Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

  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.