That yet alive was Peleus’ glorious son.
But to the King of Heaven Antenor cried: 10
“Zeus, Lord of Ida and the starry sky,
Hearken my prayer! Oh turn back from our town
That battle-eager murderous-hearted man,
Be he Achilles who hath not passed down
To Hades, or some other like to him.
For now in heaven-descended Priam’s burg
By thousands are her people perishing:
No respite cometh from calamity:
Murder and havoc evermore increase.
O Father Zeus, thou carest not though we 20
Be slaughtered of our foes: thou helpest them,
Forgetting thy son, godlike Dardanus!
But, if this be the purpose of thine heart
That Argives shall destroy us wretchedly,
Now do it: draw not out our agony!”
In passionate prayer he cried; and Zeus from heaven
Hearkened, and hasted on the end of all,
Which else he had delayed. He granted him
This awful boon, that myriads of Troy’s sons
Should with their children perish: but that prayer 30
He granted not, to turn Achilles’ son
Back from the wide-wayed town; nay, all the more
He enkindled him to war, for he would now
Give grace and glory to the Nereid Queen.
So purposed he, of all Gods mightiest.
But now between the city and Hellespont
Were Greeks and Trojans burning men and steeds
In battle slain, while paused the murderous strife.
For Priam sent his herald Menoetes forth
To Agamemnon and the Achaean chiefs, 40
Asking a truce wherein to burn the dead;
And they, of reverence for the slain, gave ear;
For wrath pursueth not the dead. And when
They had lain their slain on those close-thronging pyres,
Then did the Argives to their tents return,
And unto Priam’s gold-abounding halls
The Trojans, for Eurypylus sorrowing sore:
For even as Priam’s sons they honoured him.
Therefore apart from all the other slain,
Before the Gate Dardanian — where the streams 50
Of eddying Xanthus down from Ida flow
Fed by the rains of heavens — they buried him.
Aweless Achilles’ son the while went forth
To his sire’s huge tomb. Outpouring tears, he kissed
The tall memorial pillar of the dead,
And groaning clasped it round, and thus he cried:
“Hail, father! Though beneath the earth thou lie
In Hades’ halls, I shall forget thee not.
Oh to have met thee living mid the host!
Then of each other had our souls had joy, 60
Then of her wealth had we spoiled Ilium.
But now, thou hast not seen thy child, nor I
Seen thee, who yearned to look on thee in life.
Yet, though thou be afar amidst the dead,
Thy spear, thy son, have made thy foes to quail;
And Danaans with exceeding joy behold
One like to thee in stature, fame and deeds.”
He spake, and wiped the hot tears from his face;
And to his father’s ships passed swiftly thence:
With him went Myrmidon warriors two and ten, 70
And white-haired Phoenix followed on with these
Woefully sighing for the glorious dead.
Night rose o’er earth, the stars flashed out in heaven;
So these brake bread, and slept till woke the Dawn.
Then the Greeks donned their armour: flashed afar
Its splendour up to the very firmament.
Forth of their gates in one great throng they poured,
Like snowflakes thick and fast, which drift adown
Heavily from the clouds in winter’s cold;
So streamed they forth before the wall, and rose 80
Their dread shout: groaned the deep earth ‘neath their
tramp.
The Trojans heard that shout, and saw that host,
And marvelled. Crushed with fear were all their hearts
Foreboding doom; for like a huge cloud seemed
That throng of foes: with clashing arms they came:
Volumed and vast the dust rose ‘neath their feet.
Then either did some God with hardihood thrill
Deiphobus’ heart, and made it void of fear,
Or his own spirit spurred him on to fight,
To drive by thrust of spear that terrible host 90
Of foemen from the city of his birth.
So there in Troy he cried with heartening speech:
“O friends, be stout of heart to play the men!
Remember all the agonies that war
Brings in the end to them that yield to foes.
Ye wrestle not for Alexander alone,
Nor Helen, but for home, for your own lives,
For wives, for little ones, for parents grey,
For all the grace of life, for all ye have,
For this dear land — oh may she shroud me o’er 100
Slain in the battle, ere I see her lie
‘Neath foemen’s spears — my country! I know not
A bitterer pang than this for hapless men!
O be ye strong for battle! Forth to the fight
With me, and thrust this horror far away!
Think not Achilles liveth still to war
Against us: him the ravening fire consumed.
Some other Achaean was it who so late
Enkindled them to war. Oh, shame it were
If men who fight for fatherland should fear 110
Achilles’ self, or any Greek beside!
Let us not flinch from war-toil! have we not
Endured much battle-travail heretofore?
What, know ye not that to men sorely tried
Prosperity and joyance follow toil?
So after scourging winds and ruining storms
Zeus brings to men a morn of balmy air;
After disease new strength comes, after war
Peace: all things know Time’s changeless law of change.”
Then eager all for war they armed themselves 120
In haste. All through the town rang clangour of arms
As for grim fight strong men arrayed their limbs.
Here stood a wife, shuddering with dread of war,
Yet piling, as she wept, her husband’s arms
Before his feet. There little children brought
To a father his war-gear with eager haste;
And now his heart was wrung to hear their sobs,
And now he smiled on those small ministers,
And stronger waxed his heart’s resolve to fight
To the last gasp for these, the near and dear. 130
Yonder again, with hands that had not lost
Old cunning, a grey father for the fray
Girded a son, and murmured once and again:
“Dear boy, yield thou to no man in the war!”
And showed his son the old scars on his breast,
Proud memories of fights fought long ago.
So when they all stood mailed in battle-gear,
Forth of the gates they poured all eager-souled
For war. Against the chariots of the Greeks
Their chariots charged; their ranks of footmen pressed 140
To meet the footmen of the foe. The earth
Rang to the tramp of onset; pealed the cheer
From man to man; swift closed the fronts of war.
Loud clashed their arms all round; from either side
War-cries were mingled in one awful roar
Swift-winged full many a dart and arrow flew
From host to host; loud clanged the smitten shields
‘Neath
thrusting spears. neath javelin-point and sword:
Men hewed with battle-axes lightening down;
Crimson the armour ran with blood of men. 150
And all this while Troy’s wives and daughters watched
From high walls that grim battle of the strong.
All trembled as they prayed for husbands, sons,
And brothers: white-haired sires amidst them sat,
And gazed, while anguished fear for sons devoured
Their hearts. But Helen in her bower abode
Amidst her maids, there held by utter shame.
So without pause before the wall they fought,
While Death exulted o’er them; deadly Strife
Shrieked out a long wild cry from host to host. 160
With blood of slain men dust became red mire:
Here, there, fast fell the warriors mid the fray.
Then slew Deiphobus the charioteer
Of Nestor, Hippasus’ son: from that high car
Down fell he ‘midst the dead; fear seized his lord
Lest, while his hands were cumbered with the reins,
He too by Priam’s strong son might be slain.
Melanthius marked his plight: swiftly he sprang
Upon the car; he urged the horses on,
Shaking the reins, goading them with his spear, 170
Seeing the scourge was lost. But Priam’s son
Left these, and plunged amid a throng of foes.
There upon many he brought the day of doom;
For like a ruining tempest on he stormed
Through reeling ranks. His mighty hand struck down
Foes numberless: the plain was heaped with dead.
As when a woodman on the long-ridged hills
Plunges amid the forest-depths, and hews
With might and main, and fells sap-laden trees
To make him store of charcoal from the heaps 180
Of billets overturfed and set afire:
The trunks on all sides fallen strew the slopes,
While o’er his work the man exulteth; so
Before Deiphobus’ swift death-dealing hands
In heaps the Achaeans each on other fell.
The charging lines of Troy swept over some;
Some fled to Xanthus’ stream: Deiphobus chased
Into the flood yet more, and slew and slew.
As when on fish-abounding Hellespont’s strand
The fishermen hard-straining drag a net 190
Forth of the depths to land; but, while it trails
Yet through the sea, one leaps amid the waves
Grasping in hand a sinuous-headed spear
To deal the sword-fish death, and here and there,
Fast as he meets them, slays them, and with blood
The waves are reddened; so were Xanthus’ streams
Impurpled by his hands, and choked with dead.
Yet not without sore loss the Trojans fought;
For all this while Peleides’ fierce-heart son
Of other ranks made havoc. Thetis gazed 200
Rejoicing in her son’s son, with a joy
As great as was her grief for Achilles slain.
For a great host beneath his spear were hurled
Down to the dust, steeds, warriors slaughter-blent.
And still he chased, and still he slew: he smote
Amides war-renowned, who on his steed
Bore down on him, but of his horsemanship
Small profit won. The bright spear pierced him through
From navel unto spine, and all his bowels
Gushed out, and deadly Doom laid hold on him 210
Even as he fell beside his horse’s feet.
Ascanius and Oenops next he slew;
Under the fifth rib of the one he drave
His spear, the other stabbed he ‘neath the throat
Where a wound bringeth surest doom to man.
Whomso he met besides he slew — the names
What man could tell of all that by the hands
Of Neoptolemus died? Never his limbs
Waxed weary. As some brawny labourer,
With strong hands toiling in a fruitful field 220
The livelong day, rains down to earth the fruit
Of olives, swiftly beating with his pole,
And with the downfall covers all the ground,
So fast fell ‘neath his hands the thronging foe.
Elsewhere did Agamemnon, Tydeus’ son,
And other chieftains of the Danaans toil
With fury in the fight. Yet never quailed
The mighty men of Troy: with heart and soul
They also fought, and ever stayed from flight
Such as gave back. Yet many heeded not 230
Their chiefs, but fled, cowed by the Achaeans’ might.
Now at the last Achilles’ strong son marked
How fast beside Scamander’s outfall Greeks
Were perishing. Those Troyward-fleeing foes
Whom he had followed slaying, left he now,
And bade Automedon thither drive, where hosts
Were falling of the Achaeans. Straightway he
Hearkened, and scourged the steeds immortal on
To that wild fray: bearing their lord they flew
Swiftly o’er battle-highways paved with death. 240
As Ares chariot-borne to murderous war
Fares forth, and round his onrush quakes the ground,
While on the God’s breast clash celestial arms
Outflashing fire, so charged Achilles’ son
Against Deiphobus. Clouds of dust upsoared
About his horses’ feet. Automedon marked
The Trojan chief, and knew him. To his lord
Straightway he named that hero war-renowned:
“My king, this is Deiphobus’ array —
The man who from thy father fled in fear. 250
Some God or fiend with courage fills him now.”
Naught answered Neoptolemus, save to bid
Drive on the steeds yet faster, that with speed
He might avert grim death from perishing friends.
But when to each other now full nigh they drew,
Deiphobus, despite his battle-lust,
Stayed, as a ravening fire stays when it meets
Water. He marvelled, seeing Achilles’ steeds
And that gigantic son, huge as his sire;
And his heart wavered, choosing now to flee, 260
And now to face that hero, man to man
As when a mountain boar from his young brood
Chases the jackals — then a lion leaps
From hidden ambush into view: the boar
Halts in his furious onset, loth to advance,
Loth to retreat, while foam his jaws about
His whetted tusks; so halted Priam’s son
Car-steeds and car, perplexed, while quivered his hands
About the lance. Shouted Achilles’ son:
“Ho, Priam’s son, why thus so mad to smite 270
Those weaker Argives, who have feared thy wrath
And fled thine onset? So thou deem’st thyself
Far mightiest! If thine heart be brave indeed,
Of my spear now make trial in the strife.”
On rushed he, as a lion against a stag,
Borne by the steeds and chariot of his sire.
And now full soon his lance had slain his foe,
Him and his charioteer — but Phoebus poured
A dense cloud round him from the viewless heights
Of heaven, and snatched him from the deadly fray, 280
And set him down in Troy, amid the rout
Of fleeing Trojans: so did Peleus’ son
Stab but the empty air; and loud he cried:
“Dog, thou hast ‘scaped my wrath! No might of thine
Saved thee, though ne’er so fain! Some God hath cast
Night’s veil o’er thee, and snatched thee from thy
death.”
Then Cronos’ Son dispersed that dense dark cloud:
Mist-like it thinned and vanished into air:
Straightway the plain and all the land were seen.
Then far away about the Scaean Gate 290
He saw the Trojans: seeming like his sire,
He sped against them; they at his coming quailed.
As shipmen tremble when a wild wave bears
Down on their bark, wind-heaved until it swings
Broad, mountain-high above them, when the sea
Is mad with tempest; so, as on he came,
Terror clad all those Trojans as a cloak,
The while he shouted, cheering on his men:
“Hear, friends! — fill full your hearts with dauntless
strength,
The strength that well beseemeth mighty men 300
Who thirst to win them glorious victory,
To win renown from battle’s tumult! Come,
Brave hearts, now strive we even beyond our strength
Till we smite Troy’s proud city, till we win
Our hearts’ desire! Foul shame it were to abide
Long deedless here and strengthless, womanlike!
Ere I be called war-blencher, let me die!”
Then unto Ares’ work their spirits flamed.
Down on the Trojans charged they: yea, and these
Fought with high courage, round their city now, 310
And now from wall and gate-towers. Never lulled
The rage of war, while Trojan hearts were hot
To hurl the foemen back, and the strong Greeks
To smite the town: grim havoc compassed all.
Then, eager for the Trojans’ help, swooped down
Out of Olympus, cloaked about with clouds,
The son of Leto. Mighty rushing winds
Bare him in golden armour clad; and gleamed
With lightning-splendour of his descent the long
Highways of air. His quiver clashed; loud rang 320
The welkin; earth re-echoed, as he set
His tireless feet by Xanthus. Pealed his shout
Dreadly, with courage filling them of Troy,
Scaring their foes from biding the red fray.
But of all this the mighty Shaker of Earth
Was ware: he breathed into the fainting
Greeks Fierce valour, and the fight waxed murderous
Through those Immortals’ clashing wills. Then died
Hosts numberless on either side. In wrath
Apollo thought to smite Achilles’ son 330
In the same place where erst he smote his sire;
Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus Page 21