The Fall of Troy [13]
yearning of the heart to lay That battle-eager maiden, with her arms, And with her war-horse, in the great earth-mound Of old Laomedon. And so he heaped A high broad pyre without the city wall: Upon the height thereof that warrior-queen They laid, and costly treasures did they heap Around her, all that well beseems to burn Around a mighty queen in battle slain. And so the Fire-god's swift-upleaping might, The ravening flame, consumed her. All around The people stood on every hand, and quenched The pyre with odorous wine. Then gathered they The bones, and poured sweet ointment over them, And laid them in a casket: over all Shed they the rich fat of a heifer, chief Among the herds that grazed on Ida's slope. And, as for a beloved daughter, rang All round the Trojan men's heart-stricken wail, As by the stately wall they buried her On an outstanding tower, beside the bones Of old Laomedon, a queen beside A king. This honour for the War-god's sake They rendered, and for Penthesileia's own. And in the plain beside her buried they The Amazons, even all that followed her To battle, and by Argive spears were slain. For Atreus' sons begrudged not these the boon Of tear-besprinkled graves, but let their friends, The warrior Trojans, draw their corpses forth, Yea, and their own slain also, from amidst The swath of darts o'er that grim harvest-field. Wrath strikes not at the dead: pitied are foes When life has fled, and left them foes no more.
Far off across the plain the while uprose Smoke from the pyres whereon the Argives laid The many heroes overthrown and slain By Trojan hands what time the sword devoured; And multitudinous lamentation wailed Over the perished. But above the rest Mourned they o'er brave Podarces, who in fight Was no less mighty than his hero-brother Protesilaus, he who long ago Fell, slain of Hector: so Podarces now, Struck down by Penthesileia's spear, hath cast Over all Argive hearts the pall of grief. Wherefore apart from him they laid in clay The common throng of slain; but over him Toiling they heaped an earth-mound far-descried In memory of a warrior aweless-souled. And in a several pit withal they thrust The niddering Thersites' wretched corse. Then to the ships, acclaiming Aeacus' son, Returned they all. But when the radiant day Had plunged beneath the Ocean-stream, and night, The holy, overspread the face of earth, Then in the rich king Agamemnon's tent Feasted the might of Peleus' son, and there Sat at the feast those other mighty ones All through the dark, till rose the dawn divine.
BOOK II
How Memnon, Son of the Dawn, for Troy's sake fell in the Battle.
When o'er the crests of the far-echoing hills The splendour of the tireless-racing sun Poured o'er the land, still in their tents rejoiced Achaea's stalwart sons, and still acclaimed Achilles the resistless. But in Troy Still mourned her people, still from all her towers Seaward they strained their gaze; for one great fear Gripped all their hearts -- to see that terrible man At one bound overleap their high-built wall, Then smite with the sword all people therewithin, And burn with fire fanes, palaces, and homes. And old Thymoetes spake to the anguished ones: "Friends, I have lost hope: mine heart seeth not Or help, or bulwark from the storm of war, Now that the aweless Hector, who was once Troy's mighty champion, is in dust laid low. Not all his might availed to escape the Fates, But overborne he was by Achilles' hands, The hands that would, I verily deem, bear down A God, if he defied him to the fight, Even as he overthrew this warrior-queen Penthesileia battle-revelling, From whom all other Argives shrank in fear. Ah, she was marvellous! When at the first I looked on her, meseemed a Blessed One From heaven had come down hitherward to bring Light to our darkness -- ah, vain hope, vain dream! Go to, let us take counsel, what to do Were best for us. Or shall we still maintain A hopeless fight against these ruthless foes, Or shall we straightway flee a city doomed? Ay, doomed! -- for never more may we withstand Argives in fighting
Far off across the plain the while uprose Smoke from the pyres whereon the Argives laid The many heroes overthrown and slain By Trojan hands what time the sword devoured; And multitudinous lamentation wailed Over the perished. But above the rest Mourned they o'er brave Podarces, who in fight Was no less mighty than his hero-brother Protesilaus, he who long ago Fell, slain of Hector: so Podarces now, Struck down by Penthesileia's spear, hath cast Over all Argive hearts the pall of grief. Wherefore apart from him they laid in clay The common throng of slain; but over him Toiling they heaped an earth-mound far-descried In memory of a warrior aweless-souled. And in a several pit withal they thrust The niddering Thersites' wretched corse. Then to the ships, acclaiming Aeacus' son, Returned they all. But when the radiant day Had plunged beneath the Ocean-stream, and night, The holy, overspread the face of earth, Then in the rich king Agamemnon's tent Feasted the might of Peleus' son, and there Sat at the feast those other mighty ones All through the dark, till rose the dawn divine.
BOOK II
How Memnon, Son of the Dawn, for Troy's sake fell in the Battle.
When o'er the crests of the far-echoing hills The splendour of the tireless-racing sun Poured o'er the land, still in their tents rejoiced Achaea's stalwart sons, and still acclaimed Achilles the resistless. But in Troy Still mourned her people, still from all her towers Seaward they strained their gaze; for one great fear Gripped all their hearts -- to see that terrible man At one bound overleap their high-built wall, Then smite with the sword all people therewithin, And burn with fire fanes, palaces, and homes. And old Thymoetes spake to the anguished ones: "Friends, I have lost hope: mine heart seeth not Or help, or bulwark from the storm of war, Now that the aweless Hector, who was once Troy's mighty champion, is in dust laid low. Not all his might availed to escape the Fates, But overborne he was by Achilles' hands, The hands that would, I verily deem, bear down A God, if he defied him to the fight, Even as he overthrew this warrior-queen Penthesileia battle-revelling, From whom all other Argives shrank in fear. Ah, she was marvellous! When at the first I looked on her, meseemed a Blessed One From heaven had come down hitherward to bring Light to our darkness -- ah, vain hope, vain dream! Go to, let us take counsel, what to do Were best for us. Or shall we still maintain A hopeless fight against these ruthless foes, Or shall we straightway flee a city doomed? Ay, doomed! -- for never more may we withstand Argives in fighting