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@@ -0,0 +1,11160 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fall of Troy, by Smyrnaeus Quintus + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Fall of Troy + +Author: Smyrnaeus Quintus + +Translator: Arthur Sanders Way + +Posting Date: August 30, 2008 [EBook #658] +Release Date: September, 1996 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FALL OF TROY *** + + + + +Produced by Douglas B. Killings. + + + + + + + + + +The Fall of Troy + + +by + +Quintus Smyrnaeus + + +("Quintus of Smyrna") + +Fl. 4th Century A.D. + + + +Originally written in Greek, sometime about the middle of the 4th +Century A.D. Translation by A.S. Way, 1913. + + + + + +***************************************************************** + +SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY: + +ORIGINAL TEXT-- + +Way, A.S. (Ed. & Trans.): "Quintus Smyrnaeus: The Fall of Troy" +(Loeb Classics #19; Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA, +1913). Greek text with side-by-side English translation. + +OTHER TRANSLATIONS-- + +Combellack, Frederick M. (Trans.): "The War at Troy: What Homer +Didn't Tell" (University of Oklahoma Press, Norman OK, 1968). + +RECOMMENDED READING-- + +Fitzgerald, Robert (Trans.): "Homer: The Iliad" (Viking Press, +New York, 1968). + +***************************************************************** + + +INTRODUCTION + +Homer's "Iliad" begins towards the close of the last of the ten +years of the Trojan War: its incidents extend over some fifty +days only, and it ends with the burial of Hector. The things +which came before and after were told by other bards, who between +them narrated the whole "cycle" of the events of the war, and so +were called the Cyclic Poets. Of their works none have survived; +but the story of what befell between Hector's funeral and the +taking of Troy is told in detail, and well told, in a poem about +half as long as the "Iliad". Some four hundred years after +Christ there lived at Smyrna a poet of whom we know scarce +anything, save that his first name was Quintus. He had saturated +himself with the spirit of Homer, he had caught the ring of his +music, and he perhaps had before him the works of those Cyclic +Poets whose stars had paled before the sun. + +We have practically no external evidence as to the date or place +of birth of Quintus of Smyrna, or for the sources whence he drew +his materials. His date is approximately settled by two passages +in the poem, viz. vi. 531 sqq., in which occurs an illustration +drawn from the man-and-beast fights of the amphitheatre, which +were suppressed by Theodosius I. (379-395 A.D.); and xiii. 335 +sqq., which contains a prophecy, the special particularity of +which, it is maintained by Koechly, limits its applicability to +the middle of the fourth century A.D. + +His place of birth, and the precise locality, is given by himself +in xii. 308-313, and confirmatory evidence is afforded by his +familiarity, of which he gives numerous instances, with many +natural features of the western part of Asia Minor. + +With respect to his authorities, and the use he made of their +writings, there has been more difference of opinion. Since his +narrative covers the same ground as the "Aethiopis" ("Coming of +Memnon") and the "Iliupersis" ("Destruction of Troy") of Arctinus +(circ. 776 B.C.), and the "Little Iliad" of Lesches (circ. 700 +B.C.), it has been assumed that the work of Quintus "is little +more than an amplification or remodelling of the works of these +two Cyclic Poets." This, however, must needs be pure conjecture, +as the only remains of these poets consist of fragments amounting +to no more than a very few lines from each, and of the "summaries +of contents" made by the grammarian Proclus (circ. 140 A.D.), +which, again, we but get at second-hand through the "Bibliotheca" +of Photius (ninth century). Now, not merely do the only +descriptions of incident that are found in the fragments differ +essentially from the corresponding incidents as described by +Quintus, but even in the summaries, meagre as they are, we find, +as German critics have shown by exhaustive investigation, serious +discrepancies enough to justify us in the conclusion that, even +if Quintus had the works of the Cyclic poets before him, which is +far from certain, his poem was no mere remodelling of theirs, but +an independent and practically original work. Not that this +conclusion disposes by any means of all difficulties. If Quintus +did not follow the Cyclic poets, from what source did he draw his +materials? The German critic unhesitatingly answers, "from +Homer." As regards language, versification, and general spirit, +the matter is beyond controversy; but when we come to consider +the incidents of the story, we find deviations from Homer even +more serious than any of those from the Cyclic poets. And the +strange thing is, that each of these deviations is a manifest +detriment to the perfection of his poem; in each of them the +writer has missed, or has rejected, a magnificent opportunity. +With regard to the slaying of Achilles by the hand of Apollo +only, and not by those of Apollo and Paris, he might have pleaded +that Homer himself here speaks with an uncertain voice (cf. +"Iliad" xv. 416-17, xxii. 355-60, and xxi. 277-78). But, in +describing the fight for the body of Achilles ("Odyssey" xxiv. 36 +sqq.), Homer makes Agamemnon say: + + "So we grappled the livelong day, and we had not refrained + us then, + But Zeus sent a hurricane, stilling the storm of the battle + of men." + +Now, it is just in describing such natural phenomena, and in +blending them with the turmoil of battle, that Quintus is in his +element; yet for such a scene he substitutes what is, by +comparison, a lame and impotent conclusion. Of that awful cry +that rang over the sea heralding the coming of Thetis and the +Nymphs to the death-rites of her son, and the panic with which it +filled the host, Quintus is silent. Again, Homer ("Odyssey" iv. +274-89) describes how Helen came in the night with Deiphobus, and +stood by the Wooden Horse, and called to each of the hidden +warriors with the voice of his own wife. This thrilling scene +Quintus omits, and substitutes nothing of his own. Later on, he +makes Menelaus slay Deiphobus unresisting, "heavy with wine," +whereas Homer ("Odyssey" viii. 517-20) makes him offer such a +magnificent resistance, that Odysseus and Menelaus together could +not kill him without the help of Athena. In fact, we may say +that, though there are echoes of the "Iliad" all through the +poem, yet, wherever Homer has, in the "Odyssey", given the +outline-sketch of an effective scene, Quintus has uniformly +neglected to develop it, has sometimes substituted something much +weaker--as though he had not the "Odyssey" before him! + +For this we have no satisfactory explanation to offer. He may +have set his own judgment above Homer--a most unlikely hypothesis: +he may have been consistently following, in the framework of his +story, some original now lost to us: there may be more, and longer, +lacunae in the text than any editors have ventured to indicate: but, +whatever theory we adopt, it must be based on mere conjecture. + +The Greek text here given is that of Koechly (1850) with many of +Zimmermann's emendations, which are acknowledged in the notes. +Passages enclosed in square brackets are suggestions of Koechly +for supplying the general sense of lacunae. Where he has made no +such suggestion, or none that seemed to the editors to be +adequate, the lacuna has been indicated by asterisks, though here +too a few words have been added in the translation, sufficient to +connect the sense. + +--A. S. Way + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK + + I How died for Troy the Queen of the Amazons, + Penthesileia. + II How Memnon, Son of the Dawn, for Troy's sake fell + in the Battle. + III How by the shaft of a God laid low was Hero Achilles. + IV How in the Funeral Games of Achilles heroes contended. + V How the Arms of Achilles were cause of madness and + death unto Aias. + VI How came for the helping of Troy Eurypylus, + Hercules' grandson. + VII How the Son of Achilles was brought to the War + from the Isle of Scyros. + VIII How Hercules' Grandson perished in fight with the + Son of Achilles. + IX How from his long lone exile returned to the war + Philoctetes. + X How Paris was stricken to death, and in vain sought + help of Oenone. + XI How the sons of Troy for the last time fought from + her walls and her towers. + XII How the Wooden Horse was fashioned, and brought + into Troy by her people. + XIII How Troy in the night was taken and sacked with fire + and slaughter. + XIV How the conquerors sailed from Troy unto judgment + of tempest and shipwreck. + + + +BOOK I: + +How died for Troy the Queen of the Amazons, Penthesileia. + + + When godlike Hector by Peleides slain + Passed, and the pyre had ravined up his flesh, + And earth had veiled his bones, the Trojans then + Tarried in Priam's city, sore afraid + Before the might of stout-heart Aeacus' son: + As kine they were, that midst the copses shrink + From faring forth to meet a lion grim, + But in dense thickets terror-huddled cower; + So in their fortress shivered these to see + That mighty man. Of those already dead + They thought of all whose lives he reft away + As by Scamander's outfall on he rushed, + And all that in mid-flight to that high wall + He slew, how he quelled Hector, how he haled + His corse round Troy;--yea, and of all beside + Laid low by him since that first day whereon + O'er restless seas he brought the Trojans doom. + Ay, all these they remembered, while they stayed + Thus in their town, and o'er them anguished grief + Hovered dark-winged, as though that very day + All Troy with shrieks were crumbling down in fire. + + Then from Thermodon, from broad-sweeping streams, + Came, clothed upon with beauty of Goddesses, + Penthesileia--came athirst indeed + For groan-resounding battle, but yet more + Fleeing abhorred reproach and evil fame, + Lest they of her own folk should rail on her + Because of her own sister's death, for whom + Ever her sorrows waxed, Hippolyte, + Whom she had struck dead with her mighty spear, + Not of her will--'twas at a stag she hurled. + So came she to the far-famed land of Troy. + Yea, and her warrior spirit pricked her on, + Of murder's dread pollution thus to cleanse + Her soul, and with such sacrifice to appease + The Awful Ones, the Erinnyes, who in wrath + For her slain sister straightway haunted her + Unseen: for ever round the sinner's steps + They hover; none may 'scape those Goddesses. + And with her followed twelve beside, each one + A princess, hot for war and battle grim, + Far-famous each, yet handmaids unto her: + Penthesileia far outshone them all. + As when in the broad sky amidst the stars + The moon rides over all pre-eminent, + When through the thunderclouds the cleaving heavens + Open, when sleep the fury-breathing winds; + So peerless was she mid that charging host. + Clonie was there, Polemusa, Derinoe, + Evandre, and Antandre, and Bremusa, + Hippothoe, dark-eyed Harmothoe, + Alcibie, Derimacheia, Antibrote, + And Thermodosa glorying with the spear. + All these to battle fared with warrior-souled + Penthesileia: even as when descends + Dawn from Olympus' crest of adamant, + Dawn, heart-exultant in her radiant steeds + Amidst the bright-haired Hours; and o'er them all, + How flawless-fair soever these may be, + Her splendour of beauty glows pre-eminent; + So peerless amid all the Amazons Unto + Troy-town Penthesileia came. + To right, to left, from all sides hurrying thronged + The Trojans, greatly marvelling, when they saw + The tireless War-god's child, the mailed maid, + Like to the Blessed Gods; for in her face + Glowed beauty glorious and terrible. + Her smile was ravishing: beneath her brows + Her love-enkindling eyes shone like to stars, + And with the crimson rose of shamefastness + Bright were her cheeks, and mantled over them + Unearthly grace with battle-prowess clad. + + Then joyed Troy's folk, despite past agonies, + As when, far-gazing from a height, the hinds + Behold a rainbow spanning the wide sea, + When they be yearning for the heaven-sent shower, + When the parched fields be craving for the rain; + Then the great sky at last is overgloomed, + And men see that fair sign of coming wind + And imminent rain, and seeing, they are glad, + Who for their corn-fields' plight sore sighed before; + Even so the sons of Troy when they beheld + There in their land Penthesileia dread + Afire for battle, were exceeding glad; + For when the heart is thrilled with hope of good, + All smart of evils past is wiped away: + So, after all his sighing and his pain, + Gladdened a little while was Priam's soul. + As when a man who hath suffered many a pang + From blinded eyes, sore longing to behold + The light, and, if he may not, fain would die, + Then at the last, by a cunning leech's skill, + Or by a God's grace, sees the dawn-rose flush, + Sees the mist rolled back from before his eyes,-- + Yea, though clear vision come not as of old, + Yet, after all his anguish, joys to have + Some small relief, albeit the stings of pain + Prick sharply yet beneath his eyelids;--so + Joyed the old king to see that terrible queen-- + The shadowy joy of one in anguish whelmed + For slain sons. Into his halls he led the Maid, + And with glad welcome honoured her, as one + Who greets a daughter to her home returned + From a far country in the twentieth year; + And set a feast before her, sumptuous + As battle-glorious kings, who have brought low + Nations of foes, array in splendour of pomp, + With hearts in pride of victory triumphing. + And gifts he gave her costly and fair to see, + And pledged him to give many more, so she + Would save the Trojans from the imminent doom. + And she such deeds she promised as no man + Had hoped for, even to lay Achilles low, + To smite the wide host of the Argive men, + And cast the brands red-flaming on the ships. + Ah fool!--but little knew she him, the lord + Of ashen spears, how far Achilles' might + In warrior-wasting strife o'erpassed her own! + + But when Andromache, the stately child + Of king Eetion, heard the wild queen's vaunt, + Low to her own soul bitterly murmured she: + "Ah hapless! why with arrogant heart dost thou + Speak such great swelling words? No strength is thine + To grapple in fight with Peleus' aweless son. + Nay, doom and swift death shall he deal to thee. + Alas for thee! What madness thrills thy soul? + Fate and the end of death stand hard by thee! + Hector was mightier far to wield the spear + Than thou, yet was for all his prowess slain, + Slain for the bitter grief of Troy, whose folk + The city through looked on him as a God. + My glory and his noble parents' glory + Was he while yet he lived--O that the earth + Over my dead face had been mounded high, + Or ever through his throat the breath of life + Followed the cleaving spear! But now have I + Looked--woe is me!--on grief unutterable, + When round the city those fleet-footed steeds + Haled him, steeds of Achilles, who had made + Me widowed of mine hero-husband, made + My portion bitterness through all my days." + + So spake Eetion's lovely-ankled child + Low to her own soul, thinking on her lord. + So evermore the faithful-hearted wife + Nurseth for her lost love undying grief. + + Then in swift revolution sweeping round + Into the Ocean's deep stream sank the sun, + And daylight died. So when the banqueters + Ceased from the wine-cup and the goodly feast, + Then did the handmaids spread in Priam's halls + For Penthesileia dauntless-souled the couch + Heart-cheering, and she laid her down to rest; + And slumber mist-like overveiled her eyes [depths + Like sweet dew dropping round. From heavens' blue + Slid down the might of a deceitful dream + At Pallas' hest, that so the warrior-maid + Might see it, and become a curse to Troy + And to herself, when strained her soul to meet; + The whirlwind of the battle. In this wise + The Trito-born, the subtle-souled, contrived: + Stood o'er the maiden's head that baleful dream + In likeness of her father, kindling her + Fearlessly front to front to meet in fight + Fleetfoot Achilles. And she heard the voice, + And all her heart exulted, for she weened + That she should on that dawning day achieve + A mighty deed in battle's deadly toil + Ah, fool, who trusted for her sorrow a dream + Out of the sunless land, such as beguiles + Full oft the travail-burdened tribes of men, + Whispering mocking lies in sleeping ears, + And to the battle's travail lured her then! + + But when the Dawn, the rosy-ankled, leapt + Up from her bed, then, clad in mighty strength + Of spirit, suddenly from her couch uprose + Penthesileia. Then did she array + Her shoulders in those wondrous-fashioned arms + Given her of the War-god. First she laid + Beneath her silver-gleaming knees the greaves + Fashioned of gold, close-clipping the strong limbs. + Her rainbow-radiant corslet clasped she then + About her, and around her shoulders slung, + With glory in her heart, the massy brand + Whose shining length was in a scabbard sheathed + Of ivory and silver. Next, her shield + Unearthly splendid, caught she up, whose rim + Swelled like the young moon's arching chariot-rail + When high o'er Ocean's fathomless-flowing stream + She rises, with the space half filled with light + Betwixt her bowing horns. So did it shine + Unutterably fair. Then on her head + She settled the bright helmet overstreamed + With a wild mane of golden-glistering hairs. + So stood she, lapped about with flaming mail, + In semblance like the lightning, which the might, + The never-wearied might of Zeus, to earth + Hurleth, what time he showeth forth to men + Fury of thunderous-roaring rain, or swoop + Resistless of his shouting host of winds. + Then in hot haste forth of her bower to pass + Caught she two javelins in the hand that grasped + Her shield-band; but her strong right hand laid hold + On a huge halberd, sharp of either blade, + Which terrible Eris gave to Ares' child + To be her Titan weapon in the strife + That raveneth souls of men. Laughing for glee + Thereover, swiftly flashed she forth the ring + Of towers. Her coming kindled all the sons + Of Troy to rush into the battle forth + Which crowneth men with glory. Swiftly all + Hearkened her gathering-ery, and thronging came, + Champions, yea, even such as theretofore + Shrank back from standing in the ranks of war + Against Achilles the all-ravager. + But she in pride of triumph on she rode + Throned on a goodly steed and fleet, the gift + Of Oreithyia, the wild North-wind's bride, + Given to her guest the warrior-maid, what time + She came to Thrace, a steed whose flying feet + Could match the Harpies' wings. Riding thereon + Penthesileia in her goodlihead + Left the tall palaces of Troy behind. + And ever were the ghastly-visaged Fates + Thrusting her on into the battle, doomed + To be her first against the Greeks--and last! + To right, to left, with unreturning feet + The Trojan thousands followed to the fray, + The pitiless fray, that death-doomed warrior-maid, + Followed in throngs, as follow sheep the ram + That by the shepherd's art strides before all. + So followed they, with battle-fury filled, + Strong Trojans and wild-hearted Amazons. + And like Tritonis seemed she, as she went + To meet the Giants, or as flasheth far + Through war-hosts Eris, waker of onset-shouts. + So mighty in the Trojans' midst she seemed, + Penthesileia of the flying feet. + + Then unto Cronos' Son Laomedon's child + Upraised his hands, his sorrow-burdened hands, + Turning him toward the sky-encountering fane + Of Zeus of Ida, who with sleepless eyes + Looks ever down on Ilium; and he prayed: + "Father, give ear! Vouchsafe that on this day + Achaea's host may fall before the hands + Of this our warrior-queen, the War-god's child; + And do thou bring her back unscathed again + Unto mine halls: we pray thee by the love + Thou bear'st to Ares of the fiery heart + Thy son, yea, to her also! is she not + Most wondrous like the heavenly Goddesses? + And is she not the child of thine own seed? + Pity my stricken heart withal! Thou know'st + All agonies I have suffered in the deaths + Of dear sons whom the Fates have torn from me + By Argive hands in the devouring fight. + Compassionate us, while a remnant yet + Remains of noble Dardanus' blood, while yet + This city stands unwasted! Let us know + From ghastly slaughter and strife one breathing-space!" + + In passionate prayer he spake:--lo, with shrill scream + Swiftly to left an eagle darted by + And in his talons bare a gasping dove. + Then round the heart of Priam all the blood + Was chilled with fear. Low to his soul he said: + "Ne'er shall I see return alive from war + Penthesileia!" On that selfsame day + The Fates prepared his boding to fulfil; + And his heart brake with anguish of despair. + + Marvelled the Argives, far across the plain + Seeing the hosts of Troy charge down on them, + And midst them Penthesileia, Ares' child. + These seemed like ravening beasts that mid the hills + Bring grimly slaughter to the fleecy flocks; + And she, as a rushing blast of flame she seemed + That maddeneth through the copses summer-scorched, + When the wind drives it on; and in this wise + Spake one to other in their mustering host: + "Who shall this be who thus can rouse to war + The Trojans, now that Hector hath been slain-- + These who, we said, would never more find heart + To stand against us? Lo now, suddenly + Forth are they rushing, madly afire for fight! + Sure, in their midst some great one kindleth them + To battle's toil! Thou verily wouldst say + This were a God, of such great deeds he dreams! + Go to, with aweless courage let us arm + Our own breasts: let us summon up our might + In battle-fury. We shall lack not help + Of Gods this day to close in fight with Troy." + + So cried they; and their flashing battle-gear + Cast they about them: forth the ships they poured + Clad in the rage of fight as with a cloak. + Then front to front their battles closed, like beasts + Of ravin, locked in tangle of gory strife. + Clanged their bright mail together, clashed the spears, + The corslets, and the stubborn-welded shields + And adamant helms. Each stabbed at other's flesh + With the fierce brass: was neither ruth nor rest, + And all the Trojan soil was crimson-red. + + Then first Penthesileia smote and slew + Molion; now Persinous falls, and now + Eilissus; reeled Antitheus 'neath her spear + The pride of Lernus quelled she: down she bore + Hippalmus 'neath her horse-hoofs; Haemon's son + Died; withered stalwart Elasippus' strength. + And Derinoe laid low Laogonus, + And Clonie Menippus, him who sailed + Long since from Phylace, led by his lord + Protesilaus to the war with Troy. + Then was Podarces, son of Iphiclus, + Heart-wrung with ruth and wrath to see him lie + Dead, of all battle-comrades best-beloved. + Swiftly at Clonie he hurled, the maid + Fair as a Goddess: plunged the unswerving lance + 'Twixt hip and hip, and rushed the dark blood forth + After the spear, and all her bowels gushed out. + Then wroth was Penthesileia; through the brawn + Of his right arm she drave the long spear's point, + She shore atwain the great blood-brimming veins, + And through the wide gash of the wound the gore + Spirted, a crimson fountain. With a groan + Backward he sprang, his courage wholly quelled + By bitter pain; and sorrow and dismay + Thrilled, as he fled, his men of Phylace. + A short way from the fight he reeled aside, + And in his friends' arms died in little space. + Then with his lance Idomeneus thrust out, + And by the right breast stabbed Bremusa. Stilled + For ever was the beating of her heart. + She fell, as falls a graceful-shafted pine + Hewn mid the hills by woodmen: heavily, + Sighing through all its boughs, it crashes down. + So with a wailing shriek she fell, and death + Unstrung her every limb: her breathing soul + Mingled with multitudinous-sighing winds. + Then, as Evandre through the murderous fray + With Thermodosa rushed, stood Meriones, + A lion in the path, and slew: his spear + Right to the heart of one he drave, and one + Stabbed with a lightning sword-thrust 'twixt the hips: + Leapt through the wounds the life, and fled away. + Oileus' fiery son smote Derinoe + 'Twixt throat and shoulder with his ruthless spear; + And on Alcibie Tydeus' terrible son + Swooped, and on Derimacheia: head with neck + Clean from the shoulders of these twain he shore + With ruin-wreaking brand. Together down + Fell they, as young calves by the massy axe + Of brawny flesher felled, that, shearing through + The sinews of the neck, lops life away. + So, by the hands of Tydeus' son laid low + Upon the Trojan plain, far, far away + From their own highland-home, they fell. Nor these + Alone died; for the might of Sthenelus + Down on them hurled Cabeirus' corse, who came + From Sestos, keen to fight the Argive foe, + But never saw his fatherland again. + Then was the heart of Paris filled with wrath + For a friend slain. Full upon Sthenelus + Aimed he a shaft death-winged, yet touched him not, + Despite his thirst for vengeance: otherwhere + The arrow glanced aside, and carried death + Whither the stern Fates guided its fierce wing, + And slew Evenor brazen-tasleted, + Who from Dulichium came to war with Troy. + For his death fury-kindled was the son + Of haughty Phyleus: as a lion leaps + Upon the flock, so swiftly rushed he: all + Shrank huddling back before that terrible man. + Itymoneus he slew, and Hippasus' son + Agelaus: from Miletus brought they war + Against the Danaan men by Nastes led, + The god-like, and Amphimachus mighty-souled. + On Mycale they dwelt; beside their home + Rose Latmus' snowy crests, stretched the long glens + Of Branchus, and Panormus' water-meads. + Maeander's flood deep-rolling swept thereby, + Which from the Phrygian uplands, pastured o'er + By myriad flocks, around a thousand forelands + Curls, swirls, and drives his hurrying ripples on + Down to the vine-clad land of Carian men + These mid the storm of battle Meges slew, + Nor these alone, but whomsoe'er his lance + Black-shafted touched, were dead men; for his breast + The glorious Trito-born with courage thrilled + To bring to all his foes the day of doom. + And Polypoetes, dear to Ares, slew + Dresaeus, whom the Nymph Neaera bare + To passing-wise Theiodamas for these + Spread was the bed of love beside the foot + Of Sipylus the Mountain, where the Gods + Made Niobe a stony rock, wherefrom + Tears ever stream: high up, the rugged crag + Bows as one weeping, weeping, waterfalls + Cry from far-echoing Hermus, wailing moan + Of sympathy: the sky-encountering crests + Of Sipylus, where alway floats a mist + Hated of shepherds, echo back the cry. + Weird marvel seems that Rock of Niobe + To men that pass with feet fear-goaded: there + They see the likeness of a woman bowed, + In depths of anguish sobbing, and her tears + Drop, as she mourns grief-stricken, endlessly. + Yea, thou wouldst say that verily so it was, + Viewing it from afar; but when hard by + Thou standest, all the illusion vanishes; + And lo, a steep-browed rock, a fragment rent + From Sipylus--yet Niobe is there, + Dreeing her weird, the debt of wrath divine, + A broken heart in guise of shattered stone. + + All through the tangle of that desperate fray + Stalked slaughter and doom. The incarnate Onset-shout + Raved through the rolling battle; at her side + Paced Death the ruthless, and the Fearful Faces, + The Fates, beside them strode, and in red hands + Bare murder and the groans of dying men. + That day the beating of full many a heart, + Trojan and Argive, was for ever stilled, + While roared the battle round them, while the fury + Of Penthesileia fainted not nor failed; + But as amid long ridges of lone hills + A lioness, stealing down a deep ravine, + Springs on the kine with lightning leap, athirst + For blood wherein her fierce heart revelleth; + So on the Danaans leapt that warrior-maid. + And they, their souls were cowed: backward they shrank, + And fast she followed, as a towering surge + Chases across the thunder-booming sea + A flying bark, whose white sails strain beneath + The wind's wild buffering, and all the air + Maddens with roaring, as the rollers crash + On a black foreland looming on the lee + Where long reefs fringe the surf-tormented shores. + So chased she, and so dashed the ranks asunder + Triumphant-souled, and hurled fierce threats before: + "Ye dogs, this day for evil outrage done + To Priam shall ye pay! No man of you + Shall from mine hands deliver his own life, + And win back home, to gladden parents eyes, + Or comfort wife or children. Ye shall lie + Dead, ravined on by vultures and by wolves, + And none shall heap the earth-mound o'er your clay. + Where skulketh now the strength of Tydeus' son, + And where the might of Aeacus' scion? + Where is Aias' bulk? Ye vaunt them mightiest men + Of all your rabble. Ha! they will not dare + With me to close in battle, lest I drag + Forth from their fainting frames their craven souls!" + + Then heart-uplifted leapt she on the foe, + Resistless as a tigress, crashing through + Ranks upon ranks of Argives, smiting now + With that huge halberd massy-headed, now + Hurling the keen dart, while her battle-horse + Flashed through the fight, and on his shoulder bare + Quiver and bow death-speeding, close to her hand, + If mid that revel of blood she willed to speed + The bitter-biting shaft. Behind her swept + The charging lines of men fleet-footed, friends + And brethren of the man who never flinched + From close death-grapple, Hector, panting all + The hot breath of the War-god from their breasts, + All slaying Danaans with the ashen spear, + Who fell as frost-touched leaves in autumn fall + One after other, or as drops of rain. + And aye went up a moaning from earth's breast + All blood-bedrenched, and heaped with corse on corse. + Horses pierced through with arrows, or impaled + On spears, were snorting forth their last of strength + With screaming neighings. Men, with gnashing teeth + Biting the dust, lay gasping, while the steeds + Of Trojan charioteers stormed in pursuit, + Trampling the dying mingled with the dead + As oxen trample corn in threshing-floors. + + Then one exulting boasted mid the host + Of Troy, beholding Penthesileia rush + On through the foes' array, like the black storm + That maddens o'er the sea, what time the sun + Allies his might with winter's Goat-horned Star; + And thus, puffed up with vain hope, shouted he: + "O friends, in manifest presence down from heaven + One of the deathless Gods this day hath come + To fight the Argives, all of love for us, + Yea, and with sanction of almighty Zeus, + He whose compassion now remembereth + Haply strong-hearted Priam, who may boast + For his a lineage of immortal blood. + For this, I trow, no mortal woman seems, + Who is so aweless-daring, who is clad + In splendour-flashing arms: nay, surely she + Shall be Athene, or the mighty-souled + Enyo--haply Eris, or the Child + Of Leto world-renowned. O yea, I look + To see her hurl amid yon Argive men + Mad-shrieking slaughter, see her set aflame + Yon ships wherein they came long years agone + Bringing us many sorrows, yea, they came + Bringing us woes of war intolerable. + Ha! to the home-land Hellas ne'er shall these + With joy return, since Gods on our side fight." + + In overweening exultation so + Vaunted a Trojan. Fool!--he had no vision + Of ruin onward rushing upon himself + And Troy, and Penthesileia's self withal. + For not as yet had any tidings come + Of that wild fray to Aias stormy-souled, + Nor to Achilles, waster of tower and town. + But on the grave-mound of Menoetius' son + They twain were lying, with sad memories + Of a dear comrade crushed, and echoing + Each one the other's groaning. One it was + Of the Blest Gods who still was holding back + These from the battle-tumult far away, + Till many Greeks should fill the measure up + Of woeful havoc, slain by Trojan foes + And glorious Penthesileia, who pursued + With murderous intent their rifled ranks, + While ever waxed her valour more and more, + And waxed her might within her: never in vain + She aimed the unswerving spear-thrust: aye she pierced + The backs of them that fled, the breasts of such + As charged to meet her. All the long shaft dripped + With steaming blood. Swift were her feet as wind + As down she swooped. Her aweless spirit failed + For weariness nor fainted, but her might + Was adamantine. The impending Doom, + Which roused unto the terrible strife not yet + Achilles, clothed her still with glory; still + Aloof the dread Power stood, and still would shed + Splendour of triumph o'er the death-ordained + But for a little space, ere it should quell + That Maiden 'neath the hands of Aeaeus' son. + In darkness ambushed, with invisible hand + Ever it thrust her on, and drew her feet + Destruction-ward, and lit her path to death + With glory, while she slew foe after foe. + As when within a dewy garden-close, + Longing for its green springtide freshness, leaps + A heifer, and there rangeth to and fro, + When none is by to stay her, treading down + All its green herbs, and all its wealth of bloom, + Devouring greedily this, and marring that + With trampling feet; so ranged she, Ares' child, + Through reeling squadrons of Achaea's sons, + Slew these, and hunted those in panic rout. + + From Troy afar the women marvelling gazed + At the Maid's battle-prowess. Suddenly + A fiery passion for the fray hath seized + Antimachus' daughter, Meneptolemus' wife, + Tisiphone. Her heart waxed strong, and filled + With lust of fight she cried to her fellows all, + With desperate-daring words, to spur them on + To woeful war, by recklessness made strong. + "Friends, let a heart of valour in our breasts + Awake! Let us be like our lords, who fight + With foes for fatherland, for babes, for us, + And never pause for breath in that stern strife! + Let us too throne war's spirit in our hearts! + Let us too face the fight which favoureth none! + For we, we women, be not creatures cast + In diverse mould from men: to us is given + Such energy of life as stirs in them. + Eyes have we like to theirs, and limbs: throughout + Fashioned we are alike: one common light + We look on, and one common air we breathe: + With like food are we nourished--nay, wherein + Have we been dowered of God more niggardly + Than men? Then let us shrink not from the fray + See ye not yonder a woman far excelling + Men in the grapple of fight? Yet is her blood + Nowise akin to ours, nor fighteth she + For her own city. For an alien king + She warreth of her own heart's prompting, fears + The face of no man; for her soul is thrilled + With valour and with spirit invincible. + But we--to right, to left, lie woes on woes + About our feet: this mourns beloved sons, + And that a husband who for hearth and home + Hath died; some wail for fathers now no more; + Some grieve for brethren and for kinsmen lost. + Not one but hath some share in sorrow's cup. + Behind all this a fearful shadow looms, + The day of bondage! Therefore flinch not ye + From war, O sorrow-laden! Better far + To die in battle now, than afterwards + Hence to be haled into captivity + To alien folk, we and our little ones, + In the stern grip of fate leaving behind + A burning city, and our husbands' graves." + + So cried she, and with passion for stern war + Thrilled all those women; and with eager speed + They hasted to go forth without the wall + Mail-clad, afire to battle for their town + And people: all their spirit was aflame. + As when within a hive, when winter-tide + Is over and gone, loud hum the swarming bees + What time they make them ready forth to fare + To bright flower-pastures, and no more endure + To linger therewithin, but each to other + Crieth the challenge-cry to sally forth; + Even so bestirred themselves the women of Troy, + And kindled each her sister to the fray. + The weaving-wool, the distaff far they flung, + And to grim weapons stretched their eager hands. + + And now without the city these had died + In that wild battle, as their husbands died + And the strong Amazons died, had not one voice + Of wisdom cried to stay their maddened feet, + When with dissuading words Theano spake: + "Wherefore, ah wherefore for the toil and strain + Of battle's fearful tumult do ye yearn, + Infatuate ones? Never your limbs have toiled + In conflict yet. In utter ignorance + Panting for labour unendurable, + Ye rush on all-unthinking; for your strength + Can never be as that of Danaan men, + Men trained in daily battle. Amazons + Have joyed in ruthless fight, in charging steeds, + From the beginning: all the toil of men + Do they endure; and therefore evermore + The spirit of the War-god thrills them through. + 'They fall not short of men in anything: + Their labour-hardened frames make great their hearts + For all achievement: never faint their knees + Nor tremble. Rumour speaks their queen to be + A daughter of the mighty Lord of War. + Therefore no woman may compare with her + In prowess--if she be a woman, not + A God come down in answer to our prayers. + Yea, of one blood be all the race of men, + Yet unto diverse labours still they turn; + And that for each is evermore the best + Whereto he bringeth skill of use and wont. + Therefore do ye from tumult of the fray + Hold you aloof, and in your women's bowers + Before the loom still pace ye to and fro; + And war shall be the business of our lords. + Lo, of fair issue is there hope: we see + The Achaeans falling fast: we see the might + Of our men waxing ever: fear is none + Of evil issue now: the pitiless foe + Beleaguer not the town: no desperate need + There is that women should go forth to war." + + So cried she, and they hearkened to the words + Of her who had garnered wisdom from the years; + So from afar they watched the fight. But still + Penthesileia brake the ranks, and still + Before her quailed the Achaeans: still they found + Nor screen nor hiding-place from imminent death. + As bleating goats are by the blood-stained jaws + Of a grim panther torn, so slain were they. + In each man's heart all lust of battle died, + And fear alone lived. This way, that way fled + The panic-stricken: some to earth had flung + The armour from their shoulders; some in dust + Grovelled in terror 'neath their shields: the steeds + Fled through the rout unreined of charioteers. + In rapture of triumph charged the Amazons, + With groan and scream of agony died the Greeks. + Withered their manhood was in that sore strait; + Brief was the span of all whom that fierce maid + Mid the grim jaws of battle overtook. + As when with mighty roaring bursteth down + A storm upon the forest-trees, and some + Uprendeth by the roots, and on the earth + Dashes them down, the tail stems blossom-crowned, + And snappeth some athwart the trunk, and high + Whirls them through air, till all confused they lie + A ruin of splintered stems and shattered sprays; + So the great Danaan host lay, dashed to dust + By doom of Fate, by Penthesileia's spear. + + But when the very ships were now at point + To be by hands of Trojans set aflame, + Then battle-bider Aias heard afar + The panic-cries, and spake to Aeacus' son: + "Achilles, all the air about mine ears + Is full of multitudinous eries, is full + Of thunder of battle rolling nearer aye. + Let us go forth then, ere the Trojans win + Unto the ships, and make great slaughter there + Of Argive men, and set the ships aflame. + Foulest reproach such thing on thee and me + Should bring; for it beseems not that the seed + Of mighty Zeus should shame the sacred blood + Of hero-fathers, who themselves of old + With Hercules the battle-eager sailed + To Troy, and smote her even at her height + Of glory, when Laomedon was king. + Ay, and I ween that our hands even now + Shall do the like: we too are mighty men." + + He spake: the aweless strength of Aeacus' son + Hearkened thereto, for also to his ears + By this the roar of bitter battle came. + Then hasted both, and donned their warrior-gear + All splendour-gleaming: now, in these arrayed + Facing that stormy-tossing rout they stand. + Loud clashed their glorious armour: in their souls + A battle-fury like the War-god's wrath + Maddened; such might was breathed into these twain + By Atrytone, Shaker of the Shield, + As on they pressed. With joy the Argives saw + The coming of that mighty twain: they seemed + In semblance like Aloeus' giant sons + Who in the old time made that haughty vaunt + Of piling on Olympus' brow the height + Of Ossa steeply-towering, and the crest + Of sky-encountering Pelion, so to rear + A mountain-stair for their rebellious rage + To scale the highest heaven. Huge as these + The sons of Aeacus seemed, as forth they strode + To stem the tide of war. A gladsome sight + To friends who have fainted for their coming, now + Onward they press to crush triumphant foes. + Many they slew with their resistless spears; + As when two herd-destroying lions come + On sheep amid the copses feeding, far + From help of shepherds, and in heaps on heaps + Slay them, till they have drunken to the full + Of blood, and filled their maws insatiate + With flesh, so those destroyers twain slew on, + Spreading wide havoc through the hosts of Troy. + + There Deiochus and gallant Hyllus fell + By Alas slain, and fell Eurynomus + Lover of war, and goodly Enyeus died. + But Peleus' son burst on the Amazons + Smiting Antandre, Polemusa then, + Antibrote, fierce-souled Hippothoe, + Hurling Harmothoe down on sisters slain. + Then hard on all their-reeling ranks he pressed + With Telamon's mighty-hearted son; and now + Before their hands battalions dense and strong + Crumbled as weakly and as suddenly + As when in mountain-folds the forest-brakes + Shrivel before a tempest-driven fire. + + When battle-eager Penthesileia saw + These twain, as through the scourging storm of war + Like ravening beasts they rushed, to meet them there + She sped, as when a leopard grim, whose mood + Is deadly, leaps from forest-coverts forth, + Lashing her tail, on hunters closing round, + While these, in armour clad, and putting trust + In their long spears, await her lightning leap; + So did those warriors twain with spears upswung + Wait Penthesileia. Clanged the brazen plates + About their shoulders as they moved. And first + Leapt the long-shafted lance sped from the hand + Of goodly Penthesileia. Straight it flew + To the shield of Aeacus' son, but glancing thence + This way and that the shivered fragments sprang + As from a rock-face: of such temper were + The cunning-hearted Fire-god's gifts divine. + Then in her hand the warrior-maid swung up + A second javelin fury-winged, against + Aias, and with fierce words defied the twain: + "Ha, from mine hand in vain one lance hath leapt! + But with this second look I suddenly + To quell the strength and courage of two foes,-- + Ay, though ye vaunt you mighty men of war + Amid your Danaans! Die ye shall, and so + Lighter shall be the load of war's affliction + That lies upon the Trojan chariot-lords. + Draw nigh, come through the press to grips with me, + So shall ye learn what might wells up in breasts + Of Amazons. With my blood is mingled war! + No mortal man begat me, but the Lord + Of War, insatiate of the battle-cry. + Therefore my might is more than any man's." + + With scornful laughter spake she: then she hurled + Her second lance; but they in utter scorn + Laughed now, as swiftly flew the shaft, and smote + The silver greave of Aias, and was foiled + Thereby, and all its fury could not scar + The flesh within; for fate had ordered not + That any blade of foes should taste the blood + Of Aias in the bitter war. But he + Recked of the Amazon naught, but turned him thence + To rush upon the Trojan host, and left + Penthesileia unto Peleus' son + Alone, for well he knew his heart within + That she, for all her prowess, none the less + Would cost Achilles battle-toil as light, + As effortless, as doth the dove the hawk. + + Then groaned she an angry groan that she had sped + Her shafts in vain; and now with scoffing speech + To her in turn the son of Peleus spake: + "Woman, with what vain vauntings triumphing + Hast thou come forth against us, all athirst + To battle with us, who be mightier far + Than earthborn heroes? We from Cronos' Son, + The Thunder-roller, boast our high descent. + Ay, even Hector quailed, the battle-swift, + Before us, e'en though far away he saw + Our onrush to grim battle. Yea, my spear + Slew him, for all his might. But thou--thine heart + Is utterly mad, that thou hast greatly dared + To threaten us with death this day! On thee + Thy latest hour shall swiftly come--is come! + Thee not thy sire the War-god now shall pluck + Out of mine hand, but thou the debt shalt pay + Of a dark doom, as when mid mountain-folds + A pricket meets a lion, waster of herds. + What, woman, hast thou heard not of the heaps + Of slain, that into Xanthus' rushing stream + Were thrust by these mine hands?--or hast thou heard + In vain, because the Blessed Ones have stol'n + Wit and discretion from thee, to the end + That Doom's relentless gulf might gape for thee?" + + He spake; he swung up in his mighty hand + And sped the long spear warrior-slaying, wrought + By Chiron, and above the right breast pierced + The battle-eager maid. The red blood leapt + Forth, as a fountain wells, and all at once + Fainted the strength of Penthesileia's limbs; + Dropped the great battle-axe from her nerveless hand; + A mist of darkness overveiled her eyes, + And anguish thrilled her soul. Yet even so + Still drew she difficult breath, still dimly saw + The hero, even now in act to drag + Her from the swift steed's back. Confusedly + She thought: "Or shall I draw my mighty sword, + And bide Achilles' fiery onrush, or + Hastily cast me from my fleet horse down + To earth, and kneel unto this godlike man, + And with wild breath promise for ransoming + Great heaps of brass and gold, which pacify + The hearts of victors never so athirst + For blood, if haply so the murderous might + Of Aeacus' son may hearken and may spare, + Or peradventure may compassionate + My youth, and so vouchsafe me to behold + Mine home again?--for O, I long to live!" + + So surged the wild thoughts in her; but the Gods + Ordained it otherwise. Even now rushed on + In terrible anger Peleus' son: he thrust + With sudden spear, and on its shaft impaled + The body of her tempest-footed steed, + Even as a man in haste to sup might pierce + Flesh with the spit, above the glowing hearth + To roast it, or as in a mountain-glade + A hunter sends the shaft of death clear through + The body of a stag with such winged speed + That the fierce dart leaps forth beyond, to plunge + Into the tall stem of an oak or pine. + So that death-ravening spear of Peleus' son + Clear through the goodly steed rushed on, and pierced + Penthesileia. Straightway fell she down + Into the dust of earth, the arms of death, + In grace and comeliness fell, for naught of shame + Dishonoured her fair form. Face down she lay + On the long spear outgasping her last breath, + Stretched upon that fleet horse as on a couch; + Like some tall pine snapped by the icy mace + Of Boreas, earth's forest-fosterling + Reared by a spring to stately height, amidst + Long mountain-glens, a glory of mother earth; + So from the once fleet steed low fallen lay + Penthesileia, all her shattered strength + Brought down to this, and all her loveliness. + + Now when the Trojans saw the Warrior-queen + Struck down in battle, ran through all their lines + A shiver of panic. Straightway to their walls + Turned they in flight, heart-agonized with grief. + As when on the wide sea, 'neath buffetings + Of storm-blasts, castaways whose ship is wrecked + Escape, a remnant of a crew, forspent + With desperate conflict with the cruel sea: + Late and at last appears the land hard by, + Appears a city: faint and weary-limbed + With that grim struggle, through the surf they strain + To land, sore grieving for the good ship lost, + And shipmates whom the terrible surge dragged down + To nether gloom; so, Troyward as they fled + From battle, all those Trojans wept for her, + The Child of the resistless War-god, wept + For friends who died in groan-resounding fight. + + Then over her with scornful laugh the son + Of Peleus vaunted: "In the dust lie there + A prey to teeth of dogs, to ravens' beaks, + Thou wretched thing! Who cozened thee to come + Forth against me? And thoughtest thou to fare + Home from the war alive, to bear with thee + Right royal gifts from Priam the old king, + Thy guerdon for slain Argives? Ha, 'twas not + The Immortals who inspired thee with this thought, + Who know that I of heroes mightiest am, + The Danaans' light of safety, but a woe + To Trojans and to thee, O evil-starred! + Nay, but it was the darkness-shrouded Fates + And thine own folly of soul that pricked thee on + To leave the works of women, and to fare + To war, from which strong men shrink shuddering back." + + So spake he, and his ashen spear the son + Of Peleus drew from that swift horse, and from + Penthesileia in death's agony. + Then steed and rider gasped their lives away + Slain by one spear. Now from her head he plucked + The helmet splendour-flashing like the beams + Of the great sun, or Zeus' own glory-light. + Then, there as fallen in dust and blood she lay, + Rose, like the breaking of the dawn, to view + 'Neath dainty-pencilled brows a lovely face, + Lovely in death. The Argives thronged around, + And all they saw and marvelled, for she seemed + Like an Immortal. In her armour there + Upon the earth she lay, and seemed the Child + Of Zeus, the tireless Huntress Artemis + Sleeping, what time her feet forwearied are + With following lions with her flying shafts + Over the hills far-stretching. She was made + A wonder of beauty even in her death + By Aphrodite glorious-crowned, the Bride + Of the strong War-god, to the end that he, + The son of noble Peleus, might be pierced + With the sharp arrow of repentant love. + The warriors gazed, and in their hearts they prayed + That fair and sweet like her their wives might seem, + Laid on the bed of love, when home they won. + Yea, and Achilles' very heart was wrung + With love's remorse to have slain a thing so sweet, + Who might have borne her home, his queenly bride, + To chariot-glorious Phthia; for she was + Flawless, a very daughter of the Gods, + Divinely tall, and most divinely fair. + + Then Ares' heart was thrilled with grief and rage + For his child slain. Straight from Olympus down + He darted, swift and bright as thunderbolt + Terribly flashing from the mighty hand Of + Zeus, far leaping o'er the trackless sea, + Or flaming o'er the land, while shuddereth + All wide Olympus as it passeth by. + So through the quivering air with heart aflame + Swooped Ares armour-clad, soon as he heard + The dread doom of his daughter. For the Gales, + The North-wind's fleet-winged daughters, bare to him, + As through the wide halls of the sky he strode, + The tidings of the maiden's woeful end. + Soon as he heard it, like a tempest-blast + Down to the ridges of Ida leapt he: quaked + Under his feet the long glens and ravines + Deep-scored, all Ida's torrent-beds, and all + Far-stretching foot-hills. Now had Ares brought + A day of mourning on the Myrmidons, + But Zeus himself from far Olympus sent + Mid shattering thunders terror of levin-bolts + Which thick and fast leapt through the welkin down + Before his feet, blazing with fearful flames. + And Ares saw, and knew the stormy threat + Of the mighty-thundering Father, and he stayed + His eager feet, now on the very brink + Of battle's turmoil. As when some huge crag + Thrust from a beetling cliff-brow by the winds + And torrent rains, or lightning-lance of Zeus, + Leaps like a wild beast, and the mountain-glens + Fling back their crashing echoes as it rolls + In mad speed on, as with resistless swoop + Of bound on bound it rushes down, until + It cometh to the levels of the plain, + And there perforce its stormy flight is stayed; + + So Ares, battle-eager Son of Zeus, + Was stayed, how loth soe'er; for all the Gods + To the Ruler of the Blessed needs must yield, + Seeing he sits high-throned above them all, + Clothed in his might unspeakable. Yet still + Many a wild thought surged through Ares' soul, + Urging him now to dread the terrible threat + Of Cronos' wrathful Son, and to return + Heavenward, and now to reck not of his Sire, + But with Achilles' blood to stain those hands, + The battle-tireless. At the last his heart + Remembered how that many and many a son + Of Zeus himself in many a war had died, + Nor in their fall had Zeus availed them aught. + Therefore he turned him from the Argives--else, + Down smitten by the blasting thunderbolt, + With Titans in the nether gloom he had lain, + Who dared defy the eternal will of Zeus. + + Then did the warrior sons of Argos strip + With eager haste from corpses strown all round + The blood-stained spoils. But ever Peleus' son + Gazed, wild with all regret, still gazed on her, + The strong, the beautiful, laid in the dust; + And all his heart was wrung, was broken down + With sorrowing love, deep, strong as he had known + When that beloved friend Patroclus died. + + Loud jeered Thersites, mocking to his face: + "Thou sorry-souled Achilles! art not shamed + To let some evil Power beguile thine heart + To pity of a pitiful Amazon + Whose furious spirit purposed naught but ill + To us and ours? Ha, woman-mad art thou, + And thy soul lusts for this thing, as she were + Some lady wise in household ways, with gifts + And pure intent for honoured wedlock wooed! + Good had it been had her spear reached thine heart, + The heart that sighs for woman-creatures still! + Thou carest not, unmanly-souled, not thou, + For valour's glorious path, when once thine eye + Lights on a woman! Sorry wretch, where now + Is all thy goodly prowess? where thy wit? + And where the might that should beseem a king + All-stainless? Dost not know what misery + This self-same woman-madness wrought for Troy? + Nothing there is to men more ruinous + Than lust for woman's beauty; it maketh fools + Of wise men. But the toil of war attains + Renown. To him that is a hero indeed + Glory of victory and the War-god's works + Are sweet. 'Tis but the battle-blencher craves + The beauty and the bed of such as she!" + + So railed he long and loud: the mighty heart + Of Peleus' son leapt into flame of wrath. + A sudden buffet of his resistless hand + Smote 'neath the railer's ear, and all his teeth + Were dashed to the earth: he fell upon his face: + Forth of his lips the blood in torrent gushed: + Swift from his body fled the dastard soul + Of that vile niddering. Achaea's sons + Rejoiced thereat, for aye he wont to rail + On each and all with venomous gibes, himself + A scandal and the shame of all the host. + Then mid the warrior Argives cried a voice: + "Not good it is for baser men to rail + On kings, or secretly or openly; + For wrathful retribution swiftly comes. + The Lady of Justice sits on high; and she + Who heapeth woe on woe on humankind, + Even Ate, punisheth the shameless tongue." + + So mid the Danaans cried a voice: nor yet + Within the mighty soul of Peleus' son + Lulled was the storm of wrath, but fiercely he spake: + "Lie there in dust, thy follies all forgot! + 'Tis not for knaves to beard their betters: once + Thou didst provoke Odysseus' steadfast soul, + Babbling with venomous tongue a thousand gibes, + And didst escape with life; but thou hast found + The son of Peleus not so patient-souled, + Who with one only buffet from his hand + Unkennels thy dog's soul! A bitter doom + Hath swallowed thee: by thine own rascalry + Thy life is sped. Hence from Achaean men, + And mouth out thy revilings midst the dead!" + + So spake the valiant-hearted aweless son + Of Aeacus. But Tydeus' son alone + Of all the Argives was with anger stirred + Against Achilles for Thersites slain, + Seeing these twain were of the self-same blood, + The one, proud Tydeus' battle-eager son, + The other, seed of godlike Agrius: + Brother of noble Oeneus Agrius was; + And Oeneus in the Danaan land begat + Tydeus the battle-eager, son to whom + Was stalwart Diomedes. Therefore wroth + Was he for slain Thersites, yea, had raised + Against the son of Peleus vengeful hands, + Except the noblest of Aehaea's sons + Had thronged around him, and besought him sore, + And held him back therefrom. With Peleus' son + Also they pleaded; else those mighty twain, + The mightiest of all Argives, were at point + To close with clash of swords, so stung were they + With bitter wrath; yet hearkened they at last + To prayers of comrades, and were reconciled. + + Then of their pity did the Atreid kings-- + For these too at the imperial loveliness + Of Penthesileia marvelled--render up + Her body to the men of Troy, to bear + Unto the burg of Ilus far-renowned + With all her armour. For a herald came + Asking this boon for Priam; for the king + Longed with deep yearning of the heart to lay + That battle-eager maiden, with her arms, + And with her war-horse, in the great earth-mound + Of old Laomedon. And so he heaped + A high broad pyre without the city wall: + Upon the height thereof that warrior-queen + They laid, and costly treasures did they heap + Around her, all that well beseems to burn + Around a mighty queen in battle slain. + And so the Fire-god's swift-upleaping might, + The ravening flame, consumed her. All around + The people stood on every hand, and quenched + The pyre with odorous wine. Then gathered they + The bones, and poured sweet ointment over them, + And laid them in a casket: over all + Shed they the rich fat of a heifer, chief + Among the herds that grazed on Ida's slope. + And, as for a beloved daughter, rang + All round the Trojan men's heart-stricken wail, + As by the stately wall they buried her + On an outstanding tower, beside the bones + Of old Laomedon, a queen beside + A king. This honour for the War-god's sake + They rendered, and for Penthesileia's own. + And in the plain beside her buried they + The Amazons, even all that followed her + To battle, and by Argive spears were slain. + For Atreus' sons begrudged not these the boon + Of tear-besprinkled graves, but let their friends, + The warrior Trojans, draw their corpses forth, + Yea, and their own slain also, from amidst + The swath of darts o'er that grim harvest-field. + Wrath strikes not at the dead: pitied are foes + When life has fled, and left them foes no more. + + Far off across the plain the while uprose + Smoke from the pyres whereon the Argives laid + The many heroes overthrown and slain + By Trojan hands what time the sword devoured; + And multitudinous lamentation wailed + Over the perished. But above the rest + Mourned they o'er brave Podarces, who in fight + Was no less mighty than his hero-brother + Protesilaus, he who long ago + Fell, slain of Hector: so Podarces now, + Struck down by Penthesileia's spear, hath cast + Over all Argive hearts the pall of grief. + Wherefore apart from him they laid in clay + The common throng of slain; but over him + Toiling they heaped an earth-mound far-descried + In memory of a warrior aweless-souled. + And in a several pit withal they thrust + The niddering Thersites' wretched corse. + Then to the ships, acclaiming Aeacus' son, + Returned they all. But when the radiant day + Had plunged beneath the Ocean-stream, and night, + The holy, overspread the face of earth, + Then in the rich king Agamemnon's tent + Feasted the might of Peleus' son, and there + Sat at the feast those other mighty ones + All through the dark, till rose the dawn divine. + + + +BOOK II + +How Memnon, Son of the Dawn, for Troy's sake fell in the Battle. + + + When o'er the crests of the far-echoing hills + The splendour of the tireless-racing sun + Poured o'er the land, still in their tents rejoiced + Achaea's stalwart sons, and still acclaimed + Achilles the resistless. But in Troy + Still mourned her people, still from all her towers + Seaward they strained their gaze; for one great fear + Gripped all their hearts--to see that terrible man + At one bound overleap their high-built wall, + Then smite with the sword all people therewithin, + And burn with fire fanes, palaces, and homes. + And old Thymoetes spake to the anguished ones: + "Friends, I have lost hope: mine heart seeth not + Or help, or bulwark from the storm of war, + Now that the aweless Hector, who was once + Troy's mighty champion, is in dust laid low. + Not all his might availed to escape the Fates, + But overborne he was by Achilles' hands, + The hands that would, I verily deem, bear down + A God, if he defied him to the fight, + Even as he overthrew this warrior-queen + Penthesileia battle-revelling, + From whom all other Argives shrank in fear. + Ah, she was marvellous! When at the first + I looked on her, meseemed a Blessed One + From heaven had come down hitherward to bring + Light to our darkness--ah, vain hope, vain dream! + Go to, let us take counsel, what to do + Were best for us. Or shall we still maintain + A hopeless fight against these ruthless foes, + Or shall we straightway flee a city doomed? + Ay, doomed!--for never more may we withstand + Argives in fighting field, when in the front + Of battle pitiless Achilles storms." + + Then spake Laomedon's son, the ancient king: + "Nay, friend, and all ye other sons of Troy, + And ye our strong war-helpers, flinch we not + Faint-hearted from defence of fatherland! + Yet let us go not forth the city-gates + To battle with yon foe. Nay, from our towers + And from our ramparts let us make defence, + Till our new champion come, the stormy heart + Of Memnon. Lo, he cometh, leading on + Hosts numberless, Aethiopia's swarthy sons. + By this, I trow, he is nigh unto our gates; + For long ago, in sore distress of soul, + I sent him urgent summons. Yea, and he + Promised me, gladly promised me, to come + To Troy, and make all end of all our woes. + And now, I trust, he is nigh. Let us endure + A little longer then; for better far + It is like brave men in the fight to die + Than flee, and live in shame mid alien folk." + + So spake the old king; but Polydamas, + The prudent-hearted, thought not good to war + Thus endlessly, and spake his patriot rede: + "If Memnon have beyond all shadow of doubt + Pledged him to thrust dire ruin far from us, + Then do I gainsay not that we await + The coming of that godlike man within + Our walls--yet, ah, mine heart misgives me, lest, + Though he with all his warriors come, he come + But to his death, and unto thousands more, + Our people, nought but misery come thereof; + For terribly against us leaps the storm + Of the Achaeans' might. But now, go to, + Let us not flee afar from this our Troy + To wander to some alien land, and there, + In the exile's pitiful helplessness, endure + All flouts and outrage; nor in our own land + Abide we till the storm of Argive war + O'erwhelm us. Nay, even now, late though it be, + Better it were for us to render back + Unto the Danaans Helen and her wealth, + Even all that glory of women brought with her + From Sparta, and add other treasure--yea, + Repay it twofold, so to save our Troy + And our own souls, while yet the spoiler's hand + Is laid not on our substance, and while yet + Troy hath not sunk in gulfs of ravening flame. + I pray you, take to heart my counsel! None + Shall, well I wot, be given to Trojan men + Better than this. Ah, would that long ago + Hector had hearkened to my pleading, when + I fain had kept him in the ancient home!" + + So spake Polydamas the noble and strong, + And all the listening Trojans in their hearts + Approved; yet none dared utter openly + The word, for all with trembling held in awe + Their prince and Helen, though for her sole sake + Daily they died. But on that noble man + Turned Paris, and reviled him to his face: + "Thou dastard battle-blencher Polydamas! + Not in thy craven bosom beats a heart + That bides the fight, but only fear and panic. + Yet dost thou vaunt thee--quotha!--still our best + In counsel!--no man's soul is base as thine! + Go to, thyself shrink shivering from the strife! + Cower, coward, in thine halls! But all the rest, + We men, will still go armour-girt, until + We wrest from this our truceless war a peace + That shall not shame us! 'Tis with travail and toil + Of strenuous war that brave men win renown; + But flight?--weak women choose it, and young babes! + Thy spirit is like to theirs. No whit I trust + Thee in the day of battle--thee, the man + Who maketh faint the hearts of all the host!" + + So fiercely he reviled: Polydamas + Wrathfully answered; for he shrank not, he, + From answering to his face. A caitiff hound, + A reptile fool, is he who fawns on men + Before their faces, while his heart is black + With malice, and, when they be gone, his tongue + Backbites them. Openly Polydamas + Flung back upon the prince his taunt and scoff: + "O thou of living men most mischievous! + Thy valour--quotha!--brings us misery! + Thine heart endures, and will endure, that strife + Should have no limit, save in utter ruin + Of fatherland and people for thy sake! + Ne'er may such wantwit valour craze my soul! + Be mine to cherish wise discretion aye, + A warder that shall keep mine house in peace." + + Indignantly he spake, and Paris found + No word to answer him, for conscience woke + Remembrance of all woes he had brought on Troy, + And should bring; for his passion-fevered heart + Would rather hail quick death than severance + From Helen the divinely fair, although + For her sake was it that the sons of Troy + Even then were gazing from their towers to see + The Argives and Achilles drawing nigh. + + But no long time thereafter came to them + Memnon the warrior-king, and brought with him + A countless host of swarthy Aethiops. + From all the streets of Troy the Trojans flocked + Glad-eyed to gaze on him, as seafarers, + With ruining tempest utterly forspent, + See through wide-parting clouds the radiance + Of the eternal-wheeling Northern Wain; + So joyed the Troyfolk as they thronged around, + And more than all Laomedon's son, for now + Leapt in his heart a hope, that yet the ships + Might by those Aethiop men be burned with fire; + So giantlike their king was, and themselves + So huge a host, and so athirst for fight. + Therefore with all observance welcomed he + The strong son of the Lady of the Dawn + With goodly gifts and with abundant cheer. + So at the banquet King and Hero sat + And talked, this telling of the Danaan chiefs, + And all the woes himself had suffered, that + Telling of that strange immortality + By the Dawn-goddess given to his sire, + Telling of the unending flow and ebb + Of the Sea-mother, of the sacred flood + Of Ocean fathomless-rolling, of the bounds + Of Earth that wearieth never of her travail, + Of where the Sun-steeds leap from orient waves, + Telling withal of all his wayfaring + From Ocean's verge to Priam's wall, and spurs + Of Ida. Yea, he told how his strong hands + Smote the great army of the Solymi + Who barred his way, whose deed presumptuous brought + Upon their own heads crushing ruin and woe. + So told he all that marvellous tale, and told + Of countless tribes and nations seen of him. + And Priam heard, and ever glowed his heart + Within him; and the old lips answering spake: + "Memnon, the Gods are good, who have vouchsafed + To me to look upon thine host, and thee + Here in mine halls. O that their grace would so + Crown this their boon, that I might see my foes + All thrust to one destruction by thy spears. + That well may be, for marvellous-like art thou + To some invincible Deathless One, yea, more + Than any earthly hero. Wherefore thou, + I trust, shalt hurl wild havoc through their host. + But now, I pray thee, for this day do thou + Cheer at my feast thine heart, and with the morn + Shalt thou go forth to battle worthy of thee." + + Then in his hands a chalice deep and wide + He raised, and Memnon in all love he pledged + In that huge golden cup, a gift of Gods; + For this the cunning God-smith brought to Zeus, + His masterpiece, what time the Mighty in Power + To Hephaestus gave for bride the Cyprian Queen; + And Zeus on Dardanus his godlike son + Bestowed it, he on Erichthonius; + Erichthonius to Tros the great of heart + Gave it, and he with all his treasure-store + Bequeathed it unto Ilus, and he gave + That wonder to Laomedon, and he + To Priam, who had thought to leave the same + To his own son. Fate ordered otherwise. + And Memnon clasped his hands about that cup + So peerless-beautiful, and all his heart + Marvelled; and thus he spake unto the King: + "Beseems not with great swelling words to vaunt + Amidst the feast, and lavish promises, + But rather quietly to eat in hall, + And to devise deeds worthy. Whether I + Be brave and strong, or whether I be not, + Battle, wherein a man's true might is seen, + Shall prove to thee. Now would I rest, nor drink + The long night through. The battle-eager spirit + By measureless wine and lack of sleep is dulled." + + Marvelled at him the old King, and he said: + "As seems thee good touching the banquet, do + After thy pleasure. I, when thou art loth, + Will not constrain thee. Yea, unmeet it is + To hold back him who fain would leave the board, + Or hurry from one's halls who fain would stay. + So is the good old law with all true men." + + Then rose that champion from the board, and passed + Thence to his sleep--his last! And with him went + All others from the banquet to their rest: + And gentle sleep slid down upon them soon. + + But in the halls of Zeus, the Lightning-lord, + Feasted the gods the while, and Cronos' son, + All-father, of his deep foreknowledge spake + Amidst them of the issue of the strife: + "Be it known unto you all, to-morn shall bring + By yonder war affliction swift and sore; + For many mighty horses shall ye see + In either host beside their chariots slain, + And many heroes perishing. Therefore ye + Remember these my words, howe'er ye grieve + For dear ones. Let none clasp my knees in prayer, + Since even to us relentless are the fates." + + So warned he them, which knew before, that all + Should from the battle stand aside, howe'er + Heart-wrung; that none, petitioning for a son + Or dear one, should to Olympus vainly come. + So, at that warning of the Thunderer, + The Son of Cronos, all they steeled their hearts + To bear, and spake no word against their king; + For in exceeding awe they stood of him. + Yet to their several mansions and their rest + With sore hearts went they. O'er their deathless eyes + The blessing-bringer Sleep his light veils spread. + + When o'er precipitous crests of mountain-walls + Leapt up broad heaven the bright morning-star + Who rouseth to their toils from slumber sweet + The binders of the sheaf, then his last sleep + Unclasped the warrior-son of her who brings + Light to the world, the Child of Mists of Night. + Now swelled his mighty heart with eagerness + To battle with the foe forthright. And Dawn + With most reluctant feet began to climb + Heaven's broad highway. Then did the Trojans gird + Their battle-harness on; then armed themselves + The Aethiop men, and all the mingled tribes + Of those war-helpers that from many lands + To Priam's aid were gathered. Forth the gates + Swiftly they rushed, like darkly lowering clouds + Which Cronos' Son, when storm is rolling up, + Herdeth together through the welkin wide. + Swiftly the whole plain filled. Onward they streamed + Like harvest-ravaging locusts drifting on + In fashion of heavy-brooding rain-clouds o'er + Wide plains of earth, an irresistible host + Bringing wan famine on the sons of men; + So in their might and multitude they went. + The city streets were all too strait for them + Marching: upsoared the dust from underfoot. + + From far the Argives gazed, and marvelling saw + Their onrush, but with speed arrayed their limbs + In brass, and in the might of Peleus' son + Put their glad trust. Amidst them rode he on + Like to a giant Titan, glorying + In steeds and chariot, while his armour flashed + Splendour around in sudden lightning-gleams. + It was as when the sun from utmost bounds + Of earth-encompassing ocean comes, and brings + Light to the world, and flings his splendour wide + Through heaven, and earth and air laugh all around. + So glorious, mid the Argives Peleus' son + Rode onward. Mid the Trojans rode the while + Memnon the hero, even such to see + As Ares furious-hearted. Onward swept + The eager host arrayed about their lord. + + Then in the grapple of war on either side + Closed the long lines, Trojan and Danaan; + But chief in prowess still the Aethiops were. + Crashed they together as when surges meet + On the wild sea, when, in a day of storm, + From every quarter winds to battle rush. + Foe hurled at foe the ashen spear, and slew: + Screams and death-groans went up like roaring fire. + As when down-thundering torrents shout and rave + On-pouring seaward, when the madding rains + Stream from God's cisterns, when the huddling clouds + Are hurled against each other ceaselessly, + And leaps their fiery breath in flashes forth; + So 'neath the fighters' trampling feet the earth + Thundered, and leapt the terrible battle-yell + Through frenzied air, for mad the war-cries were. + + For firstfruits of death's harvest Peleus' son + Slew Thalius and Mentes nobly born, + Men of renown, and many a head beside + Dashed he to dust. As in its furious swoop + A whirlwind shakes dark chasms underground, + And earth's foundations crumble and melt away + Around the deep roots of the shuddering world, + So the ranks crumbled in swift doom to the dust + Before the spear and fury of Peleus's son. + + But on the other side the hero child + Of the Dawn-goddess slew the Argive men, + Like to a baleful Doom which bringeth down + On men a grim and ghastly pestilence. + First slew he Pheron; for the bitter spear + Plunged through his breast, and down on him he hurled + Goodly Ereuthus, battle-revellers both, + Dwellers in Thryus by Alpheus' streams, + Which followed Nestor to the god-built burg + Of Ilium. But when he had laid these low, + Against the son of Neleus pressed he on + Eager to slay. Godlike Antilochus + Strode forth to meet him, sped the long spear's flight, + Yet missed him, for a little he swerved, but slew + His Aethiop comrade, son of Pyrrhasus. + Wroth for his fall, against Antilochus + He leapt, as leaps a lion mad of mood + Upon a boar, the beast that flincheth not + From fight with man or brute, whose charge is a flash + Of lightning; so was his swift leap. His foe + Antilochus caught a huge stone from the ground, + Hurled, smote him; but unshaken abode his strength, + For the strong helm-crest fenced his head from death; + But rang the morion round his brows. His heart + Kindled with terrible fury at the blow + More than before against Antilochus. + Like seething cauldron boiled his maddened might. + He stabbed, for all his cunning of fence, the son + Of Nestor above the breast; the crashing spear + Plunged to the heart, the spot of speediest death. + + Then upon all the Danaans at his fall + Came grief; but anguish-stricken was the heart + Of Nestor most of all, to see his child + Slain in his sight; for no more bitter pang + Smiteth the heart of man than when a son + Perishes, and his father sees him die. + Therefore, albeit unused to melting mood, + His soul was torn with agony for the son + By black death slain. A wild cry hastily + To Thrasymedes did he send afar: + "Hither to me, Thrasymedes war-renowned! + Help me to thrust back from thy brother's corse, + Yea, from mine hapless son, his murderer, + That so ourselves may render to our dead + All dues of mourning. If thou flinch for fear, + No son of mine art thou, nor of the line + Of Periclymenus, who dared withstand + Hercules' self. Come, to the battle-toil! + For grim necessity oftentimes inspires + The very coward with courage of despair." + + Then at his cry that brother's heart was stung + With bitter grief. Swift for his help drew nigh + Phereus, on whom for his great prince's fall + Came anguish. Charged these warriors twain to face + Strong Memnon in the gory strife. As when + Two hunters 'mid a forest's mountain-folds, + Eager to take the prey, rush on to meet + A wild boar or a bear, with hearts afire + To slay him, but in furious mood he leaps + On them, and holds at bay the might of men; + So swelled the heart of Memnon. Nigh drew they, + Yet vainly essayed to slay him, as they hurled + The long spears, but the lances glanced aside + Far from his flesh: the Dawn-queen turned them thence. + Yet fell their spears not vainly to the ground: + The lance of fiery-hearted Phereus, winged + With eager speed, dealt death to Meges' son, + Polymnius: Laomedon was slain + By the wrath of Nestor's son for a brother dead, + The dear one Memnon slew in battle-rout, + And whom the slayer's war-unwearied hands + Now stripped of his all-brazen battle-gear, + Nought recking, he, of Thrasymedes' might, + Nor of stout Phereus, who were unto him + But weaklings. A great lion seemed he there + Standing above a hart, as jackals they, + That, howso hungry, dare not come too nigh. + + But hard thereby the father gazed thereon + In agony, and cried the rescue-cry + To other his war-comrades for their aid + Against the foe. Himself too burned to fight + From his war-car; for yearning for the dead + Goaded him to the fray beyond his strength. + Ay, and himself had been on his dear son + Laid, numbered with the dead, had not the voice + Of Memnon stayed him even in act to rush + Upon him, for he reverenced in his heart + The white hairs of an age-mate of his sire: + "Ancient," he cried, "it were my shame to fight. + With one so much mine elder: I am not + Blind unto honour. Verily I weened + That this was some young warrior, when I saw + Thee facing thus the foe. My bold heart hoped + For contest worthy of mine hand and spear. + Nay, draw thou back afar from battle-toil + And bitter death. Go, lest, how loth soe'er, + I smite thee of sore need. Nay, fall not thou + Beside thy son, against a mightier man + Fighting, lest men with folly thee should charge, + For folly it is that braves o'ermastering might." + + He spake, and answered him that warrior old: + "Nay, Memnon, vain was that last word of thine. + None would name fool the father who essayed, + Battling with foes for his son's sake, to thrust + The ruthless slayer back from that dear corpse, + But ah that yet my strength were whole in me, + That thou might'st know my spear! Now canst thou vaunt + Proudly enow: a young man's heart is bold + And light his wit. Uplifted is thy soul + And vain thy speech. If in my strength of youth + Thou hadst met me--ha, thy friends had not rejoiced, + For all thy might! But me the grievous weight + Of age bows down, like an old lion whom + A cur may boldly drive back from the fold, + For that he cannot, in his wrath's despite, + Maintain his own cause, being toothless now, + And strengthless, and his strong heart tamed by time. + So well the springs of olden strength no more + Now in my breast. Yet am I stronger still + Than many men; my grey hairs yield to few + That have within them all the strength of youth." + + So drew he back a little space, and left + Lying in dust his son, since now no more + Lived in the once lithe limbs the olden strength, + For the years' weight lay heavy on his head. + Back leapt Thrasymedes likewise, spearman good, + And battle-eager Phereus, and the rest + Their comrades; for that slaughter-dealing man + Pressed hard on them. As when from mountains high + A shouting river with wide-echoing din + Sweeps down its fathomless whirlpools through the gloom, + When God with tumult of a mighty storm + Hath palled the sky in cloud from verge to verge, + When thunders crash all round, when thick and fast + Gleam lightnings from the huddling clouds, when fields + Are flooded as the hissing rain descends, + And all the air is filled with awful roar + Of torrents pouring down the hill-ravines; + So Memnon toward the shores of Hellespont + Before him hurled the Argives, following hard + Behind them, slaughtering ever. Many a man + Fell in the dust, and left his life in blood + 'Neath Aethiop hands. Stained was the earth with gore + As Danaans died. Exulted Memnon's soul + As on the ranks of foemen ever he rushed, + And heaped with dead was all the plain of Troy. + And still from fight refrained he not; he hoped + To be a light of safety unto Troy + And bane to Danaans. But all the while + Stood baleful Doom beside him, and spurred on + To strife, with flattering smile. To right, to left + His stalwart helpers wrought in battle-toil, + Alcyoneus and Nychius, and the son + Of Asius furious-souled; Meneclus' spear, + Clydon and Alexippus, yea, a host + Eager to chase the foe, men who in fight + Quit them like men, exulting in their king. + Then, as Meneclus on the Danaans charged, + The son of Neleus slew him. Wroth for his friend, + Whole throngs of foes fierce-hearted Memnon slew. + As when a hunter midst the mountains drives + Swift deer within the dark lines of his toils-- + The eager ring of beaters closing in + Presses the huddled throng into the snares + Of death: the dogs are wild with joy of the chase + Ceaselessly giving tongue, the while his darts + Leap winged with death on brocket and on hind; + So Memnon slew and ever slew: his men + Rejoiced, the while in panic stricken rout + Before that glorious man the Argives fled. + As when from a steep mountain's precipice-brow + Leaps a huge crag, which all-resistless Zeus + By stroke of thunderbolt hath hurled from the crest; + Crash oakwood copses, echo long ravines, + Shudders the forest to its rattle and roar, + And flocks therein and herds and wild things flee + Scattering, as bounding, whirling, it descends + With deadly pitiless onrush; so his foes + Fled from the lightning-flash of Memnon's spear. + + Then to the side of Aeacus' mighty son + Came Nestor. Anguished for his son he cried: + "Achilles, thou great bulwark of the Greeks, + Slain is my child! The armour of my dead + Hath Memnon, and I fear me lest his corse + Be cast a prey to dogs. Haste to his help! + True friend is he who still remembereth + A friend though slain, and grieves for one no more." + + Achilles heard; his heart was thrilled with grief: + He glanced across the rolling battle, saw + Memnon, saw where in throngs the Argives fell + Beneath his spear. Forthright he turned away + From where the rifted ranks of Troy fell fast + Before his hands, and, thirsting for the fight, + Wroth for Antilochus and the others slain, + Came face to face with Memnon. In his hands + That godlike hero caught up from the ground + A stone, a boundary-mark 'twixt fields of wheat, + And hurled. Down on the shield of Peleus' son + It crashed. But he, the invincible, shrank not + Before the huge rock-shard, but, thrusting out + His long lance, rushed to close with him, afoot, + For his steeds stayed behind the battle-rout. + On the right shoulder above the shield he smote + And staggered him; but he, despite the wound, + Fought on with heart unquailing. Swiftly he thrust + And pricked with his strong spear Achilles' arm. + Forth gushed the blood: rejoicing with vain joy + To Aeacus' son with arrogant words he cried: + "Now shalt thou in thy death fill up, I trow, + Thy dark doom, overmastered by mine hands. + Thou shalt not from this fray escape alive! + Fool, wherefore hast thou ruthlessly destroyed + Trojans, and vaunted thee the mightiest man + Of men, a deathless Nereid's son? Ha, now + Thy doom hath found thee! Of birth divine am I, + The Dawn-queen's mighty son, nurtured afar + By lily-slender Hesperid Maids, beside + The Ocean-river. Therefore not from thee + Nor from grim battle shrink I, knowing well + How far my goddess-mother doth transcend + A Nereid, whose child thou vauntest thee. + To Gods and men my mother bringeth light; + On her depends the issue of all things, + Works great and glorious in Olympus wrought + Whereof comes blessing unto men. But thine-- + She sits in barren crypts of brine: she dwells + Glorying mid dumb sea-monsters and mid fish, + Deedless, unseen! Nothing I reck of her, + Nor rank her with the immortal Heavenly Ones." + + In stern rebuke spake Aeacus' aweless son: + "Memnon, how wast thou so distraught of wit + That thou shouldst face me, and to fight defy + Me, who in might, in blood, in stature far + Surpass thee? From supremest Zeus I trace + My glorious birth; and from the strong Sea-god + Nereus, begetter of the Maids of the Sea, + The Nereids, honoured of the Olympian Gods. + And chiefest of them all is Thetis, wise + With wisdom world-renowned; for in her bowers + She sheltered Dionysus, chased by might + Of murderous Lycurgus from the earth. + Yea, and the cunning God-smith welcomed she + Within her mansion, when from heaven he fell. + Ay, and the Lightning-lord she once released + From bonds. The all-seeing Dwellers in the Sky + Remember all these things, and reverence + My mother Thetis in divine Olympus. + Ay, that she is a Goddess shalt thou know + When to thine heart the brazen spear shall pierce + Sped by my might. Patroclus' death I avenged + On Hector, and Antilochus on thee + Will I avenge. No weakling's friend thou hast slain! + But why like witless children stand we here + Babbling our parents' fame and our own deeds? + Now is the hour when prowess shall decide." + + Then from the sheath he flashed his long keen sword, + And Memnon his; and swiftly in fiery fight + Closed they, and rained the never-ceasing blows + Upon the bucklers which with craft divine + Hephaestus' self had fashioned. Once and again + Clashed they together, and their cloudy crests + Touched, mingling all their tossing storm of hair. + And Zeus, for that he loved them both, inspired + With prowess each, and mightier than their wont + He made them, made them tireless, nothing like + To men, but Gods: and gloated o'er the twain + The Queen of Strife. In eager fury these + Thrust swiftly out the spear, with fell intent + To reach the throat 'twixt buckler-rim and helm, + Thrust many a time and oft, and now would aim + The point beneath the shield, above the greave, + Now close beneath the corslet curious-wrought + That lapped the stalwart frame: hard, fast they lunged, + And on their shoulders clashed the arms divine. + Roared to the very heavens the battle-shout + Of warring men, of Trojans, Aethiops, + And Argives mighty-hearted, while the dust + Rolled up from 'neath their feet, tossed to the sky + In stress of battle-travail great and strong. + + As when a mist enshrouds the hills, what time + Roll up the rain-clouds, and the torrent-beds + Roar as they fill with rushing floods, and howls + Each gorge with fearful voices; shepherds quake + To see the waters' downrush and the mist, + Screen dear to wolves and all the wild fierce things + Nursed in the wide arms of the forest; so + Around the fighters' feet the choking dust + Hung, hiding the fair splendour of the sun + And darkening all the heaven. Sore distressed + With dust and deadly conflict were the folk. + Then with a sudden hand some Blessed One + Swept the dust-pall aside; and the Gods saw + The deadly Fates hurling the charging lines + Together, in the unending wrestle locked + Of that grim conflict, saw where never ceased + Ares from hideous slaughter, saw the earth + Crimsoned all round with rushing streams of blood, + Saw where dark Havoc gloated o'er the scene, + Saw the wide plain with corpses heaped, even all + Bounded 'twixt Simois and Xanthus, where + They sweep from Ida down to Hellespont. + + But when long lengthened out the conflict was + Of those two champions, and the might of both + In that strong tug and strain was equal-matched, + Then, gazing from Olympus' far-off heights, + The Gods joyed, some in the invincible son + Of Peleus, others in the goodly child + Of old Tithonus and the Queen of Dawn. + Thundered the heavens on high from east to west, + And roared the sea from verge to verge, and rocked + The dark earth 'neath the heroes' feet, and quaked + Proud Nereus' daughters all round Thetis thronged + In grievous fear for mighty Achilles' sake; + And trembled for her son the Child of the Mist + As in her chariot through the sky she rode. + Marvelled the Daughters of the Sun, who stood + Near her, around that wondrous splendour-ring + Traced for the race-course of the tireless sun + By Zeus, the limit of all Nature's life + And death, the dally round that maketh up + The eternal circuit of the rolling years. + And now amongst the Blessed bitter feud + Had broken out; but by behest of Zeus + The twin Fates suddenly stood beside these twain, + One dark--her shadow fell on Memnon's heart; + One bright--her radiance haloed Peleus' son. + And with a great cry the Immortals saw, + And filled with sorrow they of the one part were, + They of the other with triumphant joy. + + Still in the midst of blood-stained battle-rout + Those heroes fought, unknowing of the Fates + Now drawn so nigh, but each at other hurled + His whole heart's courage, all his bodily might. + Thou hadst said that in the strife of that dread day + Huge tireless Giants or strong Titans warred, + So fiercely blazed the wildfire of their strife, + Now, when they clashed with swords, now when they leapt + Hurling huge stones. Nor either would give back + Before the hail of blows, nor quailed. They stood + Like storm-tormented headlands steadfast, clothed + With might past words, unearthly; for the twain + Alike could boast their lineage of high Zeus. + Therefore 'twixt these Enyo lengthened out + The even-balanced strife, while ever they + In that grim wrestle strained their uttermost, + They and their dauntless comrades, round their kings + With ceaseless fury toiling, till their spears + Stood shivered all in shields of warriors slain, + And of the fighters woundless none remained; + But from all limbs streamed down into the dust + The blood and sweat of that unresting strain + Of fight, and earth was hidden with the dead, + As heaven is hidden with clouds when meets the sun + The Goat-star, and the shipman dreads the deep. + As charged the lines, the snorting chariot-steeds + Trampled the dead, as on the myriad leaves + Ye trample in the woods at entering-in + Of winter, when the autumn-tide is past. + + Still mid the corpses and the blood fought on + Those glorious sons of Gods, nor ever ceased + From wrath of fight. But Eris now inclined + The fatal scales of battle, which no more + Were equal-poised. Beneath the breast-bone then + Of godlike Memnon plunged Achilles' sword; + Clear through his body all the dark-blue blade + Leapt: suddenly snapped the silver cord of life. + Down in a pool of blood he fell, and clashed + His massy armour, and earth rang again. + Then turned to flight his comrades panic-struck, + And of his arms the Myrmidons stripped the dead, + While fled the Trojans, and Achilles chased, + As whirlwind swift and mighty to destroy. + + Then groaned the Dawn, and palled herself in clouds, + And earth was darkened. At their mother's hest + All the light Breathings of the Dawn took hands, + And slid down one long stream of sighing wind + To Priam's plain, and floated round the dead, + And softly, swiftly caught they up, and bare + Through silver mists the Dawn-queen's son, with hearts + Sore aching for their brother's fall, while moaned + Around them all the air. As on they passed, + Fell many blood-gouts from those pierced limbs + Down to the earth, and these were made a sign + To generations yet to be. The Gods + Gathered them up from many lands, and made + Thereof a far-resounding river, named + Of all that dwell beneath long Ida's flanks + Paphlagoneion. As its waters flow + 'Twixt fertile acres, once a year they turn + To blood, when comes the woeful day whereon + Died Memnon. Thence a sick and choking reek + Steams: thou wouldst say that from a wound unhealed + Corrupting humours breathed an evil stench. + Ay, so the Gods ordained: but now flew on + Bearing Dawn's mighty son the rushing winds + Skimming earth's face and palled about with night. + + Nor were his Aethiopian comrades left + To wander of their King forlorn: a God + Suddenly winged those eager souls with speed + Such as should soon be theirs for ever, changed + To flying fowl, the children of the air. + Wailing their King in the winds' track they sped. + As when a hunter mid the forest-brakes + Is by a boar or grim-jawed lion slain, + And now his sorrowing friends take up the corse, + And bear it heavy-hearted; and the hounds + Follow low-whimpering, pining for their lord + In that disastrous hunting lost; so they + Left far behind that stricken field of blood, + And fast they followed after those swift winds + + With multitudinous moaning, veiled in mist + Unearthly. Trojans over all the plain + And Danaans marvelled, seeing that great host + Vanishing with their King. All hearts stood still + In dumb amazement. But the tireless winds + Sighing set hero Memnon's giant corpse + Down by the deep flow of Aesopus' stream, + Where is a fair grove of the bright-haired Nymphs, + The which round his long barrow afterward + Aesopus' daughters planted, screening it + With many and manifold trees: and long and loud + Wailed those Immortals, chanting his renown, + The son of the Dawn-goddess splendour-throned. + + Now sank the sun: the Lady of the Morn + Wailing her dear child from the heavens came down. + Twelve maidens shining-tressed attended her, + The warders of the high paths of the sun + For ever circling, warders of the night + And dawn, and each world-ordinance framed of Zeus, + Around whose mansion's everlasting doors + From east to west they dance, from west to east, + Whirling the wheels of harvest-laden years, + While rolls the endless round of winter's cold, + And flowery spring, and lovely summer-tide, + And heavy-clustered autumn. These came down + From heaven, for Memnon wailing wild and high; + And mourned with these the Pleiads. Echoed round + Far-stretching mountains, and Aesopus' stream. + Ceaseless uprose the keen, and in their midst, + Fallen on her son and clasping, wailed the Dawn; + "Dead art thou, dear, dear child, and thou hast clad + Thy mother with a pall of grief. Oh, I, + Now thou art slain, will not endure to light + The Immortal Heavenly Ones! No, I will plunge + Down to the dread depths of the underworld, + Where thy lone spirit flitteth to and fro, + And will to blind night leave earth, sky, and sea, + Till Chaos and formless darkness brood o'er all, + That Cronos' Son may also learn what means + Anguish of heart. For not less worship-worthy + Than Nereus' Child, by Zeus's ordinance, + Am I, who look on all things, I, who bring + All to their consummation. Recklessly + My light Zeus now despiseth! Therefore I + Will pass into the darkness. Let him bring + Up to Olympus Thetis from the sea + To hold for him light forth to Gods and men! + My sad soul loveth darkness more than day, + Lest I pour light upon thy slayer's head: + + Thus as she cried, the tears ran down her face + Immortal, like a river brimming aye: + Drenched was the dark earth round the corse. The Night + Grieved in her daughter's anguish, and the heaven + Drew over all his stars a veil of mist + And cloud, of love unto the Lady of Light. + + Meanwhile within their walls the Trojan folk + For Memnon sorrowed sore, with vain regret + Yearning for that lost king and all his host. + Nor greatly joyed the Argives, where they lay + Camped in the open plain amidst the dead. + There, mingled with Achilles' praise, uprose + Wails for Antilochus: joy clasped hands with grief. + + All night in groans and sighs most pitiful + The Dawn-queen lay: a sea of darkness moaned + Around her. Of the dayspring nought she recked: + She loathed Olympus' spaces. At her side + Fretted and whinnied still her fleetfoot steeds, + Trampling the strange earth, gazing at their Queen + Grief-stricken, yearning for the fiery course. + Suddenly crashed the thunder of the wrath + Of Zeus; rocked round her all the shuddering earth, + And on immortal Eos trembling came. + + Swiftly the dark-skinned Aethiops from her sight + Buried their lord lamenting. As they wailed + Unceasingly, the Dawn-queen lovely-eyed + Changed them to birds sweeping through air around + The barrow of the mighty dead. And these + Still do the tribes of men "The Memnons" call; + And still with wailing cries they dart and wheel + Above their king's tomb, and they scatter dust + Down on his grave, still shrill the battle-cry, + In memory of Memnon, each to each. + But he in Hades' mansions, or perchance + Amid the Blessed on the Elysian Plain, + Laugheth. Divine Dawn comforteth her heart + Beholding them: but theirs is toil of strife + Unending, till the weary victors strike + The vanquished dead, or one and all fill up + The measure of their doom around his grave. + + So by command of Eos, Lady of Light, + The swift birds dree their weird. But Dawn divine + Now heavenward soared with the all-fostering Hours, + Who drew her to Zeus' threshold, sorely loth, + Yet conquered by their gentle pleadings, such + As salve the bitterest grief of broken hearts. + Nor the Dawn-queen forgat her daily course, + But quailed before the unbending threat of Zeus, + Of whom are all things, even all comprised + Within the encircling sweep of Ocean's stream, + Earth and the palace-dome of burning stars. + Before her went her Pleiad-harbingers, + Then she herself flung wide the ethereal gates, + And, scattering spray of splendour, flashed there-through. + + + +BOOK III + +How by the shaft of a God laid low was Hero Achilles. + + + When shone the light of Dawn the splendour-throned, + Then to the ships the Pylian spearmen bore + Antilochus' corpse, sore sighing for their prince, + And by the Hellespont they buried him + With aching hearts. Around him groaning stood + The battle-eager sons of Argives, all, + Of love for Nestor, shrouded o'er with grief. + But that grey hero's heart was nowise crushed + By sorrow; for the wise man's soul endures + Bravely, and cowers not under affliction's stroke. + But Peleus' son, wroth for Antilochus + His dear friend, armed for vengeance terrible + Upon the Trojans. Yea, and these withal, + Despite their dread of mighty Achilles' spear, + Poured battle-eager forth their gates, for now + The Fates with courage filled their breasts, of whom + Many were doomed to Hades to descend, + Whence there is no return, thrust down by hands + Of Aeacus' son, who also was foredoomed + To perish that same day by Priam's wall. + Swift met the fronts of conflict: all the tribes + Of Troy's host, and the battle-biding Greeks, + Afire with that new-kindled fury of war. + + Then through the foe the son of Peleus made + Wide havoc: all around the earth was drenched + With gore, and choked with corpses were the streams + Of Simois and Xanthus. Still he chased, + Still slaughtered, even to the city's walls; + For panic fell on all the host. And now + All had he slain, had dashed the gates to earth, + Rending them from their hinges, or the bolts, + Hurling himself against them, had he snapped, + And for the Danaans into Priam's burg + Had made a way, had utterly destroyed + That goodly town--but now was Phoebus wroth + Against him with grim fury, when he saw + Those countless troops of heroes slain of him. + Down from Olympus with a lion-leap + He came: his quiver on his shoulders lay, + And shafts that deal the wounds incurable. + Facing Achilles stood he; round him clashed + Quiver and arrows; blazed with quenchless flame + His eyes, and shook the earth beneath his feet. + Then with a terrible shout the great God cried, + So to turn back from war Achilles awed + By the voice divine, and save from death the Trojans: + "Back from the Trojans, Peleus' son! Beseems not + That longer thou deal death unto thy foes, + Lest an Olympian God abase thy pride." + + But nothing quailed the hero at the voice + Immortal, for that round him even now + Hovered the unrelenting Fates. He recked + Naught of the God, and shouted his defiance. + "Phoebus, why dost thou in mine own despite + Stir me to fight with Gods, and wouldst protect + The arrogant Trojans? Heretofore hast thou + By thy beguiling turned me from the fray, + When from destruction thou at the first didst save + Hector, whereat the Trojans all through Troy + Exulted. Nay, thou get thee back: return + Unto the mansion of the Blessed, lest + I smite thee--ay, immortal though thou be!" + + Then on the God he turned his back, and sped + After the Trojans fleeing cityward, + And harried still their flight; but wroth at heart + Thus Phoebus spake to his indignant soul: + "Out on this man! he is sense-bereft! But now + Not Zeus himself nor any other Power + Shall save this madman who defies the Gods!" + + From mortal sight he vanished into cloud, + And cloaked with mist a baleful shaft he shot + Which leapt to Achilles' ankle: sudden pangs + With mortal sickness made his whole heart faint. + He reeled, and like a tower he fell, that falls + Smit by a whirlwind when an earthquake cleaves + A chasm for rushing blasts from underground; + So fell the goodly form of Aeacus' son. + He glared, a murderous glance, to right, to left, + [Upon the Trojans, and a terrible threat] + Shouted, a threat that could not be fulfilled: + "Who shot at me a stealthy-smiting shaft? + Let him but dare to meet me face to face! + So shall his blood and all his bowels gush out + About my spear, and he be hellward sped! + I know that none can meet me man to man + And quell in fight--of earth-born heroes none, + Though such an one should bear within his breast + A heart unquailing, and have thews of brass. + But dastards still in stealthy ambush lurk + For lives of heroes. Let him face me then!-- + Ay! though he be a God whose anger burns + Against the Danaans! Yea, mine heart forebodes + That this my smiter was Apollo, cloaked + In deadly darkness. So in days gone by + My mother told me how that by his shafts + I was to die before the Scaean Gates + A piteous death. Her words were not vain words." + + Then with unflinching hands from out the wound + Incurable he drew the deadly shaft + In agonized pain. Forth gushed the blood; his heart + Waxed faint beneath the shadow of coming doom. + Then in indignant wrath he hurled from him + The arrow: a sudden gust of wind swept by, + And caught it up, and, even as he trod + Zeus' threshold, to Apollo gave it back; + For it beseemed not that a shaft divine, + Sped forth by an Immortal, should be lost. + He unto high Olympus swiftly came, + To the great gathering of immortal Gods, + Where all assembled watched the war of men, + These longing for the Trojans' triumph, those + For Danaan victory; so with diverse wills + Watched they the strife, the slayers and the slain. + + Him did the Bride of Zeus behold, and straight + Upbraided with exceeding bitter words: + "What deed of outrage, Phoebus, hast thou done + This day, forgetful of that day whereon + To godlike Peleus' spousals gathered all + The Immortals? Yea, amidst the feasters thou + Sangest how Thetis silver-footed left + The sea's abysses to be Peleus' bride; + And as thou harpedst all earth's children came + To hearken, beasts and birds, high craggy hills, + Rivers, and all deep-shadowed forests came. + All this hast thou forgotten, and hast wrought + A ruthless deed, hast slain a godlike man, + Albeit thou with other Gods didst pour + The nectar, praying that he might be the son + By Thetis given to Peleus. But that prayer + Hast thou forgotten, favouring the folk + Of tyrannous Laomedon, whose kine + Thou keptest. He, a mortal, did despite + To thee, the deathless! O, thou art wit-bereft! + Thou favourest Troy, thy sufferings all forgot. + Thou wretch, and doth thy false heart know not this, + What man is an offence, and meriteth + Suffering, and who is honoured of the Gods? + Ever Achilles showed us reverence--yea, + Was of our race. Ha, but the punishment + Of Troy, I ween, shall not be lighter, though + Aeacus' son have fallen; for his son + Right soon shall come from Scyros to the war + To help the Argive men, no less in might + Than was his sire, a bane to many a foe. + But thou--thou for the Trojans dost not care, + But for his valour enviedst Peleus' son, + Seeing he was the mightest of all men. + Thou fool! how wilt thou meet the Nereid's eyes, + When she shall stand in Zeus' hall midst the Gods, + Who praised thee once, and loved as her own son?" + + So Hera spake, in bitterness of soul + Upbraiding, but he answered her not a word, + Of reverence for his mighty Father's bride; + Nor could he lift his eyes to meet her eyes, + But sat abashed, aloof from all the Gods + Eternal, while in unforgiving wrath + Scowled on him all the Immortals who maintained + The Danaans' cause; but such as fain would bring + Triumph to Troy, these with exultant hearts + Extolled him, hiding it from Hera's eyes, + Before whose wrath all Heaven-abiders shrank. + + But Peleus' son the while forgat not yet + War's fury: still in his invincible limbs + The hot blood throbbed, and still he longed for fight. + Was none of all the Trojans dared draw nigh + The stricken hero, but at distance stood, + As round a wounded lion hunters stand + Mid forest-brakes afraid, and, though the shaft + Stands in his heart, yet faileth not in him + His royal courage, but with terrible glare + Roll his fierce eyes, and roar his grimly jaws; + So wrath and anguish of his deadly hurt + To fury stung Peleides' soul; but aye + His strength ebbed through the god-envenomed wound. + Yet leapt he up, and rushed upon the foe, + And flashed the lightning of his lance; it slew + The goodly Orythaon, comrade stout + Of Hector, through his temples crashing clear: + His helm stayed not the long lance fury-sped + Which leapt therethrough, and won within the bones + The heart of the brain, and spilt his lusty life. + Then stabbed he 'neath the brow Hipponous + Even to the eye-roots, that the eyeball fell + To earth: his soul to Hades flitted forth. + Then through the jaw he pierced Alcathous, + And shore away his tongue: in dust he fell + Gasping his life out, and the spear-head shot + Out through his ear. These, as they rushed on him, + That hero slew; but many a fleer's life + He spilt, for in his heart still leapt the blood. + + But when his limbs grew chill, and ebbed away + His spirit, leaning on his spear he stood, + While still the Trojans fled in huddled rout + Of panic, and he shouted unto them: + "Trojan and Dardan cravens, ye shall not + Even in my death, escape my merciless spear, + But unto mine Avenging Spirits ye + Shall pay--ay, one and all--destruction's debt!" + + He spake; they heard and quailed: as mid the hills + Fawns tremble at a lion's deep-mouthed roar, + And terror-stricken flee the monster, so + The ranks of Trojan chariot-lords, the lines + Of battle-helpers drawn from alien lands, + Quailed at the last shout of Achilles, deemed + That he was woundless yet. But 'neath the weight + Of doom his aweless heart, his mighty limbs, + At last were overborne. Down midst the dead + He fell, as fails a beetling mountain-cliff. + Earth rang beneath him: clanged with a thundercrash + His arms, as Peleus' son the princely fell. + And still his foes with most exceeding dread + Stared at him, even as, when some murderous beast + Lies slain by shepherds, tremble still the sheep + Eyeing him, as beside the fold he lies, + And shrinking, as they pass him, far aloof + And, even as he were living, fear him dead; + So feared they him, Achilles now no more. + + Yet Paris strove to kindle those faint hearts; + For his own heart exulted, and he hoped, + Now Peleus' son, the Danaans' strength, had fallen, + Wholly to quench the Argive battle-fire: + "Friends, if ye help me truly and loyally, + Let us this day die, slain by Argive men, + Or live, and hale to Troy with Hector's steeds + In triumph Peleus' son thus fallen dead, + The steeds that, grieving, yearning for their lord + To fight have borne me since my brother died. + Might we with these but hale Achilles slain, + Glory were this for Hector's horses, yea, + For Hector--if in Hades men have sense + Of righteous retribution. This man aye + Devised but mischief for the sons of Troy; + And now Troy's daughters with exultant hearts + From all the city streets shall gather round, + As pantheresses wroth for stolen cubs, + Or lionesses, might stand around a man + Whose craft in hunting vexed them while he lived. + So round Achilles--a dead corpse at last!-- + In hurrying throngs Troy's daughters then shall come + In unforgiving, unforgetting hate, + For parents wroth, for husbands slain, for sons, + For noble kinsmen. Most of all shall joy + My father, and the ancient men, whose feet + Unwillingly are chained within the walls + By eld, if we shall hale him through our gates, + And give our foe to fowls of the air for meat." + + Then they, which feared him theretofore, in haste + Closed round the corpse of strong-heart Aeacus' son, + Glaucus, Aeneas, battle-fain Agenor, + And other cunning men in deadly fight, + Eager to hale him thence to Ilium + The god-built burg. But Aias failed him not. + Swiftly that godlike man bestrode the dead: + Back from the corpse his long lance thrust them all. + Yet ceased they not from onslaught; thronging round, + Still with swift rushes fought they for the prize, + One following other, like to long-lipped bees + Which hover round their hive in swarms on swarms + To drive a man thence; but he, recking naught + Of all their fury, carveth out the combs + Of nectarous honey: harassed sore are they + By smoke-reek and the robber; spite of all + Ever they dart against him; naught cares he; + So naught of all their onsets Aias recked; + But first he stabbed Agelaus in the breast, + And slew that son of Maion: Thestor next: + Ocythous he smote, Agestratus, + Aganippus, Zorus, Nessus, Erymas + The war-renowned, who came from Lycia-land + With mighty-hearted Glaucus, from his home + In Melanippion on the mountain-ridge, + Athena's fane, which Massikyton fronts + Anigh Chelidonia's headland, dreaded sore + Of scared seafarers, when its lowering crags + Must needs be doubled. For his death the blood + Of famed Hippolochus' son was horror-chilled; + For this was his dear friend. With one swift thrust + He pierced the sevenfold hides of Aias' shield, + Yet touched his flesh not; stayed the spear-head was + By those thick hides and by the corset-plate + Which lapped his battle-tireless limbs. But still + From that stern conflict Glaucus drew not back, + Burning to vanquish Aias, Aeacus' son, + And in his folly vaunting threatened him: + "Aias, men name thee mightiest man of all + The Argives, hold thee in passing-high esteem + Even as Achilles: therefore thou, I wot, + By that dead warrior dead this day shalt lie!" + + So hurled he forth a vain word, knowing not + How far in might above him was the man + Whom his spear threatened. Battle-bider Aias + Darkly and scornfully glaring on him, said + "Thou craven wretch, and knowest thou not this, + How much was Hector mightier than thou + In war-craft? yet before my might, my spear, + He shrank. Ay, with his valour was there blent + Discretion. Thou thy thoughts are deathward set, + Who dar'st defy me to the battle, me, + A mightier far than thou! Thou canst not say + That friendship of our fathers thee shall screen; + Nor me thy gifts shall wile to let thee pass + Scatheless from war, as once did Tydeus' son. + Though thou didst 'scape his fury, will not I + Suffer thee to return alive from war. + Ha, in thy many helpers dost thou trust + Who with thee, like so many worthless flies, + Flit round the noble Achilles' corpse? To these + Death and black doom shall my swift onset deal." + + Then on the Trojans this way and that he turned, + As mid long forest-glens a lion turns + On hounds, and Trojans many and Lycians slew + That came for honour hungry, till he stood + Mid a wide ring of flinchers; like a shoal + Of darting fish when sails into their midst + Dolphin or shark, a huge sea-fosterling; + So shrank they from the might of Telamon's son, + As aye he charged amidst the rout. But still + Swarmed fighters up, till round Achilles' corse + To right, to left, lay in the dust the slain + Countless, as boars around a lion at bay; + And evermore the strife waxed deadlier. + Then too Hippolochus' war-wise son was slain + By Aias of the heart of fire. He fell + Backward upon Achilles, even as falls + A sapling on a sturdy mountain-oak; + So quelled by the spear on Peleus' son he fell. + But for his rescue Anchises' stalwart son + Strove hard, with all his comrades battle-fain, + And haled the corse forth, and to sorrowing friends + Gave it, to bear to Ilium's hallowed burg. + Himself to spoil Achilles still fought on, + Till warrior Aias pierced him with the spear + Through the right forearm. Swiftly leapt he back + From murderous war, and hasted thence to Troy. + There for his healing cunning leeches wrought, + Who stanched the blood-rush, and laid on the gash + Balms, such as salve war-stricken warriors' pangs. + + But Aias still fought on: here, there he slew + With thrusts like lightning-flashes. His great heart + Ached sorely for his mighty cousin slain. + And now the warrior-king Laertes' son + Fought at his side: before him blenched the foe, + As he smote down Peisander's fleetfoot son, + The warrior Maenalus, who left his home + In far-renowned Abydos: down on him + He hurled Atymnius, the goodly son + Whom Pegasis the bright-haired Nymph had borne + To strong Emathion by Granicus' stream. + Dead by his side he laid Orestius' son, + Proteus, who dwelt 'neath lofty Ida's folds. + Ah, never did his mother welcome home + That son from war, Panaceia beauty-famed! + He fell by Odysseus' hands, who spilt the lives + Of many more whom his death-hungering spear + Reached in that fight around the mighty dead. + Yet Alcon, son of Megacles battle-swift, + Hard by Odysseus' right knee drave the spear + Home, and about the glittering greave the blood + Dark-crimson welled. He recked not of the wound, + But was unto his smiter sudden death; + For clear through his shield he stabbed him with his spear + Amidst his battle-fury: to the earth + Backward he dashed him by his giant might + And strength of hand: clashed round him in the dust + His armour, and his corslet was distained + With crimson life-blood. Forth from flesh and shield + The hero plucked the spear of death: the soul + Followed the lance-head from the body forth, + And life forsook its mortal mansion. Then + Rushed on his comrades, in his wound's despite, + Odysseus, nor from that stern battle-toil + Refrained him. And by this a mingled host + Of Danaans eager-hearted fought around + The mighty dead, and many and many a foe + Slew they with those smooth-shafted ashen spears. + Even as the winds strew down upon the ground + The flying leaves, when through the forest-glades + Sweep the wild gusts, as waneth autumn-tide, + And the old year is dying; so the spears + Of dauntless Danaans strewed the earth with slain, + For loyal to dead Achilles were they all, + And loyal to hero Aias to the death. + For like black Doom he blasted the ranks of Troy. + Then against Aias Paris strained his bow; + But he was ware thereof, and sped a stone + Swift to the archer's head: that bolt of death + Crashed through his crested helm, and darkness closed + Round him. In dust down fell he: naught availed + His shafts their eager lord, this way and that + Scattered in dust: empty his quiver lay, + Flew from his hand the bow. In haste his friends + Upcaught him from the earth, and Hector's steeds + Hurried him thence to Troy, scarce drawing breath, + And moaning in his pain. Nor left his men + The weapons of their lord, but gathered up + All from the plain, and bare them to the prince; + While Aias after him sent a wrathful shout: + "Dog, thou hast 'scaped the heavy hand of death + To-day! But swiftly thy last hour shall come + By some strong Argive's hands, or by mine own, + But now have I a nobler task in hand, + From murder's grip to rescue Achilles' corse." + Then turned he on the foe, hurling swift doom + On such as fought around Peleides yet. + 'These saw how many yielded up the ghost + Neath his strong hands, and, with hearts failing them + For fear, against him could they stand no more. + As rascal vultures were they, which the swoop + Of an eagle, king of birds, scares far away + From carcasses of sheep that wolves have torn; + So this way, that way scattered they before + The hurtling stones, the sword, the might of Aias. + In utter panic from the war they fled, + In huddled rout, like starlings from the swoop + Of a death-dealing hawk, when, fleeing bane, + One drives against another, as they dart + All terror-huddled in tumultuous flight. + So from the war to Priam's burg they fled + Wretchedly clad with terror as a cloak, + Quailing from mighty Aias' battle-shout, + As with hands dripping blood-gouts he pursued. + Yea, all, one after other, had he slain, + Had they not streamed through city-gates flung wide + Hard-panting, pierced to the very heart with fear. + Pent therewithin he left them, as a shepherd + Leaves folded sheep, and strode back o'er the plain; + Yet never touched he with his feet the ground, + But aye he trod on dead men, arms, and blood; + For countless corpses lay o'er that wide stretch + Even from broad-wayed Troy to Hellespont, + Bodies of strong men slain, the spoil of Doom. + As when the dense stalks of sun-ripened corn + Fall 'neath the reapers' hands, and the long swaths, + Heavy with full ears, overspread the field, + And joys the heart of him who oversees + The toil, lord of the harvest; even so, + By baleful havoc overmastered, lay + All round face-downward men remembering not + The death-denouncing war-shout. But the sons + Of fair Achaea left their slaughtered foes + In dust and blood unstripped of arms awhile + Till they should lay upon the pyre the son + Of Peleus, who in battle-shock had been + Their banner of victory, charging in his might. + So the kings drew him from that stricken field + Straining beneath the weight of giant limbs, + And with all loving care they bore him on, + And laid him in his tent before the ships. + And round him gathered that great host, and wailed + Heart-anguished him who had been the Achaeans' strength, + And now, forgotten all the splendour of spears, + Lay mid the tents by moaning Hellespont, + In stature more than human, even as lay + Tityos, who sought to force Queen Leto, when + She fared to Pytho: swiftly in his wrath + Apollo shot, and laid him low, who seemed + Invincible: in a foul lake of gore + There lay he, covering many a rood of ground, + On the broad earth, his mother; and she moaned + Over her son, of blessed Gods abhorred; + But Lady Leto laughed. So grand of mould + There in the foemen's land lay Aeacus' son, + For joy to Trojans, but for endless grief + To Achaean men lamenting. Moaned the air + With sighing from the abysses of the sea; + And passing heavy grew the hearts of all, + Thinking: "Now shall we perish by the hands + Of Trojans!" Then by those dark ships they thought + Of white-haired fathers left in halls afar, + Of wives new-wedded, who by couches cold + Mourned, waiting, waiting, with their tender babes + For husbands unreturning; and they groaned + In bitterness of soul. A passion of grief + Came o'er their hearts; they fell upon their faces + On the deep sand flung down, and wept as men + All comfortless round Peleus' mighty son, + And clutched and plucked out by the roots their hair, + And east upon their heads defiling sand. + Their cry was like the cry that goeth up + From folk that after battle by their walls + Are slaughtered, when their maddened foes set fire + To a great city, and slay in heaps on heaps + Her people, and make spoil of all her wealth; + So wild and high they wailed beside the sea, + Because the Danaans' champion, Aeacus' son, + Lay, grand in death, by a God's arrow slain, + As Ares lay, when She of the Mighty Father + With that huge stone down dashed him on Troy's plain. + + Ceaselessly wailed the Myrmidons Achilles, + A ring of mourners round the kingly dead, + That kind heart, friend alike to each and all, + To no man arrogant nor hard of mood, + But ever tempering strength with courtesy. + + Then Aias first, deep-groaning, uttered forth + His yearning o'er his father's brother's son + God-stricken--ay, no man had smitten him + Of all upon the wide-wayed earth that dwell! + Him glorious Aias heavy-hearted mourned, + Now wandering to the tent of Peleus' son, + Now cast down all his length, a giant form, + On the sea-sands; and thus lamented he: + "Achilles, shield and sword of Argive men, + Thou hast died in Troy, from Phthia's plains afar, + Smitten unwares by that accursed shaft, + Such thing as weakling dastards aim in fight! + For none who trusts in wielding the great shield, + None who for war can skill to set the helm + Upon his brows, and sway the spear in grip, + And cleave the brass about the breasts of foes, + Warreth with arrows, shrinking from the fray. + Not man to man he met thee, whoso smote; + Else woundless never had he 'scaped thy lance! + But haply Zeus purposed to ruin all, + And maketh all our toil and travail vain-- + Ay, now will grant the Trojans victory + Who from Achaea now hath reft her shield! + Ah me! how shall old Peleus in his halls + Take up the burden of a mighty grief + Now in his joyless age! His heart shall break + At the mere rumour of it. Better so, + Thus in a moment to forget all pain. + But if these evil tidings slay him not, + Ah, laden with sore sorrow eld shall come + Upon him, eating out his heart with grief + By a lone hearth Peleus so passing dear + Once to the Blessed! But the Gods vouchsafe + No perfect happiness to hapless men." + + So he in grief lamented Peleus' son. + Then ancient Phoenix made heart-stricken moan, + Clasping the noble form of Aeacus' seed, + And in wild anguish wailed the wise of heart: + "Thou art reft from me, dear child, and cureless pain + Hast left to me! Oh that upon my face + The veiling earth had fallen, ere I saw + Thy bitter doom! No pang more terrible + Hath ever stabbed mine heart no, not that hour + Of exile, when I fled from fatherland + And noble parents, fleeing Hellas through, + Till Peleus welcomed me with gifts, and lord + Of his Dolopians made me. In his arms + Thee through his halls one day he bare, and set + Upon my knees, and bade me foster thee, + His babe, with all love, as mine own dear child: + I hearkened to him: blithely didst thou cling + About mine heart, and, babbling wordless speech, + Didst call me `father' oft, and didst bedew + My breast and tunic with thy baby lips. + Ofttimes with soul that laughed for glee I held + Thee in mine arms; for mine heart whispered me + `This fosterling through life shall care for thee, + Staff of thine age shall be.' And that mine hope + Was for a little while fulfilled; but now + Thou hast vanished into darkness, and to me + Is left long heart-ache wild with all regret. + Ah, might my sorrow slay me, ere the tale + To noble Peleus come! When on his ears + Falleth the heavy tidings, he shall weep + And wail without surcease. Most piteous grief + We twain for thy sake shall inherit aye, + Thy sire and I, who, ere our day of doom, + Mourning shall go down to the grave for thee-- + Ay, better this than life unholpen of thee!" + + So moaned his ever-swelling tide of grief. + And Atreus' son beside him mourned and wept + With heart on fire with inly smouldering pain: + "Thou hast perished, chiefest of the Danaan men, + Hast perished, and hast left the Achaean host + Fenceless! Now thou art fallen, are they left + An easier prey to foes. Thou hast given joy + To Trojans by thy fall, who dreaded thee + As sheep a lion. These with eager hearts + Even to the ships will bring the battle now. + Zeus, Father, thou too with deceitful words + Beguilest mortals! Thou didst promise me + That Priam's burg should be destroyed; but now + That promise given dost thou not fulfil, + But thou didst cheat mine heart: I shall not win + The war's goal, now Achilles is no more." + + So did he cry heart-anguished. Mourned all round + Wails multitudinous for Peleus' son: + The dark ships echoed back the voice of grief, + And sighed and sobbed the immeasurable air. + And as when long sea-rollers, onward driven + By a great wind, heave up far out at sea, + And strandward sweep with terrible rush, and aye + Headland and beach with shattered spray are scourged, + And roar unceasing; so a dread sound rose + Of moaning of the Danaans round the corse, + Ceaselessly wailing Peleus' aweless son. + + And on their mourning soon black night had come, + But spake unto Atreides Neleus' son, + Nestor, whose own heart bare its load of grief + Remembering his own son Antilochus: + "O mighty Agamemnon, sceptre-lord + Of Argives, from wide-shrilling lamentation + Refrain we for this day. None shall withhold + Hereafter these from all their heart's desire + Of weeping and lamenting many days. + But now go to, from aweless Aeacus' son + Wash we the foul blood-gouts, and lay we him + Upon a couch: unseemly it is to shame + The dead by leaving them untended long." + + So counselled Neleus' son, the passing-wise. + Then hasted he his men, and bade them set + Caldrons of cold spring-water o'er the flames, + And wash the corse, and clothe in vesture fair, + Sea-purple, which his mother gave her son + At his first sailing against Troy. With speed + They did their lord's command: with loving care, + All service meetly rendered, on a couch + Laid they the mighty fallen, Peleus' son. + + The Trito-born, the passing-wise, beheld + And pitied him, and showered upon his head + Ambrosia, which hath virtue aye to keep + Taintless, men say, the flesh of warriors slain. + Like softly-breathing sleeper dewy-fresh + She made him: over that dead face she drew + A stern frown, even as when he lay, with wrath + Darkening his grim face, clasping his slain friend + Patroclus; and she made his frame to be + More massive, like a war-god to behold. + And wonder seized the Argives, as they thronged + And saw the image of a living man, + Where all the stately length of Peleus' son + Lay on the couch, and seemed as though he slept. + + Around him all the woeful captive-maids, + Whom he had taken for a prey, what time + He had ravaged hallowed Lemnos, and had scaled + The towered crags of Thebes, Eetion's town, + Wailed, as they stood and rent their fair young flesh, + And smote their breasts, and from their hearts bemoaned + That lord of gentleness and courtesy, + Who honoured even the daughters of his foes. + And stricken most of all with heart-sick pain + Briseis, hero Achilles' couchmate, bowed + Over the dead, and tore her fair young flesh + With ruthless fingers, shrieking: her soft breast + Was ridged with gory weals, so cruelly + She smote it thou hadst said that crimson blood + Had dripped on milk. Yet, in her griefs despite, + Her winsome loveliness shone out, and grace + Hung like a veil about her, as she wailed: + "Woe for this grief passing all griefs beside! + Never on me came anguish like to this + Not when my brethren died, my fatherland + Was wasted--like this anguish for thy death! + Thou wast my day, my sunlight, my sweet life, + Mine hope of good, my strong defence from harm, + Dearer than all my beauty--yea, more dear + Than my lost parents! Thou wast all in all + To me, thou only, captive though I be. + Thou tookest from me every bondmaid's task + And like a wife didst hold me. Ah, but now + Me shall some new Achaean master bear + To fertile Sparta, or to thirsty Argos. + The bitter cup of thraldom shall I drain, + Severed, ah me, from thee! Oh that the earth + Had veiled my dead face ere I saw thy doom!" + + So for slain Peleus' son did she lament + With woeful handmaids and heart-anguished Greeks, + Mourning a king, a husband. Never dried + Her tears were: ever to the earth they streamed + Like sunless water trickling from a rock + While rime and snow yet mantle o'er the earth + Above it; yet the frost melts down before + The east-wind and the flame-shafts of the sun. + + Now came the sound of that upringing wail + To Nereus' Daughters, dwellers in the depths + Unfathomed. With sore anguish all their hearts + Were smitten: piteously they moaned: their cry + Shivered along the waves of Hellespont. + Then with dark mantles overpalled they sped + Swiftly to where the Argive men were thronged. + As rushed their troop up silver paths of sea, + The flood disported round them as they came. + With one wild cry they floated up; it rang, + A sound as when fleet-flying cranes forebode + A great storm. Moaned the monsters of the deep + Plaintively round that train of mourners. Fast + On sped they to their goal, with awesome cry + Wailing the while their sister's mighty son. + Swiftly from Helicon the Muses came + Heart-burdened with undying grief, for love + And honour to the Nereid starry-eyed. + + Then Zeus with courage filled the Argive men, + That-eyes of flesh might undismayed behold + That glorious gathering of Goddesses. + Then those Divine Ones round Achilles' corse + Pealed forth with one voice from immortal lips + A lamentation. Rang again the shores + Of Hellespont. As rain upon the earth + Their tears fell round the dead man, Aeacus' son; + For out of depths of sorrow rose their moan. + And all the armour, yea, the tents, the ships + Of that great sorrowing multitude were wet + With tears from ever-welling springs of grief. + His mother cast her on him, clasping him, + And kissed her son's lips, crying through her tears: + "Now let the rosy-vestured Dawn in heaven + Exult! Now let broad-flowing Axius + Exult, and for Asteropaeus dead + Put by his wrath! Let Priam's seed be glad + But I unto Olympus will ascend, + And at the feet of everlasting Zeus + Will cast me, bitterly planning that he gave + Me, an unwilling bride, unto a man-- + A man whom joyless eld soon overtook, + To whom the Fates are near, with death for gift. + Yet not so much for his lot do I grieve + As for Achilles; for Zeus promised me + To make him glorious in the Aeacid halls, + In recompense for the bridal I so loathed + That into wild wind now I changed me, now + To water, now in fashion as a bird + I was, now as the blast of flame; nor might + A mortal win me for his bride, who seemed + All shapes in turn that earth and heaven contain, + Until the Olympian pledged him to bestow + A godlike son on me, a lord of war. + Yea, in a manner this did he fulfil + Faithfully; for my son was mightiest + Of men. But Zeus made brief his span of life + Unto my sorrow. Therefore up to heaven + Will I: to Zeus's mansion will I go + And wail my son, and will put Zeus in mind + Of all my travail for him and his sons + In their sore stress, and sting his soul with shame." + + So in her wild lament the Sea-queen cried. + But now to Thetis spake Calliope, + She in whose heart was steadfast wisdom throned: + "From lamentation, Thetis, now forbear, + And do not, in the frenzy of thy grief + For thy lost son, provoke to wrath the Lord + Of Gods and men. Lo, even sons of Zeus, + The Thunder-king, have perished, overborne + By evil fate. Immortal though I be, + Mine own son Orpheus died, whose magic song + Drew all the forest-trees to follow him, + And every craggy rock and river-stream, + And blasts of winds shrill-piping stormy-breathed, + And birds that dart through air on rushing wings. + Yet I endured mine heavy sorrow: Gods + Ought not with anguished grief to vex their souls. + Therefore make end of sorrow-stricken wail + For thy brave child; for to the sons of earth + Minstrels shall chant his glory and his might, + By mine and by my sisters' inspiration, + Unto the end of time. Let not thy soul + Be crushed by dark grief, nor do thou lament + Like those frail mortal women. Know'st thou not + That round all men which dwell upon the earth + Hovereth irresistible deadly Fate, + Who recks not even of the Gods? Such power + She only hath for heritage. Yea, she + Soon shall destroy gold-wealthy Priam's town, + And Trojans many and Argives doom to death, + Whomso she will. No God can stay her hand." + + So in her wisdom spake Calliope. + Then plunged the sun down into Ocean's stream, + And sable-vestured Night came floating up + O'er the wide firmament, and brought her boon + Of sleep to sorrowing mortals. On the sands + There slept they, all the Achaean host, with heads + Bowed 'neath the burden of calamity. + But upon Thetis sleep laid not his hand: + Still with the deathless Nereids by the sea + She sate; on either side the Muses spake + One after other comfortable words + To make that sorrowing heart forget its pain. + + But when with a triumphant laugh the Dawn + Soared up the sky, and her most radiant light + Shed over all the Trojans and their king, + Then, sorrowing sorely for Achilles still, + The Danaans woke to weep. Day after day, + For many days they wept. Around them moaned + Far-stretching beaches of the sea, and mourned + Great Nereus for his daughter Thetis' sake; + And mourned with him the other Sea-gods all + For dead Achilles. Then the Argives gave + The corpse of great Peleides to the flame. + A pyre of countless tree-trunks built they up + Which, all with one mind toiling, from the heights + Of Ida they brought down; for Atreus' sons + Sped on the work, and charged them to bring thence + Wood without measure, that consumed with speed + Might be Achilles' body. All around + Piled they about the pyre much battle-gear + Of strong men slain; and slew and cast thereon + Full many goodly sons of Trojan men, + And snorting steeds, and mighty bulls withal, + And sheep and fatling swine thereon they cast. + And wailing captive maids from coffers brought + Mantles untold; all cast they on the pyre: + Gold heaped they there and amber. All their hair + The Myrmidons shore, and shrouded with the same + The body of their king. Briseis laid + Her own shorn tresses on the corpse, her gift, + Her last, unto her lord. Great jars of oil + Full many poured they out thereon, with jars + Of honey and of wine, rich blood of the grape + That breathed an odour as of nectar, yea, + Cast incense-breathing perfumes manifold + Marvellous sweet, the precious things put forth + By earth, and treasures of the sea divine. + + Then, when all things were set in readiness + About the pyre, all, footmen, charioteers, + Compassed that woeful bale, clashing their arms, + While, from the viewless heights Olympian, Zeus + Rained down ambrosia on dead Aeacus' son. + For honour to the Goddess, Nereus' child, + He sent to Aeolus Hermes, bidding him + Summon the sacred might of his swift winds, + For that the corpse of Aeacus' son must now + Be burned. With speed he went, and Aeolus + Refused not: the tempestuous North in haste + He summoned, and the wild blast of the West; + And to Troy sped they on their whirlwind wings. + Fast in mad onrush, fast across the deep + They darted; roared beneath them as they flew + The sea, the land; above crashed thunder-voiced + Clouds headlong hurtling through the firmament. + Then by decree of Zeus down on the pyre + Of slain Achilles, like a charging host + Swooped they; upleapt the Fire-god's madding breath: + Uprose a long wail from the Myrmidons. + Then, though with whirlwind rushes toiled the winds, + All day, all night, they needs must fan the flames + Ere that death-pyre burned out. Up to the heavens + Vast-volumed rolled the smoke. The huge tree-trunks + Groaned, writhing, bursting, in the heat, and dropped + The dark-grey ash all round. So when the winds + Had tirelessly fulfilled their mighty task, + Back to their cave they rode cloud-charioted. + + Then, when the fire had last of all consumed + That hero-king, when all the steeds, the men + Slain round the pyre had first been ravined up, + With all the costly offerings laid around + The mighty dead by Achaia's weeping sons, + The glowing embers did the Myrmidons quench + With wine. Then clear to be discerned were seen + His bones; for nowise like the rest were they, + But like an ancient Giant's; none beside + With these were blent; for bulls and steeds, and sons + Of Troy, with all that mingled hecatomb, + Lay in a wide ring round his corse, and he + Amidst them, flame-devoured, lay there alone. + So his companions groaning gathered up + His bones, and in a silver casket laid + Massy and deep, and banded and bestarred + With flashing gold; and Nereus' daughters shed + Ambrosia over them, and precious nards + For honour to Achilles: fat of kine + And amber honey poured they over all. + A golden vase his mother gave, the gift + In old time of the Wine-god, glorious work + Of the craft-master Fire-god, in the which + They laid the casket that enclosed the bones + Of mighty-souled Achilles. All around + The Argives heaped a barrow, a giant sign, + Upon a foreland's uttermost end, beside + The Hellespont's deep waters, wailing loud + Farewells unto the Myrmidons' hero-king. + + Nor stayed the immortal steeds of Aeacus' son + Tearless beside the ships; they also mourned + Their slain king: sorely loth were they to abide + Longer mid mortal men or Argive steeds + Bearing a burden of consuming grief; + But fain were they to soar through air, afar + From wretched men, over the Ocean's streams, + Over the Sea-queen's caverns, unto where + Divine Podarge bare that storm-foot twain + Begotten of the West-wind clarion-voiced + Yea, and they had accomplished their desire, + But the Gods' purpose held them back, until + From Scyros' isle Achilles' fleetfoot son + Should come. Him waited they to welcome, when + He came unto the war-host; for the Fates, + Daughters of holy Chaos, at their birth + Had spun the life-threads of those deathless foals, + Even to serve Poseidon first, and next + Peleus the dauntless king, Achilles then + The invincible, and, after these, the fourth, + The mighty-hearted Neoptolemus, + Whom after death to the Elysian Plain + They were to bear, unto the Blessed Land, + By Zeus' decree. For which cause, though their hearts + Were pierced with bitter anguish, they abode + Still by the ships, with spirits sorrowing + For their old lord, and yearning for the new. + + Then from the surge of heavy-plunging seas + Rose the Earth-shaker. No man saw his feet + Pace up the strand, but suddenly he stood + Beside the Nereid Goddesses, and spake + To Thetis, yet for Achilles bowed with grief: + "Refrain from endless mourning for thy son. + Not with the dead shall he abide, but dwell + With Gods, as doth the might of Herakles, + And Dionysus ever fair. Not him + Dread doom shall prison in darkness evermore, + Nor Hades keep him. To the light of Zeus + Soon shall he rise; and I will give to him + A holy island for my gift: it lies + Within the Euxine Sea: there evermore + A God thy son shall be. The tribes that dwell + Around shall as mine own self honour him + With incense and with steam of sacrifice. + Hush thy laments, vex not thine heart with grief." + + Then like a wind-breath had he passed away + Over the sea, when that consoling word + Was spoken; and a little in her breast + Revived the spirit of Thetis: and the God + Brought this to pass thereafter. All the host + Moved moaning thence, and came unto the ships + That brought them o'er from Hellas. Then returned + To Helicon the Muses: 'neath the sea, + Wailing the dear dead, Nereus' Daughters sank, + + + +BOOK IV + +How in the Funeral Games of Achilles heroes contended. + + + Nor did the hapless Trojans leave unwept + The warrior-king Hippolochus' hero-son, + But laid, in front of the Dardanian gate, + Upon the pyre that captain war-renowned. + But him Apollo's self caught swiftly up + Out of the blazing fire, and to the winds + Gave him, to bear away to Lycia-land; + And fast and far they bare him, 'neath the glens + Of high Telandrus, to a lovely glade; + And for a monument above his grave + Upheaved a granite rock. The Nymphs therefrom + Made gush the hallowed water of a stream + For ever flowing, which the tribes of men + Still call fair-fleeting Glaucus. This the gods + Wrought for an honour to the Lycian king. + + But for Achilles still the Argives mourned + Beside the swift ships: heart-sick were they all + With dolorous pain and grief. Each yearned for him + As for a son; no eye in that wide host + Was tearless. But the Trojans with great joy + Exulted, seeing their sorrow from afar, + And the great fire that spake their foe consumed. + And thus a vaunting voice amidst them cried: + "Now hath Cronion from his heaven vouchsafed + A joy past hope unto our longing eyes, + To see Achilles fallen before Troy. + Now he is smitten down, the glorious hosts + Of Troy, I trow, shall win a breathing-space + From blood of death and from the murderous fray. + Ever his heart devised the Trojans' bane; + In his hands maddened aye the spear of doom + With gore besprent, and none of us that faced + Him in the fight beheld another dawn. + But now, I wot, Achaea's valorous sons + Shall flee unto their galleys shapely-prowed, + Since slain Achilles lies. Ah that the might + Of Hector still were here, that he might slay + The Argives one and all amidst their tents!" + + So in unbridled joy a Trojan cried; + But one more wise and prudent answered him: + "Thou deemest that yon murderous Danaan host + Will straightway get them to the ships, to flee + Over the misty sea. Nay, still their lust + Is hot for fight: us will they nowise fear, + Still are there left strong battle-eager men, + As Aias, as Tydeides, Atreus' sons: + Though dead Achilles be, I still fear these. + Oh that Apollo Silverbow would end them! + Then in that day were given to our prayers + A breathing-space from war and ghastly death." + + In heaven was dole among the Immortal Ones, + Even all that helped the stalwart Danaans' cause. + In clouds like mountains piled they veiled their heads + For grief of soul. But glad those others were + Who fain would speed Troy to a happy goal. + Then unto Cronos' Son great Hera spake: + "Zeus, Lightning-father, wherefore helpest thou + Troy, all forgetful of the fair-haired bride + Whom once to Peleus thou didst give to wife + Midst Pelion's glens? Thyself didst bring to pass + Those spousals of a Goddess: on that day + All we Immortals feasted there, and gave + Gifts passing-fair. All this dost thou forget, + And hast devised for Hellas heaviest woe." + + So spake she; but Zeus answered not a word; + For pondering there he sat with burdened breast, + Thinking how soon the Argives should destroy + The city of Priam, thinking how himself + Would visit on the victors ruin dread + In war and on the great sea thunder-voiced. + Such thoughts were his, ere long to be fulfilled. + + Now sank the sun to Ocean's fathomless flood: + O'er the dim land the infinite darkness stole, + Wherein men gain a little rest from toil. + Then by the ships, despite their sorrow, supped + The Argives, for ye cannot thrust aside + Hunger's importunate craving, when it comes + Upon the breast, but straightway heavy and faint + Lithe limbs become; nor is there remedy + Until one satisfy this clamorous guest + Therefore these ate the meat of eventide + In grief for Achilles' hard necessity + Constrained them all. And, when they had broken bread, + Sweet sleep came on them, loosening from their frames + Care's heavy chain, and quickening strength anew + + But when the starry Bears had eastward turned + Their heads, expectant of the uprushing light + Of Helios, and when woke the Queen of Dawn, + Then rose from sleep the stalwart Argive men + Purposing for the Trojans death and doom. + Stirred were they like the roughly-ridging sea + Icarian, or as sudden-rippling corn + In harvest field, what time the rushing wings + Of the cloud-gathering West sweep over it; + So upon Hellespont's strand the folk were stirred. + And to those eager hearts cried Tydeus' son: + "If we be battle-biders, friends, indeed, + More fiercely fight we now the hated foe, + Lest they take heart because Achilles lives + No longer. Come, with armour, car, and steed + Let us beset them. Glory waits our toil?" + + But battle-eager Aias answering spake + "Brave be thy words, and nowise idle talk, + Kindling the dauntless Argive men, whose hearts + Before were battle-eager, to the fight + Against the Trojan men, O Tydeus' son. + But we must needs abide amidst the ships + Till Goddess Thetis come forth of the sea; + For that her heart is purposed to set here + Fair athlete-prizes for the funeral-games. + This yesterday she told me, ere she plunged + Into sea-depths, yea, spake to me apart + From other Danaans; and, I trow, by this + Her haste hath brought her nigh. Yon Trojan men, + Though Peleus' son hath died, shall have small heart + For battle, while myself am yet alive, + And thou, and noble Atreus' son, the king." + + So spake the mighty son of Telamon, + But knew not that a dark and bitter doom + For him should follow hard upon those games + By Fate's contrivance. Answered Tydeus' son + "O friend, if Thetis comes indeed this day + With goodly gifts for her son's funeral-games, + Then bide we by the ships, and keep we here + All others. Meet it is to do the will + Of the Immortals: yea, to Achilles too, + Though the Immortals willed it not, ourselves + Must render honour grateful to the dead." + + So spake the battle-eager Tydeus' son. + And lo, the Bride of Peleus gliding came + Forth of the sea, like the still breath of dawn, + And suddenly was with the Argive throng + Where eager-faced they waited, some, that looked + Soon to contend in that great athlete-strife, + And some, to joy in seeing the mighty strive. + Amidst that gathering Thetis sable-stoled + Set down her prizes, and she summoned forth + Achaea's champions: at her best they came. + + But first amidst them all rose Neleus' son, + Not as desiring in the strife of fists + To toil, nor strain of wrestling; for his arms + And all his sinews were with grievous eld + Outworn, but still his heart and brain were strong. + Of all the Achaeans none could match himself + Against him in the folkmote's war of words; + Yea, even Laertes' glorious son to him + Ever gave place when men for speech were met; + Nor he alone, but even the kingliest + Of Argives, Agamemnon, lord of spears. + Now in their midst he sang the gracious Queen + Of Nereids, sang how she in willsomeness + Of beauty was of all the Sea-maids chief. + Well-pleased she hearkened. Yet again he sang, + Singing of Peleus' Bridal of Delight, + Which all the blest Immortals brought to pass + By Pelion's crests; sang of the ambrosial feast + When the swift Hours brought in immortal hands + Meats not of earth, and heaped in golden maunds; + Sang how the silver tables were set forth + In haste by Themis blithely laughing; sang + How breathed Hephaestus purest flame of fire; + Sang how the Nymphs in golden chalices + Mingled ambrosia; sang the ravishing dance + Twined by the Graces' feet; sang of the chant + The Muses raised, and how its spell enthralled + All mountains, rivers, all the forest brood; + How raptured was the infinite firmament, + Cheiron's fair caverns, yea, the very Gods. + + Such noble strain did Neleus' son pour out + Into the Argives' eager ears; and they + Hearkened with ravished souls. Then in their midst + He sang once more the imperishable deeds + Of princely Achilles. All the mighty throng + Acclaimed him with delight. From that beginning + With fitly chosen words did he extol + The glorious hero; how he voyaged and smote + Twelve cities; how he marched o'er leagues on leagues + Of land, and spoiled eleven; how he slew + Telephus and Eetion's might renowned + In Thebe; how his spear laid Cyenus low, + Poseidon's son, and godlike Polydorus, + Troilus the goodly, princely Asteropaeus; + And how he dyed with blood the river-streams + Of Xanthus, and with countless corpses choked + His murmuring flow, when from the limbs he tore + Lycaon's life beside the sounding river; + And how he smote down Hector; how he slew + Penthesileia, and the godlike son + Of splendour-throned Dawn;--all this he sang + To Argives which already knew the tale; + Sang of his giant mould, how no man's strength + In fight could stand against him, nor in games + Where strong men strive for mastery, where the swift + Contend with flying feet or hurrying wheels + Of chariots, nor in combat panoplied; + And how in goodlihead he far outshone + All Danaans, and how his bodily might + Was measureless in the stormy clash of war. + Last, he prayed Heaven that he might see a son + Like that great sire from sea-washed Scyros come. + + That noble song acclaiming Argives praised; + Yea, silver-looted Thetis smiled, and gave + The singer fleetfoot horses, given of old + Beside Caicus' mouth by Telephus + To Achilles, when he healed the torturing wound + With that same spear wherewith himself had pierced + Telephus' thigh, and thrust the point clear through. + These Nestor Neleus' son to his comrades gave, + And, glorying in their godlike lord, they led + The steeds unto his ships. Then Thetis set + Amidst the athlete-ring ten kine, to be + Her prizes for the footrace, and by each + Ran a fair suckling calf. These the bold might + Of Peleus' tireless son had driven down + From slopes of Ida, prizes of his spear. + + To strive for these rose up two victory-fain, + Teucer the first, the son of Telamon, + And Aias, of the Locrian archers chief. + These twain with swift hands girded them about + With loin-cloths, reverencing the Goddess-bride + Of Peleus, and the Sea-maids, who with her + Came to behold the Argives' athlete-sport. + And Atreus' son, lord of all Argive men, + Showed them the turning-goal of that swift course. + Then these the Queen of Rivalry spurred on, + As from the starting-line like falcons swift + They sped away. Long doubtful was the race: + Now, as the Argives gazed, would Aias' friends + Shout, now rang out the answering cheer from friends + Of Teucer. But when in their eager speed + Close on the end they were, then Teucer's feet + Were trammelled by unearthly powers: some god + Or demon dashed his foot against the stock + Of a deep-rooted tamarisk. Sorely wrenched + Was his left ankle: round the joint upswelled + The veins high-ridged. A great shout rang from all + That watched the contest. Aias darted past + Exultant: ran his Locrian folk to hail + Their lord, with sudden joy in all their souls. + Then to his ships they drave the kine, and cast + Fodder before them. Eager-helpful friends + Led Teucer halting thence. The leeches drew + Blood from his foot: then over it they laid + Soft-shredded linen ointment-smeared, and swathed + With smooth bands round, and charmed away the pain. + + Then swiftly rose two mighty-hearted ones + Eager to match their strength in wrestling strain, + The son of Tydeus and the giant Aias. + Into the midst they strode, and marvelling gazed + The Argives on men shapen like to gods. + Then grappled they, like lions famine-stung + Fighting amidst the mountains o'er a stag, + Whose strength is even-balanced; no whit less + Is one than other in their deadly rage; + So these long time in might were even-matched, + Till Aias locked his strong hands round the son + Of Tydeus, straining hard to break his back; + But he, with wrestling-craft and strength combined, + Shifted his hip 'neath Telamon's son, and heaved + The giant up; with a side-twist wrenched free + From Aias' ankle-lock his thigh, and so + With one huge shoulder-heave to earth he threw + That mighty champion, and himself came down + Astride him: then a mighty shout went up. + But battle-stormer Aias, chafed in mind, + Sprang up, hot-eager to essay again + That grim encounter. From his terrible hands + He dashed the dust, and challenged furiously + With a great voice Tydeides: not a whit + That other quailed, but rushed to close with him. + Rolled up the dust in clouds from 'neath their feet: + Hurtling they met like battling mountain-bulls + That clash to prove their dauntless strength, and spurn + The dust, while with their roaring all the hills + Re-echo: in their desperate fury these + Dash their strong heads together, straining long + Against each other with their massive strength, + Hard-panting in the fierce rage of their strife, + While from their mouths drip foam-flakes to the ground; + So strained they twain with grapple of brawny hands. + 'Neath that hard grip their backs and sinewy necks + Cracked, even as when in mountain-glades the trees + Dash storm-tormented boughs together. Oft + Tydeides clutched at Aias' brawny thighs, + But could not stir his steadfast-rooted feet. + Oft Aias hurled his whole weight on him, bowed + His shoulders backward, strove to press him down; + And to new grips their hands were shifting aye. + All round the gazing people shouted, some + Cheering on glorious Tydeus' son, and some + The might of Aias. Then the giant swung + The shoulders of his foe to right, to left; + Then gripped him 'neath the waist; with one fierce heave + And giant effort hurled him like a stone + To earth. The floor of Troyland rang again + As fell Tydeides: shouted all the folk. + Yet leapt he up all eager to contend + With giant Aias for the third last fall: + But Nestor rose and spake unto the twain: + "From grapple of wrestling, noble sons, forbear; + For all we know that ye be mightiest + Of Argives since the great Achilles died." + + Then these from toil refrained, and from their brows + Wiped with their hands the plenteous-streaming sweat: + They kissed each other, and forgat their strife. + Then Thetis, queen of Goddesses, gave to them + Four handmaids; and those strong and aweless ones + Marvelled beholding them, for these surpassed + All captive-maids in beauty and household-skill, + Save only lovely-tressed Briseis. These + Achilles captive brought from Lesbos' Isle, + And in their service joyed. The first was made + Stewardess of the feast and lady of meats; + The second to the feasters poured the wine; + The third shed water on their hands thereafter; + The fourth bare all away, the banquet done. + These Tydeus' son and giant Aias shared, + And, parted two and two, unto their ships + Sent they those fair and serviceable ones. + + Next, for the play of fists Idomeneus rose, + For cunning was he in all athlete-lore; + But none came forth to meet him, yielding all + To him, the elder-born, with reverent awe. + So in their midst gave Thetis unto him + A chariot and fleet steeds, which theretofore + Mighty Patroclus from the ranks of Troy + Drave, when he slew Sarpedon, seed of Zeus, + These to his henchmen gave Idomeneus + To drive unto the ships: himself remained + Still sitting in the glorious athlete-ring. + Then Phoenix to the stalwart Argives cried: + "Now to Idomeneus the Gods have given + A fair prize uncontested, free of toil + Of mighty arms and shoulders, honouring + The elder-born with bloodless victory. + But lo, ye younger men, another prize + Awaiteth the swift play of cunning hands. + Step forth then: gladden great Peleides' soul." + + He spake, they heard; but each on other looked, + And, loth to essay the contest, all sat still, + Till Neleus' son rebuked those laggard souls: + "Friends, it were shame that men should shun the play + Of clenched hands, who in that noble sport + Have skill, wherein young men delight, which links + Glory to toil. Ah that my thews were strong + As when we held King Pelias' funeral-feast, + I and Acastus, kinsmen joining hands, + When I with godlike Polydeuces stood + In gauntlet-strife, in even-balanced fray, + And when Ancaeus in the wrestlers' ring + Mightier than all beside, yet feared and shrank + From me, and dared not strive with me that day, + For that ere then amidst the Epeian men-- + No battle-blenchers they!--I had vanquished him, + For all his might, and dashed him to the dust + By dead Amaryncus' tomb, and thousands round + Sat marvelling at my prowess and my strength. + Therefore against me not a second time + Raised he his hands, strong wrestler though he were; + And so I won an uncontested prize. + But now old age is on me, and many griefs. + Therefore I bid you, whom it well beseems, + To win the prize; for glory crowns the youth + Who bears away the meed of athlete-strife." + + Stirred by his gallant chiding, a brave man + Rose, son of haughty godlike Panopeus, + The man who framed the Horse, the bane of Troy, + Not long thereafter. None dared meet him now + In play of fists, albeit in deadly craft + Of war, when Ares rusheth through the field, + He was not cunning. But for strife of hands + The fair prize uncontested had been won + By stout Epeius--yea, he was at point + To bear it thence unto the Achaean ships; + But one strode forth to meet him, Theseus' son, + The spearman Acamas, the mighty of heart, + Bearing already on his swift hands girt + The hard hide-gauntlets, which Evenor's son + Agelaus on his prince's hands had drawn + With courage-kindling words. The comrades then + Of Panopeus' princely son for Epeius raised + A heartening cheer. He like a lion stood + Forth in the midst, his strong hands gauntleted + With bull's hide hard as horn. Loud rang the cheers + From side to side of that great throng, to fire + The courage of the mighty ones to clash + Hands in the gory play. Sooth, little spur + Needed they for their eagerness for fight. + But, ere they closed, they flashed out proving blows + To wot if still, as theretofore, their arms + Were limber and lithe, unclogged by toil of war; + Then faced each other, and upraised their hands + With ever-watching eyes, and short quick steps + A-tiptoe, and with ever-shifting feet, + Each still eluding other's crushing might. + Then with a rush they closed like thunder-clouds + Hurled on each other by the tempest-blast, + Flashing forth lightnings, while the welkin thrills + As clash the clouds and hollow roar the winds; + So 'neath the hard hide-gauntlets clashed their jaws. + Down streamed the blood, and from their brows the sweat + Blood-streaked made on the flushed cheeks crimson bars. + Fierce without pause they fought, and never flagged + Epeius, but threw all his stormy strength + Into his onrush. Yet did Theseus' son + Never lose heart, but baffled the straight blows + Of those strong hands, and by his fighting-craft + Flinging them right and left, leapt in, brought home + A blow to his eyebrow, cutting to the bone. + Even then with counter-stroke Epeius reached + Acamas' temple, and hurled him to the ground. + Swift he sprang up, and on his stalwart foe + Rushed, smote his head: as he rushed in again, + The other, slightly swerving, sent his left + Clean to his brow; his right, with all his might + Behind it, to his nose. Yet Acamas still + Warded and struck with all the manifold shifts + Of fighting-craft. But now the Achaeans all + Bade stop the fight, though eager still were both + To strive for coveted victory. Then came + Their henchmen, and the gory gauntlets loosed + In haste from those strong hands. Now drew they breath + From that great labour, as they bathed their brows + With sponges myriad-pored. Comrades and friends + With pleading words then drew them face to face, + And prayed, "In friendship straight forget your wrath." + So to their comrades' suasion hearkened they; + For wise men ever bear a placable mind. + They kissed each other, and their hearts forgat + That bitter strife. Then Thetis sable-stoled + Gave to their glad hands two great silver bowls + The which Euneus, Jason's warrior son + In sea-washed Lemnos to Achilles gave + To ransom strong Lycaon from his hands. + These had Hephaestus fashioned for his gift + To glorious Dionysus, when he brought + His bride divine to Olympus, Minos' child + Far-famous, whom in sea-washed Dia's isle + Theseus unwitting left. The Wine-god brimmed + With nectar these, and gave them to his son; + And Thoas at his death to Hypsipyle + With great possessions left them. She bequeathed + The bowls to her godlike son, who gave them up + Unto Achilles for Lycaon's life. + The one the son of lordly Theseus took, + And goodly Epeius sent to his ship with joy + The other. Then their bruises and their scars + Did Podaleirius tend with loving care. + First pressed he out black humours, then his hands + Deftly knit up the gashes: salves he laid + Thereover, given him by his sire of old, + Such as had virtue in one day to heal + The deadliest hurts, yea, seeming-cureless wounds. + Straight was the smart assuaged, and healed the scars + Upon their brows and 'neath their clustering hair + + Then for the archery-test Oileus' son + Stood forth with Teucer, they which in the race + Erewhile contended. Far away from these + Agamemnon, lord of spears, set up a helm + Crested with plumes, and spake: "The master-shot + Is that which shears the hair-crest clean away." + Then straightway Aias shot his arrow first, + And smote the helm-ridge: sharply rang the brass. + Then Teucer second with most earnest heed + Shot: the swift shaft hath shorn the plume away. + Loud shouted all the people as they gazed, + And praised him without stint, for still his foot + Halted in pain, yet nowise marred his aim + When with his hands he sped the flying shaft. + Then Peleus' bride gave unto him the arms + Of godlike Troilus, the goodliest + Of all fair sons whom Hecuba had borne + In hallowed Troy; yet of his goodlihead + No joy she had; the prowess and the spear + Of fell Achilles reft his life from him. + As when a gardener with new-whetted scythe + Mows down, ere it may seed, a blade of corn + Or poppy, in a garden dewy-fresh + And blossom-flushed, which by a water-course + Crowdeth its blooms--mows it ere it may reach + Its goal of bringing offspring to the birth, + And with his scythe-sweep makes its life-work vain + And barren of all issue, nevermore + Now to be fostered by the dews of spring; + So did Peleides cut down Priam's son + The god-like beautiful, the beardless yet + And virgin of a bride, almost a child! + Yet the Destroyer Fate had lured him on + To war, upon the threshold of glad youth, + When youth is bold, and the heart feels no void. + + Forthwith a bar of iron massy and long + From the swift-speeding hand did many essay + To hurl; but not an Argive could prevail + To cast that ponderous mass. Aias alone + Sped it from his strong hand, as in the time + Of harvest might a reaper fling from him + A dry oak-bough, when all the fields are parched. + And all men marvelled to behold how far + Flew from his hand the bronze which scarce two men + Hard-straining had uplifted from the ground. + Even this Antaeus' might was wont to hurl + Erstwhile, ere the strong hands of Hercules + O'ermastered him. This, with much spoil beside, + Hercules took, and kept it to make sport + For his invincible hand; but afterward + Gave it to valiant Peleus, who with him + Had smitten fair-towered Ilium's burg renowned; + And he to Achilles gave it, whose swift ships + Bare it to Troy, to put him aye in mind + Of his own father, as with eager will + He fought with stalwart Trojans, and to be + A worthy test wherewith to prove his strength. + Even this did Aias from his brawny hand + Fling far. So then the Nereid gave to him + The glorious arms from godlike Memnon stripped. + Marvelling the Argives gazed on them: they were + A giant's war-gear. Laughing a glad laugh + That man renowned received them: he alone + Could wear them on his brawny limbs; they seemed + As they had even been moulded to his frame. + The great bar thence he bore withal, to be + His joy when he was fain of athlete-toil. + + Still sped the contests on; and many rose + Now for the leaping. Far beyond the marks + Of all the rest brave Agapenor sprang: + Loud shouted all for that victorious leap; + And Thetis gave him the fair battle-gear + Of mighty Cycnus, who had smitten first + Protesilaus, then had reft the life + From many more, till Peleus' son slew him + First of the chiefs of grief-enshrouded Troy. + + Next, in the javelin-cast Euryalus + Hurled far beyond all rivals, while the folk + Shouted aloud: no archer, so they deemed, + Could speed a winged shaft farther than his cast; + Therefore the Aeacid hero's mother gave + To him a deep wide silver oil-flask, ta'en + By Achilles in possession, when his spear + Slew Mynes, and he spoiled Lyrnessus' wealth. + + Then fiery-hearted Aias eagerly + Rose, challenging to strife of hands and feet + The mightiest hero there; but marvelling + They marked his mighty thews, and no man dared + Confront him. Chilling dread had palsied all + Their courage: from their hearts they feared him, lest + His hands invincible should all to-break + His adversary's face, and naught but pain + Be that man's meed. But at the last all men + Made signs to battle-bider Euryalus, + For well they knew him skilled in fighting-craft; + But he too feared that giant, and he cried: + "Friends, any other Achaean, whom ye will, + Blithe will I face; but mighty Alas--no! + Far doth he overmatch me. He will rend + Mine heart, if in the onset anger rise + Within him: from his hands invincible, + I trow, I should not win to the ships alive." + + Loud laughed they all: but glowed with triumph-joy + The heart of Aias. Gleaming talents twain + Of silver he from Thetis' hands received, + His uncontested prize. His stately height + Called to her mind her dear son, and she sighed. + + They which had skill in chariot-driving then + Rose at the contest's summons eagerly: + Menelaus first, Eurypylus bold in fight, + Eumelus, Thoas, godlike Polypoetes + Harnessed their steeds, and led them to the cars + All panting for the joy of victory. + Then rode they in a glittering chariot rank + Out to one place, to a stretch of sand, and stood + Ranged at the starting-line. The reins they grasped + In strong hands quickly, while the chariot-steeds + Shoulder to shoulder fretted, all afire + To take the lead at starting, pawed the sand, + Pricked ears, and o'er their frontlets flung the foam. + With sudden-stiffened sinews those ear-lords + Lashed with their whips the tempest-looted steeds; + Then swift as Harpies sprang they forth; they strained + Furiously at the harness, onward whirling + The chariots bounding ever from the earth. + Thou couldst not see a wheel-track, no, nor print + Of hoof upon the sand--they verily flew. + Up from the plain the dust-clouds to the sky + Soared, like the smoke of burning, or a mist + Rolled round the mountain-forelands by the might + Of the dark South-wind or the West, when wakes + A tempest, when the hill-sides stream with rain. + Burst to the front Eumelus' steeds: behind + Close pressed the team of godlike Thoas: shouts + Still answered shouts that cheered each chariot, while + Onward they swept across the wide-wayed plain. + + ((LACUNA)) + + "From hallowed Elis, when he had achieved + A mighty triumph, in that he outstripped + The swift ear of Oenomaus evil-souled, + The ruthless slayer of youths who sought to wed + His daughter Hippodameia passing-wise. + Yet even he, for all his chariot-lore, + Had no such fleetfoot steeds as Atreus' son-- + Far slower!--the wind is in the feet of these." + + So spake he, giving glory to the might + Of those good steeds, and to Atreides' self; + And filled with joy was Menelaus' soul. + Straightway his henchmen from the yoke-band loosed + The panting team, and all those chariot-lords, + Who in the race had striven, now unyoked + Their tempest-footed steeds. Podaleirius then + Hasted to spread salves over all the wounds + Of Thoas and Eurypylus, gashes scored + Upon their frames when from the cars they fell + But Menelaus with exceeding joy + Of victory glowed, when Thetis lovely-tressed + Gave him a golden cup, the chief possession + Once of Eetion the godlike; ere + Achilles spoiled the far-famed burg of Thebes. + + Then horsemen riding upon horses came + Down to the course: they grasped in hand the whip + And bounding from the earth bestrode their steeds, + The while with foaming mouths the coursers champed + The bits, and pawed the ground, and fretted aye + To dash into the course. Forth from the line + Swiftly they darted, eager for the strife, + Wild as the blasts of roaring Boreas + Or shouting Notus, when with hurricane-swoop + He heaves the wide sea high, when in the east + Uprises the disastrous Altar-star + Bringing calamity to seafarers; + So swift they rushed, spurning with flying feet + The deep dust on the plain. The riders cried + Each to his steed, and ever plied the lash + And shook the reins about the clashing bits. + On strained the horses: from the people rose + A shouting like the roaring of a sea. + On, on across the level plain they flew; + And now the flashing-footed Argive steed + By Sthenelus bestridden, had won the race, + But from the course he swerved, and o'er the plain + Once and again rushed wide; nor Capaneus' son, + Good horseman though he were, could turn him back + By rein or whip, because that steed was strange + Still to the race-course; yet of lineage + Noble was he, for in his veins the blood + Of swift Arion ran, the foal begotten + By the loud-piping West-wind on a Harpy, + The fleetest of all earth-born steeds, whose feet + Could race against his father's swiftest blasts. + Him did the Blessed to Adrastus give: + And from him sprang the steed of Sthenelus, + Which Tydeus' son had given unto his friend + In hallowed Troyland. Filled with confidence + In those swift feet his rider led him forth + Unto the contest of the steeds that day, + Looking his horsemanship should surely win + Renown: yet victory gladdened not his heart + In that great struggle for Achilles' prizes; + Nay, swift albeit he was, the King of Men + By skill outraced him. Shouted all the folk, + "Glory to Agamemnon!" Yet they acclaimed + The steed of valiant Sthenelus and his lord, + For that the fiery flying of his feet + Still won him second place, albeit oft + Wide of the course he swerved. Then Thetis gave + To Atreus' son, while laughed his lips for joy, + God-sprung Polydorus' breastplate silver-wrought. + To Sthenelus Asteropaeus' massy helm, + Two lances, and a taslet strong, she gave. + Yea, and to all the riders who that day + Came at Achilles' funeral-feast to strive + She gave gifts. But the son of the old war-lord, + Laertes, inly grieved to be withheld + From contests of the strong, how fain soe'er, + By that sore wound which Alcon dealt to him + In the grim fight around dead Aeacas' son. + + + +BOOK V + +How the Arms of Achilles were cause of madness and death unto Aias. + + + So when all other contests had an end, + Thetis the Goddess laid down in the midst + Great-souled Achilles' arms divinely wrought; + And all around flashed out the cunning work + Wherewith the Fire-god overchased the shield + Fashioned for Aeacus' son, the dauntless-souled. + + Inwrought upon that labour of a God + Were first high heaven and cloudland, and beneath + Lay earth and sea: the winds, the clouds were there, + The moon and sun, each in its several place; + There too were all the stars that, fixed in heaven, + Are borne in its eternal circlings round. + Above and through all was the infinite air + Where to and fro flit birds of slender beak: + Thou hadst said they lived, and floated on the breeze. + Here Tethys' all-embracing arms were wrought, + And Ocean's fathomless flow. The outrushing flood + Of rivers crying to the echoing hills + All round, to right, to left, rolled o'er the land. + + Round it rose league-long mountain-ridges, haunts + Of terrible lions and foul jackals: there + Fierce bears and panthers prowled; with these were seen + Wild boars that whetted deadly-clashing tusks + In grimly-frothing jaws. There hunters sped + After the hounds: beaters with stone and dart, + To the life portrayed, toiled in the woodland sport. + + And there were man-devouring wars, and all + Horrors of fight: slain men were falling down + Mid horse-hoofs; and the likeness of a plain + Blood-drenched was on that shield invincible. + Panic was there, and Dread, and ghastly Enyo + With limbs all gore-bespattered hideously, + And deadly Strife, and the Avenging Spirits + Fierce-hearted--she, still goading warriors on + To the onset they, outbreathing breath of fire. + Around them hovered the relentless Fates; + Beside them Battle incarnate onward pressed + Yelling, and from their limbs streamed blood and sweat. + There were the ruthless Gorgons: through their hair + Horribly serpents coiled with flickering tongues. + A measureless marvel was that cunning work + Of things that made men shudder to behold + Seeming as though they verily lived and moved. + + And while here all war's marvels were portrayed, + Yonder were all the works of lovely peace. + The myriad tribes of much-enduring men + Dwelt in fair cities. Justice watched o'er all. + To diverse toils they set their hands; the fields + Were harvest-laden; earth her increase bore. + + Most steeply rose on that god-laboured work + The rugged flanks of holy Honour's mount, + And there upon a palm-tree throned she sat + Exalted, and her hands reached up to heaven. + All round her, paths broken by many rocks + Thwarted the climbers' feet; by those steep tracks + Daunted ye saw returning many folk: + Few won by sweat of toil the sacred height. + + And there were reapers moving down long swaths + Swinging the whetted sickles: 'neath their hands + The hot work sped to its close. Hard after these + Many sheaf-binders followed, and the work + Grew passing great. With yoke-bands on their necks + Oxen were there, whereof some drew the wains + Heaped high with full-eared sheaves, and further on + Were others ploughing, and the glebe showed black + Behind them. Youths with ever-busy goads + Followed: a world of toil was there portrayed. + + And there a banquet was, with pipe and harp, + Dances of maids, and flashing feet of boys, + All in swift movement, like to living souls. + + Hard by the dance and its sweet winsomeness + Out of the sea was rising lovely-crowned + Cypris, foam-blossoms still upon her hair; + And round her hovered smiling witchingly + Desire, and danced the Graces lovely-tressed. + + And there were lordly Nereus' Daughters shown + Leading their sister up from the wide sea + To her espousals with the warrior-king. + And round her all the Immortals banqueted + On Pelion's ridge far-stretching. All about + Lush dewy watermeads there were, bestarred + With flowers innumerable, grassy groves, + And springs with clear transparent water bright. + + There ships with sighing sheets swept o'er the sea, + Some beating up to windward, some that sped + Before a following wind, and round them heaved + The melancholy surge. Seared shipmen rushed + This way and that, adread for tempest-gusts, + Hauling the white sails in, to 'scape the death-- + It all seemed real--some tugging at the oars, + While the dark sea on either side the ship + Grew hoary 'neath the swiftly-plashing blades. + + And there triumphant the Earth-shaker rode + Amid sea-monsters' stormy-footed steeds + Drew him, and seemed alive, as o'er the deep + They raced, oft smitten by the golden whip. + Around their path of flight the waves fell smooth, + And all before them was unrippled calm. + Dolphins on either hand about their king + Swarmed, in wild rapture of homage bowing backs, + And seemed like live things o'er the hazy sea + Swimming, albeit all of silver wrought. + + Marvels of untold craft were imaged there + By cunning-souled Hephaestus' deathless hands + Upon the shield. And Ocean's fathomless flood + Clasped like a garland all the outer rim, + And compassed all the strong shield's curious work. + + And therebeside the massy helmet lay. + Zeus in his wrath was set upon the crest + Throned on heaven's dome; the Immortals all around + Fierce-battling with the Titans fought for Zeus. + Already were their foes enwrapped with flame, + For thick and fast as snowflakes poured from heaven + The thunderbolts: the might of Zeus was roused, + And burning giants seemed to breathe out flames. + + And therebeside the fair strong corslet lay, + Unpierceable, which clasped Peleides once: + There were the greaves close-lapping, light alone + To Achilles; massy of mould and huge they were. + + And hard by flashed the sword whose edge and point + No mail could turn, with golden belt, and sheath + Of silver, and with haft of ivory: + Brightest amid those wondrous arms it shone. + Stretched on the earth thereby was that dread spear, + Long as the tall-tressed pines of Pelion, + Still breathing out the reek of Hector's blood. + + Then mid the Argives Thetis sable-stoled + In her deep sorrow for Achilles spake; + "Now all the athlete-prizes have been won + Which I set forth in sorrow for my child. + Now let that mightiest of the Argives come + Who rescued from the foe my dead: to him + These glorious and immortal arms I give + Which even the blessed Deathless joyed to see." + + Then rose in rivalry, each claiming them, + Laertes' seed and godlike Telamon's son, + Aias, the mightiest far of Danaan men: + He seemed the star that in the glittering sky + Outshines the host of heaven, Hesperus, + So splendid by Peleides' arms he stood; + "And let these judge," he cried, "Idomeneus, + Nestor, and kingly-counselled Agamemnon," + For these, he weened, would sureliest know the truth + Of deeds wrought in that glorious battle-toil. + "To these I also trust most utterly," + Odysseus said, "for prudent of their wit + Be these, and princeliest of all Danaan men." + + But to Idomeneus and Atreus' son + Spake Nestor apart, and willingly they heard: + "Friends, a great woe and unendurable + This day the careless Gods have laid on us, + In that into this lamentable strife + Aias the mighty hath been thrust by them + Against Odysseus passing-wise. For he, + To whichsoe'er God gives the victor's glory-- + O yea, he shall rejoice! But he that loseth-- + All for the grief in all the Danaans' hearts + For him! And ours shall be the deepest grief + Of all; for that man will not in the war + Stand by us as of old. A sorrowful day + It shall be for us, whichsoe'er of these + Shall break into fierce anger, seeing they + Are of our heroes chiefest, this in war, + And that in counsel. Hearken then to me, + Seeing that I am older far than ye, + Not by a few years only: with mine age + Is prudence joined, for I have suffered and wrought + Much; and in counsel ever the old man, + Who knoweth much, excelleth younger men. + Therefore let us ordain to judge this cause + 'Twixt godlike Aias and war-fain Odysseus, + Our Trojan captives. They shall say whom most + Our foes dread, and who saved Peleides' corse + From that most deadly fight. Lo, in our midst + Be many spear-won Trojans, thralls of Fate; + And these will pass true judgment on these twain, + To neither showing favour, since they hate + Alike all authors of their misery." + + He spake: replied Agamemnon lord of spears: + "Ancient, there is none other in our midst + Wiser than thou, of Danaans young or old, + In that thou say'st that unforgiving wrath + Will burn in him to whom the Gods herein + Deny the victory; for these which strive + Are both our chiefest. Therefore mine heart too + Is set on this, that to the thralls of war + This judgment we commit: the loser then + Shall against Troy devise his deadly work + Of vengeance, and shall not be wroth with us." + + He spake, and these three, being of one mind, + In hearing of all men refused to judge + Judgment so thankless: they would none of it. + Therefore they set the high-born sons of Troy + There in the midst, spear-thralls although they were, + To give just judgment in the warriors' strife. + Then in hot anger Aias rose, and spake: + "Odysseus, frantic soul, why hath a God + Deluded thee, to make thee hold thyself + My peer in might invincible? Dar'st thou say + That thou, when slain Achilles lay in dust, + When round him swarmed the Trojans, didst bear back + That furious throng, when I amidst them hurled + Death, and thou coweredst away? Thy dam + Bare thee a craven and a weakling wretch + Frail in comparison of me, as is + A cur beside a lion thunder-voiced! + No battle-biding heart is in thy breast, + But wiles and treachery be all thy care. + Hast thou forgotten how thou didst shrink back + From faring with Achaea's gathered host + To Ilium's holy burg, till Atreus' sons + Forced thee, the cowering craven, how loth soe'er, + To follow them--would God thou hadst never come! + For by thy counsel left we in Lemnos' isle + Groaning in agony Poeas' son renowned. + And not for him alone was ruin devised + Of thee; for godlike Palamedes too + Didst thou contrive destruction--ha, he was + Alike in battle and council better than thou! + And now thou dar'st to rise up against me, + Neither remembering my kindness, nor + Having respect unto the mightier man + Who rescued thee erewhile, when thou didst quaff + In fight before the onset of thy foes, + When thou, forsaken of all Greeks beside, + Midst tumult of the fray, wast fleeing too! + Oh that in that great fight Zeus' self had stayed + My dauntless might with thunder from his heaven! + Then with their two-edged swords the Trojan men + Had hewn thee limb from limb, and to their dogs + Had cast thy carrion! Then thou hadst not presumed + To meet me, trusting in thy trickeries! + Wretch, wherefore, if thou vauntest thee in might + Beyond all others, hast thou set thy ships + In the line's centre, screened from foes, nor dared + As I, on the far wing to draw them up? + Because thou wast afraid! Not thou it was + Who savedst from devouring fire the ships; + But I with heart unquailing there stood fast + Facing the fire and Hector ay, even he + Gave back before me everywhere in fight. + Thou--thou didst fear him aye with deadly fear! + Oh, had this our contention been but set + Amidst that very battle, when the roar + Of conflict rose around Achilles slain! + Then had thine own eyes seen me bearing forth + Out from the battle's heart and fury of foes + That goodly armour and its hero lord + Unto the tents. But here thou canst but trust + In cunning speech, and covetest a place + Amongst the mighty! Thou--thou hast not strength + To wear Achilles' arms invincible, + Nor sway his massy spear in thy weak hands! + But I they are verily moulded to my frame: + Yea, seemly it is I wear those glorious arms, + Who shall not shame a God's gifts passing fair. + But wherefore for Achilles' glorious arms + With words discourteous wrangling stand we here? + Come, let us try in strife with brazen spears + Who of us twain is best in murderous right! + For silver-footed Thetis set in the midst + This prize for prowess, not for pestilent words. + In folkmote may men have some use for words: + In pride of prowess I know me above thee far, + And great Achilles' lineage is mine own." + + He spake: with scornful glance and bitter speech + Odysseus the resourceful chode with him: + "Aias, unbridled tongue, why these vain words + To me? Thou hast called me pestilent, niddering, + And weakling: yet I boast me better far + Than thou in wit and speech, which things increase + The strength of men. Lo, how the craggy rock, + Adamantine though it seem, the hewers of stone + Amid the hills by wisdom undermine + Full lightly, and by wisdom shipmen cross + The thunderous-plunging sea, when mountain-high + It surgeth, and by craft do hunters quell + Strong lions, panthers, boars, yea, all the brood + Of wild things. Furious-hearted bulls are tamed + To bear the yoke-bands by device of men. + Yea, all things are by wit accomplished. Still + It is the man who knoweth that excels + The witless man alike in toils and counsels. + For my keen wit did Oeneus' valiant son + Choose me of all men with him to draw nigh + To Hector's watchmen: yea, and mighty deeds + We twain accomplished. I it was who brought + To Atreus' sons Peleides far-renowned, + Their battle-helper. Whensoe'er the host + Needeth some other champion, not for the sake + Of thine hands will he come, nor by the rede + Of other Argives: of Achaeans I + Alone will draw him with soft suasive words + To where strong men are warring. Mighty power + The tongue hath over men, when courtesy + Inspires it. Valour is a deedless thing; + And bulk and big assemblage of a man + Cometh to naught, by wisdom unattended. + But unto me the Immortals gave both strength + And wisdom, and unto the Argive host + Made me a blessing. Nor, as thou hast said, + Hast thou in time past saved me when in flight + From foes. I never fled, but steadfastly + Withstood the charge of all the Trojan host. + Furious the enemy came on like a flood + But I by might of hands cut short the thread + Of many lives. Herein thou sayest not true + Me in the fray thou didst not shield nor save, + But for thine own life roughtest, lest a spear + Should pierce thy back if thou shouldst turn to flee + From war. My ships? I drew them up mid-line, + Not dreading the battle-fury of any foe, + But to bring healing unto Atreus' sons + Of war's calamities: and thou didst set + Far from their help thy ships. Nay more, I seamed + With cruel stripes my body, and entered so + The Trojans' burg, that I might learn of them + All their devisings for this troublous war. + Nor ever I dreaded Hector's spear; myself + Rose mid the foremost, eager for the fight, + When, prowess-confident, he defied us all. + Yea, in the fight around Achilles, I + Slew foes far more than thou; 'twas I who saved + The dead king with this armour. Not a whit + I dread thy spear now, but my grievous hurt + With pain still vexeth me, the wound I gat + In fighting for these arms and their slain lord. + In me as in Achilles is Zeus' blood." + + He spake; strong Aias answered him again. + "Most cunning and most pestilent of men, + Nor I, nor any other Argive, saw + Thee toiling in that fray, when Trojans strove + Fiercely to hale away Achilles slain. + My might it was that with the spear unstrung + The knees of some in fight, and others thrilled + With panic as they pressed on ceaselessly. + Then fled they in dire straits, as geese or cranes + Flee from an eagle swooping as they feed + Along a grassy meadow; so, in dread + The Trojans shrinking backward from my spear + And lightening sword, fled into Ilium + To 'scape destruction. If thy might came there + Ever at all, not anywhere nigh me + With foes thou foughtest: somewhere far aloot + Mid other ranks thou toiledst, nowhere nigh + Achilles, where the one great battle raged." + + He spake; replied Odysseus the shrewd heart: + "Aias, I hold myself no worse than thou + In wit or might, how goodly in outward show + Thou be soever. Nay, I am keener far + Of wit than thou in all the Argives' eyes. + In battle-prowess do I equal thee + Haply surpass; and this the Trojans know, + Who tremble when they see me from afar. + Aye, thou too know'st, and others know my strength + By that hard struggle in the wrestling-match, + When Peleus' son set glorious prizes forth + Beside the barrow of Patroclus slain." + + So spake Laertes' son the world-renowned. + Then on that strife disastrous of the strong + The sons of Troy gave judgment. Victory + And those immortal arms awarded they + With one consent to Odysseus mighty in war. + Greatly his soul rejoiced; but one deep groan + Brake from the Greeks. Then Aias' noble might + Stood frozen stiff; and suddenly fell on him + Dark wilderment; all blood within his frame + Boiled, and his gall swelled, bursting forth in flood. + Against his liver heaved his bowels; his heart + With anguished pangs was thrilled; fierce stabbing throes + Shot through the filmy veil 'twixt bone and brain; + And darkness and confusion wrapped his mind. + With fixed eyes staring on the ground he stood + Still as a statue. Then his sorrowing friends + Closed round him, led him to the shapely ships, + Aye murmuring consolations. But his feet + Trod for the last time, with reluctant steps, + That path; and hard behind him followed Doom. + + When to the ships beside the boundless sea + The Argives, faint for supper and for sleep, + Had passed, into the great deep Thetis plunged, + And all the Nereids with her. Round them swam + Sea-monsters many, children of the brine. + + Against the wise Prometheus bitter-wroth + The Sea-maids were, remembering how that Zeus, + Moved by his prophecies, unto Peleus gave + Thetis to wife, a most unwilling bride. + Then cried in wrath to these Cymothoe: + "O that the pestilent prophet had endured + All pangs he merited, when, deep-burrowing, + The eagle tare his liver aye renewed!" + + So to the dark-haired Sea-maids cried the Nymph. + Then sank the sun: the onrush of the night + Shadowed the fields, the heavens were star-bestrewn; + And by the long-prowed ships the Argives slept + By ambrosial sleep o'ermastered, and by wine + The which from proud Idomeneus' realm of Crete: + The shipmen bare o'er foaming leagues of sea. + + But Aias, wroth against the Argive men, + Would none of meat or drink, nor clasped him round + The arms of sleep. In fury he donned his mail, + He clutched his sword, thinking unspeakable thoughts; + For now he thought to set the ships aflame, + And slaughter all the Argives, now, to hew + With sudden onslaught of his terrible sword + Guileful Odysseus limb from limb. Such things + He purposed--nay, had soon accomplished all, + Had Pallas not with madness smitten him; + For over Odysseus, strong to endure, her heart + Yearned, as she called to mind the sacrifices + Offered to her of him continually. + Therefore she turned aside from Argive men + The might of Aias. As a terrible storm, + Whose wings are laden with dread hurricane-blasts, + Cometh with portents of heart-numbing fear + To shipmen, when the Pleiads, fleeing adread + From glorious Orion, plunge beneath + The stream of tireless Ocean, when the air + Is turmoil, and the sea is mad with storm; + So rushed he, whithersoe'er his feet might bear. + This way and that he ran, like some fierce beast + Which darteth down a rock-walled glen's ravines + With foaming jaws, and murderous intent + Against the hounds and huntsmen, who have torn + Out of the cave her cubs, and slain: she runs + This way and that, and roars, if mid the brakes + Haply she yet may see the dear ones lost; + Whom if a man meet in that maddened mood, + Straightway his darkest of all days hath dawned; + So ruthless-raving rushed he; blackly boiled + His heart, as caldron on the Fire-god's hearth + Maddens with ceaseless hissing o'er the flames + From blazing billets coiling round its sides, + At bidding of the toiler eager-souled + To singe the bristles of a huge-fed boar; + So was his great heart boiling in his breast. + Like a wild sea he raved, like tempest-blast, + Like the winged might of tireless flame amidst + The mountains maddened by a mighty wind, + When the wide-blazing forest crumbles down + In fervent heat. So Aias, his fierce heart + With agony stabbed, in maddened misery raved. + Foam frothed about his lips; a beast-like roar + Howled from his throat. About his shoulders clashed + His armour. They which saw him trembled, all + Cowed by the fearful shout of that one man. + + From Ocean then uprose Dawn golden-reined: + Like a soft wind upfloated Sleep to heaven, + And there met Hera, even then returned + To Olympus back from Tethys, unto whom + But yester-morn she went. She clasped him round, + And kissed him, who had been her marriage-kin + Since at her prayer on Ida's erest he had lulled + To sleep Cronion, when his anger burned + Against the Argives. Straightway Hera passed + To Zeus's mansion, and Sleep swiftly flew + To Pasithea's couch. From slumber woke + All nations of the earth. But Aias, like + Orion the invincible, prowled on, + Still bearing murderous madness in his heart. + He rushed upon the sheep, like lion fierce + Whose savage heart is stung with hunger-pangs. + Here, there, he smote them, laid them dead in dust + Thick as the leaves which the strong North-wind's might + Strews, when the waning year to winter turns; + So on the sheep in fury Aias fell, + Deeming he dealt to Danaans evil doom. + + Then to his brother Menelaus came, + And spake, but not in hearing of the rest: + "This day shall surely be a ruinous day + For all, since Aias thus is sense-distraught. + It may be he will set the ships aflame, + And slay us all amidst our tents, in wrath + For those lost arms. Would God that Thetis ne'er + Had set them for the prize of rivalry! + Would God Laertes' son had not presumed + In folly of soul to strive with a better man! + Fools were we all; and some malignant God + Beguiled us; for the one great war-defence + Left us, since Aeacus' son in battle fell, + Was Aias' mighty strength. And now the Gods + Will to our loss destroy him, bringing bane + On thee and me, that all we may fill up + The cup of doom, and pass to nothingness." + + He spake; replied Agamemnon, lord of spears: + "Now nay, Menelaus, though thine heart he wrung, + Be thou not wroth with the resourceful king + Of Cephallenian folk, but with the Gods + Who plot our ruin. Blame not him, who oft + Hath been our blessing and our enemies' curse." + + So heavy-hearted spake the Danaan kings. + But by the streams of Xanthus far away + 'Neath tamarisks shepherds cowered to hide from death, + As when from a swift eagle cower hares + 'Neath tangled copses, when with sharp fierce scream + This way and that with wings wide-shadowing + He wheeleth very nigh; so they here, there, + Quailed from the presence of that furious man. + At last above a slaughtered ram he stood, + And with a deadly laugh he cried to it: + "Lie there in dust; be meat for dogs and kites! + Achilles' glorious arms have saved not thee, + For which thy folly strove with a better man! + Lie there, thou cur! No wife shall fall on thee, + And clasp, and wail thee and her fatherless childs, + Nor shalt thou greet thy parents' longing eyes, + The staff of their old age! Far from thy land + Thy carrion dogs and vultures shall devour!" + + So cried he, thinking that amidst the slain + Odysseus lay blood-boltered at his feet. + But in that moment from his mind and eyes + Athena tore away the nightmare-fiend + Of Madness havoc-breathing, and it passed + Thence swiftly to the rock-walled river Styx + Where dwell the winged Erinnyes, they which still + Visit with torments overweening men. + + Then Aias saw those sheep upon the earth + Gasping in death; and sore amazed he stood, + For he divined that by the Blessed Ones + His senses had been cheated. All his limbs + Failed under him; his soul was anguished-thrilled: + He could not in his horror take one step + Forward nor backward. Like some towering rock + Fast-rooted mid the mountains, there he stood. + But when the wild rout of his thoughts had rallied, + He groaned in misery, and in anguish wailed: + "Ah me! why do the Gods abhor me so? + They have wrecked my mind, have with fell madness filled, + Making me slaughter all these innocent sheep! + Would God that on Odysseus' pestilent heart + Mine hands had so avenged me! Miscreant, he + Brought on me a fell curse! O may his soul + Suffer all torments that the Avenging Fiends + Devise for villains! On all other Greeks + May they bring murderous battle, woeful griefs, + And chiefly on Agamemnon, Atreus' son! + Not scatheless to the home may he return + So long desired! But why should I consort, + I, a brave man, with the abominable? + Perish the Argive host, perish my life, + Now unendurable! The brave no more + Hath his due guerdon, but the baser sort + Are honoured most and loved, as this Odysseus + Hath worship mid the Greeks: but utterly + Have they forgotten me and all my deeds, + All that I wrought and suffered in their cause." + + So spake the brave son of strong Telamon, + Then thrust the sword of Hector through his throat. + Forth rushed the blood in torrent: in the dust + Outstretched he lay, like Typhon, when the bolts + Of Zeus had blasted him. Around him groaned + The dark earth as he fell upon her breast. + + Then thronging came the Danaans, when they saw + Low laid in dust the hero; but ere then + None dared draw nigh him, but in deadly fear + They watched him from afar. Now hasted they + And flung themselves upon the dead, outstretched + Upon their faces: on their heads they cast + Dust, and their wailing went up to the sky. + As when men drive away the tender lambs + Out of the fleecy flock, to feast thereon, + And round the desolate pens the mothers leap + Ceaselessly bleating, so o'er Aias rang + That day a very great and bitter cry. + Wild echoes pealed from Ida forest-palled, + And from the plain, the ships, the boundless sea. + + Then Teucer clasping him was minded too + To rush on bitter doom: howbeit the rest + Held from the sword his hand. Anguished he fell + Upon the dead, outpouring many a tear + More comfortlessly than the orphan babe + That wails beside the hearth, with ashes strewn + On head and shoulders, wails bereavement's day + That brings death to the mother who hath nursed + The fatherless child; so wailed he, ever wailed + His great death-stricken brother, creeping slow + Around the corpse, and uttering his lament: + "O Aias, mighty-souled, why was thine heart + Distraught, that thou shouldst deal unto thyself + Murder and bale? All, was it that the sons + Of Troy might win a breathing-space from woes, + Might come and slay the Greeks, now thou art not? + From these shall all the olden courage fail + When fast they fall in fight. Their shield from harm + Is broken now! For me, I have no will + To see mine home again, now thou art dead. + Nay, but I long here also now to die, + That so the earth may shroud me--me and thee + Not for my parents so much do I care, + If haply yet they live, if haply yet + Spared from the grave, in Salamis they dwell, + As for thee, O my glory and my crown!" + + So cried he groaning sore; with answering moan + Queenly Tecmessa wailed, the princess-bride + Of noble Aias, captive of his spear, + Yet ta'en by him to wife, and household-queen + O'er all his substance, even all that wives + Won with a bride-price rule for wedded lords. + Clasped in his mighty arms, she bare to him + A son Eurysaces, in all things like + Unto his father, far as babe might be + Yet cradled in his tent. With bitter moan + Fell she on that dear corpse, all her fair form + Close-shrouded in her veil, and dust-defiled, + And from her anguished heart cried piteously: + "Alas for me, for me now thou art dead, + Not by the hands of foes in fight struck down, + But by thine own! On me is come a grief + Ever-abiding! Never had I looked + To see thy woeful death-day here by Troy. + Ah, visions shattered by rude hands of Fate! + Oh that the earth had yawned wide for my grave + Ere I beheld thy bitter doom! On me + No sharper, more heart-piercing pang hath come-- + No, not when first from fatherland afar + And parents thou didst bear me, wailing sore + Mid other captives, when the day of bondage + Had come on me, a princess theretofore. + Not for that dear lost home so much I grieve, + Nor for my parents dead, as now for thee: + For all thine heart was kindness unto me + The hapless, and thou madest me thy wife, + One soul with thee; yea, and thou promisedst + To throne me queen of fair-towered Salamis, + When home we won from Troy. The Gods denied + Accomplishment thereof. And thou hast passed + Unto the Unseen Land: thou hast forgot + Me and thy child, who never shall make glad + His father's heart, shall never mount thy throne. + But him shall strangers make a wretched thrall: + For when the father is no more, the babe + Is ward of meaner men. A weary life + The orphan knows, and suffering cometh in + From every side upon him like a flood. + To me too thraldom's day shall doubtless come, + Now thou hast died, who wast my god on earth." + + Then in all kindness Agamemnon spake: + "Princess, no man on earth shall make thee thrall, + While Teucer liveth yet, while yet I live. + Thou shalt have worship of us evermore + And honour as a Goddess, with thy son, + As though yet living were that godlike man, + Aias, who was the Achaeans' chiefest strength. + Ah that he had not laid this load of grief + On all, in dying by his own right hand! + For all the countless armies of his foes + Never availed to slay him in fair fight." + + So spake he, grieved to the inmost heart. The folk + Woefully wafted all round. O'er Hellespont + Echoes of mourning rolled: the sighing air + Darkened around, a wide-spread sorrow-pall. + Yea, grief laid hold on wise Odysseus' self + For the great dead, and with remorseful soul + To anguish-stricken Argives thus he spake: + "O friends, there is no greater curse to men + Than wrath, which groweth till its bitter fruit + Is strife. Now wrath hath goaded Aias on + To this dire issue of the rage that filled + His soul against me. Would to God that ne'er + Yon Trojans in the strife for Achilles' arms + Had crowned me with that victory, for which + Strong Telamon's brave son, in agony + Of soul, thus perished by his own right hand! + Yet blame not me, I pray you, for his wrath: + Blame the dark dolorous Fate that struck him down. + For, had mine heart foreboded aught of this, + This desperation of a soul distraught, + Never for victory had I striven with him, + Nor had I suffered any Danaan else, + Though ne'er so eager, to contend with him. + Nay, I had taken up those arms divine + With mine own hands, and gladly given them + To him, ay, though himself desired it not. + But for such mighty grief and wrath in him + I had not looked, since not for a woman's sake + Nor for a city, nor possessions wide, + I then contended, but for Honour's meed, + Which alway is for all right-hearted men + The happy goal of all their rivalry. + But that great-hearted man was led astray + By Fate, the hateful fiend; for surely it is + Unworthy a man to be made passion's fool. + The wise man's part is, steadfast-souled to endure + All ills, and not to rage against his lot." + + So spake Laertes' son, the far-renowned. + But when they all were weary of grief and groan, + Then to those sorrowing ones spake Neleus' son: + "O friends, the pitiless-hearted Fates have laid + Stroke after stroke of sorrow upon us, + Sorrow for Aias dead, for mighty Achilles, + For many an Argive, and for mine own son + Antilochus. Yet all unmeet it is + Day after day with passion of grief to wail + Men slain in battle: nay, we must forget + Laments, and turn us to the better task + Of rendering dues beseeming to the dead, + The dues of pyre, of tomb, of bones inurned. + No lamentations will awake the dead; + No note thereof he taketh, when the Fates, + The ruthless ones, have swallowed him in night." + + So spake he words of cheer: the godlike kings + Gathered with heavy hearts around the dead, + And many hands upheaved the giant corpse, + And swiftly bare him to the ships, and there + Washed they away the blood that clotted lay + Dust-flecked on mighty limbs and armour: then + In linen swathed him round. From Ida's heights + Wood without measure did the young men bring, + And piled it round the corpse. Billets and logs + Yet more in a wide circle heaped they round; + And sheep they laid thereon, fair-woven vests, + And goodly kine, and speed-triumphant steeds, + And gleaming gold, and armour without stint, + From slain foes by that glorious hero stripped. + And lucent amber-drops they laid thereon, + Years, say they, which the Daughters of the Sun, + The Lord of Omens, shed for Phaethon slain, + When by Eridanus' flood they mourned for him. + These, for undying honour to his son, + The God made amber, precious in men's eyes. + Even this the Argives on that broad-based pyre + Cast freely, honouring the mighty dead. + And round him, groaning heavily, they laid + Silver most fair and precious ivory, + And jars of oil, and whatsoe'er beside + They have who heap up goodly and glorious wealth. + Then thrust they in the strength of ravening flame, + And from the sea there breathed a wind, sent forth + By Thetis, to consume the giant frame + Of Aias. All the night and all the morn + Burned 'neath the urgent stress of that great wind + Beside the ships that giant form, as when + Enceladus by Zeus' levin was consumed + Beneath Thrinacia, when from all the isle + Smoke of his burning rose--or like as when + Hercules, trapped by Nessus' deadly guile, + Gave to devouring fire his living limbs, + What time he dared that awful deed, when groaned + All Oeta as he burned alive, and passed + His soul into the air, leaving the man + Far-famous, to be numbered with the Gods, + When earth closed o'er his toil-tried mortal part. + So huge amid the flames, all-armour clad, + Lay Aias, all the joy of fight forgot, + While a great multitude watching thronged the sands. + Glad were the Trojans, but the Achaeans grieved. + + But when that goodly frame by ravening fire + Was all consumed, they quenched the pyre with wine; + They gathered up the bones, and reverently + Laid in a golden casket. Hard beside + Rhoeteium's headland heaped they up a mound + Measureless-high. Then scattered they amidst + The long ships, heavy-hearted for the man + Whom they had honoured even as Achilles. + Then black night, bearing unto all men sleep, + Upfloated: so they brake bread, and lay down + Waiting the Child of the Mist. Short was sleep, + Broken by fitful staring through the dark, + Haunted by dread lest in the night the foe + Should fall on them, now Telamon's son was dead. + + + +BOOK VI + +How came for the helping of Troy Eurypylus, Hercules' grandson. + + + Rose Dawn from Ocean and Tithonus' bed, + And climbed the steeps of heaven, scattering round + Flushed flakes of splendour; laughed all earth and air. + Then turned unto their labours, each to each, + Mortals, frail creatures daily dying. Then + Streamed to a folkmote all the Achaean men + At Menelaus' summons. When the host + Were gathered all, then in their midst he spake: + "Hearken my words, ye god-descended kings: + Mine heart within my breast is burdened sore + For men which perish, men that for my sake + Came to the bitter war, whose home-return + Parents and home shall welcome nevermore; + For Fate hath cut off thousands in their prime. + Oh that the heavy hand of death had fallen + On me, ere hitherward I gathered these! + But now hath God laid on me cureless pain + In seeing all these ills. Who could rejoice + Beholding strivings, struggles of despair? + Come, let us, which be yet alive, in haste + Flee in the ships, each to his several land, + Since Aias and Achilles both are dead. + I look not, now they are slain, that we the rest + Shall 'scape destruction; nay, but we shall fall + Before yon terrible Trojans for my sake + And shameless Helen's! Think not that I care + For her: for you I care, when I behold + Good men in battle slain. Away with her-- + Her and her paltry paramour! The Gods + Stole all discretion out of her false heart + When she forsook mine home and marriage-bed. + Let Priam and the Trojans cherish her! + But let us straight return: 'twere better far + To flee from dolorous war than perish all." + + So spake he but to try the Argive men. + Far other thoughts than these made his heart burn + With passionate desire to slay his foes, + To break the long walls of their city down + From their foundations, and to glut with blood + Ares, when Paris mid the slain should fall. + Fiercer is naught than passionate desire! + Thus as he pondered, sitting in his place, + Uprose Tydeides, shaker of the shield, + And chode in fiery speech with Menelaus: + "O coward Atreus' son, what craven fear + Hath gripped thee, that thou speakest so to us + As might a weakling child or woman speak? + Not unto thee Achaea's noblest sons + Will hearken, ere Troy's coronal of towers + Be wholly dashed to the dust: for unto men + Valour is high renown, and flight is shame! + If any man shall hearken to the words + Of this thy counsel, I will smite from him + His head with sharp blue steel, and hurl it down + For soaring kites to feast on. Up! all ye + Who care to enkindle men to battle: rouse + Our warriors all throughout the fleet to whet + The spear, to burnish corslet, helm and shield; + And cause both man and horse, all which be keen + In fight, to break their fast. Then in yon plain + Who is the stronger Ares shall decide." + + So speaking, in his place he sat him down; + Then rose up Thestor's son, and in the midst, + Where meet it is to speak, stood forth and cried: + "Hear me, ye sons of battle-biding Greeks: + Ye know I have the spirit of prophecy. + Erewhile I said that ye in the tenth year + Should lay waste towered Ilium: this the Gods + Are even now fulfilling; victory lies + At the Argives' very feet. Come, let us send + Tydeides and Odysseus battle-staunch + With speed to Scyros overseas, by prayers + Hither to bring Achilles' hero son: + A light of victory shall he be to us." + + So spake wise Thestius' son, and all the folk + Shouted for joy; for all their hearts and hopes + Yearned to see Calchas' prophecy fulfilled. + Then to the Argives spake Laertes' son: + "Friends, it befits not to say many words + This day to you, in sorrow's weariness. + I know that wearied men can find no joy + In speech or song, though the Pierides, + The immortal Muses, love it. At such time + Few words do men desire. But now, this thing + That pleaseth all the Achaean host, will I + Accomplish, so Tydeides fare with me; + For, if we twain go, we shall surely bring, + Won by our words, war-fain Achilles' son, + Yea, though his mother, weeping sore, should strive + Within her halls to keep him; for mine heart + Trusts that he is a hero's valorous son." + + Then out spake Menelaus earnestly: + "Odysseus, the strong Argives' help at need, + If mighty-souled Achilles' valiant son + From Scyros by thy suasion come to aid + Us who yearn for him, and some Heavenly One + Grant victory to our prayers, and I win home + To Hellas, I will give to him to wife + My noble child Hermione, with gifts + Many and goodly for her marriage-dower + With a glad heart. I trow he shall not scorn + Either his bride or high-born sire-in-law." + + With a great shout the Danaans hailed his words. + Then was the throng dispersed, and to the ships + They scattered hungering for the morning meat + Which strengtheneth man's heart. So when they ceased + From eating, and desire was satisfied, + Then with the wise Odysseus Tydeus' son + Drew down a swift ship to the boundless sea, + And victual and all tackling cast therein. + Then stepped they aboard, and with them twenty men, + Men skilled to row when winds were contrary, + Or when the unrippled sea slept 'neath a calm. + They smote the brine, and flashed the boiling foam: + On leapt the ship; a watery way was cleft + About the oars that sweating rowers tugged. + As when hard-toiling oxen, 'neath the yoke + Straining, drag on a massy-timbered wain, + While creaks the circling axle 'neath its load, + And from their weary necks and shoulders streams + Down to the ground the sweat abundantly; + So at the stiff oars toiled those stalwart men, + And fast they laid behind them leagues of sea. + Gazed after them the Achaeans as they went, + Then turned to whet their deadly darts and spears, + The weapons of their warfare. In their town + The aweless Trojans armed themselves the while + War-eager, praying to the Gods to grant + Respite from slaughter, breathing-space from toil. + + To these, while sorely thus they yearned, the Gods + Brought present help in trouble, even the seed + Of mighty Hercules, Eurypylus. + A great host followed him, in battle skilled, + All that by long Caicus' outflow dwelt, + Full of triumphant trust in their strong spears. + Round them rejoicing thronged the sons of Troy: + As when tame geese within a pen gaze up + On him who casts them corn, and round his feet + Throng hissing uncouth love, and his heart warms + As he looks down on them; so thronged the sons + Of Troy, as on fierce-heart Eurypylus + They gazed; and gladdened was his aweless soul + To see those throngs: from porchways women looked + Wide-eyed with wonder on the godlike man. + Above all men he towered as on he strode, + As looks a lion when amid the hills + He comes on jackals. Paris welcomed him, + As Hector honouring him, his cousin he, + Being of one blood with him, who was born Of + Astyoche, King Priam's sister fair + Whom Telephus embraced in his strong arms, + Telephus, whom to aweless Hercules + Auge the bright-haired bare in secret love. + That babe, a suckling craving for the breast, + A swift hind fostered, giving him the teat + As to her own fawn in all love; for Zeus + So willed it, in whose eyes it was not meet + That Hercules' child should perish wretchedly. + His glorious son with glad heart Paris led + Unto his palace through the wide-wayed burg + Beside Assaracus' tomb and stately halls + Of Hector, and Tritonis' holy fane. + Hard by his mansion stood, and therebeside + The stainless altar of Home-warder Zeus + Rose. As they went, he lovingly questioned him + Of brethren, parents, and of marriage-kin; + And all he craved to know Eurypylus told. + So communed they, on-pacing side by side. + Then came they to a palace great and rich: + There goddess-like sat Helen, clothed upon + With beauty of the Graces. Maidens four + About her plied their tasks: others apart + Within that goodly bower wrought the works + Beseeming handmaids. Helen marvelling gazed + Upon Eurypylus, on Helen he. + Then these in converse each with other spake + In that all-odorous bower. The handmaids brought + And set beside their lady high-seats twain; + And Paris sat him down, and at his side + Eurypylus. That hero's host encamped + Without the city, where the Trojan guards + Kept watch. Their armour laid they on the earth; + Their steeds, yet breathing battle, stood thereby, + And cribs were heaped with horses' provender. + + Upfloated night, and darkened earth and air; + Then feasted they before that cliff-like wall, + Ceteian men and Trojans: babel of talk + Rose from the feasters: all around the glow + Of blazing campfires lighted up the tents: + Pealed out the pipe's sweet voice, and hautboys rang + With their clear-shrilling reeds; the witching strain + Of lyres was rippling round. From far away + The Argives gazed and marvelled, seeing the plain + Aglare with many fires, and hearing notes + Of flutes and lyres, neighing of chariot-steeds + And pipes, the shepherd's and the banquet's joy. + Therefore they bade their fellows each in turn + Keep watch and ward about the tents till dawn, + Lest those proud Trojans feasting by their walls + Should fall on them, and set the ships aflame. + + Within the halls of Paris all this while + With kings and princes Telephus' hero son + Feasted; and Priam and the sons of Troy + Each after each prayed him to play the man + Against the Argives, and in bitter doom + To lay them low; and blithe he promised all. + So when they had supped, each hied him to his home; + But there Eurypylus laid him down to rest + Full nigh the feast-hall, in the stately bower + Where Paris theretofore himself had slept + With Helen world-renowned. A bower it was + Most wondrous fair, the goodliest of them all. + There lay he down; but otherwhere their rest + Took they, till rose the bright-throned Queen of Morn. + Up sprang with dawn the son of Telephus, + And passed to the host with all those other kings + In Troy abiding. Straightway did the folk + All battle-eager don their warrior-gear, + Burning to strike in forefront of the fight. + And now Eurypylus clad his mighty limbs + In armour that like levin-flashes gleamed; + Upon his shield by cunning hands were wrought + All the great labours of strong Hercules. + + Thereon were seen two serpents flickering + Black tongues from grimly jaws: they seemed in act + To dart; but Hercules' hands to right and left-- + Albeit a babe's hands--now were throttling them; + For aweless was his spirit. As Zeus' strength + From the beginning was his strength. The seed + Of Heaven-abiders never deedless is + Nor helpless, but hath boundless prowess, yea, + Even when in the womb unborn it lies. + + Nemea's mighty lion there was seen + Strangled in the strong arms of Hercules, + His grim jaws dashed about with bloody foam: + He seemed in verity gasping out his life. + + Thereby was wrought the Hydra many-necked + Flickering its dread tongues. Of its fearful heads + Some severed lay on earth, but many more + Were budding from its necks, while Hercules + And Iolaus, dauntless-hearted twain, + Toiled hard; the one with lightning sickle-sweeps + Lopped the fierce heads, his fellow seared each neck + With glowing iron; the monster so was slain. + + Thereby was wrought the mighty tameless Boar + With foaming jaws; real seemed the pictured thing, + As by Aleides' giant strength the brute + Was to Eurystheus living borne on high. + + There fashioned was the fleetfoot stag which laid + The vineyards waste of hapless husbandmen. + The Hero's hands held fast its golden horns, + The while it snorted breath of ravening fire. + + Thereon were seen the fierce Stymphalian Birds, + Some arrow-smitten dying in the dust, + Some through the grey air darting in swift flight. + At this, at that one--hot in haste he seemed-- + Hercules sped the arrows of his wrath. + + Augeias' monstrous stable there was wrought + With cunning craft on that invincible targe; + And Hercules was turning through the same + The deep flow of Alpheius' stream divine, + While wondering Nymphs looked down on every hand + Upon that mighty work. Elsewhere portrayed + Was the Fire-breathing Bull: the Hero's grip + On his strong horns wrenched round the massive neck: + The straining muscles on his arm stood out: + The huge beast seemed to bellow. Next thereto + Wrought on the shield was one in beauty arrayed + As of a Goddess, even Hippolyta. + The hero by the hair was dragging her + From her swift steed, with fierce resolve to wrest + With his strong hands the Girdle Marvellous + From the Amazon Queen, while quailing shrank away + The Maids of War. There in the Thracian land + Were Diomedes' grim man-eating steeds: + These at their gruesome mangers had he slain, + And dead they lay with their fiend-hearted lord. + + There lay the bulk of giant Geryon + Dead mid his kine. His gory heads were cast + In dust, dashed down by that resistless club. + Before him slain lay that most murderous hound + Orthros, in furious might like Cerberus + His brother-hound: a herdman lay thereby, + Eurytion, all bedabbled with his blood. + + There were the Golden Apples wrought, that gleamed + In the Hesperides' garden undefiled: + All round the fearful Serpent's dead coils lay, + And shrank the Maids aghast from Zeus' bold son. + + And there, a dread sight even for Gods to see, + Was Cerberus, whom the Loathly Worm had borne + To Typho in a craggy cavern's gloom + Close on the borders of Eternal Night, + A hideous monster, warder of the Gate + Of Hades, Home of Wailing, jailer-hound + Of dead folk in the shadowy Gulf of Doom. + But lightly Zeus' son with his crashing blows + Tamed him, and haled him from the cataract flood + Of Styx, with heavy-drooping head, and dragged + The Dog sore loth to the strange upper air + All dauntlessly. And there, at the world's end, + Were Caucasus' long glens, where Hercules, + Rending Prometheus' chains, and hurling them + This way and that with fragments of the rock + Whereinto they were riveted, set free + The mighty Titan. Arrow-smitten lay + The Eagle of the Torment therebeside. + + There stormed the wild rout of the Centaurs round + The hall of Pholus: goaded on by Strife + And wine, with Hercules the monsters fought. + Amidst the pine-trunks stricken to death they lay + Still grasping those strange weapons in dead hands, + While some with stems long-shafted still fought on + In fury, and refrained not from the strife; + And all their heads, gashed in the pitiless fight, + Were drenched with gore--the whole scene seemed to live-- + With blood the wine was mingled: meats and bowls + And tables in one ruin shattered lay. + + There by Evenus' torrent, in fierce wrath + For his sweet bride, he laid with the arrow low + Nessus in mid-flight. There withal was wrought + Antaeus' brawny strength, who challenged him + To wrestling-strife; he in those sinewy arms + Raised high above the earth, was crushed to death. + + There where swift Hellespont meets the outer sea, + Lay the sea-monster slain by his ruthless shafts, + While from Hesione he rent her chains. + + Of bold Alcides many a deed beside + Shone on the broad shield of Eurypylus. + He seemed the War-god, as from rank to rank + He sped; rejoiced the Trojans following him, + Seeing his arms, and him clothed with the might + Of Gods; and Paris hailed him to the fray: + "Glad am I for thy coming, for mine heart + Trusts that the Argives all shall wretchedly + Be with their ships destroyed; for such a man + Mid Greeks or Trojans never have I seen. + Now, by the strength and fury of Hercules-- + To whom in stature, might, and goodlihead + Most like thou art I pray thee, have in mind + Him, and resolve to match his deeds with thine. + Be the strong shield of Trojans hard-bestead: + Win us a breathing-space. Thou only, I trow, + From perishing Troy canst thrust the dark doom back." + + With kindling words he spake. That hero cried: + "Great-hearted Paris, like the Blessed Ones + In goodlihead, this lieth foreordained + On the Gods' knees, who in the fight shall fall, + And who outlive it. I, as honour bids, + And as my strength sufficeth, will not flinch + From Troy's defence. I swear to turn from fight + Never, except in victory or death." + + Gallantly spake he: with exceeding joy + Rejoiced the Trojans. Champions then he chose, + Alexander and Aeneas fiery-souled, + Polydamas, Pammon, and Deiphobus, + And Aethicus, of Paphlagonian men + The staunchest man to stem the tide of war; + These chose he, cunning all in battle-toil, + To meet the foe in forefront of the fight. + Swiftly they strode before that warrior-throng + Then from the city cheering charged. The host + Followed them in their thousands, as when bees + Follow by bands their leaders from the hives, + With loud hum on a spring day pouring forth. + So to the fight the warriors followed these; + And, as they charged, the thunder-tramp of men + And steeds, and clang of armour, rang to heaven. + As when a rushing mighty wind stirs up + The barren sea-plain from its nethermost floor, + And darkling to the strand roll roaring waves + Belching sea-tangle from the bursting surf, + And wild sounds rise from beaches harvestless; + So, as they charged, the wide earth rang again. + + Now from their rampart forth the Argives poured + Round godlike Agamemnon. Rang their shouts + Cheering each other on to face the fight, + And not to cower beside the ships in dread + Of onset-shouts of battle-eager foes. + They met those charging hosts with hearts as light + As calves bear, when they leap to meet the kine + Down faring from hill-pastures in the spring + Unto the steading, when the fields are green + With corn-blades, when the earth is glad with flowers, + And bowls are brimmed with milk of kine and ewes, + And multitudinous lowing far and near + Uprises as the mothers meet their young, + And in their midst the herdman joys; so great + Was the uproar that rose when met the fronts + Of battle: dread it rang on either hand. + Hard-strained was then the fight: incarnate + Strife Stalked through the midst, with Slaughter ghastly-faced. + Crashed bull-hide shields, and spears, and helmet-crests + Meeting: the brass flashed out like leaping flames. + Bristled the battle with the lances; earth + Ran red with blood, as slaughtered heroes fell + And horses, mid a tangle of shattered ears, + Some yet with spear-wounds gasping, while on them + Others were falling. Through the air upshrieked + An awful indistinguishable roar; + For on both hosts fell iron-hearted Strife. + Here were men hurling cruel jagged stones, + There speeding arrows and new-whetted darts, + There with the axe or twibill hewing hard, + Slashing with swords, and thrusting out with spears: + Their mad hands clutched all manner of tools of death. + + At first the Argives bore the ranks of Troy + Backward a little; but they rallied, charged, + Leapt on the foe, and drenched the field with blood. + Like a black hurricane rushed Eurypylus + Cheering his men on, hewing Argives down + Awelessly: measureless might was lent to him + By Zeus, for a grace to glorious Hercules. + Nireus, a man in beauty like the Gods, + His spear long-shafted stabbed beneath the ribs, + Down on the plain he fell, forth streamed the blood + Drenching his splendid arms, drenching the form + Glorious of mould, and his thick-clustering hair. + There mid the slain in dust and blood he lay, + Like a young lusty olive-sapling, which + A river rushing down in roaring flood, + Tearing its banks away, and cleaving wide + A chasm-channel, hath disrooted; low + It lieth heavy-blossomed; so lay then + The goodly form, the grace of loveliness + Of Nireus on earth's breast. But o'er the slain + Loud rang the taunting of Eurypylus: + "Lie there in dust! Thy beauty marvellous + Naught hath availed thee! I have plucked thee away + From life, to which thou wast so fain to cling. + Rash fool, who didst defy a mightier man + Unknowing! Beauty is no match for strength!" + + He spake, and leapt upon the slain to strip + His goodly arms: but now against him came + Machaon wroth for Nireus, by his side + Doom-overtaken. With his spear he drave + At his right shoulder: strong albeit he was, + He touched him, and blood spurted from the gash. + Yet, ere he might leap back from grapple of death, + Even as a lion or fierce mountain-boar + Maddens mid thronging huntsmen, furious-fain + To rend the man whose hand first wounded him; + So fierce Eurypylus on Machaon rushed. + The long lance shot out swiftly, and pierced him through + On the right haunch; yet would he not give back, + Nor flinch from the onset, fast though flowed the blood. + In haste he snatched a huge stone from the ground, + And dashed it on the head of Telephus' son; + But his helm warded him from death or harm + Then waxed Eurypylus more hotly wroth + With that strong warrior, and in fury of soul + Clear through Machaon's breast he drave his spear, + And through the midriff passed the gory point. + He fell, as falls beneath a lion's jaws + A bull, and round him clashed his glancing arms. + Swiftly Eurypylus plucked the lance of death + Out of the wound, and vaunting cried aloud: + "Wretch, wisdom was not bound up in thine heart, + That thou, a weakling, didst come forth to fight + A mightier. Therefore art thou in the toils + Of Doom. Much profit shall be thine, when kites + Devour the flesh of thee in battle slain! + Ha, dost thou hope still to return, to 'scape + Mine hands? A leech art thou, and soothing salves + Thou knowest, and by these didst haply hope + To flee the evil day! Not thine own sire, + On the wind's wings descending from Olympus, + Should save thy life, not though between thy lips + He should pour nectar and ambrosia!" + + Faint-breathing answered him the dying man: + "Eurypylus, thine own weird is to live + Not long: Fate is at point to meet thee here + On Troy's plain, and to still thine impious tongue." + + So passed his spirit into Hades' halls. + Then to the dead man spake his conqueror: + "Now on the earth lie thou. What shall betide + Hereafter, care I not--yea, though this day + Death's doom stand by my feet: no man may live + For ever: each man's fate is foreordained." + + Stabbing the corpse he spake. Then shouted loud + Teucer, at seeing Machaon in the dust. + Far thence he stood hard-toiling in the fight, + For on the centre sore the battle lay: + Foe after foe pressed on; yet not for this + Was Teucer heedless of the fallen brave, + Neither of Nireus lying hard thereby + Behind Machaon in the dust. He saw, + + And with a great voice raised the rescue-cry: + "Charge, Argives! Flinch not from the charging foe! + For shame unspeakable shall cover us + If Trojan men hale back to Ilium + Noble Machaon and Nireus godlike-fair. + Come, with a good heart let us face the foe + To rescue these slain friends, or fall ourselves + Beside them. Duty bids that men defend + Friends, and to aliens leave them not a prey, + Not without sweat of toil is glory won!" + + Then were the Danaans anguish-stung: the earth + All round them dyed they red with blood of slain, + As foe fought foe in even-balanced fight. + By this to Podaleirius tidings came + How that in dust his brother lay, struck down + By woeful death. Beside the ships he sat + Ministering to the hurts of men with spears + Stricken. In wrath for his brother's sake he rose, + He clad him in his armour; in his breast + Dread battle-prowess swelled. For conflict grim + He panted: boiled the mad blood round his heart + He leapt amidst the foemen; his swift hands + Swung the snake-headed javelin up, and hurled, + And slew with its winged speed Agamestor's son + Cleitus, a bright-haired Nymph had given him birth + Beside Parthenius, whose quiet stream + Fleets smooth as oil through green lands, till it pours + Its shining ripples to the Euxine sea. + Then by his warrior-brother laid he low + Lassus, whom Pronoe, fair as a goddess, bare + Beside Nymphaeus' stream, hard by a cave, + A wide and wondrous cave: sacred it is + Men say, unto the Nymphs, even all that haunt + The long-ridged Paphlagonian hills, and all + That by full-clustered Heracleia dwell. + That cave is like the work of gods, of stone + In manner marvellous moulded: through it flows + Cold water crystal-clear: in niches round + Stand bowls of stone upon the rugged rock, + Seeming as they were wrought by carvers' hands. + Statues of Wood-gods stand around, fair Nymphs, + Looms, distaffs, all such things as mortal craft + Fashioneth. Wondrous seem they unto men + Which pass into that hallowed cave. It hath, + Up-leading and down-leading, doorways twain, + Facing, the one, the wild North's shrilling blasts, + And one the dank rain-burdened South. By this + Do mortals pass beneath the Nymphs' wide cave; + But that is the Immortals' path: no man + May tread it, for a chasm deep and wide + Down-reaching unto Hades, yawns between. + This track the Blest Gods may alone behold. + So died a host on either side that warred + Over Machaon and Aglaia's son. + But at the last through desperate wrestle of fight + The Danaans rescued them: yet few were they + Which bare them to the ships: by bitter stress + Of conflict were the more part compassed round, + And needs must still abide the battle's brunt. + But when full many had filled the measure up + Of fate, mid tumult, blood and agony, + Then to their ships did many Argives flee + Pressed by Eurypylus hard, an avalanche + Of havoc. Yet a few abode the strife + Round Aias and the Atreidae rallying; + And haply these had perished all, beset + By throngs on throngs of foes on every hand, + Had not Oileus' son stabbed with his spear + 'Twixt shoulder and breast war-wise Polydamas; + Forth gushed the blood, and he recoiled a space. + Then Menelaus pierced Deiphobus + By the right breast, that with swift feet he fled. + And many of that slaughter-breathing throng + Were slain by Agamemnon: furiously + He rushed on godlike Aethicus with the spear; + But he shrank from the forefront back mid friends. + + Now when Eurypylus the battle-stay + Marked how the ranks of Troy gave back from fight, + He turned him from the host that he had chased + Even to the ships, and rushed with eagle-swoop + On Atreus' strong sons and Oileus' seed + Stout-hearted, who was passing fleet of foot + And in fight peerless. Swiftly he charged on these + Grasping his spear long-shafted: at Iris side + Charged Paris, charged Aeneas stout of heart, + Who hurled a stone exceeding huge, that crashed + On Aias' helmet: dashed to the dust he was, + Yet gave not up the ghost, whose day of doom + Was fate-ordained amidst Caphaerus' rocks + On the home-voyage. Now his valiant men + Out of the foes' hands snatched him, bare him thence, + Scarce drawing breath, to the Achaean ships. + And now the Atreid kings, the war-renowned, + Were left alone, and murder-breathing foes + Encompassed them, and hurled from every side + Whate'er their hands might find the deadly shaft + Some showered, some the stone, the javelin some. + They in the midst aye turned this way and that, + As boars or lions compassed round with pales + On that day when kings gather to the sport + The people, and have penned the mighty beasts + Within the toils of death; but these, although + With walls ringed round, yet tear with tusk and fang + What luckless thrall soever draweth near. + So these death-compassed heroes slew their foes + Ever as they pressed on. Yet had their might + Availed not for defence, for all their will, + Had Teucer and Idomeneus strong of heart + Come not to help, with Thoas, Meriones, + And godlike Thrasymedes, they which shrank + Erewhile before Eurypylus yea, had fled + Unto the ships to 'scape the crushing doom, + But that, in fear for Atreus' sons, they rallied + Against Eurypylus: deadly waxed the fight. + + Then Teucer with a mighty spear-thrust smote + Aeneas' shield, yet wounded not his flesh, + For the great fourfold buckler warded him; + Yet feared he, and recoiled a little space. + Leapt Meriones upon Laophoon + The son of Paeon, born by Axius' flood + Of bright-haired Cleomede. Unto Troy + With noble Asteropaeus had he come + To aid her folk: him Meriones' keen spear + Stabbed 'neath the navel, and the lance-head tore + His bowels forth; swift sped his soul away + Into the Shadow-land. Alcimedes, + The warrior-friend of Aias, Oileus' son, + Shot mid the press of Trojans; for he sped + With taunting shout a sharp stone from a sling + Into their battle's heart. They quailed in fear + Before the hum and onrush of the bolt. + Fate winged its flight to the bold charioteer + Of Pammon, Hippasus' son: his brow it smote + While yet he grasped the reins, and flung him stunned + Down from the chariot-seat before the wheels. + The rushing war-wain whirled his wretched form + 'Twixt tyres and heels of onward-leaping steeds, + And awful death in that hour swallowed him + When whip and reins had flown from his nerveless hands. + Then grief thrilled Pammon: hard necessity + Made him both chariot-lord and charioteer. + Now to his doom and death-day had he bowed, + Had not a Trojan through that gory strife + Leapt, grasped the reins, and saved the prince, when now + His strength failed 'neath the murderous hands of foes. + + As godlike Acamas charged, the stalwart son + Of Nestor thrust the spear above his knee, + And with that wound sore anguish came on him: + Back from the fight he drew; the deadly strife + He left unto his comrades: quenched was now + His battle-lust. Eurypylus' henchman smote + Echemmon, Thoas' friend, amidst the fray + Beneath the shoulder: nigh his heart the spear + Passed bitter-biting: o'er his limbs brake out + Mingled with blood cold sweat of agony. + He turned to flee; Eurypylus' giant might + Chased, caught him, shearing his heel-tendons through: + There, where the blow fell, his reluctant feet + Stayed, and the spirit left his mortal frame. + Thoas pricked Paris with quick-thrusting spear + On the right thigh: backward a space he ran + For his death-speeding bow, which had been left + To rearward of the fight. Idomeneus + Upheaved a stone, huge as his hands could swing, + And dashed it on Eurypylus' arm: to earth + Fell his death-dealing spear. Backward he stepped + To grasp another, since from out his hand + The first was smitten. So had Atreus' sons + A moment's breathing-space from stress of war. + But swiftly drew Eurypylus' henchmen near + Bearing a stubborn-shafted lance, wherewith + He brake the strength of many. In stormy might + Then charged he on the foe: whomso he met + He slew, and spread wide havoc through their ranks. + + Now neither Atreus' sons might steadfast stand, + Nor any valiant Danaan beside, + For ruinous panic suddenly gripped the hearts + Of all; for on them all Eurypylus rushed + Flashing death in their faces, chased them, slew, + Cried to the Trojans and to his chariot-lords: + "Friends, be of good heart! To these Danaans + Let us deal slaughter and doom's darkness now! + Lo, how like scared sheep back to the ships they flee! + Forget not your death-dealing battle-lore, + O ye that from your youth are men of war!" + + Then charged they on the Argives as one man; + And these in utter panic turned and fled + The bitter battle, those hard after them + Followed, as white-fanged hounds hold deer in chase + Up the long forest-glens. Full many in dust + They dashed down, howsoe'er they longed to escape. + The slaughter grim and great of that wild fray. + Eurypylus hath slain Bucolion, + Nesus, and Chromion and Antiphus; + Twain in Mycenae dwelt, a goodly land; + In Lacedaemon twain. Men of renown + Albeit they were, he slew them. Then he smote + A host unnumbered of the common throng. + My strength should not suffice to sing their fate, + How fain soever, though within my breast + Were iron lungs. Aeneas slew withal + Antimachus and Pheres, twain which left + Crete with Idomeneus. Agenor smote + Molus the princely,--with king Sthenelus + He came from Argos,--hurled from far behind + A dart new-whetted, as he fled from fight, + Piercing his right leg, and the eager shaft + Cut sheer through the broad sinew, shattering + The bones with anguished pain: and so his doom + Met him, to die a death of agony. + Then Paris' arrows laid proud Phorcys low, + And Mosynus, brethren both, from Salamis + Who came in Aias' ships, and nevermore + Saw the home-land. Cleolaus smote he next, + Meges' stout henchman; for the arrow struck + His left breast: deadly night enwrapped him round, + And his soul fleeted forth: his fainting heart + Still in his breast fluttering convulsively + Made the winged arrow shiver. Yet again + Did Paris shoot at bold Eetion. + Through his jaw leapt the sudden-flashing brass: + He groaned, and with his blood were mingled tears. + So ever man slew man, till all the space + Was heaped with Argives each on other cast. + Now had the Trojans burnt with fire the ships, + Had not night, trailing heavy-folded mist, + Uprisen. So Eurypylus drew back, + And Troy's sons with him, from the ships aloof + A little space, by Simois' outfall; there + Camped they exultant. But amidst the ships + Flung down upon the sands the Argives wailed + Heart-anguished for the slain, so many of whom + Dark fate had overtaken and laid in dust. + + + +BOOK VII + +How the Son of Achilles was brought to the War from the Isle of Scyros. + + + When heaven hid his stars, and Dawn awoke + Outspraying splendour, and night's darkness fled, + Then undismayed the Argives' warrior-sons + Marched forth without the ships to meet in fight + Eurypylus, save those that tarried still + To render to Machaon midst the ships + Death-dues, with Nireus--Nireus, who in grace + And goodlihead was like the Deathless Ones, + Yet was not strong in bodily might: the Gods + Grant not perfection in all things to men; + But evil still is blended with the good + By some strange fate: to Nireus' winsome grace + Was linked a weakling's prowess. Yet the Greeks + Slighted him not, but gave him all death-dues, + And mourned above his grave with no less grief + Than for Machaon, whom they honoured aye, + For his deep wisdom, as the immortal Gods. + One mound they swiftly heaped above these twain. + + Then in the plain once more did murderous war + Madden: the multitudinous clash and cry + Rose, as the shields were shattered with huge stones, + Were pierced with lances. So they toiled in fight; + But all this while lay Podaleirius + Fasting in dust and groaning, leaving not + His brother's tomb; and oft his heart was moved + With his own hands to slay himself. And now + He clutched his sword, and now amidst his herbs + Sought for a deadly drug; and still his friends + Essayed to stay his hand and comfort him + With many pleadings. But he would not cease + From grieving: yea, his hands had spilt his life + There on his noble brother's new-made tomb, + But Nestor heard thereof, and sorrowed sore + In his affliction, and he came on him + As now he flung him on that woeful grave, + And now was casting dust upon his head, + Beating his breast, and on his brother's name + Crying, while thralls and comrades round their lord + Groaned, and affliction held them one and all. + Then gently spake he to that stricken one: + "Refrain from bitter moan and deadly grief, + My son. It is not for a wise man's honour + To wail, as doth a woman, o'er the fallen. + Thou shalt not bring him up to light again + Whose soul hath fleeted vanishing into air, + Whose body fire hath ravined up, whose bones + Earth has received. His end was worthy his life. + Endure thy sore grief, even as I endured, + Who lost a son, slain by the hands of foes, + A son not worse than thy Machaon, good + With spears in battle, good in counsel. None + Of all the youths so loved his sire as he + Loved me. He died for me yea, died to save + His father. Yet, when he was slain, did I + Endure to taste food, and to see the light, + Well knowing that all men must tread one path + Hades-ward, and before all lies one goal, + Death's mournful goal. A mortal man must bear + All joys, all griefs, that God vouchsafes to send." + + Made answer that heart-stricken one, while still + Wet were his cheeks with ever-flowing tears: + "Father, mine heart is bowed 'neath crushing grief + For a brother passing wise, who fostered me + Even as a son. When to the heavens had passed + Our father, in his arms he cradled me: + Gladly he taught me all his healing lore; + We shared one table; in one bed we lay: + We had all things in common these, and love. + My grief cannot forget, nor I desire, + Now he is dead, to see the light of life." + + Then spake the old man to that stricken one: + "To all men Fate assigns one same sad lot, + Bereavement: earth shall cover all alike, + Albeit we tread not the same path of life, + And none the path he chooseth; for on high + Good things and bad lie on the knees of + Gods Unnumbered, indistinguishably blent. + These no Immortal seeth; they are veiled + In mystic cloud-folds. Only Fate puts forth + Her hands thereto, nor looks at what she takes, + But casts them from Olympus down to earth. + This way and that they are wafted, as it were + By gusts of wind. The good man oft is whelmed + In suffering: wealth undeserved is heaped + On the vile person. Blind is each man's life; + Therefore he never walketh surely; oft + He stumbleth: ever devious is his path, + Now sloping down to sorrow, mounting now + To bliss. All-happy is no living man + From the beginning to the end, but still + The good and evil clash. Our life is short; + Beseems not then in grief to live. Hope on, + Still hope for better days: chain not to woe + Thine heart. There is a saying among men + That to the heavens unperishing mount the souls + Of good men, and to nether darkness sink + Souls of the wicked. Both to God and man + Dear was thy brother, good to brother-men, + And son of an Immortal. Sure am I + That to the company of Gods shall he + Ascend, by intercession of thy sire." + + Then raised he that reluctant mourner up + With comfortable words. From that dark grave + He drew him, backward gazing oft with groans. + To the ships they came, where Greeks and Trojan men + Had bitter travail of rekindled war. + + Eurypylus there, in dauntless spirit like + The War-god, with mad-raging spear and hands + Resistless, smote down hosts of foes: the earth + Was clogged with dead men slain on either side. + On strode he midst the corpses, awelessly + He fought, with blood-bespattered hands and feet; + Never a moment from grim strife he ceased. + Peneleos the mighty-hearted came + Against him in the pitiless fray: he fell + Before Eurypylus' spear: yea, many more + Fell round him. Ceased not those destroying hands, + But wrathful on the Argives still he pressed, + As when of old on Pholoe's long-ridged heights + Upon the Centaurs terrible Hercules rushed + Storming in might, and slew them, passing-swift + And strong and battle-cunning though they were; + So rushed he on, so smote he down the array, + One after other, of the Danaan spears. + Heaps upon heaps, here, there, in throngs they fell + Strewn in the dust. As when a river in flood + Comes thundering down, banks crumble on either side + To drifting sand: on seaward rolls the surge + Tossing wild crests, while cliffs on every hand + Ring crashing echoes, as their brows break down + Beneath long-leaping roaring waterfalls, + And dikes are swept away; so fell in dust + The war-famed Argives by Eurypylus slain, + Such as he overtook in that red rout. + Some few escaped, whom strength of fleeing feet + Delivered. Yet in that sore strait they drew + Peneleos from the shrieking tumult forth, + And bare to the ships, though with swift feet themselves + Were fleeing from ghastly death, from pitiless doom. + Behind the rampart of the ships they fled + In huddled rout: they had no heart to stand + Before Eurypylus, for Hercules, + To crown with glory his son's stalwart son, + Thrilled them with panic. There behind their wall + They cowered, as goats to leeward of a hill + Shrink from the wild cold rushing of the wind + That bringeth snow and heavy sleet and haft. + No longing for the pasture tempteth them + Over the brow to step, and face the blast, + But huddling screened by rock-wall and ravine + They abide the storm, and crop the scanty grass + Under dim copses thronging, till the gusts + Of that ill wind shall lull: so, by their towers + Screened, did the trembling Danaans abide + Telephus' mighty son. Yea, he had burnt + The ships, and all that host had he destroyed, + Had not Athena at the last inspired + The Argive men with courage. Ceaselessly + From the high rampart hurled they at the foe + With bitter-biting darts, and slew them fast; + And all the walls were splashed with reeking gore, + And aye went up a moan of smitten men. + + So fought they: nightlong, daylong fought they on, + Ceteians, Trojans, battle-biding Greeks, + Fought, now before the ships, and now again + Round the steep wall, with fury unutterable. + Yet even so for two days did they cease + From murderous fight; for to Eurypylus came + A Danaan embassage, saying, "From the war + Forbear we, while we give unto the flames + The battle-slain." So hearkened he to them: + From ruin-wreaking strife forebore the hosts; + And so their dead they buried, who in dust + Had fallen. Chiefly the Achaeans mourned + Peneleos; o'er the mighty dead they heaped + A barrow broad and high, a sign for men + Of days to be. But in a several place + The multitude of heroes slain they laid, + Mourning with stricken hearts. On one great pyre + They burnt them all, and buried in one grave. + So likewise far from thence the sons of Troy + Buried their slain. Yet murderous Strife slept not, + But roused again Eurypylus' dauntless might + To meet the foe. He turned not from the ships, + But there abode, and fanned the fury of war. + + Meanwhile the black ship on to Scyros ran; + And those twain found before his palace-gate + Achilles' son, now hurling dart and lance, + Now in his chariot driving fleetfoot steeds. + Glad were they to behold him practising + The deeds of war, albeit his heart was sad + For his slain sire, of whom had tidings come + Ere this. With reverent eyes of awe they went + To meet him, for that goodly form and face + Seemed even as very Achilles unto them. + But he, or ever they had spoken, cried: + "All hail, ye strangers, unto this mine home + Say whence ye are, and who, and what the need + That hither brings you over barren seas." + + So spake he, and Odysseus answered him: + "Friends are we of Achilles lord of war, + To whom of Deidameia thou wast born-- + Yea, when we look on thee we seem to see + That Hero's self; and like the Immortal Ones + Was he. Of Ithaca am I: this man + Of Argos, nurse of horses--if perchance + Thou hast heard the name of Tydeus' warrior son + Or of the wise Odysseus. Lo, I stand + Before thee, sent by voice of prophecy. + I pray thee, pity us: come thou to Troy + And help us. Only so unto the war + An end shall be. Gifts beyond words to thee + The Achaean kings shall give: yea, I myself + Will give to thee thy godlike father's arms, + And great shall be thy joy in bearing them; + For these be like no mortal's battle-gear, + But splendid as the very War-god's arms. + Over their marvellous blazonry hath gold + Been lavished; yea, in heaven Hephaestus' self + Rejoiced in fashioning that work divine, + The which thine eyes shall marvel to behold; + For earth and heaven and sea upon the shield + Are wrought, and in its wondrous compass are + Creatures that seem to live and move--a wonder + Even to the Immortals. Never man + Hath seen their like, nor any man hath worn, + Save thy sire only, whom the Achaeans all + Honoured as Zeus himself. I chiefliest + From mine heart loved him, and when he was slain, + To many a foe I dealt a ruthless doom, + And through them all bare back to the ships his corse. + Therefore his glorious arms did Thetis give + To me. These, though I prize them well, to thee + Will I give gladly when thou com'st to Troy. + Yea also, when we have smitten Priam's towns + And unto Hellas in our ships return, + Shall Menelaus give thee, an thou wilt, + His princess-child to wife, of love for thee, + And with his bright-haired daughter shall bestow + Rich dower of gold and treasure, even all + That meet is to attend a wealthy king." + + So spake he, and replied Achilles' son: + "If bidden of oracles the Achaean men + Summon me, let us with to-morrow's dawn + Fare forth upon the broad depths of the sea, + If so to longing Danaans I may prove + A light of help. Now pass we to mine halls, + And to such guest-fare as befits to set + Before the stranger. For my marriage-day-- + To this the Gods in time to come shall see." + + Then hall-ward led he them, and with glad hearts + They followed. To the forecourt when they came + Of that great mansion, found they there the Queen + Deidameia in her sorrow of soul + Grief-wasted, as when snow from mountain-sides + Before the sun and east-wind wastes away; + So pined she for that princely hero slain. + Then came to her amidst her grief the kings, + And greeted her in courteous wise. Her son + Drew near and told their lineage and their names; + But that for which they came he left untold + Until the morrow, lest unto her woe + There should be added grief and floods of tears, + And lest her prayers should hold him from the path + Whereon his heart was set. Straight feasted these, + And comforted their hearts with sleep, even all + Which dwelt in sea-ringed Scyros, nightlong lulled + By long low thunder of the girdling deep, + Of waves Aegean breaking on her shores. + But not on Deidameia fell the hands + Of kindly sleep. She bore in mind the names + Of crafty Odysseus and of Diomede + The godlike, how these twain had widowed her + Of battle-fain Achilles, how their words + Had won his aweless heart to fare with them + To meet the war-cry where stern Fate met him, + Shattered his hope of home-return, and laid + Measureless grief on Peleus and on her. + Therefore an awful dread oppressed her soul + Lest her son too to tumult of the war + Should speed, and grief be added to her grief. + + Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they + Rose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew; + And on her son's broad breast she cast herself, + And bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air, + As when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills + Seeks through the glens her calf, and all around + Echo long ridges of the mountain-steep; + So on all sides from dim recesses rang + The hall; and in her misery she cried: + "Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing + To follow strangers unto Ilium + The fount of tears, where perish many in fight, + Yea, cunning men in war and battle grim? + And thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt + The ways of war, which save men in the day + Of peril. Hearken thou to me, abide + Here in thine home, lest evil tidings come + From Troy unto my ears, that thou in fight + Hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou + Hitherward shalt from battle-toil return. + Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death-- + He, mightier than thou, mightier than all + Heroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess' son-- + But was in battle slain, all through the wiles + And crafty counsels of these very men + Who now to woeful war be kindling thee. + Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear + Lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved + Of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain, + For never heavier blow on woman falls + Than when her lord hath perished, and her sons + Die also, and her house is left to her + Desolate. Straightway evil men remove + Her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all, + Setting the right at naught. There is no lot + More woeful and more helpless than is hers + Who is left a widow in a desolate home." + + Loud-wailing spake she; but her son replied: + "Be of good cheer, my mother; put from thee + Evil foreboding. No man is in war + Beyond his destiny slain. If my weird be + To die in my country's cause, then let me die + When I have done deeds worthy of my sire." + + Then to his side old Lycomedes came, + And to his battle-eager grandson spake: + "O valiant-hearted son, so like thy sire, + I know thee strong and valorous; yet, O yet + For thee I fear the bitter war; I fear + The terrible sea-surge. Shipmen evermore + Hang on destruction's brink. Beware, my child, + Perils of waters when thou sailest back + From Troy or other shores, such as beset + Full oftentimes the voyagers that ride + The long sea-ridges, when the sun hath left + The Archer-star, and meets the misty Goat, + When the wild blasts drive on the lowering storm, + Or when Orion to the darkling west + Slopes, into Ocean's river sinking slow. + Beware the time of equal days and nights, + When blasts that o'er the sea's abysses rush, + None knoweth whence in fury of battle clash. + Beware the Pleiads' setting, when the sea + Maddens beneath their power nor these alone, + But other stars, terrors of hapless men, + As o'er the wide sea-gulf they set or rise." + + Then kissed he him, nor sought to stay the feet + Of him who panted for the clamour of war, + Who smiled for pleasure and for eagerness + To haste to the ship. Yet were his hurrying feet + Stayed by his mother's pleading and her tears + Still in those halls awhile. As some swift horse + Is reined in by his rider, when he strains + Unto the race-course, and he neighs, and champs + The curbing bit, dashing his chest with foam, + And his feet eager for the course are still + Never, his restless hooves are clattering aye; + His mane is a stormy cloud, he tosses high + His head with snortings, and his lord is glad; + So reined his mother back the glorious son + Of battle-stay Achilles, so his feet + Were restless, so the mother's loving pride + Joyed in her son, despite her heart-sick pain. + + A thousand times he kissed her, then at last + Left her alone with her own grief and moan + There in her father's halls. As o'er her nest + A swallow in her anguish cries aloud + For her lost nestlings which, mid piteous shrieks, + A fearful serpent hath devoured, and wrung + The loving mother's heart; and now above + That empty cradle spreads her wings, and now + Flies round its porchway fashioned cunningly + Lamenting piteously her little ones: + So for her child Deidameia mourned. + Now on her son's bed did she cast herself, + Crying aloud, against his door-post now + She leaned, and wept: now laid she in her lap + Those childhood's toys yet treasured in her bower, + Wherein his babe-heart joyed long years agone. + She saw a dart there left behind of him, + And kissed it o'er and o'er yea, whatso else + Her weeping eyes beheld that was her son's. + + Naught heard he of her moans unutterable, + But was afar, fast striding to the ship. + He seemed, as his feet swiftly bare him on, + Like some all-radiant star; and at his side + With Tydeus' son war-wise Odysseus went, + And with them twenty gallant-hearted men, + Whom Deidameia chose as trustiest + Of all her household, and unto her son + Gave them for henchmen swift to do his will. + And these attended Achilles' valiant son, + As through the city to the ship he sped. + On, with glad laughter, in their midst he strode; + And Thetis and the Nereids joyed thereat. + Yea, glad was even the Raven-haired, the Lord + Of all the sea, beholding that brave son + Of princely Achilles, marking how he longed + For battle. Beardless boy albeit he was, + His prowess and his might were inward spurs + To him. He hasted forth his fatherland + Like to the War-god, when to gory strife + He speedeth, wroth with foes, when maddeneth + His heart, and grim his frown is, and his eyes + Flash levin-flame around him, and his face + Is clothed with glory of beauty terror-blent, + As on he rusheth: quail the very Gods. + So seemed Achilles' goodly son; and prayers + Went up through all the city unto Heaven + To bring their noble prince safe back from war; + And the Gods hearkened to them. High he towered + Above all stateliest men which followed him. + + So came they to the heavy-plunging sea, + And found the rowers in the smooth-wrought ship + Handling the tackle, fixing mast and sail. + Straightway they went aboard: the shipmen cast + The hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones, + The strength and stay of ships in time of need. + Then did the Sea-queen's lord grant voyage fair + To these with gracious mind; for his heart yearned + O'er the Achaeans, by the Trojan men + And mighty-souled Eurypylus hard-bestead. + On either side of Neoptolemus sat + Those heroes, gladdening his soul with tales + Of his sire's mighty deeds--of all he wrought + In sea-raids, and in valiant Telephus' land, + And how he smote round Priam's burg the men + Of Troy, for glory unto Atreus' sons. + His heart glowed, fain to grasp his heritage, + His aweless father's honour and renown. + + In her bower, sorrowing for her son the while, + Deidameia poured forth sighs and tears. + With agony of soul her very heart + Melted in her, as over coals doth lead + Or wax, and never did her moaning cease, + As o'er the wide sea her gaze followed him. + Ay, for her son a mother fretteth still, + Though it be to a feast that he hath gone, + By a friend bidden forth. But soon the sail + Of that good ship far-fleeting o'er the blue + Grew faint and fainter--melted in sea-haze. + But still she sighed, still daylong made her moan. + + On ran the ship before a following wind, + Seeming to skim the myriad-surging sea, + And crashed the dark wave either side the prow: + Swiftly across the abyss unplumbed she sped. + Night's darkness fell about her, but the breeze + Held, and the steersman's hand was sure. O'er gulfs + Of brine she flew, till Dawn divine rose up + To climb the sky. Then sighted they the peaks + Of Ida, Chrysa next, and Smintheus' fane, + Then the Sigean strand, and then the tomb + Of Aeacus' son. Yet would Laertes' seed, + The man discreet of soul, not point it out + To Neoptolemus, lest the tide of grief + Too high should swell within his breast. They passed + Calydnae's isles, left Tenedos behind; + And now was seen the fane of Eleus, + Where stands Protesilaus' tomb, beneath + The shade of towery elms; when, soaring high + Above the plain, their topmost boughs discern + Troy, straightway wither all their highest sprays. + Nigh Ilium now the ship by wind and oar + Was brought: they saw the long strand fringed with keels + Of Argives, who endured sore travail of war + Even then about the wall, the which themselves + Had reared to screen the ships and men in stress + Of battle. Even now Eurypylus' hands + To earth were like to dash it and destroy; + But the quick eyes of Tydeus' strong son marked + How rained the darts and stones on that long wall. + Forth of the ship he sprang, and shouted loud + With all the strength of his undaunted breast: + "Friends, on the Argive men is heaped this day + Sore travail! Let us don our flashing arms + With speed, and to yon battle-turmoil haste. + For now upon our towers the warrior sons + Of Troy press hard--yea, haply will they tear + The long walls down, and burn the ships with fire, + And so the souls that long for home-return + Shall win it never; nay, ourselves shall fall + Before our due time, and shall lie in graves + In Troyland, far from children and from wives." + + All as one man down from the ship they leapt; + For trembling seized on all for that grim sight-- + On all save aweless Neoptolemus + Whose might was like his father's: lust of war + Swept o'er him. To Odysseus' tent in haste + They sped, for close it lay to where the ship + Touched land. About its walls was hung great store + Of change of armour, of wise Odysseus some, + And rescued some from gallant comrades slain. + Then did the brave man put on goodly arms; + But they in whose breasts faintlier beat their hearts + Must don the worser. Odysseus stood arrayed + In those which came with him from Ithaca: + To Diomede he gave fair battle-gear + Stripped in time past from mighty Socus slain. + But in his father's arms Achilles' son + Clad him and lo, he seemed Achilles' self! + Light on his limbs and lapping close they lay-- + So cunning was Hephaestus' workmanship-- + Which for another had been a giant's arms. + The massive helmet cumbered not his brows; + Yea, the great Pelian spear-shaft burdened not + His hand, but lightly swung he up on high + The heavy and tall lance thirsting still for blood. + + Of many Argives which beheld him then + Might none draw nigh to him, how fain soe'er, + So fast were they in that grim grapple locked + Of the wild war that raged all down the wall. + But as when shipmen, under a desolate isle + Mid the wide sea by stress of weather bound, + Chafe, while afar from men the adverse blasts + Prison them many a day; they pace the deck + With sinking hearts, while scantier grows their store + Of food; they weary till a fair wind sings; + So joyed the Achaean host, which theretofore + Were heavy of heart, when Neoptolemus came, + Joyed in the hope of breathing-space from toil. + Then like the aweless lion's flashed his eyes, + Which mid the mountains leaps in furious mood + To meet the hunters that draw nigh his cave, + Thinking to steal his cubs, there left alone + In a dark-shadowed glen but from a height + The beast hath spied, and on the spoilers leaps + With grim jaws terribly roaring; even so + That glorious child of Aeacus' aweless son + Against the Trojan warriors burned in wrath. + Thither his eagle-swoop descended first + Where loudest from the plain uproared the fight, + There weakest, he divined, must be the wall, + The battlements lowest, since the surge of foes + Brake heaviest there. Charged at his side the rest + Breathing the battle-spirit. There they found + Eurypylus mighty of heart and all his men + Scaling a tower, exultant in the hope + Of tearing down the walls, of slaughtering + The Argives in one holocaust. No mind + The Gods had to accomplish their desire! + But now Odysseus, Diomede the strong, + Leonteus, and Neoptolemus, as a God + In strength and beauty, hailed their javelins down, + And thrust them from the wall. As dogs and shepherds + By shouting and hard fighting drive away + Strong lions from a steading, rushing forth + From all sides, and the brutes with glaring eyes + Pace to and fro; with savage lust for blood + Of calves and kine their jaws are slavering; + Yet must their onrush give back from the hounds + And fearless onset of the shepherd folk; + [So from these new defenders shrank the foe] + A little, far as one may hurl a stone + Exceeding great; for still Eurypylus + Suffered them not to flee far from the ships, + But cheered them on to bide the brunt, until + The ships be won, and all the Argives slain; + For Zeus with measureless might thrilled all his frame. + Then seized he a rugged stone and huge, and leapt + And hurled it full against the high-built wall. + It crashed, and terribly boomed that rampart steep + To its foundations. Terror gripped the Greeks, + As though that wall had crumbled down in dust; + Yet from the deadly conflict flinched they not, + But stood fast, like to jackals or to wolves + Bold robbers of the sheep--when mid the hills + Hunter and hound would drive them forth their caves, + Being grimly purposed there to slay their whelps. + Yet these, albeit tormented by the darts, + Flee not, but for their cubs' sake bide and fight; + So for the ships' sake they abode and fought, + And for their own lives. But Eurypylus + Afront of all the ships stood, taunting them: + "Coward and dastard souls! no darts of yours + Had given me pause, nor thrust back from your ships, + Had not your rampart stayed mine onset-rush. + Ye are like to dogs, that in a forest flinch + Before a lion! Skulking therewithin + Ye are fighting--nay, are shrinking back from death! + But if ye dare come forth on Trojan ground, + As once when ye were eager for the fray, + None shall from ghastly death deliver you: + Slain by mine hand ye all shall lie in dust!" + + So did he shout a prophecy unfulfilled, + Nor heard Doom's chariot-wheels fast rolling near + Bearing swift death at Neoptolemus' hands, + Nor saw death gleaming from his glittering spear. + Ay, and that hero paused not now from fight, + But from the ramparts smote the Trojans aye. + From that death leaping from above they quailed + In tumult round Eurypylus: deadly fear + Gripped all their hearts. As little children cower + About a father's knees when thunder of Zeus + Crashes from cloud to cloud, when all the air + Shudders and groans, so did the sons of Troy, + With those Ceteians round their great king, cower + Ever as prince Neoptolemus hurled; for death + Rode upon all he cast, and bare his wrath + Straight rushing down upon the heads of foes. + Now in their hearts those wildered Trojans said + That once more they beheld Achilles' self + Gigantic in his armour. Yet they hid + That horror in their breasts, lest panic fear + Should pass from them to the Ceteian host + And king Eurypylus; so on every side + They wavered 'twixt the stress of their hard strait + And that blood-curdling dread, 'twixt shame and fear. + As when men treading a precipitous path + Look up, and see adown the mountain-slope + A torrent rushing on them, thundering down + The rocks, and dare not meet its clamorous flood, + But hurry shuddering on, with death in sight + Holding as naught the perils of the path; + So stayed the Trojans, spite of their desire + [To flee the imminent death that waited them] + Beneath the wall. Godlike Eurypylus + Aye cheered them on to fight. He trusted still + That this new mighty foe would weary at last + With toil of slaughter; but he wearied not. + + That desperate battle-travail Pallas saw, + And left the halls of Heaven incense-sweet, + And flew o'er mountain-crests: her hurrying feet + Touched not the earth, borne by the air divine + In form of cloud-wreaths, swifter than the wind. + She came to Troy, she stayed her feet upon + Sigeum's windy ness, she looked forth thence + Over the ringing battle of dauntless men, + And gave the Achaeans glory. Achilles' son + Beyond the rest was filled with valour and strength + Which win renown for men in whom they meet. + Peerless was he in both: the blood of Zeus + Gave strength; to his father's valour was he heir; + So by those towers he smote down many a foe. + And as a fisher on the darkling sea, + To lure the fish to their destruction, takes + Within his boat the strength of fire; his breath + Kindles it to a flame, till round the boat + Glareth its splendour, and from the black sea + Dart up the fish all eager to behold + The radiance--for the last time; for the barbs + Of his three-pointed spear, as up they leap, + Slay them; his heart rejoices o'er the prey. + So that war-king Achilles' glorious son + Slew hosts of onward-rushing foes around + That wall of stone. Well fought the Achaeans all, + Here, there, adown the ramparts: rang again + The wide strand and the ships: the battered walls + Groaned ever. Men with weary ache of toil + Fainted on either side; sinews and might + Of strong men were unstrung. But o'er the son + Of battle-stay Achilles weariness + Crept not: his battle-eager spirit aye + Was tireless; never touched by palsying fear + He fought on, as with the triumphant strength + Of an ever-flowing river: though it roll + 'Twixt blazing forests, though the madding blast + Roll stormy seas of flame, it feareth not, + For at its brink faint grows the fervent heat, + The strong flood turns its might to impotence; + So weariness nor fear could bow the knees + Of Hero Achilles' gallant-hearted son, + Still as he fought, still cheered his comrades on. + Of myriad shafts sped at him none might touch + His flesh, but even as snowflakes on a rock + Fell vainly ever: wholly screened was he + By broad shield and strong helmet, gifts of a God. + In these exulting did the Aeacid's son + Stride all along the wall, with ringing shouts + Cheering the dauntless Argives to the fray, + Being their mightiest far, bearing a soul + Insatiate of the awful onset-cry, + Burning with one strong purpose, to avenge + His father's death: the Myrmidons in their king + Exulted. Roared the battle round the wall. + + Two sons he slew of Meges rich in gold, + Scion of Dymas--sons of high renown, + Cunning to hurl the dart, to drive the steed + In war, and deftly cast the lance afar, + Born at one birth beside Sangarius' banks + Of Periboea to him, Celtus one, + And Eubius the other. But not long + His boundless wealth enjoyed they, for the + Fates Span them a thread of life exceeding brief. + As on one day they saw the light, they died + On one day by the same hand. To the heart + Of one Neoptolemus sped a javelin; one + He smote down with a massy stone that crashed + Through his strong helmet, shattered all its ridge, + And dashed his brains to earth. Around them fell + Foes many, a host untold. The War-god's work + Waxed ever mightier till the eventide, + Till failed the light celestial; then the host + Of brave Eurypylus from the ships drew back + A little: they that held those leaguered towers + Had a short breathing-space; the sons of Troy + Had respite from the deadly-echoing strife, + From that hard rampart-battle. Verily all + The Argives had beside their ships been slain, + Had not Achilles' strong son on that day + Withstood the host of foes and their great chief + Eurypylus. Came to that young hero's side + Phoenix the old, and marvelling gazed on one + The image of Peleides. Tides of joy + And grief swept o'er him--grief, for memories + Of that swift-footed father--joy, for sight + Of such a son. He for sheer gladness wept; + For never without tears the tribes of men + Live--nay, not mid the transports of delight. + He clasped him round as father claspeth son + Whom, after long and troublous wanderings, + The Gods bring home to gladden a father's heart. + So kissed he Neoptolemus' head and breast, + Clasping him round, and cried in rapture of joy: + "Hail, goodly son of that Achilles whom + I nursed a little one in mine own arms + With a glad heart. By Heaven's high providence + Like a strong sapling waxed he in stature fast, + And daily I rejoiced to see his form + And prowess, my life's blessing, honouring him + As though he were the son of mine old age; + For like a father did he honour me. + I was indeed his father, he my son + In spirit: thou hadst deemed us of one blood + Who were in heart one: but of nobler mould + Was he by far, in form and strength a God. + Thou art wholly like him--yea, I seem to see + Alive amid the Argives him for whom + Sharp anguish shrouds me ever. I waste away + In sorrowful age--oh that the grave had closed + On me while yet he lived! How blest to be + By loving hands of kinsmen laid to rest! + Ah child, my sorrowing heart will nevermore + Forget him! Chide me not for this my grief. + But now, help thou the Myrmidons and Greeks + In their sore strait: wreak on the foe thy wrath + For thy brave sire. It shall be thy renown + To slay this war-insatiate Telephus' son; + For mightier art thou, and shalt prove, than he, + As was thy father than his wretched sire." + + Made answer golden-haired Achilles' son: + "Ancient, our battle-prowess mighty Fate + And the o'ermastering War-god shall decide." + + But, as he spake, he had fain on that same day + Forth of the gates have rushed in his sire's arms; + But night, which bringeth men release from toil, + Rose from the ocean veiled in sable pall. + + With honour as of mighty Achilles' self + Him mid the ships the glad Greeks hailed, who had won + Courage from that his eager rush to war. + With princely presents did they honour him, + With priceless gifts, whereby is wealth increased; + For some gave gold and silver, handmaids some, + Brass without weight gave these, and iron those; + Others in deep jars brought the ruddy wine: + Yea, fleetfoot steeds they gave, and battle-gear, + And raiment woven fair by women's hands. + Glowed Neoptolemus' heart for joy of these. + A feast they made for him amidst the tents, + And there extolled Achilles' godlike son + With praise as of the immortal Heavenly Ones; + And joyful-voiced Agamemnon spake to him: + "Thou verily art the brave-souled Aeacid's son, + His very image thou in stalwart might, + In beauty, stature, courage, and in soul. + Mine heart burns in me seeing thee. I trust + Thine hands and spear shall smite yon hosts of foes, + Shall smite the city of Priam world-renowned-- + So like thy sire thou art! Methinks I see + Himself beside the ships, as when his shout + Of wrath for dead Patroclus shook the ranks + Of Troy. But he is with the Immortal Ones, + Yet, bending from that heaven, sends thee to-day + To save the Argives on destruction's brink." + + Answered Achilles' battle-eager son: + "Would I might meet him living yet, O King, + That so himself might see the son of his love + Not shaming his great father's name. I trust + So shall it be, if the Gods grant me life." + + So spake he in wisdom and in modesty; + And all there marvelled at the godlike man. + But when with meat and wine their hearts were filled, + Then rose Achilles' battle-eager son, + And from the feast passed forth unto the tent + That was his sire's. Much armour of heroes slain + Lay there; and here and there were captive maids + Arraying that tent widowed of its lord, + As though its king lived. When that son beheld + Those Trojan arms and handmaid-thralls, he groaned, + By passionate longing for his father seized. + As when through dense oak-groves and tangled glens + Comes to the shadowed cave a lion's whelp + Whose grim sire by the hunters hath been slain, + And looketh all around that empty den, + And seeth heaps of bones of steeds and kine + Slain theretofore, and grieveth for his sire; + Even so the heart of brave Peleides' son + With grief was numbed. The handmaids marvelling gazed; + And fair Briseis' self, when she beheld + Achilles' son, was now right glad at heart, + And sorrowed now with memories of the dead. + Her soul was wildered all, as though indeed + There stood the aweless Aeacid living yet. + + Meanwhile exultant Trojans camped aloof + Extolled Eurypylus the fierce and strong, + As erst they had praised Hector, when he smote + Their foes, defending Troy and all her wealth. + But when sweet sleep stole over mortal men, + Then sons of Troy and battle-biding Greeks + All slumber-heavy slept unsentinelled. + + + +BOOK VIII + +How Hercules' Grandson perished in fight with the Son of Achilles. + + + When from the far sea-line, where is the cave + Of Dawn, rose up the sun, and scattered light + Over the earth, then did the eager sons + Of Troy and of Achaea arm themselves + Athirst for battle: these Achilles' son + Cheered on to face the Trojans awelessly; + And those the giant strength of Telephus' seed + Kindled. He trusted to dash down the wall + To earth, and utterly destroy the ships + With ravening fire, and slay the Argive host. + Ah, but his hope was as the morning breeze + Delusive: hard beside him stood the Fates + Laughing to scorn his vain imaginings. + + Then to the Myrmidons spake Achilles' son, + The aweless, to the fight enkindling them: + "Hear me, mine henchmen: take ye to your hearts + The spirit of war, that we may heal the wounds + Of Argos, and be ruin to her foes. + Let no man fear, for mighty prowess is + The child of courage; but fear slayeth strength + And spirit. Gird yourselves with strength for war; + Give foes no breathing-space, that they may say + That mid our ranks Achilles liveth yet." + + Then clad he with his father's flashing arms + His shoulders. Then exulted Thetis' heart + When from the sea she saw the mighty strength + Of her son's son. Then forth with eagle-speed + Afront of that high wall he rushed, his ear + Drawn by the immortal horses of his sire. + As from the ocean-verge upsprings the sun + In glory, flashing fire far over earth-- + Fire, when beside his radiant chariot-team + Races the red star Sirius, scatterer + Of woefullest diseases over men; + So flashed upon the eyes of Ilium's host + That battle-eager hero, Achilles' son. + Onward they whirled him, those immortal steeds, + The which, when now he longed to chase the foe + Back from the ships, Automedon, who wont + To rein them for his father, brought to him. + With joy that pair bore battleward their lord, + So like to Aeacus' son, their deathless hearts + Held him no worser than Achilles' self. + Laughing for glee the Argives gathered round + The might resistless of Neoptolemus, + Eager for fight as wasps [whose woodland bower + The axe] hath shaken, who dart swarming forth + Furious to sting the woodman: round their nest + Long eddying, they torment all passers by; + So streamed they forth from galley and from wall + Burning for fight, and that wide space was thronged, + And all the plain far blazed with armour-sheen, + As shone from heaven's vault the sun thereon. + As flees the cloud-rack through the welkin wide + Scourged onward by the North-wind's Titan blasts, + When winter-tide and snow are hard at hand, + And darkness overpalls the firmament; + So with their thronging squadrons was the earth + Covered before the ships. To heaven uprolled, + Dust hung on hovering wings' men's armour clashed; + Rattled a thousand chariots; horses neighed + On-rushing to the fray. Each warrior's prowess + Kindled him with its trumpet-call to war. + + As leap the long sea-rollers, onward hurled + By two winds terribly o'er th' broad sea-flood + Roaring from viewless bournes, with whirlwind blasts + Crashing together, when a ruining storm + Maddens along the wide gulfs of the deep, + And moans the Sea-queen with her anguished waves + Which sweep from every hand, uptowering + Like precipiced mountains, while the bitter squall, + Ceaselessly veering, shrieks across the sea; + So clashed in strife those hosts from either hand + With mad rage. Strife incarnate spurred them on, + And their own prowess. Crashed together these + Like thunderclouds outlightening, thrilling the air. + With shattering trumpet-challenge, when the blasts + Are locked in frenzied wrestle, with mad breath + Rending the clouds, when Zeus is wroth with men + Who travail with iniquity, and flout + His law. So grappled they, as spear with spear + Clashed, shield with shield, and man on man was hurled. + + And first Achilles' war-impetuous son + Struck down stout Melaneus and Alcidamas, + Sons of the war-lord Alexinomus, + Who dwelt in Caunus mountain-cradled, nigh + The clear lake shining at Tarbelus' feet + 'Neath snow-capt Imbrus. Menes, fleetfoot son + Of King Cassandrus, slew he, born to him + By fair Creusa, where the lovely streams + Of Lindus meet the sea, beside the marches + Of battle-biding Carians, and the heights + Of Lycia the renowned. He slew withal + Morys the spearman, who from Phrygia came; + Polybus and Hippomedon by his side + He laid, this stabbed to the heart, that pierced between + Shoulder and neck: man after man he slew. + Earth groaned 'neath Trojan corpses; rank on rank + Crumbled before him, even as parched brakes + Sink down before the blast of ravening fire + When the north wind of latter summer blows; + So ruining squadrons fell before his charge. + + Meanwhile Aeneas slew Aristolochus, + Crashing a great stone down on his head: it brake + Helmet and skull together, and fled his life. + Fleetfoot Eumaeus Diomede slew; he dwelt + In craggy Dardanus, where the bride-bed is + Whereon Anchises clasped the Queen of Love. + Agamemnon smote down Stratus: unto Thrace + Returned he not from war, but died far off + From his dear fatherland. And Meriones + Struck Chlemus down, Peisenor's son, the friend + Of god-like Glaucus, and his comrade leal, + Who by Limurus' outfall dwelt: the folk + Honoured him as their king, when reigned no more + Glaucus, in battle slain,--all who abode + Around Phoenice's towers, and by the crest + Of Massicytus, and Chimaera's glen. + + So man slew man in fight; but more than all + Eurypylus hurled doom on many a foe. + First slew he battle-bider Eurytus, + Menoetius of the glancing taslet next, + Elephenor's godlike comrades. Fell with these + Harpalus, wise Odysseus' warrior-friend; + But in the fight afar that hero toiled, + And might not aid his fallen henchman: yet + Fierce Antiphus for that slain man was wroth, + And hurled his spear against Eurypylus, + Yet touched him not; the strong shaft glanced aside, + And pierced Meilanion battle-staunch, the son + Of Cleite lovely-faced, Erylaus' bride, + Who bare him where Caicus meets the sea. + Wroth for his comrade slain, Eurypylus + Rushed upon Antiphus, but terror-winged + He plunged amid his comrades; so the spear + Of the avenger slew him not, whose doom + Was one day wretchedly to be devoured + By the manslaying Cyclops: so it pleased + Stern Fate, I know not why. Elsewhither sped + Eurypylus; and aye as he rushed on + Fell 'neath his spear a multitude untold. + As tall trees, smitten by the strength of steel + In mountain-forest, fill the dark ravines, + Heaped on the earth confusedly, so fell + The Achaeans 'neath Eurypylus' flying spears-- + Till heart-uplifted met him face to face + Achilles' son. The long spears in their hands + They twain swung up, each hot to smite his foe. + But first Eurypylus cried the challenge-cry; + "Who art thou? Whence hast come to brave me here? + To Hades merciless Fate is bearing thee; + For in grim fight hath none escaped mine hands; + But whoso, eager for the fray, have come + Hither, on all have I hurled anguished death. + By Xanthus' streams have dogs devoured their flesh + And gnawed their bones. Answer me, who art thou? + Whose be the steeds that bear thee exultant on?" + + Answered Achilles' battle-eager son: + "Wherefore, when I am hurrying to the fray, + Dost thou, a foe, put question thus to me, + As might a friend, touching my lineage, + Which many know? Achilles' son am I, + Son of the man whose long spear smote thy sire, + And made him flee--yea, and the ruthless fates + Of death had seized him, but my father's self + Healed him upon the brink of woeful death. + The steeds which bear me were my godlike sire's; + These the West-wind begat, the Harpy bare: + Over the barren sea their feet can race + Skimming its crests: in speed they match the winds. + Since then thou know'st the lineage of my steeds + And mine, now put thou to the test the might + Of my strong spear, born on steep Pelion's crest, + Who hath left his father-stock and forest there." + + He spake; and from the chariot sprang to earth + That glorious man: he swung the long spear up. + But in his brawny hand his foe hath seized + A monstrous stone: full at the golden shield + Of Neoptolemus he sped its flight; + But, no whir staggered by its whirlwind rush, + He like a giant mountain-foreland stood + Which all the banded fury of river-floods + Can stir not, rooted in the eternal hills; + So stood unshaken still Achilles' son. + Yet not for this Eurypylus' dauntless might + Shrank from Achilles' son invincible, + On-spurred by his own hardihood and by Fate. + Their hearts like caldrons seethed o'er fires of wrath, + Their glancing armour flashed about their limbs. + Like terrible lions each on other rushed, + Which fight amid the mountains famine-stung, + Writhing and leaping in the strain of strife + For a slain ox or stag, while all the glens + Ring with their conflict; so they grappled, so + Clashed they in pitiless strife. On either hand + Long lines of warriors Greek and Trojan toiled + In combat: round them roared up flames of war. + Like mighty rushing winds they hurled together + With eager spears for blood of life athirst. + Hard by them stood Enyo, spurred them on + Ceaselessly: never paused they from the strife. + Now hewed they each the other's shield, and now + Thrust at the greaves, now at the crested helms. + Reckless of wounds, in that grim toil pressed on + Those aweless heroes: Strife incarnate watched + And gloated o'er them. Ran the sweat in streams + From either: straining hard they stood their ground, + For both were of the seed of Blessed Ones. + From Heaven, with hearts at variance, Gods looked down; + For some gave glory to Achilles' son, + Some to Eurypylus the godlike. Still + They fought on, giving ground no more than rock. + Of granite mountains. Rang from side to side + Spear-smitten shields. At last the Pelian lance, + Sped onward by a mighty thrust, hath passed + Clear through Eurypylus' throat. Forth poured the blood + Torrent-like; through the portal of the wound + The soul from the body flew: darkness of death + Dropped o'er his eyes. To earth in clanging arms + He fell, like stately pine or silver fir + Uprooted by the fury of Boreas; + Such space of earth Eurypylus' giant frame + Covered in falling: rang again the floor + And plain of Troyland. Grey death-pallor swept + Over the corpse, and all the flush of life + Faded away. With a triumphant laugh + Shouted the mighty hero over him: + "Eurypylus, thou saidst thou wouldst destroy + The Danaan ships and men, wouldst slay us all + Wretchedly--but the Gods would not fulfil + Thy wish. For all thy might invincible, + My father's massy spear hath now subdued + Thee under me, that spear no man shall 'scape, + Though he be brass all through, who faceth me." + + He spake, and tore the long lance from the corse, + While shrank the Trojans back in dread, at sight + Of that strong-hearted man. Straightway he stripped + The armour from the dead, for friends to bear + Fast to the ships Achaean. But himself + To the swift chariot and the tireless steeds + Sprang, and sped onward like a thunderbolt + That lightning-girdled leaps through the wide air + From Zeus's hands unconquerable--the bolt + Before whose downrush all the Immortals quail + Save only Zeus. It rusheth down to earth, + It rendeth trees and rugged mountain-crags; + So rushed he on the Trojans, flashing doom + Before their eyes; dashed to the earth they fell + Before the charge of those immortal steeds: + The earth was heaped with slain, was dyed with gore. + As when in mountain-glens the unnumbered leaves + Down-streaming thick and fast hide all the ground, + So hosts of Troy untold on earth were strewn + By Neoptolemus and fierce-hearted Greeks, + Shed by whose hands the blood in torrents ran + 'Neath feet of men and horses. Chariot-rails + Were dashed with blood-spray whirled up from the tyres. + + Now had the Trojans fled within their gates + As calves that flee a lion, or as swine + Flee from a storm--but murderous Ares came, + Unmarked of other Gods, down from the heavens, + Eager to help the warrior sons of Troy. + Red-fire and Flame, Tumult and Panic-fear, + His car-steeds, bare him down into the fight, + The coursers which to roaring Boreas + Grim-eyed Erinnys bare, coursers that breathed + Life-blasting flame: groaned all the shivering air, + As battleward they sped. Swiftly he came + To Troy: loud rang the earth beneath the feet + Of that wild team. Into the battle's heart + Tossing his massy spear, he came; with a shout + He cheered the Trojans on to face the foe. + They heard, and marvelled at that wondrous cry, + Not seeing the God's immortal form, nor steeds, + Veiled in dense mist. But the wise prophet-soul + Of Helenus knew the voice divine that leapt + Unto the Trojans' ears, they knew not whence, + And with glad heart to the fleeing host he cried: + "O cravens, wherefore fear Achilles' son, + Though ne'er so brave? He is mortal even as we; + His strength is not as Ares' strength, who is come + A very present help in our sore need. + That was his shout far-pealing, bidding us + Fight on against the Argives. Let your hearts + Be strong, O friends: let courage fill your breasts. + No mightier battle-helper can draw nigh + To Troy than he. Who is of more avail + For war than Ares, when he aideth men + Hard-fighting? Lo, to our help he cometh now! + On to the fight! Cast to the winds your fears!" + + They fled no more, they faced the Argive men, + As hounds, that mid the copses fled at first, + Turn them about to face and fight the wolf, + Spurred by the chiding of their shepherd-lord; + So turned the sons of Troy again to war, + Casting away their fear. Man leapt on man + Valiantly fighting; loud their armour clashed + Smitten with swords, with lances, and with darts. + Spears plunged into men's flesh: dread Ares drank + His fill of blood: struck down fell man on man, + As Greek and Trojan fought. In level poise + The battle-balance hung. As when young men + In hot haste prune a vineyard with the steel, + And each keeps pace with each in rivalry, + Since all in strength and age be equal-matched; + So did the awful scales of battle hang + Level: all Trojan hearts beat high, and firm + Stood they in trust on aweless Ares' might, + While the Greeks trusted in Achilles' son. + Ever they slew and slew: stalked through the midst + Deadly Enyo, her shoulders and her hands + Blood-splashed, while fearful sweat streamed from her limbs. + Revelling in equal fight, she aided none, + Lest Thetis' or the War-god's wrath be stirred. + + Then Neoptolemus slew one far-renowned, + Perimedes, who had dwelt by Smintheus' grove; + Next Cestrus died, Phalerus battle-staunch, + Perilaus the strong, Menalcas lord of spears, + Whom Iphianassa bare by the haunted foot + Of Cilla to the cunning craftsman Medon. + In the home-land afar the sire abode, + And never kissed his son's returning head: + For that fair home and all his cunning works + Did far-off kinsmen wrangle o'er his grave. + Deiphobus slew Lycon battle-staunch: + The lance-head pierced him close above the groin, + And round the long spear all his bowels gushed out. + Aeneas smote down Dymas, who erewhile + In Aulis dwelt, and followed unto Troy + Arcesilaus, and saw never more + The dear home-land. Euryalus hurled a dart, + And through Astraeus' breast the death-winged point + Flew, shearing through the breathways of man's life; + And all that lay within was drenched with blood. + And hard thereby great-souled Agenor slew + Hippomenes, hero Teucer's comrade staunch, + With one swift thrust 'twixt shoulder and neck: his soul + Rushed forth in blood; death's night swept over him. + Grief for his comrade slain on Teucer fell; + He strained his bow, a swift-winged shaft he sped, + But smote him not, for slightly Agenor swerved. + Yet nigh him Deiophontes stood; the shaft + Into his left eye plunged, passed through the ball, + And out through his right ear, because the Fates + Whither they willed thrust on the bitter barbs. + Even as in agony he leapt full height, + Yet once again the archer's arrow hissed: + It pierced his throat, through the neck-sinews cleft + Unswerving, and his hard doom came on him. + + So man to man dealt death; and joyed the Fates + And Doom, and fell Strife in her maddened glee + Shouted aloud, and Ares terribly + Shouted in answer, and with courage thrilled + The Trojans, and with panic fear the Greeks, + And shook their reeling squadrons. But one man + He scared not, even Achilles' son; he abode, + And fought undaunted, slaying foes on foes. + As when a young lad sweeps his hand around + Flies swarming over milk, and nigh the bowl + Here, there they lie, struck dead by that light touch, + And gleefully the child still plies the work; + So stern Achilles' glorious scion joyed + Over the slain, and recked not of the God + Who spurred the Trojans on: man after man + Tasted his vengeance of their charging host. + Even as a giant mountain-peak withstands + On-rushing hurricane-blasts, so he abode + Unquailing. Ares at his eager mood + Grew wroth, and would have cast his veil of cloud + Away, and met him face to face in fight, + But now Athena from Olympus swooped + To forest-mantled Ida. Quaked the earth + And Xanthus' murmuring streams; so mightily + She shook them: terror-stricken were the souls + Of all the Nymphs, adread for Priam's town. + From her immortal armour flashed around + The hovering lightnings; fearful serpents breathed + Fire from her shield invincible; the crest + Of her great helmet swept the clouds. And now + She was at point to close in sudden fight + With Ares; but the mighty will of Zeus + Daunted them both, from high heaven thundering + His terrors. Ares drew back from the war, + For manifest to him was Zeus's wrath. + To wintry Thrace he passed; his haughty heart + Reeked no more of the Trojans. In the plain + Of Troy no more stayed Pallas; she was gone + To hallowed Athens. But the armies still + Strove in the deadly fray; and fainted now + The Trojans' prowess; but all battle-fain + The Argives pressed on these as they gave ground. + As winds chase ships that fly with straining sails + On to the outsea--as on forest-brakes + Leapeth the fury of flame--as swift hounds drive + Deer through the mountains, eager for the prey, + So did the Argives chase them: Achilles' son + Still cheered them on, still slew with that great spear + Whomso he overtook. On, on they fled + Till into stately-gated Troy they poured. + + Then had the Argives a short breathing-space + From war, when they had penned the hosts of Troy + In Priam's burg, as shepherds pen up lambs + Upon a lonely steading. And, as when + After hard strain, a breathing-space is given + To oxen that, quick-panting 'neath the yoke, + Up a steep hill have dragged a load, so breathed + Awhile the Achaeans after toil in arms. + Then once more hot for the fray did they beset + The city-towers. But now with gates fast barred + The Trojans from the walls withstood the assault. + As when within their steading shepherd-folk + Abide the lowering tempest, when a day + Of storm hath dawned, with fury of lightnings, rain + And heavy-drifting snow, and dare not haste + Forth to the pasture, howsoever fain, + Till the great storm abate, and rivers, wide + With rushing floods, again be passable; + So trembling on their walls they abode the rage + Of foes against their ramparts surging fast. + And as when daws or starlings drop in clouds + Down on an orchard-close, full fain to feast + Upon its pleasant fruits, and take no heed + Of men that shout to scare them thence away, + Until the reckless hunger be appeased + That makes them bold; so poured round Priam's burg + The furious Danaans. Against the gates + They hurled themselves, they strove to batter down + The mighty-souled Earth-shaker's work divine. + + Yet did tim Troyfolk not, despite their fear, + Flinch from the fight: they manned their towers, they toiled + Unresting: ever from the fair-built walls + Leapt arrows, stones, and fleet-winged javelins down + Amidst the thronging foes; for Phoebus thrilled + Their souls with steadfast hardihood. Fain was he + To save them still, though Hector was no more. + + Then Meriones shot forth a deadly shaft, + And smote Phylodamas, Polites' friend, + Beneath the jaw; the arrow pierced his throat. + Down fell he like a vulture, from a rock + By fowler's barbed arrow shot and slain; + So from the high tower swiftly down he fell: + His life fled; clanged his armour o'er the corpse. + With laughter of triumph stalwart Molus' son + A second arrow sped, with strong desire + To smite Polites, ill-starred Priam's son: + But with a swift side-swerve did he escape + The death, nor did the arrow touch his flesh. + As when a shipman, as his bark flies on + O'er sea-gulfs, spies amid the rushing tide + A rock, and to escape it swiftly puts + The helm about, and turns aside the ship + Even as he listeth, that a little strength + Averts a great disaster; so did he + Foresee and shun the deadly shaft of doom. + + Ever they fought on; walls, towers, battlements + Were blood-besprent, wherever Trojans fell + Slain by the arrows of the stalwart Greeks. + Yet these escaped not scatheless; many of them + Dyed the earth red: aye waxed the havoc of death + As friends and foes were stricken. O'er the strife + Shouted for glee Enyo, sister of War. + + Now had the Argives burst the gates, had breached + The walls of Troy, for boundless was their might; + But Ganymedes saw from heaven, and cried, + Anguished with fear for his own fatherland: + "O Father Zeus, if of thy seed I am, + If at thine best I left far-famous Troy + For immortality with deathless Gods, + O hear me now, whose soul is anguish-thrilled! + I cannot bear to see my fathers' town + In flames, my kindred in disastrous strife + Perishing: bitterer sorrow is there none! + Oh, if thine heart is fixed to do this thing, + Let me be far hence! Less shall be my grief + If I behold it not with these mine eyes. + That is the depth of horror and of shame + To see one's country wrecked by hands of foes." + + With groans and tears so pleaded Ganymede. + Then Zeus himself with one vast pall of cloud + Veiled all the city of Priam world-renowned; + And all the murderous fight was drowned in mist, + And like a vanished phantom was the wall + In vapours heavy-hung no eye could pierce; + And all around crashed thunders, lightnings flamed + From heaven. The Danaans heard Zeus' clarion peal + Awe-struck; and Neleus' son cried unto them: + "Far-famous lords of Argives, all our strength + Palsied shall be, while Zeus protecteth thus + Our foes. A great tide of calamity + On us is rolling; haste we then to the ships; + Cease we awhile from bitter toil of strife, + Lest the fire of his wrath consume us all. + Submit we to his portents; needs must all + Obey him ever, who is mightier far + Than all strong Gods, all weakling sons of men. + On the presumptuous Titans once in wrath + He poured down fire from heaven: then burned all earth + Beneath, and Ocean's world-engirdling flood + Boiled from its depths, yea, to its utmost bounds: + Far-flowing mighty rivers were dried up: + Perished all broods of life-sustaining earth, + All fosterlings of the boundless sea, and all + Dwellers in rivers: smoke and ashes veiled + The air: earth fainted in the fervent heat. + Therefore this day I dread the might of Zeus. + Now, pass we to the ships, since for to-day + He helpeth Troy. To us too shall he grant + Glory hereafter; for the dawn on men, + Though whiles it frown, anon shall smile. Not yet, + But soon, shall Fate lead us to smite yon town, + If true indeed was Calchas' prophecy + Spoken aforetime to the assembled Greeks, + That in the tenth year Priam's burg should fall." + + Then left they that far-famous town, and turned + From war, in awe of Zeus's threatenings, + Hearkening to one with ancient wisdom wise. + Yet they forgat not friends in battle slain, + But bare them from the field and buried them. + These the mist hid not, but the town alone + And its unscaleable wall, around which fell + Trojans and Argives many in battle slain. + So came they to the ships, and put from them + Their battle-gear, and strode into the waves + Of Hellespont fair-flowing, and washed away + All stain of dust and sweat and clotted gore. + + The sun drave down his never-wearying steeds + Into the dark west: night streamed o'er the earth, + Bidding men cease from toil. The Argives then + Acclaimed Achilles' valiant son with praise + High as his father's. Mid triumphant mirth + He feasted in kings' tents: no battle-toil + Had wearied him; for Thetis from his limbs + Had charmed all ache of travail, making him + As one whom labour had no power to tire. + When his strong heart was satisfied with meat, + He passed to his father's tent, and over him + Sleep's dews were poured. The Greeks slept in the plain + Before the ships, by ever-changing guards + Watched; for they dreaded lest the host of Troy, + Or of her staunch allies, should kindle flame + Upon the ships, and from them all cut off + Their home-return. In Priam's burg the while + By gate and wall men watched and slept in turn, + Adread to hear the Argives' onset-shout. + + + +BOOK IX + +How from his long lone exile returned to the war Philoctetes. + + + When ended was night's darkness, and the Dawn + Rose from the world's verge, and the wide air glowed + With splendour, then did Argos' warrior-sons + Gaze o'er the plain; and lo, all cloudless-clear + Stood Ilium's towers. The marvel of yesterday + Seemed a strange dream. No thought the Trojans had + Of standing forth to fight without the wall. + A great fear held them thralls, the awful thought + That yet alive was Peleus' glorious son. + But to the King of Heaven Antenor cried: + "Zeus, Lord of Ida and the starry sky, + Hearken my prayer! Oh turn back from our town + That battle-eager murderous-hearted man, + Be he Achilles who hath not passed down + To Hades, or some other like to him. + For now in heaven-descended Priam's burg + By thousands are her people perishing: + No respite cometh from calamity: + Murder and havoc evermore increase. + O Father Zeus, thou carest not though we + Be slaughtered of our foes: thou helpest them, + Forgetting thy son, godlike Dardanus! + But, if this be the purpose of thine heart + That Argives shall destroy us wretchedly, + Now do it: draw not out our agony!" + + In passionate prayer he cried; and Zeus from heaven + Hearkened, and hasted on the end of all, + Which else he had delayed. He granted him + This awful boon, that myriads of Troy's sons + Should with their children perish: but that prayer + He granted not, to turn Achilles' son + Back from the wide-wayed town; nay, all the more + He enkindled him to war, for he would now + Give grace and glory to the Nereid Queen. + + So purposed he, of all Gods mightiest. + But now between the city and Hellespont + Were Greeks and Trojans burning men and steeds + In battle slain, while paused the murderous strife. + For Priam sent his herald Menoetes forth + To Agamemnon and the Achaean chiefs, + Asking a truce wherein to burn the dead; + And they, of reverence for the slain, gave ear; + For wrath pursueth not the dead. And when + They had lain their slain on those close-thronging pyres, + Then did the Argives to their tents return, + And unto Priam's gold-abounding halls + The Trojans, for Eurypylus sorrowing sore: + For even as Priam's sons they honoured him. + Therefore apart from all the other slain, + Before the Gate Dardanian--where the streams + Of eddying Xanthus down from Ida flow + Fed by the rains of heavens--they buried him. + + Aweless Achilles' son the while went forth + To his sire's huge tomb. Outpouring tears, he kissed + The tall memorial pillar of the dead, + And groaning clasped it round, and thus he cried: + "Hail, father! Though beneath the earth thou lie + In Hades' halls, I shall forget thee not. + Oh to have met thee living mid the host! + Then of each other had our souls had joy, + Then of her wealth had we spoiled Ilium. + But now, thou hast not seen thy child, nor I + Seen thee, who yearned to look on thee in life. + Yet, though thou be afar amidst the dead, + Thy spear, thy son, have made thy foes to quail; + And Danaans with exceeding joy behold + One like to thee in stature, fame and deeds." + + He spake, and wiped the hot tears from his face; + And to his father's ships passed swiftly thence: + With him went Myrmidon warriors two and ten, + And white-haired Phoenix followed on with these + Woefully sighing for the glorious dead. + + Night rose o'er earth, the stars flashed out in heaven; + So these brake bread, and slept till woke the Dawn. + Then the Greeks donned their armour: flashed afar + Its splendour up to the very firmament. + Forth of their gates in one great throng they poured, + Like snowflakes thick and fast, which drift adown + Heavily from the clouds in winter's cold; + So streamed they forth before the wall, and rose + Their dread shout: groaned the deep earth 'neath their tramp. + + The Trojans heard that shout, and saw that host, + And marvelled. Crushed with fear were all their hearts + Foreboding doom; for like a huge cloud seemed + That throng of foes: with clashing arms they came: + Volumed and vast the dust rose 'neath their feet. + Then either did some God with hardihood thrill + Deiphobus' heart, and made it void of fear, + Or his own spirit spurred him on to fight, + To drive by thrust of spear that terrible host + Of foemen from the city of his birth. + So there in Troy he cried with heartening speech: + "O friends, be stout of heart to play the men! + Remember all the agonies that war + Brings in the end to them that yield to foes. + Ye wrestle not for Alexander alone, + Nor Helen, but for home, for your own lives, + For wives, for little ones, for parents grey, + For all the grace of life, for all ye have, + For this dear land--oh may she shroud me o'er + Slain in the battle, ere I see her lie + 'Neath foemen's spears--my country! I know not + A bitterer pang than this for hapless men! + O be ye strong for battle! Forth to the fight + With me, and thrust this horror far away! + Think not Achilles liveth still to war + Against us: him the ravening fire consumed. + Some other Achaean was it who so late + Enkindled them to war. Oh, shame it were + If men who fight for fatherland should fear + Achilles' self, or any Greek beside! + Let us not flinch from war-toil! have we not + Endured much battle-travail heretofore? + What, know ye not that to men sorely tried + Prosperity and joyance follow toil? + So after scourging winds and ruining storms + Zeus brings to men a morn of balmy air; + After disease new strength comes, after war + Peace: all things know Time's changeless law of change." + + Then eager all for war they armed themselves + In haste. All through the town rang clangour of arms + As for grim fight strong men arrayed their limbs. + Here stood a wife, shuddering with dread of war, + Yet piling, as she wept, her husband's arms + Before his feet. There little children brought + To a father his war-gear with eager haste; + And now his heart was wrung to hear their sobs, + And now he smiled on those small ministers, + And stronger waxed his heart's resolve to fight + To the last gasp for these, the near and dear. + Yonder again, with hands that had not lost + Old cunning, a grey father for the fray + Girded a son, and murmured once and again: + "Dear boy, yield thou to no man in the war!" + And showed his son the old scars on his breast, + Proud memories of fights fought long ago. + + So when they all stood mailed in battle-gear, + Forth of the gates they poured all eager-souled + For war. Against the chariots of the Greeks + Their chariots charged; their ranks of footmen pressed + To meet the footmen of the foe. The earth + Rang to the tramp of onset; pealed the cheer + From man to man; swift closed the fronts of war. + Loud clashed their arms all round; from either side + War-cries were mingled in one awful roar + Swift-winged full many a dart and arrow flew + From host to host; loud clanged the smitten shields + 'Neath thrusting spears, 'neath javelin-point and sword: + Men hewed with battle-axes lightening down; + Crimson the armour ran with blood of men. + And all this while Troy's wives and daughters watched + From high walls that grim battle of the strong. + All trembled as they prayed for husbands, sons, + And brothers: white-haired sires amidst them sat, + And gazed, while anguished fear for sons devoured + Their hearts. But Helen in her bower abode + Amidst her maids, there held by utter shame. + + So without pause before the wall they fought, + While Death exulted o'er them; deadly Strife + Shrieked out a long wild cry from host to host. + With blood of slain men dust became red mire: + Here, there, fast fell the warriors mid the fray. + + Then slew Deiphobus the charioteer + Of Nestor, Hippasus' son: from that high car + Down fell he 'midst the dead; fear seized his lord + Lest, while his hands were cumbered with the reins, + He too by Priam's strong son might be slain. + Melanthius marked his plight: swiftly he sprang + Upon the car; he urged the horses on, + Shaking the reins, goading them with his spear, + Seeing the scourge was lost. But Priam's son + Left these, and plunged amid a throng of foes. + There upon many he brought the day of doom; + For like a ruining tempest on he stormed + Through reeling ranks. His mighty hand struck down + Foes numberless: the plain was heaped with dead. + + As when a woodman on the long-ridged hills + Plunges amid the forest-depths, and hews + With might and main, and fells sap-laden trees + To make him store of charcoal from the heaps + Of billets overturfed and set afire: + The trunks on all sides fallen strew the slopes, + While o'er his work the man exulteth; so + Before Deiphobus' swift death-dealing hands + In heaps the Achaeans each on other fell. + The charging lines of Troy swept over some; + Some fled to Xanthus' stream: Deiphobus chased + Into the flood yet more, and slew and slew. + As when on fish-abounding Hellespont's strand + The fishermen hard-straining drag a net + Forth of the depths to land; but, while it trails + Yet through the sea, one leaps amid the waves + Grasping in hand a sinuous-headed spear + To deal the sword-fish death, and here and there, + Fast as he meets them, slays them, and with blood + The waves are reddened; so were Xanthus' streams + Impurpled by his hands, and choked with dead. + + Yet not without sore loss the Trojans fought; + For all this while Peleides' fierce-heart son + Of other ranks made havoc. Thetis gazed + Rejoicing in her son's son, with a joy + As great as was her grief for Achilles slain. + For a great host beneath his spear were hurled + Down to the dust, steeds, warriors slaughter-blent. + And still he chased, and still he slew: he smote + Amides war-renowned, who on his steed + Bore down on him, but of his horsemanship + Small profit won. The bright spear pierced him through + From navel unto spine, and all his bowels + Gushed out, and deadly Doom laid hold on him + Even as he fell beside his horse's feet. + Ascanius and Oenops next he slew; + Under the fifth rib of the one he drave + His spear, the other stabbed he 'neath the throat + Where a wound bringeth surest doom to man. + Whomso he met besides he slew--the names + What man could tell of all that by the hands + Of Neoptolemus died? Never his limbs + Waxed weary. As some brawny labourer, + With strong hands toiling in a fruitful field + The livelong day, rains down to earth the fruit + Of olives, swiftly beating with his pole, + And with the downfall covers all the ground, + So fast fell 'neath his hands the thronging foe. + + Elsewhere did Agamemnon, Tydeus' son, + And other chieftains of the Danaans toil + With fury in the fight. Yet never quailed + The mighty men of Troy: with heart and soul + They also fought, and ever stayed from flight + Such as gave back. Yet many heeded not + Their chiefs, but fled, cowed by the Achaeans' might. + + Now at the last Achilles' strong son marked + How fast beside Scamander's outfall Greeks + Were perishing. Those Troyward-fleeing foes + Whom he had followed slaying, left he now, + And bade Automedon thither drive, where hosts + Were falling of the Achaeans. Straightway he + Hearkened, and scourged the steeds immortal on + To that wild fray: bearing their lord they flew + Swiftly o'er battle-highways paved with death. + + As Ares chariot-borne to murderous war + Fares forth, and round his onrush quakes the ground, + While on the God's breast clash celestial arms + Outflashing fire, so charged Achilles' son + Against Deiphobus. Clouds of dust upsoared + About his horses' feet. Automedon marked + The Trojan chief, and knew him. To his lord + Straightway he named that hero war-renowned: + "My king, this is Deiphobus' array-- + The man who from thy father fled in fear. + Some God or fiend with courage fills him now." + + Naught answered Neoptolemus, save to bid + Drive on the steeds yet faster, that with speed + He might avert grim death from perishing friends. + But when to each other now full nigh they drew, + Deiphobus, despite his battle-lust, + Stayed, as a ravening fire stays when it meets + Water. He marvelled, seeing Achilles' steeds + And that gigantic son, huge as his sire; + And his heart wavered, choosing now to flee, + And now to face that hero, man to man + As when a mountain boar from his young brood + Chases the jackals--then a lion leaps + From hidden ambush into view: the boar + Halts in his furious onset, loth to advance, + Loth to retreat, while foam his jaws about + His whetted tusks; so halted Priam's son + Car-steeds and car, perplexed, while quivered his hands + About the lance. Shouted Achilles' son: + "Ho, Priam's son, why thus so mad to smite + Those weaker Argives, who have feared thy wrath + And fled thine onset? So thou deem'st thyself + Far mightiest! If thine heart be brave indeed, + Of my spear now make trial in the strife." + + On rushed he, as a lion against a stag, + Borne by the steeds and chariot of his sire. + And now full soon his lance had slain his foe, + Him and his charioteer--but Phoebus poured + A dense cloud round him from the viewless heights + Of heaven, and snatched him from the deadly fray, + And set him down in Troy, amid the rout + Of fleeing Trojans: so did Peleus' son + Stab but the empty air; and loud he cried: + "Dog, thou hast 'scaped my wrath! No might of thine + Saved thee, though ne'er so fain! Some God hath cast + Night's veil o'er thee, and snatched thee from thy death." + + Then Cronos' Son dispersed that dense dark cloud: + Mist-like it thinned and vanished into air: + Straightway the plain and all the land were seen. + Then far away about the Scaean Gate + He saw the Trojans: seeming like his sire, + He sped against them; they at his coming quailed. + As shipmen tremble when a wild wave bears + Down on their bark, wind-heaved until it swings + Broad, mountain-high above them, when the sea + Is mad with tempest; so, as on he came, + Terror clad all those Trojans as a cloak, + The while he shouted, cheering on his men: + "Hear, friends!--fill full your hearts with dauntless strength, + The strength that well beseemeth mighty men + Who thirst to win them glorious victory, + To win renown from battle's tumult! Come, + Brave hearts, now strive we even beyond our strength + Till we smite Troy's proud city, till we win + Our hearts' desire! Foul shame it were to abide + Long deedless here and strengthless, womanlike! + Ere I be called war-blencher, let me die!" + + Then unto Ares' work their spirits flamed. + Down on the Trojans charged they: yea, and these + Fought with high courage, round their city now, + And now from wall and gate-towers. Never lulled + The rage of war, while Trojan hearts were hot + To hurl the foemen back, and the strong Greeks + To smite the town: grim havoc compassed all. + + Then, eager for the Trojans' help, swooped down + Out of Olympus, cloaked about with clouds, + The son of Leto. Mighty rushing winds + Bare him in golden armour clad; and gleamed + With lightning-splendour of his descent the long + Highways of air. His quiver clashed; loud rang + The welkin; earth re-echoed, as he set + His tireless feet by Xanthus. Pealed his shout + Dreadly, with courage filling them of Troy, + Scaring their foes from biding the red fray. + But of all this the mighty Shaker of Earth + Was ware: he breathed into the fainting + Greeks Fierce valour, and the fight waxed murderous + Through those Immortals' clashing wills. Then died + Hosts numberless on either side. In wrath + Apollo thought to smite Achilles' son + In the same place where erst he smote his sire; + But birds of boding screamed to left, to stay + His mood, and other signs from heaven were sent; + Yet was his wrath not minded to obey + Those portents. Swiftly drew Earth-shaker nigh + In mist celestial cloaked: about his feet + Quaked the dark earth as came the Sea-king on. + Then, to stay Phoebus' hand, he cried to him: + "Refrain thy wrath: Achilles' giant son + Slay not! Olympus' Lord himself shall be + Wroth for his death, and bitter grief shall light + On me and all the Sea-gods, as erstwhile + For Achilles' sake. Nay, get thee back to heights + Celestial, lest thou kindle me to wrath, + And so I cleave a sudden chasm in earth, + And Ilium and all her walls go down + To darkness. Thine own soul were vexed thereat." + + Then, overawed by the brother of his sire, + And fearing for Troy's fate and for her folk, + To heaven went back Apollo, to the sea + Poseidon. But the sons of men fought on, + And slew; and Strife incarnate gloating watched. + + At last by Calchas' counsel Achaea's sons + Drew back to the ships, and put from them the thought + Of battle, seeing it was not foreordained + That Ilium should fall until the might + Of war-wise Philoctetes came to aid + The Achaean host. This had the prophet learnt. + From birds of prosperous omen, or had read + In hearts of victims. Wise in prophecy-lore + Was he, and like a God knew things to be. + + Trusting in him, the sons of Atreus stayed + Awhile the war, and unto Lemnos, land + Of stately mansions, sent they Tydeus' son + And battle-staunch Odysseus oversea. + Fast by the Fire-god's city sped they on + Over the broad flood of the Aegean Sea + To vine-clad Lemnos, where in far-off days + The wives wreaked murderous vengeance on their lords, + In fierce wrath that they gave them not their due, + But couched beside the handmaid-thralls of Thrace, + The captives of their spears when they laid waste + The land of warrior Thracians. Then these wives, + Their hearts with fiery jealousy's fever filled, + Murdered in every home with merciless hands + Their husbands: no compassion would they show + To their own wedded lords--such madness shakes + The heart of man or woman, when it burns + With jealousy's fever, stung by torturing pangs. + So with souls filled with desperate hardihood + In one night did they slaughter all their lords; + And on a widowed nation rose the sun. + + To hallowed Lemnos came those heroes twain; + They marked the rocky cave where lay the son + Of princely Poeas. Horror came on them + When they beheld the hero of their quest + Groaning with bitter pangs, on the hard earth + Lying, with many feathers round him strewn, + And others round his body, rudely sewn + Into a cloak, a screen from winter's cold. + For, oft as famine stung him, would he shoot + The shaft that missed no fowl his aim had doomed. + Their flesh he ate, their feathers vestured him. + And there lay herbs and healing leaves, the which, + Spread on his deadly wound, assuaged its pangs. + Wild tangled elf-locks hung about his head. + He seemed a wild beast, that hath set its foot, + Prowling by night, upon a hidden trap, + And so hath been constrained in agony + To bite with fierce teeth through the prisoned limb + Ere it could win back to its cave, and there + In hunger and torturing pains it languisheth. + So in that wide cave suffering crushed the man; + And all his frame was wasted: naught but skin + Covered his bones. Unwashen there he crouched + With famine-haggard cheeks, with sunken eyes + Glaring his misery 'neath cavernous brows. + Never his groaning ceased, for evermore + The ulcerous black wound, eating to the bone, + Festered with thrills of agonizing pain. + As when a beetling cliff, by seething seas + Aye buffeted, is carved and underscooped, + For all its stubborn strength, by tireless waves, + Till, scourged by winds and lashed by tempest-flails, + The sea into deep caves hath gnawed its base; + So greater 'neath his foot grew evermore + The festering wound, dealt when the envenomed fangs + Tare him of that fell water-snake, which men + Say dealeth ghastly wounds incurable, + When the hot sun hath parched it as it crawls + Over the sands; and so that mightiest man + Lay faint and wasted with his cureless pain; + And from the ulcerous wound aye streamed to earth + Fetid corruption fouling all the floor + Of that wide cave, a marvel to be heard + Of men unborn. Beside his stony bed + Lay a long quiver full of arrows, some + For hunting, some to smite his foes withal; + With deadly venom of that fell water-snake + Were these besmeared. Before it, nigh to his hand, + Lay the great bow, with curving tips of horn, + Wrought by the mighty hands of Hercules. + + Now when that solitary spied these twain + Draw nigh his cave, he sprang to his bow, he laid + The deadly arrow on the string; for now + Fierce memory of his wrongs awoke against + These, who had left him years agone, in pain + Groaning upon the desolate sea-shore. + Yea, and his heart's stem will he had swiftly wrought, + But, even as upon that godlike twain + He gazed, Athena caused his bitter wrath + To melt away. Then drew they nigh to him + With looks of sad compassion, and sat down + On either hand beside him in the cave, + And of his deadly wound and grievous pangs + Asked; and he told them all his sufferings. + And they spake hope and comfort; and they said: + "Thy woeful wound, thine anguish, shall be healed, + If thou but come with us to Achaea's host-- + The host that now is sorrowing after thee + With all its kings. And no man of them all + Was cause of thine affliction, but the Fates, + The cruel ones, whom none that walk the earth + Escape, but aye they visit hapless men + Unseen; and day by day with pitiless hearts + Now they afflict men, now again exalt + To honour--none knows why; for all the woes + And all the joys of men do these devise + After their pleasure." Hearkening he sat + To Odysseus and to godlike Diomede; + And all the hoarded wrath for olden wrongs + And all the torturing rage, melted away. + + Straight to the strand dull-thundering and the ship, + Laughing for joy, they bare him with his bow. + There washed they all his body and that foul wound + With sponges, and with plenteous water bathed: + So was his soul refreshed. Then hasted they + And made meat ready for the famished man, + And in the galley supped with him. Then came + The balmy night, and sleep slid down on them. + Till rose the dawn they tarried by the strand + Of sea-girt Lemnos, but with dayspring cast + The hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones + Out of the deep. Athena sent a breeze + Blowing behind the galley taper-prowed. + They strained the sail with either stern-sheet taut; + Seaward they pointed the stout-girdered ship; + O'er the broad flood she leapt before the wind; + Broken to right and left the dark wave sighed, + And seething all around was hoary foam, + While thronging dolphins raced on either hand + Flashing along the paths of silver sea. + + Full soon to fish-fraught Hellespont they came + And the far-stretching ships. Glad were the Greeks + To see the longed-for faces. Forth the ship + With joy they stepped; and Poeas' valiant son + On those two heroes leaned thin wasted hands, + Who bare him painfully halting to the shore + Staying his weight upon their brawny arms. + As seems mid mountain-brakes an oak or pine + By strength of the woodcutter half hewn through, + Which for a little stands on what was left + Of the smooth trunk by him who hewed thereat + Hard by the roots, that its slow-smouldering wood + Might yield him pitch--now like to one in pain + It groans, in weakness borne down by the wind, + Yet is upstayed upon its leafy boughs + Which from the earth bear up its helpless weight; + So by pain unendurable bowed down + Leaned he on those brave heroes, and was borne + Unto the war-host. Men beheld, and all + Compassionated that great archer, crushed + By anguish of his hurt. But one drew near, + Podaleirius, godlike in his power to heal. + Swifter than thought he made him whole and sound; + For deftly on the wound he spread his salves, + Calling on his physician-father's name; + And soon the Achaeans shouted all for joy, + All praising with one voice Asclepius' son. + Lovingly then they bathed him, and with oil + Anointed. All his heaviness of cheer + And misery vanished by the Immortals' will; + And glad at heart were all that looked on him; + And from affliction he awoke to joy. + Over the bloodless face the flush of health + Glowed, and for wretched weakness mighty strength + Thrilled through him: goodly and great waxed all his limbs. + As when a field of corn revives again + Which erst had drooped, by rains of ruining storm + Down beaten flat, but by warm summer winds + Requickened, o'er the laboured land it smiles, + So Philoctetes' erstwhile wasted frame + Was all requickened:--in the galley's hold + He seemed to have left all cares that crushed his soul. + + And Atreus' sons beheld him marvelling + As one re-risen from the dead: it seemed + The work of hands immortal. And indeed + So was it verily, as their hearts divined; + For 'twas the glorious Trito-born that shed + Stature and grace upon him. Suddenly + He seemed as when of old mid Argive men + He stood, before calamity struck him down. + Then unto wealthy Agamemnon's tent + Did all their mightiest men bring Poeas' son, + And set him chief in honour at the feast, + Extolling him. When all with meat and drink + Were filled, spake Agamemnon lord of spears: + "Dear friend, since by the will of Heaven our souls + Were once perverted, that in sea-girt Lemnos + We left thee, harbour not thine heart within + Fierce wrath for this: by the blest Gods constrained + We did it; and, I trow, the Immortals willed + To bring much evil on us, bereft of thee, + Who art of all men skilfullest to quell + With shafts of death all foes that face thee in fight. + For all the tangled paths of human life, + By land and sea, are by the will of Fate + Hid from our eyes, in many and devious tracks + Are cleft apart, in wandering mazes lost. + Along them men by Fortune's dooming drift + Like unto leaves that drive before the wind. + Oft on an evil path the good man's feet + Stumble, the brave finds not a prosperous path; + And none of earth-born men can shun the Fates, + And of his own will none can choose his way. + So then doth it behove the wise of heart + Though on a troublous track the winds of fate + Sweep him away to suffer and be strong. + Since we were blinded then, and erred herein, + With rich gifts will we make amends to thee + Hereafter, when we take the stately towers + Of Troy: but now receive thou handmaids seven, + Fleet steeds two-score, victors in chariot-race, + And tripods twelve, wherein thine heart may joy + Through all thy days; and always in my tent + Shall royal honour at the feast be thine." + + He spake, and gave the hero those fair gifts. + Then answered Poeas' mighty-hearted son; + "Friend, I forgive thee freely, and all beside + Whoso against me haply hath trangressed. + I know how good men's minds sometimes be warped: + Nor meet it is that one be obdurate + Ever, and nurse mean rancours: sternest wrath + Must yield anon unto the melting mood. + Now pass we to our rest; for better is sleep + Than feasting late, for him who longs to fight." + + He spake, and rose, and came to his comrades' tent; + Then swiftly for their war-fain king they dight + The couch, while laughed their hearts for very joy. + Gladly he laid him down to sleep till dawn. + + So passed the night divine, till flushed the hills + In the sun's light, and men awoke to toil. + Then all athirst for war the Argive men + 'Gan whet the spear smooth-shafted, or the dart, + Or javelin, and they brake the bread of dawn, + And foddered all their horses. Then to these + Spake Poeas' son with battle-kindling speech: + "Up! let us make us ready for the war! + Let no man linger mid the galleys, ere + The glorious walls of Ilium stately-towered + Be shattered, and her palaces be burned!" + + Then at his words each heart and spirit glowed: + They donned their armour, and they grasped their shields. + Forth of the ships in one huge mass they poured + Arrayed with bull-hide bucklers, ashen spears, + And gallant-crested helms. Through all their ranks + Shoulder to shoulder marched they: thou hadst seen + No gap 'twixt man and man as on they charged; + So close they thronged, so dense was their array. + + + +BOOK X + +How Paris was stricken to death, and in vain sought help of Oenone. + + + Now were the Trojans all without the town + Of Priam, armour-clad, with battle-cars + And chariot-steeds; for still they burnt their dead, + And still they feared lest the Achaean men + Should fall on them. They looked, and saw them come + With furious speed against the walls. In haste + They cast a hurried earth-mound o'er the slain, + For greatly trembled they to see their foes. + Then in their sore disquiet spake to them + Polydamas, a wise and prudent chief: + "Friends, unendurably against us now + Maddens the war. Go to, let us devise + How we may find deliverance from our strait. + Still bide the Danaans here, still gather strength: + Now therefore let us man our stately towers, + And thence withstand them, fighting night and day, + Until yon Danaans weary, and return + To Sparta, or, renownless lingering here + Beside the wall, lose heart. No strength of theirs + Shall breach the long walls, howsoe'er they strive, + For in the imperishable work of Gods + Weakness is none. Food, drink, we shall not lack, + For in King Priam's gold-abounding halls + Is stored abundant food, that shall suffice + For many more than we, through many years, + Though thrice so great a host at our desire + Should gather, eager to maintain our cause." + + Then chode with him Anchises' valiant son: + "Polydamas, wherefore do they call thee wise, + Who biddest suffer endless tribulations + Cooped within walls? Never, how long soe'er + The Achaeans tarry here, will they lose heart; + But when they see us skulking from the field, + More fiercely will press on. So ours shall be + The sufferance, perishing in our native home, + If for long season they beleaguer us. + No food, if we be pent within our walls, + Shall Thebe send us, nor Maeonia wine, + But wretchedly by famine shall we die, + Though the great wall stand firm. Nay, though our lot + Should be to escape that evil death and doom, + And not by famine miserably to die; + Yet rather let us fight in armour clad + For children and grey fathers! Haply Zeus + Will help us yet; of his high blood are we. + Nay, even though we be abhorred of him, + Better straightway to perish gloriously + Fighting unto the last for fatherland, + Than die a death of lingering agony!" + + Shouted they all who heard that gallant rede. + Swiftly with helms and shields and spears they stood + In close array. The eyes of mighty Zeus + From heaven beheld the Trojans armed for fight + Against the Danaans: then did he awake + Courage in these and those, that there might be + Strain of unflinching fight 'twixt host and host. + That day was Paris doomed, for Helen's sake + Fighting, by Philoctetes' hands to die. + + To one place Strife incarnate drew them all, + The fearful Battle-queen, beheld of none, + But cloaked in clouds blood-raining: on she stalked + Swelling the mighty roar of battle, now + Rushed through Troy's squadrons, through Achaea's now; + Panic and Fear still waited on her steps + To make their father's sister glorious. + From small to huge that Fury's stature grew; + Her arms of adamant were blood-besprent, + The deadly lance she brandished reached the sky. + Earth quaked beneath her feet: dread blasts of fire + Flamed from her mouth: her voice pealed thunder-like + Kindling strong men. Swift closed the fronts of fight + Drawn by a dread Power to the mighty work. + Loud as the shriek of winds that madly blow + In early spring, when the tall woodland trees + Put forth their leaves--loud as the roar of fire + Blazing through sun-scorched brakes--loud as the voice + Of many waters, when the wide sea raves + Beneath the howling blast, with thunderous crash + Of waves, when shake the fearful shipman's knees; + So thundered earth beneath their charging feet. + Strife swooped on them: foe hurled himself on foe. + + First did Aeneas of the Danaans slay + Harpalion, Arizelus' scion, born + In far Boeotia of Amphinome, + Who came to Troy to help the Argive men + With godlike Prothoenor. 'Neath his waist + Aeneas stabbed, and reft sweet life from him. + Dead upon him he cast Thersander's son, + For the barbed javelin pierced through Hyllus' throat + Whom Arethusa by Lethaeus bare + In Crete: sore grieved Idomeneus for his fall. + + By this Peleides' son had swiftly slain + Twelve Trojan warriors with his father's spear. + First Cebrus fell, Harmon, Pasitheus then, + Hysminus, Schedius, and Imbrasius, + Phleges, Mnesaeus, Ennomus, Amphinous, + Phasis, Galenus last, who had his home + + By Gargarus' steep--a mighty warrior he + Among Troy's mighties: with a countless host + To Troy he came: for Priam Dardanus' son + Promised him many gifts and passing fair. + Ah fool! his own doom never he foresaw, + Whose weird was suddenly to fall in fight + Ere he bore home King Priam's glorious gifts. + + Doom the Destroyer against the Argives sped + Valiant Aeneas' friend, Eurymenes. + Wild courage spurred him on, that he might slay + Many--and then fill death's cup for himself. + Man after man he slew like some fierce beast, + And foes shrank from the terrible rage that burned + On his life's verge, nor reeked of imminent doom. + Yea, peerless deeds in that fight had he done, + Had not his hands grown weary, his spear-head + Bent utterly: his sword availed him not, + Snapped at the hilt by Fate. Then Meges' dart + Smote 'neath his ribs; blood spurted from his mouth, + And in death's agony Doom stood at his side. + + Even as he fell, Epeius' henchmen twain, + Deileon and Amphion, rushed to strip + His armour; but Aeneas brave and strong + Chilled their hot hearts in death beside the dead. + As one in latter summer 'mid his vines + Kills wasps that dart about his ripening grapes, + And so, ere they may taste the fruit, they die; + So smote he them, ere they could seize the arms. + + Menon and Amphinous Tydeides slew, + Both goodly men. Paris slew Hippasus' son + Demoleon, who in Laconia's land + Beside the outfall of Eurotas dwelt, + The stream deep-flowing, and to Troy he came + With Menelaus. Under his right breast + The shaft of Paris smote him unto death, + Driving his soul forth like a scattering breath. + + Teucer slew Zechis, Medon's war-famed son, + Who dwelt in Phrygia, land of myriad flocks, + Below that haunted cave of fair-haired Nymphs + Where, as Endymion slept beside his kine, + Divine Selene watched him from on high, + And slid from heaven to earth; for passionate love + Drew down the immortal stainless Queen of Night. + And a memorial of her couch abides + Still 'neath the oaks; for mid the copses round + Was poured out milk of kine; and still do men + Marvelling behold its whiteness. Thou wouldst say + Far off that this was milk indeed, which is + A well-spring of white water: if thou draw + A little nigher, lo, the stream is fringed + As though with ice, for white stone rims it round. + + Rushed on Alcaeus Meges, Phyleus' son, + And drave his spear beneath his fluttering heart. + Loosed were the cords of sweet life suddenly, + And his sad parents longed in vain to greet + That son returning from the woeful war + To Margasus and Phyllis lovely-girt, + Dwellers by lucent streams of Harpasus, + Who pours the full blood of his clamorous flow + Into Maeander madly rushing aye. + + With Glaucus' warrior-comrade Scylaceus + Odeus' son closed in the fight, and stabbed + Over the shield-rim, and the cruel spear + Passed through his shoulder, and drenched his shield with blood. + Howbeit he slew him not, whose day of doom + Awaited him afar beside the wall + Of his own city; for when Illium's towers + Were brought low by that swift avenging host + Fleeing the war to Lycia then he came + Alone; and when he drew nigh to the town, + The thronging women met and questioned him + Touching their sons and husbands; and he told + How all were dead. They compassed him about, + And stoned the man with great stones, that he died. + So had he no joy of his winning home, + But the stones muffled up his dying groans, + And of the same his ghastly tomb was reared + Beside Bellerophon's grave and holy place + In Tlos, nigh that far-famed Chimaera's Crag. + Yet, though he thus fulfilled his day of doom, + As a God afterward men worshipped him + By Phoebus' hest, and never his honour fades. + + Now Poeas' son the while slew Deioneus + And Acamas, Antenor's warrior son: + Yea, a great host of strong men laid he low. + On, like the War-god, through his foes he rushed, + Or as a river roaring in full flood + Breaks down long dykes, when, maddening round its rocks, + Down from the mountains swelled by rain it pours + An ever-flowing mightily-rushing stream + Whose foaming crests over its forelands sweep; + So none who saw him even from afar + Dared meet renowned Poeas' valiant son, + Whose breast with battle-fury was fulfilled, + Whose limbs were clad in mighty Hercules' arms + Of cunning workmanship; for on the belt + Gleamed bears most grim and savage, jackals fell, + And panthers, in whose eyes there seems to lurk + A deadly smile. There were fierce-hearted wolves, + And boars with flashing tusks, and mighty lions + All seeming strangely alive; and, there portrayed + Through all its breadth, were battles murder-rife. + With all these marvels covered was the belt; + And with yet more the quiver was adorned. + There Hermes was, storm-footed Son of Zeus, + Slaying huge Argus nigh to Inachus' streams, + Argus, whose sentinel eyes in turn took sleep. + And there was Phaethon from the Sun-car hurled + Into Eridanus. Earth verily seemed + Ablaze, and black smoke hovered on the air. + There Perseus slew Medusa gorgon-eyed + By the stars' baths and utmost bounds of earth + And fountains of deep-flowing Ocean, where + Night in the far west meets the setting sun. + There was the Titan Iapetus' great son + Hung from the beetling crag of Caucasus + In bonds of adamant, and the eagle tare + His liver unconsumed--he seemed to groan! + All these Hephaestus' cunning hands had wrought + For Hercules; and these to Poeas' son, + Most near of friends and dear, he gave to bear. + + So glorying in those arms he smote the foe. + But Paris at the last to meet him sprang + Fearlessly, bearing in his hands his bow + And deadly arrows--but his latest day + Now met himself. A flying shaft he sped + Forth from the string, which sang as leapt the dart, + Which flew not vainly: yet the very mark + It missed, for Philoctetes swerved aside + A hair-breadth, and it smote above the breast + Cleodorus war-renowned, and cleft a path + Clear through his shoulder; for he had not now + The buckler broad which wont to fence from death + Its bearer, but was falling back from fight, + Being shieldless; for Polydamas' massy lance + Had cleft the shoulder-belt whereby his targe + Hung, and he gave back therefore, fighting still + With stubborn spear. But now the arrow of death + Fell on him, as from ambush leaping forth. + For so Fate willed, I trow, to bring dread doom + On noble-hearted Lernus' scion, born + Of Amphiale, in Rhodes the fertile land. + + But soon as Poeas' battle-eager son + Marked him by Paris' deadly arrow slain, + Swiftly he strained his bow, shouting aloud: + "Dog! I will give thee death, will speed thee down + To the Unseen Land, who darest to brave me! + And so shall they have rest, who travail now + For thy vile sake. Destruction shall have end + When thou art dead, the author of our bane." + + Then to his breast he drew the plaited cord. + The great bow arched, the merciless shaft was aimed + Straight, and the terrible point a little peered + Above the bow, in that constraining grip. + Loud sang the string, as the death-hissing shaft + Leapt, and missed not: yet was not Paris' heart + Stilled, but his spirit yet was strong in him; + For that first arrow was not winged with death: + It did but graze the fair flesh by his wrist. + Then once again the avenger drew the bow, + And the barbed shaft of Poeas' son had plunged, + Ere he could swerve, 'twixt flank and groin. No more + He abode the fight, but swiftly hasted back + As hastes a dog which on a lion rushed + At first, then fleeth terror-stricken back. + So he, his very heart with agony thrilled, + Fled from the war. Still clashed the grappling hosts, + Man slaying man: aye bloodier waxed the fray + As rained the blows: corpse upon corpse was flung + Confusedly, like thunder-drops, or flakes + Of snow, or hailstones, by the wintry blast + At Zeus' behest strewn over the long hills + And forest-boughs; so by a pitiless doom + Slain, friends with foes in heaps on heaps were strown. + + Sorely groaned Paris; with the torturing wound + Fainted his spirit. Leeches sought to allay + His frenzy of pain. But now drew back to Troy + The Trojans, and the Danaans to their ships + Swiftly returned, for dark night put an end + To strife, and stole from men's limbs weariness, + Pouring upon their eyes pain-healing sleep. + + But through the livelong night no sleep laid hold + On Paris: for his help no leech availed, + Though ne'er so willing, with his salves. His weird + Was only by Oenone's hands to escape + Death's doom, if so she willed. Now he obeyed + The prophecy, and he went--exceeding loth, + But grim necessity forced him thence, to face + The wife forsaken. Evil-boding fowl + Shrieked o'er his head, or darted past to left, + Still as he went. Now, as he looked at them, + His heart sank; now hope whispered, "Haply vain + Their bodings are!" but on their wings were borne + Visions of doom that blended with his pain. + Into Oenone's presence thus he came. + Amazed her thronging handmaids looked on him + As at the Nymph's feet that pale suppliant fell + Faint with the anguish of his wound, whose pangs + Stabbed him through brain and heart, yea, quivered through + His very bones, for that fierce venom crawled + Through all his inwards with corrupting fangs; + And his life fainted in him agony-thrilled. + As one with sickness and tormenting thirst + Consumed, lies parched, with heart quick-shuddering, + With liver seething as in flame, the soul, + Scarce conscious, fluttering at his burning lips, + Longing for life, for water longing sore; + So was his breast one fire of torturing pain. + Then in exceeding feebleness he spake: + "O reverenced wife, turn not from me in hate + For that I left thee widowed long ago! + Not of my will I did it: the strong Fates + Dragged me to Helen--oh that I had died + Ere I embraced her--in thine arms had died! + All, by the Gods I pray, the Lords of Heaven, + By all the memories of our wedded love, + Be merciful! Banish my bitter pain: + Lay on my deadly wound those healing salves + Which only can, by Fate's decree, remove + This torment, if thou wilt. Thine heart must speak + My sentence, to be saved from death or no. + Pity me--oh, make haste to pity me! + This venom's might is swiftly bringing death! + Heal me, while life yet lingers in my limbs! + Remember not those pangs of jealousy, + Nor leave me by a cruel doom to die + Low fallen at thy feet! This should offend + The Prayers, the Daughters of the Thunderer Zeus, + Whose anger followeth unrelenting pride + With vengeance, and the Erinnys executes + Their wrath. My queen, I sinned, in folly sinned; + Yet from death save me--oh, make haste to save!" + + So prayed he; but her darkly-brooding heart + Was steeled, and her words mocked his agony: + "Thou comest unto me!--thou, who didst leave + Erewhile a wailing wife in a desolate home!-- + Didst leave her for thy Tyndarid darling! Go, + Lie laughing in her arms for bliss! She is better + Than thy true wife--is, rumour saith, immortal! + Make haste to kneel to her but not to me! + Weep not to me, nor whimper pitiful prayers! + Oh that mine heart beat with a tigress' strength, + That I might tear thy flesh and lap thy blood + For all the pain thy folly brought on me! + Vile wretch! where now is Love's Queen glory-crowned? + Hath Zeus forgotten his daughter's paramour? + Have them for thy deliverers! Get thee hence + Far from my dwelling, curse of Gods and men! + Yea, for through thee, thou miscreant, sorrow came + On deathless Gods, for sons and sons' sons slain. + Hence from my threshold!--to thine Helen go! + Agonize day and night beside her bed: + There whimper, pierced to the heart with cruel pangs, + Until she heal thee of thy grievous pain." + + So from her doors she drave that groaning man-- + Ah fool! not knowing her own doom, whose weird + Was straightway after him to tread the path + Of death! So Fate had spun her destiny-thread. + + Then, as he stumbled down through Ida's brakes, + Where Doom on his death-path was leading him + Painfully halting, racked with heart-sick pain, + Hera beheld him, with rejoicing soul + Throned in the Olympian palace-court of Zeus. + And seated at her side were handmaids four + Whom radiant-faced Selene bare to the Sun + To be unwearying ministers in Heaven, + In form and office diverse each from each; + For of these Seasons one was summer's queen, + And one of winter and his stormy star, + Of spring the third, of autumn-tide the fourth. + So in four portions parted is man's year + Ruled by these Queens in turn--but of all this + Be Zeus himself the Overseer in heaven. + And of those issues now these spake with her + Which baleful Fate in her all-ruining heart + Was shaping to the birth the new espousals + Of Helen, fatal to Deiphobus-- + The wrath of Helenus, who hoped in vain + For that fair bride, and how, when he had fled, + Wroth with the Trojans, to the mountain-height, + Achaea's sons would seize him and would hale + Unto their ships--how, by his counselling + Strong Tydeus' son should with Odysseus scale + The great wall, and should slay Alcathous + The temple-warder, and should bear away + Pallas the Gracious, with her free consent, + Whose image was the sure defence of Troy;-- + Yea, for not even a God, how wroth soe'er, + Had power to lay the City of Priam waste + While that immortal shape stood warder there. + No man had carven that celestial form, + But Cronos' Son himself had cast it down + From heaven to Priam's gold-abounding burg. + + Of these things with her handmaids did the Queen + Of Heaven hold converse, and of many such, + But Paris, while they talked, gave up the ghost + On Ida: never Helen saw him more. + Loud wailed the Nymphs around him; for they still + Remembered how their nursling wont to lisp + His childish prattle, compassed with their smiles. + And with them mourned the neatherds light of foot, + Sorrowful-hearted; moaned the mountain-glens. + + Then unto travail-burdened Priam's queen + A herdman told the dread doom of her son. + Wildly her trembling heart leapt when she heard; + With failing limbs she sank to earth and wailed: + "Dead! thou dead, O dear child! Grief heaped on grief + Hast thou bequeathed me, grief eternal! Best + Of all my sons, save Hector alone, wast thou! + While beats my heart, my grief shall weep for thee. + The hand of Heaven is in our sufferings: + Some Fate devised our ruin--oh that I + Had lived not to endure it, but had died + In days of wealthy peace! But now I see + Woes upon woes, and ever look to see + Worse things--my children slain, my city sacked + And burned with fire by stony-hearted foes, + Daughters, sons' wives, all Trojan women, haled + Into captivity with our little ones!" + + So wailed she; but the King heard naught thereof, + But weeping ever sat by Hector's grave, + For most of all his sons he honoured him, + His mightiest, the defender of his land. + Nothing of Paris knew that pierced heart; + But long and loud lamented Helen; yet + Those wails were but for Trojan ears; her soul + With other thoughts was busy, as she cried: + "Husband, to me, to Troy, and to thyself + A bitter blow is this thy woeful death! + In misery hast thou left me, and I look + To see calamities more deadly yet. + Oh that the Spirits of the Storm had snatched + Me from the earth when first I fared with thee + Drawn by a baleful Fate! It might not be; + The Gods have meted ruin to thee and me. + With shuddering horror all men look on me, + All hate me! Place of refuge is there none + For me; for if to the Danaan host I fly, + With torments will they greet me. If I stay, + Troy's sons and daughters here will compass me + And rend me. Earth shall cover not my corpse, + But dogs and fowl of ravin shall devour. + Oh had Fate slain me ere I saw these woes!" + + So cried she: but for him far less she mourned + Than for herself, remembering her own sin. + Yea, and Troy's daughters but in semblance wailed + For him: of other woes their hearts were full. + Some thought on parents, some on husbands slain, + These on their sons, on honoured kinsmen those. + + One only heart was pierced with grief unfeigned, + Oenone. Not with them of Troy she wailed, + But far away within that desolate home + Moaning she lay on her lost husband's bed. + As when the copses on high mountains stand + White-veiled with frozen snow, which o'er the glens + The west-wind blasts have strown, but now the sun + And east-wind melt it fast, and the long heights + With water-courses stream, and down the glades + Slide, as they thaw, the heavy sheets, to swell + The rushing waters of an ice-cold spring, + So melted she in tears of anguished pain, + And for her own, her husband, agonised, + And cried to her heart with miserable moans: + "Woe for my wickedness! O hateful life! + I loved mine hapless husband--dreamed with him + To pace to eld's bright threshold hand in hand, + And heart in heart! The gods ordained not so. + Oh had the black Fates snatched me from the earth + Ere I from Paris turned away in hate! + My living love hath left me!--yet will I + Dare to die with him, for I loathe the light." + + So cried she, weeping, weeping piteously, + Remembering him whom death had swallowed up, + Wasting, as melteth wax before the flame + Yet secretly, being fearful lest her sire + Should mark it, or her handmaids till the night + Rose from broad Ocean, flooding all the earth + With darkness bringing men release from toil. + Then, while her father and her maidens slept, + She slid the bolts back of the outer doors, + And rushed forth like a storm-blast. Fast she ran, + As when a heifer 'mid the mountains speeds, + Her heart with passion stung, to meet her mate, + And madly races on with flying feet, + And fears not, in her frenzy of desire, + The herdman, as her wild rush bears her on, + So she but find her mate amid the woods; + So down the long tracks flew Oenone's feet; + Seeking the awful pyre, to leap thereon. + No weariness she knew: as upon wings + Her feet flew faster ever, onward spurred + By fell Fate, and the Cyprian Queen. She feared + No shaggy beast that met her in the dark + Who erst had feared them sorely--rugged rock + And precipice of tangled mountain-slope, + She trod them all unstumbling; torrent-beds + She leapt. The white Moon-goddess from on high + Looked on her, and remembered her own love, + Princely Endymion, and she pitied her + In that wild race, and, shining overhead + In her full brightness, made the long tracks plain. + + Through mountain-gorges so she won to where + Wailed other Nymphs round Alexander's corpse. + Roared up about him a great wall of fire; + For from the mountains far and near had come + Shepherds, and heaped the death-bale broad and high + For love's and sorrow's latest service done + To one of old their comrade and their king. + Sore weeping stood they round. She raised no wail, + The broken-hearted, when she saw him there, + But, in her mantle muffling up her face, + Leapt on the pyre: loud wailed that multitude. + There burned she, clasping Paris. All the Nymphs + Marvelled, beholding her beside her lord + Flung down, and heart to heart spake whispering: + "Verily evil-hearted Paris was, + Who left a leal true wife, and took for bride + A wanton, to himself and Troy a curse. + Ah fool, who recked not of the broken heart + Of a most virtuous wife, who more than life + Loved him who turned from her and loved her not!" + + So in their hearts the Nymphs spake: but they twain + Burned on the pyre, never to hail again + The dayspring. Wondering herdmen stood around, + As once the thronging Argives marvelling saw + Evadne clasping mid the fire her lord + Capaneus, slain by Zeus' dread thunderbolt. + But when the blast of the devouring fire + Had made twain one, Oenone and Paris, now + One little heap of ashes, then with wine + Quenched they the embers, and they laid their bones + In a wide golden vase, and round them piled + The earth-mound; and they set two pillars there + That each from other ever turn away; + For the old jealousy in the marble lives. + + + +BOOK XI + +How the sons of Troy for the last time fought from her walls and +her towers. + + + Troy's daughters mourned within her walls; might none + Go forth to Paris' tomb, for far away + From high-built Troy it lay. But the young men + Without the city toiled unceasingly + In fight wherein from slaughter rest was none, + Though dead was Paris; for the Achaeans pressed + Hard on the Trojans even unto Troy. + Yet these charged forth--they could not choose but so, + For Strife and deadly Enyo in their midst + Stalked, like the fell Erinyes to behold, + Breathing destruction from their lips like flame. + Beside them raged the ruthless-hearted Fates + Fiercely: here Panic-fear and Ares there + Stirred up the hosts: hard after followed + Dread With slaughter's gore besprent, that in one host + Might men see, and be strong, in the other fear; + And all around were javelins, spears, and darts + Murder-athirst from this side, that side, showered. + Aye, as they hurled together, armour clashed, + As foe with foe grappled in murderous fight. + + There Neoptolemus slew Laodamas, + Whom Lycia nurtured by fair Xanthus' stream, + The stream revealed to men by Leto, bride + Of Thunderer Zeus, when Lycia's stony plain + Was by her hands uptorn mid agonies + Of travail-throes wherein she brought to light + Mid bitter pangs those babes of birth divine. + Nirus upon him laid he dead; the spear + Crashed through his jaw, and clear through mouth and tongue + Passed: on the lance's irresistible point + Shrieking was he impaled: flooded with gore + His mouth was as he cried. The cruel shaft, + Sped on by that strong hand, dashed him to earth + In throes of death. Evenor next he smote + Above the flank, and onward drave the spear + Into his liver: swiftly anguished death + Came upon him. Iphition next he slew: + He quelled Hippomedon, Hippasus' bold son, + Whom Ocyone the Nymph had borne beside + Sangarius' river-flow. Ne'er welcomed she + Her son's returning face, but ruthless Fate + With anguish thrilled her of her child bereaved. + + Bremon Aeneas slew, and Andromachus, + Of Cnossus this, of hallowed Lyctus that: + On one spot both from their swift chariots fell; + This gasped for breath, his throat by the long spear + Transfixed; that other, by a massy stone, + Sped from a strong hand, on the temple struck, + Breathed out his life, and black doom shrouded him. + The startled steeds, bereft of charioteers, + Fleeing, mid all those corpses were confused, + And princely Aeneas' henchmen seized on them + With hearts exulting in the goodly spoil. + + There Philoctetes with his deadly shaft + Smote Peirasus in act to flee the war: + The tendons twain behind the knee it snapped, + And palsied all his speed. A Danaan marked, + And leapt on that maimed man with sweep of sword + Shearing his neck through. On the breast of earth + The headless body fell: the head far flung + Went rolling with lips parted as to shriek; + And swiftly fleeted thence the homeless soul. + + Polydamas struck down Eurymachus + And Cleon with his spear. From Syme came + With Nireus' following these: cunning were both + In craft of fisher-folk to east the hook + Baited with guile, to drop into the sea + The net, from the boat's prow with deftest hands + Swiftly and straight to plunge the three-forked spear. + But not from bane their sea-craft saved them now. + + Eurypylus battle-staunch laid Hellus low, + Whom Cleito bare beside Gygaea's mere, + Cleito the fair-cheeked. Face-down in the dust + Outstretched he lay: shorn by the cruel sword + From his strong shoulder fell the arm that held + His long spear. Still its muscles twitched, as though + Fain to uplift the lance for fight in vain; + For the man's will no longer stirred therein, + But aimlessly it quivered, even as leaps + The severed tail of a snake malignant-eyed, + Which cannot chase the man who dealt the wound; + So the right hand of that strong-hearted man + With impotent grip still clutched the spear for fight. + + Aenus and Polydorus Odysseus slew, + Ceteians both; this perished by his spear, + That by his sword death-dealing. Sthenelus + Smote godlike Abas with a javelin-cast: + On through his throat and shuddering nape it rushed: + Stopped were his heart-beats, all his limbs collapsed. + + Tydeides slew Laodocus; Melius fell + By Agamemnon's hand; Deiphobus + Smote Alcimus and Dryas: Hippasus, + How war-renowned soe'er, Agenor slew + Far from Peneius' river. Crushed by fate, + Love's nursing-debt to parents ne'er he paid. + + Lamus and stalwart Lyncus Thoas smote, + And Meriones slew Lycon; Menelaus + Laid low Archelochus. Upon his home + Looked down Corycia's ridge, and that great rock + Of the wise Fire-god, marvellous in men's eyes; + For thereon, nightlong, daylong, unto him + Fire blazes, tireless and unquenchable. + Laden with fruit around it palm-trees grow, + While mid the stones fire plays about their roots. + Gods' work is this, a wonder to all time. + + By Teucer princely Hippomedon's son was slain, + Menoetes: as the archer drew on him, + Rushed he to smite him; but already hand + And eye, and bow-craft keen were aiming straight + On the arching horn the shaft. Swiftly released + It leapt on the hapless man, while sang the string. + Stricken full front he heaved one choking gasp, + Because the fates on the arrow riding flew + Right to his heart, the throne of thought and strength + For men, whence short the path is unto death. + + Far from his brawny hand Euryalus hurled + A massy stone, and shook the ranks of Troy. + As when in anger against long-screaming cranes + A watcher of the field leaps from the ground, + In swift hand whirling round his head the sling, + And speeds the stone against them, scattering + Before its hum their ranks far down the wind + Outspread, and they in huddled panic dart + With wild cries this way and that, who theretofore + Swept on in ordered lines; so shrank the foe + To right and left from that dread bolt of doom + Hurled of Euryalus. Not in vain it flew + Fate-winged; it shattered Meles' helm and head + Down to the eyes: so met him ghastly death. + + Still man slew man, while earth groaned all around, + As when a mighty wind scourges the land, + And this way, that way, under its shrieking blasts + Through the wide woodland bow from the roots and fall + Great trees, while all the earth is thundering round; + So fell they in the dust, so clanged their arms, + So crashed the earth around. Still hot were they + For fell fight, still dealt bane unto their foes. + + Nigh to Aeneas then Apollo came, + And to Eurymachus, brave Antenor's son; + For these against the mighty Achaeans fought + Shoulder to shoulder, as two strong oxen, matched + In age, yoked to a wain; nor ever ceased + From battling. Suddenly spake the God to these + In Polymestor's shape, the seer his mother + By Xanthus bare to the Far-darter's priest: + "Eurymachus, Aeneas, seed of Gods, + 'Twere shame if ye should flinch from Argives! Nay, + Not Ares' self should joy to encounter you, + An ye would face him in the fray; for Fate + Hath spun long destiny-threads for thee and thee." + + He spake, and vanished, mingling with the winds. + But their hearts felt the God's power: suddenly + Flooded with boundless courage were their frames, + Maddened their spirits: on the foe they leapt + Like furious wasps that in a storm of rage + Swoop upon bees, beholding them draw nigh + In latter-summer to the mellowing grapes, + Or from their hives forth-streaming thitherward; + So fiercely leapt these sons of Troy to meet + War-hardened Greeks. The black Fates joyed to see + Their conflict, Ares laughed, Enyo yelled + Horribly. Loud their glancing armour clanged: + They stabbed, they hewed down hosts of foes untold + With irresistible hands. The reeling ranks + Fell, as the swath falls in the harvest heat, + When the swift-handed reapers, ranged adown + The field's long furrows, ply the sickle fast; + So fell before their hands ranks numberless: + With corpses earth was heaped, with torrent blood + Was streaming: Strife incarnate o'er the slain + Gloated. They paused not from the awful toil, + But aye pressed on, like lions chasing sheep. + Then turned the Greeks to craven flight; all feet + Unmaimed as yet fled from the murderous war. + Aye followed on Anchises' warrior son, + Smiting foes' backs with his avenging spear: + On pressed Eurymachus, while glowed the heart + Of Healer Apollo watching from on high. + + As when a man descries a herd of swine + Draw nigh his ripening corn, before the sheaves + Fall neath the reapers' hands, and harketh on + Against them his strong dogs; as down they rush, + The spoilers see and quake; no more think they + Of feasting, but they turn in panic flight + Huddling: fast follow at their heels the hounds + Biting remorselessly, while long and loud + Squealing they flee, and joys the harvest's lord; + So rejoiced Phoebus, seeing from the war + Fleeing the mighty Argive host. No more + Cared they for deeds of men, but cried to the Gods + For swift feet, in whose feet alone was hope + To escape Eurymachus' and Aeneas' spears + Which lightened ever all along their rear. + + But one Greek, over-trusting in his strength, + Or by Fate's malice to destruction drawn, + Curbed in mid flight from war's turmoil his steed, + And strove to wheel him round into the fight + To face the foe. But fierce Agenor thrust + Ere he was ware; his two-edged partizan + Shore though his shoulder; yea, the very bone + Of that gashed arm was cloven by the steel; + The tendons parted, the veins spirted blood: + Down by his horse's neck he slid, and straight + Fell mid the dead. But still the strong arm hung + With rigid fingers locked about the reins + Like a live man's. Weird marvel was that sight, + The bloody hand down hanging from the rein, + Scaring the foes yet more, by Ares' will. + Thou hadst said, "It craveth still for horsemanship!" + So bare the steed that sign of his slain lord. + + Aeneas hurled his spear; it found the waist + Of Anthalus' son, it pierced the navel through, + Dragging the inwards with it. Stretched in dust, + Clutching with agonized hands at steel and bowels, + Horribly shrieked he, tore with his teeth the earth + Groaning, till life and pain forsook the man. + Scared were the Argives, like a startled team + Of oxen 'neath the yoke-band straining hard, + What time the sharp-fanged gadfly stings their flanks + Athirst for blood, and they in frenzy of pain + Start from the furrow, and sore disquieted + The hind is for marred work, and for their sake, + Lest haply the recoiling ploughshare light + On their leg-sinews, and hamstring his team; + So were the Danaans scared, so feared for them + Achilles' son, and shouted thunder-voiced: + "Cravens, why flee, like starlings nothing-worth + Scared by a hawk that swoopeth down on them? + Come, play the men! Better it is by far + To die in war than choose unmanly flight!" + + Then to his cry they hearkened, and straightway + Were of good heart. Mighty of mood he leapt + Upon the Trojans, swinging in his hand + The lightening spear: swept after him his host + Of Myrmidons with hearts swelled with the strength + Resistless of a tempest; so the Greeks + Won breathing-space. With fury like his sire's + One after other slew he of the foe. + Recoiling back they fell, as waves on-rolled + By Boreas foaming from the deep to the strand, + Are caught by another blast that whirlwind-like + Leaps, in a short lull of the north-wind, forth, + Smites them full-face, and hurls them back from the shore; + So them that erewhile on the Danaans pressed + Godlike Achilles' son now backward hurled + A short space only brave Aeneas' spirit + Let him not flee, but made him bide the fight + Fearlessly; and Enyo level held + The battle's scales. Yet not against Aeneas + Achilles' son upraised his father's spear, + But elsewhither turned his fury: in reverence + For Aphrodite, Thetis splendour-veiled + Turned from that man her mighty son's son's rage + And giant strength on other hosts of foes. + There slew he many a Trojan, while the ranks + Of Greeks were ravaged by Aeneas' hand. + Over the battle-slain the vultures joyed, + Hungry to rend the hearts and flesh of men. + But all the Nymphs were wailing, daughters born + Of Xanthus and fair-flowing Simois. + + So toiled they in the fight: the wind's breath rolled + Huge dust-clouds up; the illimitable air + Was one thick haze, as with a sudden mist: + Earth disappeared, faces were blotted out; + Yet still they fought on; each man, whomso he met, + Ruthlessly slew him, though his very friend + It might be--in that turmoil none could tell + Who met him, friend or foe: blind wilderment + Enmeshed the hosts. And now had all been blent + Confusedly, had perished miserably, + All falling by their fellows' murderous swords, + Had not Cronion from Olympus helped + Their sore strait, and he swept aside the dust + Of conflict, and he calmed those deadly winds. + Yet still the hosts fought on; but lighter far + Their battle-travail was, who now discerned + Whom in the fray to smite, and whom to spare. + The Danaans now forced back the Trojan host, + The Trojans now the Danaan ranks, as swayed + The dread fight to and fro. From either side + Darts leapt and fell like snowflakes. Far away + Shepherds from Ida trembling watched the strife, + And to the Heaven-abiders lifted hands + Of supplication, praying that all their foes + Might perish, and that from the woeful war + Troy might win breathing-space, and see at last + The day of freedom: the Gods hearkened not. + Far other issues Fate devised, nor recked + Of Zeus the Almighty, nor of none beside + Of the Immortals. Her unpitying soul + Cares naught what doom she spinneth with her thread + Inevitable, be it for men new-born + Or cities: all things wax and wane through her. + So by her hest the battle-travail swelled + 'Twixt Trojan chariot-lords and Greeks that closed + In grapple of fight--they dealt each other death + Ruthlessly: no man quailed, but stout of heart + Fought on; for courage thrusts men into war. + + But now when many had perished in the dust, + Then did the Argive might prevail at last + By stern decree of Pallas; for she came + Into the heart of battle, hot to help + The Greeks to lay waste Priam's glorious town. + Then Aphrodite, who lamented sore + For Paris slain, snatched suddenly away + Renowned Aeneas from the deadly strife, + And poured thick mist about him. Fate forbade + That hero any longer to contend + With Argive foes without the high-built wall. + Yea, and his mother sorely feared the wrath + Of Pallas passing-wise, whose heart was keen + To help the Danaans now--yea, feared lest she + Might slay him even beyond his doom, who spared + Not Ares' self, a mightier far than he. + + No more the Trojans now abode the edge + Of fight, but all disheartened backward drew. + For like fierce ravening beasts the Argive men + Leapt on them, mad with murderous rage of war. + Choked with their slain the river-channels were, + Heaped was the field; in red dust thousands fell, + Horses and men; and chariots overturned + Were strewn there: blood was streaming all around + Like rain, for deadly Doom raged through the fray. + + Men stabbed with swords, and men impaled on spears + Lay all confusedly, like scattered beams, + When on the strand of the low-thundering sea + Men from great girders of a tall ship's hull + Strike out the bolts and clamps, and scatter wide + Long planks and timbers, till the whole broad beach + Is paved with beams o'erplashed by darkling surge; + So lay in dust and blood those slaughtered men, + Rapture and pain of fight forgotten now. + + A remnant from the pitiless strife escaped + Entered their stronghold, scarce eluding doom. + Children and wives from their limbs blood-besprent + Received their arms bedabbled with foul gore; + And baths for all were heated. Leeches ran + Through all the town in hot haste to the homes + Of wounded men to minister to their hurts. + Here wives and daughters moaned round men come back + From war, there cried on many who came not + Here, men stung to the soul by bitter pangs + Groaned upon beds of pain; there, toil-spent men + Turned them to supper. Whinnied the swift steeds + And neighed o'er mangers heaped. By tent and ship + Far off the Greeks did even as they of Troy. + + When o'er the streams of Ocean Dawn drove up + Her splendour-flashing steeds, and earth's tribes waked, + Then the strong Argives' battle-eager sons + Marched against Priam's city lofty-towered, + Save some that mid the tents by wounded men + Tarried, lest haply raiders on the ships + Might fall, to help the Trojans, while these fought + The foe from towers, while rose the flame of war. + + Before the Scaean gate fought Capaneus' son + And godlike Diomedes. High above + Deiphobus battle-staunch and strong Polites + With many comrades, stoutly held them back + With arrows and huge stones. Clanged evermore + The smitten helms and shields that fenced strong men + From bitter doom and unrelenting fate, + + Before the Gate Idaean Achilles' son + Set in array the fight: around him toiled + His host of battle-cunning Myrmidons. + Helenus and Agenor gallant-souled, + Down-hailing darts, against them held the wall, + Aye cheering on their men. No spurring these + Needed to fight hard for their country's walls. + + Odysseus and Eurypylus made assault + Unresting on the gates that fated the plain + And looked to the swift ships. From wall and tower + With huge stones brave Aeneas made defence. + + In battle-stress by Simons Teucer toiled. + Each endured hardness at his several post. + + Then round war-wise Odysseus men renowned, + By that great captain's battle cunning ruled, + Locked shields together, raised them o'er their heads + Ranged side by side, that many were made one. + Thou hadst said it was a great hall's solid roof, + Which no tempestuous wind-blast misty wet + Can pierce, nor rain from heaven in torrents poured. + So fenced about with shields firm stood the ranks + Of Argives, one in heart for fight, and one + In that array close-welded. From above + The Trojans hailed great stones; as from a rock + Rolled these to earth. Full many a spear and dart + And galling javelin in the pierced shields stood; + Some in the earth stood; many glanced away + With bent points falling baffled from the shields + Battered on all sides. But that clangorous din + None feared; none flinched; as pattering drops of rain + They heard it. Up to the rampart's foot they marched: + None hung back; shoulder to shoulder on they came + Like a long lurid cloud that o'er the sky + Cronion trails in wild midwinter-tide. + On that battalion moved, with thunderous tread + Of tramping feet: a little above the earth + Rose up the dust; the breeze swept it aside + Drifting away behind the men. There went + A sound confused of voices with them, like + The hum of bees that murmur round the hives, + And multitudinous panting, and the gasp + Of men hard-breathing. Exceeding glad the sons + Of Atreus, glorying in them, saw that wall + Unwavering of doom-denouncing war. + In one dense mass against the city-gate + They hurled themselves, with twibills strove to breach + The long walls, from their hinges to upheave + The gates, and dash to earth. The pulse of hope + Beat strong in those proud hearts. But naught availed + Targes nor levers, when Aeneas' might + Swung in his hands a stone like a thunderbolt, + Hurled it with uttermost strength, and dashed to death + All whom it caught beneath the shields, as when + A mountain's precipice-edge breaks off and falls + On pasturing goats, and all that graze thereby + Tremble; so were those Danaans dazed with dread. + Stone after stone he hurled on the reeling ranks, + As when amid the hills Olympian Zeus + With thunderbolts and blazing lightnings rends + From their foundations crags that rim a peak, + And this way, that way, sends them hurtling down; + Then the flocks tremble, scattering in wild flight; + So quailed the Achaeans, when Aeneas dashed + To sudden fragments all that battle-wall + Moulded of adamant shields, because a God + Gave more than human strength. No man of them + Could lift his eyes unto him in that fight, + Because the arms that lapped his sinewy limbs + Flashed like the heaven-born lightnings. At his side + Stood, all his form divine in darkness cloaked, + Ares the terrible, and winged the flight + Of what bare down to the Argives doom or dread. + He fought as when Olympian Zeus himself + From heaven in wrath smote down the insolent bands + Of giants grim, and shook the boundless earth, + And sea, and ocean, and the heavens, when reeled + The knees of Atlas neath the rush of Zeus. + So crumbled down beneath Aeneas' bolts + The Argive squadrons. All along the wall + Wroth with the foeman rushed he: from his hands + Whatso he lighted on in onslaught-haste + Hurled he; for many a battle-staying bolt + Lay on the walls of those staunch Dardan men. + With such Aeneas stormed in giant might, + With such drave back the thronging foes. All round + The Trojans played the men. Sore travail and pain + Had all folk round the city: many fell, + Argives and Trojans. Rang the battle-cries: + Aeneas cheered the war-fain Trojans on + To fight for home, for wives, and their own souls + With a good heart: war-staunch Achilles' son + Shouted: "Flinch not, ye Argives, from the walls, + Till Troy be taken, and sink down in flames!" + And round these twain an awful measureless roar + Rang, daylong as they fought: no breathing-space + Came from the war to them whose spirits burned, + These, to smite Ilium, those, to guard her safe. + + But from Aeneas valiant-souled afar + Fought Aias, speeding midst the men of Troy + Winged death; for now his arrow straight through air + Flew, now his deadly dart, and smote them down + One after one: yet others cowered away + Before his peerless prowess, and abode + The fight no more, but fenceless left the wall + + Then one, of all the Locrians mightiest, + Fierce-souled Alcimedon, trusting in his prince + And his own might and valour of his youth, + All battle-eager on a ladder set + Swift feet, to pave for friends a death-strewn path + Into the town. Above his head he raised + + The screening shield; up that dread path he went + Hardening his heart from trembling, in his hand + Now shook the threatening spear, now upward climbed + Fast high in air he trod the perilous way. + Now on the Trojans had disaster come, + But, even as above the parapet + His head rose, and for the first time and the last + From her high rampart he looked down on Troy, + Aeneas, who had marked, albeit afar, + That bold assault, rushed on him, dashed on his head + So huge a stone that the hero's mighty strength + Shattered the ladder. Down from on high he rushed + As arrow from the string: death followed him + As whirling round he fell; with air was blent + His lost life, ere he crashed to the stony ground. + Strong spear, broad shield, in mid fall flew from his hands, + And from his head the helm: his corslet came + Alone with him to earth. The Locrian men + Groaned, seeing their champion quelled by evil doom; + For all his hair and all the stones around + Were brain-bespattered: all his bones were crushed, + And his once active limbs besprent with gore. + + Then godlike Poeas' war-triumphant son + Marked where Aeneas stormed along the wall + In lion-like strength, and straightway shot a shaft + Aimed at that glorious hero, neither missed + The man: yet not through his unyielding targe + To the fair flesh it won, being turned aside + By Cytherea and the shield, but grazed + The buckler lightly: yet not all in vain + Fell earthward, but between the targe and helm + Smote Medon: from the tower he fell, as falls + A wild goat from a crag, the hunter's shaft + Deep in its heart: so nerveless-flung he fell, + And fled away from him the precious life. + Wroth for his friend, a stone Aeneas hurled, + And Philoctetes' stalwart comrade slew, + Toxaechmes; for he shattered his head and crushed + Helmet and skull-bones; and his noble heart + Was stilled. Loud shouted princely Poeas' son: + "Aeneas, thou, forsooth, dost deem thyself + A mighty champion, fighting from a tower + Whence craven women war with foes! Now if + Thou be a man, come forth without the wall + In battle-harness, and so learn to know + In spear-craft and in bow-craft Poeas' son!" + + So cried he; but Anchises' valiant seed, + How fain soe'er, naught answered, for the stress + Of desperate conflict round that wall and burg + Ceaselessly raging: pause from fight was none: + Yea, for long time no respite had there been + For the war-weary from that endless toil. + + + +BOOK XII + +How the Wooden Horse was fashioned, and brought into Troy by her people. + + + When round the walls of Troy the Danaan host + Had borne much travail, and yet the end was not, + By Calchas then assembled were the chiefs; + For his heart was instructed by the hests + Of Phoebus, by the flights of birds, the stars, + And all the signs that speak to men the will + Of Heaven; so he to that assembly cried: + "No longer toil in leaguer of yon walls; + Some other counsel let your hearts devise, + Some stratagem to help the host and us. + For here but yesterday I saw a sign: + A falcon chased a dove, and she, hard pressed, + Entered a cleft of the rock; and chafing he + Tarried long time hard by that rift, but she + Abode in covert. Nursing still his wrath, + He hid him in a bush. Forth darted she, + In folly deeming him afar: he swooped, + And to the hapless dove dealt wretched death. + Therefore by force essay we not to smite Troy, + but let cunning stratagem avail." + + He spake; but no man's wit might find a way + To escape their grievous travail, as they sought + To find a remedy, till Laertes' son + Discerned it of his wisdom, and he spake: + "Friend, in high honour held of the Heavenly Ones, + If doomed it be indeed that Priam's burg + By guile must fall before the war-worn Greeks, + A great Horse let us fashion, in the which + Our mightiest shall take ambush. Let the host + Burn all their tents, and sail from hence away + To Tenedos; so the Trojans, from their towers + Gazing, shall stream forth fearless to the plain. + Let some brave man, unknown of any in Troy, + With a stout heart abide without the Horse, + Crouching beneath its shadow, who shall say: + "`Achaea's lords of might, exceeding fain + Safe to win home, made this their offering + For safe return, an image to appease + The wrath of Pallas for her image stolen + From Troy.' And to this story shall he stand, + How long soe'er they question him, until, + Though never so relentless, they believe, + And drag it, their own doom, within the town. + Then shall war's signal unto us be given-- + To them at sea, by sudden flash of torch, + To the ambush, by the cry, `Come forth the Horse!' + When unsuspecting sleep the sons of Troy." + + He spake, and all men praised him: most of all + Extolled him Calchas, that such marvellous guile + He put into the Achaeans' hearts, to be + For them assurance of triumph, but for Troy + Ruin; and to those battle-lords he cried: + "Let your hearts seek none other stratagem, + Friends; to war-strong Odysseus' rede give ear. + His wise thought shall not miss accomplishment. + Yea, our desire even now the Gods fulfil. + Hark! for new tokens come from the Unseen! + Lo, there on high crash through the firmament + Zeus' thunder and lightning! See, where birds to right + Dart past, and scream with long-resounding cry! + Go to, no more in endless leaguer of Troy + Linger we. Hard necessity fills the foe + With desperate courage that makes cowards brave; + For then are men most dangerous, when they stake + Their lives in utter recklessness of death, + As battle now the aweless sons of Troy + All round their burg, mad with the lust of fight." + + But cried Achilles' battle-eager son: + "Calchas, brave men meet face to face their foes! + Who skulk behind their walls, and fight from towers, + Are nidderings, hearts palsied with base fear. + Hence with all thought of wile and stratagem! + The great war-travail of the spear beseems + True heroes. Best in battle are the brave." + + But answer made to him Laertes' seed: + "Bold-hearted child of aweless Aeacus' son, + This as beseems a hero princely and brave, + Dauntlessly trusting in thy strength, thou say'st. + Yet thine invincible sire's unquailing might + Availed not to smite Priam's wealthy burg, + Nor we, for all our travail. Nay, with speed, + As counselleth Calchas, go we to the ships, + And fashion we the Horse by Epeius' hands, + Who in the woodwright's craft is chiefest far + Of Argives, for Athena taught his lore." + + Then all their mightiest men gave ear to him + Save twain, fierce-hearted Neoptolemus + And Philoctetes mighty-souled; for these + Still were insatiate for the bitter fray, + Still longed for turmoil of the fight. They bade + Their own folk bear against that giant wall + What things soe'er for war's assaults avail, + In hope to lay that stately fortress low, + Seeing Heaven's decrees had brought them both to war. + Yea, they had haply accomplished all their will, + But from the sky Zeus showed his wrath; he shook + The earth beneath their feet, and all the air + Shuddered, as down before those heroes twain + He hurled his thunderbolt: wide echoes crashed + Through all Dardania. Unto fear straightway + Turned were their bold hearts: they forgat their might, + And Calchas' counsels grudgingly obeyed. + So with the Argives came they to the ships + In reverence for the seer who spake from Zeus + Or Phoebus, and they obeyed him utterly. + + What time round splendour-kindled heavens the stars + From east to west far-flashing wheel, and when + Man doth forget his toil, in that still hour + Athena left the high mansions of the Blest, + Clothed her in shape of a maiden tender-fleshed, + And came to ships and host. Over the head + Of brave Epeius stood she in his dream, + And bade him build a Horse of tree: herself + Would labour in his labour, and herself + Stand by his side, to the work enkindling him. + Hearing the Goddess' word, with a glad laugh + Leapt he from careless sleep: right well he knew + The Immortal One celestial. Now his heart + Could hold no thought beside; his mind was fixed + Upon the wondrous work, and through his soul + Marched marshalled each device of craftsmanship. + + When rose the dawn, and thrust back kindly night + To Erebus, and through the firmament streamed + Glad glory, then Epeius told his dream + To eager Argives--all he saw and heard; + And hearkening joyed they with exceeding joy. + Straightway to tall-tressed Ida's leafy glades + The sons of Atreus sent swift messengers. + These laid the axe unto the forest-pines, + And hewed the great trees: to their smiting rang + The echoing glens. On those far-stretching hills + All bare of undergrowth the high peaks rose: + Open their glades were, not, as in time past, + Haunted of beasts: there dry the tree-trunks rose + Wooing the winds. Even these the Achaeans hewed + With axes, and in haste they bare them down + From those shagged mountain heights to Hellespont's shores. + Strained with a strenuous spirit at the work + Young men and mules; and all the people toiled + Each at his task obeying Epeius's hest. + For with the keen steel some were hewing beams, + Some measuring planks, and some with axes lopped + Branches away from trunks as yet unsawn: + Each wrought his several work. Epeius first + Fashioned the feet of that great Horse of Wood: + The belly next he shaped, and over this + Moulded the back and the great loins behind, + The throat in front, and ridged the towering neck + With waving mane: the crested head he wrought, + The streaming tail, the ears, the lucent eyes-- + All that of lifelike horses have. So grew + Like a live thing that more than human work, + For a God gave to a man that wondrous craft. + And in three days, by Pallas's decree, + Finished was all. Rejoiced thereat the host + Of Argos, marvelling how the wood expressed + Mettle, and speed of foot--yea, seemed to neigh. + Godlike Epeius then uplifted hands + To Pallas, and for that huge Horse he prayed: + "Hear, great-souled Goddess: bless thine Horse and me!" + He spake: Athena rich in counsel heard, + And made his work a marvel to all men + Which saw, or heard its fame in days to be. + + But while the Danaans o'er Epeius' work + Joyed, and their routed foes within the walls + Tarried, and shrank from death and pitiless doom, + Then, when imperious Zeus far from the Gods + Had gone to Ocean's streams and Tethys' caves, + Strife rose between the Immortals: heart with heart + Was set at variance. Riding on the blasts + Of winds, from heaven to earth they swooped: the air + Crashed round them. Lighting down by Xanthus' stream + Arrayed they stood against each other, these + For the Achaeans, for the Trojans those; + And all their souls were thrilled with lust of war: + There gathered too the Lords of the wide Sea. + These in their wrath were eager to destroy + The Horse of Guile and all the ships, and those + Fair Ilium. But all-contriving Fate + Held them therefrom, and turned their hearts to strife + Against each other. Ares to the fray + Rose first, and on Athena rushed. Thereat + Fell each on other: clashed around their limbs + The golden arms celestial as they charged. + Round them the wide sea thundered, the dark earth + Quaked 'neath immortal feet. Rang from them all + Far-pealing battle-shouts; that awful cry + Rolled up to the broad-arching heaven, and down + Even to Hades' fathomless abyss: + Trembled the Titans there in depths of gloom. + Ida's long ridges sighed, sobbed clamorous streams + Of ever-flowing rivers, groaned ravines + Far-furrowed, Argive ships, and Priam's towers. + Yet men feared not, for naught they knew of all + That strife, by Heaven's decree. Then her high peaks + The Gods' hands wrenched from Ida's crest, and hurled + Against each other: but like crumbling sands + Shivered they fell round those invincible limbs, + Shattered to small dust. But the mind of Zeus, + At the utmost verge of earth, was ware of all: + Straight left he Ocean's stream, and to wide heaven + Ascended, charioted upon the winds, + The East, the North, the West-wind, and the South: + For Iris rainbow-plumed led 'neath the yoke + Of his eternal ear that stormy team, + The ear which Time the immortal framed for him + Of adamant with never-wearying hands. + So came he to Olympus' giant ridge. + His wrath shook all the firmament, as crashed + From east to west his thunders; lightnings gleamed, + As thick and fast his thunderbolts poured to earth, + And flamed the limitless welkin. Terror fell + Upon the hearts of those Immortals: quaked + The limbs of all--ay, deathless though they were! + Then Themis, trembling for them, swift as thought + Leapt down through clouds, and came with speed to them-- + For in the strife she only had no part + And stood between the fighters, and she cried: + "Forbear the conflict! O, when Zeus is wroth, + It ill beseems that everlasting Gods + Should fight for men's sake, creatures of a day: + Else shall ye be all suddenly destroyed; + For Zeus will tear up all the hills, and hurl + Upon you: sons nor daughters will he spare, + But bury 'neath one ruin of shattered earth + All. No escape shall ye find thence to light, + In horror of darkness prisoned evermore." + + Dreading Zeus' menace gave they heed to her, + From strife refrained, and cast away their wrath, + And were made one in peace and amity. + Some heavenward soared, some plunged into the sea, + On earth stayed some. Amid the Achaean host + Spake in his subtlety Laertes' son: + "O valorous-hearted lords of the Argive host, + Now prove in time of need what men ye be, + How passing-strong, how flawless-brave! The hour + Is this for desperate emprise: now, with hearts + Heroic, enter ye yon carven horse, + So to attain the goal of this stern war. + For better it is by stratagem and craft + Now to destroy this city, for whose sake + Hither we came, and still are suffering + Many afflictions far from our own land. + Come then, and let your hearts be stout and strong + For he who in stress of fight hath turned to bay + And snatched a desperate courage from despair, + Oft, though the weaker, slays a mightier foe. + For courage, which is all men's glory, makes + The heart great. Come then, set the ambush, ye + Which be our mightiest, and the rest shall go + To Tenedos' hallowed burg, and there abide + Until our foes have haled within their walls + Us with the Horse, as deeming that they bring + A gift unto Tritonis. Some brave man, + One whom the Trojans know not, yet we lack, + To harden his heart as steel, and to abide + Near by the Horse. Let that man bear in mind + Heedfully whatsoe'er I said erewhile. + And let none other thought be in his heart, + Lest to the foe our counsel be revealed." + + Then, when all others feared, a man far-famed + Made answer, Sinon, marked of destiny + To bring the great work to accomplishment. + Therefore with worship all men looked on him, + The loyal of heart, as in the midst he spake: + "Odysseus, and all ye Achaean chiefs, + This work for which ye crave will I perform-- + Yea, though they torture me, though into fire + Living they thrust me; for mine heart is fixed + Not to escape, but die by hands of foes, + Except I crown with glory your desire." + + Stoutly he spake: right glad the Argives were; + And one said: "How the Gods have given to-day + High courage to this man! He hath not been + Heretofore valiant. Heaven is kindling him + To be the Trojans' ruin, but to us + Salvation. Now full soon, I trow, we reach + The goal of grievous war, so long unseen." + + So a voice murmured mid the Achaean host. + Then, to stir up the heroes, Nestor cried: + "Now is the time, dear sons, for courage and strength: + Now do the Gods bring nigh the end of toil: + Now give they victory to our longing hands. + Come, bravely enter ye this cavernous Horse. + For high renown attendeth courage high. + Oh that my limbs were mighty as of old, + When Aeson's son for heroes called, to man + Swift Argo, when of the heroes foremost I + Would gladly have entered her, but Pelias + The king withheld me in my own despite. + Ah me, but now the burden of years--O nay, + As I were young, into the Horse will I + Fearlessly! Glory and strength shall courage give." + + Answered him golden-haired Achilles' son: + "Nestor, in wisdom art thou chief of men; + But cruel age hath caught thee in his grip: + No more thy strength may match thy gallant will; + Therefore thou needs must unto Tenedos' strand. + We will take ambush, we the youths, of strife + Insatiate still, as thou, old sire, dost bid." + + Then strode the son of Neleus to his side, + And kissed his hands, and kissed the head of him + Who offered thus himself the first of all + To enter that huge horse, being peril-fain, + And bade the elder of days abide without. + Then to the battle-eager spake the old: + "Thy father's son art thou! Achilles' might + And chivalrous speech be here! O, sure am I + That by thine hands the Argives shall destroy + The stately city of Priam. At the last, + After long travail, glory shall be ours, + Ours, after toil and tribulation of war; + The Gods have laid tribulation at men's feet + But happiness far off, and toil between: + Therefore for men full easy is the path + To ruin, and the path to fame is hard, + Where feet must press right on through painful toil." + + He spake: replied Achilles' glorious son: + "Old sire, as thine heart trusteth, be it vouchsafed + In answer to our prayers; for best were this: + But if the Gods will otherwise, be it so. + Ay, gladlier would I fall with glory in fight + Than flee from Troy, bowed 'neath a load of shame." + + Then in his sire's celestial arms he arrayed + His shoulders; and with speed in harness sheathed + Stood the most mighty heroes, in whose healers + Was dauntless spirit. Tell, ye Queens of Song, + Now man by man the names of all that passed + Into the cavernous Horse; for ye inspired + My soul with all my song, long ere my cheek + Grew dark with manhood's beard, what time I fed + My goodly sheep on Smyrna's pasture-lea, + From Hermus thrice so far as one may hear + A man's shout, by the fane of Artemis, + In the Deliverer's Grove, upon a hill + Neither exceeding low nor passing high. + + Into that cavernous Horse Achilles' son + First entered, strong Menelaus followed then, + Odysseus, Sthenelus, godlike Diomede, + Philoctetes and Menestheus, Anticlus, + Thoas and Polypoetes golden-haired, + Aias, Eurypylus, godlike Thrasymede, + Idomeneus, Meriones, far-famous twain, + Podaleirius of spears, Eurymachus, + Teucer the godlike, fierce Ialmenus, + Thalpius, Antimachus, Leonteus staunch, + Eumelus, and Euryalus fair as a God, + Amphimachus, Demophoon, Agapenor, + Akamas, Meges stalwart Phyleus' son-- + Yea, more, even all their chiefest, entered in, + So many as that carven Horse could hold. + Godlike Epeius last of all passed in, + The fashioner of the Horse; in his breast lay + The secret of the opening of its doors + And of their closing: therefore last of all + He entered, and he drew the ladders up + Whereby they clomb: then made he all secure, + And set himself beside the bolt. So all + In silence sat 'twixt victory and death. + + But the rest fired the tents, wherein erewhile + They slept, and sailed the wide sea in their ships. + Two mighty-hearted captains ordered these, + Nestor and Agamemnon lord of spears. + Fain had they also entered that great Horse, + But all the host withheld them, bidding stay + With them a-shipboard, ordering their array: + For men far better work the works of war + When their kings oversee them; therefore these + Abode without, albeit mighty men. + So came they swiftly unto Tenedos' shore, + And dropped the anchor-stones, then leapt in haste + Forth of the ships, and silent waited there + Keen-watching till the signal-torch should flash. + + But nigh the foe were they in the Horse, and now + Looked they for death, and now to smite the town; + And on their hopes and fears uprose the dawn. + + Then marked the Trojans upon Hellespont's strand + The smoke upleaping yet through air: no more + Saw they the ships which brought to them from Greece + Destruction dire. With joy to the shore they ran, + But armed them first, for fear still haunted them + Then marked they that fair-carven Horse, and stood + Marvelling round, for a mighty work was there. + A hapless-seeming man thereby they spied, + Sinon; and this one, that one questioned him + Touching the Danaans, as in a great ring + They compassed him, and with unangry words + First questioned, then with terrible threatenings. + Then tortured they that man of guileful soul + Long time unceasing. Firm as a rock abode + The unquivering limbs, the unconquerable will. + His ears, his nose, at last they shore away + In every wise tormenting him, until + He should declare the truth, whither were gone + The Danaans in their ships, what thing the Horse + Concealed within it. He had armed his mind + With resolution, and of outrage foul + Recked not; his soul endured their cruel stripes, + Yea, and the bitter torment of the fire; + For strong endurance into him Hera breathed; + And still he told them the same guileful tale: + "The Argives in their ships flee oversea + Weary of tribulation of endless war. + This horse by Calchas' counsel fashioned they + For wise Athena, to propitiate + Her stern wrath for that guardian image stol'n + From Troy. And by Odysseus' prompting I + Was marked for slaughter, to be sacrificed + To the sea-powers, beside the moaning waves, + To win them safe return. But their intent + I marked; and ere they spilt the drops of wine, + And sprinkled hallowed meal upon mine head, + Swiftly I fled, and, by the help of Heaven, + I flung me down, clasping the Horse's feet; + And they, sore loth, perforce must leave me there + Dreading great Zeus's daughter mighty-souled." + + In subtlety so he spake, his soul untamed + By pain; for a brave man's part is to endure + To the uttermost. And of the Trojans some + Believed him, others for a wily knave + Held him, of whose mind was Laocoon. + Wisely he spake: "A deadly fraud is this," + He said, "devised by the Achaean chiefs!" + And cried to all straightway to burn the Horse, + And know if aught within its timbers lurked. + + Yea, and they had obeyed him, and had 'scaped + Destruction; but Athena, fiercely wroth + With him, the Trojans, and their city, shook + Earth's deep foundations 'neath Laocoon's feet. + Straight terror fell on him, and trembling bowed + The knees of the presumptuous: round his head + Horror of darkness poured; a sharp pang thrilled + His eyelids; swam his eyes beneath his brows; + His eyeballs, stabbed with bitter anguish, throbbed + Even from the roots, and rolled in frenzy of pain. + Clear through his brain the bitter torment pierced + Even to the filmy inner veil thereof; + Now bloodshot were his eyes, now ghastly green; + Anon with rheum they ran, as pours a stream + Down from a rugged crag, with thawing snow + Made turbid. As a man distraught he seemed: + All things he saw showed double, and he groaned + Fearfully; yet he ceased not to exhort + The men of Troy, and recked not of his pain. + Then did the Goddess strike him utterly blind. + Stared his fixed eyeballs white from pits of blood; + And all folk groaned for pity of their friend, + And dread of the Prey-giver, lest he had sinned + In folly against her, and his mind was thus + Warped to destruction yea, lest on themselves + Like judgment should be visited, to avenge + The outrage done to hapless Sinon's flesh, + Whereby they hoped to wring the truth from him. + So led they him in friendly wise to Troy, + Pitying him at the last. Then gathered all, + And o'er that huge Horse hastily cast a rope, + And made it fast above; for under its feet + Smooth wooden rollers had Epeius laid, + That, dragged by Trojan hands, it might glide on + Into their fortress. One and all they haled + With multitudinous tug and strain, as when + Down to the sea young men sore-labouring drag + A ship; hard-crushed the stubborn rollers groan, + As, sliding with weird shrieks, the keel descends + Into the sea-surge; so that host with toil + Dragged up unto their city their own doom, + Epeius' work. With great festoons of flowers + They hung it, and their own heads did they wreathe, + While answering each other pealed the flutes. + Grimly Enyo laughed, seeing the end + Of that dire war; Hera rejoiced on high; + Glad was Athena. When the Trojans came + Unto their city, brake they down the walls, + Their city's coronal, that the Horse of Death + Might be led in. Troy's daughters greeted it + With shouts of salutation; marvelling all + Gazed at the mighty work where lurked their doom. + + But still Laocoon ceased not to exhort + His countrymen to burn the Horse with fire: + They would not hear, for dread of the Gods' wrath. + But then a yet more hideous punishment + Athena visited on his hapless sons. + A cave there was, beneath a rugged cliff + Exceeding high, unscalable, wherein + Dwelt fearful monsters of the deadly brood + Of Typhon, in the rock-clefts of the isle + Calydna that looks Troyward from the sea. + Thence stirred she up the strength of serpents twain, + And summoned them to Troy. By her uproused + They shook the island as with earthquake: roared + The sea; the waves disparted as they came. + Onward they swept with fearful-flickering tongues: + Shuddered the very monsters of the deep: + Xanthus' and Simois' daughters moaned aloud, + The River-nymphs: the Cyprian Queen looked down + In anguish from Olympus. Swiftly they came + Whither the Goddess sped them: with grim jaws + Whetting their deadly fangs, on his hapless sons + Sprang they. All Trojans panic-stricken fled, + Seeing those fearsome dragons in their town. + No man, though ne'er so dauntless theretofore, + Dared tarry; ghastly dread laid hold on all + Shrinking in horror from the monsters. Screamed + The women; yea, the mother forgat her child, + Fear-frenzied as she fled: all Troy became + One shriek of fleers, one huddle of jostling limbs: + The streets were choked with cowering fugitives. + Alone was left Laocoon with his sons, + For death's doom and the Goddess chained their feet. + Then, even as from destruction shrank the lads, + Those deadly fangs had seized and ravined up + The twain, outstretching to their sightless sire + Agonized hands: no power to help had he. + Trojans far off looked on from every side + Weeping, all dazed. And, having now fulfilled + Upon the Trojans Pallas' awful hest, + Those monsters vanished 'neath the earth; and still + Stands their memorial, where into the fane + They entered of Apollo in Pergamus + The hallowed. Therebefore the sons of Troy + Gathered, and reared a cenotaph for those + Who miserably had perished. Over it + Their father from his blind eyes rained the tears: + Over the empty tomb their mother shrieked, + Boding the while yet worse things, wailing o'er + The ruin wrought by folly of her lord, + Dreading the anger of the Blessed Ones. + As when around her void nest in a brake + In sorest anguish moans the nightingale + Whose fledglings, ere they learned her plaintive song, + A hideous serpent's fangs have done to death, + And left the mother anguish, endless woe, + And bootless crying round her desolate home; + So groaned she for her children's wretched death, + So moaned she o'er the void tomb; and her pangs + Were sharpened by her lord's plight stricken blind. + + While she for children and for husband moaned-- + These slain, he of the sun's light portionless-- + The Trojans to the Immortals sacrificed, + Pouring the wine. Their hearts beat high with hope + To escape the weary stress of woeful war. + Howbeit the victims burned not, and the flames + Died out, as though 'neath heavy-hissing rain; + And writhed the smoke-wreaths blood-red, and the thighs + Quivering from crumbling altars fell to earth. + Drink-offerings turned to blood, Gods' statues wept, + And temple-walls dripped gore: along them rolled + Echoes of groaning out of depths unseen; + And all the long walls shuddered: from the towers + Came quick sharp sounds like cries of men in pain; + And, weirdly shrieking, of themselves slid back + The gate-bolts. Screaming "Desolation!" wailed + The birds of night. Above that God-built burg + A mist palled every star; and yet no cloud + Was in the flashing heavens. By Phoebus' fane + Withered the bays that erst were lush and green. + Wolves and foul-feeding jackals came and howled + Within the gates. Ay, other signs untold + Appeared, portending woe to Dardanus' sons + And Troy: yet no fear touched the Trojans' hearts + Who saw all through the town those portents dire: + Fate crazed them all, that midst their revelling + Slain by their foes they might fill up their doom. + + One heart was steadfast, and one soul clear-eyed, + Cassandra. Never her words were unfulfilled; + Yet was their utter truth, by Fate's decree, + Ever as idle wind in the hearers' ears, + That no bar to Troy's ruin might be set. + She saw those evil portents all through Troy + Conspiring to one end; loud rang her cry, + As roars a lioness that mid the brakes + A hunter has stabbed or shot, whereat her heart + Maddens, and down the long hills rolls her roar, + And her might waxes tenfold; so with heart + Aflame with prophecy came she forth her bower. + Over her snowy shoulders tossed her hair + Streaming far down, and wildly blazed her eyes. + Her neck writhed, like a sapling in the wind + Shaken, as moaned and shrieked that noble maid: + "O wretches! into the Land of Darkness now + We are passing; for all round us full of fire + And blood and dismal moan the city is. + Everywhere portents of calamity + Gods show: destruction yawns before your feet. + Fools! ye know not your doom: still ye rejoice + With one consent in madness, who to Troy + Have brought the Argive Horse where ruin lurks! + Oh, ye believe not me, though ne'er so loud + I cry! The Erinyes and the ruthless Fates, + For Helen's spousals madly wroth, through Troy + Dart on wild wings. And ye, ye are banqueting there + In your last feast, on meats befouled with gore, + When now your feet are on the Path of Ghosts!" + + Then cried a scoffing voice an ominous word: + "Why doth a raving tongue of evil speech, + Daughter of Priam, make thy lips to cry + Words empty as wind? No maiden modesty + With purity veils thee: thou art compassed round + With ruinous madness; therefore all men scorn + Thee, babbler! Hence, thine evil bodings speak + To the Argives and thyself! For thee doth wait + Anguish and shame yet bitterer than befell + Presumptuous Laocoon. Shame it were + In folly to destroy the Immortals' gift." + + So scoffed a Trojan: others in like sort + Cried shame on her, and said she spake but lies, + Saying that ruin and Fate's heavy stroke + Were hard at hand. They knew not their own doom, + And mocked, and thrust her back from that huge Horse + For fain she was to smite its beams apart, + Or burn with ravening fire. She snatched a brand + Of blazing pine-wood from the hearth and ran + In fury: in the other hand she bare + A two-edged halberd: on that Horse of Doom + She rushed, to cause the Trojans to behold + With their own eyes the ambush hidden there. + But straightway from her hands they plucked and flung + Afar the fire and steel, and careless turned + To the feast; for darkened o'er them their last night. + Within the horse the Argives joyed to hear + The uproar of Troy's feasters setting at naught + Cassandra, but they marvelled that she knew + So well the Achaeans' purpose and device. + + As mid the hills a furious pantheress, + Which from the steading hounds and shepherd-folk + Drive with fierce rush, with savage heart turns back + Even in departing, galled albeit by darts: + So from the great Horse fled she, anguish-racked + For Troy, for all the ruin she foreknew. + + + +BOOK XIII + +How Troy in the night was taken and sacked with fire and slaughter. + + + So feasted they through Troy, and in their midst + Loud pealed the flutes and pipes: on every hand + Were song and dance, laughter and cries confused + Of banqueters beside the meats and wine. + They, lifting in their hands the beakers brimmed, + Recklessly drank, till heavy of brain they grew, + Till rolled their fluctuant eyes. Now and again + Some mouth would babble the drunkard's broken words. + The household gear, the very roof and walls + Seemed as they rocked: all things they looked on seemed + Whirled in wild dance. About their eyes a veil + Of mist dropped, for the drunkard's sight is dimmed, + And the wit dulled, when rise the fumes to the brain: + And thus a heavy-headed feaster cried: + "For naught the Danaans mustered that great host + Hither! Fools, they have wrought not their intent, + But with hopes unaccomplished from our town + Like silly boys or women have they fled." + + So cried a Trojan wit-befogged with wine, + Fool, nor discerned destruction at the doors. + + When sleep had locked his fetters everywhere + Through Troy on folk fulfilled of wine and meat, + Then Sinon lifted high a blazing torch + To show the Argive men the splendour of fire. + But fearfully the while his heart beat, lest + The men of Troy might see it, and the plot + Be suddenly revealed. But on their beds + Sleeping their last sleep lay they, heavy with wine. + The host saw, and from Tenedos set sail. + + Then nigh the Horse drew Sinon: softly he called, + Full softly, that no man of Troy might hear, + But only Achaea's chiefs, far from whose eyes + Sleep hovered, so athirst were they for fight. + They heard, and to Odysseus all inclined + Their ears: he bade them urgently go forth + Softly and fearlessly; and they obeyed + That battle-summons, pressing in hot haste + To leap to earth: but in his subtlety + He stayed them from all thrusting eagerly forth. + But first himself with swift unfaltering hands, + Helped of Epeius, here and there unbarred + The ribs of the Horse of beams: above the planks + A little he raised his head, and gazed around + On all sides, if he haply might descry + One Trojan waking yet. As when a wolf, + With hunger stung to the heart, comes from the hills, + And ravenous for flesh draws nigh the flock + Penned in the wide fold, slinking past the men + And dogs that watch, all keen to ward the sheep, + Then o'er the fold-wall leaps with soundless feet; + So stole Odysseus down from the Horse: with him + Followed the war-fain lords of Hellas' League, + Orderly stepping down the ladders, which + Epeius framed for paths of mighty men, + For entering and for passing forth the Horse, + Who down them now on this side, that side, streamed + As fearless wasps startled by stroke of axe + In angry mood pour all together forth + From the tree-bole, at sound of woodman's blow; + So battle-kindled forth the Horse they poured + Into the midst of that strong city of Troy + With hearts that leapt expectant. [With swift hands + Snatched they the brands from dying hearths, and fired + Temple and palace. Onward then to the gates + Sped they,] and swiftly slew the slumbering guards, + [Then held the gate-towers till their friends should come.] + Fast rowed the host the while; on swept the ships + Over the great flood: Thetis made their paths + Straight, and behind them sent a driving wind + Speeding them, and the hearts Achaean glowed. + Swiftly to Hellespont's shore they came, and there + Beached they the keels again, and deftly dealt + With whatso tackling appertains to ships. + Then leapt they aland, and hasted on to Troy + Silent as sheep that hurry to the fold + From woodland pasture on an autumn eve; + So without sound of voices marched they on + Unto the Trojans' fortress, eager all + To help those mighty chiefs with foes begirt. + Now these--as famished wolves fierce-glaring round + Fall on a fold mid the long forest-hills, + While sleeps the toil-worn watchman, and they rend + The sheep on every hand within the wall + In darkness, and all round [are heaped the slain; + So these within the city smote and slew, + As swarmed the awakened foe around them; yet, + Fast as they slew, aye faster closed on them + Those thousands, mad to thrust them from the gates.] + Slipping in blood and stumbling o'er the dead + [Their line reeled,] and destruction loomed o'er them, + Though Danaan thousands near and nearer drew. + + But when the whole host reached the walls of Troy, + Into the city of Priam, breathing rage + Of fight, with reckless battle-lust they poured; + And all that fortress found they full of war + And slaughter, palaces, temples, horribly + Blazing on all sides; glowed their hearts with joy. + In deadly mood then charged they on the foe. + Ares and fell Enyo maddened there: + Blood ran in torrents, drenched was all the earth, + As Trojans and their alien helpers died. + Here were men lying quelled by bitter death + All up and down the city in their blood; + Others on them were falling, gasping forth + Their life's strength; others, clutching in their hands + Their bowels that looked through hideous gashes forth, + Wandered in wretched plight around their homes: + Others, whose feet, while yet asleep they lay, + Had been hewn off, with groans unutterable + Crawled mid the corpses. Some, who had rushed to fight, + Lay now in dust, with hands and heads hewn off. + Some were there, through whose backs, even as they fled, + The spear had passed, clear through to the breast, and some + Whose waists the lance had pierced, impaling them + Where sharpest stings the anguish-laden steel. + And all about the city dolorous howls + Of dogs uprose, and miserable moans + Of strong men stricken to death; and every home + With awful cries was echoing. Rang the shrieks + Of women, like to screams of cranes, which see + An eagle stooping on them from the sky, + Which have no courage to resist, but scream + Long terror-shrieks in dread of Zeus's bird; + So here, so there the Trojan women wailed, + Some starting from their sleep, some to the ground + Leaping: they thought not in that agony + Of robe and zone; in naught but tunics clad + Distraught they wandered: others found nor veil + Nor cloak to cast about them, but, as came + Onward their foes, they stood with beating hearts + Trembling, as lettered by despair, essaying, + All-hapless, with their hands alone to hide + Their nakedness. And some in frenzy of woe: + Their tresses tore, and beat their breasts, and screamed. + Others against that stormy torrent of foes + Recklessly rushed, insensible of fear, + Through mad desire to aid the perishing, + Husbands or children; for despair had given + High courage. Shrieks had startled from their sleep + Soft little babes whose hearts had never known + Trouble--and there one with another lay + Gasping their lives out! Some there were whose dreams + Changed to a sudden vision of doom. All round + The fell Fates gloated horribly o'er the slain. + And even as swine be slaughtered in the court + Of a rich king who makes his folk a feast, + So without number were they slain. The wine + Left in the mixing-bowls was blent with blood + Gruesomely. No man bare a sword unstained + With murder of defenceless folk of Troy, + Though he were but a weakling in fair fight. + And as by wolves or jackals sheep are torn, + What time the furnace-breath of midnoon-heat + Darts down, and all the flock beneath the shade + Are crowded, and the shepherd is not there, + But to the homestead bears afar their milk; + And the fierce brutes leap on them, tear their throats, + Gorge to the full their ravenous maws, and then + Lap the dark blood, and linger still to slay + All in mere lust of slaughter, and provide + An evil banquet for that shepherd-lord; + So through the city of Priam Danaans slew + One after other in that last fight of all. + No Trojan there was woundless, all men's limbs + With blood in torrents spilt were darkly dashed. + + Nor seetheless were the Danaans in the fray: + With beakers some were smitten, with tables some, + Thrust in the eyes of some were burning brands + Snatched from the hearth; some died transfixed with spits + Yet left within the hot flesh of the swine + Whereon the red breath of the Fire-god beat; + Others struck down by bills and axes keen + Gasped in their blood: from some men's hands were shorn + The fingers, who, in wild hope to escape + The imminent death, had clutched the blades of swords. + And here in that dark tumult one had hurled + A stone, and crushed the crown of a friend's head. + Like wild beasts trapped and stabbed within a fold + On a lone steading, frenziedly they fought, + Mad with despair-enkindled rage, beneath + That night of horror. Hot with battle-lust + Here, there, the fighters rushed and hurried through + The palace of Priam. Many an Argive fell + Spear-slain; for whatso Trojan in his halls + Might seize a sword, might lift a spear in hand, + Slew foes--ay, heavy though he were with wine. + + Upflashed a glare unearthly through the town, + For many an Argive bare in hand a torch + To know in that dim battle friends from foes. + + Then Tydeus' son amid the war-storm met + Spearman Coroebus, lordly Mygdon's son, + And 'neath the left ribs pierced him with the lance + Where run the life-ways of man's meat and drink; + So met him black death borne upon the spear: + Down in dark blood he fell mid hosts of slain. + Ah fool! the bride he won not, Priam's child + Cassandra, yea, his loveliest, for whose sake + To Priam's burg but yesterday he came, + And vaunted he would thrust the Argives back + From Ilium. Never did the Gods fulfil + His hope: the Fates hurled doom upon his head. + With him the slayer laid Eurydamas low, + Antenor's gallant son-in-law, who most + For prudence was pre-eminent in Troy. + Then met he Ilioneus the elder of days, + And flashed his terrible sword forth. All the limbs + Of that grey sire were palsied with his fear: + He put forth trembling hands, with one he caught + The swift avenging sword, with one he clasped + The hero's knees. Despite his fury of war, + A moment paused his wrath, or haply a God + Held back the sword a space, that that old man + Might speak to his fierce foe one word of prayer. + Piteously cried he, terror-overwhelmed: + "I kneel before thee, whosoe'er thou be + Of mighty Argives. Oh compassionate + My suppliant hands! Abate thy wrath! To slay + The young and valiant is a glorious thing; + But if thou smite an old man, small renown + Waits on thy prowess. Therefore turn from me + Thine hands against young men, if thou dost hope + Ever to come to grey hairs such as mine." + + So spake he; but replied strong Tydeus' son: + "Old man, I look to attain to honoured age; + But while my Strength yet waxeth, will not I + Spare any foe, but hurl to Hades all. + The brave man makes an end of every foe." + + Then through his throat that terrible warrior drave + The deadly blade, and thrust it straight to where + The paths of man's life lead by swiftest way + Blood-paved to doom: death palsied his poor strength + By Diomedes' hands. Thence rushed he on + Slaying the Trojans, storming in his might + All through their fortress: pierced by his long spear + Eurycoon fell, Perimnestor's son renowned. + Amphimedon Aias slew: Agamemnon smote + Damastor's son: Idomeneus struck down + Mimas: by Meges Deiopites died. + + Achilles' son with his resistless lance + Smote godlike Pammon; then his javelin pierced + Polites in mid-rush: Antiphonus + Dead upon these he laid, all Priam's sons. + Agenor faced him in the fight, and fell: + Hero on hero slew he; everywhere + Stalked at his side Death's black doom manifest: + Clad in his sire's might, whomso he met he slew. + Last, on Troy's king in murderous mood he came. + By Zeus the Hearth-lord's altar. Seeing him, + Old Priam knew him and quaked not; for he longed + Himself to lay his life down midst his sons; + And craving death to Achilles' seed he spake: + "Fierce-hearted son of Achilles strong in war, + Slay me, and pity not my misery. + I have no will to see the sun's light more, + Who have suffered woes so many and so dread. + With my sons would I die, and so forget + Anguish and horror of war. Oh that thy sire + Had slain me, ere mine eyes beheld aflame + Illium, had slain me when I brought to him + Ransom for Hector, whom thy father slew. + He spared me--so the Fates had spun my thread + Of destiny. But thou, glut with my blood + Thy fierce heart, and let me forget my pain." + Answered Achilles' battle-eager son: + "Fain am I, yea, in haste to grant thy prayer. + A foe like thee will I not leave alive; + For naught is dearer unto men than life." + + With one stroke swept he off that hoary head + Lightly as when a reaper lops an ear + In a parched cornfield at the harvest-tide. + With lips yet murmuring low it rolled afar + From where with quivering limbs the body lay + Amidst dark-purple blood and slaughtered men. + So lay he, chiefest once of all the world + In lineage, wealth, in many and goodly sons. + Ah me, not long abides the honour of man, + But shame from unseen ambush leaps on him + So clutched him Doom, so he forgat his woes. + + Yea, also did those Danaan car-lords hurl + From a high tower the babe Astyanax, + Dashing him out of life. They tore the child + Out of his mother's arms, in wrathful hate + Of Hector, who in life had dealt to them + Such havoc; therefore hated they his seed, + And down from that high rampart flung his child-- + A wordless babe that nothing knew of war! + As when amid the mountains hungry wolves + Chase from the mother's side a suckling calf, + And with malignant cunning drive it o'er + An echoing cliffs edge, while runs to and fro + Its dam with long moans mourning her dear child, + And a new evil followeth hard on her, + For suddenly lions seize her for a prey; + So, as she agonized for her son, the foe + To bondage haled with other captive thralls + That shrieking daughter of King Eetion. + Then, as on those three fearful deaths she thought + Of husband, child, and father, Andromaehe + Longed sore to die. Yea, for the royally-born + Better it is to die in war, than do + The service of the thrall to baser folk. + All piteously the broken-hearted cried: + "Oh hurl my body also from the wall, + Or down the cliff, or cast me midst the fire, + Ye Argives! Woes are mine unutterable! + For Peleus' son smote down my noble father + In Thebe, and in Troy mine husband slew, + Who unto me was all mine heart's desire, + Who left me in mine halls one little child, + My darling and my pride--of all mine hopes + In him fell merciless Fate hath cheated me! + Oh therefore thrust this broken-hearted one + Now out of life! Hale me not overseas + Mingled with spear-thralls; for my soul henceforth + Hath no more pleasure in life, since God hath slain + My nearest and my dearest! For me waits + Trouble and anguish and lone homelessness!" + + So cried she, longing for the grave; for vile + Is life to them whose glory is swallowed up + Of shame: a horror is the scorn of men. + But, spite her prayers, to thraldom dragged they her. + + In all the homes of Troy lay dying men, + And rose from all a lamentable cry, + Save only Antenor's halls; for unto him + The Argives rendered hospitality's debt, + For that in time past had his roof received + And sheltered godlike Menelaus, when + He with Odysseus came to claim his own. + Therefore the mighty sons of Achaea showed + Grace to him, as to a friend, and spared his life + And substance, fearing Themis who seeth all. + + Then also princely Anchises' noble son-- + Hard had he fought through Priam's burg that night + With spear and valour, and many had he slain-- + When now he saw the city set aflame + By hands of foes, saw her folk perishing + In multitudes, her treasures spoiled, her wives + And children dragged to thraldom from their homes, + No more he hoped to see the stately walls + Of his birth-city, but bethought him now + How from that mighty ruin to escape. + And as the helmsman of a ship, who toils + On the deep sea, and matches all his craft + Against the winds and waves from every side + Rushing against him in the stormy time, + Forspent at last, both hand and heart, when now + The ship is foundering in the surge, forsakes + The helm, to launch forth in a little boat, + And heeds no longer ship and lading; so + Anchises' gallant son forsook the town + And left her to her foes, a sea of fire. + His son and father alone he snatched from death; + The old man broken down with years he set + On his broad shoulders with his own strong hands, + And led the young child by his small soft hand, + Whose little footsteps lightly touched the ground; + And, as he quaked to see that work of deaths + His father led him through the roar of fight, + And clinging hung on him the tender child, + Tears down his soft cheeks streaming. But the man + O'er many a body sprang with hurrying feet, + And in the darkness in his own despite + Trampled on many. Cypris guided them, + Earnest to save from that wild ruin her son, + His father, and his child. As on he pressed, + The flames gave back before him everywhere: + The blast of the Fire-god's breath to right and left + Was cloven asunder. Spears and javelins hurled + Against him by the Achaeans harmless fell. + Also, to stay them, Calchas cried aloud: + "Forbear against Aeneas' noble head + To hurl the bitter dart, the deadly spear! + Fated he is by the high Gods' decree + To pass from Xanthus, and by Tiber's flood + To found a city holy and glorious + Through all time, and to rule o'er tribes of men + Far-sundered. Of his seed shall lords of earth + Rule from the rising to the setting sun. + Yea, with the Immortals ever shall he dwell, + Who is son of Aphrodite lovely-tressed. + From him too is it meet we hold our hands + Because he hath preferred his father and son + To gold, to all things that might profit a man + Who fleeth exiled to an alien land. + This one night hath revealed to us a man + Faithful to death to his father and his child." + + Then hearkened they, and as a God did all + Look on him. Forth the city hasted he + Whither his feet should bear him, while the foe + Made havoc still of goodly-builded Troy. + + Then also Menelaus in Helen's bower + Found, heavy with wine, ill-starred Deiphobus, + And slew him with the sword: but she had fled + And hidden her in the palace. O'er the blood + Of that slain man exulted he, and cried: + "Dog! I, even I have dealt thee unwelcome death + This day! No dawn divine shall meet thee again + Alive in Troy--ay, though thou vaunt thyself + Spouse of the child of Zeus the thunder-voiced! + Black death hath trapped thee slain in my wife's bower! + Would I had met Alexander too in fight + Ere this, and plucked his heart out! So my grief + Had been a lighter load. But he hath paid + Already justice' debt, hath passed beneath + Death's cold dark shadow. Ha, small joy to thee + My wife was doomed to bring! Ay, wicked men + Never elude pure Themis: night and day + Her eyes are on them, and the wide world through + Above the tribes of men she floats in air, + Holpen of Zeus, for punishment of sin." + + On passed he, dealing merciless death to foes, + For maddened was his soul with jealousy. + Against the Trojans was his bold heart full + Of thoughts of vengeance, which were now fulfilled + By the dread Goddess Justice, for that theirs + Was that first outrage touching Helen, theirs + That profanation of the oaths, and theirs + That trampling on the blood of sacrifice + When their presumptuous souls forgat the Gods. + Therefore the Vengeance-friends brought woes on them + Thereafter, and some died in fighting field, + Some now in Troy by board and bridal bower. + + Menelaus mid the inner chambers found + At last his wife, there cowering from the wrath + Of her bold-hearted lord. He glared on her, + Hungering to slay her in his jealous rage. + But winsome Aphrodite curbed him, struck + Out of his hand the sword, his onrush reined, + Jealousy's dark cloud swept she away, and stirred + Love's deep sweet well-springs in his heart and eyes. + Swept o'er him strange amazement: powerless all + Was he to lift the sword against her neck, + Seeing her splendour of beauty. Like a stock + Of dead wood in a mountain forest, which + No swiftly-rushing blasts of north-winds shake, + Nor fury of south-winds ever, so he stood, + So dazed abode long time. All his great strength + Was broken, as he looked upon his wife. + And suddenly had he forgotten all + Yea, all her sins against her spousal-troth; + For Aphrodite made all fade away, + She who subdueth all immortal hearts + And mortal. Yet even so he lifted up + From earth his sword, and made as he would rush + Upon his wife but other was his intent, + Even as he sprang: he did but feign, to cheat + Achaean eyes. Then did his brother stay + His fury, and spake with pacifying words, + Fearing lest all they had toiled for should be lost: + "Forbear wrath, Menelaus, now: 'twere shame + To slay thy wedded wife, for whose sake we + Have suffered much affliction, while we sought + Vengeance on Priam. Not, as thou dost deem, + Was Helen's the sin, but his who set at naught + The Guest-lord, and thine hospitable board; + So with death-pangs hath God requited him." + + Then hearkened Menelaus to his rede. + But the Gods, palled in dark clouds, mourned for Troy, + A ruined glory save fair-tressed Tritonis + And Hera: their hearts triumphed, when they saw + The burg of god-descended Priam destroyed. + Yet not the wise heart Trito-born herself + Was wholly tearless; for within her fane + Outraged Cassandra was of Oileus son + Lust-maddened. But grim vengeance upon him + Ere long the Goddess wreaked, repaying insult + With mortal sufferance. Yea, she would not look + Upon the infamy, but clad herself + With shame and wrath as with a cloak: she turned + Her stern eyes to the temple-roof, and groaned + The holy image, and the hallowed floor + Quaked mightily. Yet did he not forbear + His mad sin, for his soul was lust-distraught. + + Here, there, on all sides crumbled flaming homes + In ruin down: scorched dust with smoke was blent: + Trembled the streets to the awful thunderous crash. + Here burned Aeneas' palace, yonder flamed + Antimachus' halls: one furnace was the height + Of fair-built Pergamus; flames were roaring round + Apollo's temple, round Athena's fane, + And round the Hearth-lord's altar: flames licked up + Fair chambers of the sons' sons of a king; + And all the city sank down into hell. + + Of Trojans some by Argos' sons were slain, + Some by their own roofs crashing down in fire, + Giving at once in death and tomb to them: + Some in their own throats plunged the steel, when foes + And fire were in the porch together seen: + Some slew their wives and children, and flung themselves + Dead on them, when despair had done its work + Of horror. One, who deemed the foe afar, + Caught up a vase, and, fain to quench the flame, + Hasted for water. Leapt unmarked on him + An Argive, and his spirit, heavy with wine, + Was thrust forth from the body by the spear. + Clashed the void vase above him, as he fell + Backward within the house. As through his hall + Another fled, the burning roof-beam crashed + Down on his head, and swift death came with it. + And many women, as in frenzied flight + They rushed forth, suddenly remembered babes + Left in their beds beneath those burning roofs: + With wild feet sped they back--the house fell in + Upon them, and they perished, mother and child. + Horses and dogs in panic through the town + Fled from the flames, trampling beneath their feet + The dead, and dashing into living men + To their sore hurt. Shrieks rang through all the town. + In through his blazing porchway rushed a man + To rescue wife and child. Through smoke and flame + Blindly he groped, and perished while he cried + Their names, and pitiless doom slew those within. + + The fire-glow upward mounted to the sky, + The red glare o'er the firmament spread its wings, + And all the tribes of folk that dwelt around + Beheld it, far as Ida's mountain-crests, + And sea-girt Tenedos, and Thracian Samos. + And men that voyaged on the deep sea cried: + "The Argives have achieved their mighty task + After long toil for star-eyed Helen's sake. + All Troy, the once queen-city, burns in fire: + For all their prayers, no God defends them now; + For strong Fate oversees all works of men, + And the renownless and obscure to fame + She raises, and brings low the exalted ones. + Oft out of good is evil brought, and good + From evil, mid the travail and change of life." + + So spake they, who from far beheld the glare + Of Troy's great burning. Compassed were her folk + With wailing misery: through her streets the foe + Exulted, as when madding blasts turmoil + The boundless sea, what time the Altar ascends + To heaven's star-pavement, turned to the misty south + Overagainst Arcturus tempest-breathed, + And with its rising leap the wild winds forth, + And ships full many are whelmed 'neath ravening seas; + Wild as those stormy winds Achaea's sons + Ravaged steep Ilium while she burned in flame. + As when a mountain clothed with shaggy woods + Burns swiftly in a fire-blast winged with winds, + And from her tall peaks goeth up a roar, + And all the forest-children this way and that + Rush through the wood, tormented by the flame; + So were the Trojans perishing: there was none + To save, of all the Gods. Round these were staked + The nets of Fate, which no man can escape. + + Then were Demophoon and Acamas + By mighty Theseus' mother Aethra met. + Yearning to see them was she guided on + To meet them by some Blessed One, the while + 'Wildered from war and fire she fled. They saw + In that red glare a woman royal-tall, + Imperial-moulded, and they weened that this + Was Priam's queen, and with swift eagerness + Laid hands on her, to lead her captive thence + To the Danaans; but piteously she moaned: + "Ah, do not, noble sons of warrior Greeks, + To your ships hale me, as I were a foe! + I am not of Trojan birth: of Danaans came + My princely blood renowned. In Troezen's halls + Pittheus begat me, Aegeus wedded me, + And of my womb sprang Theseus glory-crowned. + For great Zeus' sake, for your dear parents' sake, + I pray you, if the seed of Theseus came + Hither with Atreus' sons, O bring ye me + Unto their yearning eyes. I trow they be + Young men like you. My soul shall be refreshed + If living I behold those chieftains twain." + + Hearkening to her they called their sire to mind, + His deeds for Helen's sake, and how the sons + Of Zeus the Thunderer in the old time smote + Aphidnae, when, because these were but babes, + Their nurses hid them far from peril of fight; + And Aethra they remembered--all she endured + Through wars, as mother-in-law at first, and thrall + Thereafter of Helen. Dumb for joy were they, + Till spake Demophoon to that wistful one: + "Even now the Gods fulfil thine heart's desire: + We whom thou seest are the sons of him, + Thy noble son: thee shall our loving hands + Bear to the ships: with joy to Hellas' soil + Thee will we bring, where once thou wast a queen." + + Then his great father's mother clasped him round + With clinging arms: she kissed his shoulders broad, + His head, his breast, his bearded lips she kissed, + And Acamas kissed withal, the while she shed + Glad tears on these who could not choose but weep. + As when one tarries long mid alien men, + And folk report him dead, but suddenly + He cometh home: his children see his face, + And break into glad weeping; yea, and he, + His arms around them, and their little heads + Upon his shoulders, sobs: echoes the home + With happy mourning's music-beating wings; + So wept they with sweet sighs and sorrowless moans. + + Then, too, affliction-burdened Priam's child, + Laodice, say they, stretched her hands to heaven, + Praying the mighty Gods that earth might gape + To swallow her, ere she defiled her hand + With thralls' work; and a God gave ear, and rent + Deep earth beneath her: so by Heaven's decree + Did earth's abysmal chasm receive the maid + In Troy's last hour. Electra's self withal, + The Star-queen lovely-robed, shrouded her form + In mist and cloud, and left the Pleiad-band, + Her sisters, as the olden legend tells. + Still riseth up in sight of toil-worn men + Their bright troop in the skies; but she alone + Hides viewless ever, since the hallowed town + Of her son Dardanus in ruin fell, + When Zeus most high from heaven could help her not, + Because to Fate the might of Zeus must bow; + And by the Immortals' purpose all these things + Had come to pass, or by Fate's ordinance. + + Still on Troy's folk the Argives wreaked their wrath, + And battle's issues Strife Incarnate held. + + + +BOOK XIV. + +How the conquerors sailed from Troy unto judgment of tempest and +shipwreck. + + + Then rose from Ocean Dawn the golden-throned + Up to the heavens; night into Chaos sank. + And now the Argives spoiled fair-fenced Troy, + And took her boundless treasures for a prey. + Like river-torrents seemed they, that sweep down, + By rain, floods swelled, in thunder from the hills, + And seaward hurl tall trees and whatsoe'er + Grows on the mountains, mingled with the wreck + Of shattered cliff and crag; so the long lines + Of Danaans who had wasted Troy with fire + Seemed, streaming with her plunder to the ships. + Troy's daughters therewithal in scattered bands + They haled down seaward--virgins yet unwed, + And new-made brides, and matrons silver-haired, + And mothers from whose bosoms foes had torn + Babes for the last time closing lips on breasts. + + Amidst of these Menelaus led his wife + Forth of the burning city, having wrought + A mighty triumph--joy and shame were his. + Cassandra heavenly-fair was haled the prize + Of Agamemnon: to Achilles' son + Andromache had fallen: Hecuba + Odysseus dragged unto his ship. The tears + Poured from her eyes as water from a spring; + Trembled her limbs, fear-frenzied was her heart; + Rent were her hoary tresses and besprent + With ashes of the hearth, cast by her hands + When she saw Priam slain and Troy aflame. + And aye she deeply groaned for thraldom's day + That trapped her vainly loth. Each hero led + A wailing Trojan woman to his ship. + Here, there, uprose from these the wild lament, + The woeful-mingling cries of mother and babe. + As when with white-tusked swine the herdmen drive + Their younglings from the hill-pens to the plain + As winter closeth in, and evermore + Each answereth each with mingled plaintive cries; + So moaned Troy's daughters by their foes enslaved, + Handmaid and queen made one in thraldom's lot. + + But Helen raised no lamentation: shame + Sat on her dark-blue eyes, and cast its flush + Over her lovely cheeks. Her heart beat hard + With sore misgiving, lest, as to the ships + She passed, the Achaeans might mishandle her. + Therefore with fluttering soul she trembled sore; + And, her head darkly mantled in her veil, + Close-following trod she in her husband's steps, + With cheek shame-crimsoned, like the Queen of Love, + What time the Heaven-abiders saw her clasped + In Ares' arms, shaming in sight of all + The marriage-bed, trapped in the myriad-meshed + Toils of Hephaestus: tangled there she lay + In agony of shame, while thronged around + The Blessed, and there stood Hephaestus' self: + For fearful it is for wives to be beheld + By husbands' eyes doing the deed of shame. + Lovely as she in form and roseate blush + Passed Helen mid the Trojan captives on + To the Argive ships. But the folk all around + Marvelled to see the glory of loveliness + Of that all-flawless woman. No man dared + Or secretly or openly to cast + Reproach on her. As on a Goddess all + Gazed on her with adoring wistful eyes. + As when to wanderers on a stormy sea, + After long time and passion of prayer, the sight + Of fatherland is given; from deadly deeps + Escaped, they stretch hands to her joyful-souled; + So joyed the Danaans all, no man of them + Remembered any more war's travail and pain. + Such thoughts Cytherea stirred in them, for grace + To Helen starry-eyed, and Zeus her sire. + + Then, when he saw that burg beloved destroyed, + Xanthus, scarce drawing breath from bloody war, + Mourned with his Nymphs for ruin fallen on Troy, + Mourned for the city of Priam blotted out. + As when hail lashes a field of ripened wheat, + And beats it small, and smites off all the ears + With merciless scourge, and levelled with the ground + Are stalks, and on the earth is all the grain + Woefully wasted, and the harvest's lord + Is stricken with deadly grief; so Xanthus' soul + Was utterly whelmed in grief for Ilium made + A desolation; grief undying was his, + Immortal though he was. Mourned Simois + And long-ridged Ida: all who on Ida dwelt + Wailed from afar the ruin of Priam's town. + + But with loud laughter of glee the Argives sought + Their galleys, chanting the triumphant might + Of victory, chanting now the Blessed Gods, + Now their own valour, and Epeius' work + Ever renowned. Their song soared up to heaven, + Like multitudinous cries of daws, when breaks + A day of sunny calm and windless air + After a ruining storm: from their glad hearts + So rose the joyful clamour, till the Gods + Heard and rejoiced in heaven, all who had helped + With willing hands the war-fain Argive men. + But chafed those others which had aided Troy, + Beholding Priam's city wrapped in flame, + Yet powerless for her help to override + Fate; for not Cronos' Son can stay the hand + Of Destiny, whose might transcendeth all + The Immortals, and Zeus sanctioneth all her deeds. + + The Argives on the flaming altar-wood + Laid many thighs of oxen, and made haste + To spill sweet wine on their burnt offerings, + Thanking the Gods for that great work achieved. + And loudly at the feast they sang the praise + Of all the mailed men whom the Horse of Tree + Had ambushed. Far-famed Sinon they extolled + For that dire torment he endured of foes; + Yea, song and honour-guerdons without end + All rendered him: and that resolved soul + Glad-hearted joyed for the Argives victory, + And for his own misfeaturing sorrowed not. + For to the wise and prudent man renown + Is better far than gold, than goodlihead, + Than all good things men have or hope to win. + + So, feasting by the ships all void of fear, + Cried one to another ever and anon: + "We have touched the goal of this long war, have won + Glory, have smitten our foes and their great town! + Now grant, O Zeus, to our prayers safe home-return!" + But not to all the Sire vouchsafed return. + + Then rose a cunning harper in their midst. + And sang the song of triumph and of peace + Re-won, and with glad hearts untouched by care + They heard; for no more fear of war had they, + But of sweet toil of law-abiding days + And blissful, fleeting hours henceforth they dreamed. + All the War's Story in their eager ears + He sang--how leagued peoples gathering met + At hallowed Aulis--how the invincible strength + Of Peleus' son smote fenced cities twelve + In sea-raids, how he marched o'er leagues on leagues + Of land, and spoiled eleven--all he wrought + In fight with Telephus and Eetion-- + How he slew giant Cycnus--all the toil + Of war that through Achilles' wrath befell + The Achaeans--how he dragged dead Hector round + His own Troy's wall, and how he slew in fight + Penthesileia and Tithonus' son:-- + How Aias laid low Glaucus, lord of spears, + Then sang he how the child of Aeacus' son + Struck down Eurypylus, and how the shafts + Of Philoctetes dealt to Paris death. + Then the song named all heroes who passed in + To ambush in the Horse of Guile, and hymned + The fall of god-descended Priam's burg; + The feast he sang last, and peace after war; + Then many another, as they listed, sang. + + But when above those feasters midnight's stars + Hung, ceased the Danaans from the feast and wine, + And turned to sleep's forgetfulness of care, + For that with yesterday's war-travail all + Were wearied; wherefore they, who fain all night + Had revelled, needs must cease: how loth soe'er, + Sleep drew them thence; here, there, soft slumbered they. + + But in his tent Menelaus lovingly + With bright-haired Helen spake; for on their eyes + Sleep had not fallen yet. The Cyprian Queen + Brooded above their souls, that olden love + Might be renewed, and heart-ache chased away. + + Helen first brake the silence, and she said: + "O Menelaus, be not wroth with me! + Not of my will I left thy roof, thy bed, + But Alexander and the sons of Troy + Came upon me, and snatched away, when thou + Wast far thence. Oftentimes did I essay + By the death-noose to perish wretchedly, + Or by the bitter sword; but still they stayed + Mine hand, and still spake comfortable words + To salve my grief for thee and my sweet child. + For her sake, for the sake of olden love, + And for thine own sake, I beseech thee now, + Forget thy stern displeasure against thy wife." + + Answered her Menelaus wise of wit: + "No more remember past griefs: seal them up + Hid in thine heart. Let all be locked within + The dim dark mansion of forgetfulness. + What profits it to call ill deeds to mind?" + + Glad was she then: fear flitted from her heart, + And came sweet hope that her lord's wrath was dead. + She cast her arms around him, and their eyes + With tears were brimming as they made sweet moan; + And side by side they laid them, and their hearts + Thrilled with remembrance of old spousal joy. + And as a vine and ivy entwine their stems + Each around other, that no might of wind + Avails to sever them, so clung these twain + Twined in the passionate embrace of love. + + When came on these too sorrow-drowning sleep, + Even then above his son's head rose and stood + Godlike Achilles' mighty shade, in form + As when he lived, the Trojans' bane, the joy + Of Greeks, and kissed his neck and flashing eyes + Lovingly, and spake comfortable words: + "All hail, my son! Vex not thine heart with grief + For thy dead sire; for with the Blessed Gods + Now at the feast I sit. Refrain thy soul + From sorrow, and plant my strength within thy mind. + Be foremost of the Argives ever; yield + To none in valour, but in council bow + Before thine elders: so shall all acclaim + Thy courtesy. Honour princely men and wise; + For the true man is still the true man's friend, + Even as the vile man cleaveth to the knave. + If good thy thought be, good shall be thy deeds: + But no man shall attain to Honour's height, + Except his heart be right within: her stem + Is hard to climb, and high in heaven spread + Her branches: only they whom strength and toil + Attend, strain up to pluck her blissful fruit, + Climbing the Tree of Honour glow-crowned. + Thou therefore follow fame, and let thy soul + Be not in sorrow afflicted overmuch, + Nor in prosperity over-glad. To friends, + To comrades, child and wife, be kindly of heart, + Remembering still that near to all men stand + The gates of doom, the mansions of the dead: + For humankind are like the flower of grass, + The blossom of spring; these fade the while those bloom: + Therefore be ever kindly with thy kind. + Now to the Argives say--to Atreus' son + Agamemnon chiefly--if my battle-toil + Round Priam's walls, and those sea-raids I led + Or ever I set foot on Trojan land, + Be in their hearts remembered, to my tomb + Be Priam's daughter Polyxeina led-- + Whom as my portion of the spoil I claim-- + And sacrificed thereon: else shall my wrath + Against them more than for Briseis burn. + The waves of the great deep will I turmoil + To bar their way, upstirring storm on storm, + That through their own mad folly pining away + Here they may linger long, until to me + They pour drink-offerings, yearning sore for home. + But, when they have slain the maiden, I grudge not + That whoso will may bury her far from me." + + Then as a wind-breath swift he fleeted thence, + And came to the Elysian Plain, whereto + A path to heaven reacheth, for the feet + Ascending and descending of the Blest. + Then the son started up from sleep, and called + His sire to mind, and glowed the heart in him. + + When to wide heaven the Child of Mist uprose, + Scattering night, unveiling earth and air, + Then from their rest upsprang Achaea's sons + Yearning for home. With laughter 'gan they hale + Down to the sea the keels: but lo, their haste + Was reined in by Achilles' mighty son: + + He assembled them, and told his sire's behest: + "Hearken, dear sons of Argives battle-staunch, + To this my glorious father's hest, to me + Spoken in darkness slumbering on my bed: + He saith, he dwells with the Immortal Gods: + He biddeth you and Atreus' son the king + To bring, as his war-guerdon passing-fair, + To his dim dark tomb Polyxeina queenly-robed, + To slay her there, but far thence bury her. + But if ye slight him, and essay to sail + The sea, he threateneth to stir up the waves + To bar your path upon the deep, and here + Storm-bound long time to hold you, ships and men." + + Then hearkened they, and as to a God they prayed; + For even now a storm-blast on the sea + Upheaved the waves, broad-backed and thronging fast + More than before beneath the madding wind. + Tossed the great deep, smit by Poseidon's hands + For a grace to strong Achilles. All the winds + Swooped on the waters. Prayed the Dardans all + To Achilles, and a man to his fellow cried: + "Great Zeus's seed Achilles verily was; + Therefore is he a God, who in days past + Dwelt among us; for lapse of dateless time + Makes not the sons of Heaven to fade away." + + Then to Achilles' tomb the host returned, + And led the maid, as calf by herdmen dragged + For sacrifice, from woodland pastures torn + From its mother's side, and lowing long and loud + It moans with anguished heart; so Priam's child + Wailed in the hands of foes. Down streamed her tears + As when beneath the heavy sacks of sand + Olives clear-skinned, ne'er blotched by drops of storm, + Pour out their oil, when the long levers creak + As strong men strain the cords; so poured the tears + Of travail-burdened Priam's daughter, haled + To stern Achilles' tomb, tears blent with moans. + Drenched were her bosom-folds, glistened the drops + On flesh clear-white as costly ivory. + + Then, to crown all her griefs, yet sharper pain + Fell on the heart of hapless Hecuba. + Then did her soul recall that awful dream, + The vision of sleep of that night overpast: + Herseemed that on Achilles' tomb she stood + Moaning, her hair down-streaming to the ground, + And from her breasts blood dripped to earth the while, + And drenched the tomb. Fear-haunted touching this, + Foreboding all calamity, she wailed + Piteously; far rang her wild lament. + As a dog moaning at her master's door, + Utters long howls, her teats with milk distent, + Whose whelps, ere their eyes opened to the light, + Her lords afar have flung, a prey to kites; + And now with short sharp cries she plains, and now + Long howling: the weird outcry thrills the air; + So wailed and shrieked for her child Hecuba: + "Ah me! what sorrows first or last shall I + Lament heart-anguished, who am full of woes? + Those unimagined ills my sons, my king + Have suffered? or my city, or daughters shamed? + Or my despair, my day of slavery? + Oh, the grim fates have caught me in a net + Of manifold ills! O child, they have spun for thee + Dread weird of unimagined misery! + They have thrust thee away, when near was Hymen's hymn, + From thine espousals, marked thee for destruction + Dark, unendurable, unspeakable! + For lo, a dead man's heart, Achilles' heart, + Is by our blood made warm with life to-day! + O child, dear child, that I might die with thee, + That earth might swallow me, ere I see thy doom!" + So cried she, weeping never-ceasing tears, + For grief on bitter grief encompassed her. + But when these reached divine Achilles' tomb, + Then did his son unsheathe the whetted sword, + His left hand grasped the maid, and his right hand + Was laid upon the tomb, and thus he cried: + "Hear, father, thy son's prayer, hear all the prayers + Of Argives, and be no more wroth with us! + Lo, unto thee now all thine heart's desire + Will we fulfil. Be gracious to us thou, + And to our praying grant sweet home-return." + + Into the maid's throat then he plunged the blade + Of death: the dear life straightway sobbed she forth, + With the last piteous moan of parting breath. + Face-downward to the earth she fell: all round + Her flesh was crimsoned from her neck, as snow + Stained on a mountain-side with scarlet blood + Rushing, from javelin-smitten boar or bear. + The maiden's corpse then gave they, to be borne + Unto the city, to Antenor's home, + For that, when Troy yet stood, he nurtured her + In his fair halls, a bride for his own son + Eurymachus. The old man buried her, + King Priam's princess-child, nigh his own house, + By Ganymedes' shrine, and overagainst + The temple of Pallas the Unwearied One. + Then were the waves stilled, and the blast was hushed + To sleep, and all the sea-flood lulled to calm. + + Swift with glad laughter hied they to the ships, + Hymning Achilles and the Blessed Ones. + A feast they made, first severing thighs of kine + For the Immortals. Gladsome sacrifice + Steamed on all sides: in cups of silver and gold + They drank sweet wine: their hearts leaped up with hope + Of winning to their fatherland again. + But when with meats and wine all these were filled, + Then in their eager ears spake Neleus' son: + "Hear, friends, who have 'scaped the long turmoil of war, + That I may say to you one welcome word: + Now is the hour of heart's delight, the hour + Of home-return. Away! Achilles soul + Hath ceased from ruinous wrath; Earth-shaker stills + The stormy wave, and gentle breezes blow; + No more the waves toss high. Haste, hale the ships + Down to the sea. Now, ho for home-return!" + + Eager they heard, and ready made the ships. + Then was a marvellous portent seen of men; + For all-unhappy Priam's queen was changed + From woman's form into a pitiful hound; + And all men gathered round in wondering awe. + Then all her body a God transformed to stone-- + A mighty marvel for men yet unborn! + At Calchas' bidding this the Achaeans bore + In a swift ship to Hellespont's far side. + Then down to the sea in haste they ran the keels: + Their wealth they laid aboard, even all the spoil + Taken, or ever unto Troy they came, + From conquered neighbour peoples; therewithal + Whatso they took from Ilium, wherein most + They joyed, for untold was the sum thereof. + And followed with them many a captive maid + With anguished heart: so went they aboard the ships. + But Calchas would not with that eager host + Launch forth; yea, he had fain withheld therefrom + All the Achaeans, for his prophet-soul + Foreboded dread destruction looming o'er + The Argives by the Rocks Capherean. + But naught they heeded him; malignant + Fate Deluded men's souls: only Amphilochus + The wise in prophet-lore, the gallant son + Of princely Amphiaraus, stayed with him. + Fated were these twain, far from their own land, + To reach Pamphylian and Cilician burgs; + And this the Gods thereafter brought to pass. + + But now the Achaeans cast the hawsers loose + From shore: in haste they heaved the anchor-stones. + Roared Hellespont beneath swift-flashing oars; + Crashed the prows through the sea. About the bows + Much armour of slain foes was lying heaped: + Along the bulwarks victory-trophies hung + Countless. With garlands wreathed they all the ships, + Their heads, the spears, the shields wherewith they had fought + Against their foes. The chiefs stood on the prows, + And poured into the dark sea once and again + Wine to the Gods, to grant them safe return. + But with the winds their prayers mixed; far away + Vainly they floated blent with cloud and air. + + With anguished hearts the captive maids looked back + On Ilium, and with sobs and moans they wailed, + Striving to hide their grief from Argive eyes. + Clasping their knees some sat; in misery some + Veiled with their hands their faces; others nursed + Young children in their arms: those innocents + Not yet bewailed their day of bondage, nor + Their country's ruin; all their thoughts were set + On comfort of the breast, for the babe's heart + Hath none affinity with sorrow. All + Sat with unbraided hair and pitiful breasts + Scored with their fingers. On their cheeks there lay + Stains of dried tears, and streamed thereover now + Fresh tears full fast, as still they gazed aback + On the lost hapless home, wherefrom yet rose + The flames, and o'er it writhed the rolling smoke. + Now on Cassandra marvelling they gazed, + Calling to mind her prophecy of doom; + But at their tears she laughed in bitter scorn, + In anguish for the ruin of her land. + + Such Trojans as had scaped from pitiless war + Gathered to render now the burial-dues + Unto their city's slain. Antenor led + To that sad work: one pyre for all they raised. + + But laughed with triumphing hearts the Argive men, + As now with oars they swept o'er dark sea-ways, + Now hastily hoised the sails high o'er the ships, + And fleeted fast astern Dardania-land, + And Hero Achilles' tomb. But now their hearts, + How blithe soe'er, remembered comrades slain, + And sorely grieved, and wistfully they looked + Back to the alien's land; it seemed to them + Aye sliding farther from their ships. Full soon + By Tenedos' beaches slipt they: now they ran + By Chrysa, Sminthian Phoebus' holy place, + And hallowed Cilla. Far away were glimpsed + The windy heights of Lesbos. Rounded now + Was Lecton's foreland, where is the last peak + Of Ida. In the sails loud hummed the wind, + Crashed round the prows the dark surge: the long waves + Showed shadowy hollows, far the white wake gleamed. + + Now had the Argives all to the hallowed soil + Of Hellas won, by perils of the deep + Unscathed, but for Athena Daughter of Zeus + The Thunderer, and her indignation's wrath. + When nigh Euboea's windy heights they drew, + She rose, in anger unappeasable + Against the Locrian king, devising doom + Crushing and pitiless, and drew nigh to Zeus + Lord of the Gods, and spake to him apart + In wrath that in her breast would not be pent: + "Zeus, Father, unendurable of Gods + Is men's presumption! They reck not of thee, + Of none of the Blessed reck they, forasmuch + As vengeance followeth after sin no more; + And ofttimes more afflicted are good men + Than evil, and their misery hath no end. + Therefore no man regardeth justice: shame + Lives not with men! And I, I will not dwell + Hereafter in Olympus, not be named + Thy daughter, if I may not be avenged + On the Achaeans' reckless sin! Behold, + Within my very temple Oileus' son + Hath wrought iniquity, hath pitied not + Cassandra stretching unregarded hands + Once and again to me; nor did he dread + My might, nor reverenced in his wicked heart + The Immortal, but a deed intolerable + He did. Therefore let not thy spirit divine + Begrudge mine heart's desire, that so all men + May quake before the manifest wrath of Gods." + + Answered the Sire with heart-assuaging words: + "Child, not for the Argives' sake withstand I thee; + But all mine armoury which the Cyclops' might + To win my favour wrought with tireless hands, + To thy desire I give. O strong heart, hurl + A ruining storm thyself on the Argive fleet." + + Then down before the aweless Maid he cast + Swift lightning, thunder, and deadly thunderbolt; + And her heart leapt, and gladdened was her soul. + She donned the stormy Aegis flashing far, + Adamantine, massy, a marvel to the Gods, + Whereon was wrought Medusa's ghastly head, + Fearful: strong serpents breathing forth the blast + Of ravening fire were on the face thereof. + Crashed on the Queen's breast all the Aegis-links, + As after lightning crashes the firmament. + Then grasped she her father's weapons, which no God + Save Zeus can lift, and wide Olympus shook. + Then swept she clouds and mist together on high; + Night over earth was poured, haze o'er the sea. + Zeus watched, and was right glad as broad heaven's floor + Rocked 'neath the Goddess's feet, and crashed the sky, + As though invincible Zeus rushed forth to war. + Then sped she Iris unto Acolus, + From heaven far-flying over misty seas, + To bid him send forth all his buffering winds + O'er iron-bound Caphereus' cliffs to sweep + Ceaselessly, and with ruin of madding blasts + To upheave the sea. And Iris heard, and swift + She darted, through cloud-billows plunging down-- + Thou hadst said: "Lo, in the sky dark water and fire!" + And to Aeolia came she, isle of caves, + Of echoing dungeons of mad-raging winds + With rugged ribs of mountain overarched, + Whereby the mansion stands of Aeolus + Hippotas' son. Him found she therewithin + With wife and twelve sons; and she told to him + Athena's purpose toward the homeward-bound + Achaeans. He denied her not, but passed + Forth of his halls, and in resistless hands + Upswung his trident, smiting the mountain-side + Within whose chasm-cell the wild winds dwelt + Tempestuously shrieking. Ever pealed + Weird roarings of their voices round its vaults. + Cleft by his might was the hill-side; forth they poured. + He bade them on their wings bear blackest storm + To upheave the sea, and shroud Caphereus' heights. + Swiftly upsprang they, ere their king's command + Was fully spoken. Mightily moaned the sea + As they rushed o'er it; waves like mountain-cliffs + From all sides were uprolled. The Achaeans' hearts + Were terror-palsied, as the uptowering surge + Now swung the ships up high through palling mist, + Now hurled them rolled as down a precipice + To dark abysses. Up through yawning deeps + Some power resistless belched the boiling sand + From the sea's floor. Tossed in despair, fear-dazed, + Men could not grasp the oar, nor reef the sail + About the yard-arm, howsoever fain, + Ere the winds rent it, could not with the sheets + Trim the torn canvas, buffeted so were they + By ruining blasts. The helmsman had no power + To guide the rudder with his practised hands, + For those ill winds hurled all confusedly. + No hope of life was left them: blackest night, + Fury of tempest, wrath of deathless Gods, + Raged round them. Still Poseidon heaved and swung + The merciless sea, to work the heart's desire + Of his brother's glorious child; and she on high + Stormed with her lightnings, ruthless in her rage. + Thundered from heaven Zeus, in purpose fixed + To glorify his daughter. All the isles + And mainlands round were lashed by leaping seas + Nigh to Euboea, where the Power divine + Scourged most with unrelenting stroke on stroke + The Argives. Groan and shriek of perishing men + Rang through the ships; started great beams and snapped + With ominous sound, for ever ship on ship + With shivering timbers crashed. With hopeless toil + Men strained with oars to thrust back hulls that reeled + Down on their own, but with the shattered planks + Were hurled into the abyss, to perish there + By pitiless doom; for beams of foundering ships + From this, from that side battered out their lives, + And crushed were all their bodies wretchedly. + Some in the ships fell down, and like dead men + Lay there; some, in the grip of destiny, + Clinging to oars smooth-shaven, tried to swim; + Some upon planks were tossing. Roared the surge + From fathomless depths: it seemed as though sea, sky, + And land were blended all confusedly. + + Still from Olympus thundering Atrytone + Wielded her Father's power unshamed, and still + The welkin shrieked around. Her ruin of wrath + Now upon Aias hurled she: on his ship + Dashed she a thunderbolt, and shivered it + Wide in a moment into fragments small, + While earth and air yelled o'er the wreck, and whirled + And plunged and fell the whole sea down thereon. + They in the ship were all together flung + Forth: all about them swept the giant waves, + Round them leapt lightnings flaming through the dark. + Choked with the strangling surf of hissing brine, + Gasping out life, they drifted o'er the sea. + + But even in death those captive maids rejoiced, + As some ill-starred ones, clasping to their breasts + Their babes, sank in the sea; some flung their arms + Round Danaans' horror-stricken heads, and dragged + These down with them, so rendering to their foes + Requital for foul outrage down to them. + And from on high the haughty Trito-born + Looked down on all this, and her heart was glad. + + But Aias floated now on a galley's plank, + Now through the brine with strong hands oared his path, + Like some old Titan in his tireless might. + Cleft was the salt sea-surge by the sinewy hands + Of that undaunted man: the Gods beheld + And marvelled at his courage and his strength. + But now the billows swung him up on high + Through misty air, as though to a mountain's peak, + Now whelmed him down, as they would bury him + In ravening whirlpits: yet his stubborn hands + Toiled on unwearied. Aye to right and left + Flashed lightnings down, and quenched them in the sea; + For not yet was the Child of Thunderer Zeus + Purposed to smite him dead, despite her wrath, + Ere he had drained the cup of travail and pain + Down to the dregs; so in the deep long time + Affliction wore him down, tormented sore + On every side. Grim Fates stood round the man + Unnumbered; yet despair still kindled strength. + He cried: "Though all the Olympians banded come + In wrath, and rouse against me all the sea, + I will escape them!" But no whit did he + Elude the Gods' wrath; for the Shaker of Earth + In fierceness of his indignation marked + Where his hands clung to the Gyraean Rock, + And in stern anger with an earthquake shook + Both sea and land. Around on all sides crashed + Caphereus' cliffs: beneath the Sea-king's wrath + The surf-tormented beaches shrieked and roared. + The broad crag rifted reeled into the sea, + The rock whereto his desperate hands had clung; + Yet did he writhe up round its jutting spurs, + While flayed his hands were, and from 'neath his nails + The blood ran. Wrestling with him roared the waves, + And the foam whitened all his hair and beard. + + Yet had he 'scaped perchance his evil doom, + Had not Poseidon, wroth with his hardihood, + Cleaving the earth, hurled down the chasm the rock, + As in the old time Pallas heaved on high + Sicily, and on huge Enceladus + Dashed down the isle, which burns with the burning yet + Of that immortal giant, as he breathes + Fire underground; so did the mountain-crag, + Hurled from on high, bury the Locrian king, + Pinning the strong man down, a wretch crushed flat. + And so on him death's black destruction came + Whom land and sea alike were leagued to slay. + + Still over the great deep were swept the rest + Of those Achaeans, crouching terror-dazed + Down in the ships, save those that mid the waves + Had fallen. Misery encompassed all; + For some with heavily-plunging prows drave on, + With keels upturned some drifted. Here were masts + Snapped from the hull by rushing gusts, and there + Were tempest-rifted wrecks of scattered beams; + And some had sunk, whelmed in the mighty deep, + Swamped by the torrent downpour from the clouds: + For these endured not madness of wind-tossed sea + Leagued with heaven's waterspout; for streamed the sky + Ceaselessly like a river, while the deep + Raved round them. And one cried: "Such floods on men + Fell only when Deucalion's deluge came, + When earth was drowned, and all was fathomless sea!" + + So cried a Danaan, seeing soul-appalled + That wild storm. Thousands perished; corpses thronged + The great sea-highways: all the beaches were + Too strait for them: the surf belched multitudes + Forth on the land. The heavy-booming sea + With weltering beams of ships was wholly paved, + And here and there the grey waves gleamed between. + + So found they each his several evil fate, + Some whelmed beneath broad-rushing billows, some + Wretchedly perishing with their shattered ships + By Nauplius' devising on the rocks. + Wroth for that son whom they had done to death, + He; when the storm rose and the Argives died, + Rejoiced amid his sorrow, seeing a God + Gave to his hands revenge, which now he wreaked + Upon the host he hated, as o'er the deep + They tossed sore-harassed. To his sea-god sire + He prayed that all might perish, ships and men + Whelmed in the deep. Poseidon heard his prayer, + And on the dark surge swept them nigh his land. + He, like a harbour-warder, lifted high + A blazing torch, and so by guile he trapped + The Achaean men, who deemed that they had won + A sheltering haven: but sharp reefs and crags + Gave awful welcome unto ships and men, + Who, dashed to pieces on the cruel rocks + In the black night, crowned ills with direr ills. + Some few escaped, by a God or Power unseen + Plucked from death's hand. Athena now rejoiced + Her heart within, and now was racked with fears + For prudent-souled Odysseus; for his weird + Was through Poseidon's wrath to suffer woes + Full many. + + But Earth-shaker's jealousy now + Burned against those long walls and towers uppiled + By the strong Argives for a fence against + The Trojans' battle-onset. Swiftly then + He swelled to overbrimming all the sea + That rolls from Euxine down to Hellespont, + And hurled it on the shore of Troy: and Zeus, + For a grace unto the glorious Shaker of Earth, + Poured rain from heaven: withal Far-darter bare + In that great work his part; from Ida's heights + Into one channel led he all her streams, + And flooded the Achaeans' work. The sea + Dashed o'er it, and the roaring torrents still + Rushed on it, swollen by the rains of Zeus; + And the dark surge of the wide-moaning sea + Still hurled them back from mingling with the deep, + Till all the Danaan walls were blotted out + Beneath their desolating flood. Then earth + Was by Poseidon chasm-cleft: up rushed + Deluge of water, slime and sand, while quaked + Sigeum with the mighty shock, and roared + The beach and the foundations of the land + Dardanian. So vanished, whelmed from sight, + That mighty rampart. Earth asunder yawned, + And all sank down, and only sand was seen, + When back the sea rolled, o'er the beach outspread + Far down the heavy-booming shore. All this + The Immortals' anger wrought. But in their ships + The Argives storm-dispersed went sailing on. + So came they home, as heaven guided each, + Even all that 'scaped the fell sea-tempest blasts. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fall of Troy, by Smyrnaeus Quintus + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FALL OF TROY *** + +***** This file should be named 658.txt or 658.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/5/658/ + +Produced by Douglas B. 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