Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

  Hath worship mid the Greeks: but utterly

  Have they forgotten me and all my deeds,

  All that I wrought and suffered in their cause.”

  So spake the brave son of strong Telamon,

  Then thrust the sword of Hector through his throat.

  Forth rushed the blood in torrent: in the dust

  Outstretched he lay, like Typhon, when the bolts 560

  Of Zeus had blasted him. Around him groaned

  The dark earth as he fell upon her breast.

  Then thronging came the Danaans, when they saw

  Low laid in dust the hero; but ere then

  None dared draw nigh him, but in deadly fear

  They watched him from afar. Now hasted they

  And flung themselves upon the dead, outstretched

  Upon their faces: on their heads they cast

  Dust, and their wailing went up to the sky.

  As when men drive away the tender lambs 570

  Out of the fleecy flock, to feast thereon,

  And round the desolate pens the mothers leap

  Ceaselessly bleating, so o’er Aias rang

  That day a very great and bitter cry.

  Wild echoes pealed from Ida forest-palled,

  And from the plain, the ships, the boundless sea.

  Then Teucer clasping him was minded too

  To rush on bitter doom: howbeit the rest

  Held from the sword his hand. Anguished he fell

  Upon the dead, outpouring many a tear 580

  More comfortlessly than the orphan babe

  That wails beside the hearth, with ashes strewn

  On head and shoulders, wails bereavement’s day

  That brings death to the mother who hath nursed

  The fatherless child; so wailed he, ever wailed

  His great death-stricken brother, creeping slow

  Around the corpse, and uttering his lament:

  “O Aias, mighty-souled, why was thine heart

  Distraught, that thou shouldst deal unto thyself

  Murder and bale? All, was it that the sons 590

  Of Troy might win a breathing-space from woes,

  Might come and slay the Greeks, now thou art not?

  From these shall all the olden courage fail

  When fast they fall in fight. Their shield from harm

  s broken now! For me, I have no will

  To see mine home again, now thou art dead.

  Nay, but I long here also now to die,

  That so the earth may shroud me — me and thee

  Not for my parents so much do I care,

  If haply yet they live, if haply yet 600

  Spared from the grave, in Salamis they dwell,

  As for thee, O my glory and my crown!”

  So cried he groaning sore; with answering moan

  Queenly Tecmessa wailed, the princess-bride

  Of noble Aias, captive of his spear,

  Yet ta’en by him to wife, and household-queen

  O’er all his substance, even all that wives

  Won with a bride-price rule for wedded lords.

  Clasped in his mighty arms, she bare to him

  A son Eurysaces, in all things like 610

  Unto his father, far as babe might be

  Yet cradled in his tent. With bitter moan

  Fell she on that dear corpse, all her fair form

  Close-shrouded in her veil, and dust-defiled,

  And from her anguished heart cried piteously:

  “Alas for me, for me now thou art dead,

  Not by the hands of foes in fight struck down,

  But by thine own! On me is come a grief

  Ever-abiding! Never had I looked

  To see thy woeful death-day here by Troy. 620

  Ah, visions shattered by rude hands of Fate!

  Oh that the earth had yawned wide for my grave

  Ere I beheld thy bitter doom! On me

  No sharper, more heart-piercing pang hath come —

  No, not when first from fatherland afar

  And parents thou didst bear me, wailing sore

  Mid other captives, when the day of bondage

  Had come on me, a princess theretofore.

  Not for that dear lost home so much I grieve,

  Nor for my parents dead, as now for thee: 630

  For all thine heart was kindness unto me

  The hapless, and thou madest me thy wife,

  One soul with thee; yea, and thou promisedst

  To throne me queen of fair-towered Salamis,

  When home we won from Troy. The Gods denied

  Accomplishment thereof. And thou hast passed

  Unto the Unseen Land: thou hast forgot

  Me and thy child, who never shall make glad

  His father’s heart, shall never mount thy throne.

  But him shall strangers make a wretched thrall: 640

  For when the father is no more, the babe

  Is ward of meaner men. A weary life

  The orphan knows, and suffering cometh in

  From every side upon him like a flood.

  To me too thraldom’s day shall doubtless come,

  Now thou hast died, who wast my god on earth.”

  Then in all kindness Agamemnon spake:

  “Princess, no man on earth shall make thee thrall,

  While Teucer liveth yet, while yet I live.

  Thou shalt have worship of us evermore 650

  And honour as a Goddess, with thy son,

  As though yet living were that godlike man,

  Aias, who was the Achaeans’ chiefest strength.

  Ah that he had not laid this load of grief

  On all, in dying by his own right hand!

  For all the countless armies of his foes

  Never availed to slay him in fair fight.”

  So spake he, grieved to the inmost heart. The folk

  Woefully wafted all round. O’er Hellespont

  Echoes of mourning rolled: the sighing air 660

  Darkened around, a wide-spread sorrow-pall.

  Yea, grief laid hold on wise Odysseus’ self

  For the great dead, and with remorseful soul

  To anguish-stricken Argives thus he spake:

  “O friends, there is no greater curse to men

  Than wrath, which groweth till its bitter fruit

  Is strife. Now wrath hath goaded Aias on

  To this dire issue of the rage that filled

  His soul against me. Would to God that ne’er

  Yon Trojans in the strife for Achilles’ arms 670

  Had crowned me with that victory, for which

  Strong Telamon’s brave son, in agony

  Of soul, thus perished by his own right hand!

  Yet blame not me, I pray you, for his wrath:

  Blame the dark dolorous Fate that struck him down.

  For, had mine heart foreboded aught of this,

  This desperation of a soul distraught,

  Never for victory had I striven with him,

  Nor had I suffered any Danaan else,

  Though ne’er so eager, to contend with him. 680

  Nay, I had taken up those arms divine

  With mine own hands, and gladly given them

  To him, ay, though himself desired it not.

  But for such mighty grief and wrath in him

  I had not looked, since not for a woman’s sake

  Nor for a city, nor possessions wide,

  I then contended, but for Honour’s meed,

  Which alway is for all right-hearted men

  The happy goal of all their rivalry.

  But that great-hearted man was led astray 690

  By Fate, the hateful fiend; for surely it is

  Unworthy a man to be made passion’s fool.

  The wise man’s part is, steadfast-souled to endure

  All ills, and not to rage against his lot.”

  So spake Laertes’ son, the far-renowned.

 
But when they all were weary of grief and groan,

  Then to those sorrowing ones spake Neleus’ son:

  “O friends, the pitiless-hearted Fates have laid

  Stroke after stroke of sorrow upon us,

  Sorrow for Aias dead, for mighty Achilles, 700

  For many an Argive, and for mine own son

  Antilochus. Yet all unmeet it is

  Day after day with passion of grief to wail

  Men slain in battle: nay, we must forget

  Laments, and turn us to the better task

  Of rendering dues beseeming to the dead,

  The dues of pyre, of tomb, of bones inurned.

  No lamentations will awake the dead;

  No note thereof he taketh, when the Fates,

  The ruthless ones, have swallowed him in night.” 710

  So spake he words of cheer: the godlike kings

  Gathered with heavy hearts around the dead,

  And many hands upheaved the giant corpse,

  And swiftly bare him to the ships, and there

  Washed they away the blood that clotted lay

  Dust-flecked on mighty limbs and armour: then

  In linen swathed him round. From Ida’s heights

  Wood without measure did the young men bring,

  And piled it round the corpse. Billets and logs

  Yet more in a wide circle heaped they round; 720

  And sheep they laid thereon, fair-woven vests,

  And goodly kine, and speed-triumphant steeds,

  And gleaming gold, and armour without stint,

  From slain foes by that glorious hero stripped.

  And lucent amber-drops they laid thereon,

  Years, say they, which the Daughters of the Sun,

  The Lord of Omens, shed for Phaethon slain,

  When by Eridanus’ flood they mourned for him.

  These, for undying honour to his son,

  The God made amber, precious in men’s eyes. 730

  Even this the Argives on that broad-based pyre

  Cast freely, honouring the mighty dead.

  And round him, groaning heavily, they laid

  Silver most fair and precious ivory,

  And jars of oil, and whatsoe’er beside

  They have who heap up goodly and glorious wealth.

  Then thrust they in the strength of ravening flame,

  And from the sea there breathed a wind, sent forth

  By Thetis, to consume the giant frame

  Of Aias. All the night and all the morn 740

  Burned ‘neath the urgent stress of that great wind

  Beside the ships that giant form, as when

  Enceladus by Zeus’ levin was consumed

  Beneath Thrinacia, when from all the isle

  Smoke of his burning rose — or like as when

  Hercules, trapped by Nessus’ deadly guile,

  Gave to devouring fire his living limbs,

  What time he dared that awful deed, when groaned

  All Oeta as he burned alive, and passed

  His soul into the air, leaving the man 750

  Far-famous, to be numbered with the Gods,

  When earth closed o’er his toil-tried mortal part.

  So huge amid the flames, all-armour clad,

  Lay Aias, all the joy of fight forgot,

  While a great multitude watching thronged the sands.

  Glad were the Trojans, but the Achaeans grieved.

  But when that goodly frame by ravening fire

  Was all consumed, they quenched the pyre with wine;

  They gathered up the bones, and reverently

  Laid in a golden casket. Hard beside 760

  Rhoeteium’s headland heaped they up a mound

  Measureless-high. Then scattered they amidst

  The long ships, heavy-hearted for the man

  Whom they had honoured even as Achilles.

  Then black night, bearing unto all men sleep,

  Upfloated: so they brake bread, and lay down

  Waiting the Child of the Mist. Short was sleep,

  Broken by fitful staring through the dark,

  Haunted by dread lest in the night the foe

  Should fall on them, now Telamon’s son was dead. 770

  BOOK VI. HOW CAME FOR THE HELPING OF TROY EURYPYLUS, HERCULES’ GRANDSON.

  Rose Dawn from Ocean and Tithonus’ bed,

  And climbed the steeps of heaven, scattering round

  Flushed flakes of splendour; laughed all earth and air.

  Then turned unto their labours, each to each,

  Mortals, frail creatures daily dying. Then

  Streamed to a folkmote all the Achaean men

  At Menelaus’ summons. When the host

  Were gathered all, then in their midst he spake:

  “Hearken my words, ye god-descended kings:

  Mine heart within my breast is burdened sore 10

  For men which perish, men that for my sake

  Came to the bitter war, whose home-return

  Parents and home shall welcome nevermore;

  For Fate hath cut off thousands in their prime.

  Oh that the heavy hand of death had fallen

  On me, ere hitherward I gathered these!

  But now hath God laid on me cureless pain

  In seeing all these ills. Who could rejoice

  Beholding strivings, struggles of despair?

  Come, let us, which be yet alive, in haste 20

  Flee in the ships, each to his several land,

  Since Aias and Achilles both are dead.

  I look not, now they are slain, that we the rest

  Shall ‘scape destruction; nay, but we shall fall

  Before yon terrible Trojans for my sake

  And shameless Helen’s! Think not that I care

  For her: for you I care, when I behold

  Good men in battle slain. Away with her —

  Her and her paltry paramour! The Gods

  Stole all discretion out of her false heart 30

  When she forsook mine home and marriage-bed.

  Let Priam and the Trojans cherish her!

  But let us straight return: ‘twere better far

  To flee from dolorous war than perish all.”

  So spake he but to try the Argive men.

  Far other thoughts than these made his heart burn

  With passionate desire to slay his foes,

  To break the long walls of their city down

  From their foundations, and to glut with blood

  Ares, when Paris mid the slain should fall. 40

  Fiercer is naught than passionate desire!

  Thus as he pondered, sitting in his place,

  Uprose Tydeides, shaker of the shield,

  And chode in fiery speech with Menelaus:

  “O coward Atreus’ son, what craven fear

  Hath gripped thee, that thou speakest so to us

  As might a weakling child or woman speak?

  Not unto thee Achaea’s noblest sons

  Will hearken, ere Troy’s coronal of towers

  Be wholly dashed to the dust: for unto men 50

  Valour is high renown, and flight is shame!

  If any man shall hearken to the words

  Of this thy counsel, I will smite from him

  His head with sharp blue steel, and hurl it down

  For soaring kites to feast on. Up! all ye

  Who care to enkindle men to battle: rouse

  Our warriors all throughout the fleet to whet

  The spear, to burnish corslet, helm and shield;

  And cause both man and horse, all which be keen

  In fight, to break their fast. Then in yon plain 60

  Who is the stronger Ares shall decide.”

  So speaking, in his place he sat him down;

  Then rose up Thestor’s son, and in the midst,

  Where meet it is to speak, stood forth and cried:

  “Hear me, ye sons of battle-biding Greeks:


  Ye know I have the spirit of prophecy.

  Erewhile I said that ye in the tenth year

  Should lay waste towered Ilium: this the Gods

  Are even now fulfilling; victory lies

  At the Argives’ very feet. Come, let us send 70

  Tydeides and Odysseus battle-staunch

  With speed to Scyros overseas, by prayers

  Hither to bring Achilles’ hero son:

  A light of victory shall he be to us.”

  So spake wise Thestius’ son, and all the folk

  Shouted for joy; for all their hearts and hopes

  Yearned to see Calchas’ prophecy fulfilled.

  Then to the Argives spake Laertes’ son:

  “Friends, it befits not to say many words

  This day to you, in sorrow’s weariness. 80

  I know that wearied men can find no joy

  In speech or song, though the Pierides,

  The immortal Muses, love it. At such time

  Few words do men desire. But now, this thing

  That pleaseth all the Achaean host, will I

  Accomplish, so Tydeides fare with me;

  For, if we twain go, we shall surely bring,

  Won by our words, war-fain Achilles’ son,

  Yea, though his mother, weeping sore, should strive

  Within her halls to keep him; for mine heart 90

  Trusts that he is a hero’s valorous son.”

  Then out spake Menelaus earnestly:

  “Odysseus, the strong Argives’ help at need,

  If mighty-souled Achilles’ valiant son

  From Scyros by thy suasion come to aid

  Us who yearn for him, and some Heavenly One

  Grant victory to our prayers, and I win home

  To Hellas, I will give to him to wife

  My noble child Hermione, with gifts

  Many and goodly for her marriage-dower 100

  With a glad heart. I trow he shall not scorn

  Either his bride or high-born sire-in-law.”

  With a great shout the Danaans hailed his words.

  Then was the throng dispersed, and to the ships

  They scattered hungering for the morning meat

  Which strengtheneth man’s heart. So when they ceased

  From eating, and desire was satisfied,

  Then with the wise Odysseus Tydeus’ son

  Drew down a swift ship to the boundless sea,

  And victual and all tackling cast therein. 110

  Then stepped they aboard, and with them twenty men,

  Men skilled to row when winds were contrary,

  Or when the unrippled sea slept ‘neath a calm.

  They smote the brine, and flashed the boiling foam: