Book V

THEN unto Tydeus’ son Diomedes Athéné gave
Prowess and daring, that he ’mid the Argives’ bravest the brave
Might shine forth battle-peerless, and win him a glorious name.
And she lit up his helm and his buckler with tireless-blazing flame,
Like the star of the latter summer, whose splendours brightest gleam
Mid the host of heaven, as it leaps from the baths of the Ocean-stream.
Such fire from his shoulders and head at her glamour-spell flashed out,
And into the midst she sped him, the heart of the battle-rout.
Now a man there was of the Troyfolk noble and well-to-do,
Darés the priest of Hephaestus the Fire-god, and sons he had two,
Phegeus, Idaius withal, right cunning in battle-lore.
These severed themselves from the war-press, and down on the hero they bore;
They twain on a chariot, and he rushing onward with fast-flying feet.
So when they were now drawn nigh, each charging the foe to meet,
First from the hand of Phegeus the lance long-shafted was sped;
But over Tydeides’ shoulder to leftward the spear-point fled,
That it smote not, and on rushed Tydeides with lance uplifted on high,
And nowise in vain from his hand did the murder-lightning fly.
On his breast ’twixt the nipples it lighted, and hurled him to earth from his car.
Then hasted Idaius to flee from the fair-wrought chariot afar;
For he dared not champion the dead, to bestride his brother slain,
Else neither had he, even he, escaped from the blackness of bane;
But Hephaestus from death redeemed him, and veiled him in darkness of cloud,
Lest his priest should be broken-hearted, an old man misery-bowed.
But the horses did Tydeus’ son lead forth of the midst of the fray,
And gave to his henchman to lead to the hollow galleys away.
When the Trojans beheld how the sons of the priest were in evil plight,
One fleeing from death, an: J one by his chariot slain outright,
Sore shaken was each man’s soul. But Athéné the flashing-eyed
Grasped furious Arés’ hand, and with eager words she cried:
“Arés the manslayer, stormer of ramparts, murder-stained,
Leave we the sons of Troy and Achaia unrestrained
To fight. unto whomso Zeus Allfather shall grant renown;
But for us, let us hold us aloof, and beware Allfather’s frown.”
Then led she forth of the war-press Arés the fury-heart;
And she caused him to sit on the bank of the roaring Skamander apart.
And the Danaans turned the Trojans to flight, and the war-chiefs then
Slew each his man; and first Agamemnon the king of men
Hurled Odius the huge. Halizonia’s lord, from his car to the dust;
For even as he turned him to flee, through his back was the king’s spear thrust
’Twixt shoulder and shoulder, and onward and out through his breast it crashed.
Heavily fell he, his harness of battle clanged and clashed.
Then Idomeneus smote down Phaistus, Maeonian Borus’ seed,
Who had hied him from Tarné’s furrows in Priam’s quarrel to bleed;
For he turned him to leap on his car, but Idomeneus spear-renowned
With a thrust of his lance long-shafted his rightward shoulder hath found.
From his chariot he fell, into horror of darkness swooning away;
And Idomeneus’ henchmen stripped the slain of his war-array.
Then Strophius’ scion Skamandrius, cunning in craft of the chase,
Died by the spear of the prince Menelaus of Atreus’ race.
Now the man was a mighty hunter, whom Artemis’ self taught well
To smite with his shafts all beasts that in mountain-forests dwell.
Yet Artemis arrow-triumphant on that day nothing availed,
Nor the far-flying arrows of old, and the hands that never failed;
But Atreus’ son Menelaus the spear-renowned on his track
Followed fast as he fled from his face, and thrust with his lance at his back
’Twixt shoulder and shoulder, and onward and out through his breast it crashed;
And he fell on his face, and his harness above him clanged and clashed.
Then Meriones dealt death to Phereklus, the son of the wright
Harmonides,—deft were his hands in marvellous mystery-might
Of curious work, for Athéné loved him passing well:
Yea, he fashioned for Paris the ships whence all those ills befell,
Which became unto all the Trojans a curse from overseas,
Yea, to himself, forasmuch as he knew not the Gods’ decrees:—
Him Meriones overtook, from the shadowing death as he fled,
And down on his right haunch smote, and the spear-point onward sped
Under the hip-bone passing, and cleaving the bladder beneath;
And he dropped on his knees with a shriek, and was shrouded in darkness of death.
Now Meges hath smitten Pedaius, the child that a handmaid bare
To Antenor; yet was he heedfully nursed of Theano the fair;
For a kindness unto her lord, as her own did she hold him dear;
But Phyleus’ scion the spear-renowned unto him drew near,
And suddenly smote on the nape of his neck with his keen-whetted spear,
And clear through the midst of the teeth and the root of the tongue did it pass;
And he fell in the dust, with his teeth hard-clenching the death-cold brass.
Then Eurypylus, son of Evaimon, spilt Hypsénor’s blood,
Son of Dolopion the lordly, the priest of Skamander’s flood,—
And even as a god did the people revere that holy one;—
Even him hath Eurypylus found, Evaimon’s glorious son;
And fast as he fled from his face, followed faster; his battlebrand flashed
Down, as he leapt to the stroke, and the arm from the shoulder he slashed.
Blood-streaming it fell; and his eyes, as they swooned from gloom unto gloom,
Saw the raven wings of Death, and the overmastering Doom.
So these in a grapple of giants the mighty labour wrought:
But Tydeides—thou wouldst not have known him, for whom that hero fought,
Whether for Troy or Achaia his war-wrath raged unquelled;
For he stormed o’er the plain like a river by floods of the wintertide swelled,
When the rush of its waters hath burst through the dikes, and hath scattered them wide,
When nothing their barriers avail as upriseth the river’s pride,
When the fences of fruitful orchard-closes asunder are riven,
In the hour of its wild overflow, when the rains have descended from heaven,
And before it in ruin and wreck fair labours of menfolk are driven:
So in ruin and rout were the Trojan battalions from Tydeus’ son
Fleeing, for all that so many they were, and he but one.
But the glorious son of Lykaon beheld how he heaped the slain,
How he hurled before him the ranks, as he stormed across the plain.
Upon Tydeus’ son, as he rushed on him, straightway his bow he drew,
And on to the hero’s strong right shoulder the keen shaft flew,
At the corslet-plate, and the bitter arrow hath pierced it through,
That behind it the point stood out, and the corslet was crimson-dyed.
Then over him triumphed Lykaon’s son, and afar he cried:
“Up Trojans gallant of heart! up, war-steed-goaders keen!
For the chiefest Achaian is smitten: not long shall his strength, I ween,
Outlast my mighty shaft, if in truth ’twas the guiding hand
Of the Archer, the Zeus-begotten, that brought me from Lycia-land.”
So vaunting he cried, but the arrow had quelled not the hero’s life.
But aback to his chariot and horses he stepped, and a moment from strife
He stayed him, and spake unto Sthenelus, there as he held them apart:
“Haste thee, O Kapaneus’ son, come down from the car, true heart,
And so shalt thou draw from my shoulder the bitter-rankling dart.”
Leapt Sthenelus down from the chariot to earth, his bidding to do.
And clean through the shoulder the length of the swift-winged shaft he drew;
And out through the pleated tunic the red blood sprang through the air.
Thereat Diomedes the battle-helper cried in prayer:
“Hear me, thou child of the Aegis-bearer, unwearied Power!
If ever with kindly intent thou hast stood in the perilous hour
Of the fight by my sire, unto me be now, O Athéné, near!
Vouchsafe me to slay him,—yea, but to come within cast of spear,—
Who hath shot me or ever I knew, and vaunteth in triumph-glee
How that yet but a little while, and the sun no more shall I see.”
So prayed he, and Pallas Athéné heard that hero’s call;
And lightsome she made his limbs, his feet and his hands withal.
And there at his side she stood, and she sped the winged word-flight:
“Be thou of good cheer, Diomedes, against yon foes to fight.
For now with the aweless might of thy father thy breast have I filled,
Of chariot-champion Tydeus, the wielder of the shield.
And the mist that hath lain on thine eyes heretofore, I have purged it away,
And so shalt thou clearly discern ’twixt God and man this day.
And it shall be, that if there come hither a God to make proof of thy might,
Against the Deathless Ones thou shalt not in any wise fight;
Save only if Aphrodite, the daughter of Zeus, shall pass
Into battle, thou shalt not spare her, but smite with the keen-whetted brass.”
So Pallas Athéné spake, and behold, she was no more there:
And into the forefront of battle again did Tydeides fare.
Furious-fain was his spirit to fight with the Trojans before; i
But there flamed up within him a war-wrath then that was three times more.
As a lion he was that a shepherd, in guarding his sheep full-fleeced,
Hath but grazed overleaping the fold, but hath quelled not the terrible beast.
He hath roused but his strength, and thereafter no more for their help draweth near,
But he fleeth aback to the steading, and leaveth them there in their fear.
So he rendeth in frenzy of ravin; in huddled heaps they fall,
Till areek with the slaughter in fury he leapeth the high garth-wall.
Even so Diomedes in fury plunged mid the Trojan array.
Astynous there and Hypeiron, shepherd of folk, did he slay:
Swift to the nipple of this one the javelin flashed from his hand;
That on the collar-bone hard by the neck by his mighty brand
Was smitten, and clean from the back and the neck was the shoulder shred.
Then he left them, and fast after Abas and young Polyidus he sped:
Children of Eurydamas the dream-arreder they were:
Yet he dreamed no dreams for them at their parting, that ancient seer,
Nor had vision of strong Diomedes that came on his sons and slew.
Then after Xanthus and Thoon, the children of Phainops, he flew,
Striplings both, and their sire was with grief-stricken eld outworn.
No son of his body beside to inherit his wealth was there born.
There hath he slain them: from both the precious life hath he reft;
And sore lamentation and heart-stricken grief to their father are left;
For not from the war shall he welcome their home-coming feet any more,
And the tearless eyes of kinsmen shall gloat on his hoarded store.
Two children of Priam Dardanus’ son, by the hero slain,
Echemmon and Chromius, fell; for in one car rode they twain.
And as leapeth a lion mid kine, and breaketh bone from bone
In the neck of a heifer or cow in a forest-pasture lone,
Even so these twain from the chariot by Tydeus’ son overthrown
Were hurled sore loth to the earth: their war-gear then did he strip;
And the horses he gave to his henchmen to drive to his hollow ship.
-Then Aeneas beheld him cleaving the war-ranks havoc-wasted;
And he hied him forthright through the battle, through hurtling of lances he hasted,
In quest of the godlike Pandarus searching the Trojans among.
And he found the son of Lykaon, the hero princely and strong.
Then stood he before his face, and with eager breath ’gan say:
“Pandarus, where is thy bow?—and thy winged shafts, where be they?
And thy glory, wherein there is none that may match him with thee in our land,
Neither any in Lycia that dwelleth may vaunt him more cunning of hand?
Nay, lift up thine hands unto Zeus, and speed forth a shaft from thy bow
At yonder triumphant destroyer who worketh us all this woe,
Whosoever he be that hath laid full many a champion low;—
Unless it be haply a God that for sacrifice rendered not
Is wroth with us: fearful it is when a God’s wrath waxeth hot.”
Unto him the glorious son of Lykaon answering spoke:
“Aeneas, counsellor-chief of the mail-clad Trojan folk,
Meseemeth the man is even as Tydeus’ war-wise son;
For his buckler I know, and his helm, and the tossing crest thereon;
Yea, and the steeds I behold—yet I know not—a God it may be.
But and if it be Tydeus’ war-wise son, and none other than he,
Not but with help of a God is he maddening thus, but anigh
Goeth one of the Deathless, with shoulders in cloud-veil hid from mine eye,
Who hath turned from his body aside mine arrow in act to light.
For already my bow have I drawn, and I marked the winged shaft smite
His rightward shoulder, and clean through the corslet-plate it sped.
Yea, and I deemed I should hurl him to Hades to dwell with the dead:
Yet I quelled him not—’tis a God wrath-kindled in very deed.
And behold, no horses have I, neither chariot in this my need:
Yet I ween in the halls of Lykaon eleven fair chariots bide;
Fresh-fashioned they be, new-garnished, and hung from side to side
With awning-cloths, and by each of them standeth a yoke of twain
Idly champing the spelt and the barley’s hoary grain.
Ah, many a time and oft did Lykaon the spearman grey
Charge me, or ever I fared from our stately palace away,
Yea, bade that by thundering steeds high-borne on the battle-car
I should lead in the roar of onset the ranks of Ilium’s war.
But I would not hearken nor heed,—sure this had been more for my good,—
Being careful for those my steeds, lest haply the stintless food
That never they lacked should fail where the thronging thousands meet.
So I needs must leave them, and fare unto Ilium’s burg on my feet,
Putting my trust in my bow and the shafts that should profit me not.
For at chieftains twain this day hath mine arrow already been shot,
Even Tydeus’ and Atreus’ sons, and from both sprang very blood
As my shaft smote home, yet I roused but the more their battle-mood.
Wherefore in evil hour did I take the curved bow down
From the peg, in the day when I came unto lovely Ilium-town,
Showing kindness to Hector the godlike, with them that followed me.
But if ever again I return, if again with mine eyes I shall see
My fatherland-home and my wife, and my palace’s stately height,
Then let an outland foe smite off mine head forthright,
If I spare to take this bow in mine hands, and to knap it in twain,
And to cast on the blazing fire, for as idle wind is it vain.”
Answered Aeneas, the Captain of Troy’s array, and he said:
“Nay, talk not thus: howbeit the mischief shall nowise be stayed
Till thou and I have made trial with chariot and battle-steed,
Till with yonder destroyer we match our might in warrior’s weed.
Go to, get thee up to my chariot, and so shalt thou give good heed
To the horses of Tros, how featly over the plain they speed
Hither and thither triumphant in chase and unperilled in flight.
Safe back to the city withal shall they bring us, if victory-might
Unto Tydeus’ son Diomedes by Zeus shall be granted again.
Come now, take thou in thine hands the lash and the shining rein,
And I in the chariot to fight yon foeman will take my stand.
Or thou, wilt thou bide his onset, committing the steeds to mine hand?”
Unto him made answer again Lykaon’s glorious son:
“Aeneas, the reins take thou, and the horses, for these be thine own.
Better, I ween, will they speed for the charioteer that they know
The curved car, if so be we must flee from the face of the foe:
Lest haply in sudden affright mad-plunging thy voice they lack,
And fail us at need, from the battle refusing to bear us aback,
And the scion of Tydeus the great-heart should leap on us there, and slay,
And should drive the thunder-footed steeds to the galleys away.
Nay, but the chariot and steeds let the hand of the master guide,
And I with the keen-whetted spear yon champion’s coming will bide.”
So spake they, and into the chariot cunningly-carven they stepped,
And swiftly against Tydeides in fury of onset they swept.
Then Kapaneus’ glorious scion beholdeth them drawing anigh,
And he speedeth the winged word-flight, and to Tydeus’ son doth he cry:
O Tydeus’ son Diomedes, beloved of my soul, I see
Two strong men fain of the battle that bear down fast upon thee.
Measureless prowess is theirs, full deft with the bow is the one,
Pandarus, yea and he nameth him lord Lykaon’s son.
And Aeneas nameth his father Anchises, a prince of the earth,
And Aphrodité the Goddess was she that gave him birth.
Go to, let us flee on the car: storm not in the forefront of strife
So daring-reckless of odds, lest haply thou lose thy life.”
Spake Diomedes the strong with sternly-lowering brow:
“Talk not of fleeing to me: thou shalt not persuade me, I trow.
For it is not my father’s son that will fight as the skulkers fight,
Neither blench from the onset, while yet unbroken abideth my might.
The chariot—I scorn to ascend it, but even as I stand here,
So will I meet them: Pallas Athéné forbids me to fear.
Yea, and the fleetfoot horses shall not bear back these twain,
To deliver them out of our hands, though one escape from bane.
This thing will I tell thee moreover, and deep in thine heart let it bide:
If Athéné the counsel-bounteous shall grant to me victory-pride,
That I smite these twain unto death, my fleetfoot steeds shalt thou stay
Here, fastening back the reins to the chariot-rail straightway.
And remember thou that thou spring on the steeds of Aeneas then,
And drive them forth of the Trojans amidst of Achaia’s men.
For these be of that same race of the which Zeus Thunder-lord
Gave unto Tros in requital for Ganymede unrestored,
Of all steeds even from dawn unto sunset the noblest blood.
But Anchises the king of men stole seed of the god-given brood;
For he privily brought of his mares unto King Laomedon’s stud,
Whereof, as it fell, came six that were foaled unto him in his halls.
Four is he keeping yet, and he nurtureth them in his stalls:
And Aeneas the panic-wafter, his son, received of him twain.
Now if we might win for us these, high glory thereof should we gain.”
So there of the deed and the hope of renown communed they two:
And louder the horse-hoofs thundered, as nearer the foemen drew.
Then first the glorious son of Lykaon shouted aloud:
“O stout-heart, battle-crafty, thou scion of Tydeus the proud,
Not by the bitter-keen shaft wast thou quelled, when it sped from my bow:
But my javelin now will I prove, if perchance I may lay thee low.”
So cried he, and swung up on high the lance long-shafted, and cast;
And it smote on the shield of Tydeides, and on through the buckler passed
The flight of the brazen head, and it came to the corslet anigh.
Then loudly the son of Lykaon shouted the triumph-cry: trow
“Thou art smitten!—art stabbed through the belly of thee!—short time, I trow
Shall thy strength outlast it, and high renown hast thou given me now!”
Spake Diomedes the stalwart, and undismayed cried he:
“Thou hast missed me and smitten me not; and I ween ye shall not go free,
Ye twain, till that one of you falling shall glut with the life blood of him
Arés the stubborn-shielded, the warrior murder-grim.”
So spake he, and hurled, and Athéné guided the javelin on
To the nose by the eye: through the ivory-gleaming teeth hath it gone;
And the brass unwearied severed the tongue of the man at the root,
And forth to the light from beneath his chin did the point of it shoot.
From the chariot he fell, and above him his war-gear flashing rang,
All wavering sheen, and aside the fleet steeds startled sprang.
And the soul shuddered forth, and the strength of him swooned in the fierce death-pang.,
Down leapt Aeneas with buckler and spear sudden-clutched for the fray,
Adread lest the sons of Achaia should hale that corpse away.
And there he bestrode the dead as a lion in pride of his might,
Outstretching before him his spear and his buckler’s orb of light,
Fierce-eager to kill whosoever should come to take that prey.
And he shouted his terrible cry: but a stone in his path that lay
Hath Tydeides seized,—such a mass as not two men might bear,
Such men as be now on the earth, yet lightly he swung it in air;—
On the hip of Aeneas he dashed it, there where the thigh-bone ball
Turneth about in the hip, which men the cup-bone call.
So the cup-bone it crushed, and it snapped the tendons twain withal;
And the rough rock flayed the skin. On his knees did the hero fall;
And he stayed him, propping his weight with his brawny hand on the ground;
And a mist and a blackness of night fell shrouding his eyes around.
And there of a surety Aeneas the king of men had died,
But the daughter of Zeus, Aphrodité, his peril swiftly espied,—
Even she to Anchises that bare him in days when he tended the kine,—
And around her beloved son her snow-white arms did she twine;
And before him a fold of her mantle glistering-bright she cast
For a fence from the darts, lest a foeman with fleet steeds following fast,
Hurling his lance at his breast should take his life away.
So went she bearing her dear-loved son from the midst of the fray.
Then Sthenelus, Kapaneus’ son, remembered with diligent heed
The behest of the lord Diomedes, the battle-helper’s rede.
So his own steeds thunder-footed aloof from the din did he stay,
Fastening back the reins to the chariot-rail straightway.
On the car-steeds beautiful-maned of Aeneas leapt he then,
And forth of the Trojans he drave them amidst of Achaia’s men.
To Deipylus’ hand did he give them, the comrade he loved the best
Of the friends of his youth, for that even as his own were the thoughts of his breast,
To drive to the ships: but again to his own war-chariot’s floor
He sprang, and the shining reins he grasped in his hand once more.
Then with the strong-hoofed horses he hastened battle-keen
Where Tydeides with pitiless spear followed after the Cyprian Queen.
For he knew her a weakling Goddess, and not as the Dread Ones are her.
That sway the victory-balance when heroes be met for war,—
Not as Athéné she, nor Enyo the city-waster!
So he came on the fleer at last, through the throngs of the strife as he chased
Then the scion of great-heart Tydeus suddenly leapt, and upraised
His keen-whetted spear, and the skin of her tender hand he grazed.
For the lance-point rent the ambrosial veil that around her clung,
The robe that the Graces wove, and the flesh of her palm it stung
By the wrist, and therefrom the heavenly blood of the Goddess flowed,
The ichor that runs in the veins of them of the Blessed Abode:
For they taste not of bread, neither drink they of wine with its face of flame:
For this cause bloodless are they, and the Deathless Ones their name.
She hath dropped her son from her arms, at the sharp pang shrieking aloud;
But the hands of Apollo have caught him away in darkness of cloud
Enshrouded, lest haply a foeman with fleet steeds following fast
Should thrust out the life from his breast with a deadly javelin-cast.
Loud after her rang Diomedes the battle-helper’s shout:
“Begone, thou daughter of Zeus, from the war and the battle-rout!
Doth this not suffice thee, to cozen with guile light women and frail?
But and if thou wilt mingle in battle, I trow thine heart shall quail
With affright, yea even to hear, as thou sittest afar, the tale!”
So spake he, but she in a frenzy of grievous torment fled;
And her from the midst of the war-press Iris the Wind-foot led
Racked with the pain of her hurt, with the fair flesh darkening round.
And Arés the wild-heart sitting to left of the battle she found.
His lance on a cloud was leaned, and his fleet steeds stood thereby.
And she fell on her knees, and besought her brother with earnest cry
For his golden-frontleted horses, the tramplers of the sky:
O brother beloved, vouchsafe thy steeds!—O grant my prayer,
That so to Olympus, the home of the Deathless Ones, I may fare.
Tormented I am by a wound which was dealt by the deathling hand
Of Tydeides—in strife against Zeus Allfather this day would he stand!”
Now the golden-frontleted steeds to her prayer hath Arés given:
She hath mounted the chariot, her heart the while with anguish riven;
And beside her hath Iris mounted: the reins through her fingers she drew;
And she lashed the coursers fleet, and with right good will they flew.
So they came to the steeps of Olympus, the Gods’ high palace-hall;
And there swift Iris the Wind-foot unyoked and stabled in stall
The horses, and cast them ambrosia for food, for immortals were these.
But low Aphrodité the Goddess fell on Didné’s knees.
And her did the soft-enfolding arms of her mother take;
And she soothed her with loving caress, and she uttered the word and spake:
“Now which of the Heaven-folk, darling, this unto thee hath done
Roughly and rudely, as though thou hadst sinned in the sight of the sun?”
Then Aphrodité the laughter-winsome her sorrow told:
“He hath stabbed me—Tydeus’ son Diomedes the overbold,
Because I essayed to rescue my dear-loved son from the war,
Aeneas, for dearest of men is he unto me by far.
Not betwixt Troy and Achaia now is the shout of the fray,
But now are the Danaans warring with them that abide for aye,”
And to her made answer Didné the Goddess divine again:
“Nay, darling, endure it, and bear for a little thy bitter pain.
For many in heaven that abide have been evil entreated so
Of men, when God in his spite against God would work him woe.
So was it with Arés, when Otus and Ephialtes the strong,
The sons of Aloeus, held him a captive prisoned long.
For thirteen months in a brazen cell was he fettered fast;
Yea, Arés the battle-insatiate had perished there at the last,
But the bride of the giants’ father, Eeriboia the fair,
Told it to Hermes, who stole him out of their murder-lair,
When now he was pining to death by the strain of the gyves outworn.
So was it with Héré; the stalwart child to Amphitryon born
Suddenly shot with a shaft three-barbed at her rightward breast,
And smote her with torment of pitiless pangs that knew no rest.
Yea, Hades the terrible tasted the shaft swift-sped from the cord
In the hour when the selfsame man, the seed of the Aegis-lord,
In Hell-gate amidst of the dead gave him over to torment a prey.
Then he fled to the palace of Zeus and Olympus far away,
Anguished in soul, thrilled through with his pangs, for the rankling dart
Stood deep in his mighty shoulder, and bitterness filled his heart.
But pain-quelling salves on the wound Paiaion spread, whereby
He restored him, for not as the deathlings he was, that be born but to die.
Ah desperate!—reckless worker of lawless deeds and fell,
Who vexed with his arrows the Gods in the halls of Olympus that dwell!
But on thee this man hath been set by Athéné the grey-eyed Queen:
Ah fool!—for the son of Tydeus knoweth not this, I ween,
That whoso shall fight with the Deathless, not long be his days on the earth.
No children shall prattle about his knees in their winsome mirth
When he cometh aback from the strife and the terrible battle-throng.
Therefore let Tydeus’ son, yea, though he be never so strong,
Take heed lest a mightier than thou in the battle against him rise,
Lest Aigialeia, the child of Adréstus, the passing-wise,
Shall start from her haunted slumbers, and waken her maids with her cries,
For her lord and her love, for the pride of Achaia, wailing in grief,—
That stately wife of the prince Diomedes, the horse-quelling chief.”
She spake, and she wiped the ichor away with her cool soft palms:
Soothed was the hand, and the pangs were assuaged, as with comforting balms.
But Athéné and Lady Héré with hard eyes looked thereon,
And with heart-stinging gibes they wrought to provoke Zeus, Kronos’ son.
And Athéne the flashing-eyed in the midst of the Deathless spake:
“Allfather, for whatso I say wilt thou bid thine anger awake?
The Lady of Cyprus would tempt some bride of Achaia to flee
With a man of the Trojans, the folk that she loveth wondrously.
So it fell, as she fondled a fair-robed dame of Achaia-land,
That the pin of the golden brooch hath scratched her dainty hand.”
So did she speak, but the Father of Gods and menfolk smiled;
And he called Aphrodité, and spake to his golden-glorious child:
“Darling, what hast thou to do with the rage of the battle-fire?
Follow after the kindlings of love, and the crown of the heart’s desire;
And in strife shall Athéné delight her, and Arés shall glut his ire.”
So there in the halls of Olympus in sorrow and scorn spake they.
But still on Aeneas sprang Diomedes the battle-stay,
Though he knew that the arms of Apollo about him were cast for a shield;
Yet he stood not in awe of the God and his might, but, desperate-willed,
Ever pressed on Aeneas to kill him, and spoil his war-array.
Thrice did he leap to the onslaught, furious-fain to slay,
And thrice ’neath Apollo’s buffet his glittering buckler rang.
But when for the fourth time on like an angry God he sprang,
Then with a terrible voice Far-darter Apollo cried:
“Think, offspring of Tydeus, and shrink, neither dare in the thoughts of thy pride
To match thee with Gods: deem not there is any comparison found
’Twixt the race of the Deathless, and men that must tread on the face of the ground.”
Then backward Tydeides shrank, and forbore for a little the fight,
In dread of the wrath of Apollo, the Lord of the arrows of light.
And aloof from the war-press Apollo hath laid Aeneas down
In the place where standeth his temple in holy Pergamus-town.
And of Léto and Artemis arrow-triumphant in that great shrine
Was he healed of his hurt and anointed with chrism of glory divine.
But a wraith by Apollo the King of the Silver Bow was made
In semblance such as Aeneas, and like him harness-arrayed:
And around that phantom form did the grapple of conflict close
With Trojans and mighty Achaians stabbing and hailing blows
On the bucklers and tasselled targets that shielded the hearts of their foes.
Then unto Arés the wild-heart Phoebus Apollo cried:
“Arés the manslayer, stormer of ramparts, murder-dyed,
Wilt thou not enter the battle and pluck yon man from the fray,
Tydeides?—sure he would fight against Zeus Allfather to-day;
For the Cyprian Queen in the hand at the wrist hath he wounded first,
Thereafter on me, even me, like a God in his anger he burst.”
So spake he, and sat him down upon Pergamus’ topmost height.
But Arés the Slayer to kindle the Trojans plunged mid the fight
In the likeness of Akamas, fleetfoot lord of the Thracian folk;
And to hearten the sons of Priam with masterful hest he spoke:
“Ho children of Priam the great king fostered of Zeus, how long
Will ye suffer your folk to be slain of Achaia’s battle-throng
Shall it be till your strong-built gates shall ring with their onset-cheer
Low lieth the man that we honoured even as Hector’s peer,
Even Aeneas the son of Anchises the mighty-souled.
Let us save from the trampling and tumult our comrade stout and bold.”
So cheered he the folk, till the hearts of them all with the war-flame glowed:
And straightway with Hector the godlike Sarpedon bitterly chode:
“Hector, and where is thy prowess, the might that was thine of yore?
Thou saidst, time was, that unhelped by an outland host of war,
With thy brethren and marriage-kin thou wouldst hold this city alone.
Where are they?—I see them not—mine eyes may discern of them none.
But as dogs that encompass a lion, so backward skulk they afraid.
It is we that be fighting, we, thine outland battle-aid!
See, I am thy battle-helper; I journeyed a weary way
From a far land, even from Lycia, where Xanthus’ eddies play.
There left I a dear-loved wife, and the babe in her arms that she bore,
And goodly possessions, which many a lackland coveteth sore.
Yet I reck not, but kindle the Lycians to battle, and pant for the fray
With a champion, albeit no substance of mine lieth here for a prey,
No spoil as of cattle or treasure for foemen to bear away.
But thou, thou art idly standing, with never a word of cheer
That thy people may bide the strife for the sake of their dear ones here!
Take heed lest the toils of a net that none shall escape may close
Around you, and ye be delivered a spoil and a prey to your foes.
Ay, soon will they utterly waste your city builded fair!
What, man, thine heart should be heavy by night and by day with its care!
Thou shouldst plead with the chiefs of the hosts that have come from afar for thy sake
To quit them like men,—so haply the shame from thy name shouldst thou take!”
So spake he, and Hector’s soul by the word of his chiding was stung:
Forthright from his chariot to earth in his harness of war hath he sprung:
And brandishing lances keen he ranged the host about,
Cheering them on to the fight, and he wakened the onset-shout.
So they rallied, and front to front with the foemen their battle was stayed:
And the Argives closed their ranks, and awaited them undismayed.
And as when by a wind the chaff through a threshing-floor is borne,
When the winnowing-fans are waving, and She of the Golden Corn
Parteth the grain from the chaff by the wind-blast lightly tossed,
And the chaff-heaps whiten and whiten; so the Danaan host
From head to heel grew white with the dust that, raised on high
By the feet of the steeds, rolled up to the brazen vault of the sky,
As the charioteers wheeled round, and the cars plunged back mid the fight.
On came the tempest of buffeting hands, and in darkness of night,
For a veil to the onset of Troy, did Arés enshroud the fray,
Hitherward ranging and thither: so toiled he the hest to obey
Of Apollo Golden-sword, who had bidden him kindle the heart
Of Troy to the fight, so soon as he marked Athéné depart
From the strife, for that she was the stay of the Danaan battle-line.
Then sent Apollo Aeneas forth of his wealth-heaped shrine;
And the breast of the shepherd of hosts with dauntless courage he filled:
And lo, mid his comrades Aeneas was standing: their hearts were thrilled
With joy to behold him alive in their midst, and mighty of limb,
And gallant of spirit: howbeit was none that questioned him;
For the war-toil suffered them not which Silverbow had waked,
And earth-curse Arés, and Strife of the murder-thirst unslaked.
The Aiantes the while, and Odysseus, and strong Diomedes withal,
Were cheering the Danaans on: there was naught could their souls appal,
Nor the fury nor whirlwind rush of the Trojans charging on:
But steadfast they stood as a rampart of clouds that Kronos’ son
In a windless calm hath builded along the mountain steeps,
Utterly moveless, so long as the might of the North-wind sleeps,
And the rage of the wild storm-breathers, which scatter in disarray
The shadowing clouds that flee from their shrieking blasts away:
So steadfast the Danaans bided the Trojans, and dreamed not of fear.
And Atreides ranged through the press with many a word of cheer:
“Friends, quit you like heroes, and take to you hearts unblenching-bold!
In the grim death-grapple bethink you how many your deeds behold.
For of such as bethink them so more live than be slain in the strife;
But the fleer is fameless: yea, and he shall not deliver his life.”
Then smote he a man in the forefront of fight with his lance swift-darted,
Déicoén; comrade he was of Aeneas the mighty-hearted,
Pergasus’ son, whom they honoured even as Priam’s seed,
For that foremost he was in the onset, in battle good at need.
But Lord Agamemnon’s spear to the champion’s buckler flew:
Nothing availed him the shield, for the brazen head burst through
And on through the baldric, and into the nether belly it flashed;
Heavily fell he, and o’er him his armour clanged and clashed.
Thereafter Aeneas slew of the Danaan mighty ones
Orsilochus, Kréthon withal, Diokles’ hero-sons.
Their father in Phéré, the beautiful-builded city, abode,
And his substance was great, and by lineage he sprang from a River-god,
Even Alpheius, whose broad stream floweth o’er Pylian sand,
Who begat Orsilochus, lord of a many-peopled land.
From Orsilochus sprang there a son great-hearted, Diokles hight;
And there sprang from the lord Diokles twin sons, men of might,
Orsilochus, Kréthon withal, full cunning in battle-lore.
And these, when they came unto manhood, sailed to the Ilian shore:
To the war-steed-land with the Argives in black-hulled ships did they speed,
To avenge Agamemnon and Lord Menelaus, Atreus’ seed.
And there did death end all, and o’ershroud them in endless night.
They were like unto lions twain that be reared on the mountain-height
By their mother amidst of the brakes of a forest dark and deep;
And they snatch from the byre the ox, from the fold the fatling sheep,
And they harry the homesteads of menfolk, until it shall come to pass
That they too perish by hands of men on the keen-whetted brass.
Even so overborne by the hands of Aeneas did these twain fall;
Yet stately they fell as the kings of the forest, the pine-trees tall.
Sore pitied them Arés-beloved Menelaus in death as they lay,
And he rushed through the forefront of fight in his flashing war-array,
Shaking his lance; and the flame of his fury Arés fanned,
With intent that the hero should die by Aeneas’ mightier hand.
But Antilochus, scion of Nestor the great-heart, beheld his plight,
And he strode through the forefront, for sorely he feared lest mischief should light
On the shepherd of hosts, and their toil should be suddenly nothing worth.
And even as they twain stood with the keen-whetted spears stretched forth
In their strong hands, face to face, aglow with the battle-mood,
Lo, by the side of the shepherd of hosts Antilochus stood.
But Aeneas, though never so keen a warrior, might not bide
When standing against him he saw two champions side by side.
So forth of the press they haled to the host of Achaia the slain,
And into the hands of their comrades gave those hapless twain;
Then they turned them about, and they plunged mid the forefront of battle again.
Then laid they Pylaimenes, peer of the War-god, dead on the field,
Chief of the Paphlagonians, the great-heart men of the shield;
For there came on him Atreus’ son Menelaus the spear-renowned,
And the lance-head, there as he stood, his lite through the collar-bone found.
Then Antilochus smote down Mydon, his henchman and charioteer,
Stout son of Atymnius,—back was he turning his steeds in his fear—
With a stone in the midst of his elbow he smote: from his hands hath he hurled
The ivory-studded reins, and adown in the dust are they whirled.
Then Antilochus leapt on him: into his temple his falchion he thrust:
Gasping he reeled from his fair-fashioned car, and was dashed to the dust.
Headlong in suchwise he fell as on shoulders and head to stand;
There for a space was he stayed, for exceeding deep was the sand,
Till spurned by the hoofs of his horses outstretched in the dust he lay:
And Antilochus lashed them, and drove to the host of Achaia away.
Then Hector across the battle espied them, and thitherward leapt
Shouting his war-cry: behind him the strong battalions swept
Of the Trojans, while Arés and mighty Enyo strode before.
The ruthless tumult of battle the grim War-goddess bore;
And Arés tossed in his hands a giant-shafted spear;
Now stormed he to vanward of Hector, and now swept forward the rear.
Then shuddered the battle-stay Diomedes in awe-struck dread.
And even as a shiftless man that is crossing a plain wide-spread
Is stayed by a swift-rushing river in flood, as seaward it sweepeth
Roaring with foam, and aback from the outrush of waters he leapeth;
Even so shrank backward Tydeides, and loud to his men cried he:
‘O friends, no marvel we wonder that Hector the godlike should be
A warrior spear-triumphant, a valiant man of war;
For beside him there standeth a God ever keeping destruction afar.
Lo there by his side goeth Arés in shape of a mortal wight!
But with faces turned evermore to the Trojans, and not as in flight,
Give back, lest perchance we be found with the very Gods to fight.”
So cried he, and nearer the Trojans, and ever nearer, drew.
Then warriors twain heart-full of the war-glee Hector slew,
Menesthes and Anchialus, in the selfsame chariot borne.
And great Telamonian Aias had ruth of them lying forlorn;
And he hurled with his glittering javelin, as up to the foe he strode,
And Amphius Selagus’ scion he smote, who in Paisus abode,
Wealthy in substance and tilth-land: yet was he drawn by his doom
Unto Priam and Priam’s sons with his battle-aid to come.
Sped to his baldric the swift-rushing javelin of Telamon’s son,
And into his nether belly the lance long-shafted hath gone;
And he fell with a crash. Then Aias to spoil his battle-gear
Rushed on: howbeit the Troyfolk rained down spear on spear;
And aslant from his shield did many a keen point gleaming glance.
But he setteth his heel on the dead, and he draweth the brazen lance
From the flesh: yet he might not strip from the shoulders of him that he slew
The goodly mail; for the darts overwhelmed him, so thickly they flew.
Yea, he shrank from the ring of defenders, the Trojans haughty-souled,
‘For they pressed on him spear in hand, those champions many and bold;
And tall though he was and stalwart, and haughty-loth to yield,
Yet backward they bore him, and weight-overmastered the giant reeled.
So there in the desperate toil of the grim death-grapple they strove.
And against Sarpedon the godlike the doom overmastering drove
Tlepolemus, Héraklés’ scion, a hero tall and strong.
So anigh to each other they came, stepping forth from the battle-throng,
The son and the son’s son they of Zeus the Cloudrack-lord;
Then spake Tlepolemus first, and he cried the challenging word:
O Counsellor-chief of the Lycians, what hast thou to do to cower
From the fray like a battle-witless wight in the perilous hour?
Men call thee the child of the Aegis-bearer—they lie therein!
Not a little thou lackest, I ween, of the prowess of that heaven-kin
Which sprang from the loins of Zeus in the days of the men of old.
Not as of thee is the tale of the might of Hérakleés told,
Even my father, the steadfast-hearted, the lion-souled,
Who came for Laomedon’s horses of yore to the Troyland coast.
But six were his ships, and exceeding few were the men of his host;
Yet he wasted Ilium-town, till her streets all desolate lay.
But thou—thy spirit is craven, and minisheth still thine array.
Ha, not for a bulwark of battle to Troy hast thou fared, I trow,
From Lycia-land, though never so stalwart thine outward show!
Thou shalt pass through the gates of the grave by me, even me, laid low.”
Made answer to him Sarpedon, the Lycian champion grim:
“Tlepolemus, verily Ilium the holy was smitten of him
Because of Laomedon’s folly, the pride-uplifted king,
Who requited his toil and his kindness with cursing and threatening,
Neither paid him the mares for the which he had come from a far-away land.
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 Tlepolemus lifted his ashen spear on high,
And from each man’s hand did his shaft at the selfsame moment fly.
And the lance of Sarpedon smote on the midst of the neck of his foe,
And onward and out beyond did the bitter spear-head go:
And over the eyes of Tlepolemus blackness of darkness swept.
But into the thigh of Sarpedon his lance long-shafted leapt.
Onward the furious point of it rushed through the quivering limb,
Grazing the bone, but his sire still warded destruction from him.
Then from the midst of the battle his hero-comrades bore
Sarpedon the godlike, the while the long spear burdened him sore
As it trailed; yet no man marked it, and none took thought for his plight,
To draw from his thigh the spear, to the end he might stand upright,
Mid their haste—such labour they had for his help mid the tangle of fight.
Out of the battle the while did the mailed Achaians bring
Tlepolemus slain, and Odysseus beheld that evil thing,
Odysseus the steadfast-hearted, and stirred was his spirit with pain;
And the thoughts and intents of his mind for a space were divided in twain,
Whether first to pursue that sore-hurt son of the Thunder-lord,
Or to fall on the Lycians left, and to smite with the edge of the sword.
But not for Odysseus the mighty-souled did the Fates ordain
That the princely scion of Zeus should be by his keen brass slain:
Therefore Athéné turned his wrath on the Lycian array.
Alastor, and Koiranus, Chromius there did the hero slay;
Alkander and Halius withal, and Noémon and Prytanis died:—
Yea, godlike Odysseus had slain full many a Lycian beside,
But Hector Lightning-helm’s keen glance that havoc espied.
Through the forefront of battle in harness of flame-bright brass did he stride,
Bringing fear on the Danaans: then was the child of Zeus full fain
Of his coming, and faintly gasped Sarpedon amidst of his pain:
“Forsake me not, offspring of Priam, to lie the Danaans’ prey!
But save me: content were I that my life should pass away,
So it be but within your city:—I know that mine eyes shall see
Never again mine home, nor the land that fostered me,
Nor the welcoming smile of my wife, nor my babe in its wordless glee.”
So spake he, but Hector the, splendour-hel meted answered him not;
But he rushed on past to the fight, for his heart was vengeance-hot
To be hurling the Argives back, and to heap their carcases there.
Then did his hero-companions Sarpedon the godlike bear
From the fight unto Zeus the Aegis-wielder’s oak-tree green.
Then forth of his wounded thigh the ashen javelin keen
Did goodly Pelagon thrust, the friend right dear unto him.
Then fainted his spirit; his failing eyes with a mist grew dim.
Howbeit again he revived when the North-wind’s cool fresh breath
Fanned him, and quickened his soul as it swooned at the gates of death.
Now the Argives, when Arés and Hector the brass-mailed charged their array,
Turned not their faces to flee to the black-hulled galleys away;
Neither rushed they forward to battle, but backward still gave ground
So soon as they knew that the War-god amidst of the Trojans was found.
Who then was the first, and who was the last in the red dust laid
By Hector the child of Priam, and Arés the brass-arrayed?
Teuthras the godlike, Orestes the war-steed-smiter withal
And Tréchus Aetolia’s spearman, and there Oinomaus fall,
And Helenus Oinopus’ son, and Oresbius taslet-gleaming,
Who in Hylé abode, with his heart of his wealth’s increase aye dreaming,
Of his cornfields aslope to the mere of Kephisus, and round them there
The farms of the folk of Boeotia, the fruitful land and fair.
Now when Heéré the ivory-wristed Goddess beheld these two,
How in the wild death-grapple the Argive men they slew,
Straightway she turned to Athéné, and sped the winged word-flight:
“Out on it, child of the Aegis-wielder, unwearied Might!
Good sooth, unto Lord Menelaus our promise was spoken in vain
That Ilium should perish or ever he gat him home again,
If we suffer that Arés the baleful shall thus rage unrestrained!
Up, let our prowess awaken, the storm of our wrath be unreined!”
She spake, and the Goddess Athéné the grey-eyed hearkened her rede.
And to harness her golden-frontleted horses hied her with speed
Héré the Goddess, the Queen, great Kronos’ glorious seed.
Swift on the brazen wheels laid Hébé the chariot-seat;
Twice four be the brazen spokes on the axle of steel that meet;
And the felloe that claspeth the same, it is wrought of unperishing gold;
And of brass be the tires close-lapping,—a marvel they are to behold;—
And of silver the naves thereof swift-whirling on either hand;
And the seat of the car with many a gold and silver band
Is plaited; and two be the chariot-rails that encompass it round.
And the pole is of silver withal: on the end thereof she bound
The golden yoke, and with golden traces she hung it about,
Most fair: and forth to the yoke were the fleetfoot steeds led out
Of Héré furious-fain of the strife and the onset-shout.
But Athéné the child of the Aegis-wielder, the Lord of Thunder,
Cast down on her father’s threshold her mantle’s woven wonder,
The rainbow-broidered robe of her own hands’ fashioning;
And she did on her body the tunic of Zeus the Cloudrack-king,
And in harness of tear-drenched battle her mighty limbs arrayed.
Over her shoulders the terrible tasselled aegis she laid;
Around it in serpent-coilings enwreathed is Terror rolled,
Strife, Valour, the onset-yell that maketh the blood run cold
Are therein, and the Gorgon-head, the unspeakable monstrous thing,
The ghastly, the fearful marvel of Zeus the Aegis-king.
And the helmet twofold-crested of fourfold plate did she don,
Of gold, with the hosts of a hundred cities emblazoned thereon.
And grasping her spear she hath stepped on the chariot that flameth as fire,—
With her huge spear, massy and strong; for the Child of a Mighty Sire
Quelleth therewith whole ranks of the heroes that kindle her ire.
Swiftly hath Héré uplifted the scourge, and the steeds doth she lash.
Self-moving the gates of Heaven spring wide with a thunder-crash,
Whose warders the Hours be, to whom is the charge of Olympus given,
To open or shut the rift in the cloud-built rampart of Heaven.
On through the portals the steeds fair-heeding the goad have they driven.
And they came on the son of Kronos sitting apart from the rest
Of the Gods, upon myriad-ridged Olympus’ topmost crest.
Then Heéré the ivory-wristed Goddess her horses stayed,
And she questioned of Zeus most high, the offspring of Kronos, and said:
“Allfather, art thou not indignant for Arés’ deeds of bane,
How great and how goodly a host of Achaians his fury hath slain
Recklessly, lawlessly? Anguish is mine!—but careless the while
Apollo Silverbow and the Cyprian triumphantly smile.
They have hounded a mad fiend on who knoweth nor justice nor right.
Allfather, wilt thou be enkindled to wrath against me, if I smite,
If I chase this Arés afar from the battle in pitiful plight?”
And Zeus the Cloudrack-sweeper made answer to Héré again:
“Haste thee—uprouse thou against him Athéné the War-fiend’s bane,
The Prey-giver, mightiest in making him taste of bitterest pain.”
So spake he, and Héré the white-armed Goddess gave heed thereto;
And she touched the steeds with the lash, and with eager speed they flew
In the midst between earth and the stars on the pavement of heaven that burn.
And far as a man with his eyes through the sea-line-haze may discern,
On a cliff as he sitteth and gazeth away o’er the wine-dark deep,
So far at a bound do the loud-neighing steeds of the Deathless leap.
So they came to the land of Troy and her rivers that seaward run,
To the place where Skamander and Simois blend their streams in one.
There stayed she the horses, Héré the Queen of the ivory wrist;
From the car she unyoked them, and round them she hung deep folds of mist:
And lo, for their meat with ambrosia did Simois’ banks blush bright.
Then the Goddesses hied them, as doves soft-gliding in soundless flight,
To the help of the Argives, furious-fain for their battle-aid.
And so when they came unto where their most and their best were arrayed,
Where shoulder to shoulder around Diomedes the hero they stood,
Grim-showing as ravening lions whose jaws are bedabbled with blood,
Or like to the beasts of tameless fury, the boars of the wood,
There Héré the white-armed stood, and rang through the battle her cry—
As great-heart Stentor the brazen-voiced seemed she to the eye,
For his shout was the shout of fifty men: so shouted she:—
“Shame on you, Argives, ye bywords! dastards goodly to see!
So long as Achilles the godlike went forth to the battle with you,
Never was Trojan that stepped the gates Dardanian through;
For they dreaded the lightning-gleam of his terrible-storming spear:
But now from the city afar by the ships fight they without fear!”
Then their courage was kindled, their souls were aflame for the word that she cried.
And Athéné the grey-eyed sprang to the son of Tydeus’ side.
By his chariot and horses she found him, the lord of battle-craft,
Cooling the burning wound that was dealt by Pandarus’ shaft:
For sorely the toil-sweat galled it by reason of that broad band
That bare up the orb of his shield, and aweary grew his hand.
He was lifting the baldric, and wiping the dark-hued blood away,
When the Goddess laid her hand on the yoke, and thus did she say:
‘Ah, not as the sire is the son of Tydeus’ loins that came!
Little of stature was Tydeus, but mighty in battle-fame.
Yea, once I commanded him saying ‘Take heed that thou fight with none,
Nor defiantly bear thee, when aidless he came unto Thebes and alone,
On an ambassage unto the host of the princes of Kadmus’ race.
‘Sit thou at the meat in quiet, I said, ‘in the feastful place.’
But he bare, as in days overpast, the soul that never quailed;
And he challenged the princes of Thebes, and in whatso he strove, he prevailed
Full lightly: so present a helper was I unto him that day.
But for thee—of a surety I stand by thy side, and I guard alway,
And with all mine heart I command thee to fight with the Trojan foe.
But thy limbs be faint and weary with rushing to and fro,
Or spiritless terror hath gotten thee. Surely if that be so,
No son of the warrior Tydeus thou art, nor of Oineus’ line.”
Spake Diomedes the strong, and he answered the lips divine:
“I know thee, Goddess, daughter of Zeus the Aegis-lord:
Wherefore my strait will I tell, neither hide in mine heart the word.
No spiritless terror is this, neither slackness that holdeth mine hand;
But mindful am I of thy charge, and I heed thine own command.
For thou saidst that I should not in conflict against the Blesséd stand:
Save only if Aphrodité the daughter of Zeus should pass
Into battle, I should not spare her, but smite with the keen-whetted brass.
Wherefore I now give ground myself, and the Argives all
Have I bidden to gather close for a steadfast battle-wall:
For mine eyes have discerned yon Arés triumphantly swaying the fray.”
Unto him made answer Athéné, and thus did the Grey-eyed say:
“Diomedes, thou joy of mine heart, O Tydeus’ hero-son,
Fear thou not Arés for this;—I say unto thee, fear none
Of the Deathless, so present a helper am I unto thee in thy need.
Come then, against Arés the first thy battle-tramplers speed.
Close with him, smite him, the wild-heart, and be not at all dismayed
For the mad fiend Arés, the curse from his birth, the renegade,
Who but yesterday spake unto me and to Héré, and pledged him to aid
The Argive host, and withal to strive against Troy in the war:
But now he consorteth with Trojans; forgotten the Argives are.”
Then thrust she Sthenelus down to the earth from the chariot-seat,
Drawing him back; and he leapt from the car with eager feet.
Then into the chariot beside Diomedes mounted she,
The battle-fain Goddess: and groaned the oaken axletree,
With the weight of a Goddess dread and a hero heavy-fraught.
And the whip and the reins in her hands hath Pallas Athéné caught.
Forthright against Arés first those thundering hoofs she sped.
Even then was he stripping the mail from giant Periphas dead,
Aetolia’s mightiest champion, Ochesius’ goodly son.
Him was the Blood-fiend spoiling: then did Athéné don
The helmet of Hades, to hide her from terrible Arés’ eye.
And Earth-curse Arés looked, and beheld Diomedes anigh.
Forthright he forsook gigantic Periphas there as he lay
On the spot where first he had slain him and torn his life away;
And straight on the tamer of horses he rushed, Diomedes the strong.
So anigh to each other they came, flashing forth from the battle-throng.
First over the yoke and the reins of the horses Arés thrust
With his lance of brass, mad-eager to bring down his life in the dust.
But the Goddess Athéné the Grey-eyed the lance in her hand hath ta’en,
And up from the chariot hath thrust it to spend its fury in vain.
Then Diomedes the battle-helper drave at his foe
With his brass-headed spear, and onward Athéné sped the blow
Even to the place where the taslet girded his loins, and there
Lighted the point of the lance, and through the fair skin tare.
Then backward he plucked the spear, and brazen Arés yelled.
Louder the onset-cry of thousands nine ne’er swelled,
Nor of thousands ten, when they charge mad-kindled with battle-delight.
And trembling gat hold on Achaians and Trojans, and sore affright,
So mighty, so hideous the yell was of Arés insatiate of fight.
As the darkness in heaven when blackens a lurid thundercloud,
When past is the burning heat, and the winds blow fierce and loud,
So Arés the brazen in Tydeus’ son Diomedes’ eyes
Seemed, as he fled amid clouds to the broad-o’erarching skies.
And with speed to the home of the Gods, to the steep of Olympus, he won,
And in anguish of soul sat down by King Zeus, Kronos’ son.
And he showed the immortal blood as adown from the wound it ran;
And the winged words moaned from his lips as in pitiful voice he began:
“Allfather, art thou not indignant for violence wrought in thy sight?
Evermore have the Gods tribulation and horror of mischief and spite
At the hands of their fellows, when fain we would bless the children of earth.
With thee are we all at feud: thou gavest yon mad maid birth,
The destroyer, whose thoughts evermore be of lawless deeds and fell.
For the rest of the Gods, even we in the halls of Olympus that dwell,
Unto thee bow down in subjection, and all thy behests do we heed;
But her—thou hast never rebuked her, never in word nor in deed;
But thou lettest her be, for thyself hast begotten this pestilent child,
Who hath hounded on but now Diomedes the outrage-wild
Even on Gods everliving to rush in his fury accurst;
For the Cyprian Queen in the hand at the wrist hath he wounded first,
Thereafter on me, even me, like a God in his anger he burst.
But my feet swift-flying delivered me, else long time had I lain
Suffering anguish there midst the ghastly heaps of the slain,
Or had lived on strengthless-stricken by stabs of the brazen lance.”
Made answer the Cloudrack-sweeper, with stern and scornful glance:
“Sit not, thou renegade, making thy whimpering moan at my side!
Most hateful thou art unto me of the Gods in Olympus that bide.
Dear unto thee evermore is contention and battle and blood.
Thine is thy mother’s unbearable spirit, the stubborn mood
Of Héré, for hardly her wild self-will by my words may I rein.
By her were they moved, I trow, that dealt unto thee this pain.
Howbeit I will not endure that thy pangs shall be long upon thee,
Seeing thou art the son of my loins, and thy mother bare thee to me.
But if any beside of the Gods were thy father, thou ruinous bane,
Lower than Uranus’ sons long since thine head had lain.”
Then he bade Paiaion the Healer for Arés’ help draw nigh:
And pain-quelling salves on the wound did the Leech-god spread, whereby
He restored him, for not as the deathlings he was, that be born but to die.
And as fig-juice hasteth to turn white milk to a sudden curd,
That the thin-flowing standeth in clots when scarce by the hand it is stirred,
So Arés the wild-heart’s blood-flow changed into flesh forthright.
And Hébé bathed him, and clothed him in garments radiant-bright:
And by Zeus Kronion he sat him adown, in pride of his might.
Then came they aback, those twain, unto great Zeus’ palace-hall,
Héré of Argos, Alalkomenean Athéné withal,
Having stayed fell Arés the Earth-curse from manslaying battle-brawl.