How Paris was stricken to death, and in vain sought help of Oenone.
Now were the Trojans all without the townOf Priam, armour-clad, with battle-carsAnd chariot-steeds; for still they burnt their dead,And still they feared lest the Achaean menShould fall on them. They looked, and saw them comeWith furious speed against the walls. In hasteThey cast a hurried earth-mound o'er the slain,For greatly trembled they to see their foes.Then in their sore disquiet spake to themPolydamas, a wise and prudent chief:"Friends, unendurably against us nowMaddens the war. Go to, let us deviseHow we may find deliverance from our strait.Still bide the Danaans here, still gather strength:Now therefore let us man our stately towers,And thence withstand them, fighting night and day,Until yon Danaans weary, and returnTo Sparta, or, renownless lingering hereBeside the wall, lose heart. No strength of theirsShall breach the long walls, howsoe'er they strive,For in the imperishable work of GodsWeakness is none. Food, drink, we shall not lack,For in King Priam's gold-abounding hallsIs stored abundant food, that shall sufficeFor many more than we, through many years,Though thrice so great a host at our desireShould gather, eager to maintain our cause."
Then chode with him Anchises' valiant son:"Polydamas, wherefore do they call thee wise,Who biddest suffer endless tribulationsCooped within walls? Never, how long soe'erThe Achaeans tarry here, will they lose heart;But when they see us skulking from the field,More fiercely will press on. So ours shall beThe sufferance, perishing in our native home,If for long season they beleaguer us.No food, if we be pent within our walls,Shall Thebe send us, nor Maeonia wine,But wretchedly by famine shall we die,Though the great wall stand firm. Nay, though our lotShould be to escape that evil death and doom,And not by famine miserably to die;Yet rather let us fight in armour cladFor children and grey fathers! Haply ZeusWill help us yet; of his high blood are we.Nay, even though we be abhorred of him,Better straightway to perish gloriouslyFighting unto the last for fatherland,Than die a death of lingering agony!"
Shouted they all who heard that gallant rede.Swiftly with helms and shields and spears they stoodIn close array. The eyes of mighty ZeusFrom heaven beheld the Trojans armed for fightAgainst the Danaans: then did he awakeCourage in these and those, that there might beStrain of unflinching fight 'twixt host and host.That day was Paris doomed, for Helen's sakeFighting, by Philoctetes' hands to die.
To one place Strife incarnate drew them all,The fearful Battle-queen, beheld of none,But cloaked in clouds blood-raining: on she stalkedSwelling the mighty roar of battle, nowRushed through Troy's squadrons, through Achaea's now;Panic and Fear still waited on her stepsTo make their father's sister glorious.From small to huge that Fury's stature grew;Her arms of adamant were blood-besprent,The deadly lance she brandished reached the sky.Earth quaked beneath her feet: dread blasts of fireFlamed from her mouth: her voice pealed thunder-likeKindling strong men. Swift closed the fronts of fightDrawn by a dread Power to the mighty work.Loud as the shriek of winds that madly blowIn early spring, when the tall woodland treesPut forth their leaves—loud as the roar of fireBlazing through sun-scorched brakes—loud as the voiceOf many waters, when the wide sea ravesBeneath the howling blast, with thunderous crashOf waves, when shake the fearful shipman's knees;So thundered earth beneath their charging feet.Strife swooped on them: foe hurled himself on foe.
First did Aeneas of the Danaans slayHarpalion, Arizelus' scion, bornIn far Boeotia of Amphinome,Who came to Troy to help the Argive menWith godlike Prothoenor. 'Neath his waistAeneas stabbed, and reft sweet life from him.Dead upon him he cast Thersander's son,For the barbed javelin pierced through Hyllus' throatWhom Arethusa by Lethaeus bareIn Crete: sore grieved Idomeneus for his fall.
By this Peleides' son had swiftly slainTwelve Trojan warriors with his father's spear.First Cebrus fell, Harmon, Pasitheus then,Hysminus, Schedius, and Imbrasius,Phleges, Mnesaeus, Ennomus, Amphinous,Phasis, Galenus last, who had his home
By Gargarus' steep—a mighty warrior heAmong Troy's mighties: with a countless hostTo Troy he came: for Priam Dardanus' sonPromised him many gifts and passing fair.Ah fool! his own doom never he foresaw,Whose weird was suddenly to fall in fightEre he bore home King Priam's glorious gifts.
Doom the Destroyer against the Argives spedValiant Aeneas' friend, Eurymenes.Wild courage spurred him on, that he might slayMany—and then fill death's cup for himself.Man after man he slew like some fierce beast,And foes shrank from the terrible rage that burnedOn his life's verge, nor reeked of imminent doom.Yea, peerless deeds in that fight had he done,Had not his hands grown weary, his spear-headBent utterly: his sword availed him not,Snapped at the hilt by Fate. Then Meges' dartSmote 'neath his ribs; blood spurted from his mouth,And in death's agony Doom stood at his side.
Even as he fell, Epeius' henchmen twain,Deileon and Amphion, rushed to stripHis armour; but Aeneas brave and strongChilled their hot hearts in death beside the dead.As one in latter summer 'mid his vinesKills wasps that dart about his ripening grapes,And so, ere they may taste the fruit, they die;So smote he them, ere they could seize the arms.
Menon and Amphinous Tydeides slew,Both goodly men. Paris slew Hippasus' sonDemoleon, who in Laconia's landBeside the outfall of Eurotas dwelt,The stream deep-flowing, and to Troy he cameWith Menelaus. Under his right breastThe shaft of Paris smote him unto death,Driving his soul forth like a scattering breath.
Teucer slew Zechis, Medon's war-famed son,Who dwelt in Phrygia, land of myriad flocks,Below that haunted cave of fair-haired NymphsWhere, as Endymion slept beside his kine,Divine Selene watched him from on high,And slid from heaven to earth; for passionate loveDrew down the immortal stainless Queen of Night.And a memorial of her couch abidesStill 'neath the oaks; for mid the copses roundWas poured out milk of kine; and still do menMarvelling behold its whiteness. Thou wouldst sayFar off that this was milk indeed, which isA well-spring of white water: if thou drawA little nigher, lo, the stream is fringedAs though with ice, for white stone rims it round.
Rushed on Alcaeus Meges, Phyleus' son,And drave his spear beneath his fluttering heart.Loosed were the cords of sweet life suddenly,And his sad parents longed in vain to greetThat son returning from the woeful warTo Margasus and Phyllis lovely-girt,Dwellers by lucent streams of Harpasus,Who pours the full blood of his clamorous flowInto Maeander madly rushing aye.
With Glaucus' warrior-comrade ScylaceusOdeus' son closed in the fight, and stabbedOver the shield-rim, and the cruel spearPassed through his shoulder, and drenched his shield with blood.Howbeit he slew him not, whose day of doomAwaited him afar beside the wallOf his own city; for when Illium's towersWere brought low by that swift avenging hostFleeing the war to Lycia then he cameAlone; and when he drew nigh to the town,The thronging women met and questioned himTouching their sons and husbands; and he toldHow all were dead. They compassed him about,And stoned the man with great stones, that he died.So had he no joy of his winning home,But the stones muffled up his dying groans,And of the same his ghastly tomb was rearedBeside Bellerophon's grave and holy placeIn Tlos, nigh that far-famed Chimaera's Crag.Yet, though he thus fulfilled his day of doom,As a God afterward men worshipped himBy Phoebus' hest, and never his honour fades.
Now Poeas' son the while slew DeioneusAnd Acamas, Antenor's warrior son:Yea, a great host of strong men laid he low.On, like the War-god, through his foes he rushed,Or as a river roaring in full floodBreaks down long dykes, when, maddening round its rocks,Down from the mountains swelled by rain it poursAn ever-flowing mightily-rushing streamWhose foaming crests over its forelands sweep;So none who saw him even from afarDared meet renowned Poeas' valiant son,Whose breast with battle-fury was fulfilled,Whose limbs were clad in mighty Hercules' armsOf cunning workmanship; for on the beltGleamed bears most grim and savage, jackals fell,And panthers, in whose eyes there seems to lurkA deadly smile. There were fierce-hearted wolves,And boars with flashing tusks, and mighty lionsAll seeming strangely alive; and, there portrayedThrough all its breadth, were battles murder-rife.With all these marvels covered was the belt;And with yet more the quiver was adorned.There Hermes was, storm-footed Son of Zeus,Slaying huge Argus nigh to Inachus' streams,Argus, whose sentinel eyes in turn took sleep.And there was Phaethon from the Sun-car hurledInto Eridanus. Earth verily seemedAblaze, and black smoke hovered on the air.There Perseus slew Medusa gorgon-eyedBy the stars' baths and utmost bounds of earthAnd fountains of deep-flowing Ocean, whereNight in the far west meets the setting sun.There was the Titan Iapetus' great sonHung from the beetling crag of CaucasusIn bonds of adamant, and the eagle tareHis liver unconsumed—he seemed to groan!All these Hephaestus' cunning hands had wroughtFor Hercules; and these to Poeas' son,Most near of friends and dear, he gave to bear.
So glorying in those arms he smote the foe.But Paris at the last to meet him sprangFearlessly, bearing in his hands his bowAnd deadly arrows—but his latest dayNow met himself. A flying shaft he spedForth from the string, which sang as leapt the dart,Which flew not vainly: yet the very markIt missed, for Philoctetes swerved asideA hair-breadth, and it smote above the breastCleodorus war-renowned, and cleft a pathClear through his shoulder; for he had not nowThe buckler broad which wont to fence from deathIts bearer, but was falling back from fight,Being shieldless; for Polydamas' massy lanceHad cleft the shoulder-belt whereby his targeHung, and he gave back therefore, fighting stillWith stubborn spear. But now the arrow of deathFell on him, as from ambush leaping forth.For so Fate willed, I trow, to bring dread doomOn noble-hearted Lernus' scion, bornOf Amphiale, in Rhodes the fertile land.
But soon as Poeas' battle-eager sonMarked him by Paris' deadly arrow slain,Swiftly he strained his bow, shouting aloud:"Dog! I will give thee death, will speed thee downTo the Unseen Land, who darest to brave me!And so shall they have rest, who travail nowFor thy vile sake. Destruction shall have endWhen thou art dead, the author of our bane."
Then to his breast he drew the plaited cord.The great bow arched, the merciless shaft was aimedStraight, and the terrible point a little peeredAbove the bow, in that constraining grip.Loud sang the string, as the death-hissing shaftLeapt, and missed not: yet was not Paris' heartStilled, but his spirit yet was strong in him;For that first arrow was not winged with death:It did but graze the fair flesh by his wrist.Then once again the avenger drew the bow,And the barbed shaft of Poeas' son had plunged,Ere he could swerve, 'twixt flank and groin. No moreHe abode the fight, but swiftly hasted backAs hastes a dog which on a lion rushedAt first, then fleeth terror-stricken back.So he, his very heart with agony thrilled,Fled from the war. Still clashed the grappling hosts,Man slaying man: aye bloodier waxed the frayAs rained the blows: corpse upon corpse was flungConfusedly, like thunder-drops, or flakesOf snow, or hailstones, by the wintry blastAt Zeus' behest strewn over the long hillsAnd forest-boughs; so by a pitiless doomSlain, friends with foes in heaps on heaps were strown.
Sorely groaned Paris; with the torturing woundFainted his spirit. Leeches sought to allayHis frenzy of pain. But now drew back to TroyThe Trojans, and the Danaans to their shipsSwiftly returned, for dark night put an endTo strife, and stole from men's limbs weariness,Pouring upon their eyes pain-healing sleep.
But through the livelong night no sleep laid holdOn Paris: for his help no leech availed,Though ne'er so willing, with his salves. His weirdWas only by Oenone's hands to escapeDeath's doom, if so she willed. Now he obeyedThe prophecy, and he went—exceeding loth,But grim necessity forced him thence, to faceThe wife forsaken. Evil-boding fowlShrieked o'er his head, or darted past to left,Still as he went. Now, as he looked at them,His heart sank; now hope whispered, "Haply vainTheir bodings are!" but on their wings were borneVisions of doom that blended with his pain.Into Oenone's presence thus he came.Amazed her thronging handmaids looked on himAs at the Nymph's feet that pale suppliant fellFaint with the anguish of his wound, whose pangsStabbed him through brain and heart, yea, quivered throughHis very bones, for that fierce venom crawledThrough all his inwards with corrupting fangs;And his life fainted in him agony-thrilled.As one with sickness and tormenting thirstConsumed, lies parched, with heart quick-shuddering,With liver seething as in flame, the soul,Scarce conscious, fluttering at his burning lips,Longing for life, for water longing sore;So was his breast one fire of torturing pain.Then in exceeding feebleness he spake:"O reverenced wife, turn not from me in hateFor that I left thee widowed long ago!Not of my will I did it: the strong FatesDragged me to Helen—oh that I had diedEre I embraced her—in thine arms had died!All, by the Gods I pray, the Lords of Heaven,By all the memories of our wedded love,Be merciful! Banish my bitter pain:Lay on my deadly wound those healing salvesWhich only can, by Fate's decree, removeThis torment, if thou wilt. Thine heart must speakMy sentence, to be saved from death or no.Pity me—oh, make haste to pity me!This venom's might is swiftly bringing death!Heal me, while life yet lingers in my limbs!Remember not those pangs of jealousy,Nor leave me by a cruel doom to dieLow fallen at thy feet! This should offendThe Prayers, the Daughters of the Thunderer Zeus,Whose anger followeth unrelenting prideWith vengeance, and the Erinnys executesTheir wrath. My queen, I sinned, in folly sinned;Yet from death save me—oh, make haste to save!"
So prayed he; but her darkly-brooding heartWas steeled, and her words mocked his agony:"Thou comest unto me!—thou, who didst leaveErewhile a wailing wife in a desolate home!—Didst leave her for thy Tyndarid darling! Go,Lie laughing in her arms for bliss! She is betterThan thy true wife—is, rumour saith, immortal!Make haste to kneel to her but not to me!Weep not to me, nor whimper pitiful prayers!Oh that mine heart beat with a tigress' strength,That I might tear thy flesh and lap thy bloodFor all the pain thy folly brought on me!Vile wretch! where now is Love's Queen glory-crowned?Hath Zeus forgotten his daughter's paramour?Have them for thy deliverers! Get thee henceFar from my dwelling, curse of Gods and men!Yea, for through thee, thou miscreant, sorrow cameOn deathless Gods, for sons and sons' sons slain.Hence from my threshold!—to thine Helen go!Agonize day and night beside her bed:There whimper, pierced to the heart with cruel pangs,Until she heal thee of thy grievous pain."
So from her doors she drave that groaning man—Ah fool! not knowing her own doom, whose weirdWas straightway after him to tread the pathOf death! So Fate had spun her destiny-thread.
Then, as he stumbled down through Ida's brakes,Where Doom on his death-path was leading himPainfully halting, racked with heart-sick pain,Hera beheld him, with rejoicing soulThroned in the Olympian palace-court of Zeus.And seated at her side were handmaids fourWhom radiant-faced Selene bare to the SunTo be unwearying ministers in Heaven,In form and office diverse each from each;For of these Seasons one was summer's queen,And one of winter and his stormy star,Of spring the third, of autumn-tide the fourth.So in four portions parted is man's yearRuled by these Queens in turn—but of all thisBe Zeus himself the Overseer in heaven.And of those issues now these spake with herWhich baleful Fate in her all-ruining heartWas shaping to the birth the new espousalsOf Helen, fatal to Deiphobus—The wrath of Helenus, who hoped in vainFor that fair bride, and how, when he had fled,Wroth with the Trojans, to the mountain-height,Achaea's sons would seize him and would haleUnto their ships—how, by his counsellingStrong Tydeus' son should with Odysseus scaleThe great wall, and should slay AlcathousThe temple-warder, and should bear awayPallas the Gracious, with her free consent,Whose image was the sure defence of Troy;—Yea, for not even a God, how wroth soe'er,Had power to lay the City of Priam wasteWhile that immortal shape stood warder there.No man had carven that celestial form,But Cronos' Son himself had cast it downFrom heaven to Priam's gold-abounding burg.
Of these things with her handmaids did the QueenOf Heaven hold converse, and of many such,But Paris, while they talked, gave up the ghostOn Ida: never Helen saw him more.Loud wailed the Nymphs around him; for they stillRemembered how their nursling wont to lispHis childish prattle, compassed with their smiles.And with them mourned the neatherds light of foot,Sorrowful-hearted; moaned the mountain-glens.
Then unto travail-burdened Priam's queenA herdman told the dread doom of her son.Wildly her trembling heart leapt when she heard;With failing limbs she sank to earth and wailed:"Dead! thou dead, O dear child! Grief heaped on griefHast thou bequeathed me, grief eternal! BestOf all my sons, save Hector alone, wast thou!While beats my heart, my grief shall weep for thee.The hand of Heaven is in our sufferings:Some Fate devised our ruin—oh that IHad lived not to endure it, but had diedIn days of wealthy peace! But now I seeWoes upon woes, and ever look to seeWorse things—my children slain, my city sackedAnd burned with fire by stony-hearted foes,Daughters, sons' wives, all Trojan women, haledInto captivity with our little ones!"
So wailed she; but the King heard naught thereof,But weeping ever sat by Hector's grave,For most of all his sons he honoured him,His mightiest, the defender of his land.Nothing of Paris knew that pierced heart;But long and loud lamented Helen; yetThose wails were but for Trojan ears; her soulWith other thoughts was busy, as she cried:"Husband, to me, to Troy, and to thyselfA bitter blow is this thy woeful death!In misery hast thou left me, and I lookTo see calamities more deadly yet.Oh that the Spirits of the Storm had snatchedMe from the earth when first I fared with theeDrawn by a baleful Fate! It might not be;The Gods have meted ruin to thee and me.With shuddering horror all men look on me,All hate me! Place of refuge is there noneFor me; for if to the Danaan host I fly,With torments will they greet me. If I stay,Troy's sons and daughters here will compass meAnd rend me. Earth shall cover not my corpse,But dogs and fowl of ravin shall devour.Oh had Fate slain me ere I saw these woes!"
So cried she: but for him far less she mournedThan for herself, remembering her own sin.Yea, and Troy's daughters but in semblance wailedFor him: of other woes their hearts were full.Some thought on parents, some on husbands slain,These on their sons, on honoured kinsmen those.
One only heart was pierced with grief unfeigned,Oenone. Not with them of Troy she wailed,But far away within that desolate homeMoaning she lay on her lost husband's bed.As when the copses on high mountains standWhite-veiled with frozen snow, which o'er the glensThe west-wind blasts have strown, but now the sunAnd east-wind melt it fast, and the long heightsWith water-courses stream, and down the gladesSlide, as they thaw, the heavy sheets, to swellThe rushing waters of an ice-cold spring,So melted she in tears of anguished pain,And for her own, her husband, agonised,And cried to her heart with miserable moans:"Woe for my wickedness! O hateful life!I loved mine hapless husband—dreamed with himTo pace to eld's bright threshold hand in hand,And heart in heart! The gods ordained not so.Oh had the black Fates snatched me from the earthEre I from Paris turned away in hate!My living love hath left me!—yet will IDare to die with him, for I loathe the light."
So cried she, weeping, weeping piteously,Remembering him whom death had swallowed up,Wasting, as melteth wax before the flameYet secretly, being fearful lest her sireShould mark it, or her handmaids till the nightRose from broad Ocean, flooding all the earthWith darkness bringing men release from toil.Then, while her father and her maidens slept,She slid the bolts back of the outer doors,And rushed forth like a storm-blast. Fast she ran,As when a heifer 'mid the mountains speeds,Her heart with passion stung, to meet her mate,And madly races on with flying feet,And fears not, in her frenzy of desire,The herdman, as her wild rush bears her on,So she but find her mate amid the woods;So down the long tracks flew Oenone's feet;Seeking the awful pyre, to leap thereon.No weariness she knew: as upon wingsHer feet flew faster ever, onward spurredBy fell Fate, and the Cyprian Queen. She fearedNo shaggy beast that met her in the darkWho erst had feared them sorely—rugged rockAnd precipice of tangled mountain-slope,She trod them all unstumbling; torrent-bedsShe leapt. The white Moon-goddess from on highLooked on her, and remembered her own love,Princely Endymion, and she pitied herIn that wild race, and, shining overheadIn her full brightness, made the long tracks plain.
Through mountain-gorges so she won to whereWailed other Nymphs round Alexander's corpse.Roared up about him a great wall of fire;For from the mountains far and near had comeShepherds, and heaped the death-bale broad and highFor love's and sorrow's latest service doneTo one of old their comrade and their king.Sore weeping stood they round. She raised no wail,The broken-hearted, when she saw him there,But, in her mantle muffling up her face,Leapt on the pyre: loud wailed that multitude.There burned she, clasping Paris. All the NymphsMarvelled, beholding her beside her lordFlung down, and heart to heart spake whispering:"Verily evil-hearted Paris was,Who left a leal true wife, and took for brideA wanton, to himself and Troy a curse.Ah fool, who recked not of the broken heartOf a most virtuous wife, who more than lifeLoved him who turned from her and loved her not!"
So in their hearts the Nymphs spake: but they twainBurned on the pyre, never to hail againThe dayspring. Wondering herdmen stood around,As once the thronging Argives marvelling sawEvadne clasping mid the fire her lordCapaneus, slain by Zeus' dread thunderbolt.But when the blast of the devouring fireHad made twain one, Oenone and Paris, nowOne little heap of ashes, then with wineQuenched they the embers, and they laid their bonesIn a wide golden vase, and round them piledThe earth-mound; and they set two pillars thereThat each from other ever turn away;For the old jealousy in the marble lives.
How the sons of Troy for the last time fought from her walls and her towers.
Troy's daughters mourned within her walls; might noneGo forth to Paris' tomb, for far awayFrom high-built Troy it lay. But the young menWithout the city toiled unceasinglyIn fight wherein from slaughter rest was none,Though dead was Paris; for the Achaeans pressedHard on the Trojans even unto Troy.Yet these charged forth—they could not choose but so,For Strife and deadly Enyo in their midstStalked, like the fell Erinyes to behold,Breathing destruction from their lips like flame.Beside them raged the ruthless-hearted FatesFiercely: here Panic-fear and Ares thereStirred up the hosts: hard after followedDread With slaughter's gore besprent, that in one hostMight men see, and be strong, in the other fear;And all around were javelins, spears, and dartsMurder-athirst from this side, that side, showered.Aye, as they hurled together, armour clashed,As foe with foe grappled in murderous fight.
There Neoptolemus slew Laodamas,Whom Lycia nurtured by fair Xanthus' stream,The stream revealed to men by Leto, brideOf Thunderer Zeus, when Lycia's stony plainWas by her hands uptorn mid agoniesOf travail-throes wherein she brought to lightMid bitter pangs those babes of birth divine.Nirus upon him laid he dead; the spearCrashed through his jaw, and clear through mouth and tonguePassed: on the lance's irresistible pointShrieking was he impaled: flooded with goreHis mouth was as he cried. The cruel shaft,Sped on by that strong hand, dashed him to earthIn throes of death. Evenor next he smoteAbove the flank, and onward drave the spearInto his liver: swiftly anguished deathCame upon him. Iphition next he slew:He quelled Hippomedon, Hippasus' bold son,Whom Ocyone the Nymph had borne besideSangarius' river-flow. Ne'er welcomed sheHer son's returning face, but ruthless FateWith anguish thrilled her of her child bereaved.
Bremon Aeneas slew, and Andromachus,Of Cnossus this, of hallowed Lyctus that:On one spot both from their swift chariots fell;This gasped for breath, his throat by the long spearTransfixed; that other, by a massy stone,Sped from a strong hand, on the temple struck,Breathed out his life, and black doom shrouded him.The startled steeds, bereft of charioteers,Fleeing, mid all those corpses were confused,And princely Aeneas' henchmen seized on themWith hearts exulting in the goodly spoil.
There Philoctetes with his deadly shaftSmote Peirasus in act to flee the war:The tendons twain behind the knee it snapped,And palsied all his speed. A Danaan marked,And leapt on that maimed man with sweep of swordShearing his neck through. On the breast of earthThe headless body fell: the head far flungWent rolling with lips parted as to shriek;And swiftly fleeted thence the homeless soul.
Polydamas struck down EurymachusAnd Cleon with his spear. From Syme cameWith Nireus' following these: cunning were bothIn craft of fisher-folk to east the hookBaited with guile, to drop into the seaThe net, from the boat's prow with deftest handsSwiftly and straight to plunge the three-forked spear.But not from bane their sea-craft saved them now.
Eurypylus battle-staunch laid Hellus low,Whom Cleito bare beside Gygaea's mere,Cleito the fair-cheeked. Face-down in the dustOutstretched he lay: shorn by the cruel swordFrom his strong shoulder fell the arm that heldHis long spear. Still its muscles twitched, as thoughFain to uplift the lance for fight in vain;For the man's will no longer stirred therein,But aimlessly it quivered, even as leapsThe severed tail of a snake malignant-eyed,Which cannot chase the man who dealt the wound;So the right hand of that strong-hearted manWith impotent grip still clutched the spear for fight.
Aenus and Polydorus Odysseus slew,Ceteians both; this perished by his spear,That by his sword death-dealing. SthenelusSmote godlike Abas with a javelin-cast:On through his throat and shuddering nape it rushed:Stopped were his heart-beats, all his limbs collapsed.
Tydeides slew Laodocus; Melius fellBy Agamemnon's hand; DeiphobusSmote Alcimus and Dryas: Hippasus,How war-renowned soe'er, Agenor slewFar from Peneius' river. Crushed by fate,Love's nursing-debt to parents ne'er he paid.
Lamus and stalwart Lyncus Thoas smote,And Meriones slew Lycon; MenelausLaid low Archelochus. Upon his homeLooked down Corycia's ridge, and that great rockOf the wise Fire-god, marvellous in men's eyes;For thereon, nightlong, daylong, unto himFire blazes, tireless and unquenchable.Laden with fruit around it palm-trees grow,While mid the stones fire plays about their roots.Gods' work is this, a wonder to all time.
By Teucer princely Hippomedon's son was slain,Menoetes: as the archer drew on him,Rushed he to smite him; but already handAnd eye, and bow-craft keen were aiming straightOn the arching horn the shaft. Swiftly releasedIt leapt on the hapless man, while sang the string.Stricken full front he heaved one choking gasp,Because the fates on the arrow riding flewRight to his heart, the throne of thought and strengthFor men, whence short the path is unto death.
Far from his brawny hand Euryalus hurledA massy stone, and shook the ranks of Troy.As when in anger against long-screaming cranesA watcher of the field leaps from the ground,In swift hand whirling round his head the sling,And speeds the stone against them, scatteringBefore its hum their ranks far down the windOutspread, and they in huddled panic dartWith wild cries this way and that, who theretoforeSwept on in ordered lines; so shrank the foeTo right and left from that dread bolt of doomHurled of Euryalus. Not in vain it flewFate-winged; it shattered Meles' helm and headDown to the eyes: so met him ghastly death.
Still man slew man, while earth groaned all around,As when a mighty wind scourges the land,And this way, that way, under its shrieking blastsThrough the wide woodland bow from the roots and fallGreat trees, while all the earth is thundering round;So fell they in the dust, so clanged their arms,So crashed the earth around. Still hot were theyFor fell fight, still dealt bane unto their foes.
Nigh to Aeneas then Apollo came,And to Eurymachus, brave Antenor's son;For these against the mighty Achaeans foughtShoulder to shoulder, as two strong oxen, matchedIn age, yoked to a wain; nor ever ceasedFrom battling. Suddenly spake the God to theseIn Polymestor's shape, the seer his motherBy Xanthus bare to the Far-darter's priest:"Eurymachus, Aeneas, seed of Gods,'Twere shame if ye should flinch from Argives! Nay,Not Ares' self should joy to encounter you,An ye would face him in the fray; for FateHath spun long destiny-threads for thee and thee."
He spake, and vanished, mingling with the winds.But their hearts felt the God's power: suddenlyFlooded with boundless courage were their frames,Maddened their spirits: on the foe they leaptLike furious wasps that in a storm of rageSwoop upon bees, beholding them draw nighIn latter-summer to the mellowing grapes,Or from their hives forth-streaming thitherward;So fiercely leapt these sons of Troy to meetWar-hardened Greeks. The black Fates joyed to seeTheir conflict, Ares laughed, Enyo yelledHorribly. Loud their glancing armour clanged:They stabbed, they hewed down hosts of foes untoldWith irresistible hands. The reeling ranksFell, as the swath falls in the harvest heat,When the swift-handed reapers, ranged adownThe field's long furrows, ply the sickle fast;So fell before their hands ranks numberless:With corpses earth was heaped, with torrent bloodWas streaming: Strife incarnate o'er the slainGloated. They paused not from the awful toil,But aye pressed on, like lions chasing sheep.Then turned the Greeks to craven flight; all feetUnmaimed as yet fled from the murderous war.Aye followed on Anchises' warrior son,Smiting foes' backs with his avenging spear:On pressed Eurymachus, while glowed the heartOf Healer Apollo watching from on high.
As when a man descries a herd of swineDraw nigh his ripening corn, before the sheavesFall neath the reapers' hands, and harketh onAgainst them his strong dogs; as down they rush,The spoilers see and quake; no more think theyOf feasting, but they turn in panic flightHuddling: fast follow at their heels the houndsBiting remorselessly, while long and loudSquealing they flee, and joys the harvest's lord;So rejoiced Phoebus, seeing from the warFleeing the mighty Argive host. No moreCared they for deeds of men, but cried to the GodsFor swift feet, in whose feet alone was hopeTo escape Eurymachus' and Aeneas' spearsWhich lightened ever all along their rear.
But one Greek, over-trusting in his strength,Or by Fate's malice to destruction drawn,Curbed in mid flight from war's turmoil his steed,And strove to wheel him round into the fightTo face the foe. But fierce Agenor thrustEre he was ware; his two-edged partizanShore though his shoulder; yea, the very boneOf that gashed arm was cloven by the steel;The tendons parted, the veins spirted blood:Down by his horse's neck he slid, and straightFell mid the dead. But still the strong arm hungWith rigid fingers locked about the reinsLike a live man's. Weird marvel was that sight,The bloody hand down hanging from the rein,Scaring the foes yet more, by Ares' will.Thou hadst said, "It craveth still for horsemanship!"So bare the steed that sign of his slain lord.
Aeneas hurled his spear; it found the waistOf Anthalus' son, it pierced the navel through,Dragging the inwards with it. Stretched in dust,Clutching with agonized hands at steel and bowels,Horribly shrieked he, tore with his teeth the earthGroaning, till life and pain forsook the man.Scared were the Argives, like a startled teamOf oxen 'neath the yoke-band straining hard,What time the sharp-fanged gadfly stings their flanksAthirst for blood, and they in frenzy of painStart from the furrow, and sore disquietedThe hind is for marred work, and for their sake,Lest haply the recoiling ploughshare lightOn their leg-sinews, and hamstring his team;So were the Danaans scared, so feared for themAchilles' son, and shouted thunder-voiced:"Cravens, why flee, like starlings nothing-worthScared by a hawk that swoopeth down on them?Come, play the men! Better it is by farTo die in war than choose unmanly flight!"
Then to his cry they hearkened, and straightwayWere of good heart. Mighty of mood he leaptUpon the Trojans, swinging in his handThe lightening spear: swept after him his hostOf Myrmidons with hearts swelled with the strengthResistless of a tempest; so the GreeksWon breathing-space. With fury like his sire'sOne after other slew he of the foe.Recoiling back they fell, as waves on-rolledBy Boreas foaming from the deep to the strand,Are caught by another blast that whirlwind-likeLeaps, in a short lull of the north-wind, forth,Smites them full-face, and hurls them back from the shore;So them that erewhile on the Danaans pressedGodlike Achilles' son now backward hurledA short space only brave Aeneas' spiritLet him not flee, but made him bide the fightFearlessly; and Enyo level heldThe battle's scales. Yet not against AeneasAchilles' son upraised his father's spear,But elsewhither turned his fury: in reverenceFor Aphrodite, Thetis splendour-veiledTurned from that man her mighty son's son's rageAnd giant strength on other hosts of foes.There slew he many a Trojan, while the ranksOf Greeks were ravaged by Aeneas' hand.Over the battle-slain the vultures joyed,Hungry to rend the hearts and flesh of men.But all the Nymphs were wailing, daughters bornOf Xanthus and fair-flowing Simois.
So toiled they in the fight: the wind's breath rolledHuge dust-clouds up; the illimitable airWas one thick haze, as with a sudden mist:Earth disappeared, faces were blotted out;Yet still they fought on; each man, whomso he met,Ruthlessly slew him, though his very friendIt might be—in that turmoil none could tellWho met him, friend or foe: blind wildermentEnmeshed the hosts. And now had all been blentConfusedly, had perished miserably,All falling by their fellows' murderous swords,Had not Cronion from Olympus helpedTheir sore strait, and he swept aside the dustOf conflict, and he calmed those deadly winds.Yet still the hosts fought on; but lighter farTheir battle-travail was, who now discernedWhom in the fray to smite, and whom to spare.The Danaans now forced back the Trojan host,The Trojans now the Danaan ranks, as swayedThe dread fight to and fro. From either sideDarts leapt and fell like snowflakes. Far awayShepherds from Ida trembling watched the strife,And to the Heaven-abiders lifted handsOf supplication, praying that all their foesMight perish, and that from the woeful warTroy might win breathing-space, and see at lastThe day of freedom: the Gods hearkened not.Far other issues Fate devised, nor reckedOf Zeus the Almighty, nor of none besideOf the Immortals. Her unpitying soulCares naught what doom she spinneth with her threadInevitable, be it for men new-bornOr cities: all things wax and wane through her.So by her hest the battle-travail swelled'Twixt Trojan chariot-lords and Greeks that closedIn grapple of fight—they dealt each other deathRuthlessly: no man quailed, but stout of heartFought on; for courage thrusts men into war.
But now when many had perished in the dust,Then did the Argive might prevail at lastBy stern decree of Pallas; for she cameInto the heart of battle, hot to helpThe Greeks to lay waste Priam's glorious town.Then Aphrodite, who lamented soreFor Paris slain, snatched suddenly awayRenowned Aeneas from the deadly strife,And poured thick mist about him. Fate forbadeThat hero any longer to contendWith Argive foes without the high-built wall.Yea, and his mother sorely feared the wrathOf Pallas passing-wise, whose heart was keenTo help the Danaans now—yea, feared lest sheMight slay him even beyond his doom, who sparedNot Ares' self, a mightier far than he.
No more the Trojans now abode the edgeOf fight, but all disheartened backward drew.For like fierce ravening beasts the Argive menLeapt on them, mad with murderous rage of war.Choked with their slain the river-channels were,Heaped was the field; in red dust thousands fell,Horses and men; and chariots overturnedWere strewn there: blood was streaming all aroundLike rain, for deadly Doom raged through the fray.
Men stabbed with swords, and men impaled on spearsLay all confusedly, like scattered beams,When on the strand of the low-thundering seaMen from great girders of a tall ship's hullStrike out the bolts and clamps, and scatter wideLong planks and timbers, till the whole broad beachIs paved with beams o'erplashed by darkling surge;So lay in dust and blood those slaughtered men,Rapture and pain of fight forgotten now.
A remnant from the pitiless strife escapedEntered their stronghold, scarce eluding doom.Children and wives from their limbs blood-besprentReceived their arms bedabbled with foul gore;And baths for all were heated. Leeches ranThrough all the town in hot haste to the homesOf wounded men to minister to their hurts.Here wives and daughters moaned round men come backFrom war, there cried on many who came notHere, men stung to the soul by bitter pangsGroaned upon beds of pain; there, toil-spent menTurned them to supper. Whinnied the swift steedsAnd neighed o'er mangers heaped. By tent and shipFar off the Greeks did even as they of Troy.
When o'er the streams of Ocean Dawn drove upHer splendour-flashing steeds, and earth's tribes waked,Then the strong Argives' battle-eager sonsMarched against Priam's city lofty-towered,Save some that mid the tents by wounded menTarried, lest haply raiders on the shipsMight fall, to help the Trojans, while these foughtThe foe from towers, while rose the flame of war.
Before the Scaean gate fought Capaneus' sonAnd godlike Diomedes. High aboveDeiphobus battle-staunch and strong PolitesWith many comrades, stoutly held them backWith arrows and huge stones. Clanged evermoreThe smitten helms and shields that fenced strong menFrom bitter doom and unrelenting fate,
Before the Gate Idaean Achilles' sonSet in array the fight: around him toiledHis host of battle-cunning Myrmidons.Helenus and Agenor gallant-souled,Down-hailing darts, against them held the wall,Aye cheering on their men. No spurring theseNeeded to fight hard for their country's walls.
Odysseus and Eurypylus made assaultUnresting on the gates that fated the plainAnd looked to the swift ships. From wall and towerWith huge stones brave Aeneas made defence.
In battle-stress by Simons Teucer toiled.Each endured hardness at his several post.
Then round war-wise Odysseus men renowned,By that great captain's battle cunning ruled,Locked shields together, raised them o'er their headsRanged side by side, that many were made one.Thou hadst said it was a great hall's solid roof,Which no tempestuous wind-blast misty wetCan pierce, nor rain from heaven in torrents poured.So fenced about with shields firm stood the ranksOf Argives, one in heart for fight, and oneIn that array close-welded. From aboveThe Trojans hailed great stones; as from a rockRolled these to earth. Full many a spear and dartAnd galling javelin in the pierced shields stood;Some in the earth stood; many glanced awayWith bent points falling baffled from the shieldsBattered on all sides. But that clangorous dinNone feared; none flinched; as pattering drops of rainThey heard it. Up to the rampart's foot they marched:None hung back; shoulder to shoulder on they cameLike a long lurid cloud that o'er the skyCronion trails in wild midwinter-tide.On that battalion moved, with thunderous treadOf tramping feet: a little above the earthRose up the dust; the breeze swept it asideDrifting away behind the men. There wentA sound confused of voices with them, likeThe hum of bees that murmur round the hives,And multitudinous panting, and the gaspOf men hard-breathing. Exceeding glad the sonsOf Atreus, glorying in them, saw that wallUnwavering of doom-denouncing war.In one dense mass against the city-gateThey hurled themselves, with twibills strove to breachThe long walls, from their hinges to upheaveThe gates, and dash to earth. The pulse of hopeBeat strong in those proud hearts. But naught availedTarges nor levers, when Aeneas' mightSwung in his hands a stone like a thunderbolt,Hurled it with uttermost strength, and dashed to deathAll whom it caught beneath the shields, as whenA mountain's precipice-edge breaks off and fallsOn pasturing goats, and all that graze therebyTremble; so were those Danaans dazed with dread.Stone after stone he hurled on the reeling ranks,As when amid the hills Olympian ZeusWith thunderbolts and blazing lightnings rendsFrom their foundations crags that rim a peak,And this way, that way, sends them hurtling down;Then the flocks tremble, scattering in wild flight;So quailed the Achaeans, when Aeneas dashedTo sudden fragments all that battle-wallMoulded of adamant shields, because a GodGave more than human strength. No man of themCould lift his eyes unto him in that fight,Because the arms that lapped his sinewy limbsFlashed like the heaven-born lightnings. At his sideStood, all his form divine in darkness cloaked,Ares the terrible, and winged the flightOf what bare down to the Argives doom or dread.He fought as when Olympian Zeus himselfFrom heaven in wrath smote down the insolent bandsOf giants grim, and shook the boundless earth,And sea, and ocean, and the heavens, when reeledThe knees of Atlas neath the rush of Zeus.So crumbled down beneath Aeneas' boltsThe Argive squadrons. All along the wallWroth with the foeman rushed he: from his handsWhatso he lighted on in onslaught-hasteHurled he; for many a battle-staying boltLay on the walls of those staunch Dardan men.With such Aeneas stormed in giant might,With such drave back the thronging foes. All roundThe Trojans played the men. Sore travail and painHad all folk round the city: many fell,Argives and Trojans. Rang the battle-cries:Aeneas cheered the war-fain Trojans onTo fight for home, for wives, and their own soulsWith a good heart: war-staunch Achilles' sonShouted: "Flinch not, ye Argives, from the walls,Till Troy be taken, and sink down in flames!"And round these twain an awful measureless roarRang, daylong as they fought: no breathing-spaceCame from the war to them whose spirits burned,These, to smite Ilium, those, to guard her safe.
But from Aeneas valiant-souled afarFought Aias, speeding midst the men of TroyWinged death; for now his arrow straight through airFlew, now his deadly dart, and smote them downOne after one: yet others cowered awayBefore his peerless prowess, and abodeThe fight no more, but fenceless left the wall
Then one, of all the Locrians mightiest,Fierce-souled Alcimedon, trusting in his princeAnd his own might and valour of his youth,All battle-eager on a ladder setSwift feet, to pave for friends a death-strewn pathInto the town. Above his head he raised
The screening shield; up that dread path he wentHardening his heart from trembling, in his handNow shook the threatening spear, now upward climbedFast high in air he trod the perilous way.Now on the Trojans had disaster come,But, even as above the parapetHis head rose, and for the first time and the lastFrom her high rampart he looked down on Troy,Aeneas, who had marked, albeit afar,That bold assault, rushed on him, dashed on his headSo huge a stone that the hero's mighty strengthShattered the ladder. Down from on high he rushedAs arrow from the string: death followed himAs whirling round he fell; with air was blentHis lost life, ere he crashed to the stony ground.Strong spear, broad shield, in mid fall flew from his hands,And from his head the helm: his corslet cameAlone with him to earth. The Locrian menGroaned, seeing their champion quelled by evil doom;For all his hair and all the stones aroundWere brain-bespattered: all his bones were crushed,And his once active limbs besprent with gore.
Then godlike Poeas' war-triumphant sonMarked where Aeneas stormed along the wallIn lion-like strength, and straightway shot a shaftAimed at that glorious hero, neither missedThe man: yet not through his unyielding targeTo the fair flesh it won, being turned asideBy Cytherea and the shield, but grazedThe buckler lightly: yet not all in vainFell earthward, but between the targe and helmSmote Medon: from the tower he fell, as fallsA wild goat from a crag, the hunter's shaftDeep in its heart: so nerveless-flung he fell,And fled away from him the precious life.Wroth for his friend, a stone Aeneas hurled,And Philoctetes' stalwart comrade slew,Toxaechmes; for he shattered his head and crushedHelmet and skull-bones; and his noble heartWas stilled. Loud shouted princely Poeas' son:"Aeneas, thou, forsooth, dost deem thyselfA mighty champion, fighting from a towerWhence craven women war with foes! Now ifThou be a man, come forth without the wallIn battle-harness, and so learn to knowIn spear-craft and in bow-craft Poeas' son!"
So cried he; but Anchises' valiant seed,How fain soe'er, naught answered, for the stressOf desperate conflict round that wall and burgCeaselessly raging: pause from fight was none:Yea, for long time no respite had there beenFor the war-weary from that endless toil.
How the Wooden Horse was fashioned, and brought into Troy by her people.
When round the walls of Troy the Danaan hostHad borne much travail, and yet the end was not,By Calchas then assembled were the chiefs;For his heart was instructed by the hestsOf Phoebus, by the flights of birds, the stars,And all the signs that speak to men the willOf Heaven; so he to that assembly cried:"No longer toil in leaguer of yon walls;Some other counsel let your hearts devise,Some stratagem to help the host and us.For here but yesterday I saw a sign:A falcon chased a dove, and she, hard pressed,Entered a cleft of the rock; and chafing heTarried long time hard by that rift, but sheAbode in covert. Nursing still his wrath,He hid him in a bush. Forth darted she,In folly deeming him afar: he swooped,And to the hapless dove dealt wretched death.Therefore by force essay we not to smite Troy,but let cunning stratagem avail."
He spake; but no man's wit might find a wayTo escape their grievous travail, as they soughtTo find a remedy, till Laertes' sonDiscerned it of his wisdom, and he spake:"Friend, in high honour held of the Heavenly Ones,If doomed it be indeed that Priam's burgBy guile must fall before the war-worn Greeks,A great Horse let us fashion, in the whichOur mightiest shall take ambush. Let the hostBurn all their tents, and sail from hence awayTo Tenedos; so the Trojans, from their towersGazing, shall stream forth fearless to the plain.Let some brave man, unknown of any in Troy,With a stout heart abide without the Horse,Crouching beneath its shadow, who shall say:"`Achaea's lords of might, exceeding fainSafe to win home, made this their offeringFor safe return, an image to appeaseThe wrath of Pallas for her image stolenFrom Troy.' And to this story shall he stand,How long soe'er they question him, until,Though never so relentless, they believe,And drag it, their own doom, within the town.Then shall war's signal unto us be given—To them at sea, by sudden flash of torch,To the ambush, by the cry, `Come forth the Horse!'When unsuspecting sleep the sons of Troy."
He spake, and all men praised him: most of allExtolled him Calchas, that such marvellous guileHe put into the Achaeans' hearts, to beFor them assurance of triumph, but for TroyRuin; and to those battle-lords he cried:"Let your hearts seek none other stratagem,Friends; to war-strong Odysseus' rede give ear.His wise thought shall not miss accomplishment.Yea, our desire even now the Gods fulfil.Hark! for new tokens come from the Unseen!Lo, there on high crash through the firmamentZeus' thunder and lightning! See, where birds to rightDart past, and scream with long-resounding cry!Go to, no more in endless leaguer of TroyLinger we. Hard necessity fills the foeWith desperate courage that makes cowards brave;For then are men most dangerous, when they stakeTheir lives in utter recklessness of death,As battle now the aweless sons of TroyAll round their burg, mad with the lust of fight."
But cried Achilles' battle-eager son:"Calchas, brave men meet face to face their foes!Who skulk behind their walls, and fight from towers,Are nidderings, hearts palsied with base fear.Hence with all thought of wile and stratagem!The great war-travail of the spear beseemsTrue heroes. Best in battle are the brave."
But answer made to him Laertes' seed:"Bold-hearted child of aweless Aeacus' son,This as beseems a hero princely and brave,Dauntlessly trusting in thy strength, thou say'st.Yet thine invincible sire's unquailing mightAvailed not to smite Priam's wealthy burg,Nor we, for all our travail. Nay, with speed,As counselleth Calchas, go we to the ships,And fashion we the Horse by Epeius' hands,Who in the woodwright's craft is chiefest farOf Argives, for Athena taught his lore."
Then all their mightiest men gave ear to himSave twain, fierce-hearted NeoptolemusAnd Philoctetes mighty-souled; for theseStill were insatiate for the bitter fray,Still longed for turmoil of the fight. They badeTheir own folk bear against that giant wallWhat things soe'er for war's assaults avail,In hope to lay that stately fortress low,Seeing Heaven's decrees had brought them both to war.Yea, they had haply accomplished all their will,But from the sky Zeus showed his wrath; he shookThe earth beneath their feet, and all the airShuddered, as down before those heroes twainHe hurled his thunderbolt: wide echoes crashedThrough all Dardania. Unto fear straightwayTurned were their bold hearts: they forgat their might,And Calchas' counsels grudgingly obeyed.So with the Argives came they to the shipsIn reverence for the seer who spake from ZeusOr Phoebus, and they obeyed him utterly.
What time round splendour-kindled heavens the starsFrom east to west far-flashing wheel, and whenMan doth forget his toil, in that still hourAthena left the high mansions of the Blest,Clothed her in shape of a maiden tender-fleshed,And came to ships and host. Over the headOf brave Epeius stood she in his dream,And bade him build a Horse of tree: herselfWould labour in his labour, and herselfStand by his side, to the work enkindling him.Hearing the Goddess' word, with a glad laughLeapt he from careless sleep: right well he knewThe Immortal One celestial. Now his heartCould hold no thought beside; his mind was fixedUpon the wondrous work, and through his soulMarched marshalled each device of craftsmanship.
When rose the dawn, and thrust back kindly nightTo Erebus, and through the firmament streamedGlad glory, then Epeius told his dreamTo eager Argives—all he saw and heard;And hearkening joyed they with exceeding joy.Straightway to tall-tressed Ida's leafy gladesThe sons of Atreus sent swift messengers.These laid the axe unto the forest-pines,And hewed the great trees: to their smiting rangThe echoing glens. On those far-stretching hillsAll bare of undergrowth the high peaks rose:Open their glades were, not, as in time past,Haunted of beasts: there dry the tree-trunks roseWooing the winds. Even these the Achaeans hewedWith axes, and in haste they bare them downFrom those shagged mountain heights to Hellespont's shores.Strained with a strenuous spirit at the workYoung men and mules; and all the people toiledEach at his task obeying Epeius's hest.For with the keen steel some were hewing beams,Some measuring planks, and some with axes loppedBranches away from trunks as yet unsawn:Each wrought his several work. Epeius firstFashioned the feet of that great Horse of Wood:The belly next he shaped, and over thisMoulded the back and the great loins behind,The throat in front, and ridged the towering neckWith waving mane: the crested head he wrought,The streaming tail, the ears, the lucent eyes—All that of lifelike horses have. So grewLike a live thing that more than human work,For a God gave to a man that wondrous craft.And in three days, by Pallas's decree,Finished was all. Rejoiced thereat the hostOf Argos, marvelling how the wood expressedMettle, and speed of foot—yea, seemed to neigh.Godlike Epeius then uplifted handsTo Pallas, and for that huge Horse he prayed:"Hear, great-souled Goddess: bless thine Horse and me!"He spake: Athena rich in counsel heard,And made his work a marvel to all menWhich saw, or heard its fame in days to be.
But while the Danaans o'er Epeius' workJoyed, and their routed foes within the wallsTarried, and shrank from death and pitiless doom,Then, when imperious Zeus far from the GodsHad gone to Ocean's streams and Tethys' caves,Strife rose between the Immortals: heart with heartWas set at variance. Riding on the blastsOf winds, from heaven to earth they swooped: the airCrashed round them. Lighting down by Xanthus' streamArrayed they stood against each other, theseFor the Achaeans, for the Trojans those;And all their souls were thrilled with lust of war:There gathered too the Lords of the wide Sea.These in their wrath were eager to destroyThe Horse of Guile and all the ships, and thoseFair Ilium. But all-contriving FateHeld them therefrom, and turned their hearts to strifeAgainst each other. Ares to the frayRose first, and on Athena rushed. ThereatFell each on other: clashed around their limbsThe golden arms celestial as they charged.Round them the wide sea thundered, the dark earthQuaked 'neath immortal feet. Rang from them allFar-pealing battle-shouts; that awful cryRolled up to the broad-arching heaven, and downEven to Hades' fathomless abyss:Trembled the Titans there in depths of gloom.Ida's long ridges sighed, sobbed clamorous streamsOf ever-flowing rivers, groaned ravinesFar-furrowed, Argive ships, and Priam's towers.Yet men feared not, for naught they knew of allThat strife, by Heaven's decree. Then her high peaksThe Gods' hands wrenched from Ida's crest, and hurledAgainst each other: but like crumbling sandsShivered they fell round those invincible limbs,Shattered to small dust. But the mind of Zeus,At the utmost verge of earth, was ware of all:Straight left he Ocean's stream, and to wide heavenAscended, charioted upon the winds,The East, the North, the West-wind, and the South:For Iris rainbow-plumed led 'neath the yokeOf his eternal ear that stormy team,The ear which Time the immortal framed for himOf adamant with never-wearying hands.So came he to Olympus' giant ridge.His wrath shook all the firmament, as crashedFrom east to west his thunders; lightnings gleamed,As thick and fast his thunderbolts poured to earth,And flamed the limitless welkin. Terror fellUpon the hearts of those Immortals: quakedThe limbs of all—ay, deathless though they were!Then Themis, trembling for them, swift as thoughtLeapt down through clouds, and came with speed to them—For in the strife she only had no partAnd stood between the fighters, and she cried:"Forbear the conflict! O, when Zeus is wroth,It ill beseems that everlasting GodsShould fight for men's sake, creatures of a day:Else shall ye be all suddenly destroyed;For Zeus will tear up all the hills, and hurlUpon you: sons nor daughters will he spare,But bury 'neath one ruin of shattered earthAll. No escape shall ye find thence to light,In horror of darkness prisoned evermore."
Dreading Zeus' menace gave they heed to her,From strife refrained, and cast away their wrath,And were made one in peace and amity.Some heavenward soared, some plunged into the sea,On earth stayed some. Amid the Achaean hostSpake in his subtlety Laertes' son:"O valorous-hearted lords of the Argive host,Now prove in time of need what men ye be,How passing-strong, how flawless-brave! The hourIs this for desperate emprise: now, with heartsHeroic, enter ye yon carven horse,So to attain the goal of this stern war.For better it is by stratagem and craftNow to destroy this city, for whose sakeHither we came, and still are sufferingMany afflictions far from our own land.Come then, and let your hearts be stout and strongFor he who in stress of fight hath turned to bayAnd snatched a desperate courage from despair,Oft, though the weaker, slays a mightier foe.For courage, which is all men's glory, makesThe heart great. Come then, set the ambush, yeWhich be our mightiest, and the rest shall goTo Tenedos' hallowed burg, and there abideUntil our foes have haled within their wallsUs with the Horse, as deeming that they bringA gift unto Tritonis. Some brave man,One whom the Trojans know not, yet we lack,To harden his heart as steel, and to abideNear by the Horse. Let that man bear in mindHeedfully whatsoe'er I said erewhile.And let none other thought be in his heart,Lest to the foe our counsel be revealed."
Then, when all others feared, a man far-famedMade answer, Sinon, marked of destinyTo bring the great work to accomplishment.Therefore with worship all men looked on him,The loyal of heart, as in the midst he spake:"Odysseus, and all ye Achaean chiefs,This work for which ye crave will I perform—Yea, though they torture me, though into fireLiving they thrust me; for mine heart is fixedNot to escape, but die by hands of foes,Except I crown with glory your desire."
Stoutly he spake: right glad the Argives were;And one said: "How the Gods have given to-dayHigh courage to this man! He hath not beenHeretofore valiant. Heaven is kindling himTo be the Trojans' ruin, but to usSalvation. Now full soon, I trow, we reachThe goal of grievous war, so long unseen."
So a voice murmured mid the Achaean host.Then, to stir up the heroes, Nestor cried:"Now is the time, dear sons, for courage and strength:Now do the Gods bring nigh the end of toil:Now give they victory to our longing hands.Come, bravely enter ye this cavernous Horse.For high renown attendeth courage high.Oh that my limbs were mighty as of old,When Aeson's son for heroes called, to manSwift Argo, when of the heroes foremost IWould gladly have entered her, but PeliasThe king withheld me in my own despite.Ah me, but now the burden of years—O nay,As I were young, into the Horse will IFearlessly! Glory and strength shall courage give."
Answered him golden-haired Achilles' son:"Nestor, in wisdom art thou chief of men;But cruel age hath caught thee in his grip:No more thy strength may match thy gallant will;Therefore thou needs must unto Tenedos' strand.We will take ambush, we the youths, of strifeInsatiate still, as thou, old sire, dost bid."
Then strode the son of Neleus to his side,And kissed his hands, and kissed the head of himWho offered thus himself the first of allTo enter that huge horse, being peril-fain,And bade the elder of days abide without.Then to the battle-eager spake the old:"Thy father's son art thou! Achilles' mightAnd chivalrous speech be here! O, sure am IThat by thine hands the Argives shall destroyThe stately city of Priam. At the last,After long travail, glory shall be ours,Ours, after toil and tribulation of war;The Gods have laid tribulation at men's feetBut happiness far off, and toil between:Therefore for men full easy is the pathTo ruin, and the path to fame is hard,Where feet must press right on through painful toil."
He spake: replied Achilles' glorious son:"Old sire, as thine heart trusteth, be it vouchsafedIn answer to our prayers; for best were this:But if the Gods will otherwise, be it so.Ay, gladlier would I fall with glory in fightThan flee from Troy, bowed 'neath a load of shame."
Then in his sire's celestial arms he arrayedHis shoulders; and with speed in harness sheathedStood the most mighty heroes, in whose healersWas dauntless spirit. Tell, ye Queens of Song,Now man by man the names of all that passedInto the cavernous Horse; for ye inspiredMy soul with all my song, long ere my cheekGrew dark with manhood's beard, what time I fedMy goodly sheep on Smyrna's pasture-lea,From Hermus thrice so far as one may hearA man's shout, by the fane of Artemis,In the Deliverer's Grove, upon a hillNeither exceeding low nor passing high.
Into that cavernous Horse Achilles' sonFirst entered, strong Menelaus followed then,Odysseus, Sthenelus, godlike Diomede,Philoctetes and Menestheus, Anticlus,Thoas and Polypoetes golden-haired,Aias, Eurypylus, godlike Thrasymede,Idomeneus, Meriones, far-famous twain,Podaleirius of spears, Eurymachus,Teucer the godlike, fierce Ialmenus,Thalpius, Antimachus, Leonteus staunch,Eumelus, and Euryalus fair as a God,Amphimachus, Demophoon, Agapenor,Akamas, Meges stalwart Phyleus' son—Yea, more, even all their chiefest, entered in,So many as that carven Horse could hold.Godlike Epeius last of all passed in,The fashioner of the Horse; in his breast layThe secret of the opening of its doorsAnd of their closing: therefore last of allHe entered, and he drew the ladders upWhereby they clomb: then made he all secure,And set himself beside the bolt. So allIn silence sat 'twixt victory and death.