So did he shout a prophecy unfulfilled,Nor heard Doom's chariot-wheels fast rolling nearBearing swift death at Neoptolemus' hands,Nor saw death gleaming from his glittering spear.Ay, and that hero paused not now from fight,But from the ramparts smote the Trojans aye.From that death leaping from above they quailedIn tumult round Eurypylus: deadly fearGripped all their hearts. As little children cowerAbout a father's knees when thunder of ZeusCrashes from cloud to cloud, when all the airShudders and groans, so did the sons of Troy,With those Ceteians round their great king, cowerEver as prince Neoptolemus hurled; for deathRode upon all he cast, and bare his wrathStraight rushing down upon the heads of foes.Now in their hearts those wildered Trojans saidThat once more they beheld Achilles' selfGigantic in his armour. Yet they hidThat horror in their breasts, lest panic fearShould pass from them to the Ceteian hostAnd king Eurypylus; so on every sideThey wavered 'twixt the stress of their hard straitAnd that blood-curdling dread, 'twixt shame and fear.As when men treading a precipitous pathLook up, and see adown the mountain-slopeA torrent rushing on them, thundering downThe rocks, and dare not meet its clamorous flood,But hurry shuddering on, with death in sightHolding as naught the perils of the path;So stayed the Trojans, spite of their desire[To flee the imminent death that waited them]Beneath the wall. Godlike EurypylusAye cheered them on to fight. He trusted stillThat this new mighty foe would weary at lastWith toil of slaughter; but he wearied not.
That desperate battle-travail Pallas saw,And left the halls of Heaven incense-sweet,And flew o'er mountain-crests: her hurrying feetTouched not the earth, borne by the air divineIn form of cloud-wreaths, swifter than the wind.She came to Troy, she stayed her feet uponSigeum's windy ness, she looked forth thenceOver the ringing battle of dauntless men,And gave the Achaeans glory. Achilles' sonBeyond the rest was filled with valour and strengthWhich win renown for men in whom they meet.Peerless was he in both: the blood of ZeusGave strength; to his father's valour was he heir;So by those towers he smote down many a foe.And as a fisher on the darkling sea,To lure the fish to their destruction, takesWithin his boat the strength of fire; his breathKindles it to a flame, till round the boatGlareth its splendour, and from the black seaDart up the fish all eager to beholdThe radiance—for the last time; for the barbsOf his three-pointed spear, as up they leap,Slay them; his heart rejoices o'er the prey.So that war-king Achilles' glorious sonSlew hosts of onward-rushing foes aroundThat wall of stone. Well fought the Achaeans all,Here, there, adown the ramparts: rang againThe wide strand and the ships: the battered wallsGroaned ever. Men with weary ache of toilFainted on either side; sinews and mightOf strong men were unstrung. But o'er the sonOf battle-stay Achilles wearinessCrept not: his battle-eager spirit ayeWas tireless; never touched by palsying fearHe fought on, as with the triumphant strengthOf an ever-flowing river: though it roll'Twixt blazing forests, though the madding blastRoll stormy seas of flame, it feareth not,For at its brink faint grows the fervent heat,The strong flood turns its might to impotence;So weariness nor fear could bow the kneesOf Hero Achilles' gallant-hearted son,Still as he fought, still cheered his comrades on.Of myriad shafts sped at him none might touchHis flesh, but even as snowflakes on a rockFell vainly ever: wholly screened was heBy broad shield and strong helmet, gifts of a God.In these exulting did the Aeacid's sonStride all along the wall, with ringing shoutsCheering the dauntless Argives to the fray,Being their mightiest far, bearing a soulInsatiate of the awful onset-cry,Burning with one strong purpose, to avengeHis father's death: the Myrmidons in their kingExulted. Roared the battle round the wall.
Two sons he slew of Meges rich in gold,Scion of Dymas—sons of high renown,Cunning to hurl the dart, to drive the steedIn war, and deftly cast the lance afar,Born at one birth beside Sangarius' banksOf Periboea to him, Celtus one,And Eubius the other. But not longHis boundless wealth enjoyed they, for theFates Span them a thread of life exceeding brief.As on one day they saw the light, they diedOn one day by the same hand. To the heartOf one Neoptolemus sped a javelin; oneHe smote down with a massy stone that crashedThrough his strong helmet, shattered all its ridge,And dashed his brains to earth. Around them fellFoes many, a host untold. The War-god's workWaxed ever mightier till the eventide,Till failed the light celestial; then the hostOf brave Eurypylus from the ships drew backA little: they that held those leaguered towersHad a short breathing-space; the sons of TroyHad respite from the deadly-echoing strife,From that hard rampart-battle. Verily allThe Argives had beside their ships been slain,Had not Achilles' strong son on that dayWithstood the host of foes and their great chiefEurypylus. Came to that young hero's sidePhoenix the old, and marvelling gazed on oneThe image of Peleides. Tides of joyAnd grief swept o'er him—grief, for memoriesOf that swift-footed father—joy, for sightOf such a son. He for sheer gladness wept;For never without tears the tribes of menLive—nay, not mid the transports of delight.He clasped him round as father claspeth sonWhom, after long and troublous wanderings,The Gods bring home to gladden a father's heart.So kissed he Neoptolemus' head and breast,Clasping him round, and cried in rapture of joy:"Hail, goodly son of that Achilles whomI nursed a little one in mine own armsWith a glad heart. By Heaven's high providenceLike a strong sapling waxed he in stature fast,And daily I rejoiced to see his formAnd prowess, my life's blessing, honouring himAs though he were the son of mine old age;For like a father did he honour me.I was indeed his father, he my sonIn spirit: thou hadst deemed us of one bloodWho were in heart one: but of nobler mouldWas he by far, in form and strength a God.Thou art wholly like him—yea, I seem to seeAlive amid the Argives him for whomSharp anguish shrouds me ever. I waste awayIn sorrowful age—oh that the grave had closedOn me while yet he lived! How blest to beBy loving hands of kinsmen laid to rest!Ah child, my sorrowing heart will nevermoreForget him! Chide me not for this my grief.But now, help thou the Myrmidons and GreeksIn their sore strait: wreak on the foe thy wrathFor thy brave sire. It shall be thy renownTo slay this war-insatiate Telephus' son;For mightier art thou, and shalt prove, than he,As was thy father than his wretched sire."
Made answer golden-haired Achilles' son:"Ancient, our battle-prowess mighty FateAnd the o'ermastering War-god shall decide."
But, as he spake, he had fain on that same dayForth of the gates have rushed in his sire's arms;But night, which bringeth men release from toil,Rose from the ocean veiled in sable pall.
With honour as of mighty Achilles' selfHim mid the ships the glad Greeks hailed, who had wonCourage from that his eager rush to war.With princely presents did they honour him,With priceless gifts, whereby is wealth increased;For some gave gold and silver, handmaids some,Brass without weight gave these, and iron those;Others in deep jars brought the ruddy wine:Yea, fleetfoot steeds they gave, and battle-gear,And raiment woven fair by women's hands.Glowed Neoptolemus' heart for joy of these.A feast they made for him amidst the tents,And there extolled Achilles' godlike sonWith praise as of the immortal Heavenly Ones;And joyful-voiced Agamemnon spake to him:"Thou verily art the brave-souled Aeacid's son,His very image thou in stalwart might,In beauty, stature, courage, and in soul.Mine heart burns in me seeing thee. I trustThine hands and spear shall smite yon hosts of foes,Shall smite the city of Priam world-renowned—So like thy sire thou art! Methinks I seeHimself beside the ships, as when his shoutOf wrath for dead Patroclus shook the ranksOf Troy. But he is with the Immortal Ones,Yet, bending from that heaven, sends thee to-dayTo save the Argives on destruction's brink."
Answered Achilles' battle-eager son:"Would I might meet him living yet, O King,That so himself might see the son of his loveNot shaming his great father's name. I trustSo shall it be, if the Gods grant me life."
So spake he in wisdom and in modesty;And all there marvelled at the godlike man.But when with meat and wine their hearts were filled,Then rose Achilles' battle-eager son,And from the feast passed forth unto the tentThat was his sire's. Much armour of heroes slainLay there; and here and there were captive maidsArraying that tent widowed of its lord,As though its king lived. When that son beheldThose Trojan arms and handmaid-thralls, he groaned,By passionate longing for his father seized.As when through dense oak-groves and tangled glensComes to the shadowed cave a lion's whelpWhose grim sire by the hunters hath been slain,And looketh all around that empty den,And seeth heaps of bones of steeds and kineSlain theretofore, and grieveth for his sire;Even so the heart of brave Peleides' sonWith grief was numbed. The handmaids marvelling gazed;And fair Briseis' self, when she beheldAchilles' son, was now right glad at heart,And sorrowed now with memories of the dead.Her soul was wildered all, as though indeedThere stood the aweless Aeacid living yet.
Meanwhile exultant Trojans camped aloofExtolled Eurypylus the fierce and strong,As erst they had praised Hector, when he smoteTheir foes, defending Troy and all her wealth.But when sweet sleep stole over mortal men,Then sons of Troy and battle-biding GreeksAll slumber-heavy slept unsentinelled.
How Hercules' Grandson perished in fight with the Son of Achilles.
When from the far sea-line, where is the caveOf Dawn, rose up the sun, and scattered lightOver the earth, then did the eager sonsOf Troy and of Achaea arm themselvesAthirst for battle: these Achilles' sonCheered on to face the Trojans awelessly;And those the giant strength of Telephus' seedKindled. He trusted to dash down the wallTo earth, and utterly destroy the shipsWith ravening fire, and slay the Argive host.Ah, but his hope was as the morning breezeDelusive: hard beside him stood the FatesLaughing to scorn his vain imaginings.
Then to the Myrmidons spake Achilles' son,The aweless, to the fight enkindling them:"Hear me, mine henchmen: take ye to your heartsThe spirit of war, that we may heal the woundsOf Argos, and be ruin to her foes.Let no man fear, for mighty prowess isThe child of courage; but fear slayeth strengthAnd spirit. Gird yourselves with strength for war;Give foes no breathing-space, that they may sayThat mid our ranks Achilles liveth yet."
Then clad he with his father's flashing armsHis shoulders. Then exulted Thetis' heartWhen from the sea she saw the mighty strengthOf her son's son. Then forth with eagle-speedAfront of that high wall he rushed, his earDrawn by the immortal horses of his sire.As from the ocean-verge upsprings the sunIn glory, flashing fire far over earth—Fire, when beside his radiant chariot-teamRaces the red star Sirius, scattererOf woefullest diseases over men;So flashed upon the eyes of Ilium's hostThat battle-eager hero, Achilles' son.Onward they whirled him, those immortal steeds,The which, when now he longed to chase the foeBack from the ships, Automedon, who wontTo rein them for his father, brought to him.With joy that pair bore battleward their lord,So like to Aeacus' son, their deathless heartsHeld him no worser than Achilles' self.Laughing for glee the Argives gathered roundThe might resistless of Neoptolemus,Eager for fight as wasps [whose woodland bowerThe axe] hath shaken, who dart swarming forthFurious to sting the woodman: round their nestLong eddying, they torment all passers by;So streamed they forth from galley and from wallBurning for fight, and that wide space was thronged,And all the plain far blazed with armour-sheen,As shone from heaven's vault the sun thereon.As flees the cloud-rack through the welkin wideScourged onward by the North-wind's Titan blasts,When winter-tide and snow are hard at hand,And darkness overpalls the firmament;So with their thronging squadrons was the earthCovered before the ships. To heaven uprolled,Dust hung on hovering wings' men's armour clashed;Rattled a thousand chariots; horses neighedOn-rushing to the fray. Each warrior's prowessKindled him with its trumpet-call to war.
As leap the long sea-rollers, onward hurledBy two winds terribly o'er th' broad sea-floodRoaring from viewless bournes, with whirlwind blastsCrashing together, when a ruining stormMaddens along the wide gulfs of the deep,And moans the Sea-queen with her anguished wavesWhich sweep from every hand, uptoweringLike precipiced mountains, while the bitter squall,Ceaselessly veering, shrieks across the sea;So clashed in strife those hosts from either handWith mad rage. Strife incarnate spurred them on,And their own prowess. Crashed together theseLike thunderclouds outlightening, thrilling the air.With shattering trumpet-challenge, when the blastsAre locked in frenzied wrestle, with mad breathRending the clouds, when Zeus is wroth with menWho travail with iniquity, and floutHis law. So grappled they, as spear with spearClashed, shield with shield, and man on man was hurled.
And first Achilles' war-impetuous sonStruck down stout Melaneus and Alcidamas,Sons of the war-lord Alexinomus,Who dwelt in Caunus mountain-cradled, nighThe clear lake shining at Tarbelus' feet'Neath snow-capt Imbrus. Menes, fleetfoot sonOf King Cassandrus, slew he, born to himBy fair Creusa, where the lovely streamsOf Lindus meet the sea, beside the marchesOf battle-biding Carians, and the heightsOf Lycia the renowned. He slew withalMorys the spearman, who from Phrygia came;Polybus and Hippomedon by his sideHe laid, this stabbed to the heart, that pierced betweenShoulder and neck: man after man he slew.Earth groaned 'neath Trojan corpses; rank on rankCrumbled before him, even as parched brakesSink down before the blast of ravening fireWhen the north wind of latter summer blows;So ruining squadrons fell before his charge.
Meanwhile Aeneas slew Aristolochus,Crashing a great stone down on his head: it brakeHelmet and skull together, and fled his life.Fleetfoot Eumaeus Diomede slew; he dweltIn craggy Dardanus, where the bride-bed isWhereon Anchises clasped the Queen of Love.Agamemnon smote down Stratus: unto ThraceReturned he not from war, but died far offFrom his dear fatherland. And MerionesStruck Chlemus down, Peisenor's son, the friendOf god-like Glaucus, and his comrade leal,Who by Limurus' outfall dwelt: the folkHonoured him as their king, when reigned no moreGlaucus, in battle slain,—all who abodeAround Phoenice's towers, and by the crestOf Massicytus, and Chimaera's glen.
So man slew man in fight; but more than allEurypylus hurled doom on many a foe.First slew he battle-bider Eurytus,Menoetius of the glancing taslet next,Elephenor's godlike comrades. Fell with theseHarpalus, wise Odysseus' warrior-friend;But in the fight afar that hero toiled,And might not aid his fallen henchman: yetFierce Antiphus for that slain man was wroth,And hurled his spear against Eurypylus,Yet touched him not; the strong shaft glanced aside,And pierced Meilanion battle-staunch, the sonOf Cleite lovely-faced, Erylaus' bride,Who bare him where Caicus meets the sea.Wroth for his comrade slain, EurypylusRushed upon Antiphus, but terror-wingedHe plunged amid his comrades; so the spearOf the avenger slew him not, whose doomWas one day wretchedly to be devouredBy the manslaying Cyclops: so it pleasedStern Fate, I know not why. Elsewhither spedEurypylus; and aye as he rushed onFell 'neath his spear a multitude untold.As tall trees, smitten by the strength of steelIn mountain-forest, fill the dark ravines,Heaped on the earth confusedly, so fellThe Achaeans 'neath Eurypylus' flying spears—Till heart-uplifted met him face to faceAchilles' son. The long spears in their handsThey twain swung up, each hot to smite his foe.But first Eurypylus cried the challenge-cry;"Who art thou? Whence hast come to brave me here?To Hades merciless Fate is bearing thee;For in grim fight hath none escaped mine hands;But whoso, eager for the fray, have comeHither, on all have I hurled anguished death.By Xanthus' streams have dogs devoured their fleshAnd gnawed their bones. Answer me, who art thou?Whose be the steeds that bear thee exultant on?"
Answered Achilles' battle-eager son:"Wherefore, when I am hurrying to the fray,Dost thou, a foe, put question thus to me,As might a friend, touching my lineage,Which many know? Achilles' son am I,Son of the man whose long spear smote thy sire,And made him flee—yea, and the ruthless fatesOf death had seized him, but my father's selfHealed him upon the brink of woeful death.The steeds which bear me were my godlike sire's;These the West-wind begat, the Harpy bare:Over the barren sea their feet can raceSkimming its crests: in speed they match the winds.Since then thou know'st the lineage of my steedsAnd mine, now put thou to the test the mightOf my strong spear, born on steep Pelion's crest,Who hath left his father-stock and forest there."
He spake; and from the chariot sprang to earthThat glorious man: he swung the long spear up.But in his brawny hand his foe hath seizedA monstrous stone: full at the golden shieldOf Neoptolemus he sped its flight;But, no whir staggered by its whirlwind rush,He like a giant mountain-foreland stoodWhich all the banded fury of river-floodsCan stir not, rooted in the eternal hills;So stood unshaken still Achilles' son.Yet not for this Eurypylus' dauntless mightShrank from Achilles' son invincible,On-spurred by his own hardihood and by Fate.Their hearts like caldrons seethed o'er fires of wrath,Their glancing armour flashed about their limbs.Like terrible lions each on other rushed,Which fight amid the mountains famine-stung,Writhing and leaping in the strain of strifeFor a slain ox or stag, while all the glensRing with their conflict; so they grappled, soClashed they in pitiless strife. On either handLong lines of warriors Greek and Trojan toiledIn combat: round them roared up flames of war.Like mighty rushing winds they hurled togetherWith eager spears for blood of life athirst.Hard by them stood Enyo, spurred them onCeaselessly: never paused they from the strife.Now hewed they each the other's shield, and nowThrust at the greaves, now at the crested helms.Reckless of wounds, in that grim toil pressed onThose aweless heroes: Strife incarnate watchedAnd gloated o'er them. Ran the sweat in streamsFrom either: straining hard they stood their ground,For both were of the seed of Blessed Ones.From Heaven, with hearts at variance, Gods looked down;For some gave glory to Achilles' son,Some to Eurypylus the godlike. StillThey fought on, giving ground no more than rock.Of granite mountains. Rang from side to sideSpear-smitten shields. At last the Pelian lance,Sped onward by a mighty thrust, hath passedClear through Eurypylus' throat. Forth poured the bloodTorrent-like; through the portal of the woundThe soul from the body flew: darkness of deathDropped o'er his eyes. To earth in clanging armsHe fell, like stately pine or silver firUprooted by the fury of Boreas;Such space of earth Eurypylus' giant frameCovered in falling: rang again the floorAnd plain of Troyland. Grey death-pallor sweptOver the corpse, and all the flush of lifeFaded away. With a triumphant laughShouted the mighty hero over him:"Eurypylus, thou saidst thou wouldst destroyThe Danaan ships and men, wouldst slay us allWretchedly—but the Gods would not fulfilThy wish. For all thy might invincible,My father's massy spear hath now subduedThee under me, that spear no man shall 'scape,Though he be brass all through, who faceth me."
He spake, and tore the long lance from the corse,While shrank the Trojans back in dread, at sightOf that strong-hearted man. Straightway he strippedThe armour from the dead, for friends to bearFast to the ships Achaean. But himselfTo the swift chariot and the tireless steedsSprang, and sped onward like a thunderboltThat lightning-girdled leaps through the wide airFrom Zeus's hands unconquerable—the boltBefore whose downrush all the Immortals quailSave only Zeus. It rusheth down to earth,It rendeth trees and rugged mountain-crags;So rushed he on the Trojans, flashing doomBefore their eyes; dashed to the earth they fellBefore the charge of those immortal steeds:The earth was heaped with slain, was dyed with gore.As when in mountain-glens the unnumbered leavesDown-streaming thick and fast hide all the ground,So hosts of Troy untold on earth were strewnBy Neoptolemus and fierce-hearted Greeks,Shed by whose hands the blood in torrents ran'Neath feet of men and horses. Chariot-railsWere dashed with blood-spray whirled up from the tyres.
Now had the Trojans fled within their gatesAs calves that flee a lion, or as swineFlee from a storm—but murderous Ares came,Unmarked of other Gods, down from the heavens,Eager to help the warrior sons of Troy.Red-fire and Flame, Tumult and Panic-fear,His car-steeds, bare him down into the fight,The coursers which to roaring BoreasGrim-eyed Erinnys bare, coursers that breathedLife-blasting flame: groaned all the shivering air,As battleward they sped. Swiftly he cameTo Troy: loud rang the earth beneath the feetOf that wild team. Into the battle's heartTossing his massy spear, he came; with a shoutHe cheered the Trojans on to face the foe.They heard, and marvelled at that wondrous cry,Not seeing the God's immortal form, nor steeds,Veiled in dense mist. But the wise prophet-soulOf Helenus knew the voice divine that leaptUnto the Trojans' ears, they knew not whence,And with glad heart to the fleeing host he cried:"O cravens, wherefore fear Achilles' son,Though ne'er so brave? He is mortal even as we;His strength is not as Ares' strength, who is comeA very present help in our sore need.That was his shout far-pealing, bidding usFight on against the Argives. Let your heartsBe strong, O friends: let courage fill your breasts.No mightier battle-helper can draw nighTo Troy than he. Who is of more availFor war than Ares, when he aideth menHard-fighting? Lo, to our help he cometh now!On to the fight! Cast to the winds your fears!"
They fled no more, they faced the Argive men,As hounds, that mid the copses fled at first,Turn them about to face and fight the wolf,Spurred by the chiding of their shepherd-lord;So turned the sons of Troy again to war,Casting away their fear. Man leapt on manValiantly fighting; loud their armour clashedSmitten with swords, with lances, and with darts.Spears plunged into men's flesh: dread Ares drankHis fill of blood: struck down fell man on man,As Greek and Trojan fought. In level poiseThe battle-balance hung. As when young menIn hot haste prune a vineyard with the steel,And each keeps pace with each in rivalry,Since all in strength and age be equal-matched;So did the awful scales of battle hangLevel: all Trojan hearts beat high, and firmStood they in trust on aweless Ares' might,While the Greeks trusted in Achilles' son.Ever they slew and slew: stalked through the midstDeadly Enyo, her shoulders and her handsBlood-splashed, while fearful sweat streamed from her limbs.Revelling in equal fight, she aided none,Lest Thetis' or the War-god's wrath be stirred.
Then Neoptolemus slew one far-renowned,Perimedes, who had dwelt by Smintheus' grove;Next Cestrus died, Phalerus battle-staunch,Perilaus the strong, Menalcas lord of spears,Whom Iphianassa bare by the haunted footOf Cilla to the cunning craftsman Medon.In the home-land afar the sire abode,And never kissed his son's returning head:For that fair home and all his cunning worksDid far-off kinsmen wrangle o'er his grave.Deiphobus slew Lycon battle-staunch:The lance-head pierced him close above the groin,And round the long spear all his bowels gushed out.Aeneas smote down Dymas, who erewhileIn Aulis dwelt, and followed unto TroyArcesilaus, and saw never moreThe dear home-land. Euryalus hurled a dart,And through Astraeus' breast the death-winged pointFlew, shearing through the breathways of man's life;And all that lay within was drenched with blood.And hard thereby great-souled Agenor slewHippomenes, hero Teucer's comrade staunch,With one swift thrust 'twixt shoulder and neck: his soulRushed forth in blood; death's night swept over him.Grief for his comrade slain on Teucer fell;He strained his bow, a swift-winged shaft he sped,But smote him not, for slightly Agenor swerved.Yet nigh him Deiophontes stood; the shaftInto his left eye plunged, passed through the ball,And out through his right ear, because the FatesWhither they willed thrust on the bitter barbs.Even as in agony he leapt full height,Yet once again the archer's arrow hissed:It pierced his throat, through the neck-sinews cleftUnswerving, and his hard doom came on him.
So man to man dealt death; and joyed the FatesAnd Doom, and fell Strife in her maddened gleeShouted aloud, and Ares terriblyShouted in answer, and with courage thrilledThe Trojans, and with panic fear the Greeks,And shook their reeling squadrons. But one manHe scared not, even Achilles' son; he abode,And fought undaunted, slaying foes on foes.As when a young lad sweeps his hand aroundFlies swarming over milk, and nigh the bowlHere, there they lie, struck dead by that light touch,And gleefully the child still plies the work;So stern Achilles' glorious scion joyedOver the slain, and recked not of the GodWho spurred the Trojans on: man after manTasted his vengeance of their charging host.Even as a giant mountain-peak withstandsOn-rushing hurricane-blasts, so he abodeUnquailing. Ares at his eager moodGrew wroth, and would have cast his veil of cloudAway, and met him face to face in fight,But now Athena from Olympus swoopedTo forest-mantled Ida. Quaked the earthAnd Xanthus' murmuring streams; so mightilyShe shook them: terror-stricken were the soulsOf all the Nymphs, adread for Priam's town.From her immortal armour flashed aroundThe hovering lightnings; fearful serpents breathedFire from her shield invincible; the crestOf her great helmet swept the clouds. And nowShe was at point to close in sudden fightWith Ares; but the mighty will of ZeusDaunted them both, from high heaven thunderingHis terrors. Ares drew back from the war,For manifest to him was Zeus's wrath.To wintry Thrace he passed; his haughty heartReeked no more of the Trojans. In the plainOf Troy no more stayed Pallas; she was goneTo hallowed Athens. But the armies stillStrove in the deadly fray; and fainted nowThe Trojans' prowess; but all battle-fainThe Argives pressed on these as they gave ground.As winds chase ships that fly with straining sailsOn to the outsea—as on forest-brakesLeapeth the fury of flame—as swift hounds driveDeer through the mountains, eager for the prey,So did the Argives chase them: Achilles' sonStill cheered them on, still slew with that great spearWhomso he overtook. On, on they fledTill into stately-gated Troy they poured.
Then had the Argives a short breathing-spaceFrom war, when they had penned the hosts of TroyIn Priam's burg, as shepherds pen up lambsUpon a lonely steading. And, as whenAfter hard strain, a breathing-space is givenTo oxen that, quick-panting 'neath the yoke,Up a steep hill have dragged a load, so breathedAwhile the Achaeans after toil in arms.Then once more hot for the fray did they besetThe city-towers. But now with gates fast barredThe Trojans from the walls withstood the assault.As when within their steading shepherd-folkAbide the lowering tempest, when a dayOf storm hath dawned, with fury of lightnings, rainAnd heavy-drifting snow, and dare not hasteForth to the pasture, howsoever fain,Till the great storm abate, and rivers, wideWith rushing floods, again be passable;So trembling on their walls they abode the rageOf foes against their ramparts surging fast.And as when daws or starlings drop in cloudsDown on an orchard-close, full fain to feastUpon its pleasant fruits, and take no heedOf men that shout to scare them thence away,Until the reckless hunger be appeasedThat makes them bold; so poured round Priam's burgThe furious Danaans. Against the gatesThey hurled themselves, they strove to batter downThe mighty-souled Earth-shaker's work divine.
Yet did tim Troyfolk not, despite their fear,Flinch from the fight: they manned their towers, they toiledUnresting: ever from the fair-built wallsLeapt arrows, stones, and fleet-winged javelins downAmidst the thronging foes; for Phoebus thrilledTheir souls with steadfast hardihood. Fain was heTo save them still, though Hector was no more.
Then Meriones shot forth a deadly shaft,And smote Phylodamas, Polites' friend,Beneath the jaw; the arrow pierced his throat.Down fell he like a vulture, from a rockBy fowler's barbed arrow shot and slain;So from the high tower swiftly down he fell:His life fled; clanged his armour o'er the corpse.With laughter of triumph stalwart Molus' sonA second arrow sped, with strong desireTo smite Polites, ill-starred Priam's son:But with a swift side-swerve did he escapeThe death, nor did the arrow touch his flesh.As when a shipman, as his bark flies onO'er sea-gulfs, spies amid the rushing tideA rock, and to escape it swiftly putsThe helm about, and turns aside the shipEven as he listeth, that a little strengthAverts a great disaster; so did heForesee and shun the deadly shaft of doom.
Ever they fought on; walls, towers, battlementsWere blood-besprent, wherever Trojans fellSlain by the arrows of the stalwart Greeks.Yet these escaped not scatheless; many of themDyed the earth red: aye waxed the havoc of deathAs friends and foes were stricken. O'er the strifeShouted for glee Enyo, sister of War.
Now had the Argives burst the gates, had breachedThe walls of Troy, for boundless was their might;But Ganymedes saw from heaven, and cried,Anguished with fear for his own fatherland:"O Father Zeus, if of thy seed I am,If at thine best I left far-famous TroyFor immortality with deathless Gods,O hear me now, whose soul is anguish-thrilled!I cannot bear to see my fathers' townIn flames, my kindred in disastrous strifePerishing: bitterer sorrow is there none!Oh, if thine heart is fixed to do this thing,Let me be far hence! Less shall be my griefIf I behold it not with these mine eyes.That is the depth of horror and of shameTo see one's country wrecked by hands of foes."
With groans and tears so pleaded Ganymede.Then Zeus himself with one vast pall of cloudVeiled all the city of Priam world-renowned;And all the murderous fight was drowned in mist,And like a vanished phantom was the wallIn vapours heavy-hung no eye could pierce;And all around crashed thunders, lightnings flamedFrom heaven. The Danaans heard Zeus' clarion pealAwe-struck; and Neleus' son cried unto them:"Far-famous lords of Argives, all our strengthPalsied shall be, while Zeus protecteth thusOur foes. A great tide of calamityOn us is rolling; haste we then to the ships;Cease we awhile from bitter toil of strife,Lest the fire of his wrath consume us all.Submit we to his portents; needs must allObey him ever, who is mightier farThan all strong Gods, all weakling sons of men.On the presumptuous Titans once in wrathHe poured down fire from heaven: then burned all earthBeneath, and Ocean's world-engirdling floodBoiled from its depths, yea, to its utmost bounds:Far-flowing mighty rivers were dried up:Perished all broods of life-sustaining earth,All fosterlings of the boundless sea, and allDwellers in rivers: smoke and ashes veiledThe air: earth fainted in the fervent heat.Therefore this day I dread the might of Zeus.Now, pass we to the ships, since for to-dayHe helpeth Troy. To us too shall he grantGlory hereafter; for the dawn on men,Though whiles it frown, anon shall smile. Not yet,But soon, shall Fate lead us to smite yon town,If true indeed was Calchas' prophecySpoken aforetime to the assembled Greeks,That in the tenth year Priam's burg should fall."
Then left they that far-famous town, and turnedFrom war, in awe of Zeus's threatenings,Hearkening to one with ancient wisdom wise.Yet they forgat not friends in battle slain,But bare them from the field and buried them.These the mist hid not, but the town aloneAnd its unscaleable wall, around which fellTrojans and Argives many in battle slain.So came they to the ships, and put from themTheir battle-gear, and strode into the wavesOf Hellespont fair-flowing, and washed awayAll stain of dust and sweat and clotted gore.
The sun drave down his never-wearying steedsInto the dark west: night streamed o'er the earth,Bidding men cease from toil. The Argives thenAcclaimed Achilles' valiant son with praiseHigh as his father's. Mid triumphant mirthHe feasted in kings' tents: no battle-toilHad wearied him; for Thetis from his limbsHad charmed all ache of travail, making himAs one whom labour had no power to tire.When his strong heart was satisfied with meat,He passed to his father's tent, and over himSleep's dews were poured. The Greeks slept in the plainBefore the ships, by ever-changing guardsWatched; for they dreaded lest the host of Troy,Or of her staunch allies, should kindle flameUpon the ships, and from them all cut offTheir home-return. In Priam's burg the whileBy gate and wall men watched and slept in turn,Adread to hear the Argives' onset-shout.
How from his long lone exile returned to the war Philoctetes.
When ended was night's darkness, and the DawnRose from the world's verge, and the wide air glowedWith splendour, then did Argos' warrior-sonsGaze o'er the plain; and lo, all cloudless-clearStood Ilium's towers. The marvel of yesterdaySeemed a strange dream. No thought the Trojans hadOf standing forth to fight without the wall.A great fear held them thralls, the awful thoughtThat yet alive was Peleus' glorious son.But to the King of Heaven Antenor cried:"Zeus, Lord of Ida and the starry sky,Hearken my prayer! Oh turn back from our townThat battle-eager murderous-hearted man,Be he Achilles who hath not passed downTo Hades, or some other like to him.For now in heaven-descended Priam's burgBy thousands are her people perishing:No respite cometh from calamity:Murder and havoc evermore increase.O Father Zeus, thou carest not though weBe slaughtered of our foes: thou helpest them,Forgetting thy son, godlike Dardanus!But, if this be the purpose of thine heartThat Argives shall destroy us wretchedly,Now do it: draw not out our agony!"
In passionate prayer he cried; and Zeus from heavenHearkened, and hasted on the end of all,Which else he had delayed. He granted himThis awful boon, that myriads of Troy's sonsShould with their children perish: but that prayerHe granted not, to turn Achilles' sonBack from the wide-wayed town; nay, all the moreHe enkindled him to war, for he would nowGive grace and glory to the Nereid Queen.
So purposed he, of all Gods mightiest.But now between the city and HellespontWere Greeks and Trojans burning men and steedsIn battle slain, while paused the murderous strife.For Priam sent his herald Menoetes forthTo Agamemnon and the Achaean chiefs,Asking a truce wherein to burn the dead;And they, of reverence for the slain, gave ear;For wrath pursueth not the dead. And whenThey had lain their slain on those close-thronging pyres,Then did the Argives to their tents return,And unto Priam's gold-abounding hallsThe Trojans, for Eurypylus sorrowing sore:For even as Priam's sons they honoured him.Therefore apart from all the other slain,Before the Gate Dardanian—where the streamsOf eddying Xanthus down from Ida flowFed by the rains of heavens—they buried him.
Aweless Achilles' son the while went forthTo his sire's huge tomb. Outpouring tears, he kissedThe tall memorial pillar of the dead,And groaning clasped it round, and thus he cried:"Hail, father! Though beneath the earth thou lieIn Hades' halls, I shall forget thee not.Oh to have met thee living mid the host!Then of each other had our souls had joy,Then of her wealth had we spoiled Ilium.But now, thou hast not seen thy child, nor ISeen thee, who yearned to look on thee in life.Yet, though thou be afar amidst the dead,Thy spear, thy son, have made thy foes to quail;And Danaans with exceeding joy beholdOne like to thee in stature, fame and deeds."
He spake, and wiped the hot tears from his face;And to his father's ships passed swiftly thence:With him went Myrmidon warriors two and ten,And white-haired Phoenix followed on with theseWoefully sighing for the glorious dead.
Night rose o'er earth, the stars flashed out in heaven;So these brake bread, and slept till woke the Dawn.Then the Greeks donned their armour: flashed afarIts splendour up to the very firmament.Forth of their gates in one great throng they poured,Like snowflakes thick and fast, which drift adownHeavily from the clouds in winter's cold;So streamed they forth before the wall, and roseTheir dread shout: groaned the deep earth 'neath their tramp.
The Trojans heard that shout, and saw that host,And marvelled. Crushed with fear were all their heartsForeboding doom; for like a huge cloud seemedThat throng of foes: with clashing arms they came:Volumed and vast the dust rose 'neath their feet.Then either did some God with hardihood thrillDeiphobus' heart, and made it void of fear,Or his own spirit spurred him on to fight,To drive by thrust of spear that terrible hostOf foemen from the city of his birth.So there in Troy he cried with heartening speech:"O friends, be stout of heart to play the men!Remember all the agonies that warBrings in the end to them that yield to foes.Ye wrestle not for Alexander alone,Nor Helen, but for home, for your own lives,For wives, for little ones, for parents grey,For all the grace of life, for all ye have,For this dear land—oh may she shroud me o'erSlain in the battle, ere I see her lie'Neath foemen's spears—my country! I know notA bitterer pang than this for hapless men!O be ye strong for battle! Forth to the fightWith me, and thrust this horror far away!Think not Achilles liveth still to warAgainst us: him the ravening fire consumed.Some other Achaean was it who so lateEnkindled them to war. Oh, shame it wereIf men who fight for fatherland should fearAchilles' self, or any Greek beside!Let us not flinch from war-toil! have we notEndured much battle-travail heretofore?What, know ye not that to men sorely triedProsperity and joyance follow toil?So after scourging winds and ruining stormsZeus brings to men a morn of balmy air;After disease new strength comes, after warPeace: all things know Time's changeless law of change."
Then eager all for war they armed themselvesIn haste. All through the town rang clangour of armsAs for grim fight strong men arrayed their limbs.Here stood a wife, shuddering with dread of war,Yet piling, as she wept, her husband's armsBefore his feet. There little children broughtTo a father his war-gear with eager haste;And now his heart was wrung to hear their sobs,And now he smiled on those small ministers,And stronger waxed his heart's resolve to fightTo the last gasp for these, the near and dear.Yonder again, with hands that had not lostOld cunning, a grey father for the frayGirded a son, and murmured once and again:"Dear boy, yield thou to no man in the war!"And showed his son the old scars on his breast,Proud memories of fights fought long ago.
So when they all stood mailed in battle-gear,Forth of the gates they poured all eager-souledFor war. Against the chariots of the GreeksTheir chariots charged; their ranks of footmen pressedTo meet the footmen of the foe. The earthRang to the tramp of onset; pealed the cheerFrom man to man; swift closed the fronts of war.Loud clashed their arms all round; from either sideWar-cries were mingled in one awful roarSwift-winged full many a dart and arrow flewFrom host to host; loud clanged the smitten shields'Neath thrusting spears, 'neath javelin-point and sword:Men hewed with battle-axes lightening down;Crimson the armour ran with blood of men.And all this while Troy's wives and daughters watchedFrom high walls that grim battle of the strong.All trembled as they prayed for husbands, sons,And brothers: white-haired sires amidst them sat,And gazed, while anguished fear for sons devouredTheir hearts. But Helen in her bower abodeAmidst her maids, there held by utter shame.
So without pause before the wall they fought,While Death exulted o'er them; deadly StrifeShrieked out a long wild cry from host to host.With blood of slain men dust became red mire:Here, there, fast fell the warriors mid the fray.
Then slew Deiphobus the charioteerOf Nestor, Hippasus' son: from that high carDown fell he 'midst the dead; fear seized his lordLest, while his hands were cumbered with the reins,He too by Priam's strong son might be slain.Melanthius marked his plight: swiftly he sprangUpon the car; he urged the horses on,Shaking the reins, goading them with his spear,Seeing the scourge was lost. But Priam's sonLeft these, and plunged amid a throng of foes.There upon many he brought the day of doom;For like a ruining tempest on he stormedThrough reeling ranks. His mighty hand struck downFoes numberless: the plain was heaped with dead.
As when a woodman on the long-ridged hillsPlunges amid the forest-depths, and hewsWith might and main, and fells sap-laden treesTo make him store of charcoal from the heapsOf billets overturfed and set afire:The trunks on all sides fallen strew the slopes,While o'er his work the man exulteth; soBefore Deiphobus' swift death-dealing handsIn heaps the Achaeans each on other fell.The charging lines of Troy swept over some;Some fled to Xanthus' stream: Deiphobus chasedInto the flood yet more, and slew and slew.As when on fish-abounding Hellespont's strandThe fishermen hard-straining drag a netForth of the depths to land; but, while it trailsYet through the sea, one leaps amid the wavesGrasping in hand a sinuous-headed spearTo deal the sword-fish death, and here and there,Fast as he meets them, slays them, and with bloodThe waves are reddened; so were Xanthus' streamsImpurpled by his hands, and choked with dead.
Yet not without sore loss the Trojans fought;For all this while Peleides' fierce-heart sonOf other ranks made havoc. Thetis gazedRejoicing in her son's son, with a joyAs great as was her grief for Achilles slain.For a great host beneath his spear were hurledDown to the dust, steeds, warriors slaughter-blent.And still he chased, and still he slew: he smoteAmides war-renowned, who on his steedBore down on him, but of his horsemanshipSmall profit won. The bright spear pierced him throughFrom navel unto spine, and all his bowelsGushed out, and deadly Doom laid hold on himEven as he fell beside his horse's feet.Ascanius and Oenops next he slew;Under the fifth rib of the one he draveHis spear, the other stabbed he 'neath the throatWhere a wound bringeth surest doom to man.Whomso he met besides he slew—the namesWhat man could tell of all that by the handsOf Neoptolemus died? Never his limbsWaxed weary. As some brawny labourer,With strong hands toiling in a fruitful fieldThe livelong day, rains down to earth the fruitOf olives, swiftly beating with his pole,And with the downfall covers all the ground,So fast fell 'neath his hands the thronging foe.
Elsewhere did Agamemnon, Tydeus' son,And other chieftains of the Danaans toilWith fury in the fight. Yet never quailedThe mighty men of Troy: with heart and soulThey also fought, and ever stayed from flightSuch as gave back. Yet many heeded notTheir chiefs, but fled, cowed by the Achaeans' might.
Now at the last Achilles' strong son markedHow fast beside Scamander's outfall GreeksWere perishing. Those Troyward-fleeing foesWhom he had followed slaying, left he now,And bade Automedon thither drive, where hostsWere falling of the Achaeans. Straightway heHearkened, and scourged the steeds immortal onTo that wild fray: bearing their lord they flewSwiftly o'er battle-highways paved with death.
As Ares chariot-borne to murderous warFares forth, and round his onrush quakes the ground,While on the God's breast clash celestial armsOutflashing fire, so charged Achilles' sonAgainst Deiphobus. Clouds of dust upsoaredAbout his horses' feet. Automedon markedThe Trojan chief, and knew him. To his lordStraightway he named that hero war-renowned:"My king, this is Deiphobus' array—The man who from thy father fled in fear.Some God or fiend with courage fills him now."
Naught answered Neoptolemus, save to bidDrive on the steeds yet faster, that with speedHe might avert grim death from perishing friends.But when to each other now full nigh they drew,Deiphobus, despite his battle-lust,Stayed, as a ravening fire stays when it meetsWater. He marvelled, seeing Achilles' steedsAnd that gigantic son, huge as his sire;And his heart wavered, choosing now to flee,And now to face that hero, man to manAs when a mountain boar from his young broodChases the jackals—then a lion leapsFrom hidden ambush into view: the boarHalts in his furious onset, loth to advance,Loth to retreat, while foam his jaws aboutHis whetted tusks; so halted Priam's sonCar-steeds and car, perplexed, while quivered his handsAbout the lance. Shouted Achilles' son:"Ho, Priam's son, why thus so mad to smiteThose weaker Argives, who have feared thy wrathAnd fled thine onset? So thou deem'st thyselfFar mightiest! If thine heart be brave indeed,Of my spear now make trial in the strife."
On rushed he, as a lion against a stag,Borne by the steeds and chariot of his sire.And now full soon his lance had slain his foe,Him and his charioteer—but Phoebus pouredA dense cloud round him from the viewless heightsOf heaven, and snatched him from the deadly fray,And set him down in Troy, amid the routOf fleeing Trojans: so did Peleus' sonStab but the empty air; and loud he cried:"Dog, thou hast 'scaped my wrath! No might of thineSaved thee, though ne'er so fain! Some God hath castNight's veil o'er thee, and snatched thee from thy death."
Then Cronos' Son dispersed that dense dark cloud:Mist-like it thinned and vanished into air:Straightway the plain and all the land were seen.Then far away about the Scaean GateHe saw the Trojans: seeming like his sire,He sped against them; they at his coming quailed.As shipmen tremble when a wild wave bearsDown on their bark, wind-heaved until it swingsBroad, mountain-high above them, when the seaIs mad with tempest; so, as on he came,Terror clad all those Trojans as a cloak,The while he shouted, cheering on his men:"Hear, friends!—fill full your hearts with dauntless strength,The strength that well beseemeth mighty menWho thirst to win them glorious victory,To win renown from battle's tumult! Come,Brave hearts, now strive we even beyond our strengthTill we smite Troy's proud city, till we winOur hearts' desire! Foul shame it were to abideLong deedless here and strengthless, womanlike!Ere I be called war-blencher, let me die!"
Then unto Ares' work their spirits flamed.Down on the Trojans charged they: yea, and theseFought with high courage, round their city now,And now from wall and gate-towers. Never lulledThe rage of war, while Trojan hearts were hotTo hurl the foemen back, and the strong GreeksTo smite the town: grim havoc compassed all.
Then, eager for the Trojans' help, swooped downOut of Olympus, cloaked about with clouds,The son of Leto. Mighty rushing windsBare him in golden armour clad; and gleamedWith lightning-splendour of his descent the longHighways of air. His quiver clashed; loud rangThe welkin; earth re-echoed, as he setHis tireless feet by Xanthus. Pealed his shoutDreadly, with courage filling them of Troy,Scaring their foes from biding the red fray.But of all this the mighty Shaker of EarthWas ware: he breathed into the faintingGreeks Fierce valour, and the fight waxed murderousThrough those Immortals' clashing wills. Then diedHosts numberless on either side. In wrathApollo thought to smite Achilles' sonIn the same place where erst he smote his sire;But birds of boding screamed to left, to stayHis mood, and other signs from heaven were sent;Yet was his wrath not minded to obeyThose portents. Swiftly drew Earth-shaker nighIn mist celestial cloaked: about his feetQuaked the dark earth as came the Sea-king on.Then, to stay Phoebus' hand, he cried to him:"Refrain thy wrath: Achilles' giant sonSlay not! Olympus' Lord himself shall beWroth for his death, and bitter grief shall lightOn me and all the Sea-gods, as erstwhileFor Achilles' sake. Nay, get thee back to heightsCelestial, lest thou kindle me to wrath,And so I cleave a sudden chasm in earth,And Ilium and all her walls go downTo darkness. Thine own soul were vexed thereat."
Then, overawed by the brother of his sire,And fearing for Troy's fate and for her folk,To heaven went back Apollo, to the seaPoseidon. But the sons of men fought on,And slew; and Strife incarnate gloating watched.
At last by Calchas' counsel Achaea's sonsDrew back to the ships, and put from them the thoughtOf battle, seeing it was not foreordainedThat Ilium should fall until the mightOf war-wise Philoctetes came to aidThe Achaean host. This had the prophet learnt.From birds of prosperous omen, or had readIn hearts of victims. Wise in prophecy-loreWas he, and like a God knew things to be.
Trusting in him, the sons of Atreus stayedAwhile the war, and unto Lemnos, landOf stately mansions, sent they Tydeus' sonAnd battle-staunch Odysseus oversea.Fast by the Fire-god's city sped they onOver the broad flood of the Aegean SeaTo vine-clad Lemnos, where in far-off daysThe wives wreaked murderous vengeance on their lords,In fierce wrath that they gave them not their due,But couched beside the handmaid-thralls of Thrace,The captives of their spears when they laid wasteThe land of warrior Thracians. Then these wives,Their hearts with fiery jealousy's fever filled,Murdered in every home with merciless handsTheir husbands: no compassion would they showTo their own wedded lords—such madness shakesThe heart of man or woman, when it burnsWith jealousy's fever, stung by torturing pangs.So with souls filled with desperate hardihoodIn one night did they slaughter all their lords;And on a widowed nation rose the sun.
To hallowed Lemnos came those heroes twain;They marked the rocky cave where lay the sonOf princely Poeas. Horror came on themWhen they beheld the hero of their questGroaning with bitter pangs, on the hard earthLying, with many feathers round him strewn,And others round his body, rudely sewnInto a cloak, a screen from winter's cold.For, oft as famine stung him, would he shootThe shaft that missed no fowl his aim had doomed.Their flesh he ate, their feathers vestured him.And there lay herbs and healing leaves, the which,Spread on his deadly wound, assuaged its pangs.Wild tangled elf-locks hung about his head.He seemed a wild beast, that hath set its foot,Prowling by night, upon a hidden trap,And so hath been constrained in agonyTo bite with fierce teeth through the prisoned limbEre it could win back to its cave, and thereIn hunger and torturing pains it languisheth.So in that wide cave suffering crushed the man;And all his frame was wasted: naught but skinCovered his bones. Unwashen there he crouchedWith famine-haggard cheeks, with sunken eyesGlaring his misery 'neath cavernous brows.Never his groaning ceased, for evermoreThe ulcerous black wound, eating to the bone,Festered with thrills of agonizing pain.As when a beetling cliff, by seething seasAye buffeted, is carved and underscooped,For all its stubborn strength, by tireless waves,Till, scourged by winds and lashed by tempest-flails,The sea into deep caves hath gnawed its base;So greater 'neath his foot grew evermoreThe festering wound, dealt when the envenomed fangsTare him of that fell water-snake, which menSay dealeth ghastly wounds incurable,When the hot sun hath parched it as it crawlsOver the sands; and so that mightiest manLay faint and wasted with his cureless pain;And from the ulcerous wound aye streamed to earthFetid corruption fouling all the floorOf that wide cave, a marvel to be heardOf men unborn. Beside his stony bedLay a long quiver full of arrows, someFor hunting, some to smite his foes withal;With deadly venom of that fell water-snakeWere these besmeared. Before it, nigh to his hand,Lay the great bow, with curving tips of horn,Wrought by the mighty hands of Hercules.
Now when that solitary spied these twainDraw nigh his cave, he sprang to his bow, he laidThe deadly arrow on the string; for nowFierce memory of his wrongs awoke againstThese, who had left him years agone, in painGroaning upon the desolate sea-shore.Yea, and his heart's stem will he had swiftly wrought,But, even as upon that godlike twainHe gazed, Athena caused his bitter wrathTo melt away. Then drew they nigh to himWith looks of sad compassion, and sat downOn either hand beside him in the cave,And of his deadly wound and grievous pangsAsked; and he told them all his sufferings.And they spake hope and comfort; and they said:"Thy woeful wound, thine anguish, shall be healed,If thou but come with us to Achaea's host—The host that now is sorrowing after theeWith all its kings. And no man of them allWas cause of thine affliction, but the Fates,The cruel ones, whom none that walk the earthEscape, but aye they visit hapless menUnseen; and day by day with pitiless heartsNow they afflict men, now again exaltTo honour—none knows why; for all the woesAnd all the joys of men do these deviseAfter their pleasure." Hearkening he satTo Odysseus and to godlike Diomede;And all the hoarded wrath for olden wrongsAnd all the torturing rage, melted away.
Straight to the strand dull-thundering and the ship,Laughing for joy, they bare him with his bow.There washed they all his body and that foul woundWith sponges, and with plenteous water bathed:So was his soul refreshed. Then hasted theyAnd made meat ready for the famished man,And in the galley supped with him. Then cameThe balmy night, and sleep slid down on them.Till rose the dawn they tarried by the strandOf sea-girt Lemnos, but with dayspring castThe hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stonesOut of the deep. Athena sent a breezeBlowing behind the galley taper-prowed.They strained the sail with either stern-sheet taut;Seaward they pointed the stout-girdered ship;O'er the broad flood she leapt before the wind;Broken to right and left the dark wave sighed,And seething all around was hoary foam,While thronging dolphins raced on either handFlashing along the paths of silver sea.
Full soon to fish-fraught Hellespont they cameAnd the far-stretching ships. Glad were the GreeksTo see the longed-for faces. Forth the shipWith joy they stepped; and Poeas' valiant sonOn those two heroes leaned thin wasted hands,Who bare him painfully halting to the shoreStaying his weight upon their brawny arms.As seems mid mountain-brakes an oak or pineBy strength of the woodcutter half hewn through,Which for a little stands on what was leftOf the smooth trunk by him who hewed thereatHard by the roots, that its slow-smouldering woodMight yield him pitch—now like to one in painIt groans, in weakness borne down by the wind,Yet is upstayed upon its leafy boughsWhich from the earth bear up its helpless weight;So by pain unendurable bowed downLeaned he on those brave heroes, and was borneUnto the war-host. Men beheld, and allCompassionated that great archer, crushedBy anguish of his hurt. But one drew near,Podaleirius, godlike in his power to heal.Swifter than thought he made him whole and sound;For deftly on the wound he spread his salves,Calling on his physician-father's name;And soon the Achaeans shouted all for joy,All praising with one voice Asclepius' son.Lovingly then they bathed him, and with oilAnointed. All his heaviness of cheerAnd misery vanished by the Immortals' will;And glad at heart were all that looked on him;And from affliction he awoke to joy.Over the bloodless face the flush of healthGlowed, and for wretched weakness mighty strengthThrilled through him: goodly and great waxed all his limbs.As when a field of corn revives againWhich erst had drooped, by rains of ruining stormDown beaten flat, but by warm summer windsRequickened, o'er the laboured land it smiles,So Philoctetes' erstwhile wasted frameWas all requickened:—in the galley's holdHe seemed to have left all cares that crushed his soul.
And Atreus' sons beheld him marvellingAs one re-risen from the dead: it seemedThe work of hands immortal. And indeedSo was it verily, as their hearts divined;For 'twas the glorious Trito-born that shedStature and grace upon him. SuddenlyHe seemed as when of old mid Argive menHe stood, before calamity struck him down.Then unto wealthy Agamemnon's tentDid all their mightiest men bring Poeas' son,And set him chief in honour at the feast,Extolling him. When all with meat and drinkWere filled, spake Agamemnon lord of spears:"Dear friend, since by the will of Heaven our soulsWere once perverted, that in sea-girt LemnosWe left thee, harbour not thine heart withinFierce wrath for this: by the blest Gods constrainedWe did it; and, I trow, the Immortals willedTo bring much evil on us, bereft of thee,Who art of all men skilfullest to quellWith shafts of death all foes that face thee in fight.For all the tangled paths of human life,By land and sea, are by the will of FateHid from our eyes, in many and devious tracksAre cleft apart, in wandering mazes lost.Along them men by Fortune's dooming driftLike unto leaves that drive before the wind.Oft on an evil path the good man's feetStumble, the brave finds not a prosperous path;And none of earth-born men can shun the Fates,And of his own will none can choose his way.So then doth it behove the wise of heartThough on a troublous track the winds of fateSweep him away to suffer and be strong.Since we were blinded then, and erred herein,With rich gifts will we make amends to theeHereafter, when we take the stately towersOf Troy: but now receive thou handmaids seven,Fleet steeds two-score, victors in chariot-race,And tripods twelve, wherein thine heart may joyThrough all thy days; and always in my tentShall royal honour at the feast be thine."
He spake, and gave the hero those fair gifts.Then answered Poeas' mighty-hearted son;"Friend, I forgive thee freely, and all besideWhoso against me haply hath trangressed.I know how good men's minds sometimes be warped:Nor meet it is that one be obdurateEver, and nurse mean rancours: sternest wrathMust yield anon unto the melting mood.Now pass we to our rest; for better is sleepThan feasting late, for him who longs to fight."
He spake, and rose, and came to his comrades' tent;Then swiftly for their war-fain king they dightThe couch, while laughed their hearts for very joy.Gladly he laid him down to sleep till dawn.
So passed the night divine, till flushed the hillsIn the sun's light, and men awoke to toil.Then all athirst for war the Argive men'Gan whet the spear smooth-shafted, or the dart,Or javelin, and they brake the bread of dawn,And foddered all their horses. Then to theseSpake Poeas' son with battle-kindling speech:"Up! let us make us ready for the war!Let no man linger mid the galleys, ereThe glorious walls of Ilium stately-toweredBe shattered, and her palaces be burned!"
Then at his words each heart and spirit glowed:They donned their armour, and they grasped their shields.Forth of the ships in one huge mass they pouredArrayed with bull-hide bucklers, ashen spears,And gallant-crested helms. Through all their ranksShoulder to shoulder marched they: thou hadst seenNo gap 'twixt man and man as on they charged;So close they thronged, so dense was their array.