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Title: The Fall of Troy

Author: active 4th century Smyrnaeus Quintus

Translator: Arthur S. Way

Release date: September 1, 1996 [eBook #658]

Most recently updated: January 1, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Douglas B. Killings

*** START OF THE 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.

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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).

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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.

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Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

CONTENTS

BOOK

BOOK I:

BOOK II

BOOK III

BOOK IV

BOOK V

BOOK VI

BOOK VII

BOOK VIII

BOOK IX

BOOK X

BOOK XI

BOOK XII

BOOK XIII

BOOK XIV.

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