The Fall of Troy [17]
and down on him he hurled Goodly Ereuthus, battle-revellers both, Dwellers in Thryus by Alpheus' streams, Which followed Nestor to the god-built burg Of Ilium. But when he had laid these low, Against the son of Neleus pressed he on Eager to slay. Godlike Antilochus Strode forth to meet him, sped the long spear's flight, Yet missed him, for a little he swerved, but slew His Aethiop comrade, son of Pyrrhasus. Wroth for his fall, against Antilochus He leapt, as leaps a lion mad of mood Upon a boar, the beast that flincheth not From fight with man or brute, whose charge is a flash Of lightning; so was his swift leap. His foe Antilochus caught a huge stone from the ground, Hurled, smote him; but unshaken abode his strength, For the strong helm-crest fenced his head from death; But rang the morion round his brows. His heart Kindled with terrible fury at the blow More than before against Antilochus. Like seething cauldron boiled his maddened might. He stabbed, for all his cunning of fence, the son Of Nestor above the breast; the crashing spear Plunged to the heart, the spot of speediest death.
Then upon all the Danaans at his fall Came grief; but anguish-stricken was the heart Of Nestor most of all, to see his child Slain in his sight; for no more bitter pang Smiteth the heart of man than when a son Perishes, and his father sees him die. Therefore, albeit unused to melting mood, His soul was torn with agony for the son By black death slain. A wild cry hastily To Thrasymedes did he send afar: "Hither to me, Thrasymedes war-renowned! Help me to thrust back from thy brother's corse, Yea, from mine hapless son, his murderer, That so ourselves may render to our dead All dues of mourning. If thou flinch for fear, No son of mine art thou, nor of the line Of Periclymenus, who dared withstand Hercules' self. Come, to the battle-toil! For grim necessity oftentimes inspires The very coward with courage of despair."
Then at his cry that brother's heart was stung With bitter grief. Swift for his help drew nigh Phereus, on whom for his great prince's fall Came anguish. Charged these warriors twain to face Strong Memnon in the gory strife. As when Two hunters 'mid a forest's mountain-folds, Eager to take the prey, rush on to meet A wild boar or a bear, with hearts afire To slay him, but in furious mood he leaps On them, and holds at bay the might of men; So swelled the heart of Memnon. Nigh drew they, Yet vainly essayed to slay him, as they hurled The long spears, but the lances glanced aside Far from his flesh: the Dawn-queen turned them thence. Yet fell their spears not vainly to the ground: The lance of fiery-hearted Phereus, winged With eager speed, dealt death to Meges' son, Polymnius: Laomedon was slain By the wrath of Nestor's son for a brother dead, The dear one Memnon slew in battle-rout, And whom the slayer's war-unwearied hands Now stripped of his all-brazen battle-gear, Nought recking, he, of Thrasymedes' might, Nor of stout Phereus, who were unto him But weaklings. A great lion seemed he there Standing above a hart, as jackals they, That, howso hungry, dare not come too nigh.
But hard thereby the father gazed thereon In agony, and cried the rescue-cry To other his war-comrades for their aid Against the foe. Himself too burned to fight From his war-car; for yearning for the dead Goaded him to the fray beyond his strength. Ay, and himself had been on his dear son Laid, numbered with the dead, had not the voice Of Memnon stayed him even in act to rush Upon him, for he reverenced in his heart The white hairs of an age-mate of his sire: "Ancient," he cried, "it were my shame to fight. With one so much mine elder: I am not Blind unto honour. Verily I weened That this was some young warrior, when I saw Thee facing thus the foe. My bold heart hoped For contest worthy of mine hand and spear. Nay, draw thou back afar from battle-toil And bitter death. Go, lest, how loth soe'er, I smite thee of sore need. Nay, fall not thou Beside thy son, against a mightier man Fighting, lest men with folly thee should charge, For
Then upon all the Danaans at his fall Came grief; but anguish-stricken was the heart Of Nestor most of all, to see his child Slain in his sight; for no more bitter pang Smiteth the heart of man than when a son Perishes, and his father sees him die. Therefore, albeit unused to melting mood, His soul was torn with agony for the son By black death slain. A wild cry hastily To Thrasymedes did he send afar: "Hither to me, Thrasymedes war-renowned! Help me to thrust back from thy brother's corse, Yea, from mine hapless son, his murderer, That so ourselves may render to our dead All dues of mourning. If thou flinch for fear, No son of mine art thou, nor of the line Of Periclymenus, who dared withstand Hercules' self. Come, to the battle-toil! For grim necessity oftentimes inspires The very coward with courage of despair."
Then at his cry that brother's heart was stung With bitter grief. Swift for his help drew nigh Phereus, on whom for his great prince's fall Came anguish. Charged these warriors twain to face Strong Memnon in the gory strife. As when Two hunters 'mid a forest's mountain-folds, Eager to take the prey, rush on to meet A wild boar or a bear, with hearts afire To slay him, but in furious mood he leaps On them, and holds at bay the might of men; So swelled the heart of Memnon. Nigh drew they, Yet vainly essayed to slay him, as they hurled The long spears, but the lances glanced aside Far from his flesh: the Dawn-queen turned them thence. Yet fell their spears not vainly to the ground: The lance of fiery-hearted Phereus, winged With eager speed, dealt death to Meges' son, Polymnius: Laomedon was slain By the wrath of Nestor's son for a brother dead, The dear one Memnon slew in battle-rout, And whom the slayer's war-unwearied hands Now stripped of his all-brazen battle-gear, Nought recking, he, of Thrasymedes' might, Nor of stout Phereus, who were unto him But weaklings. A great lion seemed he there Standing above a hart, as jackals they, That, howso hungry, dare not come too nigh.
But hard thereby the father gazed thereon In agony, and cried the rescue-cry To other his war-comrades for their aid Against the foe. Himself too burned to fight From his war-car; for yearning for the dead Goaded him to the fray beyond his strength. Ay, and himself had been on his dear son Laid, numbered with the dead, had not the voice Of Memnon stayed him even in act to rush Upon him, for he reverenced in his heart The white hairs of an age-mate of his sire: "Ancient," he cried, "it were my shame to fight. With one so much mine elder: I am not Blind unto honour. Verily I weened That this was some young warrior, when I saw Thee facing thus the foe. My bold heart hoped For contest worthy of mine hand and spear. Nay, draw thou back afar from battle-toil And bitter death. Go, lest, how loth soe'er, I smite thee of sore need. Nay, fall not thou Beside thy son, against a mightier man Fighting, lest men with folly thee should charge, For