Delphi Complete Works of Quintus Smyrnaeus

by Quintus Smyrnaeus

  That yet alive was Peleus’ glorious son.

  But to the King of Heaven Antenor cried: 10

  “Zeus, Lord of Ida and the starry sky,

  Hearken my prayer! Oh turn back from our town

  That battle-eager murderous-hearted man,

  Be he Achilles who hath not passed down

  To Hades, or some other like to him.

  For now in heaven-descended Priam’s burg

  By thousands are her people perishing:

  No respite cometh from calamity:

  Murder and havoc evermore increase.

  O Father Zeus, thou carest not though we 20

  Be slaughtered of our foes: thou helpest them,

  Forgetting thy son, godlike Dardanus!

  But, if this be the purpose of thine heart

  That Argives shall destroy us wretchedly,

  Now do it: draw not out our agony!”

  In passionate prayer he cried; and Zeus from heaven

  Hearkened, and hasted on the end of all,

  Which else he had delayed. He granted him

  This awful boon, that myriads of Troy’s sons

  Should with their children perish: but that prayer 30

  He granted not, to turn Achilles’ son

  Back from the wide-wayed town; nay, all the more

  He enkindled him to war, for he would now

  Give grace and glory to the Nereid Queen.

  So purposed he, of all Gods mightiest.

  But now between the city and Hellespont

  Were Greeks and Trojans burning men and steeds

  In battle slain, while paused the murderous strife.

  For Priam sent his herald Menoetes forth

  To Agamemnon and the Achaean chiefs, 40

  Asking a truce wherein to burn the dead;

  And they, of reverence for the slain, gave ear;

  For wrath pursueth not the dead. And when

  They had lain their slain on those close-thronging pyres,

  Then did the Argives to their tents return,

  And unto Priam’s gold-abounding halls

  The Trojans, for Eurypylus sorrowing sore:

  For even as Priam’s sons they honoured him.

  Therefore apart from all the other slain,

  Before the Gate Dardanian — where the streams 50

  Of eddying Xanthus down from Ida flow

  Fed by the rains of heavens — they buried him.

  Aweless Achilles’ son the while went forth

  To his sire’s huge tomb. Outpouring tears, he kissed

  The tall memorial pillar of the dead,

  And groaning clasped it round, and thus he cried:

  “Hail, father! Though beneath the earth thou lie

  In Hades’ halls, I shall forget thee not.

  Oh to have met thee living mid the host!

  Then of each other had our souls had joy, 60

  Then of her wealth had we spoiled Ilium.

  But now, thou hast not seen thy child, nor I

  Seen thee, who yearned to look on thee in life.

  Yet, though thou be afar amidst the dead,

  Thy spear, thy son, have made thy foes to quail;

  And Danaans with exceeding joy behold

  One like to thee in stature, fame and deeds.”

  He spake, and wiped the hot tears from his face;

  And to his father’s ships passed swiftly thence:

  With him went Myrmidon warriors two and ten, 70

  And white-haired Phoenix followed on with these

  Woefully sighing for the glorious dead.

  Night rose o’er earth, the stars flashed out in heaven;

  So these brake bread, and slept till woke the Dawn.

  Then the Greeks donned their armour: flashed afar

  Its splendour up to the very firmament.

  Forth of their gates in one great throng they poured,

  Like snowflakes thick and fast, which drift adown

  Heavily from the clouds in winter’s cold;

  So streamed they forth before the wall, and rose 80

  Their dread shout: groaned the deep earth ‘neath their

  tramp.

  The Trojans heard that shout, and saw that host,

  And marvelled. Crushed with fear were all their hearts

  Foreboding doom; for like a huge cloud seemed

  That throng of foes: with clashing arms they came:

  Volumed and vast the dust rose ‘neath their feet.

  Then either did some God with hardihood thrill

  Deiphobus’ heart, and made it void of fear,

  Or his own spirit spurred him on to fight,

  To drive by thrust of spear that terrible host 90

  Of foemen from the city of his birth.

  So there in Troy he cried with heartening speech:

  “O friends, be stout of heart to play the men!

  Remember all the agonies that war

  Brings in the end to them that yield to foes.

  Ye wrestle not for Alexander alone,

  Nor Helen, but for home, for your own lives,

  For wives, for little ones, for parents grey,

  For all the grace of life, for all ye have,

  For this dear land — oh may she shroud me o’er 100

  Slain in the battle, ere I see her lie

  ‘Neath foemen’s spears — my country! I know not

  A bitterer pang than this for hapless men!

  O be ye strong for battle! Forth to the fight

  With me, and thrust this horror far away!

  Think not Achilles liveth still to war

  Against us: him the ravening fire consumed.

  Some other Achaean was it who so late

  Enkindled them to war. Oh, shame it were

  If men who fight for fatherland should fear 110

  Achilles’ self, or any Greek beside!

  Let us not flinch from war-toil! have we not

  Endured much battle-travail heretofore?

  What, know ye not that to men sorely tried

  Prosperity and joyance follow toil?

  So after scourging winds and ruining storms

  Zeus brings to men a morn of balmy air;

  After disease new strength comes, after war

  Peace: all things know Time’s changeless law of change.”

  Then eager all for war they armed themselves 120

  In haste. All through the town rang clangour of arms

  As for grim fight strong men arrayed their limbs.

  Here stood a wife, shuddering with dread of war,

  Yet piling, as she wept, her husband’s arms

  Before his feet. There little children brought

  To a father his war-gear with eager haste;

  And now his heart was wrung to hear their sobs,

  And now he smiled on those small ministers,

  And stronger waxed his heart’s resolve to fight

  To the last gasp for these, the near and dear. 130

  Yonder again, with hands that had not lost

  Old cunning, a grey father for the fray

  Girded a son, and murmured once and again:

  “Dear boy, yield thou to no man in the war!”

  And showed his son the old scars on his breast,

  Proud memories of fights fought long ago.

  So when they all stood mailed in battle-gear,

  Forth of the gates they poured all eager-souled

  For war. Against the chariots of the Greeks

  Their chariots charged; their ranks of footmen pressed 140

  To meet the footmen of the foe. The earth

  Rang to the tramp of onset; pealed the cheer

  From man to man; swift closed the fronts of war.

  Loud clashed their arms all round; from either side

  War-cries were mingled in one awful roar

  Swift-winged full many a dart and arrow flew

  From host to host; loud clanged the smitten shields

  ‘Neath
thrusting spears. neath javelin-point and sword:

  Men hewed with battle-axes lightening down;

  Crimson the armour ran with blood of men. 150

  And all this while Troy’s wives and daughters watched

  From high walls that grim battle of the strong.

  All trembled as they prayed for husbands, sons,

  And brothers: white-haired sires amidst them sat,

  And gazed, while anguished fear for sons devoured

  Their hearts. But Helen in her bower abode

  Amidst her maids, there held by utter shame.

  So without pause before the wall they fought,

  While Death exulted o’er them; deadly Strife

  Shrieked out a long wild cry from host to host. 160

  With blood of slain men dust became red mire:

  Here, there, fast fell the warriors mid the fray.

  Then slew Deiphobus the charioteer

  Of Nestor, Hippasus’ son: from that high car

  Down fell he ‘midst the dead; fear seized his lord

  Lest, while his hands were cumbered with the reins,

  He too by Priam’s strong son might be slain.

  Melanthius marked his plight: swiftly he sprang

  Upon the car; he urged the horses on,

  Shaking the reins, goading them with his spear, 170

  Seeing the scourge was lost. But Priam’s son

  Left these, and plunged amid a throng of foes.

  There upon many he brought the day of doom;

  For like a ruining tempest on he stormed

  Through reeling ranks. His mighty hand struck down

  Foes numberless: the plain was heaped with dead.

  As when a woodman on the long-ridged hills

  Plunges amid the forest-depths, and hews

  With might and main, and fells sap-laden trees

  To make him store of charcoal from the heaps 180

  Of billets overturfed and set afire:

  The trunks on all sides fallen strew the slopes,

  While o’er his work the man exulteth; so

  Before Deiphobus’ swift death-dealing hands

  In heaps the Achaeans each on other fell.

  The charging lines of Troy swept over some;

  Some fled to Xanthus’ stream: Deiphobus chased

  Into the flood yet more, and slew and slew.

  As when on fish-abounding Hellespont’s strand

  The fishermen hard-straining drag a net 190

  Forth of the depths to land; but, while it trails

  Yet through the sea, one leaps amid the waves

  Grasping in hand a sinuous-headed spear

  To deal the sword-fish death, and here and there,

  Fast as he meets them, slays them, and with blood

  The waves are reddened; so were Xanthus’ streams

  Impurpled by his hands, and choked with dead.

  Yet not without sore loss the Trojans fought;

  For all this while Peleides’ fierce-heart son

  Of other ranks made havoc. Thetis gazed 200

  Rejoicing in her son’s son, with a joy

  As great as was her grief for Achilles slain.

  For a great host beneath his spear were hurled

  Down to the dust, steeds, warriors slaughter-blent.

  And still he chased, and still he slew: he smote

  Amides war-renowned, who on his steed

  Bore down on him, but of his horsemanship

  Small profit won. The bright spear pierced him through

  From navel unto spine, and all his bowels

  Gushed out, and deadly Doom laid hold on him 210

  Even as he fell beside his horse’s feet.

  Ascanius and Oenops next he slew;

  Under the fifth rib of the one he drave

  His spear, the other stabbed he ‘neath the throat

  Where a wound bringeth surest doom to man.

  Whomso he met besides he slew — the names

  What man could tell of all that by the hands

  Of Neoptolemus died? Never his limbs

  Waxed weary. As some brawny labourer,

  With strong hands toiling in a fruitful field 220

  The livelong day, rains down to earth the fruit

  Of olives, swiftly beating with his pole,

  And with the downfall covers all the ground,

  So fast fell ‘neath his hands the thronging foe.

  Elsewhere did Agamemnon, Tydeus’ son,

  And other chieftains of the Danaans toil

  With fury in the fight. Yet never quailed

  The mighty men of Troy: with heart and soul

  They also fought, and ever stayed from flight

  Such as gave back. Yet many heeded not 230

  Their chiefs, but fled, cowed by the Achaeans’ might.

  Now at the last Achilles’ strong son marked

  How fast beside Scamander’s outfall Greeks

  Were perishing. Those Troyward-fleeing foes

  Whom he had followed slaying, left he now,

  And bade Automedon thither drive, where hosts

  Were falling of the Achaeans. Straightway he

  Hearkened, and scourged the steeds immortal on

  To that wild fray: bearing their lord they flew

  Swiftly o’er battle-highways paved with death. 240

  As Ares chariot-borne to murderous war

  Fares forth, and round his onrush quakes the ground,

  While on the God’s breast clash celestial arms

  Outflashing fire, so charged Achilles’ son

  Against Deiphobus. Clouds of dust upsoared

  About his horses’ feet. Automedon marked

  The Trojan chief, and knew him. To his lord

  Straightway he named that hero war-renowned:

  “My king, this is Deiphobus’ array —

  The man who from thy father fled in fear. 250

  Some God or fiend with courage fills him now.”

  Naught answered Neoptolemus, save to bid

  Drive on the steeds yet faster, that with speed

  He might avert grim death from perishing friends.

  But when to each other now full nigh they drew,

  Deiphobus, despite his battle-lust,

  Stayed, as a ravening fire stays when it meets

  Water. He marvelled, seeing Achilles’ steeds

  And that gigantic son, huge as his sire;

  And his heart wavered, choosing now to flee, 260

  And now to face that hero, man to man

  As when a mountain boar from his young brood

  Chases the jackals — then a lion leaps

  From hidden ambush into view: the boar

  Halts in his furious onset, loth to advance,

  Loth to retreat, while foam his jaws about

  His whetted tusks; so halted Priam’s son

  Car-steeds and car, perplexed, while quivered his hands

  About the lance. Shouted Achilles’ son:

  “Ho, Priam’s son, why thus so mad to smite 270

  Those weaker Argives, who have feared thy wrath

  And fled thine onset? So thou deem’st thyself

  Far mightiest! If thine heart be brave indeed,

  Of my spear now make trial in the strife.”

  On rushed he, as a lion against a stag,

  Borne by the steeds and chariot of his sire.

  And now full soon his lance had slain his foe,

  Him and his charioteer — but Phoebus poured

  A dense cloud round him from the viewless heights

  Of heaven, and snatched him from the deadly fray, 280

  And set him down in Troy, amid the rout

  Of fleeing Trojans: so did Peleus’ son

  Stab but the empty air; and loud he cried:

  “Dog, thou hast ‘scaped my wrath! No might of thine

  Saved thee, though ne’er so fain! Some God hath cast

  Night’s veil o’er thee, and snatched thee from thy
death.”

  Then Cronos’ Son dispersed that dense dark cloud:

  Mist-like it thinned and vanished into air:

  Straightway the plain and all the land were seen.

  Then far away about the Scaean Gate 290

  He saw the Trojans: seeming like his sire,

  He sped against them; they at his coming quailed.

  As shipmen tremble when a wild wave bears

  Down on their bark, wind-heaved until it swings

  Broad, mountain-high above them, when the sea

  Is mad with tempest; so, as on he came,

  Terror clad all those Trojans as a cloak,

  The while he shouted, cheering on his men:

  “Hear, friends! — fill full your hearts with dauntless

  strength,

  The strength that well beseemeth mighty men 300

  Who thirst to win them glorious victory,

  To win renown from battle’s tumult! Come,

  Brave hearts, now strive we even beyond our strength

  Till we smite Troy’s proud city, till we win

  Our hearts’ desire! Foul shame it were to abide

  Long deedless here and strengthless, womanlike!

  Ere I be called war-blencher, let me die!”

  Then unto Ares’ work their spirits flamed.

  Down on the Trojans charged they: yea, and these

  Fought with high courage, round their city now, 310

  And now from wall and gate-towers. Never lulled

  The rage of war, while Trojan hearts were hot

  To hurl the foemen back, and the strong Greeks

  To smite the town: grim havoc compassed all.

  Then, eager for the Trojans’ help, swooped down

  Out of Olympus, cloaked about with clouds,

  The son of Leto. Mighty rushing winds

  Bare him in golden armour clad; and gleamed

  With lightning-splendour of his descent the long

  Highways of air. His quiver clashed; loud rang 320

  The welkin; earth re-echoed, as he set

  His tireless feet by Xanthus. Pealed his shout

  Dreadly, with courage filling them of Troy,

  Scaring their foes from biding the red fray.

  But of all this the mighty Shaker of Earth

  Was ware: he breathed into the fainting

  Greeks Fierce valour, and the fight waxed murderous

  Through those Immortals’ clashing wills. Then died

  Hosts numberless on either side. In wrath

  Apollo thought to smite Achilles’ son 330

  In the same place where erst he smote his sire;