So spake Laertes' son, the far-renowned. But when they all were weary of grief and groan, Then to those sorrowing ones spake Neleus' son: "O friends, the pitiless-hearted Fates have laid Stroke after stroke of sorrow upon us, Sorrow for Aias dead, for mighty Achilles, For many an Argive, and for mine own son Antilochus. Yet all unmeet it is Day after day with passion of grief to wail Men slain in battle: nay, we must forget Laments, and turn us to the better task Of rendering dues beseeming to the dead, The dues of pyre, of tomb, of bones inurned. No lamentations will awake the dead; No note thereof he taketh, when the Fates, The ruthless ones, have swallowed him in night."

So spake he words of cheer: the godlike kings Gathered with heavy hearts around the dead, And many hands upheaved the giant corpse, And swiftly bare him to the ships, and there Washed they away the blood that clotted lay Dust-flecked on mighty limbs and armour: then In linen swathed him round. From Ida's heights Wood without measure did the young men bring, And piled it round the corpse. Billets and logs Yet more in a wide circle heaped they round; And sheep they laid thereon, fair-woven vests, And goodly kine, and speed-triumphant steeds, And gleaming gold, and armour without stint, From slain foes by that glorious hero stripped. And lucent amber-drops they laid thereon, Years, say they, which the Daughters of the Sun, The Lord of Omens, shed for Phaethon slain, When by Eridanus' flood they mourned for him. These, for undying honour to his son, The God made amber, precious in men's eyes. Even this the Argives on that broad-based pyre Cast freely, honouring the mighty dead. And round him, groaning heavily, they laid Silver most fair and precious ivory, And jars of oil, and whatsoe'er beside They have who heap up goodly and glorious wealth. Then thrust they in the strength of ravening flame, And from the sea there breathed a wind, sent forth By Thetis, to consume the giant frame Of Aias. All the night and all the morn Burned 'neath the urgent stress of that great wind Beside the ships that giant form, as when Enceladus by Zeus' levin was consumed Beneath Thrinacia, when from all the isle Smoke of his burning rose—or like as when Hercules, trapped by Nessus' deadly guile, Gave to devouring fire his living limbs, What time he dared that awful deed, when groaned All Oeta as he burned alive, and passed His soul into the air, leaving the man Far-famous, to be numbered with the Gods, When earth closed o'er his toil-tried mortal part. So huge amid the flames, all-armour clad, Lay Aias, all the joy of fight forgot, While a great multitude watching thronged the sands. Glad were the Trojans, but the Achaeans grieved.

But when that goodly frame by ravening fire Was all consumed, they quenched the pyre with wine; They gathered up the bones, and reverently Laid in a golden casket. Hard beside Rhoeteium's headland heaped they up a mound Measureless-high. Then scattered they amidst The long ships, heavy-hearted for the man Whom they had honoured even as Achilles. Then black night, bearing unto all men sleep, Upfloated: so they brake bread, and lay down Waiting the Child of the Mist. Short was sleep, Broken by fitful staring through the dark, Haunted by dread lest in the night the foe Should fall on them, now Telamon's son was dead.



BOOK VI

How came for the helping of Troy Eurypylus, Hercules' grandson.

Rose Dawn from Ocean and Tithonus' bed, And climbed the steeps of heaven, scattering round Flushed flakes of splendour; laughed all earth and air. Then turned unto their labours, each to each, Mortals, frail creatures daily dying. Then Streamed to a folkmote all the Achaean men At Menelaus' summons. When the host Were gathered all, then in their midst he spake: "Hearken my words, ye god-descended kings: Mine heart within my breast is burdened sore For men which perish, men that for my sake Came to the bitter war, whose home-return Parents and home shall welcome nevermore; For Fate hath cut off thousands in their prime. Oh that the heavy hand of death had fallen On me, ere hitherward I gathered these! But now hath God laid on me cureless pain In seeing all these ills. Who could rejoice Beholding strivings, struggles of despair? Come, let us, which be yet alive, in haste Flee in the ships, each to his several land, Since Aias and Achilles both are dead. I look not, now they are slain, that we the rest Shall 'scape destruction; nay, but we shall fall Before yon terrible Trojans for my sake And shameless Helen's! Think not that I care For her: for you I care, when I behold Good men in battle slain. Away with her— Her and her paltry paramour! The Gods Stole all discretion out of her false heart When she forsook mine home and marriage-bed. Let Priam and the Trojans cherish her! But let us straight return: 'twere better far To flee from dolorous war than perish all."

So spake he but to try the Argive men. Far other thoughts than these made his heart burn With passionate desire to slay his foes, To break the long walls of their city down From their foundations, and to glut with blood Ares, when Paris mid the slain should fall. Fiercer is naught than passionate desire! Thus as he pondered, sitting in his place, Uprose Tydeides, shaker of the shield, And chode in fiery speech with Menelaus: "O coward Atreus' son, what craven fear Hath gripped thee, that thou speakest so to us As might a weakling child or woman speak? Not unto thee Achaea's noblest sons Will hearken, ere Troy's coronal of towers Be wholly dashed to the dust: for unto men Valour is high renown, and flight is shame! If any man shall hearken to the words Of this thy counsel, I will smite from him His head with sharp blue steel, and hurl it down For soaring kites to feast on. Up! all ye Who care to enkindle men to battle: rouse Our warriors all throughout the fleet to whet The spear, to burnish corslet, helm and shield; And cause both man and horse, all which be keen In fight, to break their fast. Then in yon plain Who is the stronger Ares shall decide."

So speaking, in his place he sat him down; Then rose up Thestor's son, and in the midst, Where meet it is to speak, stood forth and cried: "Hear me, ye sons of battle-biding Greeks: Ye know I have the spirit of prophecy. Erewhile I said that ye in the tenth year Should lay waste towered Ilium: this the Gods Are even now fulfilling; victory lies At the Argives' very feet. Come, let us send Tydeides and Odysseus battle-staunch With speed to Scyros overseas, by prayers Hither to bring Achilles' hero son: A light of victory shall he be to us."

So spake wise Thestius' son, and all the folk Shouted for joy; for all their hearts and hopes Yearned to see Calchas' prophecy fulfilled. Then to the Argives spake Laertes' son: "Friends, it befits not to say many words This day to you, in sorrow's weariness. I know that wearied men can find no joy In speech or song, though the Pierides, The immortal Muses, love it. At such time Few words do men desire. But now, this thing That pleaseth all the Achaean host, will I Accomplish, so Tydeides fare with me; For, if we twain go, we shall surely bring, Won by our words, war-fain Achilles' son, Yea, though his mother, weeping sore, should strive Within her halls to keep him; for mine heart Trusts that he is a hero's valorous son."

Then out spake Menelaus earnestly: "Odysseus, the strong Argives' help at need, If mighty-souled Achilles' valiant son From Scyros by thy suasion come to aid Us who yearn for him, and some Heavenly One Grant victory to our prayers, and I win home To Hellas, I will give to him to wife My noble child Hermione, with gifts Many and goodly for her marriage-dower With a glad heart. I trow he shall not scorn Either his bride or high-born sire-in-law."

With a great shout the Danaans hailed his words. Then was the throng dispersed, and to the ships They scattered hungering for the morning meat Which strengtheneth man's heart. So when they ceased From eating, and desire was satisfied, Then with the wise Odysseus Tydeus' son Drew down a swift ship to the boundless sea, And victual and all tackling cast therein. Then stepped they aboard, and with them twenty men, Men skilled to row when winds were contrary, Or when the unrippled sea slept 'neath a calm. They smote the brine, and flashed the boiling foam: On leapt the ship; a watery way was cleft About the oars that sweating rowers tugged. As when hard-toiling oxen, 'neath the yoke Straining, drag on a massy-timbered wain, While creaks the circling axle 'neath its load, And from their weary necks and shoulders streams Down to the ground the sweat abundantly; So at the stiff oars toiled those stalwart men, And fast they laid behind them leagues of sea. Gazed after them the Achaeans as they went, Then turned to whet their deadly darts and spears, The weapons of their warfare. In their town The aweless Trojans armed themselves the while War-eager, praying to the Gods to grant Respite from slaughter, breathing-space from toil.

To these, while sorely thus they yearned, the Gods Brought present help in trouble, even the seed Of mighty Hercules, Eurypylus. A great host followed him, in battle skilled, All that by long Caicus' outflow dwelt, Full of triumphant trust in their strong spears. Round them rejoicing thronged the sons of Troy: As when tame geese within a pen gaze up On him who casts them corn, and round his feet Throng hissing uncouth love, and his heart warms As he looks down on them; so thronged the sons Of Troy, as on fierce-heart Eurypylus They gazed; and gladdened was his aweless soul To see those throngs: from porchways women looked Wide-eyed with wonder on the godlike man. Above all men he towered as on he strode, As looks a lion when amid the hills He comes on jackals. Paris welcomed him, As Hector honouring him, his cousin he, Being of one blood with him, who was born Of Astyoche, King Priam's sister fair Whom Telephus embraced in his strong arms, Telephus, whom to aweless Hercules Auge the bright-haired bare in secret love. That babe, a suckling craving for the breast, A swift hind fostered, giving him the teat As to her own fawn in all love; for Zeus So willed it, in whose eyes it was not meet That Hercules' child should perish wretchedly. His glorious son with glad heart Paris led Unto his palace through the wide-wayed burg Beside Assaracus' tomb and stately halls Of Hector, and Tritonis' holy fane. Hard by his mansion stood, and therebeside The stainless altar of Home-warder Zeus Rose. As they went, he lovingly questioned him Of brethren, parents, and of marriage-kin; And all he craved to know Eurypylus told. So communed they, on-pacing side by side. Then came they to a palace great and rich: There goddess-like sat Helen, clothed upon With beauty of the Graces. Maidens four About her plied their tasks: others apart Within that goodly bower wrought the works Beseeming handmaids. Helen marvelling gazed Upon Eurypylus, on Helen he. Then these in converse each with other spake In that all-odorous bower. The handmaids brought And set beside their lady high-seats twain; And Paris sat him down, and at his side Eurypylus. That hero's host encamped Without the city, where the Trojan guards Kept watch. Their armour laid they on the earth; Their steeds, yet breathing battle, stood thereby, And cribs were heaped with horses' provender.

Upfloated night, and darkened earth and air; Then feasted they before that cliff-like wall, Ceteian men and Trojans: babel of talk Rose from the feasters: all around the glow Of blazing campfires lighted up the tents: Pealed out the pipe's sweet voice, and hautboys rang With their clear-shrilling reeds; the witching strain Of lyres was rippling round. From far away The Argives gazed and marvelled, seeing the plain Aglare with many fires, and hearing notes Of flutes and lyres, neighing of chariot-steeds And pipes, the shepherd's and the banquet's joy. Therefore they bade their fellows each in turn Keep watch and ward about the tents till dawn, Lest those proud Trojans feasting by their walls Should fall on them, and set the ships aflame.

Within the halls of Paris all this while With kings and princes Telephus' hero son Feasted; and Priam and the sons of Troy Each after each prayed him to play the man Against the Argives, and in bitter doom To lay them low; and blithe he promised all. So when they had supped, each hied him to his home; But there Eurypylus laid him down to rest Full nigh the feast-hall, in the stately bower Where Paris theretofore himself had slept With Helen world-renowned. A bower it was Most wondrous fair, the goodliest of them all. There lay he down; but otherwhere their rest Took they, till rose the bright-throned Queen of Morn. Up sprang with dawn the son of Telephus, And passed to the host with all those other kings In Troy abiding. Straightway did the folk All battle-eager don their warrior-gear, Burning to strike in forefront of the fight. And now Eurypylus clad his mighty limbs In armour that like levin-flashes gleamed; Upon his shield by cunning hands were wrought All the great labours of strong Hercules.

Thereon were seen two serpents flickering Black tongues from grimly jaws: they seemed in act To dart; but Hercules' hands to right and left— Albeit a babe's hands—now were throttling them; For aweless was his spirit. As Zeus' strength From the beginning was his strength. The seed Of Heaven-abiders never deedless is Nor helpless, but hath boundless prowess, yea, Even when in the womb unborn it lies.

Nemea's mighty lion there was seen Strangled in the strong arms of Hercules, His grim jaws dashed about with bloody foam: He seemed in verity gasping out his life.

Thereby was wrought the Hydra many-necked Flickering its dread tongues. Of its fearful heads Some severed lay on earth, but many more Were budding from its necks, while Hercules And Iolaus, dauntless-hearted twain, Toiled hard; the one with lightning sickle-sweeps Lopped the fierce heads, his fellow seared each neck With glowing iron; the monster so was slain.

Thereby was wrought the mighty tameless Boar With foaming jaws; real seemed the pictured thing, As by Aleides' giant strength the brute Was to Eurystheus living borne on high.

There fashioned was the fleetfoot stag which laid The vineyards waste of hapless husbandmen. The Hero's hands held fast its golden horns, The while it snorted breath of ravening fire.

Thereon were seen the fierce Stymphalian Birds, Some arrow-smitten dying in the dust, Some through the grey air darting in swift flight. At this, at that one—hot in haste he seemed— Hercules sped the arrows of his wrath.

Augeias' monstrous stable there was wrought With cunning craft on that invincible targe; And Hercules was turning through the same The deep flow of Alpheius' stream divine, While wondering Nymphs looked down on every hand Upon that mighty work. Elsewhere portrayed Was the Fire-breathing Bull: the Hero's grip On his strong horns wrenched round the massive neck: The straining muscles on his arm stood out: The huge beast seemed to bellow. Next thereto Wrought on the shield was one in beauty arrayed As of a Goddess, even Hippolyta. The hero by the hair was dragging her From her swift steed, with fierce resolve to wrest With his strong hands the Girdle Marvellous From the Amazon Queen, while quailing shrank away The Maids of War. There in the Thracian land Were Diomedes' grim man-eating steeds: These at their gruesome mangers had he slain, And dead they lay with their fiend-hearted lord.

There lay the bulk of giant Geryon Dead mid his kine. His gory heads were cast In dust, dashed down by that resistless club. Before him slain lay that most murderous hound Orthros, in furious might like Cerberus His brother-hound: a herdman lay thereby, Eurytion, all bedabbled with his blood.

There were the Golden Apples wrought, that gleamed In the Hesperides' garden undefiled: All round the fearful Serpent's dead coils lay, And shrank the Maids aghast from Zeus' bold son.

And there, a dread sight even for Gods to see, Was Cerberus, whom the Loathly Worm had borne To Typho in a craggy cavern's gloom Close on the borders of Eternal Night, A hideous monster, warder of the Gate Of Hades, Home of Wailing, jailer-hound Of dead folk in the shadowy Gulf of Doom. But lightly Zeus' son with his crashing blows Tamed him, and haled him from the cataract flood Of Styx, with heavy-drooping head, and dragged The Dog sore loth to the strange upper air All dauntlessly. And there, at the world's end, Were Caucasus' long glens, where Hercules, Rending Prometheus' chains, and hurling them This way and that with fragments of the rock Whereinto they were riveted, set free The mighty Titan. Arrow-smitten lay The Eagle of the Torment therebeside.

There stormed the wild rout of the Centaurs round The hall of Pholus: goaded on by Strife And wine, with Hercules the monsters fought. Amidst the pine-trunks stricken to death they lay Still grasping those strange weapons in dead hands, While some with stems long-shafted still fought on In fury, and refrained not from the strife; And all their heads, gashed in the pitiless fight, Were drenched with gore—the whole scene seemed to live— With blood the wine was mingled: meats and bowls And tables in one ruin shattered lay.

There by Evenus' torrent, in fierce wrath For his sweet bride, he laid with the arrow low Nessus in mid-flight. There withal was wrought Antaeus' brawny strength, who challenged him To wrestling-strife; he in those sinewy arms Raised high above the earth, was crushed to death.

There where swift Hellespont meets the outer sea, Lay the sea-monster slain by his ruthless shafts, While from Hesione he rent her chains.

Of bold Alcides many a deed beside Shone on the broad shield of Eurypylus. He seemed the War-god, as from rank to rank He sped; rejoiced the Trojans following him, Seeing his arms, and him clothed with the might Of Gods; and Paris hailed him to the fray: "Glad am I for thy coming, for mine heart Trusts that the Argives all shall wretchedly Be with their ships destroyed; for such a man Mid Greeks or Trojans never have I seen. Now, by the strength and fury of Hercules— To whom in stature, might, and goodlihead Most like thou art I pray thee, have in mind Him, and resolve to match his deeds with thine. Be the strong shield of Trojans hard-bestead: Win us a breathing-space. Thou only, I trow, From perishing Troy canst thrust the dark doom back."

With kindling words he spake. That hero cried: "Great-hearted Paris, like the Blessed Ones In goodlihead, this lieth foreordained On the Gods' knees, who in the fight shall fall, And who outlive it. I, as honour bids, And as my strength sufficeth, will not flinch From Troy's defence. I swear to turn from fight Never, except in victory or death."

Gallantly spake he: with exceeding joy Rejoiced the Trojans. Champions then he chose, Alexander and Aeneas fiery-souled, Polydamas, Pammon, and Deiphobus, And Aethicus, of Paphlagonian men The staunchest man to stem the tide of war; These chose he, cunning all in battle-toil, To meet the foe in forefront of the fight. Swiftly they strode before that warrior-throng Then from the city cheering charged. The host Followed them in their thousands, as when bees Follow by bands their leaders from the hives, With loud hum on a spring day pouring forth. So to the fight the warriors followed these; And, as they charged, the thunder-tramp of men And steeds, and clang of armour, rang to heaven. As when a rushing mighty wind stirs up The barren sea-plain from its nethermost floor, And darkling to the strand roll roaring waves Belching sea-tangle from the bursting surf, And wild sounds rise from beaches harvestless; So, as they charged, the wide earth rang again.

Now from their rampart forth the Argives poured Round godlike Agamemnon. Rang their shouts Cheering each other on to face the fight, And not to cower beside the ships in dread Of onset-shouts of battle-eager foes. They met those charging hosts with hearts as light As calves bear, when they leap to meet the kine Down faring from hill-pastures in the spring Unto the steading, when the fields are green With corn-blades, when the earth is glad with flowers, And bowls are brimmed with milk of kine and ewes, And multitudinous lowing far and near Uprises as the mothers meet their young, And in their midst the herdman joys; so great Was the uproar that rose when met the fronts Of battle: dread it rang on either hand. Hard-strained was then the fight: incarnate Strife Stalked through the midst, with Slaughter ghastly-faced. Crashed bull-hide shields, and spears, and helmet-crests Meeting: the brass flashed out like leaping flames. Bristled the battle with the lances; earth Ran red with blood, as slaughtered heroes fell And horses, mid a tangle of shattered ears, Some yet with spear-wounds gasping, while on them Others were falling. Through the air upshrieked An awful indistinguishable roar; For on both hosts fell iron-hearted Strife. Here were men hurling cruel jagged stones, There speeding arrows and new-whetted darts, There with the axe or twibill hewing hard, Slashing with swords, and thrusting out with spears: Their mad hands clutched all manner of tools of death.

At first the Argives bore the ranks of Troy Backward a little; but they rallied, charged, Leapt on the foe, and drenched the field with blood. Like a black hurricane rushed Eurypylus Cheering his men on, hewing Argives down Awelessly: measureless might was lent to him By Zeus, for a grace to glorious Hercules. Nireus, a man in beauty like the Gods, His spear long-shafted stabbed beneath the ribs, Down on the plain he fell, forth streamed the blood Drenching his splendid arms, drenching the form Glorious of mould, and his thick-clustering hair. There mid the slain in dust and blood he lay, Like a young lusty olive-sapling, which A river rushing down in roaring flood, Tearing its banks away, and cleaving wide A chasm-channel, hath disrooted; low It lieth heavy-blossomed; so lay then The goodly form, the grace of loveliness Of Nireus on earth's breast. But o'er the slain Loud rang the taunting of Eurypylus: "Lie there in dust! Thy beauty marvellous Naught hath availed thee! I have plucked thee away From life, to which thou wast so fain to cling. Rash fool, who didst defy a mightier man Unknowing! Beauty is no match for strength!"

He spake, and leapt upon the slain to strip His goodly arms: but now against him came Machaon wroth for Nireus, by his side Doom-overtaken. With his spear he drave At his right shoulder: strong albeit he was, He touched him, and blood spurted from the gash. Yet, ere he might leap back from grapple of death, Even as a lion or fierce mountain-boar Maddens mid thronging huntsmen, furious-fain To rend the man whose hand first wounded him; So fierce Eurypylus on Machaon rushed. The long lance shot out swiftly, and pierced him through On the right haunch; yet would he not give back, Nor flinch from the onset, fast though flowed the blood. In haste he snatched a huge stone from the ground, And dashed it on the head of Telephus' son; But his helm warded him from death or harm Then waxed Eurypylus more hotly wroth With that strong warrior, and in fury of soul Clear through Machaon's breast he drave his spear, And through the midriff passed the gory point. He fell, as falls beneath a lion's jaws A bull, and round him clashed his glancing arms. Swiftly Eurypylus plucked the lance of death Out of the wound, and vaunting cried aloud: "Wretch, wisdom was not bound up in thine heart, That thou, a weakling, didst come forth to fight A mightier. Therefore art thou in the toils Of Doom. Much profit shall be thine, when kites Devour the flesh of thee in battle slain! Ha, dost thou hope still to return, to 'scape Mine hands? A leech art thou, and soothing salves Thou knowest, and by these didst haply hope To flee the evil day! Not thine own sire, On the wind's wings descending from Olympus, Should save thy life, not though between thy lips He should pour nectar and ambrosia!"

Faint-breathing answered him the dying man: "Eurypylus, thine own weird is to live Not long: Fate is at point to meet thee here On Troy's plain, and to still thine impious tongue."

So passed his spirit into Hades' halls. Then to the dead man spake his conqueror: "Now on the earth lie thou. What shall betide Hereafter, care I not—yea, though this day Death's doom stand by my feet: no man may live For ever: each man's fate is foreordained."

Stabbing the corpse he spake. Then shouted loud Teucer, at seeing Machaon in the dust. Far thence he stood hard-toiling in the fight, For on the centre sore the battle lay: Foe after foe pressed on; yet not for this Was Teucer heedless of the fallen brave, Neither of Nireus lying hard thereby Behind Machaon in the dust. He saw,

And with a great voice raised the rescue-cry: "Charge, Argives! Flinch not from the charging foe! For shame unspeakable shall cover us If Trojan men hale back to Ilium Noble Machaon and Nireus godlike-fair. Come, with a good heart let us face the foe To rescue these slain friends, or fall ourselves Beside them. Duty bids that men defend Friends, and to aliens leave them not a prey, Not without sweat of toil is glory won!"

Then were the Danaans anguish-stung: the earth All round them dyed they red with blood of slain, As foe fought foe in even-balanced fight. By this to Podaleirius tidings came How that in dust his brother lay, struck down By woeful death. Beside the ships he sat Ministering to the hurts of men with spears Stricken. In wrath for his brother's sake he rose, He clad him in his armour; in his breast Dread battle-prowess swelled. For conflict grim He panted: boiled the mad blood round his heart He leapt amidst the foemen; his swift hands Swung the snake-headed javelin up, and hurled, And slew with its winged speed Agamestor's son Cleitus, a bright-haired Nymph had given him birth Beside Parthenius, whose quiet stream Fleets smooth as oil through green lands, till it pours Its shining ripples to the Euxine sea. Then by his warrior-brother laid he low Lassus, whom Pronoe, fair as a goddess, bare Beside Nymphaeus' stream, hard by a cave, A wide and wondrous cave: sacred it is Men say, unto the Nymphs, even all that haunt The long-ridged Paphlagonian hills, and all That by full-clustered Heracleia dwell. That cave is like the work of gods, of stone In manner marvellous moulded: through it flows Cold water crystal-clear: in niches round Stand bowls of stone upon the rugged rock, Seeming as they were wrought by carvers' hands. Statues of Wood-gods stand around, fair Nymphs, Looms, distaffs, all such things as mortal craft Fashioneth. Wondrous seem they unto men Which pass into that hallowed cave. It hath, Up-leading and down-leading, doorways twain, Facing, the one, the wild North's shrilling blasts, And one the dank rain-burdened South. By this Do mortals pass beneath the Nymphs' wide cave; But that is the Immortals' path: no man May tread it, for a chasm deep and wide Down-reaching unto Hades, yawns between. This track the Blest Gods may alone behold. So died a host on either side that warred Over Machaon and Aglaia's son. But at the last through desperate wrestle of fight The Danaans rescued them: yet few were they Which bare them to the ships: by bitter stress Of conflict were the more part compassed round, And needs must still abide the battle's brunt. But when full many had filled the measure up Of fate, mid tumult, blood and agony, Then to their ships did many Argives flee Pressed by Eurypylus hard, an avalanche Of havoc. Yet a few abode the strife Round Aias and the Atreidae rallying; And haply these had perished all, beset By throngs on throngs of foes on every hand, Had not Oileus' son stabbed with his spear 'Twixt shoulder and breast war-wise Polydamas; Forth gushed the blood, and he recoiled a space. Then Menelaus pierced Deiphobus By the right breast, that with swift feet he fled. And many of that slaughter-breathing throng Were slain by Agamemnon: furiously He rushed on godlike Aethicus with the spear; But he shrank from the forefront back mid friends.

Now when Eurypylus the battle-stay Marked how the ranks of Troy gave back from fight, He turned him from the host that he had chased Even to the ships, and rushed with eagle-swoop On Atreus' strong sons and Oileus' seed Stout-hearted, who was passing fleet of foot And in fight peerless. Swiftly he charged on these Grasping his spear long-shafted: at Iris side Charged Paris, charged Aeneas stout of heart, Who hurled a stone exceeding huge, that crashed On Aias' helmet: dashed to the dust he was, Yet gave not up the ghost, whose day of doom Was fate-ordained amidst Caphaerus' rocks On the home-voyage. Now his valiant men Out of the foes' hands snatched him, bare him thence, Scarce drawing breath, to the Achaean ships. And now the Atreid kings, the war-renowned, Were left alone, and murder-breathing foes Encompassed them, and hurled from every side Whate'er their hands might find the deadly shaft Some showered, some the stone, the javelin some. They in the midst aye turned this way and that, As boars or lions compassed round with pales On that day when kings gather to the sport The people, and have penned the mighty beasts Within the toils of death; but these, although With walls ringed round, yet tear with tusk and fang What luckless thrall soever draweth near. So these death-compassed heroes slew their foes Ever as they pressed on. Yet had their might Availed not for defence, for all their will, Had Teucer and Idomeneus strong of heart Come not to help, with Thoas, Meriones, And godlike Thrasymedes, they which shrank Erewhile before Eurypylus yea, had fled Unto the ships to 'scape the crushing doom, But that, in fear for Atreus' sons, they rallied Against Eurypylus: deadly waxed the fight.

Then Teucer with a mighty spear-thrust smote Aeneas' shield, yet wounded not his flesh, For the great fourfold buckler warded him; Yet feared he, and recoiled a little space. Leapt Meriones upon Laophoon The son of Paeon, born by Axius' flood Of bright-haired Cleomede. Unto Troy With noble Asteropaeus had he come To aid her folk: him Meriones' keen spear Stabbed 'neath the navel, and the lance-head tore His bowels forth; swift sped his soul away Into the Shadow-land. Alcimedes, The warrior-friend of Aias, Oileus' son, Shot mid the press of Trojans; for he sped With taunting shout a sharp stone from a sling Into their battle's heart. They quailed in fear Before the hum and onrush of the bolt. Fate winged its flight to the bold charioteer Of Pammon, Hippasus' son: his brow it smote While yet he grasped the reins, and flung him stunned Down from the chariot-seat before the wheels. The rushing war-wain whirled his wretched form 'Twixt tyres and heels of onward-leaping steeds, And awful death in that hour swallowed him When whip and reins had flown from his nerveless hands. Then grief thrilled Pammon: hard necessity Made him both chariot-lord and charioteer. Now to his doom and death-day had he bowed, Had not a Trojan through that gory strife Leapt, grasped the reins, and saved the prince, when now His strength failed 'neath the murderous hands of foes.

As godlike Acamas charged, the stalwart son Of Nestor thrust the spear above his knee, And with that wound sore anguish came on him: Back from the fight he drew; the deadly strife He left unto his comrades: quenched was now His battle-lust. Eurypylus' henchman smote Echemmon, Thoas' friend, amidst the fray Beneath the shoulder: nigh his heart the spear Passed bitter-biting: o'er his limbs brake out Mingled with blood cold sweat of agony. He turned to flee; Eurypylus' giant might Chased, caught him, shearing his heel-tendons through: There, where the blow fell, his reluctant feet Stayed, and the spirit left his mortal frame. Thoas pricked Paris with quick-thrusting spear On the right thigh: backward a space he ran For his death-speeding bow, which had been left To rearward of the fight. Idomeneus Upheaved a stone, huge as his hands could swing, And dashed it on Eurypylus' arm: to earth Fell his death-dealing spear. Backward he stepped To grasp another, since from out his hand The first was smitten. So had Atreus' sons A moment's breathing-space from stress of war. But swiftly drew Eurypylus' henchmen near Bearing a stubborn-shafted lance, wherewith He brake the strength of many. In stormy might Then charged he on the foe: whomso he met He slew, and spread wide havoc through their ranks.

Now neither Atreus' sons might steadfast stand, Nor any valiant Danaan beside, For ruinous panic suddenly gripped the hearts Of all; for on them all Eurypylus rushed Flashing death in their faces, chased them, slew, Cried to the Trojans and to his chariot-lords: "Friends, be of good heart! To these Danaans Let us deal slaughter and doom's darkness now! Lo, how like scared sheep back to the ships they flee! Forget not your death-dealing battle-lore, O ye that from your youth are men of war!"

Then charged they on the Argives as one man; And these in utter panic turned and fled The bitter battle, those hard after them Followed, as white-fanged hounds hold deer in chase Up the long forest-glens. Full many in dust They dashed down, howsoe'er they longed to escape. The slaughter grim and great of that wild fray. Eurypylus hath slain Bucolion, Nesus, and Chromion and Antiphus; Twain in Mycenae dwelt, a goodly land; In Lacedaemon twain. Men of renown Albeit they were, he slew them. Then he smote A host unnumbered of the common throng. My strength should not suffice to sing their fate, How fain soever, though within my breast Were iron lungs. Aeneas slew withal Antimachus and Pheres, twain which left Crete with Idomeneus. Agenor smote Molus the princely,—with king Sthenelus He came from Argos,—hurled from far behind A dart new-whetted, as he fled from fight, Piercing his right leg, and the eager shaft Cut sheer through the broad sinew, shattering The bones with anguished pain: and so his doom Met him, to die a death of agony. Then Paris' arrows laid proud Phorcys low, And Mosynus, brethren both, from Salamis Who came in Aias' ships, and nevermore Saw the home-land. Cleolaus smote he next, Meges' stout henchman; for the arrow struck His left breast: deadly night enwrapped him round, And his soul fleeted forth: his fainting heart Still in his breast fluttering convulsively Made the winged arrow shiver. Yet again Did Paris shoot at bold Eetion. Through his jaw leapt the sudden-flashing brass: He groaned, and with his blood were mingled tears. So ever man slew man, till all the space Was heaped with Argives each on other cast. Now had the Trojans burnt with fire the ships, Had not night, trailing heavy-folded mist, Uprisen. So Eurypylus drew back, And Troy's sons with him, from the ships aloof A little space, by Simois' outfall; there Camped they exultant. But amidst the ships Flung down upon the sands the Argives wailed Heart-anguished for the slain, so many of whom Dark fate had overtaken and laid in dust.



BOOK VII

How the Son of Achilles was brought to the War from the Isle of Scyros.

When heaven hid his stars, and Dawn awoke Outspraying splendour, and night's darkness fled, Then undismayed the Argives' warrior-sons Marched forth without the ships to meet in fight Eurypylus, save those that tarried still To render to Machaon midst the ships Death-dues, with Nireus—Nireus, who in grace And goodlihead was like the Deathless Ones, Yet was not strong in bodily might: the Gods Grant not perfection in all things to men; But evil still is blended with the good By some strange fate: to Nireus' winsome grace Was linked a weakling's prowess. Yet the Greeks Slighted him not, but gave him all death-dues, And mourned above his grave with no less grief Than for Machaon, whom they honoured aye, For his deep wisdom, as the immortal Gods. One mound they swiftly heaped above these twain.

Then in the plain once more did murderous war Madden: the multitudinous clash and cry Rose, as the shields were shattered with huge stones, Were pierced with lances. So they toiled in fight; But all this while lay Podaleirius Fasting in dust and groaning, leaving not His brother's tomb; and oft his heart was moved With his own hands to slay himself. And now He clutched his sword, and now amidst his herbs Sought for a deadly drug; and still his friends Essayed to stay his hand and comfort him With many pleadings. But he would not cease From grieving: yea, his hands had spilt his life There on his noble brother's new-made tomb, But Nestor heard thereof, and sorrowed sore In his affliction, and he came on him As now he flung him on that woeful grave, And now was casting dust upon his head, Beating his breast, and on his brother's name Crying, while thralls and comrades round their lord Groaned, and affliction held them one and all. Then gently spake he to that stricken one: "Refrain from bitter moan and deadly grief, My son. It is not for a wise man's honour To wail, as doth a woman, o'er the fallen. Thou shalt not bring him up to light again Whose soul hath fleeted vanishing into air, Whose body fire hath ravined up, whose bones Earth has received. His end was worthy his life. Endure thy sore grief, even as I endured, Who lost a son, slain by the hands of foes, A son not worse than thy Machaon, good With spears in battle, good in counsel. None Of all the youths so loved his sire as he Loved me. He died for me yea, died to save His father. Yet, when he was slain, did I Endure to taste food, and to see the light, Well knowing that all men must tread one path Hades-ward, and before all lies one goal, Death's mournful goal. A mortal man must bear All joys, all griefs, that God vouchsafes to send."

Made answer that heart-stricken one, while still Wet were his cheeks with ever-flowing tears: "Father, mine heart is bowed 'neath crushing grief For a brother passing wise, who fostered me Even as a son. When to the heavens had passed Our father, in his arms he cradled me: Gladly he taught me all his healing lore; We shared one table; in one bed we lay: We had all things in common these, and love. My grief cannot forget, nor I desire, Now he is dead, to see the light of life."

Then spake the old man to that stricken one: "To all men Fate assigns one same sad lot, Bereavement: earth shall cover all alike, Albeit we tread not the same path of life, And none the path he chooseth; for on high Good things and bad lie on the knees of Gods Unnumbered, indistinguishably blent. These no Immortal seeth; they are veiled In mystic cloud-folds. Only Fate puts forth Her hands thereto, nor looks at what she takes, But casts them from Olympus down to earth. This way and that they are wafted, as it were By gusts of wind. The good man oft is whelmed In suffering: wealth undeserved is heaped On the vile person. Blind is each man's life; Therefore he never walketh surely; oft He stumbleth: ever devious is his path, Now sloping down to sorrow, mounting now To bliss. All-happy is no living man From the beginning to the end, but still The good and evil clash. Our life is short; Beseems not then in grief to live. Hope on, Still hope for better days: chain not to woe Thine heart. There is a saying among men That to the heavens unperishing mount the souls Of good men, and to nether darkness sink Souls of the wicked. Both to God and man Dear was thy brother, good to brother-men, And son of an Immortal. Sure am I That to the company of Gods shall he Ascend, by intercession of thy sire."

Then raised he that reluctant mourner up With comfortable words. From that dark grave He drew him, backward gazing oft with groans. To the ships they came, where Greeks and Trojan men Had bitter travail of rekindled war.

Eurypylus there, in dauntless spirit like The War-god, with mad-raging spear and hands Resistless, smote down hosts of foes: the earth Was clogged with dead men slain on either side. On strode he midst the corpses, awelessly He fought, with blood-bespattered hands and feet; Never a moment from grim strife he ceased. Peneleos the mighty-hearted came Against him in the pitiless fray: he fell Before Eurypylus' spear: yea, many more Fell round him. Ceased not those destroying hands, But wrathful on the Argives still he pressed, As when of old on Pholoe's long-ridged heights Upon the Centaurs terrible Hercules rushed Storming in might, and slew them, passing-swift And strong and battle-cunning though they were; So rushed he on, so smote he down the array, One after other, of the Danaan spears. Heaps upon heaps, here, there, in throngs they fell Strewn in the dust. As when a river in flood Comes thundering down, banks crumble on either side To drifting sand: on seaward rolls the surge Tossing wild crests, while cliffs on every hand Ring crashing echoes, as their brows break down Beneath long-leaping roaring waterfalls, And dikes are swept away; so fell in dust The war-famed Argives by Eurypylus slain, Such as he overtook in that red rout. Some few escaped, whom strength of fleeing feet Delivered. Yet in that sore strait they drew Peneleos from the shrieking tumult forth, And bare to the ships, though with swift feet themselves Were fleeing from ghastly death, from pitiless doom. Behind the rampart of the ships they fled In huddled rout: they had no heart to stand Before Eurypylus, for Hercules, To crown with glory his son's stalwart son, Thrilled them with panic. There behind their wall They cowered, as goats to leeward of a hill Shrink from the wild cold rushing of the wind That bringeth snow and heavy sleet and haft. No longing for the pasture tempteth them Over the brow to step, and face the blast, But huddling screened by rock-wall and ravine They abide the storm, and crop the scanty grass Under dim copses thronging, till the gusts Of that ill wind shall lull: so, by their towers Screened, did the trembling Danaans abide Telephus' mighty son. Yea, he had burnt The ships, and all that host had he destroyed, Had not Athena at the last inspired The Argive men with courage. Ceaselessly From the high rampart hurled they at the foe With bitter-biting darts, and slew them fast; And all the walls were splashed with reeking gore, And aye went up a moan of smitten men.

So fought they: nightlong, daylong fought they on, Ceteians, Trojans, battle-biding Greeks, Fought, now before the ships, and now again Round the steep wall, with fury unutterable. Yet even so for two days did they cease From murderous fight; for to Eurypylus came A Danaan embassage, saying, "From the war Forbear we, while we give unto the flames The battle-slain." So hearkened he to them: From ruin-wreaking strife forebore the hosts; And so their dead they buried, who in dust Had fallen. Chiefly the Achaeans mourned Peneleos; o'er the mighty dead they heaped A barrow broad and high, a sign for men Of days to be. But in a several place The multitude of heroes slain they laid, Mourning with stricken hearts. On one great pyre They burnt them all, and buried in one grave. So likewise far from thence the sons of Troy Buried their slain. Yet murderous Strife slept not, But roused again Eurypylus' dauntless might To meet the foe. He turned not from the ships, But there abode, and fanned the fury of war.

Meanwhile the black ship on to Scyros ran; And those twain found before his palace-gate Achilles' son, now hurling dart and lance, Now in his chariot driving fleetfoot steeds. Glad were they to behold him practising The deeds of war, albeit his heart was sad For his slain sire, of whom had tidings come Ere this. With reverent eyes of awe they went To meet him, for that goodly form and face Seemed even as very Achilles unto them. But he, or ever they had spoken, cried: "All hail, ye strangers, unto this mine home Say whence ye are, and who, and what the need That hither brings you over barren seas."

So spake he, and Odysseus answered him: "Friends are we of Achilles lord of war, To whom of Deidameia thou wast born— Yea, when we look on thee we seem to see That Hero's self; and like the Immortal Ones Was he. Of Ithaca am I: this man Of Argos, nurse of horses—if perchance Thou hast heard the name of Tydeus' warrior son Or of the wise Odysseus. Lo, I stand Before thee, sent by voice of prophecy. I pray thee, pity us: come thou to Troy And help us. Only so unto the war An end shall be. Gifts beyond words to thee The Achaean kings shall give: yea, I myself Will give to thee thy godlike father's arms, And great shall be thy joy in bearing them; For these be like no mortal's battle-gear, But splendid as the very War-god's arms. Over their marvellous blazonry hath gold Been lavished; yea, in heaven Hephaestus' self Rejoiced in fashioning that work divine, The which thine eyes shall marvel to behold; For earth and heaven and sea upon the shield Are wrought, and in its wondrous compass are Creatures that seem to live and move—a wonder Even to the Immortals. Never man Hath seen their like, nor any man hath worn, Save thy sire only, whom the Achaeans all Honoured as Zeus himself. I chiefliest From mine heart loved him, and when he was slain, To many a foe I dealt a ruthless doom, And through them all bare back to the ships his corse. Therefore his glorious arms did Thetis give To me. These, though I prize them well, to thee Will I give gladly when thou com'st to Troy. Yea also, when we have smitten Priam's towns And unto Hellas in our ships return, Shall Menelaus give thee, an thou wilt, His princess-child to wife, of love for thee, And with his bright-haired daughter shall bestow Rich dower of gold and treasure, even all That meet is to attend a wealthy king."

So spake he, and replied Achilles' son: "If bidden of oracles the Achaean men Summon me, let us with to-morrow's dawn Fare forth upon the broad depths of the sea, If so to longing Danaans I may prove A light of help. Now pass we to mine halls, And to such guest-fare as befits to set Before the stranger. For my marriage-day— To this the Gods in time to come shall see."

Then hall-ward led he them, and with glad hearts They followed. To the forecourt when they came Of that great mansion, found they there the Queen Deidameia in her sorrow of soul Grief-wasted, as when snow from mountain-sides Before the sun and east-wind wastes away; So pined she for that princely hero slain. Then came to her amidst her grief the kings, And greeted her in courteous wise. Her son Drew near and told their lineage and their names; But that for which they came he left untold Until the morrow, lest unto her woe There should be added grief and floods of tears, And lest her prayers should hold him from the path Whereon his heart was set. Straight feasted these, And comforted their hearts with sleep, even all Which dwelt in sea-ringed Scyros, nightlong lulled By long low thunder of the girdling deep, Of waves Aegean breaking on her shores. But not on Deidameia fell the hands Of kindly sleep. She bore in mind the names Of crafty Odysseus and of Diomede The godlike, how these twain had widowed her Of battle-fain Achilles, how their words Had won his aweless heart to fare with them To meet the war-cry where stern Fate met him, Shattered his hope of home-return, and laid Measureless grief on Peleus and on her. Therefore an awful dread oppressed her soul Lest her son too to tumult of the war Should speed, and grief be added to her grief.

Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they Rose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew; And on her son's broad breast she cast herself, And bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air, As when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills Seeks through the glens her calf, and all around Echo long ridges of the mountain-steep; So on all sides from dim recesses rang The hall; and in her misery she cried: "Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing To follow strangers unto Ilium The fount of tears, where perish many in fight, Yea, cunning men in war and battle grim? And thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt The ways of war, which save men in the day Of peril. Hearken thou to me, abide Here in thine home, lest evil tidings come From Troy unto my ears, that thou in fight Hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou Hitherward shalt from battle-toil return. Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death— He, mightier than thou, mightier than all Heroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess' son— But was in battle slain, all through the wiles And crafty counsels of these very men Who now to woeful war be kindling thee. Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear Lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved Of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain, For never heavier blow on woman falls Than when her lord hath perished, and her sons Die also, and her house is left to her Desolate. Straightway evil men remove Her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all, Setting the right at naught. There is no lot More woeful and more helpless than is hers Who is left a widow in a desolate home."

Loud-wailing spake she; but her son replied: "Be of good cheer, my mother; put from thee Evil foreboding. No man is in war Beyond his destiny slain. If my weird be To die in my country's cause, then let me die When I have done deeds worthy of my sire."

Then to his side old Lycomedes came, And to his battle-eager grandson spake: "O valiant-hearted son, so like thy sire, I know thee strong and valorous; yet, O yet For thee I fear the bitter war; I fear The terrible sea-surge. Shipmen evermore Hang on destruction's brink. Beware, my child, Perils of waters when thou sailest back From Troy or other shores, such as beset Full oftentimes the voyagers that ride The long sea-ridges, when the sun hath left The Archer-star, and meets the misty Goat, When the wild blasts drive on the lowering storm, Or when Orion to the darkling west Slopes, into Ocean's river sinking slow. Beware the time of equal days and nights, When blasts that o'er the sea's abysses rush, None knoweth whence in fury of battle clash. Beware the Pleiads' setting, when the sea Maddens beneath their power nor these alone, But other stars, terrors of hapless men, As o'er the wide sea-gulf they set or rise."

Then kissed he him, nor sought to stay the feet Of him who panted for the clamour of war, Who smiled for pleasure and for eagerness To haste to the ship. Yet were his hurrying feet Stayed by his mother's pleading and her tears Still in those halls awhile. As some swift horse Is reined in by his rider, when he strains Unto the race-course, and he neighs, and champs The curbing bit, dashing his chest with foam, And his feet eager for the course are still Never, his restless hooves are clattering aye; His mane is a stormy cloud, he tosses high His head with snortings, and his lord is glad; So reined his mother back the glorious son Of battle-stay Achilles, so his feet Were restless, so the mother's loving pride Joyed in her son, despite her heart-sick pain.

A thousand times he kissed her, then at last Left her alone with her own grief and moan There in her father's halls. As o'er her nest A swallow in her anguish cries aloud For her lost nestlings which, mid piteous shrieks, A fearful serpent hath devoured, and wrung The loving mother's heart; and now above That empty cradle spreads her wings, and now Flies round its porchway fashioned cunningly Lamenting piteously her little ones: So for her child Deidameia mourned. Now on her son's bed did she cast herself, Crying aloud, against his door-post now She leaned, and wept: now laid she in her lap Those childhood's toys yet treasured in her bower, Wherein his babe-heart joyed long years agone. She saw a dart there left behind of him, And kissed it o'er and o'er yea, whatso else Her weeping eyes beheld that was her son's.

Naught heard he of her moans unutterable, But was afar, fast striding to the ship. He seemed, as his feet swiftly bare him on, Like some all-radiant star; and at his side With Tydeus' son war-wise Odysseus went, And with them twenty gallant-hearted men, Whom Deidameia chose as trustiest Of all her household, and unto her son Gave them for henchmen swift to do his will. And these attended Achilles' valiant son, As through the city to the ship he sped. On, with glad laughter, in their midst he strode; And Thetis and the Nereids joyed thereat. Yea, glad was even the Raven-haired, the Lord Of all the sea, beholding that brave son Of princely Achilles, marking how he longed For battle. Beardless boy albeit he was, His prowess and his might were inward spurs To him. He hasted forth his fatherland Like to the War-god, when to gory strife He speedeth, wroth with foes, when maddeneth His heart, and grim his frown is, and his eyes Flash levin-flame around him, and his face Is clothed with glory of beauty terror-blent, As on he rusheth: quail the very Gods. So seemed Achilles' goodly son; and prayers Went up through all the city unto Heaven To bring their noble prince safe back from war; And the Gods hearkened to them. High he towered Above all stateliest men which followed him.

So came they to the heavy-plunging sea, And found the rowers in the smooth-wrought ship Handling the tackle, fixing mast and sail. Straightway they went aboard: the shipmen cast The hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones, The strength and stay of ships in time of need. Then did the Sea-queen's lord grant voyage fair To these with gracious mind; for his heart yearned O'er the Achaeans, by the Trojan men And mighty-souled Eurypylus hard-bestead. On either side of Neoptolemus sat Those heroes, gladdening his soul with tales Of his sire's mighty deeds—of all he wrought In sea-raids, and in valiant Telephus' land, And how he smote round Priam's burg the men Of Troy, for glory unto Atreus' sons. His heart glowed, fain to grasp his heritage, His aweless father's honour and renown.

In her bower, sorrowing for her son the while, Deidameia poured forth sighs and tears. With agony of soul her very heart Melted in her, as over coals doth lead Or wax, and never did her moaning cease, As o'er the wide sea her gaze followed him. Ay, for her son a mother fretteth still, Though it be to a feast that he hath gone, By a friend bidden forth. But soon the sail Of that good ship far-fleeting o'er the blue Grew faint and fainter—melted in sea-haze. But still she sighed, still daylong made her moan.

On ran the ship before a following wind, Seeming to skim the myriad-surging sea, And crashed the dark wave either side the prow: Swiftly across the abyss unplumbed she sped. Night's darkness fell about her, but the breeze Held, and the steersman's hand was sure. O'er gulfs Of brine she flew, till Dawn divine rose up To climb the sky. Then sighted they the peaks Of Ida, Chrysa next, and Smintheus' fane, Then the Sigean strand, and then the tomb Of Aeacus' son. Yet would Laertes' seed, The man discreet of soul, not point it out To Neoptolemus, lest the tide of grief Too high should swell within his breast. They passed Calydnae's isles, left Tenedos behind; And now was seen the fane of Eleus, Where stands Protesilaus' tomb, beneath The shade of towery elms; when, soaring high Above the plain, their topmost boughs discern Troy, straightway wither all their highest sprays. Nigh Ilium now the ship by wind and oar Was brought: they saw the long strand fringed with keels Of Argives, who endured sore travail of war Even then about the wall, the which themselves Had reared to screen the ships and men in stress Of battle. Even now Eurypylus' hands To earth were like to dash it and destroy; But the quick eyes of Tydeus' strong son marked How rained the darts and stones on that long wall. Forth of the ship he sprang, and shouted loud With all the strength of his undaunted breast: "Friends, on the Argive men is heaped this day Sore travail! Let us don our flashing arms With speed, and to yon battle-turmoil haste. For now upon our towers the warrior sons Of Troy press hard—yea, haply will they tear The long walls down, and burn the ships with fire, And so the souls that long for home-return Shall win it never; nay, ourselves shall fall Before our due time, and shall lie in graves In Troyland, far from children and from wives."

All as one man down from the ship they leapt; For trembling seized on all for that grim sight— On all save aweless Neoptolemus Whose might was like his father's: lust of war Swept o'er him. To Odysseus' tent in haste They sped, for close it lay to where the ship Touched land. About its walls was hung great store Of change of armour, of wise Odysseus some, And rescued some from gallant comrades slain. Then did the brave man put on goodly arms; But they in whose breasts faintlier beat their hearts Must don the worser. Odysseus stood arrayed In those which came with him from Ithaca: To Diomede he gave fair battle-gear Stripped in time past from mighty Socus slain. But in his father's arms Achilles' son Clad him and lo, he seemed Achilles' self! Light on his limbs and lapping close they lay— So cunning was Hephaestus' workmanship— Which for another had been a giant's arms. The massive helmet cumbered not his brows; Yea, the great Pelian spear-shaft burdened not His hand, but lightly swung he up on high The heavy and tall lance thirsting still for blood.

Of many Argives which beheld him then Might none draw nigh to him, how fain soe'er, So fast were they in that grim grapple locked Of the wild war that raged all down the wall. But as when shipmen, under a desolate isle Mid the wide sea by stress of weather bound, Chafe, while afar from men the adverse blasts Prison them many a day; they pace the deck With sinking hearts, while scantier grows their store Of food; they weary till a fair wind sings; So joyed the Achaean host, which theretofore Were heavy of heart, when Neoptolemus came, Joyed in the hope of breathing-space from toil. Then like the aweless lion's flashed his eyes, Which mid the mountains leaps in furious mood To meet the hunters that draw nigh his cave, Thinking to steal his cubs, there left alone In a dark-shadowed glen but from a height The beast hath spied, and on the spoilers leaps With grim jaws terribly roaring; even so That glorious child of Aeacus' aweless son Against the Trojan warriors burned in wrath. Thither his eagle-swoop descended first Where loudest from the plain uproared the fight, There weakest, he divined, must be the wall, The battlements lowest, since the surge of foes Brake heaviest there. Charged at his side the rest Breathing the battle-spirit. There they found Eurypylus mighty of heart and all his men Scaling a tower, exultant in the hope Of tearing down the walls, of slaughtering The Argives in one holocaust. No mind The Gods had to accomplish their desire! But now Odysseus, Diomede the strong, Leonteus, and Neoptolemus, as a God In strength and beauty, hailed their javelins down, And thrust them from the wall. As dogs and shepherds By shouting and hard fighting drive away Strong lions from a steading, rushing forth From all sides, and the brutes with glaring eyes Pace to and fro; with savage lust for blood Of calves and kine their jaws are slavering; Yet must their onrush give back from the hounds And fearless onset of the shepherd folk; [So from these new defenders shrank the foe] A little, far as one may hurl a stone Exceeding great; for still Eurypylus Suffered them not to flee far from the ships, But cheered them on to bide the brunt, until The ships be won, and all the Argives slain; For Zeus with measureless might thrilled all his frame. Then seized he a rugged stone and huge, and leapt And hurled it full against the high-built wall. It crashed, and terribly boomed that rampart steep To its foundations. Terror gripped the Greeks, As though that wall had crumbled down in dust; Yet from the deadly conflict flinched they not, But stood fast, like to jackals or to wolves Bold robbers of the sheep—when mid the hills Hunter and hound would drive them forth their caves, Being grimly purposed there to slay their whelps. Yet these, albeit tormented by the darts, Flee not, but for their cubs' sake bide and fight; So for the ships' sake they abode and fought, And for their own lives. But Eurypylus Afront of all the ships stood, taunting them: "Coward and dastard souls! no darts of yours Had given me pause, nor thrust back from your ships, Had not your rampart stayed mine onset-rush. Ye are like to dogs, that in a forest flinch Before a lion! Skulking therewithin Ye are fighting—nay, are shrinking back from death! But if ye dare come forth on Trojan ground, As once when ye were eager for the fray, None shall from ghastly death deliver you: Slain by mine hand ye all shall lie in dust!"

So did he shout a prophecy unfulfilled, Nor heard Doom's chariot-wheels fast rolling near Bearing 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 quailed In tumult round Eurypylus: deadly fear Gripped all their hearts. As little children cower About a father's knees when thunder of Zeus Crashes from cloud to cloud, when all the air Shudders and groans, so did the sons of Troy, With those Ceteians round their great king, cower Ever as prince Neoptolemus hurled; for death Rode upon all he cast, and bare his wrath Straight rushing down upon the heads of foes. Now in their hearts those wildered Trojans said That once more they beheld Achilles' self Gigantic in his armour. Yet they hid That horror in their breasts, lest panic fear Should pass from them to the Ceteian host And king Eurypylus; so on every side They wavered 'twixt the stress of their hard strait And that blood-curdling dread, 'twixt shame and fear. As when men treading a precipitous path Look up, and see adown the mountain-slope A torrent rushing on them, thundering down The rocks, and dare not meet its clamorous flood, But hurry shuddering on, with death in sight Holding 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 Eurypylus Aye cheered them on to fight. He trusted still That this new mighty foe would weary at last With 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 feet Touched not the earth, borne by the air divine In form of cloud-wreaths, swifter than the wind. She came to Troy, she stayed her feet upon Sigeum's windy ness, she looked forth thence Over the ringing battle of dauntless men, And gave the Achaeans glory. Achilles' son Beyond the rest was filled with valour and strength Which win renown for men in whom they meet. Peerless was he in both: the blood of Zeus Gave 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, takes Within his boat the strength of fire; his breath Kindles it to a flame, till round the boat Glareth its splendour, and from the black sea Dart up the fish all eager to behold The radiance—for the last time; for the barbs Of his three-pointed spear, as up they leap, Slay them; his heart rejoices o'er the prey. So that war-king Achilles' glorious son Slew hosts of onward-rushing foes around That wall of stone. Well fought the Achaeans all, Here, there, adown the ramparts: rang again The wide strand and the ships: the battered walls Groaned ever. Men with weary ache of toil Fainted on either side; sinews and might Of strong men were unstrung. But o'er the son Of battle-stay Achilles weariness Crept not: his battle-eager spirit aye Was tireless; never touched by palsying fear He fought on, as with the triumphant strength Of an ever-flowing river: though it roll 'Twixt blazing forests, though the madding blast Roll 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 knees Of Hero Achilles' gallant-hearted son, Still as he fought, still cheered his comrades on. Of myriad shafts sped at him none might touch His flesh, but even as snowflakes on a rock Fell vainly ever: wholly screened was he By broad shield and strong helmet, gifts of a God. In these exulting did the Aeacid's son Stride all along the wall, with ringing shouts Cheering the dauntless Argives to the fray, Being their mightiest far, bearing a soul Insatiate of the awful onset-cry, Burning with one strong purpose, to avenge His father's death: the Myrmidons in their king Exulted. 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 steed In war, and deftly cast the lance afar, Born at one birth beside Sangarius' banks Of Periboea to him, Celtus one, And Eubius the other. But not long His boundless wealth enjoyed they, for the Fates Span them a thread of life exceeding brief. As on one day they saw the light, they died On one day by the same hand. To the heart Of one Neoptolemus sped a javelin; one He smote down with a massy stone that crashed Through his strong helmet, shattered all its ridge, And dashed his brains to earth. Around them fell Foes many, a host untold. The War-god's work Waxed ever mightier till the eventide, Till failed the light celestial; then the host Of brave Eurypylus from the ships drew back A little: they that held those leaguered towers Had a short breathing-space; the sons of Troy Had respite from the deadly-echoing strife, From that hard rampart-battle. Verily all The Argives had beside their ships been slain, Had not Achilles' strong son on that day Withstood the host of foes and their great chief Eurypylus. Came to that young hero's side Phoenix the old, and marvelling gazed on one The image of Peleides. Tides of joy And grief swept o'er him—grief, for memories Of that swift-footed father—joy, for sight Of such a son. He for sheer gladness wept; For never without tears the tribes of men Live—nay, not mid the transports of delight. He clasped him round as father claspeth son Whom, 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 whom I nursed a little one in mine own arms With a glad heart. By Heaven's high providence Like a strong sapling waxed he in stature fast, And daily I rejoiced to see his form And prowess, my life's blessing, honouring him As though he were the son of mine old age; For like a father did he honour me. I was indeed his father, he my son In spirit: thou hadst deemed us of one blood Who were in heart one: but of nobler mould Was he by far, in form and strength a God. Thou art wholly like him—yea, I seem to see Alive amid the Argives him for whom Sharp anguish shrouds me ever. I waste away In sorrowful age—oh that the grave had closed On me while yet he lived! How blest to be By loving hands of kinsmen laid to rest! Ah child, my sorrowing heart will nevermore Forget him! Chide me not for this my grief. But now, help thou the Myrmidons and Greeks In their sore strait: wreak on the foe thy wrath For thy brave sire. It shall be thy renown To 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 Fate And the o'ermastering War-god shall decide."

But, as he spake, he had fain on that same day Forth 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' self Him mid the ships the glad Greeks hailed, who had won Courage 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 son With 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 trust Thine 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 see Himself beside the ships, as when his shout Of wrath for dead Patroclus shook the ranks Of Troy. But he is with the Immortal Ones, Yet, bending from that heaven, sends thee to-day To 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 love Not shaming his great father's name. I trust So 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 tent That was his sire's. Much armour of heroes slain Lay there; and here and there were captive maids Arraying that tent widowed of its lord, As though its king lived. When that son beheld Those Trojan arms and handmaid-thralls, he groaned, By passionate longing for his father seized. As when through dense oak-groves and tangled glens Comes to the shadowed cave a lion's whelp Whose grim sire by the hunters hath been slain, And looketh all around that empty den, And seeth heaps of bones of steeds and kine Slain theretofore, and grieveth for his sire; Even so the heart of brave Peleides' son With grief was numbed. The handmaids marvelling gazed; And fair Briseis' self, when she beheld Achilles' son, was now right glad at heart, And sorrowed now with memories of the dead. Her soul was wildered all, as though indeed There stood the aweless Aeacid living yet.

Meanwhile exultant Trojans camped aloof Extolled Eurypylus the fierce and strong, As erst they had praised Hector, when he smote Their foes, defending Troy and all her wealth. But when sweet sleep stole over mortal men, Then sons of Troy and battle-biding Greeks All slumber-heavy slept unsentinelled.



BOOK VIII

How Hercules' Grandson perished in fight with the Son of Achilles.

When from the far sea-line, where is the cave Of Dawn, rose up the sun, and scattered light Over the earth, then did the eager sons Of Troy and of Achaea arm themselves Athirst for battle: these Achilles' son Cheered on to face the Trojans awelessly; And those the giant strength of Telephus' seed Kindled. He trusted to dash down the wall To earth, and utterly destroy the ships With ravening fire, and slay the Argive host. Ah, but his hope was as the morning breeze Delusive: hard beside him stood the Fates Laughing 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 hearts The spirit of war, that we may heal the wounds Of Argos, and be ruin to her foes. Let no man fear, for mighty prowess is The child of courage; but fear slayeth strength And spirit. Gird yourselves with strength for war; Give foes no breathing-space, that they may say That mid our ranks Achilles liveth yet."

Then clad he with his father's flashing arms His shoulders. Then exulted Thetis' heart When from the sea she saw the mighty strength Of her son's son. Then forth with eagle-speed Afront of that high wall he rushed, his ear Drawn by the immortal horses of his sire. As from the ocean-verge upsprings the sun In glory, flashing fire far over earth— Fire, when beside his radiant chariot-team Races the red star Sirius, scatterer Of woefullest diseases over men; So flashed upon the eyes of Ilium's host That battle-eager hero, Achilles' son. Onward they whirled him, those immortal steeds, The which, when now he longed to chase the foe Back from the ships, Automedon, who wont To rein them for his father, brought to him. With joy that pair bore battleward their lord, So like to Aeacus' son, their deathless hearts Held him no worser than Achilles' self. Laughing for glee the Argives gathered round The might resistless of Neoptolemus, Eager for fight as wasps [whose woodland bower The axe] hath shaken, who dart swarming forth Furious to sting the woodman: round their nest Long eddying, they torment all passers by; So streamed they forth from galley and from wall Burning 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 wide Scourged 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 earth Covered before the ships. To heaven uprolled, Dust hung on hovering wings' men's armour clashed; Rattled a thousand chariots; horses neighed On-rushing to the fray. Each warrior's prowess Kindled him with its trumpet-call to war.

As leap the long sea-rollers, onward hurled By two winds terribly o'er th' broad sea-flood Roaring from viewless bournes, with whirlwind blasts Crashing together, when a ruining storm Maddens along the wide gulfs of the deep, And moans the Sea-queen with her anguished waves Which sweep from every hand, uptowering Like precipiced mountains, while the bitter squall, Ceaselessly veering, shrieks across the sea; So clashed in strife those hosts from either hand With mad rage. Strife incarnate spurred them on, And their own prowess. Crashed together these Like thunderclouds outlightening, thrilling the air. With shattering trumpet-challenge, when the blasts Are locked in frenzied wrestle, with mad breath Rending the clouds, when Zeus is wroth with men Who travail with iniquity, and flout His law. So grappled they, as spear with spear Clashed, shield with shield, and man on man was hurled.

And first Achilles' war-impetuous son Struck down stout Melaneus and Alcidamas, Sons of the war-lord Alexinomus, Who dwelt in Caunus mountain-cradled, nigh The clear lake shining at Tarbelus' feet 'Neath snow-capt Imbrus. Menes, fleetfoot son Of King Cassandrus, slew he, born to him By fair Creusa, where the lovely streams Of Lindus meet the sea, beside the marches Of battle-biding Carians, and the heights Of Lycia the renowned. He slew withal Morys the spearman, who from Phrygia came; Polybus and Hippomedon by his side He laid, this stabbed to the heart, that pierced between Shoulder and neck: man after man he slew. Earth groaned 'neath Trojan corpses; rank on rank Crumbled before him, even as parched brakes Sink down before the blast of ravening fire When 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 brake Helmet and skull together, and fled his life. Fleetfoot Eumaeus Diomede slew; he dwelt In craggy Dardanus, where the bride-bed is Whereon Anchises clasped the Queen of Love. Agamemnon smote down Stratus: unto Thrace Returned he not from war, but died far off From his dear fatherland. And Meriones Struck Chlemus down, Peisenor's son, the friend Of god-like Glaucus, and his comrade leal, Who by Limurus' outfall dwelt: the folk Honoured him as their king, when reigned no more Glaucus, in battle slain,—all who abode Around Phoenice's towers, and by the crest Of Massicytus, and Chimaera's glen.

So man slew man in fight; but more than all Eurypylus hurled doom on many a foe. First slew he battle-bider Eurytus, Menoetius of the glancing taslet next, Elephenor's godlike comrades. Fell with these Harpalus, wise Odysseus' warrior-friend; But in the fight afar that hero toiled, And might not aid his fallen henchman: yet Fierce 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 son Of Cleite lovely-faced, Erylaus' bride, Who bare him where Caicus meets the sea. Wroth for his comrade slain, Eurypylus Rushed upon Antiphus, but terror-winged He plunged amid his comrades; so the spear Of the avenger slew him not, whose doom Was one day wretchedly to be devoured By the manslaying Cyclops: so it pleased Stern Fate, I know not why. Elsewhither sped Eurypylus; and aye as he rushed on Fell 'neath his spear a multitude untold. As tall trees, smitten by the strength of steel In mountain-forest, fill the dark ravines, Heaped on the earth confusedly, so fell The Achaeans 'neath Eurypylus' flying spears— Till heart-uplifted met him face to face Achilles' son. The long spears in their hands They 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 come Hither, on all have I hurled anguished death. By Xanthus' streams have dogs devoured their flesh And 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 fates Of death had seized him, but my father's self Healed 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 race Skimming its crests: in speed they match the winds. Since then thou know'st the lineage of my steeds And mine, now put thou to the test the might Of 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 earth That glorious man: he swung the long spear up. But in his brawny hand his foe hath seized A monstrous stone: full at the golden shield Of Neoptolemus he sped its flight; But, no whir staggered by its whirlwind rush, He like a giant mountain-foreland stood Which all the banded fury of river-floods Can stir not, rooted in the eternal hills; So stood unshaken still Achilles' son. Yet not for this Eurypylus' dauntless might Shrank 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 strife For a slain ox or stag, while all the glens Ring with their conflict; so they grappled, so Clashed they in pitiless strife. On either hand Long lines of warriors Greek and Trojan toiled In combat: round them roared up flames of war. Like mighty rushing winds they hurled together With eager spears for blood of life athirst. Hard by them stood Enyo, spurred them on Ceaselessly: never paused they from the strife. Now hewed they each the other's shield, and now Thrust at the greaves, now at the crested helms. Reckless of wounds, in that grim toil pressed on Those aweless heroes: Strife incarnate watched And gloated o'er them. Ran the sweat in streams From 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. Still They fought on, giving ground no more than rock. Of granite mountains. Rang from side to side Spear-smitten shields. At last the Pelian lance, Sped onward by a mighty thrust, hath passed Clear through Eurypylus' throat. Forth poured the blood Torrent-like; through the portal of the wound The soul from the body flew: darkness of death Dropped o'er his eyes. To earth in clanging arms He fell, like stately pine or silver fir Uprooted by the fury of Boreas; Such space of earth Eurypylus' giant frame Covered in falling: rang again the floor And plain of Troyland. Grey death-pallor swept Over the corpse, and all the flush of life Faded away. With a triumphant laugh Shouted the mighty hero over him: "Eurypylus, thou saidst thou wouldst destroy The Danaan ships and men, wouldst slay us all Wretchedly—but the Gods would not fulfil Thy wish. For all thy might invincible, My father's massy spear hath now subdued Thee 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 sight Of that strong-hearted man. Straightway he stripped The armour from the dead, for friends to bear Fast to the ships Achaean. But himself To the swift chariot and the tireless steeds Sprang, and sped onward like a thunderbolt That lightning-girdled leaps through the wide air From Zeus's hands unconquerable—the bolt Before whose downrush all the Immortals quail Save only Zeus. It rusheth down to earth, It rendeth trees and rugged mountain-crags; So rushed he on the Trojans, flashing doom Before their eyes; dashed to the earth they fell Before the charge of those immortal steeds: The earth was heaped with slain, was dyed with gore. As when in mountain-glens the unnumbered leaves Down-streaming thick and fast hide all the ground, So hosts of Troy untold on earth were strewn By Neoptolemus and fierce-hearted Greeks, Shed by whose hands the blood in torrents ran 'Neath feet of men and horses. Chariot-rails Were dashed with blood-spray whirled up from the tyres.

Now had the Trojans fled within their gates As calves that flee a lion, or as swine Flee 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 Boreas Grim-eyed Erinnys bare, coursers that breathed Life-blasting flame: groaned all the shivering air, As battleward they sped. Swiftly he came To Troy: loud rang the earth beneath the feet Of that wild team. Into the battle's heart Tossing his massy spear, he came; with a shout He 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-soul Of Helenus knew the voice divine that leapt Unto 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 come A very present help in our sore need. That was his shout far-pealing, bidding us Fight on against the Argives. Let your hearts Be strong, O friends: let courage fill your breasts. No mightier battle-helper can draw nigh To Troy than he. Who is of more avail For war than Ares, when he aideth men Hard-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 man Valiantly fighting; loud their armour clashed Smitten with swords, with lances, and with darts. Spears plunged into men's flesh: dread Ares drank His fill of blood: struck down fell man on man, As Greek and Trojan fought. In level poise The battle-balance hung. As when young men In 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 hang Level: all Trojan hearts beat high, and firm Stood they in trust on aweless Ares' might, While the Greeks trusted in Achilles' son. Ever they slew and slew: stalked through the midst Deadly Enyo, her shoulders and her hands Blood-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 foot Of 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 works Did 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 erewhile In Aulis dwelt, and followed unto Troy Arcesilaus, and saw never more The dear home-land. Euryalus hurled a dart, And through Astraeus' breast the death-winged point Flew, shearing through the breathways of man's life; And all that lay within was drenched with blood. And hard thereby great-souled Agenor slew Hippomenes, hero Teucer's comrade staunch, With one swift thrust 'twixt shoulder and neck: his soul Rushed 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 shaft Into his left eye plunged, passed through the ball, And out through his right ear, because the Fates Whither 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 cleft Unswerving, and his hard doom came on him.

So man to man dealt death; and joyed the Fates And Doom, and fell Strife in her maddened glee Shouted aloud, and Ares terribly Shouted in answer, and with courage thrilled The Trojans, and with panic fear the Greeks, And shook their reeling squadrons. But one man He scared not, even Achilles' son; he abode, And fought undaunted, slaying foes on foes. As when a young lad sweeps his hand around Flies swarming over milk, and nigh the bowl Here, there they lie, struck dead by that light touch, And gleefully the child still plies the work; So stern Achilles' glorious scion joyed Over the slain, and recked not of the God Who spurred the Trojans on: man after man Tasted his vengeance of their charging host. Even as a giant mountain-peak withstands On-rushing hurricane-blasts, so he abode Unquailing. Ares at his eager mood Grew wroth, and would have cast his veil of cloud Away, and met him face to face in fight, But now Athena from Olympus swooped To forest-mantled Ida. Quaked the earth And Xanthus' murmuring streams; so mightily She shook them: terror-stricken were the souls Of all the Nymphs, adread for Priam's town. From her immortal armour flashed around The hovering lightnings; fearful serpents breathed Fire from her shield invincible; the crest Of her great helmet swept the clouds. And now She was at point to close in sudden fight With Ares; but the mighty will of Zeus Daunted them both, from high heaven thundering His terrors. Ares drew back from the war, For manifest to him was Zeus's wrath. To wintry Thrace he passed; his haughty heart Reeked no more of the Trojans. In the plain Of Troy no more stayed Pallas; she was gone To hallowed Athens. But the armies still Strove in the deadly fray; and fainted now The Trojans' prowess; but all battle-fain The Argives pressed on these as they gave ground. As winds chase ships that fly with straining sails On to the outsea—as on forest-brakes Leapeth the fury of flame—as swift hounds drive Deer through the mountains, eager for the prey, So did the Argives chase them: Achilles' son Still cheered them on, still slew with that great spear Whomso he overtook. On, on they fled Till into stately-gated Troy they poured.

Then had the Argives a short breathing-space From war, when they had penned the hosts of Troy In Priam's burg, as shepherds pen up lambs Upon a lonely steading. And, as when After hard strain, a breathing-space is given To oxen that, quick-panting 'neath the yoke, Up a steep hill have dragged a load, so breathed Awhile the Achaeans after toil in arms. Then once more hot for the fray did they beset The city-towers. But now with gates fast barred The Trojans from the walls withstood the assault. As when within their steading shepherd-folk Abide the lowering tempest, when a day Of storm hath dawned, with fury of lightnings, rain And heavy-drifting snow, and dare not haste Forth to the pasture, howsoever fain, Till the great storm abate, and rivers, wide With rushing floods, again be passable; So trembling on their walls they abode the rage Of foes against their ramparts surging fast. And as when daws or starlings drop in clouds Down on an orchard-close, full fain to feast Upon its pleasant fruits, and take no heed Of men that shout to scare them thence away, Until the reckless hunger be appeased That makes them bold; so poured round Priam's burg The furious Danaans. Against the gates They hurled themselves, they strove to batter down The mighty-souled Earth-shaker's work divine.

Yet did tim Troyfolk not, despite their fear, Flinch from the fight: they manned their towers, they toiled Unresting: ever from the fair-built walls Leapt arrows, stones, and fleet-winged javelins down Amidst the thronging foes; for Phoebus thrilled Their souls with steadfast hardihood. Fain was he To 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 rock By 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' son A second arrow sped, with strong desire To smite Polites, ill-starred Priam's son: But with a swift side-swerve did he escape The death, nor did the arrow touch his flesh. As when a shipman, as his bark flies on O'er sea-gulfs, spies amid the rushing tide A rock, and to escape it swiftly puts The helm about, and turns aside the ship Even as he listeth, that a little strength Averts a great disaster; so did he Foresee and shun the deadly shaft of doom.

Ever they fought on; walls, towers, battlements Were blood-besprent, wherever Trojans fell Slain by the arrows of the stalwart Greeks. Yet these escaped not scatheless; many of them Dyed the earth red: aye waxed the havoc of death As friends and foes were stricken. O'er the strife Shouted for glee Enyo, sister of War.

Now had the Argives burst the gates, had breached The 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 Troy For immortality with deathless Gods, O hear me now, whose soul is anguish-thrilled! I cannot bear to see my fathers' town In flames, my kindred in disastrous strife Perishing: bitterer sorrow is there none! Oh, if thine heart is fixed to do this thing, Let me be far hence! Less shall be my grief If I behold it not with these mine eyes. That is the depth of horror and of shame To see one's country wrecked by hands of foes."

With groans and tears so pleaded Ganymede. Then Zeus himself with one vast pall of cloud Veiled all the city of Priam world-renowned; And all the murderous fight was drowned in mist, And like a vanished phantom was the wall In vapours heavy-hung no eye could pierce; And all around crashed thunders, lightnings flamed From heaven. The Danaans heard Zeus' clarion peal Awe-struck; and Neleus' son cried unto them: "Far-famous lords of Argives, all our strength Palsied shall be, while Zeus protecteth thus Our foes. A great tide of calamity On 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 all Obey him ever, who is mightier far Than all strong Gods, all weakling sons of men. On the presumptuous Titans once in wrath He poured down fire from heaven: then burned all earth Beneath, and Ocean's world-engirdling flood Boiled 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 all Dwellers in rivers: smoke and ashes veiled The 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-day He helpeth Troy. To us too shall he grant Glory 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' prophecy Spoken aforetime to the assembled Greeks, That in the tenth year Priam's burg should fall."

Then left they that far-famous town, and turned From 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 alone And its unscaleable wall, around which fell Trojans and Argives many in battle slain. So came they to the ships, and put from them Their battle-gear, and strode into the waves Of Hellespont fair-flowing, and washed away All stain of dust and sweat and clotted gore.

The sun drave down his never-wearying steeds Into the dark west: night streamed o'er the earth, Bidding men cease from toil. The Argives then Acclaimed Achilles' valiant son with praise High as his father's. Mid triumphant mirth He feasted in kings' tents: no battle-toil Had wearied him; for Thetis from his limbs Had charmed all ache of travail, making him As 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 him Sleep's dews were poured. The Greeks slept in the plain Before the ships, by ever-changing guards Watched; for they dreaded lest the host of Troy, Or of her staunch allies, should kindle flame Upon the ships, and from them all cut off Their home-return. In Priam's burg the while By gate and wall men watched and slept in turn, Adread to hear the Argives' onset-shout.



BOOK IX

How from his long lone exile returned to the war Philoctetes.

When ended was night's darkness, and the Dawn Rose from the world's verge, and the wide air glowed With splendour, then did Argos' warrior-sons Gaze o'er the plain; and lo, all cloudless-clear Stood Ilium's towers. The marvel of yesterday Seemed a strange dream. No thought the Trojans had Of standing forth to fight without the wall. A great fear held them thralls, the awful thought That 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 town That battle-eager murderous-hearted man, Be he Achilles who hath not passed down To Hades, or some other like to him. For now in heaven-descended Priam's burg By thousands are her people perishing: No respite cometh from calamity: Murder and havoc evermore increase. O Father Zeus, thou carest not though we Be slaughtered of our foes: thou helpest them, Forgetting thy son, godlike Dardanus! But, if this be the purpose of thine heart That Argives shall destroy us wretchedly, Now do it: draw not out our agony!"