Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

  The holy, overspread the face of earth,

  Then in the rich king Agamemnon’s tent

  Feasted the might of Peleus’ son, and there

  Sat at the feast those other mighty ones

  All through the dark, till rose the dawn divine.

  BOOK II. HOW MEMNON, SON OF THE DAWN, FOR TROY’S SAKE FELL IN THE BATTLE.

  When o’er the crests of the far-echoing hills

  The splendour of the tireless-racing sun

  Poured o’er the land, still in their tents rejoiced

  Achaea’s stalwart sons, and still acclaimed

  Achilles the resistless. But in Troy

  Still mourned her people, still from all her towers

  Seaward they strained their gaze; for one great fear

  Gripped all their hearts — to see that terrible man

  At one bound overleap their high-built wall,

  Then smite with the sword all people therewithin, 10

  And burn with fire fanes, palaces, and homes.

  And old Thymoetes spake to the anguished ones:

  “Friends, I have lost hope: mine heart seeth not

  Or help, or bulwark from the storm of war,

  Now that the aweless Hector, who was once

  Troy’s mighty champion, is in dust laid low.

  Not all his might availed to escape the Fates,

  But overborne he was by Achilles’ hands,

  The hands that would, I verily deem, bear down

  A God, if he defied him to the fight, 20

  Even as he overthrew this warrior-queen

  Penthesileia battle-revelling,

  From whom all other Argives shrank in fear.

  Ah, she was marvellous! When at the first

  I looked on her, meseemed a Blessed One

  From heaven had come down hitherward to bring

  Light to our darkness — ah, vain hope, vain dream!

  Go to, let us take counsel, what to do

  Were best for us. Or shall we still maintain

  A hopeless fight against these ruthless foes, 30

  Or shall we straightway flee a city doomed?

  Ay, doomed! — for never more may we withstand

  Argives in fighting field, when in the front

  Of battle pitiless Achilles storms.”

  Then spake Laomedon’s son, the ancient king:

  “Nay, friend, and all ye other sons of Troy,

  And ye our strong war-helpers, flinch we not

  Faint-hearted from defence of fatherland!

  Yet let us go not forth the city-gates

  To battle with yon foe. Nay, from our towers 40

  And from our ramparts let us make defence,

  Till our new champion come, the stormy heart

  Of Memnon. Lo, he cometh, leading on

  Hosts numberless, Aethiopia’s swarthy sons.

  By this, I trow, he is nigh unto our gates;

  For long ago, in sore distress of soul,

  I sent him urgent summons. Yea, and he

  Promised me, gladly promised me, to come

  To Troy, and make all end of all our woes.

  And now, I trust, he is nigh. Let us endure 50

  A little longer then; for better far

  It is like brave men in the fight to die

  Than flee, and live in shame mid alien fo1k.”

  So spake the old king; but Polydamas,

  The prudent-hearted, thought not good to war

  Thus endlessly, and spake his patriot rede:

  “If Memnon have beyond all shadow of doubt

  Pledged him to thrust dire ruin far from us,

  Then do I gainsay not that we await

  The coming of that godlike man within 60

  Our walls — yet, ah, mine heart misgives me, lest,

  Though he with all his warriors come, he come

  But to his death, and unto thousands more,

  Our people, nought but misery come thereof;

  For terribly against us leaps the storm

  Of the Achaeans’ might. But now, go to,

  Let us not flee afar from this our Troy

  To wander to some alien land, and there,

  In the exile’s pitiful helplessness, endure

  All flouts and outrage; nor in our own land 70

  Abide we till the storm of Argive war

  O’erwhelm us. Nay, even now, late though it be,

  Better it were for us to render back

  Unto the Danaans Helen and her wealth,

  Even all that glory of women brought with her

  From Sparta, and add other treasure — yea,

  Repay it twofold, so to save our Troy

  And our own souls, while yet the spoiler’s hand

  Is laid not on our substance, and while yet

  Troy hath not sunk in gulfs of ravening flame. 80

  I pray you, take to heart my counsel! None

  Shall, well I wot, be given to Trojan men

  Better than this. Ah, would that long ago

  Hector had hearkened to my pleading, when

  I fain had kept him in the ancient home!”

  So spake Polydamas the noble and strong,

  And all the listening Trojans in their hearts

  Approved; yet none dared utter openly

  The word, for all with trembling held in awe

  Their prince and Helen, though for her sole sake 90

  Daily they died. But on that noble man

  Turned Paris, and reviled him to his face:

  “Thou dastard battle-blencher Polydamas!

  Not in thy craven bosom beats a heart

  That bides the fight, but only fear and panic.

  Yet dost thou vaunt thee — quotha! — still our best

  In counsel! — no man’s soul is base as thine!

  Go to, thyself shrink shivering from the strife!

  Cower, coward, in thine halls! But all the rest,

  We men, will still go armour-girt, until 100

  We wrest from this our truceless war a peace

  That shall not shame us! ’Tis with travail and toil

  Of strenuous war that brave men win renown;

  But flight? — weak women choose it, and young babes!

  Thy spirit is like to theirs. No whit I trust

  Thee in the day of battle — thee, the man

  Who maketh faint the hearts of all the host!”

  So fiercely he reviled: Polydamas

  Wrathfully answered; for he shrank not, he,

  From answering to his face. A caitiff hound, 110

  A reptile fool, is he who fawns on men

  Before their faces, while his heart is black

  With malice, and, when they be gone, his tongue

  Backbites them. Openly Polydamas

  Flung back upon the prince his taunt and scoff:

  “O thou of living men most mischievous!

  Thy valour — quotha! — brings us misery!

  Thine heart endures, and will endure, that strife

  Should have no limit, save in utter ruin

  Of fatherland and people for thy sake! 120

  Ne’er may such wantwit valour craze my soul!

  Be mine to cherish wise discretion aye,

  A warder that shall keep mine house in peace.”

  Indignantly he spake, and Paris found

  No word to answer him, for conscience woke

  Remembrance of all woes he had brought on Troy,

  And should bring; for his passion-fevered heart

  Would rather hail quick death than severance

  From Helen the divinely fair, although

  For her sake was it that the sons of Troy 130

  Even then were gazing from their towers to see

  The Argives and Achilles drawing nigh.

  But no long time thereafter came to them

  Memnon the warrior-king, and brought with him

  A countless host of swarthy Aethiops.

  From all the streets of Troy
the Trojans flocked

  Glad-eyed to gaze on him, as seafarers,

  With ruining tempest utterly forspent,

  See through wide-parting clouds the radiance

  Of the eternal-wheeling Northern Wain; 140

  So joyed the Troyfolk as they thronged around,

  And more than all Laomedon’s son, for now

  Leapt in his heart a hope, that yet the ships

  Might by those Aethiop men be burned with fire;

  So giantlike their king was, and themselves

  So huge a host, and so athirst for fight.

  Therefore with all observance welcomed he

  The strong son of the Lady of the Dawn

  With goodly gifts and with abundant cheer.

  So at the banquet King and Hero sat 150

  And talked, this telling of the Danaan chiefs,

  And all the woes himself had suffered, that

  Telling of that strange immortality

  By the Dawn-goddess given to his sire,

  Telling of the unending flow and ebb

  Of the Sea-mother, of the sacred flood

  Of Ocean fathomless-rolling, of the bounds

  Of Earth that wearieth never of her travail,

  Of where the Sun-steeds leap from orient waves,

  Telling withal of all his wayfaring 160

  From Ocean’s verge to Priam’s wall, and spurs

  Of Ida. Yea, he told how his strong hands

  Smote the great army of the Solymi

  Who barred his way, whose deed presumptuous brought

  Upon their own heads crushing ruin and woe.

  So told he all that marvellous tale, and told

  Of countless tribes and nations seen of him.

  And Priam heard, and ever glowed his heart

  Within him; and the old lips answering spake:

  “Memnon, the Gods are good, who have vouchsafed 170

  To me to look upon thine host, and thee

  Here in mine halls. O that their grace would so

  Crown this their boon, that I might see my foes

  All thrust to one destruction by thy spears.

  That well may be, for marvellous-like art thou

  To some invincible Deathless One, yea, more

  Than any earthly hero. Wherefore thou,

  I trust, shalt hurl wild havoc through their host.

  But now, I pray thee, for this day do thou

  Cheer at my feast thine heart, and with the morn 180

  Shalt thou go forth to battle worthy of thee.”

  Then in his hands a chalice deep and wide

  He raised, and Memnon in all love he pledged

  In that huge golden cup, a gift of Gods;

  For this the cunning God-smith brought to Zeus,

  His masterpiece, what time the Mighty in Power

  To Hephaestus gave for bride the Cyprian Queen;

  And Zeus on Dardanus his godlike son

  Bestowed it, he on Erichthonius;

  Erichthonius to Tros the great of heart 190

  Gave it, and he with all his treasure-store

  Bequeathed it unto Ilus, and he gave

  That wonder to Laomedon, and he

  To Priam, who had thought to leave the same

  To his own son. Fate ordered otherwise.

  And Memnon clasped his hands about that cup

  So peerless-beautiful, and all his heart

  Marvelled; and thus he spake unto the King:

  “Beseems not with great swelling words to vaunt

  Amidst the feast, and lavish promises, 200

  But rather quietly to eat in hall,

  And to devise deeds worthy. Whether I

  Be brave and strong, or whether I be not,

  Battle, wherein a man’s true might is seen,

  Shall prove to thee. Now would I rest, nor drink

  The long night through. The battle-eager spirit

  By measureless wine and lack of sleep is dulled.”

  Marvelled at him the old King, and he said:

  “As seems thee good touching the banquet, do

  After thy pleasure. I, when thou art loth, 210

  Will not constrain thee. Yea, unmeet it is

  To hold back him who fain would leave the board,

  Or hurry from one’s halls who fain would stay.

  So is the good old law with all true men.”

  Then rose that champion from the board, and passed

  Thence to his sleep — his last! And with him went

  All others from the banquet to their rest:

  And gentle sleep slid down upon them soon.

  But in the halls of Zeus, the Lightning-lord,

  Feasted the gods the while, and Cronos’ son, 220

  All-father, of his deep foreknowledge spake

  Amidst them of the issue of the strife:

  “Be it known unto you all, to-morn shall bring

  By yonder war affliction swift and sore;

  For many mighty horses shall ye see

  In either host beside their chariots slain,

  And many heroes perishing. Therefore ye

  Remember these my words, howe’er ye grieve

  For dear ones. Let none clasp my knees in prayer,

  Since even to us relentless are the fates.” 230

  So warned he them, which knew before, that all

  Should from the battle stand aside, howe’er

  Heart-wrung; that none, petitioning for a son

  Or dear one, should to Olympus vainly come.

  So, at that warning of the Thunderer,

  The Son of Cronos, all they steeled their hearts

  To bear, and spake no word against their king;

  For in exceeding awe they stood of him.

  Yet to their several mansions and their rest

  With sore hearts went they. O’er their deathless eyes 240

  The blessing-bringer Sleep his light veils spread.

  When o’er precipitous crests of mountain-walls

  Leapt up broad heaven the bright morning-star

  Who rouseth to their toils from slumber sweet

  The binders of the sheaf, then his last sleep

  Unclasped the warrior-son of her who brings

  Light to the world, the Child of Mists of Night.

  Now swelled his mighty heart with eagerness

  To battle with the foe forthright. And Dawn

  With most reluctant feet began to climb 250

  Heaven’s broad highway. Then did the Trojans gird

  Their battle-harness on; then armed themselves

  The Aethiop men, and all the mingled tribes

  Of those war-helpers that from many lands

  To Priam’s aid were gathered. Forth the gates

  Swiftly they rushed, like darkly lowering clouds

  Which Cronos’ Son, when storm is rolling up,

  Herdeth together through the welkin wide.

  Swiftly the whole plain filled. Onward they streamed

  Like harvest-ravaging locusts drifting on 260

  In fashion of heavy-brooding rain-clouds o’er

  Wide plains of earth, an irresistible host

  Bringing wan famine on the sons of men;

  So in their might and multitude they went.

  The city streets were all too strait for them

  Marching: upsoared the dust from underfoot.

  From far the Argives gazed, and marvelling saw

  Their onrush, but with speed arrayed their limbs

  In brass, and in the might of Peleus’ son

  Put their glad trust. Amidst them rode he on 270

  Like to a giant Titan, glorying

  In steeds and chariot, while his armour flashed

  Splendour around in sudden lightning-gleams.

  It was as when the sun from utmost bounds

  Of earth-encompassing ocean comes, and brings

  Light to the world, and flings his splendour wide

  Through heaven, and earth and air laugh all
around.

  So glorious, mid the Argives Peleus’ son

  Rode onward. Mid the Trojans rode the while

  Memnon the hero, even such to see 280

  As Ares furious-hearted. Onward swept

  The eager host arrayed about their lord.

  Then in the grapple of war on either side

  Closed the long lines, Trojan and Danaan;

  But chief in prowess still the Aethiops were.

  Crashed they together as when surges meet

  On the wild sea, when, in a day of storm,

  From every quarter winds to battle rush.

  Foe hurled at foe the ashen spear, and slew:

  Screams and death-groans went up like roaring fire. 290

  As when down-thundering torrents shout and rave

  On-pouring seaward, when the madding rains

  Stream from God’s cisterns, when the huddling clouds

  Are hurled against each other ceaselessly,

  And leaps their fiery breath in flashes forth;

  So ‘neath the fighters’ trampling feet the earth

  Thundered, and leapt the terrible battle-yell

  Through frenzied air, for mad the war-cries were.

  For firstfruits of death’s harvest Peleus’ son

  Slew Thalius and Mentes nobly born, 300

  Men of renown, and many a head beside

  Dashed he to dust. As in its furious swoop

  A whirlwind shakes dark chasms underground,

  And earth’s foundations crumble and melt away

  Around the deep roots of the shuddering world,

  So the ranks crumbled in swift doom to the dust

  Before the spear and fury of Peleus’s son.

  But on the other side the hero child

  Of the Dawn-goddess slew the Argive men,

  Like to a baleful Doom which bringeth down 310

  On men a grim and ghastly pestilence.

  First slew he Pheron; for the bitter spear

  Plunged through his breast, and down on him he hurled

  Goodly Ereuthus, battle-revellers both,

  Dwellers in Thryus by Alpheus’ streams,

  Which followed Nestor to the god-built burg

  Of Ilium. But when he had laid these low,

  Against the son of Neleus pressed he on

  Eager to slay. Godlike Antilochus

  Strode forth to meet him, sped the long spear’s flight, 320

  Yet missed him, for a little he swerved, but slew

  His Aethiop comrade, son of Pyrrhasus.

  Wroth for his fall, against Antilochus

  He leapt, as leaps a lion mad of mood