Before us, e’en though far away he saw
Our onrush to grim battle. Yea, my spear
Slew him, for all his might. But thou — thine heart
Is utterly mad, that thou hast greatly dared
To threaten us with death this day! On thee
Thy latest hour shall swiftly come — is come!
Thee not thy sire the War-god now shall pluck
Out of mine hand, but thou the debt shalt pay
Of a dark doom, as when mid mountain-folds
A pricket meets a lion, waster of herds. 800
What, woman, hast thou heard not of the heaps
Of slain, that into Xanthus’ rushing stream
Were thrust by these mine hands? — or hast thou heard
In vain, because the Blessed Ones have stol’n
Wit and discretion from thee, to the end
That Doom’s relentless gulf might gape for thee?”
He spake; he swung up in his mighty hand
And sped the long spear warrior-slaying, wrought
By Chiron, and above the right breast pierced
The battle-eager maid. The red blood leapt 810
Forth, as a fountain wells, and all at once
Fainted the strength of Penthesileia’s limbs;
Dropped the great battle-axe from her nerveless hand;
A mist of darkness overveiled her eyes,
And anguish thrilled her soul. Yet even so
Still drew she difficult breath, still dimly saw
The hero, even now in act to drag
Her from the swift steed’s back. Confusedly
She thought: “Or shall I draw my mighty sword,
And bide Achilles’ fiery onrush, or 820
Hastily cast me from my fleet horse down
To earth, and kneel unto this godlike man,
And with wild breath promise for ransoming
Great heaps of brass and gold, which pacify
The hearts of victors never so athirst
For blood, if haply so the murderous might
Of Aeacus’ son may hearken and may spare,
Or peradventure may compassionate
My youth, and so vouchsafe me to behold
Mine home again? — for O, I long to live!” 830
So surged the wild thoughts in her; but the Gods
Ordained it otherwise. Even now rushed on
In terrible anger Peleus’ son: he thrust
With sudden spear, and on its shaft impaled
The body of her tempest-footed steed,
Even as a man in haste to sup might pierce
Flesh with the spit, above the glowing hearth
To roast it, or as in a mountain-glade
A hunter sends the shaft of death clear through
The body of a stag with such winged speed 840
That the fierce dart leaps forth beyond, to plunge
Into the tall stem of an oak or pine.
So that death-ravening spear of Peleus’ son
Clear through the goodly steed rushed on, and pierced
Penthesileia. Straightway fell she down
Into the dust of earth, the arms of death,
In grace and comeliness fell, for naught of shame
Dishonoured her fair form. Face down she lay
On the long spear outgasping her last breath,
Stretched upon that fleet horse as on a couch; 850
Like some tall pine snapped by the icy mace
Of Boreas, earth’s forest-fosterling
Reared by a spring to stately height, amidst
Long mountain-glens, a glory of mother earth;
So from the once fleet steed low fallen lay
Penthesileia, all her shattered strength
Brought down to this, and all her loveliness.
Now when the Trojans saw the Warrior-queen
Struck down in battle, ran through all their lines
A shiver of panic. Straightway to their walls 860
Turned they in flight, heart-agonized with grief.
As when on the wide sea, ‘neath buffetings
Of storm-blasts, castaways whose ship is wrecked
Escape, a remnant of a crew, forspent
With desperate conflict with the cruel sea:
Late and at last appears the land hard by,
Appears a city: faint and weary-limbed
With that grim struggle, through the surf they strain
To land, sore grieving for the good ship 1ost,
And shipmates whom the terrible surge dragged down 870
To nether gloom; so, Troyward as they fled
From battle, all those Trojans wept for her,
The Child of the resistless War-god, wept
For friends who died in groan-resounding fight.
Then over her with scornful laugh the son
Of Peleus vaunted: “In the dust lie there
A prey to teeth of dogs, to ravens’ beaks,
Thou wretched thing! Who cozened thee to come
Forth against me? And thoughtest thou to fare
Home from the war alive, to bear with thee 880
Right royal gifts from Priam the old king,
Thy guerdon for slain Argives? Ha, ’twas not
The Immortals who inspired thee with this thought,
Who know that I of heroes mightiest am,
The Danaans’ light of safety, but a woe
To Trojans and to thee, O evil-starred!
Nay, but it was the darkness-shrouded Fates
And thine own folly of soul that pricked thee on
To leave the works of women, and to fare
To war, from which strong men shrink shuddering back.” 890
So spake he, and his ashen spear the son
Of Peleus drew from that swift horse, and from
Penthesileia in death’s agony.
Then steed and rider gasped their lives away
Slain by one spear. Now from her head he plucked
The helmet splendour-flashing like the beams
Of the great sun, or Zeus’ own glory-light.
Then, there as fallen in dust and blood she lay,
Rose, like the breaking of the dawn, to view
‘Neath dainty-pencilled brows a lovely face, 900
Lovely in death. The Argives thronged around,
And all they saw and marvelled, for she seemed
Like an Immortal. In her armour there
Upon the earth she lay, and seemed the Child
Of Zeus, the tireless Huntress Artemis
Sleeping, what time her feet forwearied are
With following lions with her flying shafts
Over the hills far-stretching. She was made
A wonder of beauty even in her death
By Aphrodite glorious-crowned, the Bride 910
Of the strong War-god, to the end that he,
The son of noble Peleus, might be pierced
With the sharp arrow of repentant love.
The warriors gazed, and in their hearts they prayed
That fair and sweet like her their wives might seem,
Laid on the bed of love, when home they won.
Yea, and Achilles’ very heart was wrung
With love’s remorse to have slain a thing so sweet,
Who might have borne her home, his queenly bride,
To chariot-glorious Phthia; for she was 920
Flawless, a very daughter of the Gods,
Divinely tall, and most divinely fair.
Then Ares’ heart was thrilled with grief and rage
For his child slain. Straight from Olympus down
He darted, swift and bright as thunderbolt
Terribly flashing from the mighty hand Of
Zeus, far leaping o’er the trackless sea,
Or flaming o’er the land, while shuddereth
All wide Olympus as it passeth by.
So through the quivering air with heart aflame 930
Swooped Ares armou
r-clad, soon as he heard
The dread doom of his daughter. For the Gales,
The North-wind’s fleet-winged daughters, bare to him,
As through the wide halls of the sky he strode,
The tidings of the maiden’s woeful end.
Soon as he heard it, like a tempest-blast
Down to the ridges of Ida leapt he: quaked
Under his feet the long glens and ravines
Deep-scored, all Ida’s torrent-beds, and all
Far-stretching foot-hills. Now had Ares brought 940
A day of mourning on the Myrmidons,
But Zeus himself from far Olympus sent
Mid shattering thunders terror of levin-bolts
Which thick and fast leapt through the welkin down
Before his feet, blazing with fearful flames.
And Ares saw, and knew the stormy threat
Of the mighty-thundering Father, and he stayed
His eager feet, now on the very brink
Of battle’s turmoil. As when some huge crag
Thrust from a beetling cliff-brow by the winds 950
And torrent rains, or lightning-lance of Zeus,
Leaps like a wild beast, and the mountain-glens
Fling back their crashing echoes as it rolls
In mad speed on, as with resistless swoop
Of bound on bound it rushes down, until
It cometh to the levels of the plain,
And there perforce its stormy flight is stayed;
So Ares, battle-eager Son of Zeus,
Was stayed, how loth soe’er; for all the Gods
To the Ruler of the Blessed needs must yield, 960
Seeing he sits high-throned above them all,
Clothed in his might unspeakable. Yet still
Many a wild thought surged through Ares’ soul,
Urging him now to dread the terrible threat
Of Cronos’ wrathful Son, and to return
Heavenward, and now to reck not of his Sire,
But with Achilles’ blood to stain those hands,
The battle-tireless. At the last his heart
Remembered how that many and many a son
Of Zeus himself in many a war had died, 970
Nor in their fall had Zeus availed them aught.
Therefore he turned him from the Argives — else,
Down smitten by the blasting thunderbolt,
With Titans in the nether gloom he had lain,
Who dared defy the eternal will of Zeus.
Then did the warrior sons of Argos strip
With eager haste from corpses strown all round
The blood-stained spoils. But ever Peleus’ son
Gazed, wild with all regret, still gazed on her,
The strong, the beautiful, laid in the dust; 980
And all his heart was wrung, was broken down
With sorrowing love, deep, strong as he had known
When that beloved friend Patroclus died.
Loud jeered Thersites, mocking to his face:
“Thou sorry-souled Achilles! art not shamed
To let some evil Power beguile thine heart
To pity of a pitiful Amazon
Whose furious spirit purposed naught but ill
To us and ours? Ha, woman-mad art thou,
And thy soul lusts for this thing, as she were 990
Some lady wise in household ways, with gifts
And pure intent for honoured wedlock wooed!
Good had it been had her spear reached thine heart,
The heart that sighs for woman-creatures still!
Thou carest not, unmanly-souled, not thou,
For valour’s glorious path, when once thine eye
Lights on a woman! Sorry wretch, where now
Is all thy goodly prowess? where thy wit?
And where the might that should beseem a king
All-stainless? Dost not know what misery 1000
This self-same woman-madness wrought for Troy?
Nothing there is to men more ruinous
Than lust for woman’s beauty; it maketh fools
Of wise men. But the toil of war attains
Renown. To him that is a hero indeed
Glory of victory and the War-god’s works
Are sweet. ’Tis but the battle-blencher craves
The beauty and the bed of such as she!”
So railed he long and loud: the mighty heart
Of Peleus’ son leapt into flame of wrath. 1010
A sudden buffet of his resistless hand
Smote ‘neath the railer’s ear, and all his teeth
Were dashed to the earth: he fell upon his face:
Forth of his lips the blood in torrent gushed:
Swift from his body fled the dastard soul
Of that vile niddering. Achaea’s sons
Rejoiced thereat, for aye he wont to rail
On each and all with venomous gibes, himself
A scandal and the shame of all the host.
Then mid the warrior Argives cried a voice: 1020
“Not good it is for baser men to rail
On kings, or secretly or openly;
For wrathful retribution swiftly comes.
The Lady of Justice sits on high; and she
Who heapeth woe on woe on humankind,
Even Ate, punisheth the shameless tongue.”
So mid the Danaans cried a voice: nor yet
Within the mighty soul of Peleus’ son
Lulled was the storm of wrath, but fiercely he spake:
“Lie there in dust, thy follies all forgot! 1030
’Tis not for knaves to beard their betters: once
Thou didst provoke Odysseus’ steadfast soul,
Babbling with venomous tongue a thousand gibes,
And didst escape with life; but thou hast found
The son of Peleus not so patient-souled,
Who with one only buffet from his hand
Unkennels thy dog’s soul! A bitter doom
Hath swallowed thee: by thine own rascalry
Thy life is sped. Hence from Achaean men,
And mouth out thy revilings midst the dead!” 1040
So spake the valiant-hearted aweless son
Of Aeacus. But Tydeus’ son alone
Of all the Argives was with anger stirred
Against Achilles for Thersites slain,
Seeing these twain were of the self-same blood,
The one, proud Tydeus’ battle-eager son,
The other, seed of godlike Agrius:
Brother of noble Oeneus Agrius was;
And Oeneus in the Danaan land begat
Tydeus the battle-eager, son to whom 1050
Was stalwart Diomedes. Therefore wroth
Was he for slain Thersites, yea, had raised
Against the son of Peleus vengeful hands,
Exeept the noblest of Aehaea’s sons
Had thronged around him, and besought him sore,
And held him back therefrom. With Peleus’ son
Also they pleaded; else those mighty twain,
The mightiest of all Argives, were at point
To close with clash of swords, so stung were they
With bitter wrath; yet hearkened they at last 1060
To prayers of comrades, and were reconciled.
Then of their pity did the Atreid kings —
For these too at the imperial loveliness
Of Penthesileia marvelled — render up
Her body to the men of Troy, to bear
Unto the burg of Ilus far-renowned
With all her armour. For a herald came
Asking this boon for Priam; for the king
Longed with deep yearning of the heart to lay
That battle-eager maiden, with her arms, 1070
And with her war-horse, in the great earth-mound
Of old Laomedon. And so he heaped
A high broad pyre without the city wall:
Upon the height t
hereof that warrior-queen
They laid, and costly treasures did they heap
Around her, all that well beseems to burn
Around a mighty queen in battle slain.
And so the Fire-god’s swift-upleaping might,
The ravening flame, consumed her. All around
The people stood on every hand, and quenched 1080
The pyre with odorous wine. Then gathered they
The bones, and poured sweet ointment over them,
And laid them in a casket: over all
Shed they the rich fat of a heifer, chief
Among the herds that grazed on Ida’s slope.
And, as for a beloved daughter, rang
All round the Trojan men’s heart-stricken wail,
As by the stately wall they buried her
On an outstanding tower, beside the bones
Of old Laomedon, a queen beside 1090
A king. This honour for the War-god’s sake
They rendered, and for Penthesileia’s own.
And in the plain beside her buried they
The Amazons, even all that followed her
To battle, and by Argive spears were slain.
For Atreus’ sons begrudged not these the boon
Of tear-besprinkled graves, but let their friends,
The warrior Trojans, draw their corpses forth,
Yea, and their own slain also, from amidst
The swath of darts o’er that grim harvest-field. 1100
Wrath strikes not at the dead: pitied are foes
When life has fled, and left them foes no more.
Far off across the plain the while uprose
Smoke from the pyres whereon the Argives laid
The many heroes overthrown and slain
By Trojan hands what time the sword devoured;
And multitudinous lamentation wailed
Over the perished. But above the rest
Mourned they o’er brave Podarces, who in fight
Was no less mighty than his hero-brother 1110
Protesilaus, he who long ago
Fell, slain of Hector: so Podarces now,
Struck down by Penthesileia’s spear, hath cast
Over all Argive hearts the pall of grief.
Wherefore apart from him they laid in clay
The common throng of slain; but over him
Toiling they heaped an earth-mound far-descried
In memory of a warrior aweless-souled.
And in a several pit withal they thrust
The niddering Thersites’ wretched corse. 1120
Then to the ships, acclaiming Aeacus’ son,
Returned they all. But when the radiant day
Had plunged beneath the Ocean-stream, and night,
Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus Page 4