Who lost a son, slain by the hands of foes,
A son not worse than thy Machaon, good 50
With spears in battle, good in counsel. None
Of all the youths so loved his sire as he
Loved me. He died for me yea, died to save
His father. Yet, when he was slain, did I
Endure to taste food, and to see the light,
Well knowing that all men must tread one path
Hades-ward, and before all lies one goal,
Death’s mournful goal. A mortal man must bear
All joys, all griefs, that God vouchsafes to send.”
Made answer that heart-stricken one, while still 60
Wet were his cheeks with ever-flowing tears:
“Father, mine heart is bowed ‘neath crushing grief
For a brother passing wise, who fostered me
Even as a son. When to the heavens had passed
Our father, in his arms he cradled me:
Gladly he taught me all his healing lore;
We shared one table; in one bed we lay:
We had all things in common these, and love.
My grief cannot forget, nor I desire,
Now he is dead, to see the light of life.” 70
Then spake the old man to that stricken one:
“To all men Fate assigns one same sad lot,
Bereavement: earth shall cover all alike,
Albeit we tread not the same path of life,
And none the path he chooseth; for on high
Good things and bad lie on the knees of
Gods Unnumbered, indistinguishably blent.
These no Immortal seeth; they are veiled
In mystic cloud-folds. Only Fate puts forth
Her hands thereto, nor looks at what she takes, 80
But casts them from Olympus down to earth.
This way and that they are wafted, as it were
By gusts of wind. The good man oft is whelmed
In suffering: wealth undeserved is heaped
On the vile person. Blind is each man’s life;
Therefore he never walketh surely; oft
He stumbleth: ever devious is his path,
Now sloping down to sorrow, mounting now
To bliss. All-happy is no living man
From the beginning to the end, but still 90
The good and evil clash. Our life is short;
Beseems not then in grief to live. Hope on,
Still hope for better days: chain not to woe
Thine heart. There is a saying among men
That to the heavens unperishing mount the souls
Of good men, and to nether darkness sink
Souls of the wicked. Both to God and man
Dear was thy brother, good to brother-men,
And son of an Immortal. Sure am I
That to the company of Gods shall he 100
Ascend, by intercession of thy sire.”
Then raised he that reluctant mourner up
With comfortable words. From that dark grave
He drew him, backward gazing oft with groans.
To the ships they came, where Greeks and Trojan men
Had bitter travail of rekindled war.
Eurypylus there, in dauntless spirit like
The War-god, with mad-raging spear and hands
Resistless, smote down hosts of foes: the earth
Was clogged with dead men slain on either side. 110
On strode he midst the corpses, awelessly
He fought, with blood-bespattered hands and feet;
Never a moment from grim strife he ceased.
Peneleos the mighty-hearted came
Against him in the pitiless fray: he fell
Before Eurypylus’ spear: yea, many more
Fell round him. Ceased not those destroying hands,
But wrathful on the Argives still he pressed,
As when of old on Pholoe’s long-ridged heights
Upon the Centaurs terrible Hercules rushed 120
Storming in might, and slew them, passing-swift
And strong and battle-cunning though they were;
So rushed he on, so smote he down the array,
One after other, of the Danaan spears.
Heaps upon heaps, here, there, in throngs they fell
Strewn in the dust. As when a river in flood
Comes thundering down, banks crumble on either side
To drifting sand: on seaward rolls the surge
Tossing wild crests, while cliffs on every hand
Ring crashing echoes, as their brows break down 130
Beneath long-leaping roaring waterfalls,
And dikes are swept away; so fell in dust
The war-famed Argives by Eurypylus slain,
Such as he overtook in that red rout.
Some few escaped, whom strength of fleeing feet
Delivered. Yet in that sore strait they drew
Peneleos from the shrieking tumult forth,
And bare to the ships, though with swift feet themselves
Were fleeing from ghastly death, from pitiless doom.
Behind the rampart of the ships they fled 140
In huddled rout: they had no heart to stand
Before Eurypylus, for Hercules,
To crown with glory his son’s stalwart son,
Thrilled them with panic. There behind their wall
They cowered, as goats to leeward of a hill
Shrink from the wild cold rushing of the wind
That bringeth snow and heavy sleet and haft.
No longing for the pasture tempteth them
Over the brow to step, and face the blast,
But huddling screened by rock-wall and ravine 150
They abide the storm, and crop the scanty grass
Under dim copses thronging, till the gusts
Of that ill wind shall lull: so, by their towers
Screened, did the trembling Danaans abide
Telephus’ mighty son. Yea, he had burnt
The ships, and all that host had he destroyed,
Had not Athena at the last inspired
The Argive men with courage. Ceaselessly
From the high rampart hurled they at the foe
With bitter-biting darts, and slew them fast; 160
And all the walls were splashed with reeking gore,
And aye went up a moan of smitten men.
So fought they: nightlong, daylong fought they on,
Ceteians, Trojans, battle-biding Greeks,
Fought, now before the ships, and now again
Round the steep wall, with fury unutterable.
Yet even so for two days did they cease
From murderous fight; for to Eurypylus came
A Danaan embassage, saying, “From the war
Forbear we, while we give unto the flames 170
The battle-slain.” So hearkened he to them:
From ruin-wreaking strife forebore the hosts;
And so their dead they buried, who in dust
Had fallen. Chiefly the Achaeans mourned
Peneleos; o’er the mighty dead they heaped
A barrow broad and high, a sign for men
Of days to be. But in a several place
The multitude of heroes slain they laid,
Mourning with stricken hearts. On one great pyre
They burnt them all, and buried in one grave. 180
So likewise far from thence the sons of Troy
Buried their slain. Yet murderous Strife slept not,
But roused again Eurypylus’ dauntless might
To meet the foe. He turned not from the ships,
But there abode, and fanned the fury of war.
Meanwhile the black ship on to Scyros ran;
And those twain found before his palace-gate
Achilles’ son, now hurling dart and lance,
Now in his chariot driving fleetfoot steeds.
Glad were they to behold him
practising 190
The deeds of war, albeit his heart was sad
For his slain sire, of whom had tidings come
Ere this. With reverent eyes of awe they went
To meet him, for that goodly form and face
Seemed even as very Achilles unto them.
But he, or ever they had spoken, cried:
“All hail, ye strangers, unto this mine home
Say whence ye are, and who, and what the need
That hither brings you over barren seas.”
So spake he, and Odysseus answered him: 200
“Friends are we of Achilles lord of war,
To whom of Deidameia thou wast born —
Yea, when we look on thee we seem to see
That Hero’s self; and like the Immortal Ones
Was he. Of Ithaca am I: this man
Of Argos, nurse of horses — if perchance
Thou hast heard the name of Tydeus’ warrior son
Or of the wise Odysseus. Lo, I stand
Before thee, sent by voice of prophecy.
I pray thee, pity us: come thou to Troy 210
And help us. Only so unto the war
An end shall be. Gifts beyond words to thee
The Achaean kings shall give: yea, I myself
Will give to thee thy godlike father’s arms,
And great shall be thy joy in bearing them;
For these be like no mortal’s battle-gear,
But splendid as the very War-god’s arms.
Over their marvellous blazonry hath gold
Been lavished; yea, in heaven Hephaestus’ self
Rejoiced in fashioning that work divine, 220
The which thine eyes shall marvel to behold;
For earth and heaven and sea upon the shield
Are wrought, and in its wondrous compass are
Creatures that seem to live and move — a wonder
Even to the Immortals. Never man
Hath seen their like, nor any man hath worn,
Save thy sire only, whom the Achaeans all
Honoured as Zeus himself. I chiefliest
From mine heart loved him, and when he was slain,
To many a foe I dealt a ruthless doom, 230
And through them all bare back to the ships his corse.
Therefore his glorious arms did Thetis give
To me. These, though I prize them well, to thee
Will I give gladly when thou com’st to Troy.
Yea also, when we have smitten Priam’s towns
And unto Hellas in our ships return,
Shall Menelaus give thee, an thou wilt,
His princess-child to wife, of love for thee,
And with his bright-haired daughter shall bestow
Rich dower of gold and treasure, even all 240
That meet is to attend a wealthy king.”
So spake he, and replied Achilles’ son:
“If bidden of oracles the Achaean men
Summon me, let us with to-morrow’s dawn
Fare forth upon the broad depths of the sea,
If so to longing Danaans I may prove
A light of help. Now pass we to mine halls,
And to such guest-fare as befits to set
Before the stranger. For my marriage-day —
To this the Gods in time to come shall see.” 250
Then hall-ward led he them, and with glad hearts
They followed. To the forecourt when they came
Of that great mansion, found they there the Queen
Deidameia in her sorrow of soul
Grief-wasted, as when snow from mountain-sides
Before the sun and east-wind wastes away;
So pined she for that princely hero slain.
Then came to her amidst her grief the kings,
And greeted her in courteous wise. Her son
Drew near and told their lineage and their names; 260
But that for which they came he left untold
Until the morrow, lest unto her woe
There should be added grief and floods of tears,
And lest her prayers should hold him from the path
Whereon his heart was set. Straight feasted these,
And comforted their hearts with sleep, even all
Which dwelt in sea-ringed Scyros, nightlong lulled
By long low thunder of the girdling deep,
Of waves Aegean breaking on her shores.
But not on Deidameia fell the hands 270
Of kindly sleep. She bore in mind the names
Of crafty Odysseus and of Diomede
The godlike, how these twain had widowed her
Of battle-fain Achilles, how their words
Had won his aweless heart to fare with them
To meet the war-cry where stern Fate met him,
Shattered his hope of home-return, and laid
Measureless grief on Peleus and on her.
Therefore an awful dread oppressed her soul
Lest her son too to tumult of the war 280
Should speed, and grief be added to her grief.
Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they
Rose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew;
And on her son’s broad breast she cast herself,
And bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air,
As when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills
Seeks through the glens her calf, and all around
Echo long ridges of the mountain-steep;
So on all sides from dim recesses rang
The hall; and in her misery she cried: 290
“Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing
To follow strangers unto Ilium
The fount of tears, where perish many in fight,
Yea, cunning men in war and battle grim?
And thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt
The ways of war, which save men in the day
Of peril. Hearken thou to me, abide
Here in thine home, lest evil tidings come
From Troy unto my ears, that thou in fight
Hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou 300
Hitherward shalt from battle-toil return.
Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death —
He, mightier than thou, mightier than all
Heroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess’ son —
But was in battle slain, all through the wiles
And crafty counsels of these very men
Who now to woeful war be kindling thee.
Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear
Lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved
Of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain, 310
For never heavier blow on woman falls
Than when her lord hath perished, and her sons
Die also, and her house is left to her
Desolate. Straightway evil men remove
Her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all,
Setting the right at naught. There is no lot
More woeful and more helpless than is hers
Who is left a widow in a desolate home.”
Loud-wailing spake she; but her son replied:
“Be of good cheer, my mother; put from thee 320
Evil foreboding. No man is in war
Beyond his destiny slain. If my weird be
To die in my country’s cause, then let me die
When I have done deeds worthy of my sire.”
Then to his side old Lycomedes came,
And to his battle-eager grandson spake:
“O valiant-hearted son, so like thy sire,
I know thee strong and valorous; yet, O yet
For thee I fear the bitter war; I fear
The terrible sea-surge. Shipmen evermore 330
Hang on destruction’s brink. Beware, my child,
Perils of waters when thou sailest back
From Troy or other shores, such as beset
> Full oftentimes the voyagers that ride
The long sea-ridges, when the sun hath left
The Archer-star, and meets the misty Goat,
When the wild blasts drive on the lowering storm,
Or when Orion to the darkling west
Slopes, into Ocean’s river sinking slow.
Beware the time of equal days and nights, 340
When blasts that o’er the sea’s abysses rush,
None knoweth whence in fury of battle clash.
Beware the Pleiads’ setting, when the sea
Maddens beneath their power nor these alone,
But other stars, terrors of hapless men,
As o’er the wide sea-gulf they set or rise.”
Then kissed he him, nor sought to stay the feet
Of him who panted for the clamour of war,
Who smiled for pleasure and for eagerness
To haste to the ship. Yet were his hurrying feet 350
Stayed by his mother’s pleading and her tears
Still in those halls awhile. As some swift horse
Is reined in by his rider, when he strains
Unto the race-course, and he neighs, and champs
The curbing bit, dashing his chest with foam,
And his feet eager for the course are still
Never, his restless hooves are clattering aye;
His mane is a stormy cloud, he tosses high
His head with snortings, and his lord is glad;
So reined his mother back the glorious son 360
Of battle-stay Achilles, so his feet
Were restless, so the mother’s loving pride
Joyed in her son, despite her heart-sick pain.
A thousand times he kissed her, then at last
Left her alone with her own grief and moan
There in her father’s halls. As o’er her nest
A swallow in her anguish cries aloud
For her lost nestlings which, mid piteous shrieks,
A fearful serpent hath devoured, and wrung
The loving mother’s heart; and now above 370
That empty cradle spreads her wings, and now
Flies round its porchway fashioned cunningly
Lamenting piteously her little ones:
So for her child Deidameia mourned.
Now on her son’s bed did she cast herself,
Crying aloud, against his door-post now
She leaned, and wept: now laid she in her lap
Those childhood’s toys yet treasured in her bower,
Wherein his babe-heart joyed long years agone.
She saw a dart there left behind of him, 380
And kissed it o’er and o’er yea, whatso else
Her weeping eyes beheld that was her son’s.
Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus Page 17
