
Of foes inflexive, and inhuman hates!"

The tones died away; the company was hushed for a moment; and the old
chief then said gravely to his petulant follower, "That is what _men_
fight for, boy." But the boy did not need the counsel. Homer's manner,
his voice, the music itself, the spirit of the song, as much as the
words, had overcome him; and the boasting soldier was covering his tears
with his hands.

Homer felt at once (the prince of gentlemen he) that the little
outbreak, and the rebuke of it, had jarred the ease of their unexpected