Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

  In that grim wrestle strained their uttermost,

  They and their dauntless comrades, round their kings

  With ceaseless fury toiling, till their spears

  Stood shivered all in shields of warriors slain,

  And of the fighters woundless none remained;

  But from all limbs streamed down into the dust

  The blood and sweat of that unresting strain

  Of fight, and earth was hidden with the dead,

  As heaven is hidden with clouds when meets the sun 660

  The Goat-star, and the shipman dreads the deep.

  As charged the lines, the snorting chariot-steeds

  Trampled the dead, as on the myriad leaves

  Ye trample in the woods at entering-in

  Of winter, when the autumn-tide is past.

  Still mid the corpses and the blood fought on

  Those glorious sons of Gods, nor ever ceased

  From wrath of fight. But Eris now inclined

  The fatal scales of battle, which no more

  Were equal-poised. Beneath the breast-bone then 670

  Of godlike Memnon plunged Achilles’ sword;

  Clear through his body all the dark-blue blade

  Leapt: suddenly snapped the silver cord of life.

  Down in a pool of blood he fell, and clashed

  His massy armour, and earth rang again.

  Then turned to flight his comrades panic-struck,

  And of his arms the Myrmidons stripped the dead,

  While fled the Trojans, and Achilles chased,

  As whirlwind swift and mighty to destroy.

  Then groaned the Dawn, and palled herself in clouds, 680

  And earth was darkened. At their mother’s hest

  All the light Breathings of the Dawn took hands,

  And slid down one 1ong stream of sighing wind

  To Priam’s plain, and floated round the dead,

  And softly, swiftly caught they up, and bare

  Through silver mists the Dawn-queen’s son, with hearts

  Sore aching for their brother’s fall, while moaned

  Around them all the air. As on they passed,

  Fell many blood-gouts from those pierced limbs

  Down to the earth, and these were made a sign 690

  To generations yet to be. The Gods

  Gathered them up from many lands, and made

  Thereof a far-resounding river, named

  Of all that dwell beneath long Ida’s flanks

  Paphlagoneion. As its waters flow

  ‘Twixt fertile acres, once a year they turn

  To blood, when comes the woeful day whereon

  Died Memnon. Thence a sick and choking reek

  Steams: thou wouldst say that from a wound unhealed

  Corrupting humours breathed an evil stench. 700

  Ay, so the Gods ordained: but now flew on

  Bearing Dawn’s mighty son the rushing winds

  Skimming earth’s face and palled about with night.

  Nor were his Aethiopian comrades left

  To wander of their King forlorn: a God

  Suddenly winged those eager souls with speed

  Such as should soon be theirs for ever, changed

  To flying fowl, the children of the air.

  Wailing their King in the winds’ track they sped.

  As when a hunter mid the forest-brakes 710

  Is by a boar or grim-jawed lion slain,

  And now his sorrowing friends take up the corse,

  And bear it heavy-hearted; and the hounds

  Follow low-whimpering, pining for their lord

  In that disastrous hunting lost; so they

  Left far behind that stricken field of blood,

  And fast they followed after those swift winds

  With multitudinous moaning, veiled in mist

  Unearthly. Trojans over all the plain

  And Danaans marvelled, seeing that great host 720

  Vanishing with their King. All hearts stood still

  In dumb amazement. But the tireless winds

  Sighing set hero Memnon’s giant corpse

  Down by the deep flow of Aesopus’ stream,

  Where is a fair grove of the bright-haired Nymphs,

  The which round his long barrow afterward

  Aesopus’ daughters planted, screening it

  With many and manifold trees: and long and loud

  Wailed those Immortals, chanting his renown,

  The son of the Dawn-goddess splendour-throned. 730

  Now sank the sun: the Lady of the Morn

  Wailing her dear child from the heavens came down.

  Twelve maidens shining-tressed attended her,

  The warders of the high paths of the sun

  For ever circling, warders of the night

  And dawn, and each world-ordinance framed of Zeus,

  Around whose mansion’s everlasting doors

  From east to west they dance, from west to east,

  Whirling the wheels of harvest-laden years,

  While rolls the endless round of winter’s cold, 740

  And flowery spring, and lovely summer-tide,

  And heavy-clustered autumn. These came down

  From heaven, for Memnon wailing wild and high;

  And mourned with these the Pleiads. Echoed round

  Far-stretching mountains, and Aesopus’ stream.

  Ceaseless uprose the keen, and in their midst,

  Fallen on her son and clasping, wailed the Dawn;

  “Dead art thou, dear, dear child, and thou hast clad

  Thy mother with a pall of grief. Oh, I,

  Now thou art slain, will not endure to light 750

  The Immortal Heavenly Ones! No, I will plunge

  Down to the dread depths of the underworld,

  Where thy lone spirit flitteth to and fro,

  And will to blind night leave earth, sky, and sea,

  Till Chaos and formless darkness brood o’er all,

  That Cronos’ Son may also learn what means

  Anguish of heart. For not less worship-worthy

  Than Nereus’ Child, by Zeus’s ordinance,

  Am I, who look on all things, I, who bring

  All to their consummation. Recklessly 760

  My light Zeus now despiseth! Therefore I

  Will pass into the darkness. Let him bring

  Up to Olympus Thetis from the sea

  To hold for him light forth to Gods and men!

  My sad soul loveth darkness more than day,

  Lest I pour light upon thy slayer’s head”

  Thus as she cried, the tears ran down her face

  Immortal, like a river brimming aye:

  Drenched was the dark earth round the corse. The Night

  Grieved in her daughter’s anguish, and the heaven 770

  Drew over all his stars a veil of mist

  And cloud, of love unto the Lady of Light.

  Meanwhile within their walls the Trojan folk

  For Memnon sorrowed sore, with vain regret

  Yearning for that lost king and all his host.

  Nor greatly joyed the Argives, where they lay

  Camped in the open plain amidst the dead.

  There, mingled with Achilles’ praise, uprose

  Wails for Antilochus: joy clasped hands with grief.

  All night in groans and sighs most pitiful 780

  The Dawn-queen lay: a sea of darkness moaned

  Around her. Of the dayspring nought she recked:

  She loathed Olympus’ spaces. At her side

  Fretted and whinnied still her fleetfoot steeds,

  Trampling the strange earth, gazing at their Queen

  Grief-stricken, yearning for the fiery course.

  Suddenly crashed the thunder of the wrath

  Of Zeus; rocked round her all the shuddering earth,

  And on immortal Eos trembling came.

  Swiftly the dark-skinned Aethiops from her sight
790

  Buried their lord lamenting. As they wailed

  Unceasingly, the Dawn-queen lovely-eyed

  Changed them to birds sweeping through air around

  The barrow of the mighty dead. And these

  Still do the tribes of men “The Memnons” call;

  And still with wailing cries they dart and wheel

  Above their king’s tomb, and they scatter dust

  Down on his grave, still shrill the battle-cry,

  In memory of Memnon, each to each.

  But he in Hades’ mansions, or perchance 800

  Amid the Blessed on the Elysian Plain,

  Laugheth. Divine Dawn comforteth her heart

  Beholding them: but theirs is toil of strife

  Unending, till the weary victors strike

  The vanquished dead, or one and all fill up

  The measure of their doom around his grave.

  So by command of Eos, Lady of Light,

  The swift birds dree their weird. But Dawn divine

  Now heavenward soared with the all-fostering Hours,

  Who drew her to Zeus’ threshold, sorely loth, 810

  Yet conquered by their gentle pleadings, such

  As salve the bitterest grief of broken hearts.

  Nor the Dawn-queen forgat her daily course,

  But quailed before the unbending threat of Zeus,

  Of whom are all things, even all comprised

  Within the encircling sweep of Ocean’s stream,

  Earth and the palace-dome of burning stars.

  Before her went her Pleiad-harbingers,

  Then she herself flung wide the ethereal gates,

  And, scattering spray of splendour, flashed there-through. 820

  BOOK III. HOW BY THE SHAFT OF A GOD LAID LOW WAS HERO ACHILLES.

  When shone the light of Dawn the splendour-throned,

  Then to the ships the Pylian spearmen bore

  Antilochus’ corpse, sore sighing for their prince,

  And by the Hellespont they buried him

  With aching hearts. Around him groaning stood

  The battle-eager sons of Argives, all,

  Of love for Nestor, shrouded o’er with grief.

  But that grey hero’s heart was nowise crushed

  By sorrow; for the wise man’s soul endures

  Bravely, and cowers not under affliction’s stroke. 10

  But Peleus’ son, wroth for Antilochus

  His dear friend, armed for vengeance terrible

  Upon the Trojans. Yea, and these withal,

  Despite their dread of mighty Achilles’ spear,

  Poured battle-eager forth their gates, for now

  The Fates with courage filled their breasts, of whom

  Many were doomed to Hades to descend,

  Whence there is no return, thrust down by hands

  Of Aeacus’ son, who also was foredoomed

  To perish that same day by Priam’s wall. 20

  Swift met the fronts of conflict: all the tribes

  Of Troy’s host, and the battle-biding Greeks,

  Afire with that new-kindled fury of war.

  Then through the foe the son of Peleus made

  Wide havoc: all around the earth was drenched

  With gore, and choked with corpses were the streams

  Of Simois and Xanthus. Still he chased,

  Still slaughtered, even to the city’s walls;

  For panic fell on all the host. And now

  All had he slain, had dashed the gates to earth, 30

  Rending them from their hinges, or the bolts,

  Hurling himself against them, had he snapped,

  And for the Danaans into Priam’s burg

  Had made a way, had utterly destroyed

  That goodly town — but now was Phoebus wroth

  Against him with grim fury, when he saw

  Those countless troops of heroes slain of him.

  Down from Olympus with a lion-leap

  He came: his quiver on his shoulders lay,

  And shafts that deal the wounds incurable. 40

  Facing Achilles stood he; round him clashed

  Quiver and arrows; blazed with quenchless flame

  His eyes, and shook the earth beneath his feet.

  Then with a terrible shout the great God cried,

  So to turn back from war Achilles awed

  By the voice divine, and save from death the Trojans:

  “Back from the Trojans, Peleus’ son! Beseems not

  That longer thou deal death unto thy foes,

  Lest an Olympian God abase thy pride.”

  But nothing quailed the hero at the voice 50

  Immortal, for that round him even now

  Hovered the unrelenting Fates. He recked

  Naught of the God, and shouted his defiance.

  “Phoebus, why dost thou in mine own despite

  Stir me to fight with Gods, and wouldst protect

  The arrogant Trojans? Heretofore hast thou

  By thy beguiling turned me from the fray,

  When from destruction thou at the first didst save

  Hector, whereat the Trojans all through Troy

  Exulted. Nay, thou get thee back: return 60

  Unto the mansion of the Blessed, lest

  I smite thee — ay, immortal though thou be!”

  Then on the God he turned his back, and sped

  After the Trojans fleeing cityward,

  And harried still their flight; but wroth at heart

  Thus Phoebus spake to his indignant soul:

  “Out on this man! he is sense-bereft! But now

  Not Zeus himself nor any other Power

  Shall save this madman who defies the Gods!”

  From mortal sight he vanished into cloud, 70

  And cloaked with mist a baleful shaft he shot

  Which leapt to Achilles’ ankle: sudden pangs

  With mortal sickness made his whole heart faint.

  He reeled, and like a tower he fell, that falls

  Smit by a whirlwind when an earthquake cleaves

  A chasm for rushing blasts from underground;

  So fell the goodly form of Aeacus’ son.

  He glared, a murderous glance, to right, to left,

  [Upon the Trojans, and a terrible threat]

  Shouted, a threat that could not be fulfilled: 80

  “Who shot at me a stealthy-smiting shaft?

  Let him but dare to meet me face to face!

  So shall his blood and all his bowels gush out

  About my spear, and he be hellward sped!

  I know that none can meet me man to man

  And quell in fight — of earth-born heroes none,

  Though such an one should bear within his breast

  A heart unquailing, and have thews of brass.

  But dastards still in stealthy ambush lurk

  For lives of heroes. Let him face me then! — 90

  Ay! though he be a God whose anger burns

  Against the Danaans! Yea, mine heart forebodes

  That this my smiter was Apollo, cloaked

  In deadly darkness. So in days gone by

  My mother told me how that by his shafts

  I was to die before the Scaean Gates

  A piteous death. Her words were not vain words.”

  Then with unflinching hands from out the wound

  Incurable he drew the deadly shaft

  In agonized pain. Forth gushed the blood; his heart 100

  Waxed faint beneath the shadow of coming doom.

  Then in indignant wrath he hurled from him

  The arrow: a sudden gust of wind swept by,

  And caught it up, and, even as he trod

  Zeus’ threshold, to Apollo gave it back;

  For it beseemed not that a shaft divine,

  Sped forth by an Immortal, should be lost.

  He unto high Olympus swiftly came,

  To the great gathering of immortal Gods,

  Where al
l assembled watched the war of men, 110

  These longing for the Trojans’ triumph, those

  For Danaan victory; so with diverse wills

  Watched they the strife, the slayers and the slain.

  Him did the Bride of Zeus behold, and straight

  Upbraided with exceeding bitter words:

  “What deed of outrage, Phoebus, hast thou done

  This day, forgetful of that day whereon

  To godlike Peleus’ spousals gathered all

  The Immortals? Yea, amidst the feasters thou

  Sangest how Thetis silver-footed left 120

  The sea’s abysses to be Peleus’ bride;

  And as thou harpedst all earth’s children came

  To hearken, beasts and birds, high craggy hills,

  Rivers, and all deep-shadowed forests came.

  All this hast thou forgotten, and hast wrought

  A ruthless deed, hast slain a godlike man,

  Albeit thou with other Gods didst pour

  The nectar, praying that he might be the son

  By Thetis given to Peleus. But that prayer

  Hast thou forgotten, favouring the folk 130

  Of tyrannous Laomedon, whose kine

  Thou keptest. He, a mortal, did despite

  To thee, the deathless! O, thou art wit-bereft!

  Thou favourest Troy, thy sufferings all forgot.

  Thou wretch, and doth thy false heart know not this,

  What man is an offence, and meriteth

  Suffering, and who is honoured of the Gods?

  Ever Achilles showed us reverence — yea,

  Was of our race. Ha, but the punishment

  Of Troy, I ween, shall not be lighter, though 140

  Aeacus’ son have fallen; for his son

  Right soon shall come from Scyros to the war

  To help the Argive men, no less in might

  Than was his sire, a bane to many a foe.

  But thou — thou for the Trojans dost not care,

  But for his valour enviedst Peleus’ son,

  Seeing he was the mightest of all men.

  Thou fool! how wilt thou meet the Nereid’s eyes,

  When she shall stand in Zeus’ hall midst the Gods,

  Who praised thee once, and loved as her own son?” 150

  So Hera spake, in bitterness of soul

  Upbraiding, but he answered her not a word,

  Of reverence for his mighty Father’s bride;

  Nor could he lift his eyes to meet her eyes,

  But sat abashed, aloof from all the Gods

  Eternal, while in unforgiving wrath