Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

Scowled on him all the Immortals who maintained

  The Danaans’ cause; but such as fain would bring

  Triumph to Troy, these with exultant hearts

  Extolled him, hiding it from Hera’s eyes, 160

  Before whose wrath all Heaven-abiders shrank.

  But Peleus’ son the while forgat not yet

  War’s fury: still in his invincible limbs

  The hot blood throbbed, and still he longed for fight.

  Was none of all the Trojans dared draw nigh

  The stricken hero, but at distance stood,

  As round a wounded lion hunters stand

  Mid forest-brakes afraid, and, though the shaft

  Stands in his heart, yet faileth not in him

  His royal courage, but with terrible glare 170

  Roll his fierce eyes, and roar his grimly jaws;

  So wrath and anguish of his deadly hurt

  To fury stung Peleides’ soul; but aye

  His strength ebbed through the god-envenomed wound.

  Yet leapt he up, and rushed upon the foe,

  And flashed the lightning of his lance; it slew

  The goodly Orythaon, comrade stout

  Of Hector, through his temples crashing clear:

  His helm stayed not the long lance fury-sped

  Which leapt therethrough, and won within the bones 180

  The heart of the brain, and spilt his lusty life.

  Then stabbed he ‘neath the brow Hipponous

  Even to the eye-roots, that the eyeball fell

  To earth: his soul to Hades flitted forth.

  Then through the jaw he pierced Alcathous,

  And shore away his tongue: in dust he fell

  Gasping his life out, and the spear-head shot

  Out through his ear. These, as they rushed on him,

  That hero slew; but many a fleer’s life

  He spilt, for in his heart still leapt the blood. 190

  But when his limbs grew chill, and ebbed away

  His spirit, leaning on his spear he stood,

  While still the Trojans fled in huddled rout

  Of panic, and he shouted unto them:

  “Trojan and Dardan cravens, ye shall not

  Even in my death, escape my merciless spear,

  But unto mine Avenging Spirits ye

  Shall pay — ay, one and all — destruction’s debt!”

  He spake; they heard and quailed: as mid the hills

  Fawns tremble at a lion’s deep-mouthed roar, 200

  And terror-stricken flee the monster, so

  The ranks of Trojan chariot-lords, the lines

  Of battle-helpers drawn from alien lands,

  Quailed at the last shout of Achilles, deemed

  That he was woundless yet. But ‘neath the weight

  Of doom his aweless heart, his mighty limbs,

  At last were overborne. Down midst the dead

  He fell, as fails a beetling mountain-cliff.

  Earth rang beneath him: clanged with a thundercrash

  His arms, as Peleus’ son the princely fell. 210

  And still his foes with most exceeding dread

  Stared at him, even as, when some murderous beast

  Lies slain by shepherds, tremble still the sheep

  Eyeing him, as beside the fold he lies,

  And shrinking, as they pass him, far aloof

  And, even as he were living, fear him dead;

  So feared they him, Achilles now no more.

  Yet Paris strove to kindle those faint hearts;

  For his own heart exulted, and he hoped,

  Now Peleus’ son, the Danaans’ strength, had fallen, 220

  Wholly to quench the Argive battle-fire:

  “Friends, if ye help me truly and loyally,

  Let us this day die, slain by Argive men,

  Or live, and hale to Troy with Hector’s steeds

  In triumph Peleus’ son thus fallen dead,

  The steeds that, grieving, yearning for their lord

  To fight have borne me since my brother died.

  Might we with these but hale Achilles slain,

  Glory were this for Hector’s horses, yea,

  For Hector — if in Hades men have sense 230

  Of righteous retribution. This man aye

  Devised but mischief for the sons of Troy;

  And now Troy’s daughters with exultant hearts

  From all the city streets shall gather round,

  As pantheresses wroth for stolen cubs,

  Or lionesses, might stand around a man

  Whose craft in hunting vexed them while he lived.

  So round Achilles — a dead corpse at last! —

  In hurrying throngs Troy’s daughters then shall come

  In unforgiving, unforgetting hate, 240

  For parents wroth, for husbands slain, for sons,

  For noble kinsmen. Most of all shall joy

  My father, and the ancient men, whose feet

  Unwillingly are chained within the walls

  By eld, if we shall hale him through our gates,

  And give our foe to fowls of the air for meat.”

  Then they, which feared him theretofore, in haste

  Closed round the corpse of strong-heart Aeacus’ son,

  Glaucus, Aeneas, battle-fain Agenor,

  And other cunning men in deadly fight, 250

  Eager to hale him thence to Ilium

  The god-built burg. But Aias failed him not.

  Swiftly that godlike man bestrode the dead:

  Back from the corpse his long lance thrust them all.

  Yet ceased they not from onslaught; thronging round,

  Still with swift rushes fought they for the prize,

  One following other, like to long-lipped bees

  Which hover round their hive in swarms on swarms

  To drive a man thence; but he, recking naught

  Of all their fury, carveth out the combs 260

  Of nectarous honey: harassed sore are they

  By smoke-reek and the robber; spite of all

  Ever they dart against him; naught cares he;

  So naught of all their onsets Aias recked;

  But first he stabbed Agelaus in the breast,

  And slew that son of Maion: Thestor next:

  Ocythous he smote, Agestratus,

  Aganippus, Zorus, Nessus, Erymas

  The war-renowned, who came from Lycia-land

  With mighty-hearted Glaucus, from his home 270

  In Melanippion on the mountain-ridge,

  Athena’s fane, which Massikyton fronts

  Anigh Chelidonia’s headland, dreaded sore

  Of scared seafarers, when its lowering crags

  Must needs be doubled. For his death the blood

  Of famed Hippolochus’ son was horror-chilled;

  For this was his dear friend. With one swift thrust

  He pierced the sevenfold hides of Aias’ shield,

  Yet touched his flesh not; stayed the spear-head was

  By those thick hides and by the corset-plate 280

  Which lapped his battle-tireless limbs. But still

  From that stern conflict Glaucus drew not back,

  Burning to vanquish Aias, Aeacus’ son,

  And in his folly vaunting threatened him:

  “Aias, men name thee mightiest man of all

  The Argives, hold thee in passing-high esteem

  Even as Achilles: therefore thou, I wot,

  By that dead warrior dead this day shalt lie!”

  So hurled he forth a vain word, knowing not

  How far in might above him was the man 290

  Whom his spear threatened. Battle-bider Aias

  Darkly and scornfully glaring on him, said

  “Thou craven wretch, and knowest thou not this,

  How much was Hector mightier than thou

  In war-craft? yet before my might, my spear,

  He shrank. Ay, with his valour was there blent

/>   Discretion. Thou thy thoughts are deathward set,

  Who dar’st defy me to the battle, me,

  A mightier far than thou! Thou canst not say

  That friendship of our fathers thee shall screen; 300

  Nor me thy gifts shall wile to let thee pass

  Scatheless from war, as once did Tydeus’ son.

  Though thou didst ‘scape his fury, will not I

  Suffer thee to return alive from war.

  Ha, in thy many helpers dost thou trust

  Who with thee, like so many worthless flies,

  Flit round the noble Achilles’ corpse? To these

  Death and black doom shall my swift onset deal.”

  Then on the Trojans this way and that he turned,

  As mid long forest-glens a lion turns 310

  On hounds, and Trojans many and Lycians slew

  That came for honour hungry, till he stood

  Mid a wide ring of flinchers; like a shoal

  Of darting fish when sails into their midst

  Dolphin or shark, a huge sea-fosterling;

  So shrank they from the might of Telamon’s son,

  As aye he charged amidst the rout. But still

  Swarmed fighters up, till round Achilles’ corse

  To right, to left, lay in the dust the slain

  Countless, as boars around a lion at bay; 320

  And evermore the strife waxed deadlier.

  Then too Hippolochus’ war-wise son was slain

  By Aias of the heart of fire. He fell

  Backward upon Achilles, even as falls

  A sapling on a sturdy mountain-oak;

  So quelled by the spear on Peleus’ son he fell.

  But for his rescue Anchises’ stalwart son

  Strove hard, with all his comrades battle-fain,

  And haled the corse forth, and to sorrowing friends

  Gave it, to bear to Ilium’s hallowed burg. 330

  Himself to spoil Achilles still fought on,

  Till warrior Aias pierced him with the spear

  Through the right forearm. Swiftly leapt he back

  From murderous war, and hasted thence to Troy.

  There for his healing cunning leeches wrought,

  Who stanched the blood-rush, and laid on the gash

  Balms, such as salve war-stricken warriors’ pangs.

  But Aias still fought on: here, there he slew

  With thrusts like lightning-flashes. His great heart

  Ached sorely for his mighty cousin slain. 340

  And now the warrior-king Laertes’ son

  Fought at his side: before him blenched the foe,

  As he smote down Peisander’s fleetfoot son,

  The warrior Maenalus, who left his home

  In far-renowned Abydos: down on him

  He hurled Atymnius, the goodly son

  Whom Pegasis the bright-haired Nymph had borne

  To strong Emathion by Granicus’ stream.

  Dead by his side he laid Orestius’ son,

  Proteus, who dwelt ‘neath lofty Ida’s folds. 350

  Ah, never did his mother welcome home

  That son from war, Panaceia beauty-famed!

  He fell by Odysseus’ hands, who spilt the lives

  Of many more whom his death-hungering spear

  Reached in that fight around the mighty dead.

  Yet Alcon, son of Megacles battle-swift,

  Hard by Odysseus’ right knee drave the spear

  Home, and about the glittering greave the blood

  Dark-crimsom welled. He recked not of the wound,

  But was unto his smiter sudden death; 360

  For clear through his shield he stabbed him with his spear

  Amidst his battle-fury: to the earth

  Backward he dashed him by his giant might

  And strength of hand: clashed round him in the dust

  His armour, and his corslet was distained

  With crimson life-blood. Forth from flesh and shield

  The hero plucked the spear of death: the soul

  Followed the lance-head from the body forth,

  And life forsook its mortal mansion. Then

  Rushed on his comrades, in his wound’s despite, 370

  Odysseus, nor from that stern battle-toil

  Refrained him. And by this a mingled host

  Of Danaans eager-hearted fought around

  The mighty dead, and many and many a foe

  Slew they with those smooth-shafted ashen spears.

  Even as the winds strew down upon the ground

  The flying leaves, when through the forest-glades

  Sweep the wild gusts, as waneth autumn-tide,

  And the old year is dying; so the spears

  Of dauntless Danaans strewed the earth with slain, 380

  For loyal to dead Achilles were they all,

  And loyal to hero Aias to the death.

  For like black Doom he blasted the ranks of Troy.

  Then against Aias Paris strained his bow;

  But he was ware thereof, and sped a stone

  Swift to the archer’s head: that bolt of death

  Crashed through his crested helm, and darkness closed

  Round him. In dust down fell he: naught availed

  His shafts their eager lord, this way and that

  Scattered in dust: empty his quiver lay, 390

  Flew from his hand the bow. In haste his friends

  Upcaught him from the earth, and Hector’s steeds

  Hurried him thence to Troy, scarce drawing breath,

  And moaning in his pain. Nor left his men

  The weapons of their lord, but gathered up

  All from the plain, and bare them to the prince;

  While Aias after him sent a wrathful shout:

  “Dog, thou hast ‘scaped the heavy hand of death

  To-day! But swiftly thy last hour shall come

  By some strong Argive’s hands, or by mine own, 400

  But now have I a nobler task in hand,

  From murder’s grip to rescue Achilles’ corse.”

  Then turned he on the foe, hurling swift doom

  On such as fought around Peleides yet.

  ‘These saw how many yielded up the ghost

  Neath his strong hands, and, with hearts failing them

  For fear, against him could they stand no more.

  As rascal vultures were they, which the swoop

  Of an eagle, king of birds, scares far away

  From carcasses of sheep that wolves have torn; 410

  So this way, that way scattered they before

  The hurtling stones, the sword, the might of Aias.

  In utter panic from the war they fled,

  In huddled rout, like starlings from the swoop

  Of a death-dealing hawk, when, fleeing bane,

  One drives against another, as they dart

  All terror-huddled in tumultuous flight.

  So from the war to Priam’s burg they fled

  Wretchedly clad with terror as a cloak,

  Quailing from mighty Aias’ battle-shout, 420

  As with hands dripping blood-gouts he pursued.

  Yea, all, one after other, had he slain,

  Had they not streamed through city-gates flung wide

  Hard-panting, pierced to the very heart with fear.

  Pent therewithin he left them, as a shepherd

  Leaves folded sheep, and strode back o’er the plain;

  Yet never touched he with his feet the ground,

  But aye he trod on dead men, arms, and blood;

  For countless corpses lay o’er that wide stretch

  Even from broad-wayed Troy to Hellespont, 430

  Bodies of strong men slain, the spoil of Doom.

  As when the dense stalks of sun-ripened corn

  Fall ‘neath the reapers’ hands, and the long swaths,

  Heavy with full ears, overspread the field,

  And joys the heart of him who oversees
/>
  The toil, lord of the harvest; even so,

  By baleful havoc overmastered, lay

  All round face-downward men remembering not

  The death-denouncing war-shout. But the sons

  Of fair Achaea left their slaughtered foes 440

  In dust and blood unstripped of arms awhile

  Till they should lay upon the pyre the son

  Of Peleus, who in battle-shock had been

  Their banner of victory, charging in his might.

  So the kings drew him from that stricken field

  Straining beneath the weight of giant limbs,

  And with all loving care they bore him on,

  And laid him in his tent before the ships.

  And round him gathered that great host, and wailed

  Heart-anguished him who had been the Achaeans’ strength, 450

  And now, forgotten all the splendour of spears,

  Lay mid the tents by moaning Hellespont,

  In stature more than human, even as lay

  Tityos, who sought to force Queen Leto, when

  She fared to Pytho: swiftly in his wrath

  Apollo shot, and laid him low, who seemed

  Invincible: in a foul lake of gore

  There lay he, covering many a rood of ground,

  On the broad earth, his mother; and she moaned

  Over her son, of blessed Gods abhorred; 460

  But Lady Leto laughed. So grand of mould

  There in the foemen’s land lay Aeacus’ son,

  For joy to Trojans, but for endless grief

  To Achaean men lamenting. Moaned the air

  With sighing from the abysses of the sea;

  And passing heavy grew the hearts of all,

  Thinking: “Now shall we perish by the hands

  Of Trojans!” Then by those dark ships they thought

  Of white-haired fathers left in halls afar,

  Of wives new-wedded, who by couches cold 470

  Mourned, waiting, waiting, with their tender babes

  For husbands unreturning; and they groaned

  In bitterness of soul. A passion of grief

  Came o’er their hearts; they fell upon their faces

  On the deep sand flung down, and wept as men

  All comfortless round Peleus’ mighty son,

  And clutched and plucked out by the roots their hair,

  And east upon their heads defiling sand.

  Their cry was like the cry that goeth up

  From folk that after battle by their walls 480

  Are slaughtered, when their maddened foes set fire

  To a great city, and slay in heaps on heaps

  Her people, and make spoil of all her wealth;

  So wild and high they wailed beside the sea,

  Because the Danaans’ champion, Aeacus’ son,