Book XIII

NOW when Zeus to the galleys had brought the Trojans and Hector so,
He left them to bear their burden of travail, their portion of woe,
Without respite: howbeit he turned his sunbright eyes from their war,
On the folk of the Thracians, the land of the battle-steed, gazing afar,
On the Mysians that close in the fight, and the proud milk-nurtured ones,
Hippomolgians, and Abian men, most righteous of all earth’s sons.
But nowise thereafter his sunbright eyes upon Troy did he bend;
For it came not into his heart that any Immortal would wend
To the battle, for help unto Troy, or the Danaans’ need to befriend.
Yet no blind watch was kept of the dark earth-shaking lord;
For he sat and he marvelled the while, as the grappling nations warred,
Sat on the height of Samos’ forest-crowned head,
The Thrace-ward isle, whence Ida before him lay outspread,
And the city of Priam, the galleys Achaian, gleamed in sight,—
There sat, from the waters uprisen, and pitied Achaia’s plight
By Troy overborne, and his wrath against Zeus burned grim in his breast.
Straightway he hied him adown from the mountain’s craggy crest,
Swift-speeding his feet, and the far-stretching ridges quaked, and the wood,
Beneath his immortal feet, as onward Poseidon strode.
Three strides he made, and the fourth, and lo, to his goal he was come,
Unto Aigae, where stands in the sea-mere’s depths his glorious home,
Fashioned unperishing ever, with bright gold-splendour-roofed.
There did he yoke to his chariot his horses brazen-hoofed,
Swift-flying, with necks overstreamed with stormy golden mane.
And he clad him with gold on his flesh, and the scourge in his hand hath he ta’en,
Fair-fashioned of gold, and on to the floor of his chariot he stept,
And over the surges he drave; and before him sporting leapt
Sea-beasts that uprose all round from the depths, for their king they knew,
And for rapture the sea was disparted, and onward the car-steeds flew
Full swiftly, nor wet was the axle of brass with so much as the spray.
Light-bounding they bare him to where the galleys Achaian lay.
In the fathomless depths of the mere is a cavern, a sea-hall wide,
In the midst ’twixt Tenedos’ isle and Imbros’ rugged side:
Even there Poseidon the Shaker of Earth his chariot stayed;
The steeds he unyoked, and ambrosial fodder before them he laid
For their eating, and fetters of gold about their feet he cast,
Which might not be broken nor loosed, to the end they should bide tethered fast
Till their lord should return: and away to the host of Achaia he passed.
On-thronging as billows of flame, on-bursting as blasts of the storm,
After Hector the Priamid furious-fain did the Trojans swarm
With yelling and thunder of shouting: they deemed they should take for a prey
The galleys, and slaughter beside them the best of Achaia’s array.
But Poseidon the Shaker of Earth rose up from the depths of the brine,
And the Girder of Lands ’gan rally the Argive battle-line;
For with Kalchas’ unwearying voice he spake, and his likeness he bore:
To the two Aiantes he cried, which were battle-eager before:
“Aiantes, ’tis ye shall deliver the men of Achaia’s array,
If ye think of your prowess, and not of palsy-numbed dismay.
Otherwhere the resistless hands of the Trojans I fear not at all,
Albeit their battle-throng hath scaled our mighty wall;
For the goodly-harnessed Achaians the shock of them all shall abide:
But in one place sorely I fear lest haply mischief betide,
Even there where the murder-frenzied as ravening flame leadeth on,
Even Hector, who vaunteth him Zeus the Mighty Father’s son.
But for you—may one of the Deathless fill your spirit with might
Stoutly to bide the brunt, and to cheer the rest to the fight.
Then in mid fury of onset, I trow, should ye bar his path
To the swift ships, though the Olympian himself be enkindling his wrath.”
He spake, and the Earth-enfolder, the Shaker of the Land,
Smote into them mighty strength at the touch of his sceptre-wand,
And lightsome he made their feet, and their toil-heavy hands grew light:
But himself as a hawk sudden-darting away in swift-winged flight—
Which down from a crag unfooted, a measureless-high rock, stooping,
Rusheth across the plain, on the weak-winged quarry swooping,—
So darting from these was the Shaker of Earth Poseidon gone.
Then first to Oileus’ son, swift Aias, the godhead was known;
And he spake forthright unto Aias the giant, Telamon’s son:
“Aias, ’tis one of the Gods which abide on Olympus’ height
That in shape of the prophet commandeth that here by the galleys we fight.
Of a truth no Kalchas is this, no bird-seer taught by a God,
For I followed the gleam of his ankles, the flash of his feet as they trod
When he turned him away:—the signs of a God no man may mistake.
Yea, and within this breast of mine is my spirit awake,
And it yearneth for fight, and battleward straineth yet more than before.
In my feet is the fury of onset, mine hands are afire for the war.”
Then Aias made answer to him, and the son of Telamon spake:
“Yea, likewise around my spear with the fever of battle shake
My resistless hands, and my might is uproused: I am hurried on
By the spirit that stirs in my feet: I am fain, even I alone,
To face the onset-fury of Hector, Priam’s son.”
In such wise each unto other spake those heroes, filled
With the rapture of battle, wherewith the God their hearts hath thrilled:
The while Earth-girder to rearward was kindling Achaia’s array
Who amidst of their sea-swift ships drew breath from the toil of the fray.
Outworn were their fainting sinews with battle’s grievous stress,
And with anguish their spirits were darkened whenso they looked on the press
Of the Trojans, as stormed their battle-throng over the mighty wall:
And for rage and for grief, as they gazed, from their eyes the tears ’gan fall.
For they deemed they should never escape from destruction: passed Earth-shaker then
Through the strong battalions, and lightly he rallied the Argive men.
Unto Teucer and Léitus came he, and roused them to turn on their foes:
To Déipyrus, Thoas, he came, and to hero Péneleés:
And Mériones and Antilochus, kindlers of onset, he stirred.
Cheering them on to the battle he loosed the swift-winged word:
“Shame, Argives, ye strong young princes!—what, have I trusted in vain
That battling ye should deliver these our galleys from bane?
If backward ye shrink from the bitter war, I foretell to you now
That the day hath arisen when ’neath the hands of your foes ye shall bow.
Ha, ’tis a marvel of marvels that here with mine eyes I behold,
’Tis a horror whereof I had thought the fulfilment should never be told,
That the Trojans should come to our galleys,—they that in days overpast
Were even as stags through the ways of the woodland fleeing fast
Till they fall terror-blinded to jackals and panthers and wolves a prey,
As helpless and strengthless they wander, and have no heart for the fray;
Even so in the days of old dared never the Trojans stand,
No, not for an instant, before Achaia’s mighty hand;
But now by the hollow galleys they fight from the city afar,
Through a chieftain’s folly of soul, through a people’s slackness in war,
A folk that by reason of feud with their lord will nowise abide
To defend the ships, but endure to be slaughtered therebeside!
Nay, what though the man that is guilty hereof be in very deed
Agamemnon the wide-dominioned, Atreus’ hero-seed,
Forasmuch as to Peleus’ fleetfoot son he hath done despite?
For this shall we shrink from the battle, for this be craven in fight?
Nay, haste we rather to heal—there is balm for the hearts of the bold.
Not for your honour is this, that your onset-fire is acold,
And ye the mightiest ones of our host!—it is not I
Would upbraid what man soever aback from the battle should fly,
So the wight were a weakling: but ye—from my very soul am I wroth.
O cravens, full soon shall an evil yet sorer be wrought by your sloth!
Nay then, let shame have birth in the spirit of every one,
And indignation, for surely a mighty strife is begun.
Lo, Hector the stalwart, the battle-helper, hath rolled the war
To the ships, and hath rifted asunder the gates and the giant bar!”
So cheered them the Earth-enfolder, and kindled the battle-mood;
And around the Aiantes twain strong-massed the battalions stood.
Not Arés’ self, had he passed thereby, had contemned them then,
Nor Athéné the Battle-aid, for their chosen, their mightiest men,
Stood firm against Hector the godlike, and bode the Trojans’ charge,
With the hedge of their spears dense-bristling, with serried targe by targe.
Shield pressed upon shield, and helmet on helmet, and man on man,
And the morion-ridges touched as the wavering lightning ran
From helm unto nodding helm, so densely thronged stood they.
And the spears that in strong hands quivered were crossed in a tangled array;
And their spirits were fain of the onset, their hearts were afire for the fray.
But forward the Trojans hurled in a dense throng: Hector led
Storming afront, from the brow of a cliff as a boulder is sped,
Which the thrust of a wintertide torrent adown from the crest hath rolled
When the measureless rains have rifted the monstrous crag’s earth-hold:
Bounding on high it is flying, and crasheth before that stone
The copsewood, as ever resistless it rusheth, until it hath won
To the plain, but its fury thereafter no whit may roll it on:
Even so threatened Hector awhile full lightly to cleave his way
To the sea, and to win to the tents and the ships of Achaia’s array,
Slaying: but when those close-embattled ranks he met
He was stayed: and Achaia’s sons against him steadfast-set,
With battle-brands swinging and spears two-headed thrusting fierce,
Bare him aback, and he staggered and reeled from the hedge of the spears;
And he cried, and the shout of him high o’er the roar of the battle rose:
“Trojans and Lycians and Dardans in grapple of onset who close,
Abide ye!—not long the Achaians before my fury shall stand,
Not though like a tower they have set in array their warrior-band!
They shall flinch from my spear, if in truth I am spurred on victory-ward
By the chief of the Gods, by Héré’s mighty-thundering Lord!”
He spake, and he kindled their spirit, the soul of each man glowed;
And amidst them Déiphobus onward with heart uplifted strode,
A Priamid, warily holding his shapely shield before,
Light-speeding his feet, with his limbs by the fence of the targe covered o’er.
Then aimed at him Mériones his javelin glittering bright,
And he hurled, and he missed not, but fair on the shapely shield did it light;
Yet it cleft not the bull’s hide buckler, but long ere that might be
At the socket the long shaft snapped, and Déiphobus heedfully
Outstretched from his body the bull’s hide shield, for his soul was adread
Of the spear of the war-wise Mériones: but the hero hath sped
Back into the throng of his war-fellows, chafing in wrathful pain
Alike for the victory lost and the good spear shivered in twain.
And away to the tents and the galleys Achaian in haste he went
To get him a lance long-shafted, the which he had left in his tent.
But ever the rest fought on, and arose the unquenchable yell.
By the hand of Teucer Telamon’s son the first foe fell,
Imbrius, son unto Mentor, a lord steed-wealthy was he:
In Pedaion he dwelt ere the sons of Achaia came oversea;
And Médisekasté, Priam’s bastard child, was his bride:
But when came the Danaan’s wave-rocked galleys over the tide,
He returned unto Troy, and was great mid the Trojan mighty ones,
And with Priam abode, and the old king honoured him like to his sons.
But the lance at his neck ’neath the ear did the son of Telamon dash,
And plucked the long shaft back: then fell he, as falleth an ash,
Whose trunk on the crest of a hill far-seen o’er the lealand around
Hath been hewn by the axe till it boweth its tender leaves to the ground;
So fell he, and crashed around him his war-gear brass-bedight.
Then rushed on him Teucer, eager to strip his harness of fight;
And Hector hurled at him, even as he rushed, with his glittering lance,
But he swerved from its lightning leap, for he marked it with wary glance.
Scantly he ’scaped; but the lance to Amphimachus’ heart hath gone,
As battleward turned him the scion of Kteatus, Aktor’s son:
And he fell with a crash, and clanged above him his battle-gear.
Then Hector rushed on Amphimachus mighty-hearted, to tear
From the head of the slain the helm close-lapping his temples about:
But Aias, as Hector rushed, with his glittering spear thrust out,
Yet he touched not his flesh, for that sheathed in terrible brass he was
From head to foot; howbeit he drave at his buckler’s boss,
And with giant strength did he thrust him, that backward he reeled from the slain:
And the sons of Achaia drew from the midst those corpses twain.
Menestheus the godlike and Stichius, captains of Athens’ array,
Haled to the host of Achaia Amphimachus’ body away,
And on Imbrius seized the Aiantes, afire with the wrath of the fray.
And as when from the sharp-fanged hounds two lions have snatched the prey,
A goat, and through tangled thickets bearing the quarry they bound,
In their strong jaws holding it high uplifted above the ground;
So him high lifted the warriors twain, the Aiantes, bore,
And spoiled of his battle-gear, and the son of Oileus shore
His head from his tender neck, in his wrath for Amphimachus dead,
And he tossed it, that ball-wise rolling athwart the rout it was sped,
And in front of the feet of Hector fell in the dust that head.
Ha, then was Poseidon’s wrath enkindled, his heart was aglow
For his son’s son’s sake, in the midst of the terrible fight laid low.
On to the tents and the galleys Achaian his way hath he ta’en,
Rousing the Danaan fury, working the Trojans’ bane.
And there on Idomeneus spear-renowned did the Sea-god light
From his comrade returning, the friend who but now had come forth of the fight
Hurt with the keen-whetted brass in the knee, and in evil plight.
Of his friends was he borne, and the king to the leeches had given his hest,
And now to his tent would he fare, for his heart still battleward pressed.
Then stood before him the Lord of the Sea, and the Earth-shaker spake,
And the voice of Andraimon’s son, of Thoas the swift, did he take,
The man that through all wide Pleuron and Kalydon’s steeps bare sway
O’er Aetolia’s folk, and was reverenced like to a God alway:
“Idomeneus, counsel-chief of the Cretans, where be now
Thy threats against Troy, and where the Achaians’ vengeance-vow?”
And the Lord of the Cretans replied, and answer Idomeneus made:
“There is no man, Thoas, on whom the blame of this shall be laid,
That I wot of; for all we have in the battle warrior-skill,
Nor hath craven fear laid hold upon any; for slackness of will
Not a man draweth back from the bitter battle: nay, but I wis
The pleasure of him that excelleth in strength, of Kronion, is this,
That nameless and fameless from Argos afar the Achaians should die.
But, Thoas, a battle-bider art thou from the days gone by,
And thou heartenest whomso thou seest from war-toil shrinking away;
Wherefore forbear not now, but cheer on all to the fray.”
Then Earth-shaker answered, and grim was the voice of Poseidon and stern:
Idomeneus, never may that man look on his home-return
From Troy, but to dogs let him here be a ravin-joy and a prey,
Whosoe’er shall be wilful-craven, to shrink from the fight this day.
Now get thee thy weapons and come, spare not to array thee with speed;
If haply, albeit but twain, we may help the Achaians’ need.
When the valiant be with him, the veriest weakling will play his part;
But we—we have learned to grapple with heroes dauntless of heart.”
So answered the God, and back to the war-toil of heroes he went.
And so soon as Idomeneus came to his goodly-fashioned tent,
His beautiful harness he donned, in his grip two lances shone,
And he went, and he seemed as the lightning-flash which Kronos’ son
Hath grasped in his hand, and hath shaken from shining Olympus afar
For a sign unto mortals, and world-beholden the beams of it are;
So flashed as he ran the brass that encompassed his breast about.
Now meeteth him Mériones, his henchman valiant and stout,
While yet he was nigh to his tent, as in haste that warrior hied
For a brazen spear, and to him the might of Idomeneus cried:
O Mériones, fleet scion of Molus, best-loved friend,
Why hast thou left the war and the battle, and hither dost wend?
Art thou dart-stricken, friend, that the point of the shaft maketh faint thy might?
Or for me art thou come with a message?—it needs not: little delight,
Good sooth, have I in my tent to be sitting: I long for the fight.”
Spake Mériones unto him, and answer the wise-heart made:
“Idomeneus, counsellor-chief of the Cretans brass-arrayed,
For a spear, if perchance there be found with thee any, I fare from the field;
For behold, I have shivered the shaft that aforetime I wont to wield,
On Déiphobus’ buckler I dashed it, the haughty warrior’s shield.”
But Idomeneus lord of the Cretans answered, and thus spake he:
“Spears shalt thou find, an thou wilt: there is one, ay, twenty there be
Against my pavilion’s sunlit sides all standing arow:
Trojan they be, the which I have torn from their slain, for I trow
I use not to stand in the day of the battle afar from the foe.
Wherefore I lack not lances, and bucklers boss-bedight,
Helmets withal, and store of corslets flashing bright.”
Spake Mériones unto him, and the wise-heart made reply:
“Yea also beside my tent and my dark-hulled galley have I
Spoils of the Trojan men, but none be at hand for my need,
For, I tell thee, I also forget not the spirit of fight and the deed,
But aye in the forefront of glory-wafting battle I stand,
Whensoever uproused is the war, when the flame of its fury is fanned.
Nay, haply other Achaians brazen-arrayed have seen
Naught of my prowess, but thou needest not to be told, I ween.”
And Idomeneus answered, and spake the lord of the Cretan host:
“I know what valour is thine: what boots it thus to boast?
For if now by the ships they were choosing our mightiest, our men of renown,
For an ambush, wherein most chiefly the valour of heroes is known,
Where the craven cannot be hid, and the dauntless heart is shown,—
For the hue of the face of the dastard is changing and changing aye,
And his spirit may nowise be curbed in his breast unquaking to stay,
But ever he shifteth his knees, and he resteth on both of his feet,
And ever against his ribs full loud doth the heart of him beat,
Foreboding his doom, and a chattering sound of his teeth is heard:
But the brave man’s hue is unchanged; he is nowise panic-stirred
When once he hath crouched in the ambush of heroes to wait for his foes,
But he prayeth in battle bitter and stern with speed to close:—
There none should make light of thine hands, and thy might no man should mistrust,
For though in the battle-toil thou wert smitten with dart or with thrust,
That shaft should not leap to thy neck or thy back from behind as in flight,
Nay, fairly and full on thy breast or the belly of thee should it light
As onward thou rushedst to where the ranks of the forefighters clash:—
Come, talk we in this wise no longer, as children babbling rash,
Neither loiter, lest haply a man should have great indignation to hear:
But get thee unto my tent, and take thee a mighty spear.”
Then Mériones the peer of the fleetfoot God of War
Hasted, and forth of the tent a brazen spear he bore;
And full of the lust of the fight he followed Idomeneus then.
And as entereth into the battle Arés destroyer of men,
And behind him his dear son Panic, the stalwart, the aweless-bold,
Goeth, who daunteth the hero, though never so steadfast-souled,—
From Thrace in their harness they fare to the Ephyran war-array,
Or the Phlegyans mighty of heart; yet nowise hearken they
Unto both, but to these or to those, as they list, give victory-fame;
So Mériones and Idomeneus, captains of warfolk, came
Faring to battle arrayed in brass that flamelike burned.
Then first spake Mériones, as unto the king he turned:
“Where wilt thou, Deukalion’s son, that we enter the press of the fight?
Shall it be at the midst of the host?—shall it be on the uttermost right?
Or say, shall it be on the left?—for I deem no otherwhere
Is the battle so sore on the men of Achaia with long-flowing hair.”
And Idomeneus answered, the lord of the Cretans spake to his friend:
“Others beside us there be the midmost ships to defend,
The Aiantes twain, and Teucer the best of Achaia-land
With the bow, yea, good at need where men in the close fight stand.
With buffets enow shall they greet him, shall quench the battle-glee
Of Hector the son of Priam, how stalwart soever he be.
Hard task shall it be for him there, though he lust for the fight full sore,
To overcome their might, and the hands resistless in war,
And to fire the galleys, except Kronion’s own right hand
Hurl on the sea-swift ships a blazing levin-brand.
But for man—Telamonian Aias would flinch for no man born,
No man that was mortal, and ate of the gifts of the Lady of Corn,
And whose flesh might be cleft with the brass and with massy rock-shards torn.
Nay, not rank-rifting Achilles himself would Aias fear
In the standing fight: but in fleetness Achilles hath no peer.
Now guide thou us thither to left of the host, that with speed we may know
If renown shall be given by a foeman to us, or by us to a foe.”
So spake he, and Mériones swift Arés’ battle-peer led
On, till they came to the war-host, even as the king had said.
On Idomeneus looked they, and saw a man all flame draw near,
Even him and his henchman, arrayed in their rich-wrought battle-gear;
Roared through the press their cheers, and they charged on him all as one,
And a grimmer and deadlier strife by the sterns of the ships was begun.
As when driven by whistling winds the blasts wild-eddying race
On a day when the dust is exceeding deep on the summer ways,
And the air is a whirling confusion and dim as the sea-born haze,
Even so was their closing in battle, and fain in their spirits were they
With the keen-whetted brass in the war-press to smite each other and slay:
And bristled the battle, devourer of men, with the lances keen,
Long-shafted cleavers of flesh, which they grasped, and the blinding sheen
Of the brass ever dazzled their eyes, from the flaming helms as it streamed,
As from corslets freshly-burnished and flashing bucklers it gleamed,
As the ranks of them hurled together. Full hardy of heart should he be
Who would joy to behold that labour of battle, nor shudder to see!
So there with purpose contending Kronos’ two strong sons
Were fashioning grievous woes for the earth-born mighty ones.
For the Trojans and Hector was Zeus devising the victory still,
Giving glory to fleetfoot Achilles: howbeit it was not his will
That wholly the nation Achaian should perish before Troy-town;
But for honour of Thetis he wrought for her strong-souled son’s renown.
And amidst of the Argives Poseidon passed, and their might he awoke,
From the grey sea risen unseen, for he chafed to behold the folk
Overborne by the Trojans: at Zeus was his indignation aflame.
Sooth, one was the lineage of both, and their fatherland-home the same;
But Zeus was the elder-born, and the mightier in wisdom’s might.
Wherefore Poseidon shrank, that he rendered not help in his sight;
But in secret guise as a man did he hearten their fainting array:
And the cords of the giant strife and the level-balanced fray,
’Twixt God and God strained hard, high over the war-hosts hung;
Snap them might none, neither loose them, and many a knee they unstrung.
Then, silvery-grey though his hair, on-cheering the Danaan folk
Mid the Trojans Idomeneus leapt, and with panic their ranks he broke.
For Othryoneus of Kabésus, who sojourned in Ilium-town,
He slew:—but of late had he come for the winning of war-renown;
And Kassandra, of Priam’s daughters the fairest to see, would he wed,
Neither proffered a bride-price, but promised a mighty deed in its stead,
To drive the sons of Achaia from Troy in their own despite.
Wherefore the old man Priam consented with covenant-plight
To give her, and putting his trust in the pledge to the war he came.
But against him Idomeneus pointed the javelin’s gleaming flame,
And he hurled, and he smote him as proudly he strode, and his corslet of brass
Availed not, but on through the midst of his bowels did the spear-head pass.
Down-crashing he fell: then vaunted the hero above him and cried:
“Othryoneus, I praise thee above all mortals beside,
If thou shalt accomplish all thy promise in very deed
Unto Priam Dardanus’ son, who pledged thee his child for thy meed!
Sooth, we would promise as much, and fulfil the same unto thee,
And would give of the daughters of Atreus’ son the fairest to see,
And from Argos would bring her to wed thee, if thou in our quarrel wouldst fight,
And wouldst rase yon city of Priam, the fortress stately-pight.
Nay, follow, that so by the sea-swift ships we may plight with thee
The marriage-troth;—not greedy of bride-price gifts are we!”
Then hero Idomeneus seized him, and haled through the mighty fray
By the foot—lo, Asius cometh to rend from the spoiler the prey.
In front of his horses he stood, and these did his henchman rein,
That still on his shoulders they breathed, and his soul was exceeding fain
To hurl to Idomeneus’ heart: but the lance of the hero first
Leapt to his throat ‘neath the chin, and clear through the neck it burst.
Down fell he, as when some oak or poplar down doth fall,
Or as when mid the mountains the craftsmen have hewn a pine-tree tall
With axes newly whetted, to build them a galley withal;
So stretched in front of his steeds and his car lay Asius low
Groaning, and clutching the bloody dust in his agony-throe.
And aghast was his charioteer, and failed him utterly
The cunning of old, and he dared not wheel his horses to flee
From the hands of the foe. Then battle-bider Antilochus cast
Through the midst of his body his spear: through the corslet of brass it passed,
For naught it availed, but amidst of his belly the spear-head stood;
And gasping to earth from the car fair-fashioned he fell in his blood.
And Antilochus, scion of great-heart Nestor, drave the car
From the Trojans forth to the fair-greaved Danaan host of war.
Unto Idomeneus then Déiphobus drew full near
Chafing for Asius slain, and he hurled with his gleaming spear.
But its onrush Idomeneus shunned with wary forward glance,
For he hid him behind his shapely-rounded shield from the lance,
The targe that he bare, with the ox-hide covered in fold on fold,
And with flamelike brass, with its arm-rods twain for the warrior’s hold.
Thereunder he crouched all-hidden: the lance flew onward above:
Sharp rang the shield as the javelin glanced from the face thereof.
Yet Déiphobus’ brawny hand sped it not on a bootless flight,
But on Hippasus’ son, Hypsénor, a shepherd of folk, did it light,
In his liver the midriff beneath, and it palsied his knees forthright.
Then Déiphobus vaunted with terrible cry ringing far through the fight:
“Ha, verily not unavenged lieth Asius; nay, but I say
That, albeit to Hades the strong Gate-warder he wendeth to-day,
He shall joy in his heart:—I have sent him an escort now for the way
So spake he, and anguish came on the Argives because of his vaunt,
And war-wise Antilochus’ spirit was kindled the most by his taunt.
Yet not for his anguish of soul forgat he his friend laid low,
But he ran and bestrode him, and o’er him the fence of his shield did he throw.
And trusty comrades twain uplifted the stricken one,
For Alastor the godlike came, and Mekisteus, Echius’ son,
And unto the hollow galleys they bare him, sighing sore.
But Idomeneus reined not his mighty strength, but was fain evermore
Or to shroud some Trojan yet in the death-night’s blackness of gloom,
Or himself to fall in defending the men of Achaia from doom.
Now Aisuétes the princely had there a beloved son,
Alkathoüs the hero—Anchises’ child for his bride had he won,
Hippodameia; the eldest-born of his daughters was she,
And her sire and the lady her mother loved her exceedingly
In their halls, for that still she outshone all maids her companions in pride
Of beauty, and loomwork, and wisdom of spirit: wherefore the bride
She became of the noblest man in all Troy’s compass wide.
But Poseidon delivered him into the hand of Idomeneus there,
For he dazed his flashing eyes, and his glorious limbs did he snare;
For he could not swerve from his path, and he could not turn him and flee;
But, even as standeth a pillar or lofty leaf-crowned tree,
Unstirring he stood, till the spear of the hero Idomeneus smote
Full in the midst of his breast, and cleft his brazen coat,
The corslet that shielded his breast from destruction theretofore;
Then harshly it rang as the shattering spear through the midst of it tore.
Down-crashing he fell, and the spear stood planted deep in his heart,
While shook with its shuddering throbs the long shaft’s hinder part:
And there was its fury spent by the stormy Lord of War.
And Idomeneus vaunted with terrible voice through the fight ringing far:
“Déiphobus, what, shall we deem that worthy requital is paid
In that two for thy one we have slain?— What now of the boast thou hast made,
Fair sir?—Come also thou, and stand thou against me, and so
What manner of child of Zeus is hitherward come shalt thou know:
For first he begat the warder of Crete, even Minos the King;
And from Minos’ loins did a son, Deukalion the princely, spring;
And me did Deukalion beget over nations to stretch my sway
In wide Crete: now in the ships have I tracked the printless way
For a bane to thy sire and to thee, and to all the Trojan array!”
He spake, and the mind of Déiphobus wavered to and fro
Or backward to turn, and to find for his help against the foe
Some great-heart Trojan, or even to try the battle alone.
And thus, in the thoughts of his heart, him seemed it were best to be done,
For Aeneas to go: and behold, he found him loitering
On the skirts of the battle, for aye was he wroth with Priam the King,
For that brave though he was among men he gave him not honour due.
So he came to his side, from his eager lips as the winged words flew:
“Aeneas, counsellor-chief of the Trojans, ’twere meet and right
That thou rescue thy sister’s lord, if thou carest at all for his plight.
Nay, come for Alkathoüs’ helping, who fostered in days gone by
For thy sister’s sake in his halls thine helpless infancy:
Lo, slain by the hand of Idomeneus spear-renowned doth he lie.”
He spake, and Aeneas was kindled in spirit to hear that word,
And to meet Idomeneus fared with the battle-mood mightily stirred.
But not as a tender boy was Idomeneus seized with affright:
He abode them like to a boar on the mountains in pride of his might,
Which abideth the throng of the hunters when many a man draweth nigh,
In a lonely place, and the ridge of his bristles he setteth high,
And the eyes of him glitter with fire, and he whetteth his tusks for the fray
Mad-eager to hold the throng of the hounds and the hunters at bay:
So bode Idomeneus spear-renowned, and he shrank not aside
As Aeneas came on to the rescue, but loud to his comrades he cried.
To Askalaphus, Aphareus, looked he, Déipyrus too, through the rout,
And to Mériones and Antilochus, wakers of onset-shout;
And he roused to the rescue the heroes with swift-winged words, and he said:
“Ho, come to mine help, friends!—I am alone, and sorely I dread
The onrush of fleetfoot Aeneas, who cometh against me now:
He is passing strong for the slaughter of heroes in battle, I trow;
And the mightiest vantage of all, the flower of manhood, hath he.
But if holpen of youth like his this spirit of mine might be,
Soon would I try if the triumph should fall unto him or to me!”
So spake he, and all they bearing within their hearts one mood
Drew nigh unto him, and with bucklers aslope on their shoulders they stood.
And Aeneas beheld, and he cried to his friends through the battle-throng;
To Déiphobus, Paris, he looked, and Agénor the godlike-strong,
Which were chiefs of the host with himself; and their warrior-company
Followed after their lords, as when the sheep from the pasture-lea
Follow the ram to the water, and glad is the shepherd to see:
Even so that day rejoiced the heart in Aeneas’ breast
When he saw how the host of the heroes to battle behind him pressed.
So around Alkathoüs these to the grapple of close fight dashed
With the spears long-shafted: about the breasts of them terribly clashed
The brass, as they hurled at each other the darts mid the battle-rout.
And chiefly above the rest two heroes valiant and stout,
Aeneas, Idomeneus, they, the War-god’s battle-peers,
Were striving to cleave each other’s flesh with the ruthless spears.
Then first did Aeneas against Idomeneus hurl his lance,
But he shunned that brazen spear with wary forward glance;
And the lance of Aeneas quivering into the earth plunged deep,
Forasmuch as on bootless flight from his brawny hand did it leap.
Then Idomeneus’ spear to the midst of Oinomaüs’ belly flew,
And it shivered his corslet’s hollow: his bowels the brass forth drew.
Down falling in dust the earth in his agony-clutch hath he ta’en.
And the lance long-shafted Idomeneus plucked from the flesh of the slain.
Yet he might not prevail to strip the fair war-gear of the dead
From his shoulders, for now with the darts thick-hailed was he sorely bestead.
For no more were his feet firm-knit in the onrush of battle to go,
Or to follow the leap of his lance, or to swerve from the dart of a foe:
Wherefore in standing fight he withstood the pitiless day,
But his feet not swiftly would bear him to flee from the midst of the fray.
And, as slowly the king gave ground, Déiphobus hurled at him
With his bright spear, nursing against him a wrath abiding and grim.
Howbeit he missed then too, but the lance to Askalaphus sped,
The War-god’s scion, and burst through his shoulder the fierce spear-head;
And he fell in the dust, and the earth in his agony-clutch he caught.
Howbeit not yet wild Arés the thunder-voiced knew aught
Of his dear son, how he was fallen amidst of the desperate fight,
But pavilioned in golden cloud on Olympus’ topmost height
He sat, by the counsels of Zeus restrained, even there where the rest
Of the deathless Gods were pent, that not to the battle they pressed.
So around Askalaphus these rushed on to the grapple of fight;
And Déiphobus tore from Askalaphus’ head his morion bright:
Then leapt on him Mériones, swift Arés’ battle-peer,
And amidst of the arm he smote him, and fell at the thrill of the spear
From his hand that visored helmet clanging adown on the plain.
With a leap like a vulture’s swoop rushed Mériones again
And out of the arm by the shoulder that terrible spear he tare,
And drew back to the throng of his friends: forthright was Polités there,
His brother, and round Déiphobus’ waist his arm hath he cast,
And led from the fight wild-yelling, until they were come at the last
Unto where his steeds, to the rearward of all the fight and the war,
Stood with their charioteer and the cunningly-fashioned car.
And their wounded lord to the city full heavily groaning they bore,
Fainting, and down from his arm fresh-wounded was streaming the gore.
But the rest of them fought on ever, the war-cry quenchless rang.
Then upon Aphareus son of Kalétor Aeneas sprang:
On his throat, as a moment it faced him, his keen-whetted spear hath he dashed:
Then sidewards drooped his head, and above him his buckler clashed
And his helmet; and over him death the devourer of souls was shed.
But Antilochus keen-watched Thoon, and even as he turned his head
Leapt on him, and stabbed, and all that long-upwelling vein,
From the back to the neck that goeth, the lance-head shore in twain,
Utterly cleft it in twain: on his back in the dust he fell,
In his agony stretching his hands to the friends that loved him well.
And Antilochus rushed, and his harness of fight from his shoulders he won,
Swift-glancing around, for the Trojans on this side and that pressed on,
And they thrust at his broad shield flashing bright, but they might not prevail
To gash with the pitiless brass his flesh through the fence of the mail
Of Antilochus, seeing Earth-shaker Poseidon’s encompassing power
Saved Nestor’s son, how thick soever the javelin-shower.
Good sooth, foes had he enow, but ever he faced them at bay:
Never his lance unquivering rested, but ever and aye
Flickered its leaping lightning: his purpose was still with the spear
To smite some foe with a cast from afar, or a thrust from anear.
But Adamas, Asius’ son, through the war-press marked him wield
That lance, and he drave with the keen-whetted brass at the midst of his shield,
With a rush as he reached him: howbeit Poseidon the raven-haired
Made vain the spear of the smiter, for still for his life he cared.
And the half of the shaft abode, like the stock of a tree charred round,
In Antilochus’ shield, while lay the half thereof on the ground.
Then aback to the throng of his war-fellows shrinking from doom he drew;
But Mériones followed after his flight, and his javelin flew;
’Twixt the groin and the navel it lighted, the spot where chiefly of all
Upon wretched mortals the War-god’s strokes most bitterly fall.
There stood in his body the spear, and falling impaled yet alive
Writhed he as struggleth an ox on the hills, which the herdmen drive
Exceeding loth by force, having bound it with many a thong,
So smitten he writhed for a little season, but nowise long,
Till the hero Mériones drew nigh, and the shaft of doom
Plucked from his flesh: then veiled were his eyes with death’s deep gloom.
With Déipyrus Helenus closed, and with mighty Tracian glaive
Smote on his temple, and clear from his head his morion clave.
Dashed from his brows to the earth it fell, and, even as it rolled
’Twixt the feet of the fighters, a warrior Achaian thereon laid hold;
And the eyes of him there did the shroud of the blackness of night enfold.
Came anguish on Menelaus the battle-helper then;
And he fared to defy the hero Helenus, king among men,
Shaking his spear; but the midst of his bow the foe ’gan strain.
At the selfsame moment the one with the lance keen-whetted was fain
To hurl, and the other was drawing the shaft on the string to the head.
Then Priam’s son to his corslet’s hollow the winged dart sped,
But glancing afar from his breast the bitter arrow fled.
And as when from the broad-faced shovel on some great floor swift leap
The dark-skinned beans or the rattling pulse from the minishing heap,
Before the rush of the whistling wind and the fan’s long sweep;
Even so from the breastplate of lord Menelaus the glorious in war
With a great leap glancing away the bitter shaft flew far.
Then battle-helper Atreides, the lord Menelaus, cast
At the hand that was grasping the polished bow, and the spear-point passed
Into the centre-piece of the bow, cutting clear through the hand.
Then shrinking from doom fled Helenus back to his comrade-band,
Drooping his hand; for the ashen spear-shaft trailed on the ground.
But Agénor the great-heart drew the spear-head forth, and he bound
That stricken hand with wool, with the deftly-twisted cord
Of a sling, which a henchman bore for the shepherd of folk, his lord.
Against war-renowned Menelaus straight onward Peisander is gone,
For the evil doom of death to his ending draweth him on
By thine hand, O Menelaus, in terrible strife to die.
So when, as they charged on each other, by this they were drawn full nigh,
Then hurled Atreides, and missed, for aside did his javelin glance:
But Peisander at war-renowned Menelaus’ shield with his lance
Thrust out, but he might not prevail to drive the brass therethrough,
For the broad targe held it aback, but the lance was shivered in two
At the socket: yet glad was his heart, and he hoped for the victory.
But Atreides hath snatched his white-starred brand from beside his thigh,
And he leapt on his foe: but Peisander from under his buckler hath ta’en
A fair bright brazen axe: of the olive’s cloudy grain
Was the long smooth-polished helve, and they closed in the fight, they twain.
Down on the cone of the dark-maned helmet the battleaxe crashed
On the ridge close under the crest: but the sword to his forehead hath flashed
At the root of the nose, and the skull-bones cracked, and his eyeballs, thrust
From the sockets streaming with blood dropped down to his feet in the dust.
So he bowed and he fell: and his heel on his breast did the conqueror plant,
And he stripped from his shoulders his harness, and cried with a bitter taunt:
“Thus, thus from the ships of the fleet-horsed Danaan host shall ye wend,
O arrogant Trojans, whose lust for the dread fight knoweth no end!
Not void of despite, neither crownless of shame, shall ye hence depart—
Such despite as ye did unto me, foul dogs, when never your heart
Was afraid of the heavy wrath of Zeus who thunders in might,
The Guest-ward, who yet shall destroy one day your town high-pight,
O ye that have stolen my true-wed wife, and my treasure-store,
And lawlessly fled, when she welcomed you kindly on that far shore!
And now are ye furious-eager to cast the devouring flame
On our sea-swift ships, and the heroes Achaian to slay by the same,—
But I ween, be ye never so wild for the battle, ye yet shall be tame!
Zeus, Father, in sooth they say that thy wisdom excelleth all,
Both menfolk and Gods: yet from thine hand all these evils befall.
Lo-now, what pleasure thou hast in the scorners despiteful-willed,
These Trojans, whose might is iniquitous ever, they cannot be filled
With strife, and their lust for the swaying battle may never be stilled.
There cometh of all things fulness, of sleep, and of amorous play;
And the winsome song and the graceful dance charm not alway:
Yet surely a mortal would rather desire to be drunk with delight
Of these, than of war: but the Trojans may never have surfeit of fight!”
So did he speak, and the blood-stained arms from the body he tare,
And these Menelaus the princely gave to his comrades to bear,
Then into the throng of the forefighters back did the hero fare.
Leapt on him there the son of Pylaimenes the king,
Harpalion; to Troy had he come in the war-host’s gathering
With his father beloved, but returned to his fatherland-home never more.
Then smote he the midst of the shield that the son of Atreus bore
With his spear from anigh, but he could not drive the brass therethrough,
And again to the throng of his war-fellows shrinking from death he withdrew,
Fearfully glancing around, lest any his flesh might smite.
Then followed him Mériones with a brass-tipped arrow’s flight;
And it smote on his rightward haunch, and the point of the brass held on
Till clear to the bladder it pierced, forth-passing beneath the bone.
Then sank he down, in the arms of his friends as they closed around
Forth gasping his spirit, even as lieth outstretched on the ground
A worm; and the dark blood gushed from his wound, till the earth was wet.
And the great-heart Paphlagonians wrought for his help, and they set
Their lord on a chariot, and bearing him thence unto Ilium they sped.
In sorrow amidst of them faring his father the hot tears shed;
Howbeit requital none could he win for the son that was dead.
Sore wroth for the sake of the slain was the spirit of Paris then,
For his bond-friend he was mid the host of the Paphlagonian men;
And vengeance-athirst for his sake a shaft brass-headed he shot.
Now a certain Euchénor there was, whom the seer Polyidus begot,
A wealthy man and a valiant: in Corinth was found his home.
Full well foreknowing his fate unto Troy in his ship-had he come,
For that often his good grey sire Polyidus had told him his doom,
That either by sore disease he must waste unto death in his hall,
Or amidst of the galleys Achaian by hands of the Trojans fall.
So he shrank from the war-fine stern that Achaia’s host bade pay,
And the loathly disease, that in torment his spirit might pass not away.
’Neath the jaw and the ear was he smitten, and swiftly fleeted his soul
From his limbs, and thereat did a horror of darkness over him roll.
So there with the fury of blazing fire their battle they fought:
But Hector the Zeus-beloved knew not, he had heard not aught
How that his folk to the left of the galleys were stricken down
By the hands of the Argives: and soon the Achaians had won them renown,
So mightily ever the Earth-enfolder, the Girder of Lands,
Was cheering them on—yea, helped them withal with his own strong hands.
But there was he still where he leapt through the gates and the wall at the first,
What time through the serried ranks of the Danaan spearmen he burst;
For there the galleys of Aias and Protesilaus were,
Down on the beach of the hoary-foaming sea, and there.
Lowest the rampart was builded: in that place hottest of all
Was the strife of the heroes and horses beneath that rifted wall.
The Beeotians there, and in trailing tunics Ionia’s sons,
And, with Lokrians and Phthians, Epeians, battle-glorious ones,
As he rushed on the ships, scarce stayed him, and could not work their desire
Wholly to beat back Hector the godlike, the fierce as fire.
And there were the chosen of Athens’ sons, and their battle-lord
Led them, Menestheus, Peteos’ son, and beside him warred
Stichius, Pheidas, and Bias the strong: the Epeian array
With the Phyleid Meges, Amphion, and Drakius, stood in the fray.
Battle-bider Podarkes and Medon led the Phthians on:—
Of Oileus the godlike was Medon begotten, a handmaid’s son.
So the hero was brother to Aias, but far from his fatherland
In Phylaké dwelt he, because that a man had been slain by his hand
Which was kinsman to Queen Eridpis, his sire Oileus’ bride.
’Twas Podarkes the Phylakid Iphiklus’ scion that warred by his side.
And these all armed in the van of the Phthians, the mighty of heart,
With Beeotians guarding the ships in the battle played their part.
And all this while swift Aias the son of Oileus shrank
No whit from the side of Telamon’s son in the foremost rank:
But as when in a fallow field two oxen tawny of hue
With equal spirit are drawing the plough, and the plenteous dew
Of their toil at the roots of their horns upwelleth the while they strain,
And naught but the polished yoke is keeping asunder the twain,
As adown the furrow they press till they stay at the tilthland’s end,
So shoulder to shoulder the twain stood, friend by hero-friend.
But in sooth there were henchmen many that followed Telamon’s seed
All valiant men, who received the shield of their lord at his need,
Whensoever his limbs were spent with sweat, and with toil fordone:
But never a Lokrian followed Oileus’ great-heart son,
For they bare no steadfast spirit to bide the standing fight:
No brazen helmets they had with the horse-mane darkly dight,
Nor bucklers shapely-rounded nor ashen spears had these,
But trusting in bows and in slings of the deftly-twisted fleece
Unto Ilium they came with their lord, and with these the ranks they rent
Of Troy with the hail of the stones and the rain of the arrows they sent.
So the heroes twain in the forefront in armour cunningly wrought
Against the Trojans and brazen-harnessed Hector fought.
But they to the rearward shot unseen, till the foe no more
Remembered the battle’s delight, for the arrows galled them sore.
Then from the tents and the galleys in sorriest plight hurled back
Unto Ilium the windy the Trojans had fled from the battle-wrack,
But Polydamas came unto Hector the valiant, and thus spake he:
“Headstrong art thou, O Hector, when men would counsel thee.
Forasmuch as in deeds of war God made thee ever the best.
Therefore in counsel thou fain wouldst be wiser than all the rest.
Howbeit thou canst not take on thee all things thus at thy will,
For in war God maketh one man to have the pre-eminence still,
And another in dancing, another in harp and song hath skill.
But far-seeing Zeus unto one the excellent wisdom hath given,
To bless full many a man by the peerless gift of heaven,
And many to save,—but the blessing’s fulness he knoweth alone.
Lo now as I deem shall be best will I unto thee make known:
On all sides round as a crown upblazeth the flame of the fight,
And now that the great-heart Trojans have scaled the rampart’s height,
Some stand in their war-gear aloof, and they that the battle abide
Are a few against many, along the galleys scattered wide.
But go thou back, call hitherward all our mightiest men,
And so in the fulness of counsel shall we resolve us then
Whether on yon long galleys to charge triumphant down,
If God peradventure shall will to vouchsafe to us victory’s crown,
Or in any wise back from the ships to return without bane; for to-day,
I fear me, the sons of Achaia their yesterday’s debt may repay;
For beside the galleys abideth a battle-insatiate foe,
A man who will never refrain him wholly from strife, I trow.”
Then good in Hector’s sight was Polydamas’ wary rede;
Forthright from his chariot he sprang to the ground in battle-weed,
And he lifted his voice unto him, and he sped the winged word-flight:
“Polydamas, stay thou in this place all our chiefest of might,
But yonder will I betake me, and plunge mid the surges of fight,
And with speed will return, when my hest unto those hath been uttered aright.”
Then gleaming huge as a snow-clad mountain in haste he departed
With a shout, and through ranks of Troy and her warrior-aid hath he darted.
And they to Polydamas Panthoüs’ son the courteous-hearted
All hasted, so soon as they hearkened Hector’s rallying cry.
Through the forefighters seeking Déiphobus then did the hero hie;
And for princely Helenus’ might, and for Akamas Asius’ seed,
And for Asius Hyrtakus’ son there searched he with diligent heed.
Yet he found not the heroes wholly unscathed, neither all unslain;
But beside the sterns of the galleys Achaian did some remain
Where the hands of the Argive men had spilled their life in the dust,
And some at the rampart, smitten by cast of the spear or by thrust.
One found he far on the left of the tear-drenched battle that warred,
The prince Alexander the godlike, the fair-tressed Helen’s lord,
Heartening stoutly his comrades, and cheering them on to the fray:
But Hector strode to his side, and with bitter words ‘gan say:
“False Paris the comely, seducer, woman-distraught!—say thou
Where is the might of Déiphobus, where King Helenus now?
And Adamas Asius’ scion, and Asius Hyrtakus’ son?
Say, where is Othryoneus?—Now steep-reared Troy is undone
Wholly in ruin’s precipice-plunge that none may shun!”
But from Alexander the godlike the answer straightway came:;
“Hector, the thought of thine heart is to blame the guiltless of blame.
Some other season perchance am I like to flinch from the war;
Not now:—not wholly a dastard was he that my mother bore.
For since at the first thou didst kindle thy men to the fight with the foes
Still with the Danaan host in the grapple of fight do we close
Ceaselessly. Dead are the comrades whereof thou art questioning.
Only Déiphobus’ might and Helenus the king
Are gone, for with spears long-shafted stricken were both in the strife
In the hand, yet still from destruction Kronion redeemed their life.—
Now lead on whithersoever thy spirit moveth thee,
And battle-eager will we follow after: I tell thee that we
In prowess will nowise fail thee, so far as our strength may attain:
But beyond his strength none warreth, nay, be he never so fain.”
So did he speak, and the wrath of his brother was turned away;
And they plunged mid the tangle of battle, the heart and the heat of the fray,
Yea, where round Kebriones and Polydamas’ princely form,
Round Phalkus, Orthaius, and stout Polyphoites, raged that storm,
And around Askanius, Palmys, and Morys, warriors wight,
Hippotion’s sons: from Askanié the fruitful with yesterday’s light
Had they come in their course to the war, and now Zeus stirred them to fight.
Onward they charged as onward rusheth the fierce winds’ blast
Which fleeth before Allfather’s thunder landward fast,
As with turmoil unearthly they blend with the brine, and beneath them leap
The mountain-swelling waves of the manifold-roaring deep,
High-arched, foam-crested, as vanward and rearward their surge-hosts sweep;
Even so the Trojans, to vanward these, and to rearward those,
Flashing with brass followed after their captains to clash with their foes.
And Hector like unto Earth-curse Arés was leading the charge,
And the Priamid held before him the shapely-rounded targe
Close-welded of hides, with a brass plate massy-forged thereon,
And around his temples his tossing helmet wavering shone.
Forth striding he tried their battalions to right and to left o’er the field,
If perchance they would flinch from his onset as onward he came under shield.
But the souls in the breasts Achaian he troubled not thereby;
And Aias with long strides came, and rang his challenge-cry:
“What ho, good fellow, draw nearer!—why seek’st thou in vain to affright
The Argives? I tell thee, not so skilless we are of fight;
But the baleful scourge of Zeus hath availed the Achaians to tame.
Ha, what, and hopeth thy spirit to waste our galleys with flame?
Ha, soon shalt thou find we also have hands to defend the same!
Verily, sooner far shall your stately-builded town
By the might of our hands be taken and low in the dust brought down!
But for thee—unto thee thyself, I tell thee, the hour is nigh
When, fleeing, to Zeus and the rest of the Deathless in prayer thou shalt cry
That fleeter than falcons may be thy steeds of the beautiful mane
Which shall bear thee cityward storming in dust across the plain.”
Even as he spake that word, a bird to the rightward flew,
A soaring eagle, and shouted the host of Achaia thereto,
Cheered by the omen: but Hector the glorious made reply:
“Aias, thou raving lubbard, what is the word of thy lie?
Would I were son so surely of Zeus for evermore,
A child whom Héré the Queen to the Lord of the Aegis bore,
And were honoured even as Athéné, or like to Apollo the King,
As surely as this day shall unto all the Argives bring
Yea, all of them—mischief: and thou with the rest shalt be slain in that hour,
If thou hast the heart to abide my spear, which shall surely devour
Thy lily-hued skin: thou shalt fall by the galleys Achaian, and cloy
With thy fat and the shreds of thy flesh the vultures and hounds of ‘Troy!”
So spake he, and onward he led, and a yell unearthly broke
From the heroes that followed, and cheering behind him charged the folk.
And the Argives shouted against them: was none that forgat his might:
’Gainst the charge of the oncoming champions of Troy were their ranks ready-dight;
And the roar of them rose to the welkin and Zeus’s fields of light.