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Book Nine (A FRAGMENT)
"NOR could the Trojan fighters break through the walls of their foemen, Nor could the mighty Pelides slay in his war-rage the Trojans. Ever he fought surrounded or drew back compelled to his legions; For to each spear of his strength full twenty hissed round his helmet, Cried1 on his shield, attempted his cuirass or leaped at his coursers Or at Automedon ran like living things in their blood-thirst. Galled the deathless steeds high-neighing pawed in their anger; Wrathful Achilles wheeled and threatened seeking a victim. So might a fire on the high-piled altar of sacrifice blazing Seek for its tongues an offering fit for the gods, but ’tis answered Only by spitting rain that a dense cloud sends out of heaven. Sibilant hiss the drops on the glowing wood and the altar. Chill a darkness o’erhangs and its brief and envious spirits Rail at the glorious flame, desiring an end of its brilliance. Meanwhile behind by the ranks of the fighters sheltered from Hades Paris loosed his lethal shafts at the head of the Hellene. Then upon Helenus wrath from the gods who are noble descended, Seized on the tongue of the prophet and spoke out2 their thoughts in his accents, Thoughts by men rejected who follow the beast in their reason, Only advantage seek, and honour and pride are forgotten: "Paris, not thus shalt thou slay Achilles but only thy glory. Dost thou not heed that the women should mock in the streets of our city Thee and thy bow and thy numbers, hearing the shame of the Trojans ? Dost thou not fear the gods and their harms ? Not so do they combat Who have the awe of their deeds and follow the way of the mighty."
1 Rang 2 fashioned
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Paris the Priamid answered his brother: "Helenus, wherefore Care should I have for fame, or the gods and their punishments, heeding Breath of men when they praise or condemn me ? Victory I ask for, Joy for my living heart, not a dream and a breath for my ashes. Work I desire and the wish of my heart and the fruit of my labour. Nay, let my fame be crushed into mire for the ages to spit at, But let my country live and her foes be slain on her beaches." So he spoke and fitted another shaft to the bow-string, Aimed and loosed the death at the greatness that heaven protected. Always they fought and were locked in a fierce unyielding combat. But on the Hellene right stood the brothers stark in their courage Waiting the Eoan horse-hooves that checked at the difficult crossing Late arrived through field and through pasture. Ethos exultant Watched their advent stern and encouraged the legions behind him: "Now is the hour of your highest fame, O ye sons of the Hellenes. These are the iron squadrons, these are the world-famed fighters. Here is a swifter than Memnon, here is a greater than Hector. Who would fight with the war-wearied Trojans, the Lycian remnants, When there are men in the world like these ? O Pthian, we conquer Asia’s best today. And you, O my brothers, with courage Reap all the good I have won for our lives this morn from Achilles. Glad let our fame go before us to our mother Arithon waiting Lonely in Pthia, desiring death or the eyes of her children. Soon will our sails pursue their herald Fame, with our glory Bellying out and the winds. They shall bear o’er the murmurs of Ocean Heaped up Ilion’s wealth and the golden bricks of King Priam And for the halls of our fathers a famous and noble adornment Bear the beautiful head of the virgin Penthesilea." So he cried and the Hellenes shouted, a savage rumour, Proud of their victories past and incredulous grown of disaster. Now from the Xanthus dripping-wheeled came the Eoan war-cars Rolling thunder-voiced with the tramp of the runners behind them, Dust like a flag and dire with the battle-cry, full on the Hellenes. They to the mid-plain arrived where the might of the Hellene brothers Waited their onset.1 Zethus first with his cry of the cascade Hurrying-footed headlong that leaps far down to the valley: "Curb, but curb thy advance, O Amazon Penthesilea ! These are not Gnossus’ ranks and these are not levies from Sparta.
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Hellas’ spears await thee here and the Myrmidon fighters." High like the north-wind racing and whistling over the ice-fields, Death at its side and snow for its breath in the pitiless winter :* "Who art thou biddest to pause the horse-hooves of Penthesilea, Hellene, thou in thy strength who standest forth from thy shielders ? Turn yet, save thy life; for I deem that thou art not Achilles." "Zethus the Hellene I am and Cyenus and Pindus, my brothers, Stand at my either side, and thou passest not farther, Bellona. Lioness, turn thou back, for thou canst not here be a hunter." "Zethus and Cyenus and Pindus, little you loved then your mother, Who in this field that is wide must needs all three perish together Piled on one altar of death by the spears-shafts of Penthesilea. Empty for ever your halls shall be, childless the age of your father." High she rose to the spear-cast, poised like a thunderbolt lifted, Forward swung to the blow and loosed it hissing and ruthless Straight at the Hellene shield, and it tore through the bronze and groaning Butted and pushed through the cuirass and split the breast of the hero. Round in his car he spun, then putting his hands out before him, Even as a diver who leaps from the shed of the bath to the current, Launched out so headlong, struggled, sideward collapsed, then was quiet, Dead on Trojan earth. But dismay and grief on his brothers Yet alive now seized, then rage came blinding the eyeballs. Blindly they hurled, yet attained, for Athene guided the spear-shafts; Death like a forest beast yet played with the might of the virgin. One on her shield and one on her cuirass rang, but rejected Fell back like reeds that are thrown at a boulder by boys on the sea-shore. She unmoved replied; her shafts in their angry succession Hardly endured delay between. Like trees the brothers, Felled, to each side sank prone. So lifeless these strong ones of Hellas Lay in their couch of the hostile soil reunited in slumber As in their childhood they lay in Hellas watched by their mother, Three of them side by side and she dreamed for her darlings their future. But on the ranks of the Hellenes fear and amazement descended, Messengers they from Zeus to discourage the pride and the blood-lust. Back many yards their foremost recoiled in a god-given terror, As from a snake a traveller scorned for a bough by the wayside, But it arises puffing its hood and hisses its hatred.
1 Alternative to this line and the preceding :
But like the north wind high and clear answered Penthesilea
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Forward the henchmen ran and plucked back the spears from the corpses; Onward the Eoan thousands rolled o’er the ground that was conquered Trampling the fallen men into earth with the wheels of their war-cars. But in her speed like the sea or the storm-wind Penthesilea Drove towards the ranks of the foe and her spear-shafts hastened before her, Messengers whistling shrilly to death; she came like a wolf-hound Called by his masters’ voice and silently fell on the quarry. Hyrtamus fell, Admetus was wounded, Charmidas slaughtered; Cirrhes died, though he faced not the blow while he hastened to shelter. Itylus, bright and beautiful, went down to night and to Hades. Back, ever back the Hellenes recoiled from the shock of the virgin, Slain by her prowess fierce, alarmed by the might of her helpers. For at her right Surabdas threatened and iron Surenas, And at her left hill-shouldered Pharatus slaughtered the Hellenes. Then in the ranks of the Greeks a shouting arose and the leaders Cried to their hosts and recalled their unstained fame and their valour Never so lightly conquered before in the trial1 of Ares And of Achilles they spoke and King Peleus waiting in Pthia, Listening for Troy overthrown not his hosts overcome by a woman. And from the right and the left came heroes mighty to succour. Chiefs of the Dolopes Ar and Aglauron came mid the foremost, Hillus fair as a drifting moon but fierce as the winter; Pryas came the Thessalian and Sebes whom Pharsalus honoured, Victors in countless fights who had stood against Memnon and Hector. But though their hands were mighty, though fierce their obdurate natures, Mightier strengths they met and a sterner brood of the war-god. Light from the hand of the Virgin the spear ran laughing at Sebes, Crashed through his helmet and left him supine on the pastures of Troya; I Ar to Surabdas fell and the blood-sporting head of Aglauron Dropped like a fruit from a branch by its weight to the discus of Sam bus; Iron Surenas’ mace-head shattered the beauty of Hillus; Pryas by Pharatus slain lay still and had rest from the war-cry. Back, ever back reeled the Hellene host with the Virgin pursuing. Storm-shod the Amazon fought and she slew like a god un resisted. None now dared to confront her burning eyes; the boldest Shuddered back from her spear and the cry of her tore at the heart-strings. Fear, the daughter of Zeus, had gripped at the hearts of the Hellenes. So as the heroes yielded before her, Penthesilea
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Lifted with victory cried to her henchman, Aurus of Ellae, Who had the foot of the wind and its breath that scants not for running: "Hasten, hasten, Aurus; race to the right where unwarring Valarus leads his host ; bid him close with the strength of the Hellenes. Soon will they scatter like chaff on the threshing-floor blown to the beaches. But when he sees their flight by Sumalus shepherded seaward, Swift let him turn like the wind in its paths and follow me, pouring Down, a victorious flood,1 on the Myrmidon left and Achilles. Then shall no Hellene again dare embark in ships for the Troad. Cursed shall its beaches be to their sons and their sons and forever." So she spoke and Aurus ran by the chariot protected. Then had all Hellas perished indeed on the beaches of Troas, But from the Argive’s right where she battled Pallas Athene Saw and was wroth and she missioned her thought to Automedon speeding, Splendid it came and found him out mid the hiss of the spear-shafts Guiding, endangered, Achilles’ steeds in the thick of the battle. Shaped like a woman clad in armour and fleeing from battle, Helmed with the Hellene crest it knocked at the gate of his spirit, Shaking his hero’s heart with the vision that came to his eyeballs ; Silent he stared aghast and turned his ear to the war-din. "Dost thou not hear to our right, Achilles, these voices of Ares ? High is the sound of Eoan battle, a woman’s war-cry Rings in my ears, but faint and sparse come the shouts of our nation. Far behind is their call and nearer the ships and the beaches." Great Pelides heard and groaned in the caves of his spirit : "It is the doom that I feared and the fatal madness of Zethus ; Slain are the men of my nations or routed by Penthesilea. Drive, Automedon, drive, lest shame and defeat upon Hellas Fasten their seal and her heroes flee from the strength of a woman." And to the steeds divine Automedon called and they hearkened, Rose as if seeking their old accustomed paths in the heavens, Then through the ranks that parted they galloped as gallops a dust-cloud When the cyclone is abroad and the high trees snap by the wayside, And from the press of the Hellenes into the plain of the Xanthus Thundering, neighing came with the war-car borne like a dead leaf Chased by the blast. Then Athene opened the eyes of Achilles, Eyes that in all of us sleep, yet can see the near and the distant, Eyes that the gods in their pity have sealed from the giant confusion,
1 All in a victor flood,
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Sealed from the bale and the grief. He saw like one high on a summit Near him the Eoan’s holding the plain and out in the distance Breaking the Hellene strengths. Like a dream in the night he regarded High-crested Sumalus fight,1 Somaranes swift in the onset, Bull-shouldered Tauron’s blows and the hero Artavoruxes. But in the centre fiercest the cry and the death and the fleeing. There were his chieftains ever reforming vainly resistance,— Even in defeat these were Hellenes and fit to be hosts of Achilles,— But like a doom on them thundered the war-car of Penthesilea, Pharatus smote and Surabdas and Sambus and iron Surenas, Down the leaders fell and the armies reeled towards the Ocean. Wroth he cried to his coursers and fiercely they heard and they hastened ; Swift like a wind o’er the grasses galloped the car of Achilles. Echemus followed, Ascanus drove and Drus and Thretaon : Phoces alone in the dust of the Troad lay there and moved not. Yet brought not all of them help to their brothers oppressed in the combat ; For from the forefront forth on the knot of the swift-speeding war-cars High an Eoan chariot came drawn fast by its coursers Bearing a mighty chieftain, Valarus son of Supaures. Fire-footed thundered past him the hooves of the heavenly coursers, Nor to his challenging shout nor his spear the warlike Pelides Answered at all, but made haste like a flood to the throng and the mellay. But ‘twixt the chariots behind and their leader the mighty Eoan Drove his dark-maned steeds and stood like a cliff to their onset. "Great is your haste, O ye Kings of the Greeks ! Abide yet and converse. Scathe less your leader has fled from me borne by the hooves of his coursers. Ye, abide ! For we meet from far lands on this soil of the Trojans. All of us meet from afar, but not all shall return to their hearth-sides. Valarus stays you, O Greeks, and this is the point of his greeting." So as he spoke he launched out his spear as a cloud hurls its storm-flash ; Nor from that fatal hand parted vainly the pitiless envoy, But of its blood-thirst had right. Riven through and through with the death-stroke Drus fell prone and tore with dying fingers the grasses. Sobbing his soul fled out to the night and the chill and the silence. They like leaves that are suddenly stayed by the fall of a wind-gust Ceased from their headlong speed. And Echemus poising his spear-shaft: "Sharp are thy greetings, chieftain Eoan. Message for message Echemus son of Aetes, one of the mighty in Hellas,
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Thus returns. Let Ares judge ‘twixt the Greek and the Eastern." Fast sped the spear but Valarus held forth his shield and rebutted, Shouting, the deadly point that could pierce not his iron refusal. "Echemus, shrill thy vaunt has reached me, but unfelt is thy spear-pomt. Weak are men’s arms, it seems, in Hellas ; a boy there Ares Aims with reeds not spears at pastoral cheeses not iron. Judge now my strength." Two spears from him ran at the hearts of his foemen, Crouching Thretaon heard the keen death over him whistle ; Ascanus hurt in the shoulder cried out and paused from his war-lust. Echemus hurled now again and hurled with him stalwart Thretaon. Strong Thretaon missed, but Echemus’ point at the helmet Bit and fastened as fastens a hound on the ear of the wild boar Wroth with the cry and the hunt, that gores the pack and his hunters. Valarus frowning tugged at the heavy steel ; yet his right hand Smote at Echemus. Him he missed but valiant Thretaon Sat back dead in his seat and the chariot wild with its coursers Snorting and galloping bore his corpse o’er the plains to the Hellenes. But while yet Valarus strove with the shaft, obscured and encumbered, Ascanus sprang down swift from his car and armed with his sword-point Clove the Eoan’s neck as the lightning springs at an oak-trunk Seized in the stride of the storm and severs that might with its sharpness. Slain the hero fell ; his mighty limbs the spirit Mightier released to the gods and it rose to the heavens of the noble. Ascanus gathered the spear-shaft ; loud was his shout as exulting Back he leaped to the car triumphant o’er death and its menace: "Lie there, Valarus, King of the East, with imperial Troya. Six rich feet of her soil she gives thee for couch of the nuptials. Rest then ! Talk not again on the way with the heroes of Hellas." So delivered they hastened glad to the ranks of their brothers. After them rolled the Eoan war-cars, Arithon leading Loud with the clamour of hooves and the far-rolling gust of the war-cry ; Wroth at their chieftain’s fall they moved to the help of their nation, Now by the unearthly horses neared and the might of Achilles. Then from the Hellenes who heard the noise and cry of their coming Lifted eyes dismayed, but saw the familiar war-car, Saw the heaven-born steeds and the helm unconquered in battle, Cry was of other hopefulness. Loud as the out bursting thunder Rises o’er lower sounds of the storm, o’er the din of the battle Rose the Hellene shout and rose the name of Achilles.
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