The Fall of Troy by Quintus Smyrnaeus
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The Fall of Troy

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

September, 1996 [Etext #658]

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This electronic edition was edited, proofed, and prepared by Douglas B. Killings (DeTroyes@EnterAct.COM), August 1996.

The Fall of Troy

by

Quintus Smyrnaeus

(“Quintus of Smyrna”)

Fl. 4th Century A.D.

Originally written in Greek, sometime about the middle of the 4th Century A.D. Translation by A.S. Way, 1913.

*****************************************************************

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY:

ORIGINAL TEXT —

Way, A.S. (Ed. & Trans.): “Quintus Smyrnaeus: The Fall of Troy”

(Loeb Classics #19; Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA, 1913). Greek text with side-by-side English translation.

OTHER TRANSLATIONS —

Combellack, Frederick M. (Trans.): “The War at Troy: What Homer Didn’t Tell” (University of Oklahoma Press, Norman OK, 1968).

RECOMMENDED READING —

Fitzgerald, Robert (Trans.): “Homer: The Iliad” (Viking Press, New York, 1968).

*****************************************************************

INTRODUCTION

Homer’s “Iliad” begins towards the close of the last of the ten years of the Trojan War: its incidents extend over some fifty days only, and it ends with the burial of Hector. The things which came before and after were told by other bards, who between them narrated the whole “cycle” of the events of the war, and so were called the Cyclic Poets. Of their works none have survived; but the story of what befell between Hector’s funeral and the taking of Troy is told in detail, and well told, in a poem about half as long as the “Iliad”. Some four hundred years after Christ there lived at Smyrna a poet of whom we know scarce anything, save that his first name was Quintus. He had saturated himself with the spirit of Homer, he had caught the ring of his music, and he perhaps had before him the works of those Cyclic Poets whose stars had paled before the sun.

We have practically no external evidence as to the date or place of birth of Quintus of Smyrna, or for the sources whence he drew his materials. His date is approximately settled by two passages in the poem, viz. vi. 531 sqq., in which occurs an illustration drawn from the man-and-beast fights of the amphitheatre, which were suppressed by Theodosius I. (379-395 A.D.); and xiii. 335
sqq., which contains a prophecy, the special particularity of which, it is maintained by Koechly, limits its applicability to the middle of the fourth century A.D.

His place of birth, and the precise locality, is given by himself in xii. 308-313, and confirmatory evidence is afforded by his familiarity, of which he gives numerous instances, with many natural features of the western part of Asia Minor.

With respect to his authorities, and the use he made of their writings, there has been more difference of opinion. Since his narrative covers the same ground as the “Aethiopis” (“Coming of Memnon”) and the “Iliupersis” (“Destruction of Troy”) of Arctinus (circ. 776 B.C.), and the “Little Iliad” of Lesches (circ. 700

B.C.), it has been assumed that the work of Quintus “is little more than an amplification or remodelling of the works of these two Cyclic Poets.” This, however, must needs be pure conjecture, as the only remains of these poets consist of fragments amounting to no more than a very few lines from each, and of the “summaries of contents” made by the grammarian Proclus (circ. 140 A.D.), which, again, we but get at second-hand through the “Bibliotheca”

of Photius (ninth century). Now, not merely do the only descriptions of incident that are found in the fragments differ essentially from the corresponding incidents as described by Quintus, but even in the summaries, meagre as they are, we find, as German critics have shown by exhaustive investigation, serious discrepancies enough to justify us in the conclusion that, even if Quintus had the works of the Cyclic poets before him, which is far from certain, his poem was no mere remodelling of theirs, but an independent and practically original work. Not that this conclusion disposes by any means of all difficulties. If Quintus did not follow the Cyclic poets, from what source did he draw his materials? The German critic unhesitatingly answers, “from Homer.” As regards language, versification, and general spirit, the matter is beyond controversy; but when we come to consider the incidents of the story, we find deviations from Homer even more serious than any of those from the Cyclic poets. And the strange thing is, that each of these deviations is a manifest detriment to the perfection of his poem; in each of them the writer has missed, or has rejected, a magnificent opportunity.

With regard to the slaying of Achilles by the hand of Apollo only, and not by those of Apollo and Paris, he might have pleaded that Homer himself here speaks with an uncertain voice (cf.

“Iliad” xv. 416-17, xxii. 355-60, and xxi. 277-78). But, in describing the fight for the body of Achilles (“Odyssey” xxiv. 36
sqq.), Homer makes Agamemnon say:

“So we grappled the livelong day, and we had not refrained us then,

But Zeus sent a hurricane, stilling the storm of the battle of men.”

Now, it is just in describing such natural phenomena, and in blending them with the turmoil of battle, that Quintus is in his element; yet for such a scene he substitutes what is, by comparison, a lame and impotent conclusion. Of that awful cry that rang over the sea heralding the coming of Thetis and the Nymphs to the death-rites of her son, and the panic with which it filled the host, Quintus is silent. Again, Homer (“Odyssey” iv.

274-89) describes how Helen came in the night with Deiphobus, and stood by the Wooden Horse, and called to each of the hidden warriors with the voice of his own wife. This thrilling scene Quintus omits, and substitutes nothing of his own. Later on, he makes Menelaus slay Deiphobus unresisting, “heavy with wine,”

whereas Homer (“Odyssey” viii. 517-20) makes him offer such a magnificent resistance, that Odysseus and Menelaus together could not kill him without the help of Athena. In fact, we may say that, though there are echoes of the “Iliad” all through the poem, yet, wherever Homer has, in the “Odyssey”, given the outline-sketch of an effective scene, Quintus has uniformly neglected to develop it, has sometimes substituted something much weaker — as though he had not the “Odyssey” before him!

For this we have no satisfactory explanation to offer. He may have set his own judgment above Homer — a most unlikely hypothesis: he may have been consistently following, in the framework of his story, some original now lost to us: there may be more, and longer, lacunae in the text than any editors have ventured to indicate: but, whatever theory we adopt, it must be based on mere conjecture.

The Greek text here given is that of Koechly (1850) with many of Zimmermann’s emendations, which are acknowledged in the notes.

Passages enclosed in square brackets are suggestions of Koechly for supplying the general sense of lacunae. Where he has made no such suggestion, or none that seemed to the editors to be adequate, the lacuna has been indicated by asterisks, though here too a few words have been added in the translation, sufficient to connect the sense.

— A.S. Way

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 heavensent 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 cornfields’ 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 fleetfooted 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 godlike, and Amphimachus mighty-souled.

On Mycale they dwelt; beside their home Rose Latmus’ snowy crests, stretched the long glens Of Branchus, and Panormus’ watermeads.

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 fleetfooted, 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 ignoranee 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 A1oeus’ 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 1ost, 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 selfsame 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 selfsame 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, Exeept 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 fo1k.”

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 1ong 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 therethrough.

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 earthborn 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-crimsom 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 thunderclouds 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 godlike 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 1ovely-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 earthborn 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 1oseth —

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 s 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 Homewarder 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 towcry 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 warking 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 Onrushing 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 godlike 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 Onrushing 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 ú 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 earthborn 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 1ove’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 ú 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 ú For fain she was to smite its beams apart, Or burn with ravening fire. She snatched a brand Of blazing pine-wood from the hearth and ran In fury: in the other hand she bare

A two-edged halberd: on that Horse of Doom She rushed, to cause the Trojans to behold With their own eyes the ambush hidden there.

But straightway from her hands they plucked and flung Afar the fire and steel, and careless turned To the feast; for darkened o’er them their last night.

Within the horse the Argives joyed to hear The uproar of Troy’s feasters setting at naught Cassandra, but they marvelled that she knew So well the Achaeans’ purpose and device.

As mid the hills a furious pantheress, Which from the steading hounds and shepherd-folk Drive with fierce rush, with savage heart turns back Even in departing, galled albeit by darts: So from the great Horse fled she, anguish-racked For Troy, for all the ruin she foreknew.

BOOK XIII

How Troy in the night was taken and sacked with fire and slaughter.

So feasted they through Troy, and in their midst Loud pealed the flutes and pipes: on every hand Were song and dance, laughter and cries confused Of banqueters beside the meats and wine.

They, lifting in their hands the beakers brimmed, Recklessly drank, till heavy of brain they grew, Till rolled their fluctuant eyes. Now and again Some mouth would babble the drunkard’s broken words.

The household gear, the very roof and walls Seemed as they rocked: all things they looked on seemed Whirled in wild dance. About their eyes a veil Of mist dropped, for the drunkard’s sight is dimmed, And the wit dulled, when rise the fumes to the brain: And thus a heavy-headed feaster cried: “For naught the Danaans mustered that great host Hither! Fools, they have wrought not their intent, But with hopes unaccomplished from our town Like silly boys or women have they fled.”

So cried a Trojan wit-befogged with wine, Fool, nor discerned destruction at the doors.

When sleep had locked his fetters everywhere Through Troy on folk fulfilled of wine and meat, Then Sinon lifted high a blazing torch To show the Argive men the splendour of fire.

But fearfully the while his heart beat, lest The men of Troy might see it, and the plot Be suddenly revealed. But on their beds Sleeping their last sleep lay they, heavy with wine.

The host saw, and from Tenedos set sail.

Then nigh the Horse drew Sinon: softly he called, Full softly, that no man of Troy might hear, But only Achaea’s chiefs, far from whose eyes Sleep hovered, so athirst were they for fight.

They heard, and to Odysseus all inclined Their ears: he bade them urgently go forth Softly and fearlessly; and they obeyed That battle-summons, pressing in hot haste To leap to earth: but in his subtlety He stayed them from all thrusting eagerly forth.

But first himself with swift unfaltering hands, Helped of Epeius, here and there unbarred The ribs of the Horse of beams: above the planks A little he raised his head, and gazed around On all sides, if he haply might descry One Trojan waking yet. As when a wolf, With hunger stung to the heart, comes from the hills, And ravenous for flesh draws nigh the flock Penned in the wide fold, slinking past the men And dogs that watch, all keen to ward the sheep, Then o’er the fold-wall leaps with soundless feet; So stole Odysseus down from the Horse: with him Followed the war-fain lords of Hellas’ League, Orderly stepping down the ladders, which Epeius framed for paths of mighty men, For entering and for passing forth the Horse, Who down them now on this side, that side, streamed As fearless wasps startled by stroke of axe In angry mood pour all together forth From the tree-bole, at sound of woodman’s blow; So battle-kindled forth the Horse they poured Into the midst of that strong city of Troy With hearts that leapt expectant. [With swift hands Snatched they the brands from dying hearths, and fired Temple and palace. Onward then to the gates Sped they,] and swiftly slew the slumbering guards, [Then held the gate-towers till their friends should come.]

Fast rowed the host the while; on swept the ships Over the great flood: Thetis made their paths Straight, and behind them sent a driving wind Speeding them, and the hearts Achaean glowed.

Swiftly to Hellespont’s shore they came, and there Beached they the keels again, and deftly dealt With whatso tackling appertains to ships.

Then leapt they aland, and hasted on to Troy Silent as sheep that hurry to the fold From woodland pasture on an autumn eve; So without sound of voices marched they on Unto the Trojans’ fortress, eager all To help those mighty chiefs with foes begirt.

Now these — as famished wolves fierce-glaring round Fall on a fold mid the long forest-hills, While sleeps the toil-worn watchman, and they rend The sheep on every hand within the wall In darkness, and all round [are heaped the slain; So these within the city smote and slew, As swarmed the awakened foe around them; yet, Fast as they slew, aye faster closed on them Those thousands, mad to thrust them from the gates.]

Slipping in blood and stumbling o’er the dead [Their line reeled,] and destruction loomed o’er them, Though Danaan thousands near and nearer drew.

But when the whole host reached the walls of Troy, Into the city of Priam, breathing rage Of fight, with reckless battle-lust they poured; And all that fortress found they full of war And slaughter, palaces, temples, horribly Blazing on all sides; glowed their hearts with joy.

In deadly mood then charged they on the foe.

Ares and fell Enyo maddened there:

Blood ran in torrents, drenched was all the earth, As Trojans and their alien helpers died.

Here were men lying quelled by bitter death All up and down the city in their blood; Others on them were falling, gasping forth Their life’s strength; others, clutching in their hands Their bowels that looked through hideous gashes forth, Wandered in wretched plight around their homes: Others, whose feet, while yet asleep they lay, Had been hewn off, with groans unutterable Crawled mid the corpses. Some, who had rushed to fight, Lay now in dust, with hands and heads hewn off.

Some were there, through whose backs, even as they fled, The spear had passed, clear through to the breast, and some Whose waists the lance had pierced, impaling them Where sharpest stings the anguish-laden steel.

And all about the city dolorous howls Of dogs uprose, and miserable moans

Of strong men stricken to death; and every home With awful cries was echoing. Rang the shrieks Of women, like to screams of cranes, which see An eagle stooping on them from the sky, Which have no courage to resist, but scream Long terror-shrieks in dread of Zeus’s bird; So here, so there the Trojan women wailed, Some starting from their sleep, some to the ground Leaping: they thought not in that agony Of robe and zone; in naught but tunics clad Distraught they wandered: others found nor veil Nor cloak to cast about them, but, as came Onward their foes, they stood with beating hearts Trembling, as lettered by despair, essaying, All-hapless, with their hands alone to hide Their nakedness. And some in frenzy of woe: Their tresses tore, and beat their breasts, and screamed.

Others against that stormy torrent of foes Recklessly rushed, insensible of fear, Through mad desire to aid the perishing, Husbands or children; for despair had given High courage. Shrieks had startled from their sleep Soft little babes whose hearts had never known Trouble — and there one with another lay Gasping their lives out! Some there were whose dreams Changed to a sudden vision of doom. All round The fell Fates gloated horribly o’er the slain.

And even as swine be slaughtered in the court Of a rich king who makes his folk a feast, So without number were they slain. The wine Left in the mixing-bowls was blent with blood Gruesomely. No man bare a sword unstained With murder of defenceless folk of Troy, Though he were but a weakling in fair fight.

And as by wolves or jackals sheep are torn, What time the furnace-breath of midnoon-heat Darts down, and all the flock beneath the shade Are crowded, and the shepherd is not there, But to the homestead bears afar their milk; And the fierce brutes leap on them, tear their throats, Gorge to the full their ravenous maws, and then Lap the dark blood, and linger still to slay All in mere lust of slaughter, and provide An evil banquet for that shepherd-lord; So through the city of Priam Danaans slew One after other in that last fight of all.

No Trojan there was woundless, all men’s limbs With blood in torrents spilt were darkly dashed.

Nor seetheless were the Danaans in the fray: With beakers some were smitten, with tables some, Thrust in the eyes of some were burning brands Snatched from the hearth; some died transfixed with spits Yet left within the hot flesh of the swine Whereon the red breath of the Fire-god beat; Others struck down by bills and axes keen Gasped in their blood: from some men’s hands were shorn The fingers, who, in wild hope to escape The imminent death, had clutched the blades of swords.

And here in that dark tumult one had hurled A stone, and crushed the crown of a friend’s head.

Like wild beasts trapped and stabbed within a fold On a lone steading, frenziedly they fought, Mad with despair-enkindled rage, beneath That night of horror. Hot with battle-lust Here, there, the fighters rushed and hurried through The palace of Priam. Many an Argive fell Spear-slain; for whatso Trojan in his halls Might seize a sword, might lift a spear in hand, Slew foes — ay, heavy though he were with wine.

Upflashed a glare unearthly through the town, For many an Argive bare in hand a torch To know in that dim battle friends from foes.

Then Tydeus’ son amid the war-storm met Spearman Coroebus, lordly Mygdon’s son, And ‘neath the left ribs pierced him with the lance Where run the life-ways of man’s meat and drink; So met him black death borne upon the spear: Down in dark blood he fell mid hosts of slain.

Ah fool! the bride he won not, Priam’s child Cassandra, yea, his loveliest, for whose sake To Priam’s burg but yesterday he came, And vaunted he would thrust the Argives back From Ilium. Never did the Gods fulfil His hope: the Fates hurled doom upon his head.

With him the slayer laid Eurydamas low, Antenor’s gallant son-in-law, who most For prudence was pre-eminent in Troy.

Then met he Ilioneus the elder of days, And flashed his terrible sword forth. All the limbs Of that grey sire were palsied with his fear: He put forth trembling hands, with one he caught The swift avenging sword, with one he clasped The hero’s knees. Despite his fury of war, A moment paused his wrath, or haply a God Held back the sword a space, that that old man Might speak to his fierce foe one word of prayer.

Piteously cried he, terror-overwhelmed: “I kneel before thee, whosoe’er thou be Of mighty Argives. Oh compassionate My suppliant hands! Abate thy wrath! To slay The young and valiant is a glorious thing; But if thou smite an old man, small renown Waits on thy prowess. Therefore turn from me Thine hands against young men, if thou dost hope Ever to come to grey hairs such as mine.”

So spake he; but replied strong Tydeus’ son: “Old man, I look to attain to honoured age; But while my Strength yet waxeth, will not I Spare any foe, but hurl to Hades all.

The brave man makes an end of every foe.”

Then through his throat that terrible warrior drave The deadly blade, and thrust it straight to where The paths of man’s life lead by swiftest way Blood-paved to doom: death palsied his poor strength By Diomedes’ hands. Thence rushed he on Slaying the Trojans, storming in his might All through their fortress: pierced by his long spear Eurycoon fell, Perimnestor’s son renowned.

Amphimedon Aias slew: Agamemnon smote Damastor’s son: Idomeneus struck down Mimas: by Meges Deiopites died.

Achilles’ son with his resistless lance Smote godlike Pammon; then his javelin pierced Polites in mid-rush: Antiphonus

Dead upon these he laid, all Priam’s sons.

Agenor faced him in the fight, and fell: Hero on hero slew he; everywhere

Stalked at his side Death’s black doom manifest: Clad in his sire’s might, whomso he met he slew.

Last, on Troy’s king in murderous mood he came.

By Zeus the Hearth-lord’s altar. Seeing him, Old Priam knew him and quaked not; for he longed Himself to lay his life down midst his sons; And craving death to Achilles’ seed he spake: “Fierce-hearted son of Achilles strong in war, Slay me, and pity not my misery.

I have no will to see the sun’s light more, Who have suffered woes so many and so dread.

With my sons would I die, and so forget Anguish and horror of war. Oh that thy sire Had slain me, ere mine eyes beheld aflame Illium, had slain me when I brought to him Ransom for Hector, whom thy father slew.

He spared me — so the Fates had spun my thread Of destiny. But thou, glut with my blood Thy fierce heart, and let me forget my pain.”

Answered Achilles’ battle-eager son: “Fain am I, yea, in haste to grant thy prayer.

A foe like thee will I not leave alive; For naught is dearer unto men than life.”

With one stroke swept he off that hoary head Lightly as when a reaper lops an ear In a parched cornfield at the harvest-tide.

With lips yet murmuring low it rolled afar From where with quivering limbs the body lay Amidst dark-purple blood and slaughtered men.

So lay he, chiefest once of all the world In lineage, wealth, in many and goodly sons.

Ah me, not long abides the honour of man, But shame from unseen ambush leaps on him So clutched him Doom, so he forgat his woes.

Yea, also did those Danaan car-lords hurl From a high tower the babe Astyanax, Dashing him out of life. They tore the child Out of his mother’s arms, in wrathful hate Of Hector, who in life had dealt to them Such havoc; therefore hated they his seed, And down from that high rampart flung his child —

A wordless babe that nothing knew of war!

As when amid the mountains hungry wolves Chase from the mother’s side a suckling calf, And with malignant cunning drive it o’er An echoing cliffs edge, while runs to and fro Its dam with long moans mourning her dear child, And a new evil followeth hard on her, For suddenly lions seize her for a prey; So, as she agonized for her son, the foe To bondage haled with other captive thralls That shrieking daughter of King Eetion.

Then, as on those three fearful deaths she thought Of husband, child, and father, Andromaehe Longed sore to die. Yea, for the royally-born Better it is to die in war, than do

The service of the thrall to baser folk.

All piteously the broken-hearted cried: “Oh hurl my body also from the wall, Or down the cliff, or cast me midst the fire, Ye Argives! Woes are mine unutterable!

For Peleus’ son smote down my noble father In Thebe, and in Troy mine husband slew, Who unto me was all mine heart’s desire, Who left me in mine halls one little child, My darling and my pride — of all mine hopes In him fell merciless Fate hath cheated me!

Oh therefore thrust this broken-hearted one Now out of life! Hale me not overseas Mingled with spear-thralls; for my soul henceforth Hath no more pleasure in life, since God hath slain My nearest and my dearest! For me waits Trouble and anguish and lone homelessness!”

So cried she, longing for the grave; for vile Is life to them whose glory is swallowed up Of shame: a horror is the scorn of men.

But, spite her prayers, to thraldom dragged they her.

In all the homes of Troy lay dying men, And rose from all a lamentable cry,

Save only Antenor’s halls; for unto him The Argives rendered hospitality’s debt, For that in time past had his roof received And sheltered godlike Menelaus, when He with Odysseus came to claim his own.

Therefore the mighty sons of Achaea showed Grace to him, as to a friend, and spared his life And substance, fearing Themis who seeth all.

Then also princely Anchises’ noble son —

Hard had he fought through Priam’s burg that night With spear and valour, and many had he slain —

When now he saw the city set aflame

By hands of foes, saw her folk perishing In multitudes, her treasures spoiled, her wives And children dragged to thraldom from their homes, No more he hoped to see the stately walls Of his birth-city, but bethought him now How from that mighty ruin to escape.

And as the helmsman of a ship, who toils On the deep sea, and matches all his craft Against the winds and waves from every side Rushing against him in the stormy time, Forspent at last, both hand and heart, when now The ship is foundering in the surge, forsakes The helm, to launch forth in a little boat, And heeds no longer ship and lading; so Anchises’ gallant son forsook the town And left her to her foes, a sea of fire.

His son and father alone he snatched from death; The old man broken down with years he set On his broad shoulders with his own strong hands, And led the young child by his small soft hand, Whose little footsteps lightly touched the ground; And, as he quaked to see that work of deaths His father led him through the roar of fight, And clinging hung on him the tender child, Tears down his soft cheeks streaming. But the man O’er many a body sprang with hurrying feet, And in the darkness in his own despite Trampled on many. Cypris guided them, Earnest to save from that wild ruin her son, His father, and his child. As on he pressed, The flames gave back before him everywhere: The blast of the Fire-god’s breath to right and left Was cloven asunder. Spears and javelins hurled Against him by the Achaeans harmless fell.

Also, to stay them, Calchas cried aloud: “Forbear against Aeneas’ noble head

To hurl the bitter dart, the deadly spear!

Fated he is by the high Gods’ decree To pass from Xanthus, and by Tiber’s flood To found a city holy and glorious

Through all time, and to rule o’er tribes of men Far-sundered. Of his seed shall lords of earth Rule from the rising to the setting sun.

Yea, with the Immortals ever shall he dwell, Who is son of Aphrodite lovely-tressed.

From him too is it meet we hold our hands Because he hath preferred his father and son To gold, to all things that might profit a man Who fleeth exiled to an alien land.

This one night hath revealed to us a man Faithful to death to his father and his child.”

Then hearkened they, and as a God did all Look on him. Forth the city hasted he Whither his feet should bear him, while the foe Made havoc still of goodly-builded Troy.

Then also Menelaus in Helen’s bower

Found, heavy with wine, ill-starred Deiphobus, And slew him with the sword: but she had fled And hidden her in the palace. O’er the blood Of that slain man exulted he, and cried: “Dog! I, even I have dealt thee unwelcome death This day! No dawn divine shall meet thee again Alive in Troy — ay, though thou vaunt thyself Spouse of the child of Zeus the thunder-voiced!

Black death hath trapped thee slain in my wife’s bower!

Would I had met Alexander too in fight Ere this, and plucked his heart out! So my grief Had been a lighter load. But he hath paid Already justice’ debt, hath passed beneath Death’s cold dark shadow. Ha, small joy to thee My wife was doomed to bring! Ay, wicked men Never elude pure Themis: night and day Her eyes are on them, and the wide world through Above the tribes of men she floats in air, Holpen of Zeus, for punishment of sin.”

On passed he, dealing merciless death to foes, For maddened was his soul with jealousy.

Against the Trojans was his bold heart full Of thoughts of vengeance, which were now fulfilled By the dread Goddess Justice, for that theirs Was that first outrage touching Helen, theirs That profanation of the oaths, and theirs That trampling on the blood of sacrifice When their presumptuous souls forgat the Gods.

Therefore the Vengeance-friends brought woes on them Thereafter, and some died in fighting field, Some now in Troy by board and bridal bower.

Menelaus mid the inner chambers found At last his wife, there cowering from the wrath Of her bold-hearted lord. He glared on her, Hungering to slay her in his jealous rage.

But winsome Aphrodite curbed him, struck Out of his hand the sword, his onrush reined, Jealousy’s dark cloud swept she away, and stirred Love’s deep sweet well-springs in his heart and eyes.

Swept o’er him strange amazement: powerless all Was he to lift the sword against her neck, Seeing her splendour of beauty. Like a stock Of dead wood in a mountain forest, which No swiftly-rushing blasts of north-winds shake, Nor fury of south-winds ever, so he stood, So dazed abode long time. All his great strength Was broken, as he looked upon his wife.

And suddenly had he forgotten all

Yea, all her sins against her spousal-troth; For Aphrodite made all fade away,

She who subdueth all immortal hearts And mortal. Yet even so he lifted up From earth his sword, and made as he would rush Upon his wife but other was his intent, Even as he sprang: he did but feign, to cheat Achaean eyes. Then did his brother stay His fury, and spake with pacifying words, Fearing lest all they had toiled for should be lost: “Forbear wrath, Menelaus, now: ‘twere shame To slay thy wedded wife, for whose sake we Have suffered much affliction, while we sought Vengeance on Priam. Not, as thou dost deem, Was Helen’s the sin, but his who set at naught The Guest-lord, and thine hospitable board; So with death-pangs hath God requited him.”

Then hearkened Menelaus to his rede.

But the Gods, palled in dark clouds, mourned for Troy, A ruined glory save fair-tressed Tritonis And Hera: their hearts triumphed, when they saw The burg of god-descended Priam destroyed.

Yet not the wise heart Trito-born herself Was wholly tearless; for within her fane Outraged Cassandra was of Oileus son Lust-maddened. But grim vengeance upon him Ere long the Goddess wreaked, repaying insult With mortal sufferance. Yea, she would not look Upon the infamy, but clad herself

With shame and wrath as with a cloak: she turned Her stern eyes to the temple-roof, and groaned The holy image, and the hallowed floor Quaked mightily. Yet did he not forbear His mad sin, for his soul was lust-distraught.

Here, there, on all sides crumbled flaming homes In ruin down: scorched dust with smoke was blent: Trembled the streets to the awful thunderous crash.

Here burned Aeneas’ palace, yonder flamed Antimachus’ halls: one furnace was the height Of fair-built Pergamus; flames were roaring round Apollo’s temple, round Athena’s fane, And round the Hearth-lord’s altar: flames licked up Fair chambers of the sons’ sons of a king; And all the city sank down into hell.

Of Trojans some by Argos’ sons were slain, Some by their own roofs crashing down in fire, Giving at once in death and tomb to them: Some in their own throats plunged the steel, when foes And fire were in the porch together seen: Some slew their wives and children, and flung themselves Dead on them, when despair had done its work Of horror. One, who deemed the foe afar, Caught up a vase, and, fain to quench the flame, Hasted for water. Leapt unmarked on him An Argive, and his spirit, heavy with wine, Was thrust forth from the body by the spear.

Clashed the void vase above him, as he fell Backward within the house. As through his hall Another fled, the burning roof-beam crashed Down on his head, and swift death came with it.

And many women, as in frenzied flight They rushed forth, suddenly remembered babes Left in their beds beneath those burning roofs: With wild feet sped they back — the house fell in Upon them, and they perished, mother and child.

Horses and dogs in panic through the town Fled from the flames, trampling beneath their feet The dead, and dashing into living men To their sore hurt. Shrieks rang through all the town.

In through his blazing porchway rushed a man To rescue wife and child. Through smoke and flame Blindly he groped, and perished while he cried Their names, and pitiless doom slew those within.

The fire-glow upward mounted to the sky, The red glare o’er the firmament spread its wings, And all the tribes of folk that dwelt around Beheld it, far as Ida’s mountain-crests, And sea-girt Tenedos, and Thracian Samos.

And men that voyaged on the deep sea cried: “The Argives have achieved their mighty task After long toil for star-eyed Helen’s sake.

All Troy, the once queen-city, burns in fire: For all their prayers, no God defends them now; For strong Fate oversees all works of men, And the renownless and obscure to fame She raises, and brings low the exalted ones.

Oft out of good is evil brought, and good From evil, mid the travail and change of life.”

So spake they, who from far beheld the glare Of Troy’s great burning. Compassed were her folk With wailing misery: through her streets the foe Exulted, as when madding blasts turmoil The boundless sea, what time the Altar ascends To heaven’s star-pavement, turned to the misty south Overagainst Arcturus tempest-breathed, And with its rising leap the wild winds forth, And ships full many are whelmed ‘neath ravening seas; Wild as those stormy winds Achaea’s sons Ravaged steep Ilium while she burned in flame.

As when a mountain clothed with shaggy woods Burns swiftly in a fire-blast winged with winds, And from her tall peaks goeth up a roar, And all the forest-children this way and that Rush through the wood, tormented by the flame; So were the Trojans perishing: there was none To save, of all the Gods. Round these were staked The nets of Fate, which no man can escape.

Then were Demophoon and Acamas

By mighty Theseus’ mother Aethra met.

Yearning to see them was she guided on To meet them by some Blessed One, the while ‘Wildered from war and fire she fled. They saw In that red glare a woman royal-tall, Imperial-moulded, and they weened that this Was Priam’s queen, and with swift eagerness Laid hands on her, to lead her captive thence To the Danaans; but piteously she moaned: “Ah, do not, noble sons of warrior Greeks, To your ships hale me, as I were a foe!

I am not of Trojan birth: of Danaans came My princely blood renowned. In Troezen’s halls Pittheus begat me, Aegeus wedded me, And of my womb sprang Theseus glory-crowned.

For great Zeus’ sake, for your dear parents’ sake, I pray you, if the seed of Theseus came Hither with Atreus’ sons, O bring ye me Unto their yearning eyes. I trow they be Young men like you. My soul shall be refreshed If living I behold those chieftains twain.”

Hearkening to her they called their sire to mind, His deeds for Helen’s sake, and how the sons Of Zeus the Thunderer in the old time smote Aphidnae, when, because these were but babes, Their nurses hid them far from peril of fight; And Aethra they remembered — all she endured Through wars, as mother-in-law at first, and thrall Thereafter of Helen. Dumb for joy were they, Till spake Demophoon to that wistful one: “Even now the Gods fulfil thine heart’s desire: We whom thou seest are the sons of him, Thy noble son: thee shall our loving hands Bear to the ships: with joy to Hellas’ soil Thee will we bring, where once thou wast a queen.”

Then his great father’s mother clasped him round With clinging arms: she kissed his shoulders broad, His head, his breast, his bearded lips she kissed, And Acamas kissed withal, the while she shed Glad tears on these who could not choose but weep.

As when one tarries long mid alien men, And folk report him dead, but suddenly He cometh home: his children see his face, And break into glad weeping; yea, and he, His arms around them, and their little heads Upon his shoulders, sobs: echoes the home With happy mourning’s music-beating wings; So wept they with sweet sighs and sorrowless moans.

Then, too, affliction-burdened Priam’s child, Laodice, say they, stretched her hands to heaven, Praying the mighty Gods that earth might gape To swallow her, ere she defiled her hand With thralls’ work; and a God gave ear, and rent Deep earth beneath her: so by Heaven’s decree Did earth’s abysmal chasm receive the maid In Troy’s last hour. Electra’s self withal, The Star-queen lovely-robed, shrouded her form In mist and cloud, and left the Pleiad-band, Her sisters, as the olden legend tells.

Still riseth up in sight of toil-worn men Their bright troop in the skies; but she alone Hides viewless ever, since the hallowed town Of her son Dardanus in ruin fell,

When Zeus most high from heaven could help her not, Because to Fate the might of Zeus must bow; And by the Immortals’ purpose all these things Had come to pass, or by Fate’s ordinance.

Still on Troy’s folk the Argives wreaked their wrath, And battle’s issues Strife Incarnate held.

BOOK XIV.

How the conquerors sailed from Troy unto judgment of tempest and shipwreck.

Then rose from Ocean Dawn the golden-throned Up to the heavens; night into Chaos sank.

And now the Argives spoiled fair-fenced Troy, And took her boundless treasures for a prey.

Like river-torrents seemed they, that sweep down, By rain, floods swelled, in thunder from the hills, And seaward hurl tall trees and whatsoe’er Grows on the mountains, mingled with the wreck Of shattered cliff and crag; so the long lines Of Danaans who had wasted Troy with fire Seemed, streaming with her plunder to the ships.

Troy’s daughters therewithal in scattered bands They haled down seaward — virgins yet unwed, And new-made brides, and matrons silver-haired, And mothers from whose bosoms foes had torn Babes for the last time closing lips on breasts.

Amidst of these Menelaus led his wife Forth of the burning city, having wrought A mighty triumph — joy and shame were his.

Cassandra heavenly-fair was haled the prize Of Agamemnon: to Achilles’ son

Andromache had fallen: Hecuba

Odysseus dragged unto his ship. The tears Poured from her eyes as water from a spring; Trembled her limbs, fear-frenzied was her heart; Rent were her hoary tresses and besprent With ashes of the hearth, cast by her hands When she saw Priam slain and Troy aflame.

And aye she deeply groaned for thraldom’s day That trapped her vainly loth. Each hero led A wailing Trojan woman to his ship.

Here, there, uprose from these the wild lament, The woeful-mingling cries of mother and babe.

As when with white-tusked swine the herdmen drive Their younglings from the hill-pens to the plain As winter closeth in, and evermore

Each answereth each with mingled plaintive cries; So moaned Troy’s daughters by their foes enslaved, Handmaid and queen made one in thraldom’s lot.

But Helen raised no lamentation: shame Sat on her dark-blue eyes, and cast its flush Over her lovely cheeks. Her heart beat hard With sore misgiving, lest, as to the ships She passed, the Achaeans might mishandle her.

Therefore with fluttering soul she trembled sore; And, her head darkly mantled in her veil, Close-following trod she in her husband’s steps, With cheek shame-crimsoned, like the Queen of Love, What time the Heaven-abiders saw her clasped In Ares’ arms, shaming in sight of all The marriage-bed, trapped in the myriad-meshed Toils of Hephaestus: tangled there she lay In agony of shame, while thronged around The Blessed, and there stood Hephaestus’ self: For fearful it is for wives to be beheld By husbands’ eyes doing the deed of shame.

Lovely as she in form and roseate blush Passed Helen mid the Trojan captives on To the Argive ships. But the folk all around Marvelled to see the glory of loveliness Of that all-flawless woman. No man dared Or secretly or openly to cast

Reproach on her. As on a Goddess all Gazed on her with adoring wistful eyes.

As when to wanderers on a stormy sea, After long time and passion of prayer, the sight Of fatherland is given; from deadly deeps Escaped, they stretch hands to her joyful-souled; So joyed the Danaans all, no man of them Remembered any more war’s travail and pain.

Such thoughts Cytherea stirred in them, for grace To Helen starry-eyed, and Zeus her sire.

Then, when he saw that burg beloved destroyed, Xanthus, scarce drawing breath from bloody war, Mourned with his Nymphs for ruin fallen on Troy, Mourned for the city of Priam blotted out.

As when hail lashes a field of ripened wheat, And beats it small, and smites off all the ears With merciless scourge, and levelled with the ground Are stalks, and on the earth is all the grain Woefully wasted, and the harvest’s lord Is stricken with deadly grief; so Xanthus’ soul Was utterly whelmed in grief for Ilium made A desolation; grief undying was his, Immortal though he was. Mourned Simois And long-ridged Ida: all who on Ida dwelt Wailed from afar the ruin of Priam’s town.

But with loud laughter of glee the Argives sought Their galleys, chanting the triumphant might Of victory, chanting now the Blessed Gods, Now their own valour, and Epeius’ work Ever renowned. Their song soared up to heaven, Like multitudinous cries of daws, when breaks A day of sunny calm and windless air After a ruining storm: from their glad hearts So rose the joyful clamour, till the Gods Heard and rejoiced in heaven, all who had helped With willing hands the war-fain Argive men.

But chafed those others which had aided Troy, Beholding Priam’s city wrapped in flame, Yet powerless for her help to override Fate; for not Cronos’ Son can stay the hand Of Destiny, whose might transcendeth all The Immortals, and Zeus sanctioneth all her deeds.

The Argives on the flaming altar-wood Laid many thighs of oxen, and made haste To spill sweet wine on their burnt offerings, Thanking the Gods for that great work achieved.

And loudly at the feast they sang the praise Of all the mailed men whom the Horse of Tree Had ambushed. Far-famed Sinon they extolled For that dire torment he endured of foes; Yea, song and honour-guerdons without end All rendered him: and that resolved soul Glad-hearted joyed for the Argives victory, And for his own misfeaturing sorrowed not.

For to the wise and prudent man renown Is better far than gold, than goodlihead, Than all good things men have or hope to win.

So, feasting by the ships all void of fear, Cried one to another ever and anon:

“We have touched the goal of this long war, have won Glory, have smitten our foes and their great town!

Now grant, O Zeus, to our prayers safe home-return!”

But not to all the Sire vouchsafed return.

Then rose a cunning harper in their midst.

And sang the song of triumph and of peace Re-won, and with glad hearts untouched by care They heard; for no more fear of war had they, But of sweet toil of law-abiding days And blissful, fleeting hours henceforth they dreamed.

All the War’s Story in their eager ears He sang — how leagued peoples gathering met At hallowed Aulis — how the invincible strength Of Peleus’ son smote fenced cities twelve In sea-raids, how he marched o’er leagues on leagues Of land, and spoiled eleven — all he wrought In fight with Telephus and Eetion —

How he slew giant Cycnus — all the toil Of war that through Achilles’ wrath befell The Achaeans — how he dragged dead Hector round His own Troy’s wall, and how he slew in fight Penthesileia and Tithonus’ son: —

How Aias laid low Glaucus, lord of spears, Then sang he how the child of Aeacus’ son Struck down Eurypylus, and how the shafts Of Philoctetes dealt to Paris death.

Then the song named all heroes who passed in To ambush in the Horse of Guile, and hymned The fall of god-descended Priam’s burg; The feast he sang last, and peace after war; Then many another, as they listed, sang.

But when above those feasters midnight’s stars Hung, ceased the Danaans from the feast and wine, And turned to sleep’s forgetfulness of care, For that with yesterday’s war-travail all Were wearied; wherefore they, who fain all night Had revelled, needs must cease: how loth soe’er, Sleep drew them thence; here, there, soft slumbered they.

But in his tent Menelaus lovingly

With bright-haired Helen spake; for on their eyes Sleep had not fallen yet. The Cyprian Queen Brooded above their souls, that olden love Might be renewed, and heart-ache chased away.

Helen first brake the silence, and she said: “O Menelaus, be not wroth with me!

Not of my will I left thy roof, thy bed, But Alexander and the sons of Troy

Came upon me, and snatched away, when thou Wast far thence. Oftentimes did I essay By the death-noose to perish wretchedly, Or by the bitter sword; but still they stayed Mine hand, and still spake comfortable words To salve my grief for thee and my sweet child.

For her sake, for the sake of olden love, And for thine own sake, I beseech thee now, Forget thy stern displeasure against thy wife.”

Answered her Menelaus wise of wit:

“No more remember past griefs: seal them up Hid in thine heart. Let all be locked within The dim dark mansion of forgetfulness.

What profits it to call ill deeds to mind?”

Glad was she then: fear flitted from her heart, And came sweet hope that her lord’s wrath was dead.

She cast her arms around him, and their eyes With tears were brimming as they made sweet moan; And side by side they laid them, and their hearts Thrilled with remembrance of old spousal joy.

And as a vine and ivy entwine their stems Each around other, that no might of wind Avails to sever them, so clung these twain Twined in the passionate embrace of love.

When came on these too sorrow-drowning sleep, Even then above his son’s head rose and stood Godlike Achilles’ mighty shade, in form As when he lived, the Trojans’ bane, the joy Of Greeks, and kissed his neck and flashing eyes Lovingly, and spake comfortable words: “All hail, my son! Vex not thine heart with grief For thy dead sire; for with the Blessed Gods Now at the feast I sit. Refrain thy soul From sorrow, and plant my strength within thy mind.

Be foremost of the Argives ever; yield To none in valour, but in council bow Before thine elders: so shall all acclaim Thy courtesy. Honour princely men and wise; For the true man is still the true man’s friend, Even as the vile man cleaveth to the knave.

If good thy thought be, good shall be thy deeds: But no man shall attain to Honour’s height, Except his heart be right within: her stem Is hard to climb, and high in heaven spread Her branches: only they whom strength and toil Attend, strain up to pluck her blissful fruit, Climbing the Tree of Honour glow-crowned.

Thou therefore follow fame, and let thy soul Be not in sorrow afflicted overmuch, Nor in prosperity over-glad. To friends, To comrades, child and wife, be kindly of heart, Remembering still that near to all men stand The gates of doom, the mansions of the dead: For humankind are like the flower of grass, The blossom of spring; these fade the while those bloom: Therefore be ever kindly with thy kind.

Now to the Argives say — to Atreus’ son Agamemnon chiefly — if my battle-toil Round Priam’s walls, and those sea-raids I led Or ever I set foot on Trojan land,

Be in their hearts remembered, to my tomb Be Priam’s daughter Polyxeina led —

Whom as my portion of the spoil I claim —

And sacrificed thereon: else shall my wrath Against them more than for Briseis burn.

The waves of the great deep will I turmoil To bar their way, upstirring storm on storm, That through their own mad folly pining away Here they may linger long, until to me They pour drink-offerings, yearning sore for home.

But, when they have slain the maiden, I grudge not That whoso will may bury her far from me.”

Then as a wind-breath swift he fleeted thence, And came to the Elysian Plain, whereto A path to heaven reacheth, for the feet Ascending and descending of the Blest.

Then the son started up from sleep, and called His sire to mind, and glowed the heart in him.

When to wide heaven the Child of Mist uprose, Scattering night, unveiling earth and air, Then from their rest upsprang Achaea’s sons Yearning for home. With laughter ‘gan they hale Down to the sea the keels: but lo, their haste Was reined in by Achilles’ mighty son: He assembled them, and told his sire’s behest: “Hearken, dear sons of Argives battle-staunch, To this my glorious father’s hest, to me Spoken in darkness slumbering on my bed: He saith, he dwells with the Immortal Gods: He biddeth you and Atreus’ son the king To bring, as his war-guerdon passing-fair, To his dim dark tomb Polyxeina queenly-robed, To slay her there, but far thence bury her.

But if ye slight him, and essay to sail The sea, he threateneth to stir up the waves To bar your path upon the deep, and here Storm-bound long time to hold you, ships and men.”

Then hearkened they, and as to a God they prayed; For even now a storm-blast on the sea Upheaved the waves, broad-backed and thronging fast More than before beneath the madding wind.

Tossed the great deep, smit by Poseidon’s hands For a grace to strong Achilles. All the winds Swooped on the waters. Prayed the Dardans all To Achilles, and a man to his fellow cried: “Great Zeus’s seed Achilles verily was; Therefore is he a God, who in days past Dwelt among us; for lapse of dateless time Makes not the sons of Heaven to fade away.”

Then to Achilles’ tomb the host returned, And led the maid, as calf by herdmen dragged For sacrifice, from woodland pastures torn From its mother’s side, and lowing long and loud It moans with anguished heart; so Priam’s child Wailed in the hands of foes. Down streamed her tears As when beneath the heavy sacks of sand Olives clear-skinned, ne’er blotched by drops of storm, Pour out their oil, when the long levers creak As strong men strain the cords; so poured the tears Of travail-burdened Priam’s daughter, haled To stern Achilles’ tomb, tears blent with moans.

Drenched were her bosom-folds, glistened the drops On flesh clear-white as costly ivory.

Then, to crown all her griefs, yet sharper pain Fell on the heart of hapless Hecuba.

Then did her soul recall that awful dream, The vision of sleep of that night overpast: Herseemed that on Achilles’ tomb she stood Moaning, her hair down-streaming to the ground, And from her breasts blood dripped to earth the while, And drenched the tomb. Fear-haunted touching this, Foreboding all calamity, she wailed

Piteously; far rang her wild lament.

As a dog moaning at her master’s door, Utters long howls, her teats with milk distent, Whose whelps, ere their eyes opened to the light, Her lords afar have flung, a prey to kites; And now with short sharp cries she plains, and now Long howling: the weird outcry thrills the air; So wailed and shrieked for her child Hecuba: “Ah me! what sorrows first or last shall I Lament heart-anguished, who am full of woes?

Those unimagined ills my sons, my king Have suffered? or my city, or daughters shamed?

Or my despair, my day of slavery?

Oh, the grim fates have caught me in a net Of manifold ills! O child, they have spun for thee Dread weird of unimagined misery!

They have thrust thee away, when near was Hymen”s hymn, From thine espousals, marked thee for destruction Dark, unendurable, unspeakable!

For lo, a dead man’s heart, Achilles’ heart, Is by our blood made warm with life to-day!

O child, dear child, that I might die with thee, That earth might swallow me, ere I see thy doom!”

So cried she, weeping never-ceasing tears, For grief on bitter grief encompassed her.

But when these reached divine Achilles’ tomb, Then did his son unsheathe the whetted sword, His left hand grasped the maid, and his right hand Was laid upon the tomb, and thus he cried: “Hear, father, thy son’s prayer, hear all the prayers Of Argives, and be no more wroth with us!

Lo, unto thee now all thine heart’s desire Will we fulfil. Be gracious to us thou, And to our praying grant sweet home-return.”

Into the maid’s throat then he plunged the blade Of death: the dear life straightway sobbed she forth, With the last piteous moan of parting breath.

Face-downward to the earth she fell: all round Her flesh was crimsoned from her neck, as snow Stained on a mountain-side with scarlet blood Rushing, from javelin-smitten boar or bear.

The maiden’s corpse then gave they, to be borne Unto the city, to Antenor’s home,

For that, when Troy yet stood, he nurtured her In his fair halls, a bride for his own son Eurymachus. The old man buried her, King Priam’s princess-child, nigh his own house, By Ganymedes’ shrine, and overagainst The temple of Pallas the Unwearied One.

Then were the waves stilled, and the blast was hushed To sleep, and all the sea-flood lulled to calm.

Swift with glad laughter hied they to the ships, Hymning Achilles and the Blessed Ones.

A feast they made, first severing thighs of kine For the Immortals. Gladsome sacrifice Steamed on all sides: in cups of silver and gold They drank sweet wine: their hearts leaped up with hope Of winning to their fatherland again.

But when with meats and wine all these were filled, Then in their eager ears spake Neleus’ son: “Hear, friends, who have ‘scaped the long turmoil of war, That I may say to you one welcome word: Now is the hour of heart’s delight, the hour Of home-return. Away! Achilles soul Hath ceased from ruinous wrath; Earth-shaker stills The stormy wave, and gentle breezes blow; No more the waves toss high. Haste, hale the ships Down to the sea. Now, ho for home-return!”

Eager they heard, and ready made the ships.

Then was a marvellous portent seen of men; For all-unhappy Priam’s queen was changed From woman’s form into a pitiful hound; And all men gathered round in wondering awe.

Then all her body a God transformed to stone —

A mighty marvel for men yet unborn!

At Calchas’ bidding this the Achaeans bore In a swift ship to Hellespont’s far side.

Then down to the sea in haste they ran the keels: Their wealth they laid aboard, even all the spoil Taken, or ever unto Troy they came,

From conquered neighbour peoples; therewithal Whatso they took from Ilium, wherein most They joyed, for untold was the sum thereof.

And followed with them many a captive maid With anguished heart: so went they aboard the ships.

But Calchas would not with that eager host Launch forth; yea, he had fain withheld therefrom All the Achaeans, for his prophet-soul Foreboded dread destruction looming o’er The Argives by the Rocks Capherean.

But naught they heeded him; malignant Fate Deluded men’s souls: only Amphilochus The wise in prophet-lore, the gallant son Of princely Amphiaraus, stayed with him.

Fated were these twain, far from their own land, To reach Pamphylian and Cilician burgs; And this the Gods thereafter brought to pass.

But now the Achaeans cast the hawsers loose From shore: in haste they heaved the anchor-stones.

Roared Hellespont beneath swift-flashing oars; Crashed the prows through the sea. About the bows Much armour of slain foes was lying heaped: Along the bulwarks victory-trophies hung Countless. With garlands wreathed they all the ships, Their heads, the spears, the shields wherewith they had fought Against their foes. The chiefs stood on the prows, And poured into the dark sea once and again Wine to the Gods, to grant them safe return.

But with the winds their prayers mixed; far away Vainly they floated blent with cloud and air.

With anguished hearts the captive maids looked back On Ilium, and with sobs and moans they wailed, Striving to hide their grief from Argive eyes.

Clasping their knees some sat; in misery some Veiled with their hands their faces; others nursed Young children in their arms: those innocents Not yet bewailed their day of bondage, nor Their country’s ruin; all their thoughts were set On comfort of the breast, for the babe’s heart Hath none affinity with sorrow. All Sat with unbraided hair and pitiful breasts Scored with their fingers. On their cheeks there lay Stains of dried tears, and streamed thereover now Fresh tears full fast, as still they gazed aback On the lost hapless home, wherefrom yet rose The flames, and o’er it writhed the rolling smoke.

Now on Cassandra marvelling they gazed, Calling to mind her prophecy of doom; But at their tears she laughed in bitter scorn, In anguish for the ruin of her land.

Such Trojans as had scaped from pitiless war Gathered to render now the burial-dues Unto their city’s slain. Antenor led To that sad work: one pyre for all they raised.

But laughed with triumphing hearts the Argive men, As now with oars they swept o’er dark sea-ways, Now hastily hoised the sails high o’er the ships, And fleeted fast astern Dardania-land, And Hero Achilles’ tomb. But now their hearts, How blithe soe’er, remembered comrades slain, And sorely grieved, and wistfully they looked Back to the alien’s land; it seemed to them Aye sliding farther from their ships. Full soon By Tenedos’ beaches slipt they: now they ran By Chrysa, Sminthian Phoebus’ holy place, And hallowed Cilla. Far away were glimpsed The windy heights of Lesbos. Rounded now Was Lecton’s foreland, where is the last peak Of Ida. In the sails loud hummed the wind, Crashed round the prows the dark surge: the long waves Showed shadowy hollows, far the white wake gleamed.

Now had the Argives all to the hallowed soil Of Hellas won, by perils of the deep Unscathed, but for Athena Daughter of Zeus The Thunderer, and her indignation’s wrath.

When nigh Euboea’s windy heights they drew, She rose, in anger unappeasable

Against the Locrian king, devising doom Crushing and pitiless, and drew nigh to Zeus Lord of the Gods, and spake to him apart In wrath that in her breast would not be pent: “Zeus, Father, unendurable of Gods

Is men’s presumption! They reck not of thee, Of none of the Blessed reck they, forasmuch As vengeance followeth after sin no more; And ofttimes more afflicted are good men Than evil, and their misery hath no end.

Therefore no man regardeth justice: shame Lives not with men! And I, I will not dwell Hereafter in Olympus, not be named

Thy daughter, if I may not be avenged On the Achaeans’ reckless sin! Behold, Within my very temple Oileus’ son

Hath wrought iniquity, hath pitied not Cassandra stretching unregarded hands Once and again to me; nor did he dread My might, nor reverenced in his wicked heart The Immortal, but a deed intolerable He did. Therefore let not thy spirit divine Begrudge mine heart’s desire, that so all men May quake before the manifest wrath of Gods.”

Answered the Sire with heart-assuaging words: “Child, not for the Argives’ sake withstand I thee; But all mine armoury which the Cyclops’ might To win my favour wrought with tireless hands, To thy desire I give. O strong heart, hurl A ruining storm thyself on the Argive fleet.”

Then down before the aweless Maid he cast Swift lightning, thunder, and deadly thunderbolt; And her heart leapt, and gladdened was her soul.

She donned the stormy Aegis flashing far, Adamantine, massy, a marvel to the Gods, Whereon was wrought Medusa’s ghastly head, Fearful: strong serpents breathing forth the blast Of ravening fire were on the face thereof.

Crashed on the Queen’s breast all the Aegis-links, As after lightning crashes the firmament.

Then grasped she her father’s weapons, which no God Save Zeus can lift, and wide Olympus shook.

Then swept she clouds and mist together on high; Night over earth was poured, haze o’er the sea.

Zeus watched, and was right glad as broad heaven’s floor Rocked ‘neath the Goddess’s feet, and crashed the sky, As though invincible Zeus rushed forth to war.

Then sped she Iris unto Acolus,

From heaven far-flying over misty seas, To bid him send forth all his buffering winds O’er iron-bound Caphereus’ cliffs to sweep Ceaselessly, and with ruin of madding blasts To upheave the sea. And Iris heard, and swift She darted, through cloud-billows plunging down —

Thou hadst said: “Lo, in the sky dark water and fire!”

And to Aeolia came she, isle of caves, Of echoing dungeons of mad-raging winds With rugged ribs of mountain overarched, Whereby the mansion stands of Aeolus Hippotas’ son. Him found she therewithin With wife and twelve sons; and she told to him Athena’s purpose toward the homeward-bound Achaeans. He denied her not, but passed Forth of his halls, and in resistless hands Upswung his trident, smiting the mountain-side Within whose chasm-cell the wild winds dwelt Tempestuously shrieking. Ever pealed Weird roarings of their voices round its vaults.

Cleft by his might was the hill-side; forth they poured.

He bade them on their wings bear blackest storm To upheave the sea, and shroud Caphereus’ heights.

Swiftly upsprang they, ere their king’s command Was fully spoken. Mightily moaned the sea As they rushed o’er it; waves like mountain-cliffs From all sides were uprolled. The Achaeans’ hearts Were terror-palsied, as the uptowering surge Now swung the ships up high through palling mist, Now hurled them rolled as down a precipice To dark abysses. Up through yawning deeps Some power resistless belched the boiling sand From the sea’s floor. Tossed in despair, fear-dazed, Men could not grasp the oar, nor reef the sail About the yard-arm, howsoever fain,

Ere the winds rent it, could not with the sheets Trim the torn canvas, buffeted so were they By ruining blasts. The helmsman had no power To guide the rudder with his practised hands, For those ill winds hurled all confusedly.

No hope of life was left them: blackest night, Fury of tempest, wrath of deathless Gods, Raged round them. Still Poseidon heaved and swung The merciless sea, to work the heart’s desire Of his brother’s glorious child; and she on high Stormed with her lightnings, ruthless in her rage.

Thundered from heaven Zeus, in purpose fixed To glorify his daughter. All the isles And mainlands round were lashed by leaping seas Nigh to Euboea, where the Power divine Scourged most with unrelenting stroke on stroke The Argives. Groan and shriek of perishing men Rang through the ships; started great beams and snapped With ominous sound, for ever ship on ship With shivering timbers crashed. With hopeless toil Men strained with oars to thrust back hulls that reeled Down on their own, but with the shattered planks Were hurled into the abyss, to perish there By pitiless doom; for beams of foundering ships From this, from that side battered out their lives, And crushed were all their bodies wretchedly.

Some in the ships fell down, and like dead men Lay there; some, in the grip of destiny, Clinging to oars smooth-shaven, tried to swim; Some upon planks were tossing. Roared the surge From fathomless depths: it seemed as though sea, sky, And land were blended all confusedly.

Still from Olympus thundering Atrytone Wielded her Father’s power unshamed, and still The welkin shrieked around. Her ruin of wrath Now upon Aias hurled she: on his ship Dashed she a thunderbolt, and shivered it Wide in a moment into fragments small, While earth and air yelled o’er the wreck, and whirled And plunged and fell the whole sea down thereon.

They in the ship were all together flung Forth: all about them swept the giant waves, Round them leapt lightnings flaming through the dark.

Choked with the strangling surf of hissing brine, Gasping out life, they drifted o’er the sea.

But even in death those captive maids rejoiced, As some ill-starred ones, clasping to their breasts Their babes, sank in the sea; some flung their arms Round Danaans’ horror-stricken heads, and dragged These down with them, so rendering to their foes Requital for foul outrage down to them.

And from on high the haughty Trito-born Looked down on all this, and her heart was glad.

But Aias floated now on a galley’s plank, Now through the brine with strong hands oared his path, Like some old Titan in his tireless might.

Cleft was the salt sea-surge by the sinewy hands Of that undaunted man: the Gods beheld And marvelled at his courage and his strength.

But now the billows swung him up on high Through misty air, as though to a mountain’s peak, Now whelmed him down, as they would bury him In ravening whirlpits: yet his stubborn hands Toiled on unwearied. Aye to right and left Flashed lightnings down, and quenched them in the sea; For not yet was the Child of Thunderer Zeus Purposed to smite him dead, despite her wrath, Ere he had drained the cup of travail and pain Down to the dregs; so in the deep long time Affliction wore him down, tormented sore On every side. Grim Fates stood round the man Unnumbered; yet despair still kindled strength.

He cried: “Though all the Olympians banded come In wrath, and rouse against me all the sea, I will escape them!” But no whit did he Elude the Gods’ wrath; for the Shaker of Earth In fierceness of his indignation marked Where his hands clung to the Gyraean Rock, And in stern anger with an earthquake shook Both sea and land. Around on all sides crashed Caphereus’ cliffs: beneath the Sea-king’s wrath The surf-tormented beaches shrieked and roared.

The broad crag rifted reeled into the sea, The rock whereto his desperate hands had clung; Yet did he writhe up round its jutting spurs, While flayed his hands were, and from ‘neath his nails The blood ran. Wrestling with him roared the waves, And the foam whitened all his hair and beard.

Yet had he ‘scaped perchance his evil doom, Had not Poseidon, wroth with his hardihood, Cleaving the earth, hurled down the chasm the rock, As in the old time Pallas heaved on high Sicily, and on huge Enceladus

Dashed down the isle, which burns with the burning yet Of that immortal giant, as he breathes Fire underground; so did the mountain-crag, Hurled from on high, bury the Locrian king, Pinning the strong man down, a wretch crushed flat.

And so on him death’s black destruction came Whom land and sea alike were leagued to slay.

Still over the great deep were swept the rest Of those Achaeans, crouching terror-dazed Down in the ships, save those that mid the waves Had fallen. Misery encompassed all; For some with heavily-plunging prows drave on, With keels upturned some drifted. Here were masts Snapped from the hull by rushing gusts, and there Were tempest-rifted wrecks of scattered beams; And some had sunk, whelmed in the mighty deep, Swamped by the torrent downpour from the clouds: For these endured not madness of wind-tossed sea Leagued with heaven’s waterspout; for streamed the sky Ceaselessly like a river, while the deep Raved round them. And one cried: “Such floods on men Fell only when Deucalion’s deluge came, When earth was drowned, and all was fathomless sea!”

So cried a Danaan, seeing soul-appalled That wild storm. Thousands perished; corpses thronged The great sea-highways: all the beaches were Too strait for them: the surf belched multitudes Forth on the land. The heavy-booming sea With weltering beams of ships was wholly paved, And here and there the grey waves gleamed between.

So found they each his several evil fate, Some whelmed beneath broad-rushing billows, some Wretchedly perishing with their shattered ships By Nauplius’ devising on the rocks.

Wroth for that son whom they had done to death, He; when the storm rose and the Argives died, Rejoiced amid his sorrow, seeing a God Gave to his hands revenge, which now he wreaked Upon the host he hated, as o’er the deep They tossed sore-harassed. To his sea-god sire He prayed that all might perish, ships and men Whelmed in the deep. Poseidon heard his prayer, And on the dark surge swept them nigh his land.

He, like a harbour-warder, lifted high A blazing torch, and so by guile he trapped The Achaean men, who deemed that they had won A sheltering haven: but sharp reefs and crags Gave awful welcome unto ships and men, Who, dashed to pieces on the cruel rocks In the black night, crowned ills with direr ills.

Some few escaped, by a God or Power unseen Plucked from death’s hand. Athena now rejoiced Her heart within, and now was racked with fears For prudent-souled Odysseus; for his weird Was through Poseidon’s wrath to suffer woes Full many.

But Earth-shaker’s jealousy now Burned against those long walls and towers uppiled By the strong Argives for a fence against The Trojans’ battle-onset. Swiftly then He swelled to overbrimming all the sea That rolls from Euxine down to Hellespont, And hurled it on the shore of Troy: and Zeus, For a grace unto the glorious Shaker of Earth, Poured rain from heaven: withal Far-darter bare In that great work his part; from Ida’s heights Into one channel led he all her streams, And flooded the Achaeans’ work. The sea Dashed o’er it, and the roaring torrents still Rushed on it, swollen by the rains of Zeus; And the dark surge of the wide-moaning sea Still hurled them back from mingling with the deep, Till all the Danaan walls were blotted out Beneath their desolating flood. Then earth Was by Poseidon chasm-cleft: up rushed Deluge of water, slime and sand, while quaked Sigeum with the mighty shock, and roared The beach and the foundations of the land Dardanian. So vanished, whelmed from sight, That mighty rampart. Earth asunder yawned, And all sank down, and only sand was seen, When back the sea rolled, o’er the beach outspread Far down the heavy-booming shore. All this The Immortals’ anger wrought. But in their ships The Argives storm-dispersed went sailing on.

So came they home, as heaven guided each, Even all that ‘scaped the fell sea-tempest blasts.

End of the Project Gutenberg Etext; The Fall of Troy, by Quintus Smyrnaeus

Table of Contents

- BOOK I:
- BOOK II
- BOOK III
- BOOK V
- BOOK VI
- BOOK VII
- BOOK VIII
- BOOK IX
- BOOK X
- BOOK XI
- BOOK XII
- BOOK XIII