So in her wisdom spake Calliope.Then plunged the sun down into Ocean's stream,And sable-vestured Night came floating upO'er the wide firmament, and brought her boonOf sleep to sorrowing mortals. On the sandsThere slept they, all the Achaean host, with headsBowed 'neath the burden of calamity.But upon Thetis sleep laid not his hand:Still with the deathless Nereids by the seaShe sate; on either side the Muses spakeOne after other comfortable wordsTo make that sorrowing heart forget its pain.
But when with a triumphant laugh the DawnSoared up the sky, and her most radiant lightShed 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 moanedFar-stretching beaches of the sea, and mournedGreat Nereus for his daughter Thetis' sake;And mourned with him the other Sea-gods allFor dead Achilles. Then the Argives gaveThe corpse of great Peleides to the flame.A pyre of countless tree-trunks built they upWhich, all with one mind toiling, from the heightsOf Ida they brought down; for Atreus' sonsSped on the work, and charged them to bring thenceWood without measure, that consumed with speedMight be Achilles' body. All aroundPiled they about the pyre much battle-gearOf strong men slain; and slew and cast thereonFull 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 broughtMantles untold; all cast they on the pyre:Gold heaped they there and amber. All their hairThe Myrmidons shore, and shrouded with the sameThe body of their king. Briseis laidHer own shorn tresses on the corpse, her gift,Her last, unto her lord. Great jars of oilFull many poured they out thereon, with jarsOf honey and of wine, rich blood of the grapeThat breathed an odour as of nectar, yea,Cast incense-breathing perfumes manifoldMarvellous sweet, the precious things put forthBy earth, and treasures of the sea divine.
Then, when all things were set in readinessAbout the pyre, all, footmen, charioteers,Compassed that woeful bale, clashing their arms,While, from the viewless heights Olympian, ZeusRained down ambrosia on dead Aeacus' son.For honour to the Goddess, Nereus' child,He sent to Aeolus Hermes, bidding himSummon the sacred might of his swift winds,For that the corpse of Aeacus' son must nowBe burned. With speed he went, and AeolusRefused not: the tempestuous North in hasteHe summoned, and the wild blast of the West;And to Troy sped they on their whirlwind wings.Fast in mad onrush, fast across the deepThey darted; roared beneath them as they flewThe sea, the land; above crashed thunder-voicedClouds headlong hurtling through the firmament.Then by decree of Zeus down on the pyreOf slain Achilles, like a charging hostSwooped 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 flamesEre that death-pyre burned out. Up to the heavensVast-volumed rolled the smoke. The huge tree-trunksGroaned, writhing, bursting, in the heat, and droppedThe dark-grey ash all round. So when the windsHad tirelessly fulfilled their mighty task,Back to their cave they rode cloud-charioted.
Then, when the fire had last of all consumedThat hero-king, when all the steeds, the menSlain round the pyre had first been ravined up,With all the costly offerings laid aroundThe mighty dead by Achaia's weeping sons,The glowing embers did the Myrmidons quenchWith wine. Then clear to be discerned were seenHis bones; for nowise like the rest were they,But like an ancient Giant's; none besideWith these were blent; for bulls and steeds, and sonsOf Troy, with all that mingled hecatomb,Lay in a wide ring round his corse, and heAmidst them, flame-devoured, lay there alone.So his companions groaning gathered upHis bones, and in a silver casket laidMassy and deep, and banded and bestarredWith flashing gold; and Nereus' daughters shedAmbrosia over them, and precious nardsFor honour to Achilles: fat of kineAnd amber honey poured they over all.A golden vase his mother gave, the giftIn old time of the Wine-god, glorious workOf the craft-master Fire-god, in the whichThey laid the casket that enclosed the bonesOf mighty-souled Achilles. All aroundThe Argives heaped a barrow, a giant sign,Upon a foreland's uttermost end, besideThe Hellespont's deep waters, wailing loudFarewells unto the Myrmidons' hero-king.
Nor stayed the immortal steeds of Aeacus' sonTearless beside the ships; they also mournedTheir slain king: sorely loth were they to abideLonger mid mortal men or Argive steedsBearing a burden of consuming grief;But fain were they to soar through air, afarFrom wretched men, over the Ocean's streams,Over the Sea-queen's caverns, unto whereDivine Podarge bare that storm-foot twainBegotten of the West-wind clarion-voicedYea, and they had accomplished their desire,But the Gods' purpose held them back, untilFrom Scyros' isle Achilles' fleetfoot sonShould come. Him waited they to welcome, whenHe came unto the war-host; for the Fates,Daughters of holy Chaos, at their birthHad spun the life-threads of those deathless foals,Even to serve Poseidon first, and nextPeleus the dauntless king, Achilles thenThe invincible, and, after these, the fourth,The mighty-hearted Neoptolemus,Whom after death to the Elysian PlainThey were to bear, unto the Blessed Land,By Zeus' decree. For which cause, though their heartsWere pierced with bitter anguish, they abodeStill by the ships, with spirits sorrowingFor their old lord, and yearning for the new.
Then from the surge of heavy-plunging seasRose the Earth-shaker. No man saw his feetPace up the strand, but suddenly he stoodBeside the Nereid Goddesses, and spakeTo Thetis, yet for Achilles bowed with grief:"Refrain from endless mourning for thy son.Not with the dead shall he abide, but dwellWith Gods, as doth the might of Herakles,And Dionysus ever fair. Not himDread doom shall prison in darkness evermore,Nor Hades keep him. To the light of ZeusSoon shall he rise; and I will give to himA holy island for my gift: it liesWithin the Euxine Sea: there evermoreA God thy son shall be. The tribes that dwellAround shall as mine own self honour himWith incense and with steam of sacrifice.Hush thy laments, vex not thine heart with grief."
Then like a wind-breath had he passed awayOver the sea, when that consoling wordWas spoken; and a little in her breastRevived the spirit of Thetis: and the GodBrought this to pass thereafter. All the hostMoved moaning thence, and came unto the shipsThat brought them o'er from Hellas. Then returnedTo Helicon the Muses: 'neath the sea,Wailing the dear dead, Nereus' Daughters sank,
How in the Funeral Games of Achilles heroes contended.
Nor did the hapless Trojans leave unweptThe 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 upOut of the blazing fire, and to the windsGave him, to bear away to Lycia-land;And fast and far they bare him, 'neath the glensOf high Telandrus, to a lovely glade;And for a monument above his graveUpheaved a granite rock. The Nymphs therefromMade gush the hallowed water of a streamFor ever flowing, which the tribes of menStill call fair-fleeting Glaucus. This the godsWrought for an honour to the Lycian king.
But for Achilles still the Argives mournedBeside the swift ships: heart-sick were they allWith dolorous pain and grief. Each yearned for himAs for a son; no eye in that wide hostWas tearless. But the Trojans with great joyExulted, 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 vouchsafedA joy past hope unto our longing eyes,To see Achilles fallen before Troy.Now he is smitten down, the glorious hostsOf Troy, I trow, shall win a breathing-spaceFrom blood of death and from the murderous fray.Ever his heart devised the Trojans' bane;In his hands maddened aye the spear of doomWith gore besprent, and none of us that facedHim in the fight beheld another dawn.But now, I wot, Achaea's valorous sonsShall flee unto their galleys shapely-prowed,Since slain Achilles lies. Ah that the mightOf Hector still were here, that he might slayThe 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 hostWill straightway get them to the ships, to fleeOver the misty sea. Nay, still their lustIs 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 prayersA 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 headsFor grief of soul. But glad those others wereWho fain would speed Troy to a happy goal.Then unto Cronos' Son great Hera spake:"Zeus, Lightning-father, wherefore helpest thouTroy, all forgetful of the fair-haired brideWhom once to Peleus thou didst give to wifeMidst Pelion's glens? Thyself didst bring to passThose spousals of a Goddess: on that dayAll we Immortals feasted there, and gaveGifts 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 destroyThe city of Priam, thinking how himselfWould visit on the victors ruin dreadIn 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, suppedThe Argives, for ye cannot thrust asideHunger's importunate craving, when it comesUpon the breast, but straightway heavy and faintLithe limbs become; nor is there remedyUntil one satisfy this clamorous guestTherefore these ate the meat of eventideIn grief for Achilles' hard necessityConstrained them all. And, when they had broken bread,Sweet sleep came on them, loosening from their framesCare's heavy chain, and quickening strength anew
But when the starry Bears had eastward turnedTheir heads, expectant of the uprushing lightOf Helios, and when woke the Queen of Dawn,Then rose from sleep the stalwart Argive menPurposing for the Trojans death and doom.Stirred were they like the roughly-ridging seaIcarian, or as sudden-rippling cornIn harvest field, what time the rushing wingsOf 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 livesNo longer. Come, with armour, car, and steedLet 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 heartsBefore were battle-eager, to the fightAgainst the Trojan men, O Tydeus' son.But we must needs abide amidst the shipsTill Goddess Thetis come forth of the sea;For that her heart is purposed to set hereFair athlete-prizes for the funeral-games.This yesterday she told me, ere she plungedInto sea-depths, yea, spake to me apartFrom other Danaans; and, I trow, by thisHer haste hath brought her nigh. Yon Trojan men,Though Peleus' son hath died, shall have small heartFor 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 doomFor him should follow hard upon those gamesBy Fate's contrivance. Answered Tydeus' son"O friend, if Thetis comes indeed this dayWith goodly gifts for her son's funeral-games,Then bide we by the ships, and keep we hereAll others. Meet it is to do the willOf the Immortals: yea, to Achilles too,Though the Immortals willed it not, ourselvesMust render honour grateful to the dead."
So spake the battle-eager Tydeus' son.And lo, the Bride of Peleus gliding cameForth of the sea, like the still breath of dawn,And suddenly was with the Argive throngWhere eager-faced they waited, some, that lookedSoon to contend in that great athlete-strife,And some, to joy in seeing the mighty strive.Amidst that gathering Thetis sable-stoledSet down her prizes, and she summoned forthAchaea's champions: at her best they came.
But first amidst them all rose Neleus' son,Not as desiring in the strife of fistsTo toil, nor strain of wrestling; for his armsAnd all his sinews were with grievous eldOutworn, but still his heart and brain were strong.Of all the Achaeans none could match himselfAgainst him in the folkmote's war of words;Yea, even Laertes' glorious son to himEver gave place when men for speech were met;Nor he alone, but even the kingliestOf Argives, Agamemnon, lord of spears.Now in their midst he sang the gracious QueenOf Nereids, sang how she in willsomenessOf 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 passBy Pelion's crests; sang of the ambrosial feastWhen the swift Hours brought in immortal handsMeats not of earth, and heaped in golden maunds;Sang how the silver tables were set forthIn haste by Themis blithely laughing; sangHow breathed Hephaestus purest flame of fire;Sang how the Nymphs in golden chalicesMingled ambrosia; sang the ravishing danceTwined by the Graces' feet; sang of the chantThe Muses raised, and how its spell enthralledAll 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 outInto the Argives' eager ears; and theyHearkened with ravished souls. Then in their midstHe sang once more the imperishable deedsOf princely Achilles. All the mighty throngAcclaimed him with delight. From that beginningWith fitly chosen words did he extolThe glorious hero; how he voyaged and smoteTwelve cities; how he marched o'er leagues on leaguesOf land, and spoiled eleven; how he slewTelephus and Eetion's might renownedIn 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-streamsOf Xanthus, and with countless corpses chokedHis murmuring flow, when from the limbs he toreLycaon's life beside the sounding river;And how he smote down Hector; how he slewPenthesileia, and the godlike sonOf splendour-throned Dawn;—all this he sangTo Argives which already knew the tale;Sang of his giant mould, how no man's strengthIn fight could stand against him, nor in gamesWhere strong men strive for mastery, where the swiftContend with flying feet or hurrying wheelsOf chariots, nor in combat panoplied;And how in goodlihead he far outshoneAll Danaans, and how his bodily mightWas measureless in the stormy clash of war.Last, he prayed Heaven that he might see a sonLike that great sire from sea-washed Scyros come.
That noble song acclaiming Argives praised;Yea, silver-looted Thetis smiled, and gaveThe singer fleetfoot horses, given of oldBeside Caicus' mouth by TelephusTo Achilles, when he healed the torturing woundWith that same spear wherewith himself had piercedTelephus' thigh, and thrust the point clear through.These Nestor Neleus' son to his comrades gave,And, glorying in their godlike lord, they ledThe steeds unto his ships. Then Thetis setAmidst the athlete-ring ten kine, to beHer prizes for the footrace, and by eachRan a fair suckling calf. These the bold mightOf Peleus' tireless son had driven downFrom 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 aboutWith loin-cloths, reverencing the Goddess-brideOf Peleus, and the Sea-maids, who with herCame 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 swiftThey sped away. Long doubtful was the race:Now, as the Argives gazed, would Aias' friendsShout, now rang out the answering cheer from friendsOf Teucer. But when in their eager speedClose on the end they were, then Teucer's feetWere trammelled by unearthly powers: some godOr demon dashed his foot against the stockOf a deep-rooted tamarisk. Sorely wrenchedWas his left ankle: round the joint upswelledThe veins high-ridged. A great shout rang from allThat watched the contest. Aias darted pastExultant: ran his Locrian folk to hailTheir lord, with sudden joy in all their souls.Then to his ships they drave the kine, and castFodder before them. Eager-helpful friendsLed Teucer halting thence. The leeches drewBlood from his foot: then over it they laidSoft-shredded linen ointment-smeared, and swathedWith smooth bands round, and charmed away the pain.
Then swiftly rose two mighty-hearted onesEager to match their strength in wrestling strain,The son of Tydeus and the giant Aias.Into the midst they strode, and marvelling gazedThe Argives on men shapen like to gods.Then grappled they, like lions famine-stungFighting amidst the mountains o'er a stag,Whose strength is even-balanced; no whit lessIs one than other in their deadly rage;So these long time in might were even-matched,Till Aias locked his strong hands round the sonOf Tydeus, straining hard to break his back;But he, with wrestling-craft and strength combined,Shifted his hip 'neath Telamon's son, and heavedThe giant up; with a side-twist wrenched freeFrom Aias' ankle-lock his thigh, and soWith one huge shoulder-heave to earth he threwThat mighty champion, and himself came downAstride him: then a mighty shout went up.But battle-stormer Aias, chafed in mind,Sprang up, hot-eager to essay againThat grim encounter. From his terrible handsHe dashed the dust, and challenged furiouslyWith a great voice Tydeides: not a whitThat other quailed, but rushed to close with him.Rolled up the dust in clouds from 'neath their feet:Hurtling they met like battling mountain-bullsThat clash to prove their dauntless strength, and spurnThe dust, while with their roaring all the hillsRe-echo: in their desperate fury theseDash their strong heads together, straining longAgainst 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 necksCracked, even as when in mountain-glades the treesDash storm-tormented boughs together. OftTydeides clutched at Aias' brawny thighs,But could not stir his steadfast-rooted feet.Oft Aias hurled his whole weight on him, bowedHis shoulders backward, strove to press him down;And to new grips their hands were shifting aye.All round the gazing people shouted, someCheering on glorious Tydeus' son, and someThe might of Aias. Then the giant swungThe shoulders of his foe to right, to left;Then gripped him 'neath the waist; with one fierce heaveAnd giant effort hurled him like a stoneTo earth. The floor of Troyland rang againAs fell Tydeides: shouted all the folk.Yet leapt he up all eager to contendWith 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 mightiestOf Argives since the great Achilles died."
Then these from toil refrained, and from their browsWiped with their hands the plenteous-streaming sweat:They kissed each other, and forgat their strife.Then Thetis, queen of Goddesses, gave to themFour handmaids; and those strong and aweless onesMarvelled beholding them, for these surpassedAll captive-maids in beauty and household-skill,Save only lovely-tressed Briseis. TheseAchilles captive brought from Lesbos' Isle,And in their service joyed. The first was madeStewardess 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 shipsSent 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 allTo him, the elder-born, with reverent awe.So in their midst gave Thetis unto himA chariot and fleet steeds, which theretoforeMighty Patroclus from the ranks of TroyDrave, when he slew Sarpedon, seed of Zeus,These to his henchmen gave IdomeneusTo drive unto the ships: himself remainedStill sitting in the glorious athlete-ring.Then Phoenix to the stalwart Argives cried:"Now to Idomeneus the Gods have givenA fair prize uncontested, free of toilOf mighty arms and shoulders, honouringThe elder-born with bloodless victory.But lo, ye younger men, another prizeAwaiteth 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 playOf clenched hands, who in that noble sportHave skill, wherein young men delight, which linksGlory to toil. Ah that my thews were strongAs when we held King Pelias' funeral-feast,I and Acastus, kinsmen joining hands,When I with godlike Polydeuces stoodIn gauntlet-strife, in even-balanced fray,And when Ancaeus in the wrestlers' ringMightier than all beside, yet feared and shrankFrom 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 dustBy dead Amaryncus' tomb, and thousands roundSat marvelling at my prowess and my strength.Therefore against me not a second timeRaised 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 youthWho bears away the meed of athlete-strife."
Stirred by his gallant chiding, a brave manRose, son of haughty godlike Panopeus,The man who framed the Horse, the bane of Troy,Not long thereafter. None dared meet him nowIn play of fists, albeit in deadly craftOf war, when Ares rusheth through the field,He was not cunning. But for strife of handsThe fair prize uncontested had been wonBy stout Epeius—yea, he was at pointTo 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 girtThe hard hide-gauntlets, which Evenor's sonAgelaus on his prince's hands had drawnWith courage-kindling words. The comrades thenOf Panopeus' princely son for Epeius raisedA heartening cheer. He like a lion stoodForth in the midst, his strong hands gauntletedWith bull's hide hard as horn. Loud rang the cheersFrom side to side of that great throng, to fireThe courage of the mighty ones to clashHands in the gory play. Sooth, little spurNeeded they for their eagerness for fight.But, ere they closed, they flashed out proving blowsTo wot if still, as theretofore, their armsWere limber and lithe, unclogged by toil of war;Then faced each other, and upraised their handsWith ever-watching eyes, and short quick stepsA-tiptoe, and with ever-shifting feet,Each still eluding other's crushing might.Then with a rush they closed like thunder-cloudsHurled on each other by the tempest-blast,Flashing forth lightnings, while the welkin thrillsAs 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 sweatBlood-streaked made on the flushed cheeks crimson bars.Fierce without pause they fought, and never flaggedEpeius, but threw all his stormy strengthInto his onrush. Yet did Theseus' sonNever lose heart, but baffled the straight blowsOf those strong hands, and by his fighting-craftFlinging them right and left, leapt in, brought homeA blow to his eyebrow, cutting to the bone.Even then with counter-stroke Epeius reachedAcamas' temple, and hurled him to the ground.Swift he sprang up, and on his stalwart foeRushed, smote his head: as he rushed in again,The other, slightly swerving, sent his leftClean to his brow; his right, with all his mightBehind it, to his nose. Yet Acamas stillWarded and struck with all the manifold shiftsOf fighting-craft. But now the Achaeans allBade stop the fight, though eager still were bothTo strive for coveted victory. Then cameTheir henchmen, and the gory gauntlets loosedIn haste from those strong hands. Now drew they breathFrom that great labour, as they bathed their browsWith sponges myriad-pored. Comrades and friendsWith 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 forgatThat bitter strife. Then Thetis sable-stoledGave to their glad hands two great silver bowlsThe which Euneus, Jason's warrior sonIn sea-washed Lemnos to Achilles gaveTo ransom strong Lycaon from his hands.These had Hephaestus fashioned for his giftTo glorious Dionysus, when he broughtHis bride divine to Olympus, Minos' childFar-famous, whom in sea-washed Dia's isleTheseus unwitting left. The Wine-god brimmedWith nectar these, and gave them to his son;And Thoas at his death to HypsipyleWith great possessions left them. She bequeathedThe bowls to her godlike son, who gave them upUnto Achilles for Lycaon's life.The one the son of lordly Theseus took,And goodly Epeius sent to his ship with joyThe other. Then their bruises and their scarsDid Podaleirius tend with loving care.First pressed he out black humours, then his handsDeftly knit up the gashes: salves he laidThereover, given him by his sire of old,Such as had virtue in one day to healThe deadliest hurts, yea, seeming-cureless wounds.Straight was the smart assuaged, and healed the scarsUpon their brows and 'neath their clustering hair
Then for the archery-test Oileus' sonStood forth with Teucer, they which in the raceErewhile contended. Far away from theseAgamemnon, lord of spears, set up a helmCrested with plumes, and spake: "The master-shotIs 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 heedShot: the swift shaft hath shorn the plume away.Loud shouted all the people as they gazed,And praised him without stint, for still his footHalted in pain, yet nowise marred his aimWhen with his hands he sped the flying shaft.Then Peleus' bride gave unto him the armsOf godlike Troilus, the goodliestOf all fair sons whom Hecuba had borneIn hallowed Troy; yet of his goodliheadNo joy she had; the prowess and the spearOf fell Achilles reft his life from him.As when a gardener with new-whetted scytheMows down, ere it may seed, a blade of cornOr poppy, in a garden dewy-freshAnd blossom-flushed, which by a water-courseCrowdeth its blooms—mows it ere it may reachIts goal of bringing offspring to the birth,And with his scythe-sweep makes its life-work vainAnd barren of all issue, nevermoreNow to be fostered by the dews of spring;So did Peleides cut down Priam's sonThe god-like beautiful, the beardless yetAnd virgin of a bride, almost a child!Yet the Destroyer Fate had lured him onTo war, upon the threshold of glad youth,When youth is bold, and the heart feels no void.
Forthwith a bar of iron massy and longFrom the swift-speeding hand did many essayTo hurl; but not an Argive could prevailTo cast that ponderous mass. Aias aloneSped it from his strong hand, as in the timeOf harvest might a reaper fling from himA dry oak-bough, when all the fields are parched.And all men marvelled to behold how farFlew from his hand the bronze which scarce two menHard-straining had uplifted from the ground.Even this Antaeus' might was wont to hurlErstwhile, ere the strong hands of HerculesO'ermastered him. This, with much spoil beside,Hercules took, and kept it to make sportFor his invincible hand; but afterwardGave it to valiant Peleus, who with himHad smitten fair-towered Ilium's burg renowned;And he to Achilles gave it, whose swift shipsBare it to Troy, to put him aye in mindOf his own father, as with eager willHe fought with stalwart Trojans, and to beA worthy test wherewith to prove his strength.Even this did Aias from his brawny handFling far. So then the Nereid gave to himThe glorious arms from godlike Memnon stripped.Marvelling the Argives gazed on them: they wereA giant's war-gear. Laughing a glad laughThat man renowned received them: he aloneCould wear them on his brawny limbs; they seemedAs they had even been moulded to his frame.The great bar thence he bore withal, to beHis joy when he was fain of athlete-toil.
Still sped the contests on; and many roseNow for the leaping. Far beyond the marksOf all the rest brave Agapenor sprang:Loud shouted all for that victorious leap;And Thetis gave him the fair battle-gearOf mighty Cycnus, who had smitten firstProtesilaus, then had reft the lifeFrom many more, till Peleus' son slew himFirst of the chiefs of grief-enshrouded Troy.
Next, in the javelin-cast EuryalusHurled far beyond all rivals, while the folkShouted aloud: no archer, so they deemed,Could speed a winged shaft farther than his cast;Therefore the Aeacid hero's mother gaveTo him a deep wide silver oil-flask, ta'enBy Achilles in possession, when his spearSlew Mynes, and he spoiled Lyrnessus' wealth.
Then fiery-hearted Aias eagerlyRose, challenging to strife of hands and feetThe mightiest hero there; but marvellingThey marked his mighty thews, and no man daredConfront him. Chilling dread had palsied allTheir courage: from their hearts they feared him, lestHis hands invincible should all to-breakHis adversary's face, and naught but painBe that man's meed. But at the last all menMade 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 rendMine heart, if in the onset anger riseWithin him: from his hands invincible,I trow, I should not win to the ships alive."
Loud laughed they all: but glowed with triumph-joyThe heart of Aias. Gleaming talents twainOf silver he from Thetis' hands received,His uncontested prize. His stately heightCalled to her mind her dear son, and she sighed.
They which had skill in chariot-driving thenRose at the contest's summons eagerly:Menelaus first, Eurypylus bold in fight,Eumelus, Thoas, godlike PolypoetesHarnessed their steeds, and led them to the carsAll panting for the joy of victory.Then rode they in a glittering chariot rankOut to one place, to a stretch of sand, and stoodRanged at the starting-line. The reins they graspedIn strong hands quickly, while the chariot-steedsShoulder to shoulder fretted, all afireTo take the lead at starting, pawed the sand,Pricked ears, and o'er their frontlets flung the foam.With sudden-stiffened sinews those ear-lordsLashed with their whips the tempest-looted steeds;Then swift as Harpies sprang they forth; they strainedFuriously at the harness, onward whirlingThe chariots bounding ever from the earth.Thou couldst not see a wheel-track, no, nor printOf hoof upon the sand—they verily flew.Up from the plain the dust-clouds to the skySoared, like the smoke of burning, or a mistRolled round the mountain-forelands by the mightOf the dark South-wind or the West, when wakesA tempest, when the hill-sides stream with rain.Burst to the front Eumelus' steeds: behindClose pressed the team of godlike Thoas: shoutsStill answered shouts that cheered each chariot, whileOnward they swept across the wide-wayed plain.
"From hallowed Elis, when he had achievedA mighty triumph, in that he outstrippedThe swift ear of Oenomaus evil-souled,The ruthless slayer of youths who sought to wedHis 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 mightOf those good steeds, and to Atreides' self;And filled with joy was Menelaus' soul.Straightway his henchmen from the yoke-band loosedThe panting team, and all those chariot-lords,Who in the race had striven, now unyokedTheir tempest-footed steeds. Podaleirius thenHasted to spread salves over all the woundsOf Thoas and Eurypylus, gashes scoredUpon their frames when from the cars they fellBut Menelaus with exceeding joyOf victory glowed, when Thetis lovely-tressedGave him a golden cup, the chief possessionOnce of Eetion the godlike; ereAchilles spoiled the far-famed burg of Thebes.
Then horsemen riding upon horses cameDown to the course: they grasped in hand the whipAnd bounding from the earth bestrode their steeds,The while with foaming mouths the coursers champedThe bits, and pawed the ground, and fretted ayeTo dash into the course. Forth from the lineSwiftly they darted, eager for the strife,Wild as the blasts of roaring BoreasOr shouting Notus, when with hurricane-swoopHe heaves the wide sea high, when in the eastUprises the disastrous Altar-starBringing calamity to seafarers;So swift they rushed, spurning with flying feetThe deep dust on the plain. The riders criedEach to his steed, and ever plied the lashAnd shook the reins about the clashing bits.On strained the horses: from the people roseA shouting like the roaring of a sea.On, on across the level plain they flew;And now the flashing-footed Argive steedBy Sthenelus bestridden, had won the race,But from the course he swerved, and o'er the plainOnce and again rushed wide; nor Capaneus' son,Good horseman though he were, could turn him backBy rein or whip, because that steed was strangeStill to the race-course; yet of lineageNoble was he, for in his veins the bloodOf swift Arion ran, the foal begottenBy the loud-piping West-wind on a Harpy,The fleetest of all earth-born steeds, whose feetCould 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 friendIn hallowed Troyland. Filled with confidenceIn those swift feet his rider led him forthUnto the contest of the steeds that day,Looking his horsemanship should surely winRenown: yet victory gladdened not his heartIn that great struggle for Achilles' prizes;Nay, swift albeit he was, the King of MenBy skill outraced him. Shouted all the folk,"Glory to Agamemnon!" Yet they acclaimedThe steed of valiant Sthenelus and his lord,For that the fiery flying of his feetStill won him second place, albeit oftWide of the course he swerved. Then Thetis gaveTo 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 dayCame at Achilles' funeral-feast to striveShe gave gifts. But the son of the old war-lord,Laertes, inly grieved to be withheldFrom contests of the strong, how fain soe'er,By that sore wound which Alcon dealt to himIn the grim fight around dead Aeacas' son.
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 midstGreat-souled Achilles' arms divinely wrought;And all around flashed out the cunning workWherewith the Fire-god overchased the shieldFashioned for Aeacus' son, the dauntless-souled.
Inwrought upon that labour of a GodWere first high heaven and cloudland, and beneathLay 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 airWhere 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 floodOf rivers crying to the echoing hillsAll round, to right, to left, rolled o'er the land.
Round it rose league-long mountain-ridges, hauntsOf terrible lions and foul jackals: thereFierce bears and panthers prowled; with these were seenWild boars that whetted deadly-clashing tusksIn grimly-frothing jaws. There hunters spedAfter the hounds: beaters with stone and dart,To the life portrayed, toiled in the woodland sport.
And there were man-devouring wars, and allHorrors of fight: slain men were falling downMid horse-hoofs; and the likeness of a plainBlood-drenched was on that shield invincible.Panic was there, and Dread, and ghastly EnyoWith limbs all gore-bespattered hideously,And deadly Strife, and the Avenging SpiritsFierce-hearted—she, still goading warriors onTo the onset they, outbreathing breath of fire.Around them hovered the relentless Fates;Beside them Battle incarnate onward pressedYelling, and from their limbs streamed blood and sweat.There were the ruthless Gorgons: through their hairHorribly serpents coiled with flickering tongues.A measureless marvel was that cunning workOf things that made men shudder to beholdSeeming 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 menDwelt in fair cities. Justice watched o'er all.To diverse toils they set their hands; the fieldsWere harvest-laden; earth her increase bore.
Most steeply rose on that god-laboured workThe rugged flanks of holy Honour's mount,And there upon a palm-tree throned she satExalted, and her hands reached up to heaven.All round her, paths broken by many rocksThwarted the climbers' feet; by those steep tracksDaunted ye saw returning many folk:Few won by sweat of toil the sacred height.
And there were reapers moving down long swathsSwinging the whetted sickles: 'neath their handsThe hot work sped to its close. Hard after theseMany sheaf-binders followed, and the workGrew passing great. With yoke-bands on their necksOxen were there, whereof some drew the wainsHeaped high with full-eared sheaves, and further onWere others ploughing, and the glebe showed blackBehind them. Youths with ever-busy goadsFollowed: 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 winsomenessOut of the sea was rising lovely-crownedCypris, foam-blossoms still upon her hair;And round her hovered smiling witchinglyDesire, and danced the Graces lovely-tressed.
And there were lordly Nereus' Daughters shownLeading their sister up from the wide seaTo her espousals with the warrior-king.And round her all the Immortals banquetedOn Pelion's ridge far-stretching. All aboutLush dewy watermeads there were, bestarredWith 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 spedBefore a following wind, and round them heavedThe melancholy surge. Seared shipmen rushedThis 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 shipGrew hoary 'neath the swiftly-plashing blades.
And there triumphant the Earth-shaker rodeAmid sea-monsters' stormy-footed steedsDrew him, and seemed alive, as o'er the deepThey 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 kingSwarmed, in wild rapture of homage bowing backs,And seemed like live things o'er the hazy seaSwimming, albeit all of silver wrought.
Marvels of untold craft were imaged thereBy cunning-souled Hephaestus' deathless handsUpon the shield. And Ocean's fathomless floodClasped 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 crestThroned on heaven's dome; the Immortals all aroundFierce-battling with the Titans fought for Zeus.Already were their foes enwrapped with flame,For thick and fast as snowflakes poured from heavenThe 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 aloneTo Achilles; massy of mould and huge they were.
And hard by flashed the sword whose edge and pointNo mail could turn, with golden belt, and sheathOf 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-stoledIn her deep sorrow for Achilles spake;"Now all the athlete-prizes have been wonWhich I set forth in sorrow for my child.Now let that mightiest of the Argives comeWho rescued from the foe my dead: to himThese glorious and immortal arms I giveWhich 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 skyOutshines 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 truthOf deeds wrought in that glorious battle-toil."To these I also trust most utterly,"Odysseus said, "for prudent of their witBe these, and princeliest of all Danaan men."
But to Idomeneus and Atreus' sonSpake Nestor apart, and willingly they heard:"Friends, a great woe and unendurableThis day the careless Gods have laid on us,In that into this lamentable strifeAias the mighty hath been thrust by themAgainst Odysseus passing-wise. For he,To whichsoe'er God gives the victor's glory—O yea, he shall rejoice! But he that loseth—All for the grief in all the Danaans' heartsFor him! And ours shall be the deepest griefOf all; for that man will not in the warStand by us as of old. A sorrowful dayIt shall be for us, whichsoe'er of theseShall break into fierce anger, seeing theyAre 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 ageIs prudence joined, for I have suffered and wroughtMuch; 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 mostOur foes dread, and who saved Peleides' corseFrom that most deadly fight. Lo, in our midstBe many spear-won Trojans, thralls of Fate;And these will pass true judgment on these twain,To neither showing favour, since they hateAlike all authors of their misery."
He spake: replied Agamemnon lord of spears:"Ancient, there is none other in our midstWiser than thou, of Danaans young or old,In that thou say'st that unforgiving wrathWill burn in him to whom the Gods hereinDeny the victory; for these which striveAre both our chiefest. Therefore mine heart tooIs set on this, that to the thralls of warThis judgment we commit: the loser thenShall against Troy devise his deadly workOf vengeance, and shall not be wroth with us."
He spake, and these three, being of one mind,In hearing of all men refused to judgeJudgment so thankless: they would none of it.Therefore they set the high-born sons of TroyThere 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 GodDeluded thee, to make thee hold thyselfMy peer in might invincible? Dar'st thou sayThat thou, when slain Achilles lay in dust,When round him swarmed the Trojans, didst bear backThat furious throng, when I amidst them hurledDeath, and thou coweredst away? Thy damBare thee a craven and a weakling wretchFrail in comparison of me, as isA 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 backFrom faring with Achaea's gathered hostTo Ilium's holy burg, till Atreus' sonsForced 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' isleGroaning in agony Poeas' son renowned.And not for him alone was ruin devisedOf thee; for godlike Palamedes tooDidst thou contrive destruction—ha, he wasAlike in battle and council better than thou!And now thou dar'st to rise up against me,Neither remembering my kindness, norHaving respect unto the mightier manWho rescued thee erewhile, when thou didst quaffIn 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 stayedMy dauntless might with thunder from his heaven!Then with their two-edged swords the Trojan menHad hewn thee limb from limb, and to their dogsHad cast thy carrion! Then thou hadst not presumedTo meet me, trusting in thy trickeries!Wretch, wherefore, if thou vauntest thee in mightBeyond all others, hast thou set thy shipsIn the line's centre, screened from foes, nor daredAs I, on the far wing to draw them up?Because thou wast afraid! Not thou it wasWho savedst from devouring fire the ships;But I with heart unquailing there stood fastFacing the fire and Hector ay, even heGave back before me everywhere in fight.Thou—thou didst fear him aye with deadly fear!Oh, had this our contention been but setAmidst that very battle, when the roarOf conflict rose around Achilles slain!Then had thine own eyes seen me bearing forthOut from the battle's heart and fury of foesThat goodly armour and its hero lordUnto the tents. But here thou canst but trustIn cunning speech, and covetest a placeAmongst the mighty! Thou—thou hast not strengthTo 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 armsWith words discourteous wrangling stand we here?Come, let us try in strife with brazen spearsWho of us twain is best in murderous right!For silver-footed Thetis set in the midstThis 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 speechOdysseus the resourceful chode with him:"Aias, unbridled tongue, why these vain wordsTo me? Thou hast called me pestilent, niddering,And weakling: yet I boast me better farThan thou in wit and speech, which things increaseThe strength of men. Lo, how the craggy rock,Adamantine though it seem, the hewers of stoneAmid the hills by wisdom undermineFull lightly, and by wisdom shipmen crossThe thunderous-plunging sea, when mountain-highIt surgeth, and by craft do hunters quellStrong lions, panthers, boars, yea, all the broodOf wild things. Furious-hearted bulls are tamedTo bear the yoke-bands by device of men.Yea, all things are by wit accomplished. StillIt is the man who knoweth that excelsThe witless man alike in toils and counsels.For my keen wit did Oeneus' valiant sonChoose me of all men with him to draw nighTo Hector's watchmen: yea, and mighty deedsWe twain accomplished. I it was who broughtTo Atreus' sons Peleides far-renowned,Their battle-helper. Whensoe'er the hostNeedeth some other champion, not for the sakeOf thine hands will he come, nor by the redeOf other Argives: of Achaeans IAlone will draw him with soft suasive wordsTo where strong men are warring. Mighty powerThe tongue hath over men, when courtesyInspires it. Valour is a deedless thing;And bulk and big assemblage of a manCometh to naught, by wisdom unattended.But unto me the Immortals gave both strengthAnd wisdom, and unto the Argive hostMade me a blessing. Nor, as thou hast said,Hast thou in time past saved me when in flightFrom foes. I never fled, but steadfastlyWithstood the charge of all the Trojan host.Furious the enemy came on like a floodBut I by might of hands cut short the threadOf many lives. Herein thou sayest not trueMe in the fray thou didst not shield nor save,But for thine own life roughtest, lest a spearShould pierce thy back if thou shouldst turn to fleeFrom war. My ships? I drew them up mid-line,Not dreading the battle-fury of any foe,But to bring healing unto Atreus' sonsOf war's calamities: and thou didst setFar from their help thy ships. Nay more, I seamedWith cruel stripes my body, and entered soThe Trojans' burg, that I might learn of themAll their devisings for this troublous war.Nor ever I dreaded Hector's spear; myselfRose mid the foremost, eager for the fight,When, prowess-confident, he defied us all.Yea, in the fight around Achilles, ISlew foes far more than thou; 'twas I who savedThe dead king with this armour. Not a whitI dread thy spear now, but my grievous hurtWith pain still vexeth me, the wound I gatIn 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, sawThee toiling in that fray, when Trojans stroveFiercely to hale away Achilles slain.My might it was that with the spear unstrungThe knees of some in fight, and others thrilledWith panic as they pressed on ceaselessly.Then fled they in dire straits, as geese or cranesFlee from an eagle swooping as they feedAlong a grassy meadow; so, in dreadThe Trojans shrinking backward from my spearAnd lightening sword, fled into IliumTo 'scape destruction. If thy might came thereEver at all, not anywhere nigh meWith foes thou foughtest: somewhere far alootMid other ranks thou toiledst, nowhere nighAchilles, where the one great battle raged."
He spake; replied Odysseus the shrewd heart:"Aias, I hold myself no worse than thouIn wit or might, how goodly in outward showThou be soever. Nay, I am keener farOf wit than thou in all the Argives' eyes.In battle-prowess do I equal theeHaply surpass; and this the Trojans know,Who tremble when they see me from afar.Aye, thou too know'st, and others know my strengthBy that hard struggle in the wrestling-match,When Peleus' son set glorious prizes forthBeside the barrow of Patroclus slain."
So spake Laertes' son the world-renowned.Then on that strife disastrous of the strongThe sons of Troy gave judgment. VictoryAnd those immortal arms awarded theyWith one consent to Odysseus mighty in war.Greatly his soul rejoiced; but one deep groanBrake from the Greeks. Then Aias' noble mightStood frozen stiff; and suddenly fell on himDark wilderment; all blood within his frameBoiled, and his gall swelled, bursting forth in flood.Against his liver heaved his bowels; his heartWith anguished pangs was thrilled; fierce stabbing throesShot through the filmy veil 'twixt bone and brain;And darkness and confusion wrapped his mind.With fixed eyes staring on the ground he stoodStill as a statue. Then his sorrowing friendsClosed round him, led him to the shapely ships,Aye murmuring consolations. But his feetTrod for the last time, with reluctant steps,That path; and hard behind him followed Doom.
When to the ships beside the boundless seaThe Argives, faint for supper and for sleep,Had passed, into the great deep Thetis plunged,And all the Nereids with her. Round them swamSea-monsters many, children of the brine.
Against the wise Prometheus bitter-wrothThe Sea-maids were, remembering how that Zeus,Moved by his prophecies, unto Peleus gaveThetis to wife, a most unwilling bride.Then cried in wrath to these Cymothoe:"O that the pestilent prophet had enduredAll 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 nightShadowed the fields, the heavens were star-bestrewn;And by the long-prowed ships the Argives sleptBy ambrosial sleep o'ermastered, and by wineThe 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 roundThe 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 hewWith sudden onslaught of his terrible swordGuileful Odysseus limb from limb. Such thingsHe purposed—nay, had soon accomplished all,Had Pallas not with madness smitten him;For over Odysseus, strong to endure, her heartYearned, as she called to mind the sacrificesOffered to her of him continually.Therefore she turned aside from Argive menThe might of Aias. As a terrible storm,Whose wings are laden with dread hurricane-blasts,Cometh with portents of heart-numbing fearTo shipmen, when the Pleiads, fleeing adreadFrom glorious Orion, plunge beneathThe stream of tireless Ocean, when the airIs 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 beastWhich darteth down a rock-walled glen's ravinesWith foaming jaws, and murderous intentAgainst the hounds and huntsmen, who have tornOut of the cave her cubs, and slain: she runsThis way and that, and roars, if mid the brakesHaply 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 boiledHis heart, as caldron on the Fire-god's hearthMaddens with ceaseless hissing o'er the flamesFrom blazing billets coiling round its sides,At bidding of the toiler eager-souledTo 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 amidstThe mountains maddened by a mighty wind,When the wide-blazing forest crumbles downIn fervent heat. So Aias, his fierce heartWith agony stabbed, in maddened misery raved.Foam frothed about his lips; a beast-like roarHowled from his throat. About his shoulders clashedHis armour. They which saw him trembled, allCowed 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 returnedTo Olympus back from Tethys, unto whomBut yester-morn she went. She clasped him round,And kissed him, who had been her marriage-kinSince at her prayer on Ida's erest he had lulledTo sleep Cronion, when his anger burnedAgainst the Argives. Straightway Hera passedTo Zeus's mansion, and Sleep swiftly flewTo Pasithea's couch. From slumber wokeAll nations of the earth. But Aias, likeOrion the invincible, prowled on,Still bearing murderous madness in his heart.He rushed upon the sheep, like lion fierceWhose savage heart is stung with hunger-pangs.Here, there, he smote them, laid them dead in dustThick as the leaves which the strong North-wind's mightStrews, 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 dayFor all, since Aias thus is sense-distraught.It may be he will set the ships aflame,And slay us all amidst our tents, in wrathFor those lost arms. Would God that Thetis ne'erHad set them for the prize of rivalry!Would God Laertes' son had not presumedIn folly of soul to strive with a better man!Fools were we all; and some malignant GodBeguiled us; for the one great war-defenceLeft us, since Aeacus' son in battle fell,Was Aias' mighty strength. And now the GodsWill to our loss destroy him, bringing baneOn thee and me, that all we may fill upThe 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 kingOf Cephallenian folk, but with the GodsWho plot our ruin. Blame not him, who oftHath 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 screamThis way and that with wings wide-shadowingHe 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 landThy carrion dogs and vultures shall devour!"
So cried he, thinking that amidst the slainOdysseus lay blood-boltered at his feet.But in that moment from his mind and eyesAthena tore away the nightmare-fiendOf Madness havoc-breathing, and it passedThence swiftly to the rock-walled river StyxWhere dwell the winged Erinnyes, they which stillVisit with torments overweening men.
Then Aias saw those sheep upon the earthGasping in death; and sore amazed he stood,For he divined that by the Blessed OnesHis senses had been cheated. All his limbsFailed under him; his soul was anguished-thrilled:He could not in his horror take one stepForward nor backward. Like some towering rockFast-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 heartMine hands had so avenged me! Miscreant, heBrought on me a fell curse! O may his soulSuffer all torments that the Avenging FiendsDevise for villains! On all other GreeksMay they bring murderous battle, woeful griefs,And chiefly on Agamemnon, Atreus' son!Not scatheless to the home may he returnSo 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 moreHath his due guerdon, but the baser sortAre honoured most and loved, as this OdysseusHath worship mid the Greeks: but utterlyHave 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 dustOutstretched he lay, like Typhon, when the boltsOf Zeus had blasted him. Around him groanedThe dark earth as he fell upon her breast.
Then thronging came the Danaans, when they sawLow laid in dust the hero; but ere thenNone dared draw nigh him, but in deadly fearThey watched him from afar. Now hasted theyAnd flung themselves upon the dead, outstretchedUpon their faces: on their heads they castDust, and their wailing went up to the sky.As when men drive away the tender lambsOut of the fleecy flock, to feast thereon,And round the desolate pens the mothers leapCeaselessly bleating, so o'er Aias rangThat 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 tooTo rush on bitter doom: howbeit the restHeld from the sword his hand. Anguished he fellUpon the dead, outpouring many a tearMore comfortlessly than the orphan babeThat wails beside the hearth, with ashes strewnOn head and shoulders, wails bereavement's dayThat brings death to the mother who hath nursedThe fatherless child; so wailed he, ever wailedHis great death-stricken brother, creeping slowAround the corpse, and uttering his lament:"O Aias, mighty-souled, why was thine heartDistraught, that thou shouldst deal unto thyselfMurder and bale? All, was it that the sonsOf 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 failWhen fast they fall in fight. Their shield from harmIs broken now! For me, I have no willTo 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 theeNot for my parents so much do I care,If haply yet they live, if haply yetSpared from the grave, in Salamis they dwell,As for thee, O my glory and my crown!"