Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

  Quiver and bow death-speeding, close to her hand,

  If mid that revel of blood she willed to speed

  The bitter-biting shaft. Behind her swept

  The charging lines of men fleet-footed, friends

  And brethren of the man who never flinched

  From close death-grapple, Hector, panting all 460

  The hot breath of the War-god from their breasts,

  All slaying Danaans with the ashen spear,

  Who fell as frost-touched leaves in autumn fall

  One after other, or as drops of rain.

  And aye went up a moaning from earth’s breast

  All blood-bedrenched, and heaped with corse on corse.

  Horses pierced through with arrows, or impaled

  On spears, were snorting forth their last of strength

  With screaming neighings. Men, with gnashing teeth

  Biting the dust, lay gasping, while the steeds 470

  Of Trojan charioteers stormed in pursuit,

  Trampling the dying mingled with the dead

  As oxen trample corn in threshing-floors.

  Then one exulting boasted mid the host

  Of Troy, beholding Penthesileia rush

  On through the foes’ array, like the black storm

  That maddens o’er the sea, what time the sun

  Allies his might with winter’s Goat-horned Star;

  And thus, puffed up with vain hope, shouted he:

  “O friends, in manifest presence down from heaven 480

  One of the deathless Gods this day hath come

  To fight the Argives, all of love for us,

  Yea, and with sanction of almighty Zeus,

  He whose compassion now remembereth

  Haply strong-hearted Priam, who may boast

  For his a lineage of immortal blood.

  For this, I trow, no mortal woman seems,

  Who is so aweless-daring, who is clad

  In splendour-flashing arms: nay, surely she

  Shall be Athene, or the mighty-souled 490

  Enyo — haply Eris, or the Child

  Of Leto world-renowned. O yea, I look

  To see her hurl amid yon Argive men

  Mad-shrieking slaughter, see her set aflame

  Yon ships wherein they came long years agone

  Bringing us many sorrows, yea, they came

  Bringing us woes of war intolerable.

  Ha! to the home-land Hellas ne’er shall these

  With joy return, since Gods on our side fight.”

  In overweening exultation so 500

  Vaunted a Trojan. Fool! — he had no vision

  Of ruin onward rushing upon himself

  And Troy, and Penthesileia’s self withal.

  For not as yet had any tidings come

  Of that wild fray to Aias stormy-souled,

  Nor to Achilles, waster of tower and town.

  But on the grave-mound of Menoetius’ son

  They twain were lying, with sad memories

  Of a dear comrade crushed, and echoing

  Each one the other’s groaning. One it was 510

  Of the Blest Gods who still was holding back

  These from the battle-tumult far away,

  Till many Greeks should fill the measure up

  Of woeful havoc, slain by Trojan foes

  And glorious Penthesileia, who pursued

  With murderous intent their rifled ranks,

  While ever waxed her valour more and more,

  And waxed her might within her: never in vain

  She aimed the unswerving spear-thrust: aye she pierced

  The backs of them that fled, the breasts of such 520

  As charged to meet her. All the long shaft dripped

  With steaming blood. Swift were her feet as wind

  As down she swooped. Her aweless spirit failed

  For weariness nor fainted, but her might

  Was adamantine. The impending Doom,

  Which roused unto the terrible strife not yet

  Achilles, clothed her still with glory; still

  Aloof the dread Power stood, and still would shed

  Splendour of triumph o’er the death-ordained

  But for a little space, ere it should quell 530

  That Maiden ‘neath the hands of Aeaeus’ son.

  In darkness ambushed, with invisible hand

  Ever it thrust her on, and drew her feet

  Destruction-ward, and lit her path to death

  With glory, while she slew foe after foe.

  As when within a dewy garden-close,

  Longing for its green springtide freshness, leaps

  A heifer, and there rangeth to and fro,

  When none is by to stay her, treading down

  All its green herbs, and all its wealth of bloom, 540

  Devouring greedily this, and marring that

  With trampling feet; so ranged she, Ares’ child,

  Through reeling squadrons of Achaea’s sons,

  Slew these, and hunted those in panic rout.

  From Troy afar the women marvelling gazed

  At the Maid’s battle-prowess. Suddenly

  A fiery passion for the fray hath seized

  Antimachus’ daughter, Meneptolemus’ wife,

  Tisiphone. Her heart waxed strong, and filled

  With lust of fight she cried to her fellows all, 550

  With desperate-daring words, to spur them on

  To woeful war, by recklessness made strong.

  “Friends, let a heart of valour in our breasts

  Awake! Let us be like our lords, who fight

  With foes for fatherland, for babes, for us,

  And never pause for breath in that stern strife!

  Let us too throne war’s spirit in our hearts!

  Let us too face the fight which favoureth none!

  For we, we women, be not creatures cast

  In diverse mould from men: to us is given 560

  Such energy of life as stirs in them.

  Eyes have we like to theirs, and limbs: throughout

  Fashioned we are alike: one common light

  We look on, and one common air we breathe:

  With like food are we nourished — nay, wherein

  Have we been dowered of God more niggardly

  Than men? Then let us shrink not from the fray

  See ye not yonder a woman far excelling

  Men in the grapple of fight? Yet is her blood

  Nowise akin to ours, nor fighteth she 570

  For her own city. For an alien king

  She warreth of her own heart’s prompting, fears

  The face of no man; for her soul is thrilled

  With valour and with spirit invincible.

  But we — to right, to left, lie woes on woes

  About our feet: this mourns beloved sons,

  And that a husband who for hearth and home

  Hath died; some wail for fathers now no more;

  Some grieve for brethren and for kinsmen lost.

  Not one but hath some share in sorrow’s cup. 580

  Behind all this a fearful shadow looms,

  The day of bondage! Therefore flinch not ye

  From war, O sorrow-laden! Better far

  To die in battle now, than afterwards

  Hence to be haled into captivity

  To alien folk, we and our little ones,

  In the stern grip of fate leaving behind

  A burning city, and our husbands’ graves.”

  So cried she, and with passion for stern war

  Thrilled all those women; and with eager speed 590

  They hasted to go forth without the wall

  Mail-clad, afire to battle for their town

  And people: all their spirit was aflame.

  As when within a hive, when winter-tide

  Is over and gone, loud hum the swarming bees

  What time they make them ready forth to fare

  To bright flower-pastur
es, and no more endure

  To linger therewithin, but each to other

  Crieth the challenge-cry to sally forth;

  Even so bestirred themselves the women of Troy, 600

  And kindled each her sister to the fray.

  The weaving-wool, the distaff far they flung,

  And to grim weapons stretched their eager hands.

  And now without the city these had died

  In that wild battle, as their husbands died

  And the strong Amazons died, had not one voice

  Of wisdom cried to stay their maddened feet,

  When with dissuading words Theano spake:

  “Wherefore, ah wherefore for the toil and strain

  Of battle’s fearful tumult do ye yearn, 610

  Infatuate ones? Never your limbs have toiled

  In conflict yet. In utter ignoranee

  Panting for labour unendurable,

  Ye rush on all-unthinking; for your strength

  Can never be as that of Danaan men,

  Men trained in daily battle. Amazons

  Have joyed in ruthless fight, in charging steeds,

  From the beginning: all the toil of men

  Do they endure; and therefore evermore

  The spirit of the War-god thrills them through. 620

  ‘They fall not short of men in anything:

  Their labour-hardened frames make great their hearts

  For all achievement: never faint their knees

  Nor tremble. Rumour speaks their queen to be

  A daughter of the mighty Lord of War.

  Therefore no woman may compare with her

  In prowess — if she be a woman, not

  A God come down in answer to our prayers.

  Yea, of one blood be all the race of men,

  Yet unto diverse labours still they turn; 630

  And that for each is evermore the best

  Whereto he bringeth skill of use and wont.

  Therefore do ye from tumult of the fray

  Hold you aloof, and in your women’s bowers

  Before the loom still pace ye to and fro;

  And war shall be the business of our lords.

  Lo, of fair issue is there hope: we see

  The Achaeans falling fast: we see the might

  Of our men waxing ever: fear is none

  Of evil issue now: the pitiless foe 640

  Beleaguer not the town: no desperate need

  There is that women should go forth to war.”

  So cried she, and they hearkened to the words

  Of her who had garnered wisdom from the years;

  So from afar they watched the fight. But still

  Penthesileia brake the ranks, and still

  Before her quailed the Achaeans: still they found

  Nor screen nor hiding-place from imminent death.

  As bleating goats are by the blood-stained jaws

  Of a grim panther torn, so slain were they. 650

  In each man’s heart all lust of battle died,

  And fear alone lived. This way, that way fled

  The panic-stricken: some to earth had flung

  The armour from their shoulders; some in dust

  Grovelled in terror ‘neath their shields: the steeds

  Fled through the rout unreined of charioteers.

  In rapture of triumph charged the Amazons,

  With groan and scream of agony died the Greeks.

  Withered their manhood was in that sore strait;

  Brief was the span of all whom that fierce maid 660

  Mid the grim jaws of battle overtook.

  As when with mighty roaring bursteth down

  A storm upon the forest-trees, and some

  Uprendeth by the roots, and on the earth

  Dashes them down, the tail stems blossom-crowned,

  And snappeth some athwart the trunk, and high

  Whirls them through air, till all confused they lie

  A ruin of splintered stems and shattered sprays;

  So the great Danaan host lay, dashed to dust

  By doom of Fate, by Penthesileia’s spear. 670

  But when the very ships were now at point

  To be by hands of Trojans set aflame,

  Then battle-bider Aias heard afar

  The panic-cries, and spake to Aeacus’ son:

  “Achilles, all the air about mine ears

  Is full of multitudinous eries, is full

  Of thunder of battle rolling nearer aye.

  Let us go forth then, ere the Trojans win

  Unto the ships, and make great slaughter there

  Of Argive men, and set the ships aflame. 680

  Foulest reproach such thing on thee and me

  Should bring; for it beseems not that the seed

  Of mighty Zeus should shame the sacred blood

  Of hero-fathers, who themselves of old

  With Hercules the battle-eager sailed

  To Troy, and smote her even at her height

  Of glory, when Laomedon was king.

  Ay, and I ween that our hands even now

  Shall do the like: we too are mighty men.”

  He spake: the aweless strength of Aeacus’ son 690

  Hearkened thereto, for also to his ears

  By this the roar of bitter battle came.

  Then hasted both, and donned their warrior-gear

  All splendour-gleaming: now, in these arrayed

  Facing that stormy-tossing rout they stand.

  Loud clashed their glorious armour: in their souls

  A battle-fury like the War-god’s wrath

  Maddened; such might was breathed into these twain

  By Atrytone, Shaker of the Shield,

  As on they pressed. With joy the Argives saw 700

  The coming of that mighty twain: they seemed

  In semblance like A1oeus’ giant sons

  Who in the old time made that haughty vaunt

  Of piling on Olympus’ brow the height

  Of Ossa steeply-towering, and the crest

  Of sky-encountering Pelion, so to rear

  A mountain-stair for their rebellious rage

  To scale the highest heaven. Huge as these

  The sons of Aeacus seemed, as forth they strode

  To stem the tide of war. A gladsome sight 710

  To friends who have fainted for their coming, now

  Onward they press to crush triumphant foes.

  Many they slew with their resistless spears;

  As when two herd-destroying lions come

  On sheep amid the copses feeding, far

  From help of shepherds, and in heaps on heaps

  Slay them, till they have drunken to the full

  Of blood, and filled their maws insatiate

  With flesh, so those destroyers twain slew on,

  Spreading wide havoc through the hosts of Troy. 720

  There Deiochus and gallant Hyllus fell

  By Alas slain, and fell Eurynomus

  Lover of war, and goodly Enyeus died.

  But Peleus’ son burst on the Amazons

  Smiting Antandre, Polemusa then,

  Antibrote, fierce-souled Hippothoe,

  Hurling Harmothoe down on sisters slain.

  Then hard on all their-reeling ranks he pressed

  With Telamon’s mighty-hearted son; and now

  Before their hands battalions dense and strong 730

  Crumbled as weakly and as suddenly

  As when in mountain-folds the forest-brakes

  Shrivel before a tempest-driven fire.

  When battle-eager Penthesileia saw

  These twain, as through the scourging storm of war

  Like ravening beasts they rushed, to meet them there

  She sped, as when a leopard grim, whose mood

  Is deadly, leaps from forest-coverts forth,

  Lashing her tail, on hunters closing round,

  While these, in armour clad, and putting trust 740

  In t
heir long spears, await her lightning leap;

  So did those warriors twain with spears upswung

  Wait Penthesileia. Clanged the brazen plates

  About their shoulders as they moved. And first

  Leapt the long-shafted lance sped from the hand

  Of goodly Penthesileia. Straight it flew

  To the shield of Aeacus’ son, but glancing thence

  This way and that the shivered fragments sprang

  As from a rock-face: of such temper were

  The cunning-hearted Fire-god’s gifts divine. 750

  Then in her hand the warrior-maid swung up

  A second javelin fury-winged, against

  Aias, and with fierce words defied the twain:

  “Ha, from mine hand in vain one lance hath leapt!

  But with this second look I suddenly

  To quell the strength and courage of two foes, —

  Ay, though ye vaunt you mighty men of war

  Amid your Danaans! Die ye shall, and so

  Lighter shall be the load of war’s affliction

  That lies upon the Trojan chariot-lords. 760

  Draw nigh, come through the press to grips with me,

  So shall ye learn what might wells up in breasts

  Of Amazons. With my blood is mingled war!

  No mortal man begat me, but the Lord

  Of War, insatiate of the battle-cry.

  Therefore my might is more than any man’s.”

  With scornful laughter spake she: then she hurled

  Her second lance; but they in utter scorn

  Laughed now, as swiftly flew the shaft, and smote

  The silver greave of Aias, and was foiled 770

  Thereby, and all its fury could not scar

  The flesh within; for fate had ordered not

  That any blade of foes should taste the blood

  Of Aias in the bitter war. But he

  Recked of the Amazon naught, but turned him thence

  To rush upon the Trojan host, and left

  Penthesileia unto Peleus’ son

  Alone, for well he knew his heart within

  That she, for all her prowess, none the less

  Would cost Achilles battle-toil as light, 780

  As effortless, as doth the dove the hawk.

  Then groaned she an angry groan that she had sped

  Her shafts in vain; and now with scoffing speech

  To her in turn the son of Peleus spake:

  “Woman, with what vain vauntings triumphing

  Hast thou come forth against us, all athirst

  To battle with us, who be mightier far

  Than earthborn heroes? We from Cronos’ Son,

  The Thunder-roller, boast our high descent.

  Ay, even Hector quailed, the battle-swift, 790