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Book Four

THE BOOK OF PARTINGS

EAGERLY, spurred by Ares swift in their souls to the war-cry,

All now pressed to their homes for the food of their strength in the battle;

Ilion turned her thoughts in a proud expectancy seaward

Waiting to hear the sounds that she loved and the cry of the mellay.

Now to their citadel Priam’s sons returned with their father,

Now from the gates Talthybius issued grey in his chariot;

But in the halls of Anchises Aeneas not doffing his breastpiece

Hastily ate of the corn of his country, cakes of the millet

Doubled with wild-deer’s flesh, from the quiet hands of Creüsa.

She, as he ate, with her calm eyes watching him smiled on her husband:

"Ever thou hastest to battle, O warrior, ever thou fightest

Far in the front of the ranks and thou seekest out Locrian Ajax,

Turnest thy ear to the roar for the dangerous shout of Tydides;

There, once heard, leaving all thou drivest, O stark in thy courage.

Yet am I blest among women who tremble not, left in thy mansion,

Quiet at old Anchises’ feet when I see thee in vision

Sole with the shafts hissing round thee and say to my quivering spirit,

‘Now he is striking at Ajax, now he has met Diomedes.’

Such are the mighty twain who are ever near to protect thee,

Phoebus, the Thunderer’s son, and thy mother, gold Aphrodite;

Such are the fates that demand thee, O destined head of the future.

But though my thoughts for their own are not troubled, always, Aeneas,

Sore is my heart with pity for other Ilian women

Who in this battle are losing their children and well-loved husbands,

Brothers too dear, for the eyes that are wet, for the hearts that are silent.

Will not this war then end that thunders for ever round Troya?"

But to Creüsa the hero answered, the son of Anchises:

"Surely the gods protect, yet is Death too always mighty.

Most in his shadowy envy he strikes at the brave and the lovely,

Grudging works to abridge their days and to widow the sunlight;

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But as he crossed its brazen square from the hall there came running,

Leaping up light to his feet and laughing with sudden pleasure,

Eurus the youngest son of Polydamas. Clasping the fatal

War-hardened hand with a palm that was smooth as a maiden’s or infant’s,

"Well art thou come, Aeneas," he said, "and good fortune has sent thee!

Now I shall go to the field; thou wilt speak with my grandsire Antenor,

And he shall hear thee though chid by his heart reluctant. Rejoicing

I shall go forth in thy car or warring by Penthesilea,

Famous, give to her grasp the spear that shall smite down Achilles."

Smiling answered Aeneas, "Surely will, Eurus, thy prowess

Carry thee far to the front; thou shalt fight with Epeus and slay him.

Who shall say that this hand was not chosen to pierce Menelaus ?

But for a while with the bulls should it rather strive, O hero,

Till in the play and the wrestle its softness grow hard¹ for the smiting."

Eagerly Eurus answered, "But they have told me, Aeneas,

This is the last of our fights for today will Penthesilea

Meet Achilles in battle and slay him ending the Argives.

Then shall I never have mixed in this war that is famous for ever.

What shall I say when my hairs are white like the aged Antenor’s ?

Men will ask, ‘And what were thy deeds in the warfare Titanic ?

Whom didst thou slay of the Argives, son of Polydamas, avenging

Bravely thy father ?’ Then must I say, ‘I lurked in the city.

I was too young and only ascending the Ilian ramparts

Saw the return or the flight, but never the deed and the triumph’ ?

Friend, if thou take me not forth, I shall die of grief ere the sunset."

Plucking the hand of Aeneas he drew him into the mansion

Vast; and over the floor of the spacious hall they hastened

Laughing, the gracious child and the mighty hero and statesman,

Flower of a present stock and the burdened star of the future.

Meanwhile girt by his sons and the sons of his sons in his chamber

Cried² to the remnants left of his blood the aged Antenor:

"Hearken you who are sprung from my loins and children, their offspring!

None shall again go forth to the fight who is kin to Antenor.

Weighed with my curse he shall go and the spear-points athirst of the Argives

Meet him wroth; he shall die in his sin and his name be forgotten.

Oft have I sent forth my blood to be spilled in vain in the battle

Fighting for Troy and her greatness earned by my toil and my fathers’.

¹  Alternative to "grow hard" : is trained

²  Spoke

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Now all the debt has been, paid; she rejects us driven by the immortals.

Much do we owe to the mother who bore us, much to our country;

But at the last our life is ours and the gods’ and the future’s.

Gather the gold of my house and our kin, O ye sons of Antenor.

Warned by a voice in my soul I will go forth tonight from this city,

Fleeing the doom and bearing my treasures; the ships shall receive them

Gathered, new-keeled by my care and the gods’, in the narrow Propontis.

Over God’s waters guided, treading the rage of Poseidon,

Bellying out with their sails let them cleave to the untravelled distance

Ocean’s crests and resign to their Fates the doomed and the evil."

So Antenor spoke and his children heard him in silence;

Awed by his voice and the dread of his curse they obeyed, though in sorrow.

Halamus only replied to his father: "Dire are the white hairs

Reverend, loved, of a father, dreadful his curse to his children.

Yet in my heart there is one who cries, ’tis the voice of my country,

She for whose sake I would be in Tartarus tortured for ever.

Pardon me then if thou wilt; if the gods can, then let them pardon.

For I will sleep in the dust of Troy embracing her ashes,

There where Polydamas sleeps and the many comrades I cherished.

So let me go to the darkness remembered or wholly forgotten,

Yet having fought for my country, true in my fall to my nation."

Then in his aged wrath to Halamus answered Antenor:

"Go then and perish doomed with the doomed and the hated of heaven;

Nor shall the gods forgive thee dying nor shall thy father."

Out from the chamber Halamus strode with grief in his bosom

Wrestling with wrath and he went to his doom nor looked back at his dear ones.

Crossing the hall the son of Antenor and son of Anchises

Met in the paths of their fates where they knotted and crossed for the parting,

One with the curse of the gods and his sire fast wending to Hades,

Fortunate, blessed the other; yet equal their minds were and virtues.

Cypris’ son to the Antenorid: "Thee I have sought and thy brothers,

Bough of Antenor; sore is our need today of thy counsels,

Endless our want of their arms that are strong and their hearts that recoil not

Meeting myriads stark with the spear in unequal battle."

Halamus answered him: "I will go forth to the palace of Priam,

There where Troy yet lives and far from the halls of my fathers;

There will I speak, not here. For my kin they repose in the mansion

Sitting unarmed in their halls while their brothers fall in the battle."

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Eurus eagerly answered the hero: "Me rather, therefore,

Take to the fight with you; I will make war on the Greeks for my uncles;

One for all I will fill their place in the shock with the foemen."

But from his chamber-door Antenor heard and rebuked him:

"Scamp of my heart, thou torment ! into thy chamber and rest there,

Bound with cords lest thou cease, thou flutter-brain, scourged into quiet;

So shall thy lust of the fight be healed and our mansion grow tranquil."

Chid by the old man Eurus slunk from the hall discontented,

Yet with a dubious smile like a moonbeam lighting his beauty.

But to Antenor the Dardanid born from the white Aphrodite:

"Late the Antenorids learn to flinch from the spears of the Argives,

Even this boy of their blood has Polydamas’ heart and his valour.

Nor should a life that was honoured and noble be stained in its ending.

Nay, then, the mood of a child would shame a grey-headed wisdom,

If for the fault of the people virtue and Troy were forgotten.

For, though the people hear us not, yet are we bound to our nation :

Over the people the gods are; over a man is his country;

This is the deity first adored by the hearths of the noble.

For by our nation’s will we are ruled in the home and the battle

And for our nation’s weal we offer our lives and our children’s.

Not by their own wills led nor their passions men rise to their manhood,

Selfishly seeking their good, but the gods’ and the States’ and the fathers’."

Wroth Antenor replied to the warlike son of Anchises:

"Great is the soul in thee housed and stern is thy will, O Aeneas;

Onward it moves undismayed to its goal though a city be ruined.

They too guide thee who deepest see of the un ageing immortals,

One with her heart and one in his spirit, Cypris and Phoebus.

Yet might a man not knowing this think as he watched thee, Aeneas,

‘Spurring Priam’s race to its fall he endangers this city,

Hoping to build a throne out of ruins sole in the Troad.’

I too have gods who warn me and lead, Athene and Hera.

Not as the ways of other mortals are theirs who are guided,

They whose eyes are the gods and they walk by a light that is secret."

Coldly Aeneas made answer, stirred into wrath by the taunting :

"High wert thou always, nurtured in wisdom, ancient Antenor.

Walk then favoured and led, yet watch lest passion and evil

Feign auguster names and mimic the gait of the deathless."

And with a smile on his lips but wrath in his bosom answered,

Wisest of men but with wisdom of mortals, aged Antenor :

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"Led or misled we are mortals and walk by a light that is given;

Most they err who deem themselves most from error excluded.

Nor shalt thou hear in this battle the shout of the men of my lineage

Holding the Greeks as once and driving back Fate from their country.

His alone will be heard for a space while the stern gods are patient

Even now who went forth a victim self-offered to Hades,

Last whom their wills have plucked from the fated house of Antenor."

They now with wrath in their bosoms sundered for ever and parted.

Forth from the hall of Antenor Aeneas rapidly striding

Passed¹ once more through the city hurrying now with its car-wheels,

Filled with a mightier rumour of war and the march of its thousands,

Till at Troy’s upward curve he found the Antenorid crestward

Mounting the steep incline that climbed to the palace of Priam

White in her proud and armed citadel. Silent, ascending

Hardly their feet had attempted the hill when behind them they hearkened

Sweet-tongued a call and the patter and hurry of light-running sandals;

Turning they beheld with a flush on his cheeks and a light on his lashes

Challenging mutely and pleading the boyish beauty of Eurus.

"Racer to mischief," said Halamus, "couldst thou not sit in thy chamber ?

Surely cords and the rod await thee, Eurus, returning."

Answered with laughter the child, "I have broken through ranks of the fighters,

Dived under chariot-wheels to arrive here and I return not.

I too for counsel of battle have come to the palace of Priam.

" Burdened with thought they mounted slowly the road of their fathers,

Breasting the Ilian hill where Laomedon’s mansion was tented,

They from the crest down gazing saw their country’s house-tops

Under their feet and heard the murmur of Troya below them.

But in the palace of Priam coming and going of house-thralls

Filled all the corridors; smoke from the kitchens curled in its plenty

Rich with savour and breathed from the labouring lungs of Hephaestus.

Far in the halls and the chambers voices travelled and clustered,

Anklets jangling ran and sang back from doorway to doorway,

Mocking with music of speed and its laughters the haste of the happy,

Sound came of arms, there was tread of the great, there were murmurs of women,—

Voices glad of the doomed in Laomedon’s marvellous mansion.

Six were the halls of its splendour, a hundred and one were its chambers

¹ Pressed

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Lifted high upon columns that soared like the thoughts of its dwellers,

Thoughts that transcended the earth though they sank down at last into ashes.

So had Apollo dreamed to his lyre; and its tops were a grandeur

Domed, as if seeking to roof men’s lives with a hint of the heavens ;

Marble his columns rose and with marble his roofs were appointed,

Conquered wealth of the world in its largeness suffered, supporting

Purities of marble, glories of gold. Nor only of matter

Blazed there the brutal pomps, but images mystic or mighty

Crowded ceiling and wall, a work that the gods even admire

Hardly believing that forms like these were imagined by mortals

Here upon earth where sight is a blur and the soul lives encumbered.

Scrolls that remembered in gems the thoughts austere of the ancients

Bordered the lines of the stone and the forms of serpent and Naiad

Ran in relief on those walls of pride in the palace of Priam

Mingled with Dryads who tempted and fled and Satyrs who followed,

Sports of the nymphs in the sea and the woods and their meetings with mortals,

Sessions and battles of Trojan demigods, deaths that were famous,

Wars and loves of men and the deeds of the golden immortals.

Pillars sculptured with gods and with giants soared from bases

Lion-carved or were seated on bulls and bore into grandeur

Amply those halls where they soared, or in¹ lordliness slenderly fashioned,

Dressed in flowers and reeds like virgins standing on Ida,

Guarded the screens of stone and divided alcove and chamber.

Ivory carved and broidered robes and the riches of Indus

Cherished in sandalwood triumphed and teemed in the palace of Priam ;

Doors that were carven and fragrant sheltered the joys of its princes.

Here in a chamber of luminous privacy Paris was arming.

Near him moved Helen, a whiteness divine and intent on her labour

Fastened his cuirass, bound the greaves and settled the hauberk,

Thrilling his limbs with her touch that was heaven to the yearning of mortals,

She with her hands of delight caressing the senseless metal

Pressed her lips to his brilliant armour ; she bowed down, she whispered

"Cuirass, allowed by the gods, protect the beauty of Paris:

Keep for me that for which country was lost and my child and my brothers."

¹ to.

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Yearning she bent to his feet, to the sandal-strings of her lover;

Then as she gazed up, changed grew her mood ; for the Daemon within her

Rose that had banded Greece and was burning Troy into ashes.

Slowly a smile that was perfect and perilous over her beauty

Dawned like the sunlight on Paradise ; strangely she looked on her lover.

So might a goddess have gazed as she played with the love of a mortal

Passing an hour on the earth ere she rose up white to Olympus.

"So art thou winner, Paris, yet and thy spirit ascendant

Leads this Troy where thou wilt, O thou mighty one veiled in thy beauty

First in the dance and the revel, first in the joy of the mellay ;

Who would not leave for thy sake and repent it not country and homestead?

Winning thou reignest still over Troy, over Fate, over Helen.

Always so canst thou win ? Has Death no claim on thy beauty,

Fate no scourge for thy sins ? How the years have passed by in a glory,

Years of this heaven of the gods, O ravisher, since from my hearthstone

Seizing thou borest me compelled to thy ships and my joy on the waters.

Troy is enringed with the spears, her children fall and her glories,

Mighty souls of heroes have gone down prone to the darkness ;

Thou and I abide ! the mothers wail for our pleasure.

Wilt thou then keep me for ever, O son of Priam, in Troya ?

Fate was my mother, they say, and Zeus for this hour begot me.

Art thou a god too, O hero, disguised in this robe of the mortal,

Brilliant, careless of death and of sin as if sure of thy rapture ?

What then if Fate today were to lay her hand on thee, Paris ?"

Calmly he looked on the face of which Greece was enamoured, the body

For whose desire great Troy was a sacrifice, tranquil regarded

Lovely and dire on the lips he loved that smile of a goddess,

Saw the daughter of Zeus in the woman, yet was not shaken.

"Temptress of Argos," he answered, "thou snare for the world to be seized in,

Thou then hop’st to escape ! But the gods could not take thee, O Helen,

How then thy will that to mine is a captive, or how, though with battle,

He who has lost thee, unhappy, the Spartan, bright Menelaus ?

All things yield to a man and Zeus is himself his accomplice

When like a god he wills without remorse or longing.

Thou on this earth art mine since I claimed thee beheld, not speaking,

But with thy lids that fell thou veiledst thy heart of compliance.

Then in whatever beyond I shall know how to take thee,

O Helen, Even as here upon earth I knew, in heaven as in Sparta ;

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I on Elysian fields will enjoy thee as now in the Troad."

Silent a moment she lingered like one who is lured by a music

Rapturous, heard by himself alone and his lover in heaven,

Then in her beauty compelling she rose up divine among women.

"Yes, it is good," she cried, "what the gods do and actions of mortals :

Good is the play of the world ; it is good, the joy and the torture.

Praised be the hour of the gods when I wedded bright Menelaus !

Praised, more praised the keels that severed the seas towards Helen

Churning the senseless waves that knew not the bliss of their burden!

Praised to the end the hour when I passed through the doors of my husband

Laughing with joy in my heart for the arms that bore and enchained me !

Never can Death undo what life has done for us, Paris.

Nor, whatever betide, can the hour be unlived of our rapture.

This too is good that nations should meet in the shock of the battle,

Heroes be slain and a theme be made for the songs of the poets,

Songs that shall thrill with the name of Helen, the beauty of Paris.

Well is this also that empires should fall for the eyes of a woman,

Well that for Helen Hector ended, Memnon was slaughtered,

Strong Sarpedon fell and Troilus ceased in his boyhood.

Troy for Helen burning, her glory, her empire, her riches,

This is the sign of the gods and the type of things that are mortal.

Thou who art kin to the masters of heaven, unconstrained like thy kindred

High on this ancient stage of the Troad with gods for spectators,

Play till the end thy part, O thou wondrous and beautiful actor :

Fight and slay the Greeks, my countrymen ; victor returning

Take for reward of the play, thy delight of Argive Helen.

Force from my bosom a hint of the joy denied to the death-claimed,

Rob in the kiss of my lips a pang from the raptures of heaven."

Clasping him wholly her arms of desire were a girdle of madness,

Cestus divine of the dread Aphrodite. He with her kisses

Flushed like the gods with unearthly wine and rejoiced in his ruin.

Thus while they conversed now in this hour that was near to their parting

Last upon earth, a fleet-footed slave girl came to the chamber:

"Paris, thy father and mother desire thee ; there in the strangers’

Outer hall Aeneas and Halamus wait for thy coming."

So with the Argive he wended to Priam’s ample chamber

Far in Laomedon’s house where Troy looked upwards to Ida.

Priam and Hecuba there, the ancient grey-haired rulers

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Waiting him sat in their chairs of ivory calm in their greatness ;

Hid in her robes at their feet lay Cassandra crouched from her visions.

"Since, O my father," said Paris, "thy thoughts have been with me, thy blessing

Surely shall help me today in my strife with the strength of Achilles.

Surely the gods shall obey in the end the might of our spirits,

[Pallas and Hera, flame-sandalled Artemis, Zeus and Apollo.]

Ever serve the immortal bright nesses man when he stands up

Firm with his will uplifted a steadfast flame towards the heavens,

Ares works in his heart and Hephaestus burns in his labour."

Priam replied to his son : "Fore willed by the gods, Alexander,

All things happen on earth and yet we must strive who are mortals.

Knowing all vain, yet we strive ; for our nature seizing us always

Drives like the flock that is herded and urged towards shambles or pasture.

So have the gods fashioned these tools of their action and pleasure ;

Failure and grief are their engines no less than the might of the victor ;

They in the blow descend and resist in the sobs of the smitten.

Such are their goads that I too must walk in the paths that are common,

Even I who know must send for thee, moved by Cassandra.

Speak, O my child, since Apollo has willed it, once, and be silent."

But in her raiment hidden Cassandra answered her father :

"No, for my heart has changed since I cried for him, vexed by Apollo.

Why should I speak ? For who will believe me in Troy ? who believed mc

Ever in Troy or the world ? Event and disaster approve me

Only, my comrades, not men in their thoughts, not my brothers and kinsmen.

All by their hopes are gladly deceived and grow wroth with the Warner,

Half-blind prophets of hope entertained by the gods in the mortal !

Wiser blind, if nothing they saw or only the darkness.

I too once hoped when Apollo pursued me with love in his temple,

Round me already there gleamed the ray of the vision prophetic,

Thrill of that rapture I felt and the joy of the god in his seeing,

Nor did I know that the knowledge of mortals is bound unto blindness.

Either only they walk mid the coloured dreams of the senses

Treading the greenness of earth and deeming the touch of things real,

Or if they see, by the curse of the gods their sight into falsehood

Easily turns and leads them more stumbling astray than the sightless.

So are we either blind in a darkness or dazzled by seeing.

Thus have the gods protected their purpose and baffled the sages ;

Over the face of the Truth their shield of gold is extended.

But I deemed otherwise, urged by the Dreadful One, he who sits always

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Veiled in us fighting the gods whom he uses. I cried to Apollo :

‘Give me thy vision sheer, not such as thou giv’st to thy prophets,

Troubled though luminous ; clear be the vision and ruthless to error,

Far-darting god who are veiled by the sun and by death thou art shielded.

Then I shall know that thou lovest.’ He gave, alarmed and reluctant,

Driven by Fate and his heart ; but I mocked him, I broke from my promise ;

Courage fatal helping my heart to its ruin with laughter.

Always now I remember his face that grew tranquil and ruthless,

Hear the voice divine and implacable: ‘Since thou deceivest

Even the gods and thou hast not feared to lie to Apollo,

Speak shalt thou henceforth only truth, but none shall believe thee :

Scorned in thy words, rejected yet more for their bitter fulfilment,

Scourged by the gods thou must speak though thy sick heart yearns to be silent.

For in this play thou hast dared to play with the masters of heaven,

Girl, it is thou who hast lost ; thy voice is mine and thy bosom.’

Since then all I foreknow ; therefore anguish is mine for my portion :

Since then all whom I love must perish slain by my loving.

Even of that I denied him, violent force shall bereave me

Grasped mid the flames of my city and shouts of her merciless victors."

But to Cassandra answered gently the voice of her brother:

"Sister of mine, afflicted and seized by the dreadful Apollo,

All whose eyes can pierce that curtain, gaze into dimness ;

This they have glimpsed and that they imagine deceived by their natures

Seeing the forms in their hearts of dreadful things and of joyous ;

As in the darkness our eyes are deceived by shadows uncertain,

Such is their sight who rend the veil that the dire gods have woven.

Busy our hearts are weaving thoughts and images always ;

After their kind they see what here we call truth. So thy nature

Tender and loving, plagued by this war and its fear for thy loved ones,

Sees calamity everywhere ; when the event like the vision

Seems, as in every war the beloved must fall and the cherished,

Then the heart cries, ‘It has happened as all shall happen I mourn for.’

All that was bright it misses and only seizes on sorrow.

Dear, on the brightness look and if thou must prophesy, tell us

Rather of great Pelides slain by my spear in the onset."

But with a voice of grief the sister answered her brother:

"Yes, he shall fall and his slayer too shall perish and Troy with his slayer."

But in his spirit rejoicing Paris answered Cassandra ;

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"Let but this word come true ; for the rest, the gods shall avert it.

Look once more, O Cassandra, and comfort the heart of thy mother,

See, O seer, my safe return with the spoils of Achilles."

And with a voice of grief the sister answered her brother :

"Thou shalt return for thy hour while Troy yet stands in the sunshine."

But in his spirit exultant Paris seizing the omen,

"Hearst thou, my father, my mother ? She who still prophesied evil

Now perceives of our night this dawning. Yet is it grievous,

Since through a heart that we love must be pierced the heart of Achilles.

Fate, with this evil satisfied, turn in the end from Troya.

Bless me, my father, and thou, O Hecuba, mother long-patient,

Still forgive that thy children have fallen for Helen and Paris."

Tenderly yearning his mother drew him towards her and murmured :

"All for thy hyacinth curls was forgiven even from childhood

And for thy sunlit looks, O wonder of charm, O Paris.

Paris, my son, though Troy must fall, thy mother forgives thee,

Blessing the gods who have lent thee to me for a while in their sunshine.

Theirs are fate and result, but ours is the joy of our children ;

Even the griefs are dear that come from their hands while they love us.

Fight and slay Achilles, the murderer dire of thy brothers ;

Venging Hector return, my son, to the clasp of thy mother."

But in his calm august to Paris Priam the monarch,

"Victor so mightst thou come, so gladden the heart of thy mother."

Then to the aged father of Paris Helen the Argive

Bright and immortal and sad like a star that grows near to the dawning

And on its pale companions looks who now fade from its vision :

"Me too pardon and love, my parents, even Helen,

Cause of all bane and all death ; but I came from the gods for this ruin

Born as a torch for the burning of empires, cursed with this beauty.

Nor have I known a father’s embrace, a mother’s caresses,

But to the distant gods I was born and nursed as an alien

Here by earth from fear, not affection, compelled by the thunders.

Two are her monstrous births, from the furies and from the immortals ;

Either touching mortality suffers and bears not the contact.

I have been both, a monster of doom and a portent of beauty."

Slowly Priam the monarch answered to Argive Helen :

"That which thou art the gods have made thee ; thou couldst not be other :

That which thou didst, the gods have done ; thou couldst not prevent them.

Who here shall blame or whom shall he pardon ? Should not my people

Rail at me murmuring, ‘Priam has lost what his fathers had gathered ;

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Cursed is this king by heaven and cursed who are born as his subjects’ ?

Masked the high gods act ; the doer is hid by his working.

Each of us bears his punishment, fruit of a seed that’s forgotten ;

Each of us curses his neighbour protecting his heart with illusions :

Therefore like children we blame each other and hate and are angry.

Take, my child, the joy of the sunshine won by thy beauty.

I who lodge on this earth as an alien bound by the body,

Wearing my sorrow even as I wear the imperial purple,

Praise yet the gods for my days that have seen thee at last in my ending.

Fitly Troy may cease having gazed on thy beauty, O Helen."

He became silent, he ceased from words. But Paris and Helen

Lightly went forth and gladly ; pursuing their footsteps the mother,

Mother once of Troilus, mother once of Hector,

Stood at the door with her death in her eyes, nor returned from her yearning,

But as one after a vanishing sunbeam gazes in prison,

Gazed down the corridors after him, long who had passed from her vision.

Then in the silent chamber Cassandra seized by Apollo

Staggered erect and tossing her snow-white arms of affliction

Cried to the heavens in her pain ; for the fierce god tortured her bosom :

"Woe is me, woe for the guile and the bitter gift of Apollo !

Woe, thrice woe, for my birth in Troy and the lineage of Teucer !

So do you deal, O gods, with those who have served you and laboured,

Those who have borne for your sake the evil burden of greatness.

Blessed is he who holds mattock in hand or who bends o’er the furrow

Taking no thought for the good of mankind, with no yearnings for knowledge.

Woe unto me for my wisdom which none shall value nor hearken !

Woe unto thee, O King, for thy strength which shall not deliver !

Better the eye that is sealed, more blest is the spirit that’s feeble.

Vainly your hopes with iron Necessity struggle, O mortals.

Virtue shall lie in her pangs, for the gods have need of her torture ;

Sin shall be scourged, though her deeds were compelled by the gods in their anger.

None shall avail in the end, the coward shall die and the hero.

Troy shall fall in her sin and her virtues shall not protect her ;

Argos shall grow by her crimes till the gods shall destroy her for ever.

Now have I fruit of thy love, O Loxias, dreadful Apollo.

Woe is me, woe for the flame that approaches the house of my fathers I

Woe is me, woe for the hand of Ajax laid on my tresses !

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Woe, thrice woe to him who shall ravish and him who shall cherish !

Woe for the ships that shall bound too swift o’er the azure Aegean !

Woe for thy splendid shambles of hell, O Argive Mycenae !

Woe for the evil spouse and house accursed of Atreus !"

So with her voice of the swan she clanged out doom on the peoples,

Over the palace of Priam and over the armed nation

Marching resolved to the war in the pride of its centuries conquered,

Centuries slain by a single day of the anger of heaven.

Dim to the thoughts like a vision of Hades the luminous chamber

Grew ; in his ivory chair King Priam sat like a shadow

Throned mid the ghosts of departed kings and forgotten empires.

But in his valiance careless and blithe the Priamid hastened

Seeking the pillared megaron wide where Deiphobus armoured

Waited his coming forth with the warlike chiefs of the Trojans.

Now as he passed by the halls of the women, the chambers that harboured

Daughters and wives of King Priam and wives of his sons and their playmates,

Niches of joy that were peopled with murmurs and sweet-tongued laughters,

Troubled like trees with their birds in a morning of sun and of shadow

Where in some garden of kings one walks with his heart in the sunshine,

Out from her door where she stood for him waiting Polyxena started,

Seized his hand and looked in his face and spoke to her brother.

Then not even the brilliant strength of Paris availed him ;

Joyless he turned his face from her eyes of beauty and sorrow.

"So is it come, the hour that I feared, and thou goest, O Paris,

Armed with the strength of Fate to strike at my heart in the battle ;

For he is doomed and thou and I, a victim to Hades.

This thou prefer rest and neither thy father could move nor thy mother

Burning with Troy in their palace, nor could thy country persuade thee,

Nor dost thou care for thy sister’s happiness pierced by thy arrows.

Will she remember it all, my sister Helen, in Argos

Passing tranquil days with her husband, bright Menelaus,

Holding her child on her knees ? But we shall lie joyless in Hades."

Paris replied : "O my sister Polyxena, blame me not wholly.

We by the gods are ensnared ; for the pitiless white Aphrodite

Doing her will with us both compels this. Helpless our hearts are

And when she drives perforce must love, for death or for gladness :

Weighed in unequal scales she deals them to one or another.

Happy who holding his love can go down into bottomless Hades."

But to her brother replied in her anguish the daughter of Priam ;

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Couchant she lies with her paws before her and joys in his gambols,

Over the prey as he frisks and is careless,—answered the virgin :

"Younger than thou in my nation have mounted the steed and the war-car.

Eurus, arm ; from under my shield thou shalt gaze at the Pthian,

Reaching my shafts for the cast from the rim of my car in the battle

Handle perhaps the spear that shall smite down the Pthian Achilles.

What sayst thou, Halamus ? Were not such prowess a perfect beginning

Worthy Polydamas’ son and the warlike house of Antenor ?"

Halamus started and smiting his hand on the grief of his bosom

Sombre replied and threatened with Fate the high-hearted virgin.

"Virgin armipotent, wherefore mockst thou thy friend, though unwitting ?

Nay,—for the world will know at the end and my death cannot hide it,—

Slain by a father’s curse we fight who are kin to Antenor.

Take not the boy in thy car, lest the Furies, Penthesilea,

Aim through the shield and the shielder to wreak the curse of the grandsire.

They will not turn nor repent for thy strength nor his delicate beauty."

Swiftly to Halamus answered the high-crested strength of the virgin :

"Curses leave lightly the lips when the soul of a man is in anger

Even as blessings easily crowd round the head that is cherished.

Yet have I never seen that a curse has sharpened a spear-point ;

Never Death has drawn¹ back from the doomed by the power of a blessing.

Valour and skill and chance are Fate and the gods and the furies.

Give me the boy ; a hero shall come back formed from the onset."

"Do as thou wilt," replied Halamus, "Fate shall guard or shall end him".

Then to the boy delighted and smiling-eyed and exultant

Cried with her voice like the call of heaven’s bugles Penthesilea :²

"Go, find the spear, gird the sword, don the cuirass, child of the mighty.

Armed when thou standest on the plain of the Xanthus, field of thy fathers,

See that thou fight on this day like the comrade of Penthesilea.

Bud of a hero, gaze unalarmed in the eyes of Achilles."

Light as a hound released he ran to the hall of the armour

Where were the shields of the mighty, the arms of the mansion of Teucer ;

There from the house-thralls he wrung the greaves and the cuirass and helmet

Troilus wore, the wonderful boy who, ere ripened his prowess,

Conquered the Greeks and drove to the ships and fought with Achilles.

¹ Alternative to "has drawn" : drew.

² Cried with her voice like the call of heaven’s bugles waking the heroes. Blown by the lips of gold-haired Valkyries. Penthesilea:

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