Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

  That trapped her vainly loth. Each hero led 30

  A wailing Trojan woman to his ship.

  Here, there, uprose from these the wild lament,

  The woeful-mingling cries of mother and babe.

  As when with white-tusked swine the herdmen drive

  Their younglings from the hill-pens to the plain

  As winter closeth in, and evermore

  Each answereth each with mingled plaintive cries;

  So moaned Troy’s daughters by their foes enslaved,

  Handmaid and queen made one in thraldom’s lot.

  But Helen raised no lamentation: shame 40

  Sat on her dark-blue eyes, and cast its flush

  Over her lovely cheeks. Her heart beat hard

  With sore misgiving, lest, as to the ships

  She passed, the Achaeans might mishandle her.

  Therefore with fluttering soul she trembled sore;

  And, her head darkly mantled in her veil,

  Close-following trod she in her husband’s steps,

  With cheek shame-crimsoned, like the Queen of Love,

  What time the Heaven-abiders saw her clasped

  In Ares’ arms, shaming in sight of all 50

  The marriage-bed, trapped in the myriad-meshed

  Toils of Hephaestus: tangled there she lay

  In agony of shame, while thronged around

  The Blessed, and there stood Hephaestus’ self:

  For fearful it is for wives to be beheld

  By husbands’ eyes doing the deed of shame.

  Lovely as she in form and roseate blush

  Passed Helen mid the Trojan captives on

  To the Argive ships. But the folk all around

  Marvelled to see the glory of loveliness 60

  Of that all-flawless woman. No man dared

  Or secretly or openly to cast

  Reproach on her. As on a Goddess all

  Gazed on her with adoring wistful eyes.

  As when to wanderers on a stormy sea,

  After long time and passion of prayer, the sight

  Of fatherland is given; from deadly deeps

  Escaped, they stretch hands to her joyful-souled;

  So joyed the Danaans all, no man of them

  Remembered any more war’s travail and pain. 70

  Such thoughts Cytherea stirred in them, for grace

  To Helen starry-eyed, and Zeus her sire.

  Then, when he saw that burg beloved destroyed,

  Xanthus, scarce drawing breath from bloody war,

  Mourned with his Nymphs for ruin fallen on Troy,

  Mourned for the city of Priam blotted out.

  As when hail lashes a field of ripened wheat,

  And beats it small, and smites off all the ears

  With merciless scourge, and levelled with the ground

  Are stalks, and on the earth is all the grain 80

  Woefully wasted, and the harvest’s lord

  Is stricken with deadly grief; so Xanthus’ soul

  Was utterly whelmed in grief for Ilium made

  A desolation; grief undying was his,

  Immortal though he was. Mourned Simois

  And long-ridged Ida: all who on Ida dwelt

  Wailed from afar the ruin of Priam’s town.

  But with loud laughter of glee the Argives sought

  Their galleys, chanting the triumphant might

  Of victory, chanting now the Blessed Gods, 90

  Now their own valour, and Epeius’ work

  Ever renowned. Their song soared up to heaven,

  Like multitudinous cries of daws, when breaks

  A day of sunny calm and windless air

  After a ruining storm: from their glad hearts

  So rose the joyful clamour, till the Gods

  Heard and rejoiced in heaven, all who had helped

  With willing hands the war-fain Argive men.

  But chafed those others which had aided Troy,

  Beholding Priam’s city wrapped in flame, 100

  Yet powerless for her help to override

  Fate; for not Cronos’ Son can stay the hand

  Of Destiny, whose might transcendeth all

  The Immortals, and Zeus sanctioneth all her deeds.

  The Argives on the flaming altar-wood

  Laid many thighs of oxen, and made haste

  To spill sweet wine on their burnt offerings,

  Thanking the Gods for that great work achieved.

  And loudly at the feast they sang the praise

  Of all the mailed men whom the Horse of Tree 110

  Had ambushed. Far-famed Sinon they extolled

  For that dire torment he endured of foes;

  Yea, song and honour-guerdons without end

  All rendered him: and that resolved soul

  Glad-hearted joyed for the Argives victory,

  And for his own misfeaturing sorrowed not.

  For to the wise and prudent man renown

  Is better far than gold, than goodlihead,

  Than all good things men have or hope to win.

  So, feasting by the ships all void of fear, 120

  Cried one to another ever and anon:

  “We have touched the goal of this long war, have won

  Glory, have smitten our foes and their great town!

  Now grant, O Zeus, to our prayers safe home-return!”

  But not to all the Sire vouchsafed return.

  Then rose a cunning harper in their midst.

  And sang the song of triumph and of peace

  Re-won, and with glad hearts untouched by care

  They heard; for no more fear of war had they,

  But of sweet toil of law-abiding days 130

  And blissful, fleeting hours henceforth they dreamed.

  All the War’s Story in their eager ears

  He sang — how leagued peoples gathering met

  At hallowed Aulis — how the invincible strength

  Of Peleus’ son smote fenced cities twelve

  In sea-raids, how he marched o’er leagues on leagues

  Of land, and spoiled eleven — all he wrought

  In fight with Telephus and Eetion —

  How he slew giant Cycnus — all the toil

  Of war that through Achilles’ wrath befell 140

  The Achaeans — how he dragged dead Hector round

  His own Troy’s wall, and how he slew in fight

  Penthesileia and Tithonus’ son: —

  How Aias laid low Glaucus, lord of spears,

  Then sang he how the child of Aeacus’ son

  Struck down Eurypylus, and how the shafts

  Of Philoctetes dealt to Paris death.

  Then the song named all heroes who passed in

  To ambush in the Horse of Guile, and hymned

  The fall of god-descended Priam’s burg; 150

  The feast he sang last, and peace after war;

  Then many another, as they listed, sang.

  But when above those feasters midnight’s stars

  Hung, ceased the Danaans from the feast and wine,

  And turned to sleep’s forgetfulness of care,

  For that with yesterday’s war-travail all

  Were wearied; wherefore they, who fain all night

  Had revelled, needs must cease: how loth soe’er,

  Sleep drew them thence; here, there, soft slumbered they.

  But in his tent Menelaus lovingly 160

  With bright-haired Helen spake; for on their eyes

  Sleep had not fallen yet. The Cyprian Queen

  Brooded above their souls, that olden love

  Might be renewed, and heart-ache chased away.

  Helen first brake the silence, and she said:

  “O Menelaus, be not wroth with me!

  Not of my will I left thy roof, thy bed,

  But Alexander and the sons of Troy

  Came upon me, and snatched away, when thou

  Wast far thence. Oftentimes did I essay 170 />
  By the death-noose to perish wretchedly,

  Or by the bitter sword; but still they stayed

  Mine hand, and still spake comfortable words

  To salve my grief for thee and my sweet child.

  For her sake, for the sake of olden love,

  And for thine own sake, I beseech thee now,

  Forget thy stern displeasure against thy wife.”

  Answered her Menelaus wise of wit:

  “No more remember past griefs: seal them up

  Hid in thine heart. Let all be locked within 180

  The dim dark mansion of forgetfulness.

  What profits it to call ill deeds to mind?”

  Glad was she then: fear flitted from her heart,

  And came sweet hope that her lord’s wrath was dead.

  She cast her arms around him, and their eyes

  With tears were brimming as they made sweet moan;

  And side by side they laid them, and their hearts

  Thrilled with remembrance of old spousal joy.

  And as a vine and ivy entwine their stems

  Each around other, that no might of wind 190

  Avails to sever them, so clung these twain

  Twined in the passionate embrace of love.

  When came on these too sorrow-drowning sleep,

  Even then above his son’s head rose and stood

  Godlike Achilles’ mighty shade, in form

  As when he lived, the Trojans’ bane, the joy

  Of Greeks, and kissed his neck and flashing eyes

  Lovingly, and spake comfortable words:

  “All hail, my son! Vex not thine heart with grief

  For thy dead sire; for with the Blessed Gods 200

  Now at the feast I sit. Refrain thy soul

  From sorrow, and plant my strength within thy mind.

  Be foremost of the Argives ever; yield

  To none in valour, but in council bow

  Before thine elders: so shall all acclaim

  Thy courtesy. Honour princely men and wise;

  For the true man is still the true man’s friend,

  Even as the vile man cleaveth to the knave.

  If good thy thought be, good shall be thy deeds:

  But no man shall attain to Honour’s height, 210

  Except his heart be right within: her stem

  Is hard to climb, and high in heaven spread

  Her branches: only they whom strength and toil

  Attend, strain up to pluck her blissful fruit,

  Climbing the Tree of Honour glow-crowned.

  Thou therefore follow fame, and let thy soul

  Be not in sorrow afflicted overmuch,

  Nor in prosperity over-glad. To friends,

  To comrades, child and wife, be kindly of heart,

  Remembering still that near to all men stand 220

  The gates of doom, the mansions of the dead:

  For humankind are like the flower of grass,

  The blossom of spring; these fade the while those bloom:

  Therefore be ever kindly with thy kind.

  Now to the Argives say — to Atreus’ son

  Agamemnon chiefly — if my battle-toil

  Round Priam’s walls, and those sea-raids I led

  Or ever I set foot on Trojan land,

  Be in their hearts remembered, to my tomb

  Be Priam’s daughter Polyxeina led — 230

  Whom as my portion of the spoil I claim —

  And sacrificed thereon: else shall my wrath

  Against them more than for Briseis burn.

  The waves of the great deep will I turmoil

  To bar their way, upstirring storm on storm,

  That through their own mad folly pining away

  Here they may linger long, until to me

  They pour drink-offerings, yearning sore for home.

  But, when they have slain the maiden, I grudge not

  That whoso will may bury her far from me.” 240

  Then as a wind-breath swift he fleeted thence,

  And came to the Elysian Plain, whereto

  A path to heaven reacheth, for the feet

  Ascending and descending of the Blest.

  Then the son started up from sleep, and called

  His sire to mind, and glowed the heart in him.

  When to wide heaven the Child of Mist uprose,

  Scattering night, unveiling earth and air,

  Then from their rest upsprang Achaea’s sons

  Yearning for home. With laughter ‘gan they hale 250

  Down to the sea the keels: but lo, their haste

  Was reined in by Achilles’ mighty son:

  He assembled them, and told his sire’s behest:

  “Hearken, dear sons of Argives battle-staunch,

  To this my glorious father’s hest, to me

  Spoken in darkness slumbering on my bed:

  He saith, he dwells with the Immortal Gods:

  He biddeth you and Atreus’ son the king

  To bring, as his war-guerdon passing-fair,

  To his dim dark tomb Polyxeina queenly-robed, 260

  To slay her there, but far thence bury her.

  But if ye slight him, and essay to sail

  The sea, he threateneth to stir up the waves

  To bar your path upon the deep, and here

  Storm-bound long time to hold you, ships and men.”

  Then hearkened they, and as to a God they prayed;

  For even now a storm-blast on the sea

  Upheaved the waves, broad-backed and thronging fast

  More than before beneath the madding wind.

  Tossed the great deep, smit by Poseidon’s hands 270

  For a grace to strong Achilles. All the winds

  Swooped on the waters. Prayed the Dardans all

  To Achilles, and a man to his fellow cried:

  “Great Zeus’s seed Achilles verily was;

  Therefore is he a God, who in days past

  Dwelt among us; for lapse of dateless time

  Makes not the sons of Heaven to fade away.”

  Then to Achilles’ tomb the host returned,

  And led the maid, as calf by herdmen dragged

  For sacrifice, from woodland pastures torn 280

  From its mother’s side, and lowing long and loud

  It moans with anguished heart; so Priam’s child

  Wailed in the hands of foes. Down streamed her tears

  As when beneath the heavy sacks of sand

  Olives clear-skinned, ne’er blotched by drops of storm,

  Pour out their oil, when the long levers creak

  As strong men strain the cords; so poured the tears

  Of travail-burdened Priam’s daughter, haled

  To stern Achilles’ tomb, tears blent with moans.

  Drenched were her bosom-folds, glistened the drops 290

  On flesh clear-white as costly ivory.

  Then, to crown all her griefs, yet sharper pain

  Fell on the heart of hapless Hecuba.

  Then did her soul recall that awful dream,

  The vision of sleep of that night overpast:

  Herseemed that on Achilles’ tomb she stood

  Moaning, her hair down-streaming to the ground,

  And from her breasts blood dripped to earth the while,

  And drenched the tomb. Fear-haunted touching this,

  Foreboding all calamity, she wailed 300

  Piteously; far rang her wild lament.

  As a dog moaning at her master’s door,

  Utters long howls, her teats with milk distent,

  Whose whelps, ere their eyes opened to the light,

  Her lords afar have flung, a prey to kites;

  And now with short sharp cries she plains, and now

  Long howling: the weird outcry thrills the air;

  So wailed and shrieked for her child Hecuba:

  “Ah me! what sorrows first or last shall I

  Lament heart-anguished, wh
o am full of woes? 310

  Those unimagined ills my sons, my king

  Have suffered? or my city, or daughters shamed?

  Or my despair, my day of slavery?

  Oh, the grim fates have caught me in a net

  Of manifold ills! O child, they have spun for thee

  Dread weird of unimagined misery!

  They have thrust thee away, when near was Hymen”s hymn,

  From thine espousals, marked thee for destruction

  Dark, unendurable, unspeakable!

  For lo, a dead man’s heart, Achilles’ heart, 320

  Is by our blood made warm with life to-day!

  O child, dear child, that I might die with thee,

  That earth might swallow me, ere I see thy doom!”

  So cried she, weeping never-ceasing tears,

  For grief on bitter grief encompassed her.

  But when these reached divine Achilles’ tomb,

  Then did his son unsheathe the whetted sword,

  His left hand grasped the maid, and his right hand

  Was laid upon the tomb, and thus he cried:

  “Hear, father, thy son’s prayer, hear all the prayers 330

  Of Argives, and be no more wroth with us!

  Lo, unto thee now all thine heart’s desire

  Will we fulfil. Be gracious to us thou,

  And to our praying grant sweet home-return.”

  Into the maid’s throat then he plunged the blade

  Of death: the dear life straightway sobbed she forth,

  With the last piteous moan of parting breath.

  Face-downward to the earth she fell: all round

  Her flesh was crimsoned from her neck, as snow

  Stained on a mountain-side with scarlet blood 340

  Rushing, from javelin-smitten boar or bear.

  The maiden’s corpse then gave they, to be borne

  Unto the city, to Antenor’s home,

  For that, when Troy yet stood, he nurtured her

  In his fair halls, a bride for his own son

  Eurymachus. The old man buried her,

  King Priam’s princess-child, nigh his own house,

  By Ganymedes’ shrine, and overagainst

  The temple of Pallas the Unwearied One.

  Then were the waves stilled, and the blast was hushed 350

  To sleep, and all the sea-flood lulled to calm.

  Swift with glad laughter hied they to the ships,

  Hymning Achilles and the Blessed Ones.

  A feast they made, first severing thighs of kine

  For the Immortals. Gladsome sacrifice