So cried he groaning sore; with answering moanQueenly Tecmessa wailed, the princess-brideOf noble Aias, captive of his spear,Yet ta'en by him to wife, and household-queenO'er all his substance, even all that wivesWon with a bride-price rule for wedded lords.Clasped in his mighty arms, she bare to himA son Eurysaces, in all things likeUnto his father, far as babe might beYet cradled in his tent. With bitter moanFell she on that dear corpse, all her fair formClose-shrouded in her veil, and dust-defiled,And from her anguished heart cried piteously:"Alas for me, for me now thou art dead,Not by the hands of foes in fight struck down,But by thine own! On me is come a griefEver-abiding! Never had I lookedTo see thy woeful death-day here by Troy.Ah, visions shattered by rude hands of Fate!Oh that the earth had yawned wide for my graveEre I beheld thy bitter doom! On meNo sharper, more heart-piercing pang hath come—No, not when first from fatherland afarAnd parents thou didst bear me, wailing soreMid other captives, when the day of bondageHad come on me, a princess theretofore.Not for that dear lost home so much I grieve,Nor for my parents dead, as now for thee:For all thine heart was kindness unto meThe hapless, and thou madest me thy wife,One soul with thee; yea, and thou promisedstTo throne me queen of fair-towered Salamis,When home we won from Troy. The Gods deniedAccomplishment thereof. And thou hast passedUnto the Unseen Land: thou hast forgotMe and thy child, who never shall make gladHis father's heart, shall never mount thy throne.But him shall strangers make a wretched thrall:For when the father is no more, the babeIs ward of meaner men. A weary lifeThe orphan knows, and suffering cometh inFrom every side upon him like a flood.To me too thraldom's day shall doubtless come,Now thou hast died, who wast my god on earth."
Then in all kindness Agamemnon spake:"Princess, no man on earth shall make thee thrall,While Teucer liveth yet, while yet I live.Thou shalt have worship of us evermoreAnd honour as a Goddess, with thy son,As though yet living were that godlike man,Aias, who was the Achaeans' chiefest strength.Ah that he had not laid this load of griefOn all, in dying by his own right hand!For all the countless armies of his foesNever availed to slay him in fair fight."
So spake he, grieved to the inmost heart. The folkWoefully wafted all round. O'er HellespontEchoes of mourning rolled: the sighing airDarkened around, a wide-spread sorrow-pall.Yea, grief laid hold on wise Odysseus' selfFor the great dead, and with remorseful soulTo anguish-stricken Argives thus he spake:"O friends, there is no greater curse to menThan wrath, which groweth till its bitter fruitIs strife. Now wrath hath goaded Aias onTo this dire issue of the rage that filledHis soul against me. Would to God that ne'erYon Trojans in the strife for Achilles' armsHad crowned me with that victory, for whichStrong Telamon's brave son, in agonyOf soul, thus perished by his own right hand!Yet blame not me, I pray you, for his wrath:Blame the dark dolorous Fate that struck him down.For, had mine heart foreboded aught of this,This desperation of a soul distraught,Never for victory had I striven with him,Nor had I suffered any Danaan else,Though ne'er so eager, to contend with him.Nay, I had taken up those arms divineWith mine own hands, and gladly given themTo him, ay, though himself desired it not.But for such mighty grief and wrath in himI had not looked, since not for a woman's sakeNor for a city, nor possessions wide,I then contended, but for Honour's meed,Which alway is for all right-hearted menThe happy goal of all their rivalry.But that great-hearted man was led astrayBy Fate, the hateful fiend; for surely it isUnworthy a man to be made passion's fool.The wise man's part is, steadfast-souled to endureAll ills, and not to rage against his lot."
So spake Laertes' son, the far-renowned.But when they all were weary of grief and groan,Then to those sorrowing ones spake Neleus' son:"O friends, the pitiless-hearted Fates have laidStroke after stroke of sorrow upon us,Sorrow for Aias dead, for mighty Achilles,For many an Argive, and for mine own sonAntilochus. Yet all unmeet it isDay after day with passion of grief to wailMen slain in battle: nay, we must forgetLaments, and turn us to the better taskOf rendering dues beseeming to the dead,The dues of pyre, of tomb, of bones inurned.No lamentations will awake the dead;No note thereof he taketh, when the Fates,The ruthless ones, have swallowed him in night."
So spake he words of cheer: the godlike kingsGathered with heavy hearts around the dead,And many hands upheaved the giant corpse,And swiftly bare him to the ships, and thereWashed they away the blood that clotted layDust-flecked on mighty limbs and armour: thenIn linen swathed him round. From Ida's heightsWood without measure did the young men bring,And piled it round the corpse. Billets and logsYet more in a wide circle heaped they round;And sheep they laid thereon, fair-woven vests,And goodly kine, and speed-triumphant steeds,And gleaming gold, and armour without stint,From slain foes by that glorious hero stripped.And lucent amber-drops they laid thereon,Years, say they, which the Daughters of the Sun,The Lord of Omens, shed for Phaethon slain,When by Eridanus' flood they mourned for him.These, for undying honour to his son,The God made amber, precious in men's eyes.Even this the Argives on that broad-based pyreCast freely, honouring the mighty dead.And round him, groaning heavily, they laidSilver most fair and precious ivory,And jars of oil, and whatsoe'er besideThey have who heap up goodly and glorious wealth.Then thrust they in the strength of ravening flame,And from the sea there breathed a wind, sent forthBy Thetis, to consume the giant frameOf Aias. All the night and all the mornBurned 'neath the urgent stress of that great windBeside the ships that giant form, as whenEnceladus by Zeus' levin was consumedBeneath Thrinacia, when from all the isleSmoke of his burning rose—or like as whenHercules, trapped by Nessus' deadly guile,Gave to devouring fire his living limbs,What time he dared that awful deed, when groanedAll Oeta as he burned alive, and passedHis soul into the air, leaving the manFar-famous, to be numbered with the Gods,When earth closed o'er his toil-tried mortal part.So huge amid the flames, all-armour clad,Lay Aias, all the joy of fight forgot,While a great multitude watching thronged the sands.Glad were the Trojans, but the Achaeans grieved.
But when that goodly frame by ravening fireWas all consumed, they quenched the pyre with wine;They gathered up the bones, and reverentlyLaid in a golden casket. Hard besideRhoeteium's headland heaped they up a moundMeasureless-high. Then scattered they amidstThe long ships, heavy-hearted for the manWhom they had honoured even as Achilles.Then black night, bearing unto all men sleep,Upfloated: so they brake bread, and lay downWaiting the Child of the Mist. Short was sleep,Broken by fitful staring through the dark,Haunted by dread lest in the night the foeShould fall on them, now Telamon's son was dead.
How came for the helping of Troy Eurypylus, Hercules' grandson.
Rose Dawn from Ocean and Tithonus' bed,And climbed the steeps of heaven, scattering roundFlushed flakes of splendour; laughed all earth and air.Then turned unto their labours, each to each,Mortals, frail creatures daily dying. ThenStreamed to a folkmote all the Achaean menAt Menelaus' summons. When the hostWere gathered all, then in their midst he spake:"Hearken my words, ye god-descended kings:Mine heart within my breast is burdened soreFor men which perish, men that for my sakeCame to the bitter war, whose home-returnParents and home shall welcome nevermore;For Fate hath cut off thousands in their prime.Oh that the heavy hand of death had fallenOn me, ere hitherward I gathered these!But now hath God laid on me cureless painIn seeing all these ills. Who could rejoiceBeholding strivings, struggles of despair?Come, let us, which be yet alive, in hasteFlee in the ships, each to his several land,Since Aias and Achilles both are dead.I look not, now they are slain, that we the restShall 'scape destruction; nay, but we shall fallBefore yon terrible Trojans for my sakeAnd shameless Helen's! Think not that I careFor her: for you I care, when I beholdGood men in battle slain. Away with her—Her and her paltry paramour! The GodsStole all discretion out of her false heartWhen she forsook mine home and marriage-bed.Let Priam and the Trojans cherish her!But let us straight return: 'twere better farTo flee from dolorous war than perish all."
So spake he but to try the Argive men.Far other thoughts than these made his heart burnWith passionate desire to slay his foes,To break the long walls of their city downFrom their foundations, and to glut with bloodAres, when Paris mid the slain should fall.Fiercer is naught than passionate desire!Thus as he pondered, sitting in his place,Uprose Tydeides, shaker of the shield,And chode in fiery speech with Menelaus:"O coward Atreus' son, what craven fearHath gripped thee, that thou speakest so to usAs might a weakling child or woman speak?Not unto thee Achaea's noblest sonsWill hearken, ere Troy's coronal of towersBe wholly dashed to the dust: for unto menValour is high renown, and flight is shame!If any man shall hearken to the wordsOf this thy counsel, I will smite from himHis head with sharp blue steel, and hurl it downFor soaring kites to feast on. Up! all yeWho care to enkindle men to battle: rouseOur warriors all throughout the fleet to whetThe spear, to burnish corslet, helm and shield;And cause both man and horse, all which be keenIn fight, to break their fast. Then in yon plainWho is the stronger Ares shall decide."
So speaking, in his place he sat him down;Then rose up Thestor's son, and in the midst,Where meet it is to speak, stood forth and cried:"Hear me, ye sons of battle-biding Greeks:Ye know I have the spirit of prophecy.Erewhile I said that ye in the tenth yearShould lay waste towered Ilium: this the GodsAre even now fulfilling; victory liesAt the Argives' very feet. Come, let us sendTydeides and Odysseus battle-staunchWith speed to Scyros overseas, by prayersHither to bring Achilles' hero son:A light of victory shall he be to us."
So spake wise Thestius' son, and all the folkShouted for joy; for all their hearts and hopesYearned to see Calchas' prophecy fulfilled.Then to the Argives spake Laertes' son:"Friends, it befits not to say many wordsThis day to you, in sorrow's weariness.I know that wearied men can find no joyIn speech or song, though the Pierides,The immortal Muses, love it. At such timeFew words do men desire. But now, this thingThat pleaseth all the Achaean host, will IAccomplish, so Tydeides fare with me;For, if we twain go, we shall surely bring,Won by our words, war-fain Achilles' son,Yea, though his mother, weeping sore, should striveWithin her halls to keep him; for mine heartTrusts that he is a hero's valorous son."
Then out spake Menelaus earnestly:"Odysseus, the strong Argives' help at need,If mighty-souled Achilles' valiant sonFrom Scyros by thy suasion come to aidUs who yearn for him, and some Heavenly OneGrant victory to our prayers, and I win homeTo Hellas, I will give to him to wifeMy noble child Hermione, with giftsMany and goodly for her marriage-dowerWith a glad heart. I trow he shall not scornEither his bride or high-born sire-in-law."
With a great shout the Danaans hailed his words.Then was the throng dispersed, and to the shipsThey scattered hungering for the morning meatWhich strengtheneth man's heart. So when they ceasedFrom eating, and desire was satisfied,Then with the wise Odysseus Tydeus' sonDrew down a swift ship to the boundless sea,And victual and all tackling cast therein.Then stepped they aboard, and with them twenty men,Men skilled to row when winds were contrary,Or when the unrippled sea slept 'neath a calm.They smote the brine, and flashed the boiling foam:On leapt the ship; a watery way was cleftAbout the oars that sweating rowers tugged.As when hard-toiling oxen, 'neath the yokeStraining, drag on a massy-timbered wain,While creaks the circling axle 'neath its load,And from their weary necks and shoulders streamsDown to the ground the sweat abundantly;So at the stiff oars toiled those stalwart men,And fast they laid behind them leagues of sea.Gazed after them the Achaeans as they went,Then turned to whet their deadly darts and spears,The weapons of their warfare. In their townThe aweless Trojans armed themselves the whileWar-eager, praying to the Gods to grantRespite from slaughter, breathing-space from toil.
To these, while sorely thus they yearned, the GodsBrought present help in trouble, even the seedOf mighty Hercules, Eurypylus.A great host followed him, in battle skilled,All that by long Caicus' outflow dwelt,Full of triumphant trust in their strong spears.Round them rejoicing thronged the sons of Troy:As when tame geese within a pen gaze upOn him who casts them corn, and round his feetThrong hissing uncouth love, and his heart warmsAs he looks down on them; so thronged the sonsOf Troy, as on fierce-heart EurypylusThey gazed; and gladdened was his aweless soulTo see those throngs: from porchways women lookedWide-eyed with wonder on the godlike man.Above all men he towered as on he strode,As looks a lion when amid the hillsHe comes on jackals. Paris welcomed him,As Hector honouring him, his cousin he,Being of one blood with him, who was born OfAstyoche, King Priam's sister fairWhom Telephus embraced in his strong arms,Telephus, whom to aweless HerculesAuge the bright-haired bare in secret love.That babe, a suckling craving for the breast,A swift hind fostered, giving him the teatAs to her own fawn in all love; for ZeusSo willed it, in whose eyes it was not meetThat Hercules' child should perish wretchedly.His glorious son with glad heart Paris ledUnto his palace through the wide-wayed burgBeside Assaracus' tomb and stately hallsOf Hector, and Tritonis' holy fane.Hard by his mansion stood, and therebesideThe stainless altar of Home-warder ZeusRose. As they went, he lovingly questioned himOf brethren, parents, and of marriage-kin;And all he craved to know Eurypylus told.So communed they, on-pacing side by side.Then came they to a palace great and rich:There goddess-like sat Helen, clothed uponWith beauty of the Graces. Maidens fourAbout her plied their tasks: others apartWithin that goodly bower wrought the worksBeseeming handmaids. Helen marvelling gazedUpon Eurypylus, on Helen he.Then these in converse each with other spakeIn that all-odorous bower. The handmaids broughtAnd set beside their lady high-seats twain;And Paris sat him down, and at his sideEurypylus. That hero's host encampedWithout the city, where the Trojan guardsKept watch. Their armour laid they on the earth;Their steeds, yet breathing battle, stood thereby,And cribs were heaped with horses' provender.
Upfloated night, and darkened earth and air;Then feasted they before that cliff-like wall,Ceteian men and Trojans: babel of talkRose from the feasters: all around the glowOf blazing campfires lighted up the tents:Pealed out the pipe's sweet voice, and hautboys rangWith their clear-shrilling reeds; the witching strainOf lyres was rippling round. From far awayThe Argives gazed and marvelled, seeing the plainAglare with many fires, and hearing notesOf flutes and lyres, neighing of chariot-steedsAnd pipes, the shepherd's and the banquet's joy.Therefore they bade their fellows each in turnKeep watch and ward about the tents till dawn,Lest those proud Trojans feasting by their wallsShould fall on them, and set the ships aflame.
Within the halls of Paris all this whileWith kings and princes Telephus' hero sonFeasted; and Priam and the sons of TroyEach after each prayed him to play the manAgainst the Argives, and in bitter doomTo lay them low; and blithe he promised all.So when they had supped, each hied him to his home;But there Eurypylus laid him down to restFull nigh the feast-hall, in the stately bowerWhere Paris theretofore himself had sleptWith Helen world-renowned. A bower it wasMost wondrous fair, the goodliest of them all.There lay he down; but otherwhere their restTook they, till rose the bright-throned Queen of Morn.Up sprang with dawn the son of Telephus,And passed to the host with all those other kingsIn Troy abiding. Straightway did the folkAll battle-eager don their warrior-gear,Burning to strike in forefront of the fight.And now Eurypylus clad his mighty limbsIn armour that like levin-flashes gleamed;Upon his shield by cunning hands were wroughtAll the great labours of strong Hercules.
Thereon were seen two serpents flickeringBlack tongues from grimly jaws: they seemed in actTo dart; but Hercules' hands to right and left—Albeit a babe's hands—now were throttling them;For aweless was his spirit. As Zeus' strengthFrom the beginning was his strength. The seedOf Heaven-abiders never deedless isNor helpless, but hath boundless prowess, yea,Even when in the womb unborn it lies.
Nemea's mighty lion there was seenStrangled in the strong arms of Hercules,His grim jaws dashed about with bloody foam:He seemed in verity gasping out his life.
Thereby was wrought the Hydra many-neckedFlickering its dread tongues. Of its fearful headsSome severed lay on earth, but many moreWere budding from its necks, while HerculesAnd Iolaus, dauntless-hearted twain,Toiled hard; the one with lightning sickle-sweepsLopped the fierce heads, his fellow seared each neckWith glowing iron; the monster so was slain.
Thereby was wrought the mighty tameless BoarWith foaming jaws; real seemed the pictured thing,As by Aleides' giant strength the bruteWas to Eurystheus living borne on high.
There fashioned was the fleetfoot stag which laidThe vineyards waste of hapless husbandmen.The Hero's hands held fast its golden horns,The while it snorted breath of ravening fire.
Thereon were seen the fierce Stymphalian Birds,Some arrow-smitten dying in the dust,Some through the grey air darting in swift flight.At this, at that one—hot in haste he seemed—Hercules sped the arrows of his wrath.
Augeias' monstrous stable there was wroughtWith cunning craft on that invincible targe;And Hercules was turning through the sameThe deep flow of Alpheius' stream divine,While wondering Nymphs looked down on every handUpon that mighty work. Elsewhere portrayedWas the Fire-breathing Bull: the Hero's gripOn his strong horns wrenched round the massive neck:The straining muscles on his arm stood out:The huge beast seemed to bellow. Next theretoWrought on the shield was one in beauty arrayedAs of a Goddess, even Hippolyta.The hero by the hair was dragging herFrom her swift steed, with fierce resolve to wrestWith his strong hands the Girdle MarvellousFrom the Amazon Queen, while quailing shrank awayThe Maids of War. There in the Thracian landWere Diomedes' grim man-eating steeds:These at their gruesome mangers had he slain,And dead they lay with their fiend-hearted lord.
There lay the bulk of giant GeryonDead mid his kine. His gory heads were castIn dust, dashed down by that resistless club.Before him slain lay that most murderous houndOrthros, in furious might like CerberusHis brother-hound: a herdman lay thereby,Eurytion, all bedabbled with his blood.
There were the Golden Apples wrought, that gleamedIn the Hesperides' garden undefiled:All round the fearful Serpent's dead coils lay,And shrank the Maids aghast from Zeus' bold son.
And there, a dread sight even for Gods to see,Was Cerberus, whom the Loathly Worm had borneTo Typho in a craggy cavern's gloomClose on the borders of Eternal Night,A hideous monster, warder of the GateOf Hades, Home of Wailing, jailer-houndOf dead folk in the shadowy Gulf of Doom.But lightly Zeus' son with his crashing blowsTamed him, and haled him from the cataract floodOf Styx, with heavy-drooping head, and draggedThe Dog sore loth to the strange upper airAll dauntlessly. And there, at the world's end,Were Caucasus' long glens, where Hercules,Rending Prometheus' chains, and hurling themThis way and that with fragments of the rockWhereinto they were riveted, set freeThe mighty Titan. Arrow-smitten layThe Eagle of the Torment therebeside.
There stormed the wild rout of the Centaurs roundThe hall of Pholus: goaded on by StrifeAnd wine, with Hercules the monsters fought.Amidst the pine-trunks stricken to death they layStill grasping those strange weapons in dead hands,While some with stems long-shafted still fought onIn fury, and refrained not from the strife;And all their heads, gashed in the pitiless fight,Were drenched with gore—the whole scene seemed to live—With blood the wine was mingled: meats and bowlsAnd tables in one ruin shattered lay.
There by Evenus' torrent, in fierce wrathFor his sweet bride, he laid with the arrow lowNessus in mid-flight. There withal was wroughtAntaeus' brawny strength, who challenged himTo wrestling-strife; he in those sinewy armsRaised high above the earth, was crushed to death.
There where swift Hellespont meets the outer sea,Lay the sea-monster slain by his ruthless shafts,While from Hesione he rent her chains.
Of bold Alcides many a deed besideShone on the broad shield of Eurypylus.He seemed the War-god, as from rank to rankHe sped; rejoiced the Trojans following him,Seeing his arms, and him clothed with the mightOf Gods; and Paris hailed him to the fray:"Glad am I for thy coming, for mine heartTrusts that the Argives all shall wretchedlyBe with their ships destroyed; for such a manMid Greeks or Trojans never have I seen.Now, by the strength and fury of Hercules—To whom in stature, might, and goodliheadMost like thou art I pray thee, have in mindHim, and resolve to match his deeds with thine.Be the strong shield of Trojans hard-bestead:Win us a breathing-space. Thou only, I trow,From perishing Troy canst thrust the dark doom back."
With kindling words he spake. That hero cried:"Great-hearted Paris, like the Blessed OnesIn goodlihead, this lieth foreordainedOn the Gods' knees, who in the fight shall fall,And who outlive it. I, as honour bids,And as my strength sufficeth, will not flinchFrom Troy's defence. I swear to turn from fightNever, except in victory or death."
Gallantly spake he: with exceeding joyRejoiced the Trojans. Champions then he chose,Alexander and Aeneas fiery-souled,Polydamas, Pammon, and Deiphobus,And Aethicus, of Paphlagonian menThe staunchest man to stem the tide of war;These chose he, cunning all in battle-toil,To meet the foe in forefront of the fight.Swiftly they strode before that warrior-throngThen from the city cheering charged. The hostFollowed them in their thousands, as when beesFollow by bands their leaders from the hives,With loud hum on a spring day pouring forth.So to the fight the warriors followed these;And, as they charged, the thunder-tramp of menAnd steeds, and clang of armour, rang to heaven.As when a rushing mighty wind stirs upThe barren sea-plain from its nethermost floor,And darkling to the strand roll roaring wavesBelching sea-tangle from the bursting surf,And wild sounds rise from beaches harvestless;So, as they charged, the wide earth rang again.
Now from their rampart forth the Argives pouredRound godlike Agamemnon. Rang their shoutsCheering each other on to face the fight,And not to cower beside the ships in dreadOf onset-shouts of battle-eager foes.They met those charging hosts with hearts as lightAs calves bear, when they leap to meet the kineDown faring from hill-pastures in the springUnto the steading, when the fields are greenWith corn-blades, when the earth is glad with flowers,And bowls are brimmed with milk of kine and ewes,And multitudinous lowing far and nearUprises as the mothers meet their young,And in their midst the herdman joys; so greatWas the uproar that rose when met the frontsOf battle: dread it rang on either hand.Hard-strained was then the fight: incarnateStrife Stalked through the midst, with Slaughter ghastly-faced.Crashed bull-hide shields, and spears, and helmet-crestsMeeting: the brass flashed out like leaping flames.Bristled the battle with the lances; earthRan red with blood, as slaughtered heroes fellAnd horses, mid a tangle of shattered ears,Some yet with spear-wounds gasping, while on themOthers were falling. Through the air upshriekedAn awful indistinguishable roar;For on both hosts fell iron-hearted Strife.Here were men hurling cruel jagged stones,There speeding arrows and new-whetted darts,There with the axe or twibill hewing hard,Slashing with swords, and thrusting out with spears:Their mad hands clutched all manner of tools of death.
At first the Argives bore the ranks of TroyBackward a little; but they rallied, charged,Leapt on the foe, and drenched the field with blood.Like a black hurricane rushed EurypylusCheering his men on, hewing Argives downAwelessly: measureless might was lent to himBy Zeus, for a grace to glorious Hercules.Nireus, a man in beauty like the Gods,His spear long-shafted stabbed beneath the ribs,Down on the plain he fell, forth streamed the bloodDrenching his splendid arms, drenching the formGlorious of mould, and his thick-clustering hair.There mid the slain in dust and blood he lay,Like a young lusty olive-sapling, whichA river rushing down in roaring flood,Tearing its banks away, and cleaving wideA chasm-channel, hath disrooted; lowIt lieth heavy-blossomed; so lay thenThe goodly form, the grace of lovelinessOf Nireus on earth's breast. But o'er the slainLoud rang the taunting of Eurypylus:"Lie there in dust! Thy beauty marvellousNaught hath availed thee! I have plucked thee awayFrom life, to which thou wast so fain to cling.Rash fool, who didst defy a mightier manUnknowing! Beauty is no match for strength!"
He spake, and leapt upon the slain to stripHis goodly arms: but now against him cameMachaon wroth for Nireus, by his sideDoom-overtaken. With his spear he draveAt his right shoulder: strong albeit he was,He touched him, and blood spurted from the gash.Yet, ere he might leap back from grapple of death,Even as a lion or fierce mountain-boarMaddens mid thronging huntsmen, furious-fainTo rend the man whose hand first wounded him;So fierce Eurypylus on Machaon rushed.The long lance shot out swiftly, and pierced him throughOn the right haunch; yet would he not give back,Nor flinch from the onset, fast though flowed the blood.In haste he snatched a huge stone from the ground,And dashed it on the head of Telephus' son;But his helm warded him from death or harmThen waxed Eurypylus more hotly wrothWith that strong warrior, and in fury of soulClear through Machaon's breast he drave his spear,And through the midriff passed the gory point.He fell, as falls beneath a lion's jawsA bull, and round him clashed his glancing arms.Swiftly Eurypylus plucked the lance of deathOut of the wound, and vaunting cried aloud:"Wretch, wisdom was not bound up in thine heart,That thou, a weakling, didst come forth to fightA mightier. Therefore art thou in the toilsOf Doom. Much profit shall be thine, when kitesDevour the flesh of thee in battle slain!Ha, dost thou hope still to return, to 'scapeMine hands? A leech art thou, and soothing salvesThou knowest, and by these didst haply hopeTo flee the evil day! Not thine own sire,On the wind's wings descending from Olympus,Should save thy life, not though between thy lipsHe should pour nectar and ambrosia!"
Faint-breathing answered him the dying man:"Eurypylus, thine own weird is to liveNot long: Fate is at point to meet thee hereOn Troy's plain, and to still thine impious tongue."
So passed his spirit into Hades' halls.Then to the dead man spake his conqueror:"Now on the earth lie thou. What shall betideHereafter, care I not—yea, though this dayDeath's doom stand by my feet: no man may liveFor ever: each man's fate is foreordained."
Stabbing the corpse he spake. Then shouted loudTeucer, at seeing Machaon in the dust.Far thence he stood hard-toiling in the fight,For on the centre sore the battle lay:Foe after foe pressed on; yet not for thisWas Teucer heedless of the fallen brave,Neither of Nireus lying hard therebyBehind Machaon in the dust. He saw,
And with a great voice raised the rescue-cry:"Charge, Argives! Flinch not from the charging foe!For shame unspeakable shall cover usIf Trojan men hale back to IliumNoble Machaon and Nireus godlike-fair.Come, with a good heart let us face the foeTo rescue these slain friends, or fall ourselvesBeside them. Duty bids that men defendFriends, and to aliens leave them not a prey,Not without sweat of toil is glory won!"
Then were the Danaans anguish-stung: the earthAll round them dyed they red with blood of slain,As foe fought foe in even-balanced fight.By this to Podaleirius tidings cameHow that in dust his brother lay, struck downBy woeful death. Beside the ships he satMinistering to the hurts of men with spearsStricken. In wrath for his brother's sake he rose,He clad him in his armour; in his breastDread battle-prowess swelled. For conflict grimHe panted: boiled the mad blood round his heartHe leapt amidst the foemen; his swift handsSwung the snake-headed javelin up, and hurled,And slew with its winged speed Agamestor's sonCleitus, a bright-haired Nymph had given him birthBeside Parthenius, whose quiet streamFleets smooth as oil through green lands, till it poursIts shining ripples to the Euxine sea.Then by his warrior-brother laid he lowLassus, whom Pronoe, fair as a goddess, bareBeside Nymphaeus' stream, hard by a cave,A wide and wondrous cave: sacred it isMen say, unto the Nymphs, even all that hauntThe long-ridged Paphlagonian hills, and allThat by full-clustered Heracleia dwell.That cave is like the work of gods, of stoneIn manner marvellous moulded: through it flowsCold water crystal-clear: in niches roundStand bowls of stone upon the rugged rock,Seeming as they were wrought by carvers' hands.Statues of Wood-gods stand around, fair Nymphs,Looms, distaffs, all such things as mortal craftFashioneth. Wondrous seem they unto menWhich pass into that hallowed cave. It hath,Up-leading and down-leading, doorways twain,Facing, the one, the wild North's shrilling blasts,And one the dank rain-burdened South. By thisDo mortals pass beneath the Nymphs' wide cave;But that is the Immortals' path: no manMay tread it, for a chasm deep and wideDown-reaching unto Hades, yawns between.This track the Blest Gods may alone behold.So died a host on either side that warredOver Machaon and Aglaia's son.But at the last through desperate wrestle of fightThe Danaans rescued them: yet few were theyWhich bare them to the ships: by bitter stressOf conflict were the more part compassed round,And needs must still abide the battle's brunt.But when full many had filled the measure upOf fate, mid tumult, blood and agony,Then to their ships did many Argives fleePressed by Eurypylus hard, an avalancheOf havoc. Yet a few abode the strifeRound Aias and the Atreidae rallying;And haply these had perished all, besetBy throngs on throngs of foes on every hand,Had not Oileus' son stabbed with his spear'Twixt shoulder and breast war-wise Polydamas;Forth gushed the blood, and he recoiled a space.Then Menelaus pierced DeiphobusBy the right breast, that with swift feet he fled.And many of that slaughter-breathing throngWere slain by Agamemnon: furiouslyHe rushed on godlike Aethicus with the spear;But he shrank from the forefront back mid friends.
Now when Eurypylus the battle-stayMarked how the ranks of Troy gave back from fight,He turned him from the host that he had chasedEven to the ships, and rushed with eagle-swoopOn Atreus' strong sons and Oileus' seedStout-hearted, who was passing fleet of footAnd in fight peerless. Swiftly he charged on theseGrasping his spear long-shafted: at Iris sideCharged Paris, charged Aeneas stout of heart,Who hurled a stone exceeding huge, that crashedOn Aias' helmet: dashed to the dust he was,Yet gave not up the ghost, whose day of doomWas fate-ordained amidst Caphaerus' rocksOn the home-voyage. Now his valiant menOut of the foes' hands snatched him, bare him thence,Scarce drawing breath, to the Achaean ships.And now the Atreid kings, the war-renowned,Were left alone, and murder-breathing foesEncompassed them, and hurled from every sideWhate'er their hands might find the deadly shaftSome showered, some the stone, the javelin some.They in the midst aye turned this way and that,As boars or lions compassed round with palesOn that day when kings gather to the sportThe people, and have penned the mighty beastsWithin the toils of death; but these, althoughWith walls ringed round, yet tear with tusk and fangWhat luckless thrall soever draweth near.So these death-compassed heroes slew their foesEver as they pressed on. Yet had their mightAvailed not for defence, for all their will,Had Teucer and Idomeneus strong of heartCome not to help, with Thoas, Meriones,And godlike Thrasymedes, they which shrankErewhile before Eurypylus yea, had fledUnto the ships to 'scape the crushing doom,But that, in fear for Atreus' sons, they ralliedAgainst Eurypylus: deadly waxed the fight.
Then Teucer with a mighty spear-thrust smoteAeneas' shield, yet wounded not his flesh,For the great fourfold buckler warded him;Yet feared he, and recoiled a little space.Leapt Meriones upon LaophoonThe son of Paeon, born by Axius' floodOf bright-haired Cleomede. Unto TroyWith noble Asteropaeus had he comeTo aid her folk: him Meriones' keen spearStabbed 'neath the navel, and the lance-head toreHis bowels forth; swift sped his soul awayInto the Shadow-land. Alcimedes,The warrior-friend of Aias, Oileus' son,Shot mid the press of Trojans; for he spedWith taunting shout a sharp stone from a slingInto their battle's heart. They quailed in fearBefore the hum and onrush of the bolt.Fate winged its flight to the bold charioteerOf Pammon, Hippasus' son: his brow it smoteWhile yet he grasped the reins, and flung him stunnedDown from the chariot-seat before the wheels.The rushing war-wain whirled his wretched form'Twixt tyres and heels of onward-leaping steeds,And awful death in that hour swallowed himWhen whip and reins had flown from his nerveless hands.Then grief thrilled Pammon: hard necessityMade him both chariot-lord and charioteer.Now to his doom and death-day had he bowed,Had not a Trojan through that gory strifeLeapt, grasped the reins, and saved the prince, when nowHis strength failed 'neath the murderous hands of foes.
As godlike Acamas charged, the stalwart sonOf Nestor thrust the spear above his knee,And with that wound sore anguish came on him:Back from the fight he drew; the deadly strifeHe left unto his comrades: quenched was nowHis battle-lust. Eurypylus' henchman smoteEchemmon, Thoas' friend, amidst the frayBeneath the shoulder: nigh his heart the spearPassed bitter-biting: o'er his limbs brake outMingled with blood cold sweat of agony.He turned to flee; Eurypylus' giant mightChased, caught him, shearing his heel-tendons through:There, where the blow fell, his reluctant feetStayed, and the spirit left his mortal frame.Thoas pricked Paris with quick-thrusting spearOn the right thigh: backward a space he ranFor his death-speeding bow, which had been leftTo rearward of the fight. IdomeneusUpheaved a stone, huge as his hands could swing,And dashed it on Eurypylus' arm: to earthFell his death-dealing spear. Backward he steppedTo grasp another, since from out his handThe first was smitten. So had Atreus' sonsA moment's breathing-space from stress of war.But swiftly drew Eurypylus' henchmen nearBearing a stubborn-shafted lance, wherewithHe brake the strength of many. In stormy mightThen charged he on the foe: whomso he metHe slew, and spread wide havoc through their ranks.
Now neither Atreus' sons might steadfast stand,Nor any valiant Danaan beside,For ruinous panic suddenly gripped the heartsOf all; for on them all Eurypylus rushedFlashing death in their faces, chased them, slew,Cried to the Trojans and to his chariot-lords:"Friends, be of good heart! To these DanaansLet us deal slaughter and doom's darkness now!Lo, how like scared sheep back to the ships they flee!Forget not your death-dealing battle-lore,O ye that from your youth are men of war!"
Then charged they on the Argives as one man;And these in utter panic turned and fledThe bitter battle, those hard after themFollowed, as white-fanged hounds hold deer in chaseUp the long forest-glens. Full many in dustThey dashed down, howsoe'er they longed to escape.The slaughter grim and great of that wild fray.Eurypylus hath slain Bucolion,Nesus, and Chromion and Antiphus;Twain in Mycenae dwelt, a goodly land;In Lacedaemon twain. Men of renownAlbeit they were, he slew them. Then he smoteA host unnumbered of the common throng.My strength should not suffice to sing their fate,How fain soever, though within my breastWere iron lungs. Aeneas slew withalAntimachus and Pheres, twain which leftCrete with Idomeneus. Agenor smoteMolus the princely,—with king SthenelusHe came from Argos,—hurled from far behindA dart new-whetted, as he fled from fight,Piercing his right leg, and the eager shaftCut sheer through the broad sinew, shatteringThe bones with anguished pain: and so his doomMet him, to die a death of agony.Then Paris' arrows laid proud Phorcys low,And Mosynus, brethren both, from SalamisWho came in Aias' ships, and nevermoreSaw the home-land. Cleolaus smote he next,Meges' stout henchman; for the arrow struckHis left breast: deadly night enwrapped him round,And his soul fleeted forth: his fainting heartStill in his breast fluttering convulsivelyMade the winged arrow shiver. Yet againDid Paris shoot at bold Eetion.Through his jaw leapt the sudden-flashing brass:He groaned, and with his blood were mingled tears.So ever man slew man, till all the spaceWas heaped with Argives each on other cast.Now had the Trojans burnt with fire the ships,Had not night, trailing heavy-folded mist,Uprisen. So Eurypylus drew back,And Troy's sons with him, from the ships aloofA little space, by Simois' outfall; thereCamped they exultant. But amidst the shipsFlung down upon the sands the Argives wailedHeart-anguished for the slain, so many of whomDark fate had overtaken and laid in dust.
How the Son of Achilles was brought to the War from the Isle of Scyros.
When heaven hid his stars, and Dawn awokeOutspraying splendour, and night's darkness fled,Then undismayed the Argives' warrior-sonsMarched forth without the ships to meet in fightEurypylus, save those that tarried stillTo render to Machaon midst the shipsDeath-dues, with Nireus—Nireus, who in graceAnd goodlihead was like the Deathless Ones,Yet was not strong in bodily might: the GodsGrant not perfection in all things to men;But evil still is blended with the goodBy some strange fate: to Nireus' winsome graceWas linked a weakling's prowess. Yet the GreeksSlighted him not, but gave him all death-dues,And mourned above his grave with no less griefThan for Machaon, whom they honoured aye,For his deep wisdom, as the immortal Gods.One mound they swiftly heaped above these twain.
Then in the plain once more did murderous warMadden: the multitudinous clash and cryRose, as the shields were shattered with huge stones,Were pierced with lances. So they toiled in fight;But all this while lay PodaleiriusFasting in dust and groaning, leaving notHis brother's tomb; and oft his heart was movedWith his own hands to slay himself. And nowHe clutched his sword, and now amidst his herbsSought for a deadly drug; and still his friendsEssayed to stay his hand and comfort himWith many pleadings. But he would not ceaseFrom grieving: yea, his hands had spilt his lifeThere on his noble brother's new-made tomb,But Nestor heard thereof, and sorrowed soreIn his affliction, and he came on himAs now he flung him on that woeful grave,And now was casting dust upon his head,Beating his breast, and on his brother's nameCrying, while thralls and comrades round their lordGroaned, and affliction held them one and all.Then gently spake he to that stricken one:"Refrain from bitter moan and deadly grief,My son. It is not for a wise man's honourTo wail, as doth a woman, o'er the fallen.Thou shalt not bring him up to light againWhose soul hath fleeted vanishing into air,Whose body fire hath ravined up, whose bonesEarth has received. His end was worthy his life.Endure thy sore grief, even as I endured,Who lost a son, slain by the hands of foes,A son not worse than thy Machaon, goodWith spears in battle, good in counsel. NoneOf all the youths so loved his sire as heLoved me. He died for me yea, died to saveHis father. Yet, when he was slain, did IEndure to taste food, and to see the light,Well knowing that all men must tread one pathHades-ward, and before all lies one goal,Death's mournful goal. A mortal man must bearAll joys, all griefs, that God vouchsafes to send."
Made answer that heart-stricken one, while stillWet were his cheeks with ever-flowing tears:"Father, mine heart is bowed 'neath crushing griefFor a brother passing wise, who fostered meEven as a son. When to the heavens had passedOur father, in his arms he cradled me:Gladly he taught me all his healing lore;We shared one table; in one bed we lay:We had all things in common these, and love.My grief cannot forget, nor I desire,Now he is dead, to see the light of life."
Then spake the old man to that stricken one:"To all men Fate assigns one same sad lot,Bereavement: earth shall cover all alike,Albeit we tread not the same path of life,And none the path he chooseth; for on highGood things and bad lie on the knees ofGods Unnumbered, indistinguishably blent.These no Immortal seeth; they are veiledIn mystic cloud-folds. Only Fate puts forthHer hands thereto, nor looks at what she takes,But casts them from Olympus down to earth.This way and that they are wafted, as it wereBy gusts of wind. The good man oft is whelmedIn suffering: wealth undeserved is heapedOn the vile person. Blind is each man's life;Therefore he never walketh surely; oftHe stumbleth: ever devious is his path,Now sloping down to sorrow, mounting nowTo bliss. All-happy is no living manFrom the beginning to the end, but stillThe good and evil clash. Our life is short;Beseems not then in grief to live. Hope on,Still hope for better days: chain not to woeThine heart. There is a saying among menThat to the heavens unperishing mount the soulsOf good men, and to nether darkness sinkSouls of the wicked. Both to God and manDear was thy brother, good to brother-men,And son of an Immortal. Sure am IThat to the company of Gods shall heAscend, by intercession of thy sire."
Then raised he that reluctant mourner upWith comfortable words. From that dark graveHe drew him, backward gazing oft with groans.To the ships they came, where Greeks and Trojan menHad bitter travail of rekindled war.
Eurypylus there, in dauntless spirit likeThe War-god, with mad-raging spear and handsResistless, smote down hosts of foes: the earthWas clogged with dead men slain on either side.On strode he midst the corpses, awelesslyHe fought, with blood-bespattered hands and feet;Never a moment from grim strife he ceased.Peneleos the mighty-hearted cameAgainst him in the pitiless fray: he fellBefore Eurypylus' spear: yea, many moreFell round him. Ceased not those destroying hands,But wrathful on the Argives still he pressed,As when of old on Pholoe's long-ridged heightsUpon the Centaurs terrible Hercules rushedStorming in might, and slew them, passing-swiftAnd strong and battle-cunning though they were;So rushed he on, so smote he down the array,One after other, of the Danaan spears.Heaps upon heaps, here, there, in throngs they fellStrewn in the dust. As when a river in floodComes thundering down, banks crumble on either sideTo drifting sand: on seaward rolls the surgeTossing wild crests, while cliffs on every handRing crashing echoes, as their brows break downBeneath long-leaping roaring waterfalls,And dikes are swept away; so fell in dustThe war-famed Argives by Eurypylus slain,Such as he overtook in that red rout.Some few escaped, whom strength of fleeing feetDelivered. Yet in that sore strait they drewPeneleos from the shrieking tumult forth,And bare to the ships, though with swift feet themselvesWere fleeing from ghastly death, from pitiless doom.Behind the rampart of the ships they fledIn huddled rout: they had no heart to standBefore Eurypylus, for Hercules,To crown with glory his son's stalwart son,Thrilled them with panic. There behind their wallThey cowered, as goats to leeward of a hillShrink from the wild cold rushing of the windThat bringeth snow and heavy sleet and haft.No longing for the pasture tempteth themOver the brow to step, and face the blast,But huddling screened by rock-wall and ravineThey abide the storm, and crop the scanty grassUnder dim copses thronging, till the gustsOf that ill wind shall lull: so, by their towersScreened, did the trembling Danaans abideTelephus' mighty son. Yea, he had burntThe ships, and all that host had he destroyed,Had not Athena at the last inspiredThe Argive men with courage. CeaselesslyFrom the high rampart hurled they at the foeWith bitter-biting darts, and slew them fast;And all the walls were splashed with reeking gore,And aye went up a moan of smitten men.
So fought they: nightlong, daylong fought they on,Ceteians, Trojans, battle-biding Greeks,Fought, now before the ships, and now againRound the steep wall, with fury unutterable.Yet even so for two days did they ceaseFrom murderous fight; for to Eurypylus cameA Danaan embassage, saying, "From the warForbear we, while we give unto the flamesThe battle-slain." So hearkened he to them:From ruin-wreaking strife forebore the hosts;And so their dead they buried, who in dustHad fallen. Chiefly the Achaeans mournedPeneleos; o'er the mighty dead they heapedA barrow broad and high, a sign for menOf days to be. But in a several placeThe multitude of heroes slain they laid,Mourning with stricken hearts. On one great pyreThey burnt them all, and buried in one grave.So likewise far from thence the sons of TroyBuried their slain. Yet murderous Strife slept not,But roused again Eurypylus' dauntless mightTo meet the foe. He turned not from the ships,But there abode, and fanned the fury of war.
Meanwhile the black ship on to Scyros ran;And those twain found before his palace-gateAchilles' son, now hurling dart and lance,Now in his chariot driving fleetfoot steeds.Glad were they to behold him practisingThe deeds of war, albeit his heart was sadFor his slain sire, of whom had tidings comeEre this. With reverent eyes of awe they wentTo meet him, for that goodly form and faceSeemed even as very Achilles unto them.But he, or ever they had spoken, cried:"All hail, ye strangers, unto this mine homeSay whence ye are, and who, and what the needThat hither brings you over barren seas."
So spake he, and Odysseus answered him:"Friends are we of Achilles lord of war,To whom of Deidameia thou wast born—Yea, when we look on thee we seem to seeThat Hero's self; and like the Immortal OnesWas he. Of Ithaca am I: this manOf Argos, nurse of horses—if perchanceThou hast heard the name of Tydeus' warrior sonOr of the wise Odysseus. Lo, I standBefore thee, sent by voice of prophecy.I pray thee, pity us: come thou to TroyAnd help us. Only so unto the warAn end shall be. Gifts beyond words to theeThe Achaean kings shall give: yea, I myselfWill give to thee thy godlike father's arms,And great shall be thy joy in bearing them;For these be like no mortal's battle-gear,But splendid as the very War-god's arms.Over their marvellous blazonry hath goldBeen lavished; yea, in heaven Hephaestus' selfRejoiced in fashioning that work divine,The which thine eyes shall marvel to behold;For earth and heaven and sea upon the shieldAre wrought, and in its wondrous compass areCreatures that seem to live and move—a wonderEven to the Immortals. Never manHath seen their like, nor any man hath worn,Save thy sire only, whom the Achaeans allHonoured as Zeus himself. I chiefliestFrom mine heart loved him, and when he was slain,To many a foe I dealt a ruthless doom,And through them all bare back to the ships his corse.Therefore his glorious arms did Thetis giveTo me. These, though I prize them well, to theeWill I give gladly when thou com'st to Troy.Yea also, when we have smitten Priam's townsAnd unto Hellas in our ships return,Shall Menelaus give thee, an thou wilt,His princess-child to wife, of love for thee,And with his bright-haired daughter shall bestowRich dower of gold and treasure, even allThat meet is to attend a wealthy king."
So spake he, and replied Achilles' son:"If bidden of oracles the Achaean menSummon me, let us with to-morrow's dawnFare forth upon the broad depths of the sea,If so to longing Danaans I may proveA light of help. Now pass we to mine halls,And to such guest-fare as befits to setBefore the stranger. For my marriage-day—To this the Gods in time to come shall see."
Then hall-ward led he them, and with glad heartsThey followed. To the forecourt when they cameOf that great mansion, found they there the QueenDeidameia in her sorrow of soulGrief-wasted, as when snow from mountain-sidesBefore the sun and east-wind wastes away;So pined she for that princely hero slain.Then came to her amidst her grief the kings,And greeted her in courteous wise. Her sonDrew near and told their lineage and their names;But that for which they came he left untoldUntil the morrow, lest unto her woeThere should be added grief and floods of tears,And lest her prayers should hold him from the pathWhereon his heart was set. Straight feasted these,And comforted their hearts with sleep, even allWhich dwelt in sea-ringed Scyros, nightlong lulledBy long low thunder of the girdling deep,Of waves Aegean breaking on her shores.But not on Deidameia fell the handsOf kindly sleep. She bore in mind the namesOf crafty Odysseus and of DiomedeThe godlike, how these twain had widowed herOf battle-fain Achilles, how their wordsHad won his aweless heart to fare with themTo meet the war-cry where stern Fate met him,Shattered his hope of home-return, and laidMeasureless grief on Peleus and on her.Therefore an awful dread oppressed her soulLest her son too to tumult of the warShould speed, and grief be added to her grief.
Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway theyRose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew;And on her son's broad breast she cast herself,And bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air,As when a cow loud-lowing mid the hillsSeeks through the glens her calf, and all aroundEcho long ridges of the mountain-steep;So on all sides from dim recesses rangThe hall; and in her misery she cried:"Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wingTo follow strangers unto IliumThe fount of tears, where perish many in fight,Yea, cunning men in war and battle grim?And thou art but a youth, and hast not learntThe ways of war, which save men in the dayOf peril. Hearken thou to me, abideHere in thine home, lest evil tidings comeFrom Troy unto my ears, that thou in fightHast perished; for mine heart saith, never thouHitherward shalt from battle-toil return.Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death—He, mightier than thou, mightier than allHeroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess' son—But was in battle slain, all through the wilesAnd crafty counsels of these very menWho now to woeful war be kindling thee.Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fearLest, son, my lot should be to live bereavedOf thee, and to endure dishonour and pain,For never heavier blow on woman fallsThan when her lord hath perished, and her sonsDie also, and her house is left to herDesolate. Straightway evil men removeHer landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all,Setting the right at naught. There is no lotMore woeful and more helpless than is hersWho is left a widow in a desolate home."
Loud-wailing spake she; but her son replied:"Be of good cheer, my mother; put from theeEvil foreboding. No man is in warBeyond his destiny slain. If my weird beTo die in my country's cause, then let me dieWhen I have done deeds worthy of my sire."
Then to his side old Lycomedes came,And to his battle-eager grandson spake:"O valiant-hearted son, so like thy sire,I know thee strong and valorous; yet, O yetFor thee I fear the bitter war; I fearThe terrible sea-surge. Shipmen evermoreHang on destruction's brink. Beware, my child,Perils of waters when thou sailest backFrom Troy or other shores, such as besetFull oftentimes the voyagers that rideThe long sea-ridges, when the sun hath leftThe Archer-star, and meets the misty Goat,When the wild blasts drive on the lowering storm,Or when Orion to the darkling westSlopes, into Ocean's river sinking slow.Beware the time of equal days and nights,When blasts that o'er the sea's abysses rush,None knoweth whence in fury of battle clash.Beware the Pleiads' setting, when the seaMaddens beneath their power nor these alone,But other stars, terrors of hapless men,As o'er the wide sea-gulf they set or rise."
Then kissed he him, nor sought to stay the feetOf him who panted for the clamour of war,Who smiled for pleasure and for eagernessTo haste to the ship. Yet were his hurrying feetStayed by his mother's pleading and her tearsStill in those halls awhile. As some swift horseIs reined in by his rider, when he strainsUnto the race-course, and he neighs, and champsThe curbing bit, dashing his chest with foam,And his feet eager for the course are stillNever, his restless hooves are clattering aye;His mane is a stormy cloud, he tosses highHis head with snortings, and his lord is glad;So reined his mother back the glorious sonOf battle-stay Achilles, so his feetWere restless, so the mother's loving prideJoyed in her son, despite her heart-sick pain.
A thousand times he kissed her, then at lastLeft her alone with her own grief and moanThere in her father's halls. As o'er her nestA swallow in her anguish cries aloudFor her lost nestlings which, mid piteous shrieks,A fearful serpent hath devoured, and wrungThe loving mother's heart; and now aboveThat empty cradle spreads her wings, and nowFlies round its porchway fashioned cunninglyLamenting piteously her little ones:So for her child Deidameia mourned.Now on her son's bed did she cast herself,Crying aloud, against his door-post nowShe leaned, and wept: now laid she in her lapThose childhood's toys yet treasured in her bower,Wherein his babe-heart joyed long years agone.She saw a dart there left behind of him,And kissed it o'er and o'er yea, whatso elseHer weeping eyes beheld that was her son's.
Naught heard he of her moans unutterable,But was afar, fast striding to the ship.He seemed, as his feet swiftly bare him on,Like some all-radiant star; and at his sideWith Tydeus' son war-wise Odysseus went,And with them twenty gallant-hearted men,Whom Deidameia chose as trustiestOf all her household, and unto her sonGave them for henchmen swift to do his will.And these attended Achilles' valiant son,As through the city to the ship he sped.On, with glad laughter, in their midst he strode;And Thetis and the Nereids joyed thereat.Yea, glad was even the Raven-haired, the LordOf all the sea, beholding that brave sonOf princely Achilles, marking how he longedFor battle. Beardless boy albeit he was,His prowess and his might were inward spursTo him. He hasted forth his fatherlandLike to the War-god, when to gory strifeHe speedeth, wroth with foes, when maddenethHis heart, and grim his frown is, and his eyesFlash levin-flame around him, and his faceIs clothed with glory of beauty terror-blent,As on he rusheth: quail the very Gods.So seemed Achilles' goodly son; and prayersWent up through all the city unto HeavenTo bring their noble prince safe back from war;And the Gods hearkened to them. High he toweredAbove all stateliest men which followed him.
So came they to the heavy-plunging sea,And found the rowers in the smooth-wrought shipHandling the tackle, fixing mast and sail.Straightway they went aboard: the shipmen castThe hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones,The strength and stay of ships in time of need.Then did the Sea-queen's lord grant voyage fairTo these with gracious mind; for his heart yearnedO'er the Achaeans, by the Trojan menAnd mighty-souled Eurypylus hard-bestead.On either side of Neoptolemus satThose heroes, gladdening his soul with talesOf his sire's mighty deeds—of all he wroughtIn sea-raids, and in valiant Telephus' land,And how he smote round Priam's burg the menOf Troy, for glory unto Atreus' sons.His heart glowed, fain to grasp his heritage,His aweless father's honour and renown.
In her bower, sorrowing for her son the while,Deidameia poured forth sighs and tears.With agony of soul her very heartMelted in her, as over coals doth leadOr wax, and never did her moaning cease,As o'er the wide sea her gaze followed him.Ay, for her son a mother fretteth still,Though it be to a feast that he hath gone,By a friend bidden forth. But soon the sailOf that good ship far-fleeting o'er the blueGrew faint and fainter—melted in sea-haze.But still she sighed, still daylong made her moan.
On ran the ship before a following wind,Seeming to skim the myriad-surging sea,And crashed the dark wave either side the prow:Swiftly across the abyss unplumbed she sped.Night's darkness fell about her, but the breezeHeld, and the steersman's hand was sure. O'er gulfsOf brine she flew, till Dawn divine rose upTo climb the sky. Then sighted they the peaksOf Ida, Chrysa next, and Smintheus' fane,Then the Sigean strand, and then the tombOf Aeacus' son. Yet would Laertes' seed,The man discreet of soul, not point it outTo Neoptolemus, lest the tide of griefToo high should swell within his breast. They passedCalydnae's isles, left Tenedos behind;And now was seen the fane of Eleus,Where stands Protesilaus' tomb, beneathThe shade of towery elms; when, soaring highAbove the plain, their topmost boughs discernTroy, straightway wither all their highest sprays.Nigh Ilium now the ship by wind and oarWas brought: they saw the long strand fringed with keelsOf Argives, who endured sore travail of warEven then about the wall, the which themselvesHad reared to screen the ships and men in stressOf battle. Even now Eurypylus' handsTo earth were like to dash it and destroy;But the quick eyes of Tydeus' strong son markedHow rained the darts and stones on that long wall.Forth of the ship he sprang, and shouted loudWith all the strength of his undaunted breast:"Friends, on the Argive men is heaped this daySore travail! Let us don our flashing armsWith speed, and to yon battle-turmoil haste.For now upon our towers the warrior sonsOf Troy press hard—yea, haply will they tearThe long walls down, and burn the ships with fire,And so the souls that long for home-returnShall win it never; nay, ourselves shall fallBefore our due time, and shall lie in gravesIn Troyland, far from children and from wives."
All as one man down from the ship they leapt;For trembling seized on all for that grim sight—On all save aweless NeoptolemusWhose might was like his father's: lust of warSwept o'er him. To Odysseus' tent in hasteThey sped, for close it lay to where the shipTouched land. About its walls was hung great storeOf change of armour, of wise Odysseus some,And rescued some from gallant comrades slain.Then did the brave man put on goodly arms;But they in whose breasts faintlier beat their heartsMust don the worser. Odysseus stood arrayedIn those which came with him from Ithaca:To Diomede he gave fair battle-gearStripped in time past from mighty Socus slain.But in his father's arms Achilles' sonClad him and lo, he seemed Achilles' self!Light on his limbs and lapping close they lay—So cunning was Hephaestus' workmanship—Which for another had been a giant's arms.The massive helmet cumbered not his brows;Yea, the great Pelian spear-shaft burdened notHis hand, but lightly swung he up on highThe heavy and tall lance thirsting still for blood.
Of many Argives which beheld him thenMight none draw nigh to him, how fain soe'er,So fast were they in that grim grapple lockedOf the wild war that raged all down the wall.But as when shipmen, under a desolate isleMid the wide sea by stress of weather bound,Chafe, while afar from men the adverse blastsPrison them many a day; they pace the deckWith sinking hearts, while scantier grows their storeOf food; they weary till a fair wind sings;So joyed the Achaean host, which theretoforeWere heavy of heart, when Neoptolemus came,Joyed in the hope of breathing-space from toil.Then like the aweless lion's flashed his eyes,Which mid the mountains leaps in furious moodTo meet the hunters that draw nigh his cave,Thinking to steal his cubs, there left aloneIn a dark-shadowed glen but from a heightThe beast hath spied, and on the spoilers leapsWith grim jaws terribly roaring; even soThat glorious child of Aeacus' aweless sonAgainst the Trojan warriors burned in wrath.Thither his eagle-swoop descended firstWhere loudest from the plain uproared the fight,There weakest, he divined, must be the wall,The battlements lowest, since the surge of foesBrake heaviest there. Charged at his side the restBreathing the battle-spirit. There they foundEurypylus mighty of heart and all his menScaling a tower, exultant in the hopeOf tearing down the walls, of slaughteringThe Argives in one holocaust. No mindThe Gods had to accomplish their desire!But now Odysseus, Diomede the strong,Leonteus, and Neoptolemus, as a GodIn strength and beauty, hailed their javelins down,And thrust them from the wall. As dogs and shepherdsBy shouting and hard fighting drive awayStrong lions from a steading, rushing forthFrom all sides, and the brutes with glaring eyesPace to and fro; with savage lust for bloodOf calves and kine their jaws are slavering;Yet must their onrush give back from the houndsAnd fearless onset of the shepherd folk;[So from these new defenders shrank the foe]A little, far as one may hurl a stoneExceeding great; for still EurypylusSuffered them not to flee far from the ships,But cheered them on to bide the brunt, untilThe ships be won, and all the Argives slain;For Zeus with measureless might thrilled all his frame.Then seized he a rugged stone and huge, and leaptAnd hurled it full against the high-built wall.It crashed, and terribly boomed that rampart steepTo its foundations. Terror gripped the Greeks,As though that wall had crumbled down in dust;Yet from the deadly conflict flinched they not,But stood fast, like to jackals or to wolvesBold robbers of the sheep—when mid the hillsHunter and hound would drive them forth their caves,Being grimly purposed there to slay their whelps.Yet these, albeit tormented by the darts,Flee not, but for their cubs' sake bide and fight;So for the ships' sake they abode and fought,And for their own lives. But EurypylusAfront of all the ships stood, taunting them:"Coward and dastard souls! no darts of yoursHad given me pause, nor thrust back from your ships,Had not your rampart stayed mine onset-rush.Ye are like to dogs, that in a forest flinchBefore a lion! Skulking therewithinYe are fighting—nay, are shrinking back from death!But if ye dare come forth on Trojan ground,As once when ye were eager for the fray,None shall from ghastly death deliver you:Slain by mine hand ye all shall lie in dust!"