Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

  “Ah hapless! why with arrogant heart dost thou

  Speak such great swelling words? No strength is thine

  To grapple in fight with Peleus’ aweless son.

  Nay, doom and swift death shall he deal to thee.

  Alas for thee! What madness thrills thy soul?

  Fate and the end of death stand hard by thee!

  Hector was mightier far to wield the spear

  Than thou, yet was for all his prowess slain,

  Slain for the bitter grief of Troy, whose folk 130

  The city through looked on him as a God.

  My glory and his noble parents’ glory

  Was he while yet he lived — O that the earth

  Over my dead face had been mounded high,

  Or ever through his throat the breath of life

  Followed the cleaving spear! But now have I

  Looked — woe is me! — on grief unutterable,

  When round the city those fleet-footed steeds

  Haled him, steeds of Achilles, who had made

  Me widowed of mine hero-husband, made 140

  My portion bitterness through all my days.”

  So spake Eetion’s lovely-ankled child

  Low to her own soul, thinking on her lord.

  So evermore the faithful-hearted wife

  Nurseth for her lost love undying grief.

  Then in swift revolution sweeping round

  Into the Ocean’s deep stream sank the sun,

  And daylight died. So when the banqueters

  Ceased from the wine-cup and the goodly feast,

  Then did the handmaids spread in Priam’s halls 150

  For Penthesileia dauntless-souled the couch

  Heart-cheering, and she laid her down to rest;

  And slumber mist-like overveiled her eyes [depths

  Like sweet dew dropping round. From heavens’ blue

  Slid down the might of a deceitful dream

  At Pallas’ hest, that so the warrior-maid

  Might see it, and become a curse to Troy

  And to herself, when strained her soul to meet;

  The whirlwind of the battle. In this wise

  The Trito-born, the subtle-souled, contrived: 160

  Stood o’er the maiden’s head that baleful dream

  In likeness of her father, kindling her

  Fearlessly front to front to meet in fight

  Fleetfoot Achilles. And she heard the voice,

  And all her heart exulted, for she weened

  That she should on that dawning day achieve

  A mighty deed in battle’s deadly toil

  Ah, fool, who trusted for her sorrow a dream

  Out of the sunless land, such as beguiles

  Full oft the travail-burdened tribes of men, 170

  Whispering mocking lies in sleeping ears,

  And to the battle’s travail lured her then!

  But when the Dawn, the rosy-ankled, leapt

  Up from her bed, then, clad in mighty strength

  Of spirit, suddenly from her couch uprose

  Penthesileia. Then did she array

  Her shoulders in those wondrous-fashioned arms

  Given her of the War-god. First she laid

  Beneath her silver-gleaming knees the greaves

  Fashioned of gold, close-clipping the strong limbs. 180

  Her rainbow-radiant corslet clasped she then

  About her, and around her shoulders slung,

  With glory in her heart, the massy brand

  Whose shining length was in a scabbard sheathed

  Of ivory and silver. Next, her shield

  Unearthly splendid, caught she up, whose rim

  Swelled like the young moon’s arching chariot-rail

  When high o’er Ocean’s fathomless-flowing stream

  She rises, with the space half filled with light

  Betwixt her bowing horns. So did it shine 190

  Unutterably fair. Then on her head

  She settled the bright helmet overstreamed

  With a wild mane of golden-glistering hairs.

  So stood she, lapped about with flaming mail,

  In semblance like the lightning, which the might,

  The never-wearied might of Zeus, to earth

  Hurleth, what time he showeth forth to men

  Fury of thunderous-roaring rain, or swoop

  Resistless of his shouting host of winds.

  Then in hot haste forth of her bower to pass 200

  Caught she two javelins in the hand that grasped

  Her shield-band; but her strong right hand laid hold

  On a huge halberd, sharp of either blade,

  Which terrible Eris gave to Ares’ child

  To be her Titan weapon in the strife

  That raveneth souls of men. Laughing for glee

  Thereover, swiftly flashed she forth the ring

  Of towers. Her coming kindled all the sons

  Of Troy to rush into the battle forth

  Which crowneth men with glory. Swiftly all 210

  Hearkened her gathering-ery, and thronging came,

  Champions, yea, even such as theretofore

  Shrank back from standing in the ranks of war

  Against Achilles the all-ravager.

  But she in pride of triumph on she rode

  Throned on a goodly steed and fleet, the gift

  Of Oreithyia, the wild North-wind’s bride,

  Given to her guest the warrior-maid, what time

  She came to Thrace, a steed whose flying feet

  Could match the Harpies’ wings. Riding thereon 220

  Penthesileia in her goodlihead

  Left the tall palaces of Troy behind.

  And ever were the ghastly-visaged Fates

  Thrusting her on into the battle, doomed

  To be her first against the Greeks — and last!

  To right, to left, with unreturning feet

  The Trojan thousands followed to the fray,

  The pitiless fray, that death-doomed warrior-maid,

  Followed in throngs, as follow sheep the ram

  That by the shepherd’s art strides before all. 230

  So followed they, with battle-fury filled,

  Strong Trojans and wild-hearted Amazons.

  And like Tritonis seemed she, as she went

  To meet the Giants, or as flasheth far

  Through war-hosts Eris, waker of onset-shouts.

  So mighty in the Trojans’ midst she seemed,

  Penthesileia of the flying feet.

  Then unto Cronos’ Son Laomedon’s child

  Upraised his hands, his sorrow-burdened hands,

  Turning him toward the sky-encountering fane 240

  Of Zeus of Ida, who with sleepless eyes

  Looks ever down on Ilium; and he prayed:

  “Father, give ear! Vouchsafe that on this day

  Achaea’s host may fall before the hands

  Of this our warrior-queen, the War-god’s child;

  And do thou bring her back unscathed again

  Unto mine halls: we pray thee by the love

  Thou bear’st to Ares of the fiery heart

  Thy son, yea, to her also! is she not

  Most wondrous like the heavenly Goddesses? 250

  And is she not the child of thine own seed?

  Pity my stricken heart withal! Thou know’st

  All agonies I have suffered in the deaths

  Of dear sons whom the Fates have torn from me

  By Argive hands in the devouring fight.

  Compassionate us, while a remnant yet

  Remains of noble Dardanus’ blood, while yet

  This city stands unwasted! Let us know

  From ghastly slaughter and strife one breathing-space!”

  In passionate prayer he spake: — lo, with shrill scream 260

  Swiftly to left an eagle darted by

  And in his talons bare a gasping dove.

  Then round the heart of Priam all
the blood

  Was chilled with fear. Low to his soul he said:

  “Ne’er shall I see return alive from war

  Penthesileia!” On that selfsame day

  The Fates prepared his boding to fulfil;

  And his heart brake with anguish of despair.

  Marvelled the Argives, far across the plain

  Seeing the hosts of Troy charge down on them, 270

  And midst them Penthesileia, Ares’ child.

  These seemed like ravening beasts that mid the hills

  Bring grimly slaughter to the fleecy flocks;

  And she, as a rushing blast of flame she seemed

  That maddeneth through the copses summer-scorched,

  When the wind drives it on; and in this wise

  Spake one to other in their mustering host:

  “Who shall this be who thus can rouse to war

  The Trojans, now that Hector hath been slain —

  These who, we said, would never more find heart 280

  To stand against us? Lo now, suddenly

  Forth are they rushing, madly afire for fight!

  Sure, in their midst some great one kindleth them

  To battle’s toil! Thou verily wouldst say

  This were a God, of such great deeds he dreams!

  Go to, with aweless courage let us arm

  Our own breasts: let us summon up our might

  In battle-fury. We shall lack not help

  Of Gods this day to close in fight with Troy.”

  So cried they; and their flashing battle-gear 290

  Cast they about them: forth the ships they poured

  Clad in the rage of fight as with a cloak.

  Then front to front their battles closed, like beasts

  Of ravin, locked in tangle of gory strife.

  Clanged their bright mail together, clashed the spears,

  The corslets, and the stubborn-welded shields

  And adamant helms. Each stabbed at other’s flesh

  With the fierce brass: was neither ruth nor rest,

  And all the Trojan soil was crimson-red.

  Then first Penthesileia smote and slew 300

  Molion; now Persinous falls, and now

  Eilissus; reeled Antitheus ‘neath her spear

  The pride of Lernus quelled she: down she bore

  Hippalmus ‘neath her horse-hoofs; Haemon’s son

  Died; withered stalwart Elasippus’ strength.

  And Derinoe laid low Laogonus,

  And Clonie Menippus, him who sailed

  Long since from Phylace, led by his lord

  Protesilaus to the war with Troy.

  Then was Podarces, son of Iphiclus, 310

  Heart-wrung with ruth and wrath to see him lie

  Dead, of all battle-comrades best-beloved.

  Swiftly at Clonie he hurled, the maid

  Fair as a Goddess: plunged the unswerving lance

  ‘Twixt hip and hip, and rushed the dark blood forth

  After the spear, and all her bowels gushed out.

  Then wroth was Penthesileia; through the brawn

  Of his right arm she drave the long spear’s point,

  She shore atwain the great blood-brimming veins,

  And through the wide gash of the wound the gore 320

  Spirted, a crimson fountain. With a groan

  Backward he sprang, his courage wholly quelled

  By bitter pain; and sorrow and dismay

  Thrilled, as he fled, his men of Phylace.

  A short way from the fight he reeled aside,

  And in his friends’ arms died in little space.

  Then with his lance Idomeneus thrust out,

  And by the right breast stabbed Bremusa. Stilled

  For ever was the beating of her heart.

  She fell, as falls a graceful-shafted pine 330

  Hewn mid the hills by woodmen: heavily,

  Sighing through all its boughs, it crashes down.

  So with a wailing shriek she fell, and death

  Unstrung her every limb: her breathing soul

  Mingled with multitudinous-sighing winds.

  Then, as Evandre through the murderous fray

  With Thermodosa rushed, stood Meriones,

  A lion in the path, and slew: his spear

  Right to the heart of one he drave, and one

  Stabbed with a lightning sword-thrust ‘twixt the hips: 340

  Leapt through the wounds the life, and fled away.

  Oileus’ fiery son smote Derinoe

  ‘Twixt throat and shoulder with his ruthless spear;

  And on Alcibie Tydeus’ terrible son

  Swooped, and on Derimacheia: head with neck

  Clean from the shoulders of these twain he shore

  With ruin-wreaking brand. Together down

  Fell they, as young calves by the massy axe

  Of brawny flesher felled, that, shearing through

  The sinews of the neck, lops life away. 350

  So, by the hands of Tydeus’ son laid low

  Upon the Trojan plain, far, far away

  From their own highland-home, they fell. Nor these

  Alone died; for the might of Sthenelus

  Down on them hurled Cabeirus’ corse, who came

  From Sestos, keen to fight the Argive foe,

  But never saw his fatherland again.

  Then was the heart of Paris filled with wrath

  For a friend slain. Full upon Sthenelus

  Aimed he a shaft death-winged, yet touched him not, 360

  Despite his thirst for vengeance: otherwhere

  The arrow glanced aside, and carried death

  Whither the stern Fates guided its fierce wing,

  And slew Evenor brazen-tasleted,

  Who from Dulichium came to war with Troy.

  For his death fury-kindled was the son

  Of haughty Phyleus: as a lion leaps

  Upon the flock, so swiftly rushed he: all

  Shrank huddling back before that terrible man.

  Itymoneus he slew, and Hippasus’ son 370

  Agelaus: from Miletus brought they war

  Against the Danaan men by Nastes led,

  The god-like, and Amphimachus mighty-souled.

  On Mycale they dwelt; beside their home

  Rose Latmus’ snowy crests, stretched the long glens

  Of Branchus, and Panormus’ water-meads.

  Maeander’s flood deep-rolling swept thereby,

  Which from the Phrygian uplands, pastured o’er

  By myriad flocks, around a thousand forelands

  Curls, swirls, and drives his hurrying ripples on 380

  Down to the vine-clad land of Carian men

  These mid the storm of battle Meges slew,

  Nor these alone, but whomsoe’er his lance

  Black-shafted touched, were dead men; for his breast

  The glorious Trito-born with courage thrilled

  To bring to all his foes the day of doom.

  And Polypoetes, dear to Ares, slew

  Dresaeus, whom the Nymph Neaera bare

  To passing-wise Theiodamas for these

  Spread was the bed of love beside the foot 390

  Of Sipylus the Mountain, where the Gods

  Made Niobe a stony rock, wherefrom

  Tears ever stream: high up, the rugged crag

  Bows as one weeping, weeping, waterfalls

  Cry from far-echoing Hermus, wailing moan

  Of sympathy: the sky-encountering crests

  Of Sipylus, where alway floats a mist

  Hated of shepherds, echo back the cry.

  Weird marvel seems that Rock of Niobe

  To men that pass with feet fear-goaded: there 400

  They see the likeness of a woman bowed,

  In depths of anguish sobbing, and her tears

  Drop, as she mourns grief-stricken, endlessly.

  Yea, thou wouldst say that verily so it was,

  Viewing it from afar; but when hard
by

  Thou standest, all the illusion vanishes;

  And lo, a steep-browed rock, a fragment rent

  From Sipylus — yet Niobe is there,

  Dreeing her weird, the debt of wrath divine,

  A broken heart in guise of shattered stone. 410

  All through the tangle of that desperate fray

  Stalked slaughter and doom. The incarnate Onset-shout

  Raved through the rolling battle; at her side

  Paced Death the ruthless, and the Fearful Faces,

  The Fates, beside them strode, and in red hands

  Bare murder and the groans of dying men.

  That day the beating of full many a heart,

  Trojan and Argive, was for ever stilled,

  While roared the battle round them, while the fury

  Of Penthesileia fainted not nor failed; 420

  But as amid long ridges of lone hills

  A lioness, stealing down a deep ravine,

  Springs on the kine with lightning leap, athirst

  For blood wherein her fierce heart revelleth;

  So on the Danaans leapt that warrior-maid.

  And they, their souls were cowed: backward they shrank,

  And fast she followed, as a towering surge

  Chases across the thunder-booming sea

  A flying bark, whose white sails strain beneath

  The wind’s wild buffering, and all the air 430

  Maddens with roaring, as the rollers crash

  On a black foreland looming on the lee

  Where long reefs fringe the surf-tormented shores.

  So chased she, and so dashed the ranks asunder

  Triumphant-souled, and hurled fierce threats before:

  “Ye dogs, this day for evil outrage done

  To Priam shall ye pay! No man of you

  Shall from mine hands deliver his own life,

  And win back home, to gladden parents eyes,

  Or comfort wife or children. Ye shall lie 440

  Dead, ravined on by vultures and by wolves,

  And none shall heap the earth-mound o’er your clay.

  Where skulketh now the strength of Tydeus’ son,

  And where the might of Aeacus’ scion?

  Where is Aias’ bulk? Ye vaunt them mightiest men

  Of all your rabble. Ha! they will not dare

  With me to close in battle, lest I drag

  Forth from their fainting frames their craven souls!”

  Then heart-uplifted leapt she on the foe,

  Resistless as a tigress, crashing through 450

  Ranks upon ranks of Argives, smiting now

  With that huge halberd massy-headed, now

  Hurling the keen dart, while her battle-horse

  Flashed through the fight, and on his shoulder bare