Indignantly he spake, and Paris foundNo word to answer him, for conscience wokeRemembrance of all woes he had brought on Troy,And should bring; for his passion-fevered heartWould rather hail quick death than severanceFrom Helen the divinely fair, althoughFor her sake was it that the sons of TroyEven then were gazing from their towers to seeThe Argives and Achilles drawing nigh.
But no long time thereafter came to themMemnon the warrior-king, and brought with himA countless host of swarthy Aethiops.From all the streets of Troy the Trojans flockedGlad-eyed to gaze on him, as seafarers,With ruining tempest utterly forspent,See through wide-parting clouds the radianceOf the eternal-wheeling Northern Wain;So joyed the Troyfolk as they thronged around,And more than all Laomedon's son, for nowLeapt in his heart a hope, that yet the shipsMight by those Aethiop men be burned with fire;So giantlike their king was, and themselvesSo huge a host, and so athirst for fight.Therefore with all observance welcomed heThe strong son of the Lady of the DawnWith goodly gifts and with abundant cheer.So at the banquet King and Hero satAnd talked, this telling of the Danaan chiefs,And all the woes himself had suffered, thatTelling of that strange immortalityBy the Dawn-goddess given to his sire,Telling of the unending flow and ebbOf the Sea-mother, of the sacred floodOf Ocean fathomless-rolling, of the boundsOf Earth that wearieth never of her travail,Of where the Sun-steeds leap from orient waves,Telling withal of all his wayfaringFrom Ocean's verge to Priam's wall, and spursOf Ida. Yea, he told how his strong handsSmote the great army of the SolymiWho barred his way, whose deed presumptuous broughtUpon their own heads crushing ruin and woe.So told he all that marvellous tale, and toldOf countless tribes and nations seen of him.And Priam heard, and ever glowed his heartWithin him; and the old lips answering spake:"Memnon, the Gods are good, who have vouchsafedTo me to look upon thine host, and theeHere in mine halls. O that their grace would soCrown this their boon, that I might see my foesAll thrust to one destruction by thy spears.That well may be, for marvellous-like art thouTo some invincible Deathless One, yea, moreThan any earthly hero. Wherefore thou,I trust, shalt hurl wild havoc through their host.But now, I pray thee, for this day do thouCheer at my feast thine heart, and with the mornShalt thou go forth to battle worthy of thee."
Then in his hands a chalice deep and wideHe raised, and Memnon in all love he pledgedIn that huge golden cup, a gift of Gods;For this the cunning God-smith brought to Zeus,His masterpiece, what time the Mighty in PowerTo Hephaestus gave for bride the Cyprian Queen;And Zeus on Dardanus his godlike sonBestowed it, he on Erichthonius;Erichthonius to Tros the great of heartGave it, and he with all his treasure-storeBequeathed it unto Ilus, and he gaveThat wonder to Laomedon, and heTo Priam, who had thought to leave the sameTo his own son. Fate ordered otherwise.And Memnon clasped his hands about that cupSo peerless-beautiful, and all his heartMarvelled; and thus he spake unto the King:"Beseems not with great swelling words to vauntAmidst the feast, and lavish promises,But rather quietly to eat in hall,And to devise deeds worthy. Whether IBe 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 drinkThe long night through. The battle-eager spiritBy measureless wine and lack of sleep is dulled."
Marvelled at him the old King, and he said:"As seems thee good touching the banquet, doAfter thy pleasure. I, when thou art loth,Will not constrain thee. Yea, unmeet it isTo 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 passedThence to his sleep—his last! And with him wentAll 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 spakeAmidst them of the issue of the strife:"Be it known unto you all, to-morn shall bringBy yonder war affliction swift and sore;For many mighty horses shall ye seeIn either host beside their chariots slain,And many heroes perishing. Therefore yeRemember these my words, howe'er ye grieveFor 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 allShould from the battle stand aside, howe'erHeart-wrung; that none, petitioning for a sonOr dear one, should to Olympus vainly come.So, at that warning of the Thunderer,The Son of Cronos, all they steeled their heartsTo bear, and spake no word against their king;For in exceeding awe they stood of him.Yet to their several mansions and their restWith sore hearts went they. O'er their deathless eyesThe blessing-bringer Sleep his light veils spread.
When o'er precipitous crests of mountain-wallsLeapt up broad heaven the bright morning-starWho rouseth to their toils from slumber sweetThe binders of the sheaf, then his last sleepUnclasped the warrior-son of her who bringsLight to the world, the Child of Mists of Night.Now swelled his mighty heart with eagernessTo battle with the foe forthright. And DawnWith most reluctant feet began to climbHeaven's broad highway. Then did the Trojans girdTheir battle-harness on; then armed themselvesThe Aethiop men, and all the mingled tribesOf those war-helpers that from many landsTo Priam's aid were gathered. Forth the gatesSwiftly they rushed, like darkly lowering cloudsWhich Cronos' Son, when storm is rolling up,Herdeth together through the welkin wide.Swiftly the whole plain filled. Onward they streamedLike harvest-ravaging locusts drifting onIn fashion of heavy-brooding rain-clouds o'erWide plains of earth, an irresistible hostBringing wan famine on the sons of men;So in their might and multitude they went.The city streets were all too strait for themMarching: upsoared the dust from underfoot.
From far the Argives gazed, and marvelling sawTheir onrush, but with speed arrayed their limbsIn brass, and in the might of Peleus' sonPut their glad trust. Amidst them rode he onLike to a giant Titan, gloryingIn steeds and chariot, while his armour flashedSplendour around in sudden lightning-gleams.It was as when the sun from utmost boundsOf earth-encompassing ocean comes, and bringsLight to the world, and flings his splendour wideThrough heaven, and earth and air laugh all around.So glorious, mid the Argives Peleus' sonRode onward. Mid the Trojans rode the whileMemnon the hero, even such to seeAs Ares furious-hearted. Onward sweptThe eager host arrayed about their lord.
Then in the grapple of war on either sideClosed the long lines, Trojan and Danaan;But chief in prowess still the Aethiops were.Crashed they together as when surges meetOn 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 raveOn-pouring seaward, when the madding rainsStream from God's cisterns, when the huddling cloudsAre hurled against each other ceaselessly,And leaps their fiery breath in flashes forth;So 'neath the fighters' trampling feet the earthThundered, and leapt the terrible battle-yellThrough frenzied air, for mad the war-cries were.
For firstfruits of death's harvest Peleus' sonSlew Thalius and Mentes nobly born,Men of renown, and many a head besideDashed he to dust. As in its furious swoopA whirlwind shakes dark chasms underground,And earth's foundations crumble and melt awayAround the deep roots of the shuddering world,So the ranks crumbled in swift doom to the dustBefore the spear and fury of Peleus's son.
But on the other side the hero childOf the Dawn-goddess slew the Argive men,Like to a baleful Doom which bringeth downOn men a grim and ghastly pestilence.First slew he Pheron; for the bitter spearPlunged through his breast, and down on him he hurledGoodly Ereuthus, battle-revellers both,Dwellers in Thryus by Alpheus' streams,Which followed Nestor to the god-built burgOf Ilium. But when he had laid these low,Against the son of Neleus pressed he onEager to slay. Godlike AntilochusStrode forth to meet him, sped the long spear's flight,Yet missed him, for a little he swerved, but slewHis Aethiop comrade, son of Pyrrhasus.Wroth for his fall, against AntilochusHe leapt, as leaps a lion mad of moodUpon a boar, the beast that flincheth notFrom fight with man or brute, whose charge is a flashOf lightning; so was his swift leap. His foeAntilochus 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 heartKindled with terrible fury at the blowMore than before against Antilochus.Like seething cauldron boiled his maddened might.He stabbed, for all his cunning of fence, the sonOf Nestor above the breast; the crashing spearPlunged to the heart, the spot of speediest death.
Then upon all the Danaans at his fallCame grief; but anguish-stricken was the heartOf Nestor most of all, to see his childSlain in his sight; for no more bitter pangSmiteth the heart of man than when a sonPerishes, and his father sees him die.Therefore, albeit unused to melting mood,His soul was torn with agony for the sonBy black death slain. A wild cry hastilyTo 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 deadAll dues of mourning. If thou flinch for fear,No son of mine art thou, nor of the lineOf Periclymenus, who dared withstandHercules' self. Come, to the battle-toil!For grim necessity oftentimes inspiresThe very coward with courage of despair."
Then at his cry that brother's heart was stungWith bitter grief. Swift for his help drew nighPhereus, on whom for his great prince's fallCame anguish. Charged these warriors twain to faceStrong Memnon in the gory strife. As whenTwo hunters 'mid a forest's mountain-folds,Eager to take the prey, rush on to meetA wild boar or a bear, with hearts afireTo slay him, but in furious mood he leapsOn 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 hurledThe long spears, but the lances glanced asideFar from his flesh: the Dawn-queen turned them thence.Yet fell their spears not vainly to the ground:The lance of fiery-hearted Phereus, wingedWith eager speed, dealt death to Meges' son,Polymnius: Laomedon was slainBy 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 handsNow stripped of his all-brazen battle-gear,Nought recking, he, of Thrasymedes' might,Nor of stout Phereus, who were unto himBut weaklings. A great lion seemed he thereStanding above a hart, as jackals they,That, howso hungry, dare not come too nigh.
But hard thereby the father gazed thereonIn agony, and cried the rescue-cryTo other his war-comrades for their aidAgainst the foe. Himself too burned to fightFrom his war-car; for yearning for the deadGoaded him to the fray beyond his strength.Ay, and himself had been on his dear sonLaid, numbered with the dead, had not the voiceOf Memnon stayed him even in act to rushUpon him, for he reverenced in his heartThe 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 notBlind unto honour. Verily I weenedThat this was some young warrior, when I sawThee facing thus the foe. My bold heart hopedFor contest worthy of mine hand and spear.Nay, draw thou back afar from battle-toilAnd bitter death. Go, lest, how loth soe'er,I smite thee of sore need. Nay, fall not thouBeside thy son, against a mightier manFighting, 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 thrustThe 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 vauntProudly enow: a young man's heart is boldAnd light his wit. Uplifted is thy soulAnd vain thy speech. If in my strength of youthThou hadst met me—ha, thy friends had not rejoiced,For all thy might! But me the grievous weightOf age bows down, like an old lion whomA 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 moreNow in my breast. Yet am I stronger stillThan many men; my grey hairs yield to fewThat have within them all the strength of youth."
So drew he back a little space, and leftLying in dust his son, since now no moreLived 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 restTheir comrades; for that slaughter-dealing manPressed hard on them. As when from mountains highA shouting river with wide-echoing dinSweeps down its fathomless whirlpools through the gloom,When God with tumult of a mighty stormHath palled the sky in cloud from verge to verge,When thunders crash all round, when thick and fastGleam lightnings from the huddling clouds, when fieldsAre flooded as the hissing rain descends,And all the air is filled with awful roarOf torrents pouring down the hill-ravines;So Memnon toward the shores of HellespontBefore him hurled the Argives, following hardBehind them, slaughtering ever. Many a manFell in the dust, and left his life in blood'Neath Aethiop hands. Stained was the earth with goreAs Danaans died. Exulted Memnon's soulAs 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 hopedTo be a light of safety unto TroyAnd bane to Danaans. But all the whileStood baleful Doom beside him, and spurred onTo strife, with flattering smile. To right, to leftHis stalwart helpers wrought in battle-toil,Alcyoneus and Nychius, and the sonOf Asius furious-souled; Meneclus' spear,Clydon and Alexippus, yea, a hostEager to chase the foe, men who in fightQuit 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 drivesSwift deer within the dark lines of his toils—The eager ring of beaters closing inPresses the huddled throng into the snaresOf death: the dogs are wild with joy of the chaseCeaselessly giving tongue, the while his dartsLeap winged with death on brocket and on hind;So Memnon slew and ever slew: his menRejoiced, the while in panic stricken routBefore that glorious man the Argives fled.As when from a steep mountain's precipice-browLeaps a huge crag, which all-resistless ZeusBy 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 fleeScattering, as bounding, whirling, it descendsWith deadly pitiless onrush; so his foesFled from the lightning-flash of Memnon's spear.
Then to the side of Aeacus' mighty sonCame Nestor. Anguished for his son he cried:"Achilles, thou great bulwark of the Greeks,Slain is my child! The armour of my deadHath Memnon, and I fear me lest his corseBe cast a prey to dogs. Haste to his help!True friend is he who still rememberethA friend though slain, and grieves for one no more."
Achilles heard; his heart was thrilled with grief:He glanced across the rolling battle, sawMemnon, saw where in throngs the Argives fellBeneath his spear. Forthright he turned awayFrom where the rifted ranks of Troy fell fastBefore his hands, and, thirsting for the fight,Wroth for Antilochus and the others slain,Came face to face with Memnon. In his handsThat godlike hero caught up from the groundA stone, a boundary-mark 'twixt fields of wheat,And hurled. Down on the shield of Peleus' sonIt crashed. But he, the invincible, shrank notBefore the huge rock-shard, but, thrusting outHis long lance, rushed to close with him, afoot,For his steeds stayed behind the battle-rout.On the right shoulder above the shield he smoteAnd staggered him; but he, despite the wound,Fought on with heart unquailing. Swiftly he thrustAnd pricked with his strong spear Achilles' arm.Forth gushed the blood: rejoicing with vain joyTo 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 destroyedTrojans, and vaunted thee the mightiest manOf men, a deathless Nereid's son? Ha, nowThy doom hath found thee! Of birth divine am I,The Dawn-queen's mighty son, nurtured afarBy lily-slender Hesperid Maids, besideThe Ocean-river. Therefore not from theeNor from grim battle shrink I, knowing wellHow far my goddess-mother doth transcendA 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 wroughtWhereof comes blessing unto men. But thine—She sits in barren crypts of brine: she dwellsGlorying 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 witThat thou shouldst face me, and to fight defyMe, who in might, in blood, in stature farSurpass thee? From supremest Zeus I traceMy glorious birth; and from the strong Sea-godNereus, begetter of the Maids of the Sea,The Nereids, honoured of the Olympian Gods.And chiefest of them all is Thetis, wiseWith wisdom world-renowned; for in her bowersShe sheltered Dionysus, chased by mightOf murderous Lycurgus from the earth.Yea, and the cunning God-smith welcomed sheWithin her mansion, when from heaven he fell.Ay, and the Lightning-lord she once releasedFrom bonds. The all-seeing Dwellers in the SkyRemember all these things, and reverenceMy mother Thetis in divine Olympus.Ay, that she is a Goddess shalt thou knowWhen to thine heart the brazen spear shall pierceSped by my might. Patroclus' death I avengedOn Hector, and Antilochus on theeWill I avenge. No weakling's friend thou hast slain!But why like witless children stand we hereBabbling 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 fightClosed they, and rained the never-ceasing blowsUpon the bucklers which with craft divineHephaestus' self had fashioned. Once and againClashed they together, and their cloudy crestsTouched, mingling all their tossing storm of hair.And Zeus, for that he loved them both, inspiredWith prowess each, and mightier than their wontHe made them, made them tireless, nothing likeTo men, but Gods: and gloated o'er the twainThe Queen of Strife. In eager fury theseThrust swiftly out the spear, with fell intentTo reach the throat 'twixt buckler-rim and helm,Thrust many a time and oft, and now would aimThe point beneath the shield, above the greave,Now close beneath the corslet curious-wroughtThat lapped the stalwart frame: hard, fast they lunged,And on their shoulders clashed the arms divine.Roared to the very heavens the battle-shoutOf warring men, of Trojans, Aethiops,And Argives mighty-hearted, while the dustRolled up from 'neath their feet, tossed to the skyIn stress of battle-travail great and strong.
As when a mist enshrouds the hills, what timeRoll up the rain-clouds, and the torrent-bedsRoar as they fill with rushing floods, and howlsEach gorge with fearful voices; shepherds quakeTo see the waters' downrush and the mist,Screen dear to wolves and all the wild fierce thingsNursed in the wide arms of the forest; soAround the fighters' feet the choking dustHung, hiding the fair splendour of the sunAnd darkening all the heaven. Sore distressedWith dust and deadly conflict were the folk.Then with a sudden hand some Blessed OneSwept the dust-pall aside; and the Gods sawThe deadly Fates hurling the charging linesTogether, in the unending wrestle lockedOf that grim conflict, saw where never ceasedAres from hideous slaughter, saw the earthCrimsoned all round with rushing streams of blood,Saw where dark Havoc gloated o'er the scene,Saw the wide plain with corpses heaped, even allBounded 'twixt Simois and Xanthus, whereThey sweep from Ida down to Hellespont.
But when long lengthened out the conflict wasOf those two champions, and the might of bothIn that strong tug and strain was equal-matched,Then, gazing from Olympus' far-off heights,The Gods joyed, some in the invincible sonOf Peleus, others in the goodly childOf 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 rockedThe dark earth 'neath the heroes' feet, and quakedProud Nereus' daughters all round Thetis throngedIn grievous fear for mighty Achilles' sake;And trembled for her son the Child of the MistAs in her chariot through the sky she rode.Marvelled the Daughters of the Sun, who stoodNear her, around that wondrous splendour-ringTraced for the race-course of the tireless sunBy Zeus, the limit of all Nature's lifeAnd death, the dally round that maketh upThe eternal circuit of the rolling years.And now amongst the Blessed bitter feudHad broken out; but by behest of ZeusThe 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-routThose heroes fought, unknowing of the FatesNow drawn so nigh, but each at other hurledHis whole heart's courage, all his bodily might.Thou hadst said that in the strife of that dread dayHuge tireless Giants or strong Titans warred,So fiercely blazed the wildfire of their strife,Now, when they clashed with swords, now when they leaptHurling huge stones. Nor either would give backBefore the hail of blows, nor quailed. They stoodLike storm-tormented headlands steadfast, clothedWith might past words, unearthly; for the twainAlike could boast their lineage of high Zeus.Therefore 'twixt these Enyo lengthened outThe even-balanced strife, while ever theyIn that grim wrestle strained their uttermost,They and their dauntless comrades, round their kingsWith ceaseless fury toiling, till their spearsStood shivered all in shields of warriors slain,And of the fighters woundless none remained;But from all limbs streamed down into the dustThe blood and sweat of that unresting strainOf fight, and earth was hidden with the dead,As heaven is hidden with clouds when meets the sunThe Goat-star, and the shipman dreads the deep.As charged the lines, the snorting chariot-steedsTrampled the dead, as on the myriad leavesYe trample in the woods at entering-inOf winter, when the autumn-tide is past.
Still mid the corpses and the blood fought onThose glorious sons of Gods, nor ever ceasedFrom wrath of fight. But Eris now inclinedThe fatal scales of battle, which no moreWere equal-poised. Beneath the breast-bone thenOf godlike Memnon plunged Achilles' sword;Clear through his body all the dark-blue bladeLeapt: suddenly snapped the silver cord of life.Down in a pool of blood he fell, and clashedHis 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 hestAll the light Breathings of the Dawn took hands,And slid down one long stream of sighing windTo Priam's plain, and floated round the dead,And softly, swiftly caught they up, and bareThrough silver mists the Dawn-queen's son, with heartsSore aching for their brother's fall, while moanedAround them all the air. As on they passed,Fell many blood-gouts from those pierced limbsDown to the earth, and these were made a signTo generations yet to be. The GodsGathered them up from many lands, and madeThereof a far-resounding river, namedOf all that dwell beneath long Ida's flanksPaphlagoneion. As its waters flow'Twixt fertile acres, once a year they turnTo blood, when comes the woeful day whereonDied Memnon. Thence a sick and choking reekSteams: thou wouldst say that from a wound unhealedCorrupting humours breathed an evil stench.Ay, so the Gods ordained: but now flew onBearing Dawn's mighty son the rushing windsSkimming earth's face and palled about with night.
Nor were his Aethiopian comrades leftTo wander of their King forlorn: a GodSuddenly winged those eager souls with speedSuch as should soon be theirs for ever, changedTo flying fowl, the children of the air.Wailing their King in the winds' track they sped.As when a hunter mid the forest-brakesIs by a boar or grim-jawed lion slain,And now his sorrowing friends take up the corse,And bear it heavy-hearted; and the houndsFollow low-whimpering, pining for their lordIn that disastrous hunting lost; so theyLeft far behind that stricken field of blood,And fast they followed after those swift winds
With multitudinous moaning, veiled in mistUnearthly. Trojans over all the plainAnd Danaans marvelled, seeing that great hostVanishing with their King. All hearts stood stillIn dumb amazement. But the tireless windsSighing set hero Memnon's giant corpseDown by the deep flow of Aesopus' stream,Where is a fair grove of the bright-haired Nymphs,The which round his long barrow afterwardAesopus' daughters planted, screening itWith many and manifold trees: and long and loudWailed those Immortals, chanting his renown,The son of the Dawn-goddess splendour-throned.
Now sank the sun: the Lady of the MornWailing her dear child from the heavens came down.Twelve maidens shining-tressed attended her,The warders of the high paths of the sunFor ever circling, warders of the nightAnd dawn, and each world-ordinance framed of Zeus,Around whose mansion's everlasting doorsFrom 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 downFrom heaven, for Memnon wailing wild and high;And mourned with these the Pleiads. Echoed roundFar-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 cladThy mother with a pall of grief. Oh, I,Now thou art slain, will not endure to lightThe Immortal Heavenly Ones! No, I will plungeDown 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 meansAnguish of heart. For not less worship-worthyThan Nereus' Child, by Zeus's ordinance,Am I, who look on all things, I, who bringAll to their consummation. RecklesslyMy light Zeus now despiseth! Therefore IWill pass into the darkness. Let him bringUp to Olympus Thetis from the seaTo 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 faceImmortal, like a river brimming aye:Drenched was the dark earth round the corse. The NightGrieved in her daughter's anguish, and the heavenDrew over all his stars a veil of mistAnd cloud, of love unto the Lady of Light.
Meanwhile within their walls the Trojan folkFor Memnon sorrowed sore, with vain regretYearning for that lost king and all his host.Nor greatly joyed the Argives, where they layCamped in the open plain amidst the dead.There, mingled with Achilles' praise, uproseWails for Antilochus: joy clasped hands with grief.
All night in groans and sighs most pitifulThe Dawn-queen lay: a sea of darkness moanedAround her. Of the dayspring nought she recked:She loathed Olympus' spaces. At her sideFretted and whinnied still her fleetfoot steeds,Trampling the strange earth, gazing at their QueenGrief-stricken, yearning for the fiery course.Suddenly crashed the thunder of the wrathOf Zeus; rocked round her all the shuddering earth,And on immortal Eos trembling came.
Swiftly the dark-skinned Aethiops from her sightBuried their lord lamenting. As they wailedUnceasingly, the Dawn-queen lovely-eyedChanged them to birds sweeping through air aroundThe barrow of the mighty dead. And theseStill do the tribes of men "The Memnons" call;And still with wailing cries they dart and wheelAbove their king's tomb, and they scatter dustDown on his grave, still shrill the battle-cry,In memory of Memnon, each to each.But he in Hades' mansions, or perchanceAmid the Blessed on the Elysian Plain,Laugheth. Divine Dawn comforteth her heartBeholding them: but theirs is toil of strifeUnending, till the weary victors strikeThe vanquished dead, or one and all fill upThe measure of their doom around his grave.
So by command of Eos, Lady of Light,The swift birds dree their weird. But Dawn divineNow heavenward soared with the all-fostering Hours,Who drew her to Zeus' threshold, sorely loth,Yet conquered by their gentle pleadings, suchAs 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 comprisedWithin the encircling sweep of Ocean's stream,Earth and the palace-dome of burning stars.Before her went her Pleiad-harbingers,Then she herself flung wide the ethereal gates,And, scattering spray of splendour, flashed there-through.
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 boreAntilochus' corpse, sore sighing for their prince,And by the Hellespont they buried himWith aching hearts. Around him groaning stoodThe battle-eager sons of Argives, all,Of love for Nestor, shrouded o'er with grief.But that grey hero's heart was nowise crushedBy sorrow; for the wise man's soul enduresBravely, and cowers not under affliction's stroke.But Peleus' son, wroth for AntilochusHis dear friend, armed for vengeance terribleUpon the Trojans. Yea, and these withal,Despite their dread of mighty Achilles' spear,Poured battle-eager forth their gates, for nowThe Fates with courage filled their breasts, of whomMany were doomed to Hades to descend,Whence there is no return, thrust down by handsOf Aeacus' son, who also was foredoomedTo perish that same day by Priam's wall.Swift met the fronts of conflict: all the tribesOf Troy's host, and the battle-biding Greeks,Afire with that new-kindled fury of war.
Then through the foe the son of Peleus madeWide havoc: all around the earth was drenchedWith gore, and choked with corpses were the streamsOf Simois and Xanthus. Still he chased,Still slaughtered, even to the city's walls;For panic fell on all the host. And nowAll 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 burgHad made a way, had utterly destroyedThat goodly town—but now was Phoebus wrothAgainst him with grim fury, when he sawThose countless troops of heroes slain of him.Down from Olympus with a lion-leapHe came: his quiver on his shoulders lay,And shafts that deal the wounds incurable.Facing Achilles stood he; round him clashedQuiver and arrows; blazed with quenchless flameHis eyes, and shook the earth beneath his feet.Then with a terrible shout the great God cried,So to turn back from war Achilles awedBy the voice divine, and save from death the Trojans:"Back from the Trojans, Peleus' son! Beseems notThat longer thou deal death unto thy foes,Lest an Olympian God abase thy pride."
But nothing quailed the hero at the voiceImmortal, for that round him even nowHovered the unrelenting Fates. He reckedNaught of the God, and shouted his defiance."Phoebus, why dost thou in mine own despiteStir me to fight with Gods, and wouldst protectThe arrogant Trojans? Heretofore hast thouBy thy beguiling turned me from the fray,When from destruction thou at the first didst saveHector, whereat the Trojans all through TroyExulted. Nay, thou get thee back: returnUnto the mansion of the Blessed, lestI smite thee—ay, immortal though thou be!"
Then on the God he turned his back, and spedAfter the Trojans fleeing cityward,And harried still their flight; but wroth at heartThus Phoebus spake to his indignant soul:"Out on this man! he is sense-bereft! But nowNot Zeus himself nor any other PowerShall save this madman who defies the Gods!"
From mortal sight he vanished into cloud,And cloaked with mist a baleful shaft he shotWhich leapt to Achilles' ankle: sudden pangsWith mortal sickness made his whole heart faint.He reeled, and like a tower he fell, that fallsSmit by a whirlwind when an earthquake cleavesA 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 outAbout my spear, and he be hellward sped!I know that none can meet me man to manAnd quell in fight—of earth-born heroes none,Though such an one should bear within his breastA heart unquailing, and have thews of brass.But dastards still in stealthy ambush lurkFor lives of heroes. Let him face me then!—Ay! though he be a God whose anger burnsAgainst the Danaans! Yea, mine heart forebodesThat this my smiter was Apollo, cloakedIn deadly darkness. So in days gone byMy mother told me how that by his shaftsI was to die before the Scaean GatesA piteous death. Her words were not vain words."
Then with unflinching hands from out the woundIncurable he drew the deadly shaftIn agonized pain. Forth gushed the blood; his heartWaxed faint beneath the shadow of coming doom.Then in indignant wrath he hurled from himThe arrow: a sudden gust of wind swept by,And caught it up, and, even as he trodZeus' 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, thoseFor Danaan victory; so with diverse willsWatched they the strife, the slayers and the slain.
Him did the Bride of Zeus behold, and straightUpbraided with exceeding bitter words:"What deed of outrage, Phoebus, hast thou doneThis day, forgetful of that day whereonTo godlike Peleus' spousals gathered allThe Immortals? Yea, amidst the feasters thouSangest how Thetis silver-footed leftThe sea's abysses to be Peleus' bride;And as thou harpedst all earth's children cameTo hearken, beasts and birds, high craggy hills,Rivers, and all deep-shadowed forests came.All this hast thou forgotten, and hast wroughtA ruthless deed, hast slain a godlike man,Albeit thou with other Gods didst pourThe nectar, praying that he might be the sonBy Thetis given to Peleus. But that prayerHast thou forgotten, favouring the folkOf tyrannous Laomedon, whose kineThou keptest. He, a mortal, did despiteTo 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 meritethSuffering, and who is honoured of the Gods?Ever Achilles showed us reverence—yea,Was of our race. Ha, but the punishmentOf Troy, I ween, shall not be lighter, thoughAeacus' son have fallen; for his sonRight soon shall come from Scyros to the warTo help the Argive men, no less in mightThan 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 soulUpbraiding, 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 GodsEternal, while in unforgiving wrathScowled on him all the Immortals who maintainedThe Danaans' cause; but such as fain would bringTriumph to Troy, these with exultant heartsExtolled him, hiding it from Hera's eyes,Before whose wrath all Heaven-abiders shrank.
But Peleus' son the while forgat not yetWar's fury: still in his invincible limbsThe hot blood throbbed, and still he longed for fight.Was none of all the Trojans dared draw nighThe stricken hero, but at distance stood,As round a wounded lion hunters standMid forest-brakes afraid, and, though the shaftStands in his heart, yet faileth not in himHis royal courage, but with terrible glareRoll his fierce eyes, and roar his grimly jaws;So wrath and anguish of his deadly hurtTo fury stung Peleides' soul; but ayeHis strength ebbed through the god-envenomed wound.Yet leapt he up, and rushed upon the foe,And flashed the lightning of his lance; it slewThe goodly Orythaon, comrade stoutOf Hector, through his temples crashing clear:His helm stayed not the long lance fury-spedWhich leapt therethrough, and won within the bonesThe heart of the brain, and spilt his lusty life.Then stabbed he 'neath the brow HipponousEven to the eye-roots, that the eyeball fellTo earth: his soul to Hades flitted forth.Then through the jaw he pierced Alcathous,And shore away his tongue: in dust he fellGasping his life out, and the spear-head shotOut through his ear. These, as they rushed on him,That hero slew; but many a fleer's lifeHe spilt, for in his heart still leapt the blood.
But when his limbs grew chill, and ebbed awayHis spirit, leaning on his spear he stood,While still the Trojans fled in huddled routOf panic, and he shouted unto them:"Trojan and Dardan cravens, ye shall notEven in my death, escape my merciless spear,But unto mine Avenging Spirits yeShall pay—ay, one and all—destruction's debt!"
He spake; they heard and quailed: as mid the hillsFawns tremble at a lion's deep-mouthed roar,And terror-stricken flee the monster, soThe ranks of Trojan chariot-lords, the linesOf battle-helpers drawn from alien lands,Quailed at the last shout of Achilles, deemedThat he was woundless yet. But 'neath the weightOf doom his aweless heart, his mighty limbs,At last were overborne. Down midst the deadHe fell, as fails a beetling mountain-cliff.Earth rang beneath him: clanged with a thundercrashHis arms, as Peleus' son the princely fell.And still his foes with most exceeding dreadStared at him, even as, when some murderous beastLies slain by shepherds, tremble still the sheepEyeing him, as beside the fold he lies,And shrinking, as they pass him, far aloofAnd, 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 steedsIn triumph Peleus' son thus fallen dead,The steeds that, grieving, yearning for their lordTo 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 senseOf righteous retribution. This man ayeDevised but mischief for the sons of Troy;And now Troy's daughters with exultant heartsFrom all the city streets shall gather round,As pantheresses wroth for stolen cubs,Or lionesses, might stand around a manWhose craft in hunting vexed them while he lived.So round Achilles—a dead corpse at last!—In hurrying throngs Troy's daughters then shall comeIn unforgiving, unforgetting hate,For parents wroth, for husbands slain, for sons,For noble kinsmen. Most of all shall joyMy father, and the ancient men, whose feetUnwillingly are chained within the wallsBy 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 hasteClosed 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 IliumThe 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 beesWhich hover round their hive in swarms on swarmsTo drive a man thence; but he, recking naughtOf all their fury, carveth out the combsOf nectarous honey: harassed sore are theyBy smoke-reek and the robber; spite of allEver 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, ErymasThe war-renowned, who came from Lycia-landWith mighty-hearted Glaucus, from his homeIn Melanippion on the mountain-ridge,Athena's fane, which Massikyton frontsAnigh Chelidonia's headland, dreaded soreOf scared seafarers, when its lowering cragsMust needs be doubled. For his death the bloodOf famed Hippolochus' son was horror-chilled;For this was his dear friend. With one swift thrustHe pierced the sevenfold hides of Aias' shield,Yet touched his flesh not; stayed the spear-head wasBy those thick hides and by the corset-plateWhich lapped his battle-tireless limbs. But stillFrom 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 allThe Argives, hold thee in passing-high esteemEven as Achilles: therefore thou, I wot,By that dead warrior dead this day shalt lie!"
So hurled he forth a vain word, knowing notHow far in might above him was the manWhom his spear threatened. Battle-bider AiasDarkly and scornfully glaring on him, said"Thou craven wretch, and knowest thou not this,How much was Hector mightier than thouIn war-craft? yet before my might, my spear,He shrank. Ay, with his valour was there blentDiscretion. Thou thy thoughts are deathward set,Who dar'st defy me to the battle, me,A mightier far than thou! Thou canst not sayThat friendship of our fathers thee shall screen;Nor me thy gifts shall wile to let thee passScatheless from war, as once did Tydeus' son.Though thou didst 'scape his fury, will not ISuffer thee to return alive from war.Ha, in thy many helpers dost thou trustWho with thee, like so many worthless flies,Flit round the noble Achilles' corpse? To theseDeath 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 turnsOn hounds, and Trojans many and Lycians slewThat came for honour hungry, till he stoodMid a wide ring of flinchers; like a shoalOf darting fish when sails into their midstDolphin or shark, a huge sea-fosterling;So shrank they from the might of Telamon's son,As aye he charged amidst the rout. But stillSwarmed fighters up, till round Achilles' corseTo right, to left, lay in the dust the slainCountless, as boars around a lion at bay;And evermore the strife waxed deadlier.Then too Hippolochus' war-wise son was slainBy Aias of the heart of fire. He fellBackward upon Achilles, even as fallsA sapling on a sturdy mountain-oak;So quelled by the spear on Peleus' son he fell.But for his rescue Anchises' stalwart sonStrove hard, with all his comrades battle-fain,And haled the corse forth, and to sorrowing friendsGave it, to bear to Ilium's hallowed burg.Himself to spoil Achilles still fought on,Till warrior Aias pierced him with the spearThrough the right forearm. Swiftly leapt he backFrom murderous war, and hasted thence to Troy.There for his healing cunning leeches wrought,Who stanched the blood-rush, and laid on the gashBalms, such as salve war-stricken warriors' pangs.
But Aias still fought on: here, there he slewWith thrusts like lightning-flashes. His great heartAched sorely for his mighty cousin slain.And now the warrior-king Laertes' sonFought at his side: before him blenched the foe,As he smote down Peisander's fleetfoot son,The warrior Maenalus, who left his homeIn far-renowned Abydos: down on himHe hurled Atymnius, the goodly sonWhom Pegasis the bright-haired Nymph had borneTo 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 homeThat son from war, Panaceia beauty-famed!He fell by Odysseus' hands, who spilt the livesOf many more whom his death-hungering spearReached in that fight around the mighty dead.Yet Alcon, son of Megacles battle-swift,Hard by Odysseus' right knee drave the spearHome, and about the glittering greave the bloodDark-crimson welled. He recked not of the wound,But was unto his smiter sudden death;For clear through his shield he stabbed him with his spearAmidst his battle-fury: to the earthBackward he dashed him by his giant mightAnd strength of hand: clashed round him in the dustHis armour, and his corslet was distainedWith crimson life-blood. Forth from flesh and shieldThe hero plucked the spear of death: the soulFollowed the lance-head from the body forth,And life forsook its mortal mansion. ThenRushed on his comrades, in his wound's despite,Odysseus, nor from that stern battle-toilRefrained him. And by this a mingled hostOf Danaans eager-hearted fought aroundThe mighty dead, and many and many a foeSlew they with those smooth-shafted ashen spears.Even as the winds strew down upon the groundThe flying leaves, when through the forest-gladesSweep the wild gusts, as waneth autumn-tide,And the old year is dying; so the spearsOf 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 stoneSwift to the archer's head: that bolt of deathCrashed through his crested helm, and darkness closedRound him. In dust down fell he: naught availedHis shafts their eager lord, this way and thatScattered in dust: empty his quiver lay,Flew from his hand the bow. In haste his friendsUpcaught him from the earth, and Hector's steedsHurried him thence to Troy, scarce drawing breath,And moaning in his pain. Nor left his menThe weapons of their lord, but gathered upAll 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 deathTo-day! But swiftly thy last hour shall comeBy 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 doomOn such as fought around Peleides yet.'These saw how many yielded up the ghostNeath his strong hands, and, with hearts failing themFor fear, against him could they stand no more.As rascal vultures were they, which the swoopOf an eagle, king of birds, scares far awayFrom carcasses of sheep that wolves have torn;So this way, that way scattered they beforeThe hurtling stones, the sword, the might of Aias.In utter panic from the war they fled,In huddled rout, like starlings from the swoopOf a death-dealing hawk, when, fleeing bane,One drives against another, as they dartAll terror-huddled in tumultuous flight.So from the war to Priam's burg they fledWretchedly 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 wideHard-panting, pierced to the very heart with fear.Pent therewithin he left them, as a shepherdLeaves 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 stretchEven from broad-wayed Troy to Hellespont,Bodies of strong men slain, the spoil of Doom.As when the dense stalks of sun-ripened cornFall 'neath the reapers' hands, and the long swaths,Heavy with full ears, overspread the field,And joys the heart of him who overseesThe toil, lord of the harvest; even so,By baleful havoc overmastered, layAll round face-downward men remembering notThe death-denouncing war-shout. But the sonsOf fair Achaea left their slaughtered foesIn dust and blood unstripped of arms awhileTill they should lay upon the pyre the sonOf Peleus, who in battle-shock had beenTheir banner of victory, charging in his might.So the kings drew him from that stricken fieldStraining 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 wailedHeart-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 layTityos, who sought to force Queen Leto, whenShe fared to Pytho: swiftly in his wrathApollo shot, and laid him low, who seemedInvincible: in a foul lake of goreThere lay he, covering many a rood of ground,On the broad earth, his mother; and she moanedOver her son, of blessed Gods abhorred;But Lady Leto laughed. So grand of mouldThere in the foemen's land lay Aeacus' son,For joy to Trojans, but for endless griefTo Achaean men lamenting. Moaned the airWith sighing from the abysses of the sea;And passing heavy grew the hearts of all,Thinking: "Now shall we perish by the handsOf Trojans!" Then by those dark ships they thoughtOf white-haired fathers left in halls afar,Of wives new-wedded, who by couches coldMourned, waiting, waiting, with their tender babesFor husbands unreturning; and they groanedIn bitterness of soul. A passion of griefCame o'er their hearts; they fell upon their facesOn the deep sand flung down, and wept as menAll 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 upFrom folk that after battle by their wallsAre slaughtered, when their maddened foes set fireTo a great city, and slay in heaps on heapsHer 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 FatherWith 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 forthHis yearning o'er his father's brother's sonGod-stricken—ay, no man had smitten himOf 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 helmUpon 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 victoryWho from Achaea now hath reft her shield!Ah me! how shall old Peleus in his hallsTake up the burden of a mighty griefNow in his joyless age! His heart shall breakAt 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 comeUpon him, eating out his heart with griefBy a lone hearth Peleus so passing dearOnce to the Blessed! But the Gods vouchsafeNo 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 painHast left to me! Oh that upon my faceThe veiling earth had fallen, ere I sawThy bitter doom! No pang more terribleHath ever stabbed mine heart no, not that hourOf exile, when I fled from fatherlandAnd noble parents, fleeing Hellas through,Till Peleus welcomed me with gifts, and lordOf his Dolopians made me. In his armsThee through his halls one day he bare, and setUpon my knees, and bade me foster thee,His babe, with all love, as mine own dear child:I hearkened to him: blithely didst thou clingAbout mine heart, and, babbling wordless speech,Didst call me `father' oft, and didst bedewMy breast and tunic with thy baby lips.Ofttimes with soul that laughed for glee I heldThee 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 hopeWas for a little while fulfilled; but nowThou hast vanished into darkness, and to meIs left long heart-ache wild with all regret.Ah, might my sorrow slay me, ere the taleTo noble Peleus come! When on his earsFalleth the heavy tidings, he shall weepAnd wail without surcease. Most piteous griefWe 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 weptWith heart on fire with inly smouldering pain:"Thou hast perished, chiefest of the Danaan men,Hast perished, and hast left the Achaean hostFenceless! Now thou art fallen, are they leftAn easier prey to foes. Thou hast given joyTo Trojans by thy fall, who dreaded theeAs sheep a lion. These with eager heartsEven to the ships will bring the battle now.Zeus, Father, thou too with deceitful wordsBeguilest mortals! Thou didst promise meThat Priam's burg should be destroyed; but nowThat promise given dost thou not fulfil,But thou didst cheat mine heart: I shall not winThe war's goal, now Achilles is no more."
So did he cry heart-anguished. Mourned all roundWails 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 drivenBy a great wind, heave up far out at sea,And strandward sweep with terrible rush, and ayeHeadland and beach with shattered spray are scourged,And roar unceasing; so a dread sound roseOf 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 griefRemembering his own son Antilochus:"O mighty Agamemnon, sceptre-lordOf Argives, from wide-shrilling lamentationRefrain we for this day. None shall withholdHereafter these from all their heart's desireOf weeping and lamenting many days.But now go to, from aweless Aeacus' sonWash we the foul blood-gouts, and lay we himUpon a couch: unseemly it is to shameThe dead by leaving them untended long."
So counselled Neleus' son, the passing-wise.Then hasted he his men, and bade them setCaldrons of cold spring-water o'er the flames,And wash the corse, and clothe in vesture fair,Sea-purple, which his mother gave her sonAt his first sailing against Troy. With speedThey did their lord's command: with loving care,All service meetly rendered, on a couchLaid they the mighty fallen, Peleus' son.
The Trito-born, the passing-wise, beheldAnd pitied him, and showered upon his headAmbrosia, which hath virtue aye to keepTaintless, men say, the flesh of warriors slain.Like softly-breathing sleeper dewy-freshShe made him: over that dead face she drewA stern frown, even as when he lay, with wrathDarkening his grim face, clasping his slain friendPatroclus; and she made his frame to beMore massive, like a war-god to behold.And wonder seized the Argives, as they throngedAnd saw the image of a living man,Where all the stately length of Peleus' sonLay on the couch, and seemed as though he slept.
Around him all the woeful captive-maids,Whom he had taken for a prey, what timeHe had ravaged hallowed Lemnos, and had scaledThe 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 bemoanedThat lord of gentleness and courtesy,Who honoured even the daughters of his foes.And stricken most of all with heart-sick painBriseis, hero Achilles' couchmate, bowedOver the dead, and tore her fair young fleshWith ruthless fingers, shrieking: her soft breastWas ridged with gory weals, so cruellyShe smote it thou hadst said that crimson bloodHad dripped on milk. Yet, in her griefs despite,Her winsome loveliness shone out, and graceHung like a veil about her, as she wailed:"Woe for this grief passing all griefs beside!Never on me came anguish like to thisNot when my brethren died, my fatherlandWas 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 dearThan my lost parents! Thou wast all in allTo me, thou only, captive though I be.Thou tookest from me every bondmaid's taskAnd like a wife didst hold me. Ah, but nowMe shall some new Achaean master bearTo fertile Sparta, or to thirsty Argos.The bitter cup of thraldom shall I drain,Severed, ah me, from thee! Oh that the earthHad veiled my dead face ere I saw thy doom!"
So for slain Peleus' son did she lamentWith woeful handmaids and heart-anguished Greeks,Mourning a king, a husband. Never driedHer tears were: ever to the earth they streamedLike sunless water trickling from a rockWhile rime and snow yet mantle o'er the earthAbove it; yet the frost melts down beforeThe east-wind and the flame-shafts of the sun.
Now came the sound of that upringing wailTo Nereus' Daughters, dwellers in the depthsUnfathomed. With sore anguish all their heartsWere smitten: piteously they moaned: their cryShivered along the waves of Hellespont.Then with dark mantles overpalled they spedSwiftly 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 forebodeA great storm. Moaned the monsters of the deepPlaintively round that train of mourners. FastOn sped they to their goal, with awesome cryWailing the while their sister's mighty son.Swiftly from Helicon the Muses cameHeart-burdened with undying grief, for loveAnd honour to the Nereid starry-eyed.
Then Zeus with courage filled the Argive men,That-eyes of flesh might undismayed beholdThat glorious gathering of Goddesses.Then those Divine Ones round Achilles' corsePealed forth with one voice from immortal lipsA lamentation. Rang again the shoresOf Hellespont. As rain upon the earthTheir 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 shipsOf that great sorrowing multitude were wetWith 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 heavenExult! Now let broad-flowing AxiusExult, and for Asteropaeus deadPut by his wrath! Let Priam's seed be gladBut I unto Olympus will ascend,And at the feet of everlasting ZeusWill cast me, bitterly planning that he gaveMe, 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 grieveAs for Achilles; for Zeus promised meTo make him glorious in the Aeacid halls,In recompense for the bridal I so loathedThat into wild wind now I changed me, nowTo water, now in fashion as a birdI was, now as the blast of flame; nor mightA mortal win me for his bride, who seemedAll shapes in turn that earth and heaven contain,Until the Olympian pledged him to bestowA godlike son on me, a lord of war.Yea, in a manner this did he fulfilFaithfully; for my son was mightiestOf men. But Zeus made brief his span of lifeUnto my sorrow. Therefore up to heavenWill I: to Zeus's mansion will I goAnd wail my son, and will put Zeus in mindOf all my travail for him and his sonsIn 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 griefFor thy lost son, provoke to wrath the LordOf Gods and men. Lo, even sons of Zeus,The Thunder-king, have perished, overborneBy evil fate. Immortal though I be,Mine own son Orpheus died, whose magic songDrew 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: GodsOught not with anguished grief to vex their souls.Therefore make end of sorrow-stricken wailFor thy brave child; for to the sons of earthMinstrels shall chant his glory and his might,By mine and by my sisters' inspiration,Unto the end of time. Let not thy soulBe crushed by dark grief, nor do thou lamentLike those frail mortal women. Know'st thou notThat round all men which dwell upon the earthHovereth irresistible deadly Fate,Who recks not even of the Gods? Such powerShe only hath for heritage. Yea, sheSoon shall destroy gold-wealthy Priam's town,And Trojans many and Argives doom to death,Whomso she will. No God can stay her hand."