Book VI

SO left unto menfolk was Troy and Achaia’s terrible war:
And hither and thither the battle-rush swayed o’er the plain evermore,
And from host unto host ever lightened the lances’ brazen gleam
In the land that lieth between Skamander and Simois stream.
It was Aias, Achaia’s bulwark, Telamon’s son, that first
Brought victory-light to his men, and the Trojan war-ranks burst,
When his spear-cast made the Thracians’ mightiest champion fall,
Akamas son of Eussórus, a warrior stalwart and tall.
On the ridge of his heavily-crested helm did the javelin light,
And into his forehead it plunged, for the brazen head flame-bright
Burst through the bone, and the death-mist shrouded his eyes with night.
Diomedes the battle-helper hurled Axylus down,
Teuthranus’ son, who dwelt in Arisbé the fair-built town,
A mighty man of wealth, and the needy blessed his name,
For he dwelt by the highway, and welcomed with guest-cheer whoso came.
Yet was there none of them all to thrust himself that day
’Twixt him and the bitter death, but both did Tydeides slay,
Both him and his henchman Kalesius, the man into battle that drave
The steeds of his chariot: and these twain passed through the gates of the grave.
Then were Opheltius and Dresus low by Euryalus laid:
Pedasus then and Aisépus he chased, whom the Fountain-maid
Abarbareé had borne to Bukolion years agone:
Now Bukolion the comely was sprung from the haughty Laomedon.
In birth was he first of his sons, but was born of a maid unwed:
And he met that nymph in the days when his flock to the pasture he led.
So the Naiad conceived by the love of the shepherd, and twin sons bare:
But the strength of their glorious limbs was unstrung in the battle there
By Mekisteus’ son, and their harness of war from their shoulders he tare.
Polypoites the battle-bider hath stricken Astyalus down:
By the lance of Odysseus Pidytes, a lord of Perkoté-town,
Unto Hades was sped: by Teucer the stout Aretaon is slain:
And the glittering spear of Antilochus Nestor’s son is the bane
Of Ablerus; and King Agamemnon in death laid Elatus low.
On Pedasus’ height, where Satnioeis’ fair waters flow,
He abode. Then Léitus smote down Phylakus fast as he fled:
And now hath the hand of Eurypylus laid Melanthius dead.
Menelaus the battle-helper Adrestus alive hath ta’en;
For his horses stumbled, as raging with terror they scoured the plain,
On the branch of a tamarisk shrub, and the pole of the curvéd car
They snapped off short, and away to the city they galloped afar
On the path whereby the others in panic were fleeing fast:
But their lord from the chariot-seat to the earth by the wheel was cast.
Down on his face in the dust hath he fallen: then to his side
With spear uplifted did Atreus’ son Menelaus stride:
But Adrestus embraced his knees, and besought him with passionate cries:
“Take me alive, O Atreus’ son, for the ransom-price!
Rich is my father: his chambers with manifold treasures be fraught;
There lieth the brass, and the gold is there, and the iron huge-wrought;
And my father would lavish thereof, he would nowise count the cost,
If he heard that alive I lay mid the ships of the Danaan host.”
So spake he, and moved was his spirit to hear that suppliant plead;
And now had he straightway given him in charge to his henchman, to lead
To the swift Achaian ships,—but another thrust before,
For thitherward ran Agamemnon, and chode with his brother sore:
“Soft-heart Menelaus!—and why dost thou take such tender thought
Of the foe? Shall it be because of the marvellous kindness wrought
To thine house by the Trojans?—Let none of them ’scape from the swift sheer doom
To be dealt by our hands, no, not the babe in the mother’s womb,
So it be but a manchild: it shall not escape; let all the race
Of Ilium utterly perish, and leave on the earth no trace.”
So spake he, and turned from ruth, forasmuch as he counselled aright,
His brother: his heart was hardened, his hand thrust back from his sight
Adrestus: deep in his flank did the lord Agamemnon smite.
Backward he fell; on his breast his heel did Atreides set,
And the ashen spear drew forth with his heart’s blood ruddy-wet.
Then Nestor cried to the Argives, and sent his voice afar:
“Friends, Danaan heroes, henchmen of Arés the Lord of War!
Let none take thought for the plunder, to tarry behind from the fray,
Thinking to bear to the galleys the goodlier burden of prey,
But slaughter the foe: thereafter in peace shall ye gather the spoil,
When over the plain wide-strewn is the fruit of your battle-toil.”
So spake he, and kindled their courage, their hearts were mightily moved:
And again the Trojans before the Achaians Arés-beloved
Into Ilium had fled, for their hearts were faint, and their hands hung down;
But lo, to Aeneas and Hector a seer of peerless renown
Came, Helenus, Priam’s son, and with eager lips did he say:
“Aeneas and Hector, ye be the mightiest battle-stay
Of the Trojan and Lycian hosts, for the chief of our strength be ye
For devising of battle or counsel, whatso our need may be.
Stand therefore, and here in front of the gates shall ye pass through the host,
And rally the warfolk, or ever their manhood be utterly lost,
And they flee to the arms of their wives mid the foemen’s scorn and joy.
But when ye have roused up again to the battle the ranks of Troy,
Here will we bide, and against the Danaans’ onslaught stand,
How wearied soever, for heavily presseth necessity’s hand.
But, Hector, go thou hence to the city, and speak in the ears
Of thy mother and mine: let her gather the women stricken in years
To the citadel, even the fane of Athéné the flashing-eyed.
With her key let her open the holy doors, and fling them wide.
Let the robe most fair in her eyes, and whose folds the amplest fall,
Even that which she cherisheth most of the treasures that shine in her hall,
On the knees of Athéné the lovely-tressed be laid by her hand;
Therewithal let her vow twelve kine at the Goddess’s altar to stand,
Yearlings, unsmitten of goads, if in mercy she will but spare
Troy-town, and the wives and the helpless babes that be sheltered there,
If so be she will turn back from Ilium the holy Tydeus’ child,
The stalwart panic-wafter, the hero tameless-wild,
Who hath proved him the mightiest man of all the Achaians, I trow;
Yea, not even Achilles the war-lord daunted us so,
Though they name him the Goddess-born, for this man in fury of fight
Is filled with exceeding madness, that none may match his might.”
So did he counsel, and Hector disdained not his brother’s rede.
Down from his chariot he leapt to the ground in battle-weed,
And brandishing keen-whetted lances he ranged the host about,
Cheering them on, and he kindled the terrible onset-shout.
Then turned they, and rallied, and met the Achaians face to face:
And the Argive men gave back, and from slaughter refrained for a space;
For it seemed them that one of the Deathless had come from the star-studded sky
Down to the help of the Trojans, they rallied so dauntlessly.
And Hector shouted aloud down the ranks of the Trojans’ war:
“Great-hearted Trojans, and ye of our war-aid famous afar,
Quit you like men, my friends, and forget not your onset-fire,
The while unto Ilium I go, and to elder and council-sire
I speak, and withal to our wives in the battle-guarded home,
To put up their prayers to the Gods, and ‘to vow them a hecatomb.”
So shouted the bright-helmed Hector, and fast from the field did he stride,
While clashed against ankle and neck the round of the dark bull-hide,
The rim that encompassed his boss-set buckler on every side.
Then Glaukus, Hippolochus’ seed, and the son of Tydeus’ might
’Twixt army and army met, full fain of the grapple of fight.
Onward the heroes came till now they were drawn full nigh:
Then first did the battle-helper, the lord Diomedes, cry:
“Mightiest, who of the deathling children of men art thou?
For never I marked thee in glory-crowning battle ere now.
But in front of the rest this day for a champion forth hast thou stood
Biding my long-shadowed spear in thy desperate hardihood.
They be children of heart-stricken parents that brave my battle-mood.
But and if thou be one of the Deathless Ones come down from the sky,
Of a truth I will nowise fight with the Gods, the abiders on high.
For in sooth to the offspring of Dryas, Lycurgus the strong, were there given
Few days on the earth, forasmuch as he strove with the dwellers in heaven,
For the nymphs that nursed Dionysus, the frenzy-glorious child,
He hunted adown Nyseion the holy, and terror-wild
Cast they their wands to the earth, by Lycurgus the murderer chased
With his goad fierce-smiting, the while Dionysus in panic-struck haste
Plunged in the sea-wave, and Thetis upreached her arms from below,
And her breast was his refuge as sorely he quaked at the threats of his foe.
But for this cause wroth were the Gods, the abiders in bliss unmarred,
And Kronion with blindness smote him: the days of the evil-starred
Were few, for that all the Deathless accounted him cursed in their sight.
—Nay, with the Gods bliss-throned would I nowise adventure the fight.
But and if thou be one of the children of men that of earth-fruit eat,
Draw nigh, that the toils of the doom-net the sooner may snare thy feet.”
Answered Hippolochus’ glorious son, and thus spake he:
“Tydeides the mighty-hearted, what is my lineage to thee
Even as the frail generations of leaves be the lives of men.
These leaves on the earth by the wind be scattered: with those again
Doth the woodland bourgeon and bloom, when stirreth the spring in the spray:
So this generation of men springeth up, that passeth away.
Yet if thou wouldst learn this, hearken, and so shalt thou know full well
Our lineage—good sooth, full many the tale thereof could tell!
In the heart of Argos there lieth the city of Ephyré.
There Sisyphus dwelt: most crafty of all men on earth was he;—
Sisyphus Aiolus’ scion;—and Glaukus was born his son;
And Glaukus thereafter begat the princely Bellerophon.
And beauty and lovely manhood the high Gods gave unto him.
But Proitus devised his bane, and his thoughts were vengeful-grim.
Therewithal was he mightier far, so he drave him forth of the land
Of the Argives; for Zeus had subdued the people under his hand.
Now the wife of Proitus, Anteia the fair, in her mad lust sought
To be joined in secret embrace with the prince: yet nowise she wrought
The upright of heart to her will, Bellerophon virtuous-wise;
Wherefore she spake unto Proitus the king a tale of lies:
‘Thou art worthy, O Proitus, to die, if thou spill not Bellerophon’s life,
Who hath tempted in vain, and thereafter was fain to have forced thy wife.’
So spake she, and wroth for the story of shame was the heart of the king:
Yet he shrank from his blood, for it seemed to his soul an unholy thing.
But to Lycia he sent him, and baleful tokens he gave him to bear,
A folded tablet, with many a death-fraught sign traced there:
And he bade show this to the sire of Anteia, that so he might die.
So he fared unto Lycia, brought on his way by the Gods most high.
And he came to the land where the waters of Xanthus swiftly glide;
There welcome and worship he had of the lord of Lycia the wide.
Nine days did he banquet his guest, nine oxen he slew for the feast:
But when on the tenth the Dawn rose-fingered brightened the east,
Then did he question the prince, and would fain behold the sign,
The token of him that had wedded the child of his royal line.
So he looked on the murder-token: then bade he Bellerophon first
To slay the Chimaira, the waster resistless, the horror accurst.
God-fashioned it was, not gendered of men: a lion before,
And to rearward a dragon, the midst a she-goat’s semblance bore;
And the breath of her mouth was the terrible fury of ravening flame.
Nathless he slew her, obeying the signs from the Gods that came.
Then went he forth to the fray with the Solymi war-renowned,
And ever he named it the mightiest fight that his hands had found.
Then smote he the host of the Amazons, battle-peers of men.
But the snare was spread in the way as homeward he hied him again.
For the king out of Lycia chose him her mightiest men of war,
And he set them in ambush: but never returned they home any more,
For every man of the traitors peerless Bellerophon slew.
And the eyes of the king were opened, the god-born hero he knew.
Then said he, ‘Abide thou with me: lo, I plight thee my child for thy bride,
And I give thee the half of my kingdom, the glory of Lycia the wide.’
And the people gave of their land, a matchless-fair domain,
Goodly with vineyard and orchard and golden-rippling grain.
And the wife of the wise Bellerophon bare to him children fair,
Isander, Hippolochus, Laodameia moreover she bare.
With Laodameia Zeus the Lord of Counsel lay,
And her child was Sarpedon the godlike, who flasheth in brass-array.
But it came to pass that the high Gods hated Bellerophon,
And over the desolate plain of Aleion he wandered alone
Devouring his heart, and shunning the ways that menfolk trod.
And Isander, his son, of Arés the carnage-insatiate God
In battle against the Solymi war-renowned was slain.
And his daughter was smitten of Artemis Queen of the Silver Rein.
But my father Hippolochus was, yea, I name me of noblest strain;
And he sent me to Troy, and he earnestly charged me once and again
Ever upward to strive to the highest, and still to be best of the best,
And to shame not the line of my sires, who were ever the princeliest
Of the princely of Ephyré-town and of Lycia-land the wide.
Lo, this is my lineage, and this is my blood, and herein is my pride.”
Then Diomedes the battle-helper rejoiced to hear;
And into the all-sustaining earth he thrust his spear;
And with words of peace he cried to the shepherd of Lycia’s fold:
“Surely my friend art thou, for our fathers were friends of old!
In the halls of Oineus the godlike a noble guest of yore,
Even Bellerophon, tarried through feastful days a score.
Yea, each to the other they gave fair gifts on the parting day:
A sword-belt Oineus gave bright-dyed with the purple gay;
And a double-chalice cup of gold Bellerophon gave.
I left the same in mine halls when I sailed the dark sea-wave.
But Tydeus my sire I remember not, for a babe was I
When he left me, and fared unto Thebes with the host of Achaia—to die.
Wherefore thy bond-friend am I in the midst of Argos mine home,
And thou in Lycia mine, whensoe’er to their land I shall come.
Even in the turmoil of battle each other’s spears will we shun:
I shall find full many a Trojan, and allies many an one
To slay, whom my feet shall o’ertake, or a God shall deliver to me;
And for thee be Achaians enow, to smite as thy strength shall be.
And now will we make exchange of war-gear, that all men may know
That the troth of our fathers is ours, and the love of long-ago.”
So spake they, and down from their chariots to earth they leapt, they twain;
And they clasped right hand in hand, and they plighted their troth again.
Lo how Kronion from Glaukus the world-wise heart hath ta’en!
For lightly he changeth his mail with the hero of Tydeus’ line,
Giving golden for brazen, the price of a hundred beeves for nine.
Now when Hector was come to the Skaian gate and the oak by the wall,
Around him there ran the wives of Troy and the daughters withal.
And they asked him of sons and of brethren, of husbands and friends asked they.
But for all reply he spake unto each after other “Pray,
O pray to the Gods!”—and on many a heart death’s shadow lay.
And when unto Priam’s palace exceeding fair he came
With its gleaming marble of long colonnades,—and within the same
Were there fifty chambers fashioned of cunningly carven stone,
Chamber by chamber, an endless line; and every one
Was the bower where slumbered a son of the King with his princess-bride
And overagainst them, even on the courtyard’s farther side,
Twelve chambers of polished stone for the daughters of Priam there were,
Chamber by high-roofed chamber upbuilded; and slumbered there
The sons-in-law of the King with their wives, the chaste and fair:—
Then came his bountiful mother forth to meet her son,
With Laodiké, fairest of all her daughters to look upon:
And she clasped his hand in her own, and with eager words ’gan say:
“Son, why hast thou hitherward come from the desperate-daring fray?
Ah surely the sons of Achaia—the name accurst—press hard
Battling around us, and thee hath thy soul sped hitherward
To uplift from the citadel’s height thine hands unto Zeus in prayer.
Nay, tarry a space, and the honey-sweet wine to thine hand will I bear,
To the end thou mayst pour unto Zeus and the Deathless enthroned above
First, and thereafter mayst strengthen thine heart, if thou drink thereof;
For that wine, when a man is forspent, doth exceedingly quicken his might,
Even as thou art forwearied defending thy friends in the fight.”
Answered and spake great Hector the lord of the helm sun-bright:
“Nay, bring not the wine heart-gladdening, lady mother mine,
Lest thou maim me, and courage and strength be forgotten by reason of wine.
And with hands unwashen I dare not the flame-flashing wine outpour
Unto Zeus, it may nowise be that a man should stand and adore
Kronion the Cloudrack-clad all dabbled in filth and gore.
But thou to the temple of Pallas Athéné the Prey-giver fare:
With oblations go up; be the ancient women assembled there:
Let the robe most fair in thine eyes, and whose folds the amplest fall,
Even that which thou cherishest most of the treasures that shine in thine hall,
On the knees of Athéné the lovely-tressed be laid by thine hand;
Therewithal do thou vow twelve kine at the Goddess’s altar to stand,
Yearlings, unsmitten of goads, if in mercy she will but spare
Troy-town, and the wives and the helpless babes that be sheltered there;
If so be she will turn back from Ilium the holy Tydeus’ child,
The stalwart panic-wafter, the hero tameless-wild.
Thou therefore fare to the fane of the Driver of the Prey,
And I will away unto Paris, to call him hence to the fray,
If perchance he will hearken my voice:—would God the earth straightway
Might ope for his grave—this curse raised up by the Lord of the Sky
That the Trojans might perish, and Priam and all his seed, thereby!
If I might but behold him passing adown unto Hades’ abode,
I should deem that mine heart had forgotten its sorrow, and cast its load.”
Then hasted his mother, and gave command to the maids in her hall,
And they fared up and down through the city the ancient women to call.
But the Queen passed on, and now in her scented bower she stands:
There lay the broidery-glorious robes, the work of the hands
Of Sidonian women, brought far over the waters wide,
Even from Sidon, when Prince Alexander the godlike hied
On the sea-track fleeing with Helen, the mighty-fathered bride.
And from these for Athéné she taketh a lovely-woven pall;
Brightest its broideries shone, and its folds swept widest of all;
And it gleamed and it flashed as a star, mid her treasures the deepest it lay.
Then with the throng of the ancient women she hied her away.
So they came to the castled crag and Athéné’s stately fane:
And Theano the fair-cheeked opened the doors for the suppliant train—
The daughter of Kisseus, the wife of Anténor the horse-quelling lord;
For the Trojans had made her priestess, Athéné’s temple-ward:—
And they lifted their hands to Athéné, and woeful-wild they shrieked;
And the priceless mantle she took, Theano the beautiful-cheeked;
On the knees of Athéné she laid it, the Maid of the glorious hair,
And she cried to the daughter of Zeus most high with vow and prayer:
O Lady Athéné, City-deliverer, Queen of the Sky!
Break thou Diomedes’ spear, vouchsafe that its lord may lie
In front of the Skaian gate in death outstretched on his face.
Then straight will we sacrifice twelve beeves in thine holy place,
Yearlings, unsmitten of goads, if thou wilt but in ruth show grace
Unto Troy and her wives, and the innocent babe at the mother’s breast.”
So praying she spake, but Pallas Athéné denied the request.
Thus to the daughter of Zeus most high in prayer they cried.
But Hector on to the dwelling of Alexander hath hied,
The beautiful house that he built with them that in cunning of hand
Were the chiefest builder-craftsmen in all the Trojan land:
Yea, they fashioned it, bower and hall, and the garth encompassing,
On the castled steep, by the dwellings of Hector and Priam the king.
So Hector the Zeus-beloved passed in; in his hands he bore
The lance of cubits eleven, and lightning leapt before
From the brazen head of the spear, and the gold that clasped it round.
There, setting in order his beautiful armour, the prince he found
Handling the shield and the corslet, the bow and the war-shafts keen:
And amidst of her handmaid-train sat Helen the Argive Queen;
And lovely their fashionings were as the work of their hands she sped.
And Hector beheld and was wroth, and with words of scorn he said:
“Ho thou, what hast thou to do to nurse in thine heart this spite?
Lo how the people be falling around the city in fight!
And for thee is the war-shout wakened, aflame is the battle for thee
These high-built ramparts around;—thyself wouldst rage to see
Another that played the craven and shrank from the bitter fray.
Up, lest the city be wasted with ravening fire this day!”
Answered and spake unto him Alexander the godlike wight:
“Hector, true be thy words, and thy chiding is meet and right:
Therefore the cause will I tell thee, hearken and understand:
It is not as for indignation or wrath with the folk of my land
That I sit in my chamber: but hands must tarry when heart is sore.
But now by her words hath my wife awakened mine heart unto war,
Soft-pleading—yea and myself I count it better so:—
Sooth, victory swayeth from man to man—I will meet my foe!
Go to now, tarry a space, till I don my war-array;
Or go, and I follow: I ween thou shalt not win first to the fray.”
So spake he, but Hector the bright-helmed answered him never a word.
Then lowly Helen spake to the Hero anger-stirred:
O brother of me the shameless hound, the horror accurst,
Would God that on that same day when my mother beheld me first
The hurricane-blast of a wind of destruction had swooped upon me,
And borne to a mountain lone or the surge of the sighing sea!
Then ere these deeds had befallen the waters above me had rolled.
But seeing the Gods have ordained it, and fashioned our ills from of old,
Would God I had been but the wife of a nobler man, that could hear
The indignation-cry and the manifold heart-stinging jeer!
But he—no wisdom hath place in his heart, neither shall it be so
In the days to be; and the harvest thereof shall he reap, I trow.
But prithee come in, and here for a little sit down to rest,
O brother, for thine is the burden, the sorrow-darkened breast
For me the shameless hound, and for Alexander’s sin,
Upon whom there is laid of Zeus an evil doom, to win
A mockery-song on the lips of the men of an unborn day.”
Unto her did Hector the mighty, the splendour-morioned, say:
“Nay, Helen, no rest for me; in vain of thy love shalt thou plead;
For now is my spirit yearning to help the battle-need
Of the Trojans, for sorely they lack me who look for my face in vain.
But this man rouse thou—nay, of his own heart’s will let him strain
That he fail not to overtake me ere forth of the city I fare;
For now to mine home will I pass to look on mine household there,
And my wife the well-beloved, and my son the innocent-fair.
For I know not if I shall hereafter return to behold them again,
Or if now of the Gods I be doomed by Achaia’s sons to be slain.”
Then forth went Hector, and vanished his helmet’s wavering flame;
And unto his beautiful-builded house with speed he came.
Yet he found not Andromaché snowy-armed in hall or bower;
But she, with her child and a handmaid fair-attired, on a tower
Was standing the while, and she wailed in her anguish, and moaned in her fear.
So when Hector beheld not his queenly-noble wife anear,
To the hall of the women he strode, and he spake from the threshold-stone:
“Now tell me, my handmaids, and see that ye speak sheer truth alone:—
Whither away is Andromaché gone from mine halls this day?
To my sisters or fair-robed wives of my brethren went she away?
Or passed she up with the rest of the fair-tressed ones that hied
To Athéné’s fane, if her anger might haply be pacified?”
Then to the hero a diligent stewardess-handmaid replied:
“Forasmuch as my lord hath commanded, requiring the truth of me,—
She hath gone not thy sisters or fair-robed wives of thy brethren to see,
Nor passed she up with the rest of the fair-tressed ones that hied
To Athéné’s fane, if her anger might haply be pacified.
But now hath she climbed a huge-built tower, for she heard the tale
That the Trojans be sorely pressed, and the men of Achaia prevail.
For this cause hence to the wall hath she hasted terror-wild,
Like one distraught, and beside her the nurse went bearing the child.”
So spake that stewardess-handmaid, and Hector with hurrying feet
Went back by the way that he came through street after fair-built street,
But when as he fared through the mighty city he came at the last
To the Skaian gate, and forth to the plain in a moment had passed,
Came running to meet him the wife that he won with gifts untold,
Even Andromaché child of Eétion mighty-souled,—
Eétion, who dwelt under Plakos dark with its forest-cloak,
In Thébé the Plakos-shadowed, and ruled the Cilician folk;
Even he was the king whose daughter was brass-mailed Hector’s bride;—
So met that lady her lord, and her handmaid came at her side
With the boy on her bosom, a wordless-prattling blossom of love,
Darling of Hector, like some fair star slid down from above:—
Skamandrius Hector named him, but all men called the son
Astyanax, for that Ilium’s warder was Hector alone.
Then on the boy did the hero silently gaze and smile;
But Andromaché stood by his side, and her tears’ fell fast the while;
And clasping she clung to his hand, and she uttered her heart’s sad thought:
O husband, husband, thy courage will slay thee!—thou pitiest not
Thine helpless-innocent babe, and thy misery-fated wife
Who soon shall be widowed, for soon the Achaians shall spill thy life
All rushing upon thee as one, and better it were for me
Bereft of thee to be laid in the earth, for there never shall be
Any solace for this, when thou in the toils of doom shalt lie,
But anguish alone!—ah me, nor father nor mother have I!
For Achilles the godlike dealt my father the swift death-stroke,
And he utterly wasted the fair-built burg of Cilicia’s folk,
Even Thébé the lofty-gated, and smote Eétion dead;
Yet he spoiled not his corse, for his spirit was strangely ashamed and adread.
In his war-gear curious-wrought did he burn him; a great earth-mound
Over his bones he heaped, and elms were planted around
By the Nymphs of the Mountain, the daughters of Zeus the Aegis-lord.
Seven brethren had I when our halls were unwasted yet of the sword;
And they passed all down into Hades’ abode on the selfsame day,
For every one did fleetfoot Achilles the godlike slay
Amidst of their trailfoot kine and the flocks of their white-fleeced sheep.
And my mother, the queen of the town ’neath Plakos’ wood-clad steep,
With his war-spoil hither he brought amidst of a captive train;
Yet for a measureless ransom he set her free again;
But she died in the halls of her father, by Artemis’ arrow slain.
O Hector, Hector, my father art thou, and my mother withal,
And my brother—I have but thee, O husband stalwart and tall!
Have pity upon me, beloved; abide thou here on the tower,
Lest thou orphan thy child, lest thou widow thy wife, in one short hour.
Stay thou the host by the fig-tree: there might a foeman fall
Best on the city, and lightliest there might scale her wall.
There twice the Aiantes twain with the best of their war-array,
And twice Idomeneus battle-renowned, have made assay,
And the war-folk of Atreus’ sons, and of Tydeus’ mighty seed;
Whether it were that they hearkened therein to a soothsayer’s rede,
Or their own war-wisdom and courage pricked them on to the deed.”
And Hector the mighty, the splendour-helmeted, answered and said:
“Yea, wife, all this do I also remember; but sorely I dread
Troy’s sons, and her scornful daughters royally-robed, and the sneer
Of the lips that will mock if I shrink from the war as in craven fear.
And mine own soul crieth against it, for have not I learned evermore
To stand in the forefront of fight, and to play the man in the war,
Winning renown for the name of my father, yea, and mine own
For of this is mine heart assured, to mine inmost soul is it known:
The day wherein Ilium the holy shall perish will come, it is near
Unto Priam withal, and the folk of the king of the ashen spear.
Yet it is not the grief that shall come on the Trojans that moveth me so,
Nor yet is mine heart so heavy for Priam and Hekabé’s woe,
Nor yet for my brethren, the many and valiant, that low in the dust
Shall fall, whom the hands of their foes through the gates of the grave shall thrust,
As for thee, when.a mail-clad Achaian to bondage shall lead thee away
Weeping, and take from thine eyes the light of freedom’s day;
And in Argos my darling shall weave at another’s behest, and bring
The pitcher at dawn from Messéis or Hypereia’s spring
Sore loth—but the yoke of resistless constraint o’er thy neck shall be cast:
And thus shall they say, as their hard eyes watch thy tears flow fast:
‘Lo, this is the wife of Hector, the chiefest in battle-renown
Of the horse-quelling Trojans in days when they warred round Ilium-town.’
So shall they speak: on thy soul at my name new anguish shall fall
With aching of heart for thy hero, thy shield from the lot of the thrall.
But me may the grave-mound cover, the earth my dead face veil
Or ever I hear thy shriek, and thine enthralment’s tale.”
So spake he, and Hector the glorious stretched his arms to his son:
But back to the fair-girt nurse’s bosom the little one
Shrank crying aloud, at the face of his father sudden-adread,
In affright at the glittering brass with the dark mane overshed,
For awful it seemed in his eyes overglooming the helmet’s light.
Then loving father and queenly mother laughed at the sight.
But Hector the glorious took the helm from his head forthright,
And he set on the earth at his feet that beacon-flame of fight.
And he took up his child in his arms. and he kissed him, and tossed him on high:
Therewithal unto Zeus and the rest of the Gods in prayer did he cry:
“O Zeus and the rest of the Gods, vouchsafe that this child of mine
May, even as I, mid the Trojans in glory-pre-eminence shine,
So valiant in prowess, and sit in his might upon Ilium’s throne,
Till the people shall say, ‘The father is far by the son outdone!’
As he cometh from war; and the slaughtered foemen’s spoils blood-dyed
May he bear, that the heart of his mother may swell with joy and pride.”
As he spake, in the arms of his dear-loved wife he laid his child;
And she in her fragrant bosom received her darling, and smiled,
Smiled through her tears, and her husband beheld her pity-stirred,
And with kind love-lingering touch did he soothe her, and spake the word:
“Nay, break not thine heart, my beloved, with sorrow over-great;
For no man shall hurl me adown unto Hades against my fate.
But I ween there is none that may flee from the doom ordained at his birth,
Nor the craven, nor yet the valiant, when once he is born on the earth.
But thou, enter into the house, to the labours of woman give heed,
To the toils of the spindle and loom, and command thy maidens to speed
‘Their tasks, but for war shall the men take thought, and for these shall it be,
Even all that in Ilium abide, and chiefest of all for me.”
So spake he, and Hector the glorious his helm from the earth hath ta’en,
Dark-maned: and his dear-loved wife hath hied her homeward again,
Oft looking back, while fell her tears like the winter rain.
And it was so, that when she was come to the mansion builded fair
Of the slayer of heroes, she found the throng of her handmaids there;
And her mourning hath shaken their hearts, and awakened the wail of their grief:
Yea, in his halls, while he lived, were they wailing for Hector the chief;
For they deemed he would never come back from the midst of the battle again,
Escaped from the might and the hands of the strong Achaian men.
Nor lingered Paris long ’neath his hall-roof’s stately height;
But so soon as he donned his war-gear with brass all cunningly dight,
Through the city he sped in the pride of his swift feet bounding light.
As a stallion manger-fed that hath snapped his halter in twain,
And speedeth with thunder of galloping feet far over the plain
To plunge, as so oft he hath plunged, in the river lovely-gleaming,
Exulting; and proudly he beareth his head, and his mane outstreaming
Floateth his shoulders around, as in pride of his goodlihead
By swift knees borne to the pastures and herds of the mares he hath sped;
So Paris the son of Priam adown from Pergamus’ height,
In his war-gear flashing like to the sun that walketh in light,
Went laughing for glee, by his swift feet borne, till he came at the last
Unto Hector his brother: a moment more, and the hero had passed
From the place where husband and wife their uttermost love-word spoke.
And the prince Alexander the godlike cried to the captain of folk:
“Of a surety the feet of the laggard have hindered the haste of my lord,
And I came not in season due, according to that thy word.”
Made answer and spake to him Hector the hero of helm-crest bright:
“Fair sir, there is no man on earth, the thoughts of whose heart be right,
Who would lightly esteem thy prowess in battle, for stalwart thou art:
Nay, thou art wilful-slack, and thou wilt not play thy part:
And stung is mine inmost soul with the words of reviling and scorn
Of the Trojans, of whom for thy sake such manifold toils be borne.
On then!—we will yet make atonement for all, if Zeus of his grace
Will grant that unto the Heaven-abiders, the deathless race,
In our halls we may raise up the cup of thanksgiving for freedom’s day
What time we have chased the Achaians from Troyland far away.”