Book XI

FROM her couch by lordly Tithonus’ side did the Dawn upspring,
Her light to the Deathless Ones and the children of men to bring.
Then Zeus sped Discord forth to Achaia’s ships fleet-faring,
And the signal-token of war in her hands was the grim fiend bearing.
On the huge dark bulk of Odysseus’ galley she took her stand—
For that midmost it lay—to send forth her voice upon either hand,
Hitherward, to the tent of Aias Telamon’s son, and yonder
To Achilles’ tent, for their galleys had these beached farthest asunder,
For on naught save their manhood and strength of their hands would the heroes rely.
There stood the Goddess, and cried with a great and a terrible cry
Wild-ringing, and filled the heart of every Achaian with might;
And she made them fain of the onset, afire for the stintless fight:
And suddenly fairer and sweeter the battle-play seemed unto these
Than to flee in the hollow ships to their fatherland far overseas.
Then shouted Atreides commanding the host of the Argives to don
Their harness of fight, and he sheathed him in brass that flame-like shone.
First unto his legs did he lay the greaves fair-glittering
Clasping the ankle around with the burnished silver ring.
Thereafter the fence of his corslet he cast about his breast,
Which Kinyrés gave him, a princely gift to a princely guest.
For to Cyprus the mighty rumour had come, how Achaia’s host
Were making them ready to sail in their ships to the Troyland coast:
Wherefore he gave it, a gift that should make the king’s heart glad.
Twice six bands of the cyanus darkly-gleaming it had,
And of flaming gold twice six, and of glittering tin a score:
And dark-blue snakes to the gorget thereof writhed up evermore,
Three upon either side; as the rainbow that Kronos’ son
Hath set in the clouds for a sign unto mortals, so they shone.
And he slung from his shoulders his sword with golden studs bestarred
Flashing around, and the same did a scabbard of silver guard.
And it clashed by his side as it hung by many a golden chain.
And his rich-wrought warrior-warding onset-shield hath he ta’en,
Lovely, with twice five circles of brass encompassed about;
White bosses of tin twice ten from the face thereof flashed out:
And of cyanus darkly-gleaming was one in the midmost space.
And thereon was embossed the Gorgon-demon, with stony gaze
Grim-glaring, and Terror and Rout encompassed the Fearful Face.
And the baldric was all of silver; a serpent of cyanus-blue
Coil upon coil writhed down that glittering band, and there grew
Three heads from the neck of the monster in mazy knots interlaced.
And his twin-ridged helmet of fourfold crest on his head hath he placed:
Overglooming the brow of the hero terribly nodded its mane.
And he seized in his grip strong brass-tipped keen-whetted lances twain.
Afar from his harness the sheen of the brass flamed up to the sky.
And Athéné and Héré the Queen in thunder spake from on high
To honour the king of Mycenae the city of gold thereby.
Then to his charioteer each chieftain gave command
To range in order the steeds by the trench, and to have them in hand.
But themselves on foot in their battle-gear clad to the forefront are gone
Swift-rushing, and quenchless arose the war-cry before the dawn.
And long ere the drivers they stood at the trench ready-ranked for the war,
And the chariots a little space after them followed, and fearful uproar
Kronion upstirred, and a ghastly dew from on high he shed
Dank-drizzling with blood through the air, for a sign of his purpose dread
To hurl far down unto Hades many a gallant head.
On the swell of the broad plain over against them the Trojan array
Round Hector the mighty and princely Polydamas met for the fray,
And Aeneas, whom Troy’s folk honoured like to a God alway,
And Agénor the godlike, and Polybus—these were Antenor’s sons
With Akamas stalwart and young and fair as the Deathless Ones.
And Hector was bearing his shapely shield in the front of their war.
And even as out of the clouds forth-gleameth a baleful star,
And a moment thereafter mid clouds overshadowing sinketh from sight,
So Hector now flashed forth in the forefront of Troytown’s might,
And now was he ranging the rearward: from all his body poured
Flame-splendour of brass, as the lightning of Zeus the Aegis-lord.
And as overagainst each other the reapers band by band
Go driving the swath of barley or wheat through the furrowed land
Of a wealthy man, and the sheaves fall thick to the sickle’s sweep,
Even so did Achaians and Trojans each on the other leap
Destroying; they dreamed not of ruinous flight, nor these nor those.
And the battle was equal-poised, and as wolves men rushed at their foes.
And Discord groaning-fraught was exulting that havoc to see,
For none of the Deathless was there with the fighters, but only she.
Nay, amidst them was none of the rest of the Gods, but at peace they were,
Sitting their halls within, where the palace builded fair
Of each on the ridge-scarred folds of Olympus rose: and they railed
Bitterly each and all on Kronion the Cloudrack-veiled
That he willed to vouchsafe to the Trojans glory, yet nowise quailed
Allfather, nor recked of their indignation, but throned apart
Alone in his glorious majesty sat with triumphant heart,
Looking down on the Trojans’ town, on Achaia’s ships by the main,
On the bickering glitter of brass, on the slayers and them that were slain.
So all through the morning-tide, and still while the day waxed hot,
Fast fell the folk, as the shafts from host unto host were shot.
But it came to pass, at the hour when a woodman breaketh his fast,
Mid a mountain’s forest-glens, when his hands grow weary at last
With hewing the stately trees, and his spirit is toil-fordone,
And his soul hath hunger, and sweet is food to the fainting one;
Then by their valour the Danaan men the battalions burst,
On-cheering their fellows from rank unto rank. Agamemnon first
Plunged mid the rout, and Biénor, a shepherd of folk, with his spear
He slew, and thereafter Oileus his henchman-charioteer;
For he leapt to the earth from his chariot, and stood in the war-king’s path;
But the lance keen-whetted, as onward he rushed in his onset-wrath,
Crashed through his brow, nor availed him the massy helmet-rim;
But through brass and through bone went the spear, and the very brain of him
Was blood-besprent; so he slew him though never so battle-fain.
And there did the King of Men Agamemnon leave those slain
With breasts bare-gleaming, so soon as he plucked their corslets away.
Upon Isus and Antiphus then did he rush with intent to slay,
Two sons of Priam, bastard and wedlock-born, and the twain
In the selfsame chariot rode: ’twas the bastard swayed the rein;
By his side stood war-famed Antiphus: these in the days overpast
Had Achilles on Ida’s spurs with osier withes bound fast,
When he came on them feeding their flock; but for ransom he let them go.
Agamemnon Atreus’ son wide-ruling this day is their foe:
On the breast of the one by the pap came his lance as it leapt from afar,
And his sword smote Antiphus hard by the ear, and dashed from his car.
Then hasted the King, and their battle-gear fair from their bodies he tore,
Knowing them well, forasmuch as his eyes had beheld them before
By the ships, when from Ida fleet-footed Achilles the captives bore.
And even as the fawns of a hind full lightly be crushed beneath
The jaws of a lion, the helpless prey of his ravening teeth,
When he findeth their covert, and rendeth their tender life away,
And their mother may nothing avail for their help in the evil day,
Albeit so near, for on her is there come a horrible dread,
And swiftly through tangled coppice and woodland lawn hath she fled
From the rush of the mighty beast, sweat-reeking and terror-sped;
Even so from destruction no man of the Trojans might save them then,
Nay, but themselves fled panic-aghast from the Argive men.
Peisander and battle-bider Hippolochus slain by him fall,
Sons of the subtle Antimachus, him who was foremost of all
To take Alexander’s gold, the splendid gift, and to plead
That Helen should not be restored unto Atreus’ bright-haired seed.
None other than his two sons did the lord Agamemnon meet
In one car riding, and battleward speeding their steeds’ swift feet.
Then dropped from the hands of the charioteer the glittering rein,
And the horses in terror were plunging. On rushed like a lion amain
Atreides. But they from the chariot besought him with trembling cries:
O take us alive, Atreides, accept the ransom-price!
In the halls of Antimachus lieth a goodly treasure-store
Of brass and of gold and of iron the toil-born child of the ore:
And our father would lavish of these, he would nowise count the cost
If he heard that alive we lay mid the ships of the Danaan host.”
So weeping, the heart of the king unto pity they fain would have stirred
With words soft-pleading, but ruthless-hard was the voice that they heard:
“If indeed of the subtle Antimachus ye be the curséd brood,
Who bade, when once Menelaus in Trojan folkmote stood,—
When he came on an ambassage, he and Odysseus the godlike-strong,—
To slay him there neither let him return to Achaia’s throng,
Now shall ye surely atone for your father’s shameful wrong.”
He spake, and adown from the chariot to earth Peisander he thrust,
Dashing his spear on his breast, and he rolled on his back in the dust.
Then flightward Hippolochus darted, but him on the ground he slew,
Lopping his hands with his falchion, and shearing his neck in two;
And the head like a millstone rolling mid feet of the fighters he threw.
Then he left them, and there where the ranks thickest-thronging in battle-shock clashed
With his mail-clad Achaians into the heart of the fight hath he dashed.
And footman was slaying footman that could not choose but fly,
And horseman, horseman—from under their feet rose the dust on high
From the plain, by the thundering hoofs of the horses uptossed to the sky—
As they smote with the brass, while Lord Agamemnon slaughtering still
Pursued, and through battle-uproar to his men did his war-cry thrill.
As when ravening fire breaketh out in a forest dark and deep,
And the rolling flames upon every side do the wind-whirls sweep,
And the brakes fall shrivelled to ashes before the fire-blast’s leap;
So fell in their flight before King Agamemnon Atreus’ seed
The heads of the Trojans, and many a gallant-crested steed
With the clattering cars dashed madly through highways of that wild fray,
Bereft of their princely charioteers on the earth who lay,
Foul corpses, far sweeter to vulture’s beak than to lips of a bride.
But Zeus from the darts and the dust of the fight drew Hector aside,
Aloof from the murder-ravin, the blood, and the battle-uproar;
While Atreides cheering the Danaans onward pursued evermore.
On, by the barrow of Ilus the ancient, Dardanus’ son,
On through the midst of the plain, by the fig-tree sped they on,
Cityward straining, and ever Atreides pursued them with shouts,
And slaughter-defiled his resistless hands with the dark blood-gouts.
But when to the Skaian gate they were come and the oak thereby,
There did they rally, and tarried their fellows’ drawing nigh.
But some through the midst of the plain fled still, as in terror rush
Kine scared by a lion that stole on the herd in the night’s dead hush;—
But for one doth a dawn of destruction swift and sheer awake,
For the lion with strong teeth suddenly gripped her neck and brake,
And her blood and her inwards thereafter his murder-thirst shall slake;—
So Lord Agamemnon the scion of Atreus followed them fast,
Ever slaying the hindermost, and they fled all terror-aghast.
And many on face or on back from their chariots earthward were dashed
By Atreides’ hands, as his spear through the storm of his wrath fierce-flashed.
But when in a little more they had come to the steep-built town,
Even to the wall thereof, from the height of the heaven came down
The Father of Gods and of men, and he sat upon Ida’s crown,
The fountain-flashing hill: in his hands the thunderbolt lay.
Then Iris the golden-feathered he sped with his message away:
“Go speed thee, Iris the swift, unto Hector, and thus shalt thou say:
So long as he seeth the lord Agamemnon, the king of folk,
Storming afront, making havoc of ranks with the swift death-stroke,
So long let him cross not his path, let him otherwhere cheer his array
On to the grapple with foemen, the tug of the desperate fray.
But when by a spear-stab wounded, or smitten by arrow’s flight,
He shall leap on his chariot, then will I give the victory-might
Unto Hector, to slay and to slay, by the fair-benched ships till he stand,
And the sun go down, and the darkness-veil overshadow the land.”
So spake he to Iris the swift, and the Wind-foot did as he said;
And adown from the heights of Ida to Ilium the holy she sped.
And Hector the godlike, the child of Priam, found she there
On his chariot of horses standing, his war-car fashioned fair.
And Iris the swift-foot bearing the message of Zeus drew near:
“Hector the son of Priam, Zeus’s counsel-peer,
Zeus Allfather hath sent me to speak this word in thine ear:
So long as thou seest the lord Agamemnon, the king of folk,
Storming afront, making havoc of ranks with the swift death-stroke,
So long shalt thou cross not his path, thou shalt otherwhere cheer thine array
On to the grapple with foemen, the tug of the desperate fray.
But when by a spear-stab wounded, or smitten by arrow’s flight,
He shall leap on his chariot, then Zeus giveth thee victory-might,
To slay and to slay, until by the fair-benched ships thou stand,
And the sun go down, and the darkness-veil overshadow the land.”
So spake she, and Iris flashed from the earth with winged speed.
Down from his chariot to earth sprang Hector in battle-weed,
And brandishing keen-whetted lances he ranged the host about,
Cheering them on, and he wakened the terrible onset-shout.
So they rallied, and front to front they abode the Achaian men,
And the Argive ranks closed up, and they burst on the foemen again.
So the battle was joined: there was no man flinched: still rushed to the front
Agamemnon, fain to be foremost to face the battle’s brunt.
Now tell me, ye Muses that dwell in the halls of Olympus’ height,
Who first of the war-host braved Agamemnon’s battle-might,
Of the home-born Trojan men or their war-aid far-renowned.
Stalwart Iphidamas son of Antenor the first was found,
Who was nurtured in Thréké the sheep-fed, the land of the deep dark loam,—
It was Kissés that reared him, a little child, in his palace-home,
His mother’s sire, who begat Theano the fair of face.
But so soon as his fosterling grew unto youth-tide’s glory and grace,
Fain would the ancient have kept him, and gave him his daughter to wife:
But even from the bride-bower he went at the rumour of Troy’s great strife
With twice six beaked galleys that followed him over the tide.
But he left those shapely ships in Perkoté’s haven to ride,
But himself over mountain and plain unto Ilium held on his way:—
Even he crossed Atreus’ son Agamemnon’s path that day.
Onward they charged on each other till now they were drawn full near:
Then hurled Agamemnon, and missed, and sideward glanced his spear.
But Iphidamas under his corslet stabbed at his baldric-band,
And onward he drave it with all the strength of his heavy hand:
Yet it pierced not the glittering girdle, but ere it might work his intent,
Griding against the silver like lead was the spear-point bent.
Then grasped he the shaft, Agamemnon the lord of many a land,
Like a lion in fury he tugged, and he plucked it out of his hand.
Then he lashed at his neck with his falchion, and palsied his strength straightway:
Down fell he, and slept the sleep of the sword even there where he lay.
Ah piteous!—afar from his new-wedded wife for the Trojans he died.
With great gifts had he won her, yet knew not the grace of the love of his bride:
For a hundred kine had he given, and promised a thousand more,
Yea, goats and sheep from the flocks no man might number o’er.
Then Atreus’ son Agamemnon spoiled of his harness the slain,
And the beautiful war-gear back to Achaia’s throng hath he ta’en.
Now when this was beheld of Koon the war-famed hero-chief,
First of the sons of Antenor, a cloud of mighty grief
Overshadowed his eyes for the brother that stricken to death lay there.
Sidewards he stepped with his lance, and ere Agamemnon was ware
He stabbed him amidst of the forearm below the elbow-joint,
And clean through the flesh of him passed the glittering lance’s point.
Then Agamemnon the King of Men sudden-shuddered with pain;
Yet not even so from the strife and the war did the hero refrain,
But he rushed upon Koon, grasping his stormwind-toughened spear.
By the foot was he haling in haste that brother in death still dear—
For one father begat them,—and cried to the champions the rescue-shout:
Crashed through his boss-studded shield, as he dragged him through battle-rout,
The brass-headed lance, and his limbs in the palsy of death were unstrung:
And the hero bestrode him, and down on his brother his head he flung.
So there of the sons of Antenor fulfilled was their doom, to fall
By the hands of Atreides the King, and they passed unto Hades’ hall.
On went the hero through ranks of the foemen, and ever he warred
With the lightning of spears, with the flame of the sword, with the huge rock-shard,
For so long as the blood from the spear-gash yet was trickling warm:
But at last, when the wound waxed dry, and the gore clotted thick on his arm,
Then sharp were the pangs that thrilled through the might of Atreus’ son.
As the sharp dart smiteth a woman whose travailing hour is begun,
Keen-shot by the Eileithuiae, the Queens of Travail-pain,
The daughters of Héré that bring the bitter anguish-strain,
So sharp were the pangs that thrilled through the might of Atreus’ seed.
And he sprang to his chariot, and spake to his charioteer to speed
His steeds to the hollow ships, for his heart was anguish-rent:
And across the Danaan ranks his voice far-ringing he sent:
“Friends, chiefs of the Argive warriors, lords of battle-folk,
Be ye the defenders now of the sea-swift ships from the shock
Of the shattering onset-roar, for that Zeus mine hand doth stay,
And the Counsel-father forbiddeth to fight with the foes all day.”
Then his chariot-henchman lashed the steeds of the beautiful mane
On to the hollow ships, and they flew exceeding fain.
Foam-flecked were their chests, and beneath all dust-besprent they were,
As forth of the press of the battle the King sore-stricken they bare.
But when Hector marked Agamemnon departing at last from the war,
To the Trojans and Lycians he cried with a great voice pealing afar:
“Trojans and Lycians and Dardans that close in the grapple of fight,
Quit you like men, my friends, and remember your battle-storm-might!
Gone is their champion!—to me is vouchsafed a glory-crown
Of Zeus. On!—speed ye your thunderfoot horses, charging down
On the Danaan mighty men, to win you triumph-renown!”
So cried he, and kindled their courage, and each man’s heart beat high
And as huntsman cheereth onward his white-fanged hounds to fly
At the haunch of a wild boar tameless-fierce or a lion at bay,
So cheered he the great-heart Trojans on at the Argive array,
Even Hector the Priamid, like unto Arés the murder-red.
On in the forefront of battle with heart uplifted he sped,
And he swooped on the fight like a roaring blast that with hurricane-sweep
Down-leapeth and lasheth to tempest the face of the dark-blue deep.
Who then was the first, who then was the last, that Priam’s seed,
Even Hector, slew, when Zeus vouchsafed him the glory-meed?
Asaius, Autonoüs next, and Opites to Hades he sped;
Agelaus, Opheltius, and Dolops Klytius’ son lie dead;
Aisymnus is slain, battle-bider Hipponoüs, Orus withal:
Even these of the Danaan chiefs; on their multitude now doth he fall.
As the West-wind driveth in rout the host of the cloudy rack
Of the dank South, smiting them hard with a tempest lurid-black,—
Wave rolleth on mountain wave, and the scattering foam-crests high
On the blasts of the wind wild-veering drift through the roaring sky;
So drift they, the huddled crests, as his foes before Hector fly.
Then had been havoc, and deeds had been done past helping then,
And amidst of the galleys had fallen the fleeing Achaian men,
But to lord Diomedes Odysseus cried through the rout and the roar:
“What aileth us, Tydeus’ son, to remember our prowess no more
Ho, hither to me, friend!—stand by my side: it were bitter shame
If the ships should be taken of Hector the lord of the helmet of flame!”
Then unto him made answer and spake Diomedes the strong:
“I will verily stay and abide the battle; howbeit not long
Shall we joy therein, forasmuch as the Cloudrack-king of the sky
Not unto us, but the Trojans, willeth the victory.”
He spake, and he hurled with his javelin, and cleft Thymbraius’ heart,
And dashed him to earth from his car, the while of Odysseus’ dart
Was Molion the charioteer of the slain king laid in the dust.
There left they the dead, having utterly quelled their battle-lust.
Then clashing and clanging they rushed through the rout, as wild boars twain
With dauntless-hardy hearts rush down on the hunters amain;
So turned they to bay destroying their foes, and exceeding fain
The Achaians from Hector the godlike that fled drew breath again.
Then slew they two of the chiefs of the people whom one car bore,
Children of Merops the seer of Perkoté; in prophecy-lore
Was he wisest of men, and he would not his sons should fare to the fray,
To the battle, destroyer of heroes; howbeit they would not obey
Their father’s behest, for the fates of black death drew them away.
Even them Diomedes the spear-renowned hath slain, and hath torn
Their glorious arms from the breath-bereft, from the life-forlorn.
Hippodamas now and Hypeirochus down by Odysseus are borne.
Then held Kronion the balance of battle with level sway,
Down-gazing from Ida, and ever on this side and that did they slay.
Then hero Agastrophus, offspring of Priam, was stabbed by the spear
Of Tydeus’ son on the hip; for he stayed not his horses anear
To flee from the battle at need, but his spirit was folly-distraught;
For his henchman held them aloof, but himself mid the foremost fought
On-storming afoot, till his soul out of life into death he brought.
But Hector across the ranks keen-glancing, thitherward leapt
Shouting his war-cry: behind him the Trojan battalions swept.
Then saw Diomedes the battle-helper, and shuddered to see;
And straightway he strode to Odysseus’ side, and thus spake he:
“Lo, thunderbolt Hector is on us, a rolling ruin-tide!
Come then, let us flinch not before him, his onset let us abide.”
He spake, and he swung up his long-shadowed spear, and the shaft he hath sped,
And he smote him, and missed not the mark, for he hurled at Hector’s head.
On the crest of the morion it lighted, but brass was foiled by brass,
That it reached not his flesh, forasmuch as it might not prevail to pass
Through the threefold plates of the helmet, the gift of Apollo’s hand.
Far backward hath Hector reeled to the midst of his henchman-band;
And he sank to his knees, upborne by his brawny hand on the ground,
And a mist and a blackness of night fell shrouding his eyes around.
But it was so, while Tydeus’ son followed far through the forefront of fight
The leap of his lance, to the place where it stood in the earth deep-pight,
Then Hector again gat breath, and aback hath he leapt to his car,
And he plunged mid the host of his men, from the black death fleeing afar.
Then with his lance rushing onward did strong Diomedes cry:
“Ha, thou hast fled from the death, thou dog!—but thy bane came nigh,
Full nigh thee! ’Tis Phoebus Apollo again hath saved thee, I trow:
Of a surety thou prayest him, ere to the hurtling of lances thou go.
I will yet make an end of thee!—yea, we shall meet, and our strife shall be striven,
If with me too haply a helper be found of the dwellers in heaven.
Now will I set on the rest, whosoe’er to mine hands shall be given.”
He spake, and he fell to the spoiling of Paion’s son spear-famed.
Then Alexander the lord of Helen the fair-tressed aimed
His arrow against that shepherd of folk, even Tydeus’ child:
For against a pillar he leaned on the barrow a nation had piled
For Ilus, Dardanus’ son, a prince of the olden day.
Now the hero from mighty Agastrophus’ breast was tearing away
The corslet’s gleaming sheen, and the shield from his shoulders he rent,
And the massy helmet:—but now was the bow to a deep arch bent,
And the arrow leapt forth: not in vain from the hand of the archer it flew,
On the flat of his right foot lighting, and pierced it through and through,
That it stood in the earth. Then loud laughed Paris in triumph-glee;
Forth of his ambush he sprang, and with vaunting words spake he:
“Thou art smitten!—not vainly mine arrow hath flown!—would God my dart
Had taken thy life away, deep-plunging into thine heart!
Then peradventure the Trojans had gotten some respite from bale:
Who tremble before thee, as bleating goats at a lion quail.”
But undismayed Diomedes the strong made answer in scorn:
“Thou bow-churl railer, thou gazer at girls, who dost glory in horn,
If man against man in the harness of war thou wouldst try my might,
Naught should avail thee thy bow, nor the hail of the arrow-flight.
But now hast thou grazed but my foot, and thou vauntest in empty joy!
I reck not: ’tis even as a woman should smite, or a witless boy.
A dastard, a niddering slave—tush, vain is the shaft of such!
Not in such wise from mine hand, how lightly soever it touch,
The keen dart flieth, but straightway bereaveth a man of his life;
And torn by her frenzied hands are the cheeks of his widowed wife,
And his children be fatherless: he with his blood red-staining the ground
Lieth to rot: more vultures than women about him be found.”
Then cometh and standeth before him Odysseus the spear-renowned:
And behind him he sat him adown, and the shaft keen-whetted he drew
From his foot, and with grievous pangs was the hero’s flesh thrilled through.
And he sprang to his chariot, and bade his henchman to turn again
Unto the hollow ships, for his heart was sore in pain.:
And Odysseus the spear-renowned was left alone: there was none
That abode by his side of the Argives, for fear had seized each one.
Sorely disquieted then to his own stout heart he said:
“Ah me, what now shall befall me?—ill were it done if I fled
Yon rabble in fear!—yet worse should it be alone to be taken.
Other Danaans flee, for their hearts by Kronion are panic-shaken.
Howbeit what do I, communing in this vile sort with mine heart?
For I know that it is but the cowards that forth of the battle depart:
But whoso playeth the man in the fight must needs, I trow,
Unflinchingly stand, whether smitten he be, or have smitten his foe.”
In the thoughts and intents of his heart as he wavered doubtful-souled,
On came the Trojan shields, ever nearer the war-surge rolled;
And they hemmed him around—but their bane thereby in their midst did they hold.
As when stalwart hunters and hounds have encompassed a wild boar’s lair,
Till, bursting out of the deep dark covert, behold, he is there
Whetting his gleaming tusks from his grinning jaws as they flash:
Forthright they beset him, and clear through the tumult the tusks’ fierce clash
Ringeth, but stoutly they bide his terrible onset-dash;
Even so did the Trojans beset Odysseus to Zeus most dear.
Then first upon Déiopites the princely he leapt with his spear,
And thrust with the keen brass down on his shoulder, and pierced it through.
Thereafter on Thoon and Ennomus swiftly he turned, and slew.
Thereafter Chersidamas, soon as he leapt from his car to the ground,
In the navel he stabbed with his spear ’neath his buckler’s boss-starred round;
And in agony clutching the earth with his palm was he rolled in the dust.
These left he to lie, and at Charops he smote with a swift spear-thrust,
The true blood-brother of Sokus the high-born, Hippasus’ son.
Then came for his rescuing Sokus, a godlike-goodly one;
And he drew full nigh to the hero, and hailed him in act to spoil:
‘Odysseus the famous in story, insatiate of guile and of toil,
Either to-day shalt thou vaunt thee o’er sons of Hippasus twain,
Of the laying of two such champions low, of their battle-gear ta’en,
Or shalt lose thy life peradventure by my spear smitten and slain.”
At the round of his shapely shield a furious thrust hath he sped:
Crashed through the glittering buckler the great spear’s thunderbolt head:
Unswerving it burst through the corslet with curious work rich-decked,
And all the flesh from his ribs hath it torn; yet its fury was checked,
That it pierced not the hero’s bowels, by Pallas Athéné’s power.
And Odysseus knew that the end had found him not in that hour;
And he drew back a step, and to Sokus he cried undaunted of cheer:
“Wretch, surely there cometh upon thee destruction sudden-sheer!
Of a truth hast thou wrought that in battle with Trojans no more I may stand;
But for thee—I tell thee that slaughter and black death dealt by my hand
Shall be wreaked on thee here, and thou by my javelin dashed to the ground
Shalt give glory to me, and thy soul unto Hades the steed-renowned.”
He spake, and that other had turned him to flee in sudden fear;
But even as he turned plunged into his back Odysseus’ spear
’Twixt shoulder and shoulder, and onward and out through his breast it brake.
Loud-crashing he fell, and Odysseus the godlike in triumph spake:
“Ha Sokus the war-wise horse-queller’s seed, thou Hippasus’ son,
Thy swiftness might flee not the death-doom-end, nor thy wiliness shun!
Ah wretch, it is not thy sire, nor thy mother the lady fair,
That shall close thine eyes death-staring: raw-ravening fowl of the air
Shall rend thee, o’erglooming thy carcase with flap of their thick-thronging wings:
But my pyre, if I die, shall be reared by Achaia’s heroes and kings.”
He spake, and thereafter the spear of the war-wise Sokus he drew
Forth of the flesh and the shield that the thunderbolt head cleft through.
Out spirted the blood as he drew it, and troubled his spirit sore.
But so soon as the great-heart Trojans beheld Odysseus’ gore,
Rang a shout through their ranks, and they closed on the hero on every side.
And Odysseus gave back from their onset, and loud to his comrades he cried:
Thrice did he shout, as loud as the throat of man might call:
Upon Arés-beloved Menelaus’ ear did his cry thrice fall.
Unto Aias forthright, as he fought by his side, Menelaus spoke:
“Telamonian Aias the Zeus-descended, captain of folk,
There hath rung through mine ears the steadfast-hearted Odysseus’ shout;
And suchlike it seemed unto me as the Trojans had hemmed him about,
And were pressing him hard alone in the mighty grapple of fight.
Let us speed through the press: it were best that we helped our comrade’s plight;
For I fear lest mischief befall him alone mid the Trojan host,
Lest sore be the Danaans’ grief for their valiant hero lost.”
So spake he, and led, and followed him Aias, a godlike wight.
Then found they Odysseus, and pressed on him Trojans to left and to right,
As amidst of the mountains the tawny jackals close on a hart,
On a stately-antlered stag, sore hurt by the death-winged dart
From a hunter’s bow; yet his fleetness of foot hath availed him to flee
So long as his blood ran warm and the lithe limbs bounded free:
But when by the shaft that he cannot outrun his strength is spent,
In a mountain-forest dark have the wild dogs caught him and rent.
But lo, God bringeth a lion, a ravin-king, that way;
Then scatter the jackals in dread, and the lion devoureth the prey;
Even so that day on Odysseus the war-wise, the master of guile,
Trojans full many and stalwart pressed, and the hero the while
Rushing this way and that with his spear thrust backward the pitiless hour.
Lo, nigh to him Aias came, on-bearing the shield like a tower,
And stood by him: scattered the Trojans this way and that way in dread.
Then grasped Menelaus his hand, and forth of the press hath he led,
Till his henchman-charioteer came driving the steeds to his side.
But Aias hath leapt on the Trojans, and straightway Doryklus died,
A bastard begotten of Priam; through Pandokus’ heart hath he thrust:
Lysander and Pyrasus stabbed he; Pylartes he laid in the dust.
And as when some river in flood goeth pouring adown to the plain
From the mountains, a winter-torrent swelled by the heaven-sent rain,
And many a sapless oak, and many a tall pine-tree
Down the whirl of its waters is hurled as it sweepeth the silt to the sea;
So Aias the glorious then went chasing the rout of the foe
O’er the plain, slaying horses and men: but nothing did Hector know
Thereof, forasmuch as he fought on the left of the warring host,
By the banks of the river Skamander, for there was the havoc most
As men’s heads fell, and the shouting as fire unquenchable rose
Round Nestor the mighty and dauntless Idomeneus grappling with foes.
In the heart of the battle was Hector, and dread were his mighty deeds
As he wasted the ranks with his spear and the charge of his chariot-steeds.
Yet had the godlike Achaians still pressed Ilium-ward,
Had not the prince Alexander, the fair-tressed Helen’s lord,
At Machaon the war-chief’s shieldless shoulder speeding the flight
Of a three-barbed arrow, stayed him amidst of the triumph of fight.
Then sorely they feared for his sake, the Achaians breathing might,
Lest a captive he fall mid the foes in the turning of battle’s tide.
Forthright thereupon unto Nestor the godlike Idomeneus cried:
“O Nestor Neleus’ son, Achaia’s crown of pride,
Up, get thee upon thy car; let Machaon mount at thy side:
And thy thunderfoot horses drive to the ships with thine uttermost speed;
For more than a multitude availeth the leech for our need,
When the shaft sticketh deep in the flesh, when the healing salve must be spread.”
Then hearkened Gerenia’s horseman Nestor to do as he said.
He hath mounted his chariot, and onward bearing Machaon it rolled,
The son of Asklépius the leech, the glorious healer of old.
And he lashed those coursers fleet, and with eager speed they flew
To the hollow ships—yea, fain was their spirit so to do.
Then ware was Kebrionés of the rout of the Trojan folk,
As in Hector’s chariot he rode, and with eager lips he spoke:
“Lo Hector, here be we rifting the Danaan ranks asunder
On the skirts of the hideous-yelling fight, but the Trojans yonder
Are hurled in confusion of rout, both hero and battle-car,
By Aias Telamon’s son: well know I the man from afar
By the shoulders that bear the broad tower-shield:—nay then, let us turn
Thither the steeds and the car where most doth the war-rage burn
Of chariot-fighters and footmen hurling their hate at their foes
As they slay, while as quenchless flame the roar of it heavenward goes.”
Then the car-steeds beautiful-maned with the whistling thong he lashed,
And they hearkened the voice of the scourge, and away and away they dashed
To the strife of Achaian and Trojan speeding the rushing car,
Trampling the corpses and shields, and with blood was the axle-bar
All spattered beneath, and blood on the rails of the chariot rained,
Upsplashed from the crimson pools as the thundering hoofs on-strained,
Whirled wide from the madding tires. On rushed he battle-athirst
To leap mid the ranks and to rend them: with ruinous tumult he burst
On the Danaans: nowise by dread of the spear was his onrush barred.
On went the hero through ranks of the foemen, and ever he warred
With the lightning of spears, with the flame of the sword, with the huge rock-shard.
Only from battle he shrank with Aias Telamon’s son,
For that Zeus had been angered if Hector had fought with a mightier one.
But Allfather enthroned on high made Aias panic-stung.
Astonied he stood, and behind him the sevenfold shield he flung:
And he quailed as he glanced at the war-press, and like to a beast at bay
To this side and that side he turned him, and foot by foot gave way.
And even as the herdmen-folk and the watch-dogs drive from the fold,
From the garth of the kine, a tawny lion ravin-bold,
As they watch through the livelong night, neither suffer the forest-king
To seize on the choice of the herd, but for flesh mad-hungering
Ever on them he rusheth, yet naught he prevaileth, so thick and fast
Leap in his face the darts by the hands undaunted cast,
And the blazing brands that he dreadeth, how furious-fain soe’er,
Till at dawn sore chafing and grudging in spirit aback must he fare;
So chafing at heart from the Trojans Aias backward bore
Bitterly loth, for he feared for Achaia’s ships full sore.
And as when by a cornfield faring an ass, upon whose dull hide
Many staves have been broken, o’ermastereth boys that would turn him aside,
And he entereth in, and he wasteth the crop, while the children smite
The spoiler with cudgels, but nothing availeth their puny might,
And hardly when stayed is his craving for corn may they drive him away;
Even so upon Aias the mighty, Telamon’s son, that day
Did Troy’s proud sons and their helpers from many a nation charge,
Evermore, as they pressed on him, stabbing with lances the midst of his targe.
And in Aias now did the war-wrath-flame rekindling leap,
And he turned him and stayed the battalions amidst of the onset-sweep
Of the horse-quelling foe: now flightward again would he turn his feet;
Yet, fight he or flee, he barred the path of their host to the fleet.
Even there ’twixt the ranks of Achaia and Troy did the hero stand
Furious-battling, and spears from many a valiant hand
‘Plunged into the broad shield some, as onward they leapt amain,
And into the earth sank many, or ever their flight might attain
The goal of his flesh, and they quivered athirst for the blood of the slain.
But Eurypylus, glorious son of Evaimon, beheld that sight,
How the hero with thick-coming darts sore pressed was in evil plight:
And he came and he stood by his side, and he hurled with his lance flame-bright;
Upon Phausias’ son Apisaon, a shepherd of folk, did it light,
In his liver, the midriff beneath, and unstrung was his strength by the spear.
And Eurypylus rushed to strip from his shoulders his battle-gear.
But when prince Alexander the godlike beheld him in act to strip
From dead Apisaon his mail, then strained he his bow in his grip
On Eurypylus: swift to his rightward thigh did the arrow fly;
And the reed snapped off, but a bitter burden abode in his thigh.
Straightway to the band of his comrades he drew back, shunning the death,
And he shouteth with far-ringing voice to the Danaan men, and he saith:
“Friends, princes of Argive men, and chiefs of their war-array,
Turn you about and stand, and defend from the pitiless day
Aias, for now is he sorely bestead with the darts, and I trow
He will flee not the deadly din of the fight:—stand firmly, ho,
For the rescue of Aias the mighty, Telamon’s son, from the foe!”
So cried Eurypylus arrow-smitten, and they at his shout
Cast on their shoulders their shields, and they compassed the hero about,
Outstretching their spears. Then Aias to meet his comrades strode,
And he turned him about in their midst, and the battle of Troy he abode.
So with the ravening fury of blazing fire fought they.
But Nestor the mares Neleian sweating bare from the fray,
And Machaon the shepherd of folk therewithal sped they in the car.
Then fleetfoot Achilles the godlike was ware of him, looking from far.
For he stood on the huge dark bulk of his ship, on the stern high-raised,
And over the desperate toil and the woe-fraught strife he gazed.
And unto his comrade Patroclus straightway his voice hath he sent
From his ship far-shouting, and heard him Patroclus, and forth of his tent
Came, like to the War-god:—his bane in the selfsame hour was begun.
Then first to the hero spake Menoitius’ stalwart son:
“Why dost thou call me, Achilles, and what wouldst thou have me to do?”
Made answer Achilles the swift to his comrade tried and true:
“Menoitius’ godlike son, right dear to the heart of me,
Now the Achaians, I ween, beseeching shall crouch at my knee;
For a mighty constraint that may not be withstood is come on them now.
Go, prithee, Patroclus the Zeus-loved, of Nestor question thou
Who shall it be that he beareth stricken from battle-wrack,
Of a truth as Machaon he seemed unto me that beheld but his back,
Even Asklépius’ son, but I saw not the face of the man,
For the steeds flashed past in a moment as onward-straining they ran.”
He spake, and the word of his dear-loved friend did Patroclus obey,
And he hasted and ran to the tents and the ships of Achaia’s array.
Now when they to the tent of Neleus’ son were come from the war,
On the earth’s all-fostering floor they lighted down from the car;
And the steeds of the ancient hero Eurymedon led aside
From the yoke, and the sweat of their toil from their tunics the warriors dried,
As they stood in the breeze by the shore of the sea: thereafter they hied
Into the tent, and on seats did they sit them adown to rest.
Then mixed them a summer-draught Hekamédé the lovely-tressed,
Whom the ancient received when Achilles smote strong Tenedos’ wall,
The child of Arsinous mighty of heart; that war-won thrall
The Achaians gave unto him who in counsel was chiefest of all.
So in front of the heroes a beautiful table first did she place,
With its feet of the cyanus wrought, fair-burnished: a basket of brass
Did she set, and a scallion to blend with the wine, sharp savour with sweet,
And amber honey she served, and the hallowed meal of the wheat;
And a beautiful cup from the old king’s palace-treasure-store,
With golden bosses bestarred, and the ears thereof were four.
Two golden doves bent over the brim upon either hand
Of each, as to sip of the bowl, and beneath was a twofold stand.
That mighty mazer another would strain from the table to shift
Wine-brimmed, which Nestor the old would with effortless strength uplift.
So the woman fair as a goddess mixed them the draught, and she stirred
The Pramnian wine therein, and she grated the goat’s milk curd
With a brazen grater, and sprinkled thereover the barley white,
And she bade them to drink, so soon as the draught was ready-dight.
So when they had drunken thereof the fire of their thirst to slake,
Then took they delight of discourse as each unto other they spake.
And behold, at the tent-door stood Patroclus, a godlike wight;
And the ancient beheld, and he sprang from the high-seat glittering-bright.
And he drew him within by the hand, and unto a chair would have led,
Howbeit Patroclus spake the word of denial, and said:
“No sitting for me, Zeus-fostered ancient; thou shalt not prevail.
He is worship-worthy and dread who hath sent me to hear the tale
Of the shaft-stricken hero thou bring’st,—yet his name needeth not to be told;
For this is Machaon the shepherd of folk that mine eyes behold.
But now to Achilles with tidings hereof must I straightway return.
Thou knowest full well, Zeus-fostered sire, how terribly stern
Is the hero: he would not spare to upbraid where blame was none.”
Answered him Nestor, Gerenia’s chariot-lord spake on:
“And why doth Achilles pity the sons of Achaia so,
Even such of our host as be smitten with darts?—what, doth he not know
What grief hath arisen throughout our array?—for our mightiest here
Mid the galleys are lying with arrows smitten, or stabbed with the spear.
Strong Tydeus’ son Diomedes is hurt by a shaft from the string,
Spear-stabbed is Odysseus the lance-famed, and Agamemnon the king:
On the thigh is Eurypylus smitten withal by an arrow’s flight;
And another, this man, but now have I brought from the midst of the fight
Hurt by a shaft from the cord. But Achilles, for all his might,
Not for the Danaans careth, nor pitieth he their plight.
What, will he wait till the sea-swift ships on the wave-washed coast
Be aglow with the ravening fire in despite of the Danaan host,
And slaughtered one on another we fall?—for my strength no more
Is like unto that which my lithe limbs had in the days of yore.
Ah that I had but my youth, and my strength unwasted as then
When rose grim feud ’twixt the folk of my country and Elis’ men
For a cattle-foray, when stricken Itymoneus fell by my hand,
Hypeirochus’ stalwart son, the abider in Elis-land,
When I drave the spoil, and he, as he stood in defence of his kine,
Mid the foremost was struck by a lance from this right hand of mine:
Down fell he, and trembled the yeomen-folk in sore dismay.
Then forth of their plain did we gather and drive a mighty prey,
Even fifty herds of their kine, and as many flocks of their sheep,
And fifty of swine and of goats from the harried plain did we sweep,
And chestnut steeds therewithal a hundred and fifty we won;
There were none but were mares, and by many an one did a young foal run.
These drave we in triumph through Nelian Pylos’ gate in the night,
And on to the citadel: stirred was Neleus’ soul with delight
For the great spoil won by his son at his first going forth unto war.
And at dawning the heralds proclaimed with clear voice pealing afar
That all men should come that of Elis the hallowed had claim of a debt.
Thereafter gathered the chieftains, the lords of the Pylians met,
And they parted the spoil, for to many a debt the Epeians owed,
Who had evil-entreated us, the few that in Pylos abode.
For Herakles’ might had come down on our people, and grimly oppressed
The land in the years overpast, and slain were our bravest and best.
Twelve sons were we, unto Neleus the princely born in his hall:
I only was left, for in battle did all my brethren fall.
And pride-uplifted thereby the Epeians brass-mail-dight
Wrought tyrannous wrong, and devised for us deeds of mischief and spite.
And the old king chose him a herd of kine, and a mighty flock
Of sheep; three hundred he took, and with these their shepherd-folk.
For to him out of Elis the hallowed a debt full heavy was due,
Four guerdon-winning steeds, and the chariot withal that they drew,
When for prizes they came, when their lord for a tripod had sent them to race:
Howbeit Augeias, the king of men, in the selfsame place
Seized them, and sent their driver away sore grieved for his steeds.
And the old king, bitterly wroth for despiteful words and deeds,
Chose for him booty untold, but the rest to his people he left
To divide it, that none might upbraid, of his rightful portion bereft.
So meetly we ordered it all, and about our burg did we slay
Gifts to the Gods: then came, when the third dawn brought the day,
The host of our foes and their thunderfoot horses in full array:
And amidst them the twin Molions were girded with harness of fight,
But as yet were they striplings, and skilless as yet of battle-might.
Now a city there is, Thryoessa, a crag-built burg of war;
On the marches of Pylos the sandy it stood by Alpheius afar.
Round about it they camped, mad-eager to rase that war-fenced town.
But when they had marched through the plain, from Olympus rushing down
Came Athéné by night, bidding arm us to meet that peril nigh;
And nowise loth were our folk when she cried the gathering cry,
But exceeding fain of the battle were they: yet Neleus denied
That his son should array him for fight, and my chariot-steeds did he hide,
For he deemed that in wisdom of war as yet was I over-young;
But for all this, glory I won mid our car-borne warrior-throng,
Albeit on foot, for the battle was swayed of Athéné so.
Now a river there is, Minyeius, and down to the sea doth it go
Anigh to Aréné, and there the Dawn divine we abode
With the chariots of Pylos, while onward the war-flood of footmen flowed.
Then with our gathered array, full-harnessed in brazen gleam,
We came when the sun was high to Alpheius’ sacred stream.
There unto might-throned Zeus fair victims slaughtered we,
And a bull to Alpheius, a bull to Poseidon the Lord of the Sea;
But a heifer to Queen Athéné the flashing-eyed did we slay.
Then squadron by squadron we supped in the place where the war-host lay;
And armour-sheathed we slept by the river whose waters rolled
Murmuring by, the while the Epeians mighty-souled
Beleaguered the town, mad-eager to lay her ramparts low:
But a mighty deed of war ere then was revealed to the foe:
For so soon as over the earth-plain the sun uplifted his light,
Unto Zeus we prayed and Athéné, and clashed in the thunder or fight.
And scarce was the strife of the Pylian men and Epeians begun,
When I smote down the first of the foe, and his thunderfoot horses I won,
Even Mulius the spearman: by marriage was he to Augeias allied,
Whose eldest child Agamédé the golden-haired was his bride;
All herbs of healing she knew that be nursed on the earth-plain wide.
On came he—I sped to his heart the brazen lance’s flight.
Down fell he in dust, and I on his chariot sprang forthright;
And I stood mid the forefighters. Then the Epeian men of renown
Quaked in confusion of panic, beholding him stricken down,
The chieftain of chariots, their champion, their stay mid the battle-wrack.
Then I charged on the foe with the sweep of the hurricane lurid-black,
And fifty chariots I took, and from each car heroes twain
Rolled gnashing their teeth in the dust of death, by my war-spear slain.
Yea, the Motions of Aktor’s line by mine hand had died,
But the Wide-dominioned, who shaketh the earth with his thunder-tide,
Their father, snatched them from war, and in deep mist veiled them from sight.
Then Zeus to the Pylian men vouchsafed the victory-might.
Onward and onward we chased their rout through the plain wide-spread,
Slaying the men, and spoiling the fair war-gear of the dead,
Till over Buprasion’s lea wheat-wealthy the war-waves flowed,
Till to Olenus’ rock and Aleision’s tower-crowned crag we rode.
There backward Athéné turned our host on the homeward way:
There slew I, there left I, the last of the foe: but Achaia’s array
From Buprasion to Pylos drave their steeds swift-footed again;
And of Godfolk ’twas Zeus that they praised, it was Nestor they praised among men.
Such was I, if ever I lived, among men. But Achilles will reap
The fruit of his prowess alone: ah surely, I ween, shall he weep
Sorely with ruth for the folk when they perish utterly.
O friend, of a truth did Menoitius lay this charge upon thee,
In the day when from Phthia he sent thee for King Agamemnon’s feud,
And Odysseus the godlike and I ’neath the selfsame roof-tree stood,
As he spake in his halls, and we hearkened to all his charging.the while:—
For we came unto Peleus’ palace, the stately-builded pile,
As we gathered the host through Achaia the land of women fair.
So we came to his halls, and the hero Menoitius found we there,
And thee with Achilles. And Peleus the chariot-champion grey
Unto Zeus the thunder-triumphant was burning the thighs that day
Of kine in the garth of his court, and a chalice of gold he bore,
And thereout on the altar-blaze the flame-flushed wine did he pour.
Ye twain were dividing the carcase: and over the threshold we stept,
And we stood in the door: to his feet in amazement Achilles leapt.
Then grasped he our hands, and he led us within, and he bade to a seat,
And he set before us the guest-fare, whatso for strangers is meet.
But so soon as our souls were filled with delight of the wine and the roast,
I spake of our counsel, and prayed you to follow to war with the host.
Full fain were ye then, and your fathers charged you with earnest heed:
Yea, Peleus the ancient charged Achilles his hero-seed
Ever upward to strive to the highest, and still to be best of the best:
And to thee Menoitius Aktor’s son gave thus his behest:
‘My son, of his lineage Achilles is sprung of the princelier line,
But thou art the elder-born: yet his prowess is far above thine.
Then speak to him words of wisdom, and whisper his stormier mood,
And point him the way he should go: he will hearken to thee for his good.’
So counselled the ancient, but ah, thou forgettest: yet now, even now,
To Achilles the wise, if he haply will hear thee, thus speak thou.
Who can tell but his heart shall awaken, that God will cause him to heed
Thy pleading?—a blessing there is when the lips of the loving plead.
But and if ’tis a prophecy haunteth his soul with a vision of fear,
If his mother have told some fateful warning of Zeus in his ear,
Yet thee at the least let him send: let his Myrmidon ranks to the war
Follow thee; so shalt thou rise on our host a deliverance-star.
Yea, let him give thee his goodly harness to bear to the fray,
Peradventure the Trojans will deem thou art he, and will shrink in dismay
From the fight, and a breathing-space to Achaians sore distrest
Shall be given, for short is the time in the battle for breathing or rest;
‘And ye, the unwearied, might drive the foe with the war-toil spent
Lightly aback to the city afar from galley and tent.”
So spake he, and stirred was the heart in Patroclus’ breast by his rede,
And he turned him to run to the ships, to Achilles Aiakus’ seed.
But when to the ships he was come of Odysseus the godlike king,
As he ran, to the place of the council-stead and the judgment-ring,
Where the altars stood, by Achaians reared to the dwellers on high,
There met him Eurypylus, offspring of Zeus, as he passed thereby.
Smit with a shaft in the thigh slow came Evaimon’s son
Halting from battle, and down did the sweat of his labour run
Streaming from shoulders and head, and forth of the grim gash flowed
The blood dark-welling, howbeit his mind unshaken abode.
And Menoitius’ stalwart son beheld him pity-stirred,
And he made lamentation thereover, and spake the swift-winged word;
“Ah hapless men, ye princes and chiefs of the Danaan war!
How are ye doomed, far off from your friends and your fatherland-shore,
With the fat of the mighty to glut swift hounds, before Troy as ye lie!
Come, Hero Eurypylus, fostered of Zeus, to mine asking reply—
Shall the men of Achaia yet make Hector the giant refrain,
Or perish in this same hour by his spear overmastered and slain?”
Unto him did Eurypylus prudent in spirit answering say:
“No longer, Patroclus the Zeus-born, shall any battle-stay
For Achaians be found, but amidst of their dark-hulled ships shall they fall.
For they that in days overpast were our mightiest, even they all,
Shaft-smitten or stabbed, mid the galleys are lying, wounded sore
By the hands of the Trojans, and waxeth the might of the foe evermore.
But be thou my deliverer: unto my black ship help me hence,
And cut thou the shaft from my thigh, and with warm streams thence do thou cleanse
The black-clotted gore, and salves pain-soothing thereon do thou lay,
Those precious balms the which thou hast learnt of Achilles, they say,
Whom Cheiron the Centaur, the peerless in righteousness, wont to teach.
For Machaon and Podaleirius, cunning in craft of the leech—
Of these mid the tents lieth one, with his strength by a wound brought low,
And himself of the hand of the healer is sorely in need, I trow:
In the plain yet bideth the other the fierce war-wrath of the foe.”
And Menoitius’ stalwart son made answer thereunto:
“But how shall the thing be accomplished?—Eurypylus, how shall we do?
Even now to Achilles the war-wise bearing a message I speed,
With the word of Achaia’s warder, Gerenian Nestor’s rede:—
Yet not even so will I leave thee alone in thy grievous need.”
He spake, and beneath the breast did he clasp that chieftain, and led
To his tent, and the skins of kine on the ground did a henchman spread.
So Patroclus laid him thereon, and he cut from the thigh with his sword
The cruel-keen shaft, and over the gash warm water he poured,
Cleansing the gore, and a bitter, a pain-slaying root hath he laid,
Bruised in his hands, thereon, and an utter end hath it made
Of his pangs, and the wound ’gan dry, and the flow of his blood was stayed.