The Fall of Troy [29]
had come, But spake unto Atreides Neleus' son, Nestor, whose own heart bare its load of grief Remembering his own son Antilochus: "O mighty Agamemnon, sceptre-lord Of Argives, from wide-shrilling lamentation Refrain we for this day. None shall withhold Hereafter these from all their heart's desire Of weeping and lamenting many days. But now go to, from aweless Aeacus' son Wash we the foul blood-gouts, and lay we him Upon a couch: unseemly it is to shame The dead by leaving them untended long."
So counselled Neleus' son, the passing-wise. Then hasted he his men, and bade them set Caldrons of cold spring-water o'er the flames, And wash the corse, and clothe in vesture fair, Sea-purple, which his mother gave her son At his first sailing against Troy. With speed They did their lord's command: with loving care, All service meetly rendered, on a couch Laid they the mighty fallen, Peleus' son.
The Trito-born, the passing-wise, beheld And pitied him, and showered upon his head Ambrosia, which hath virtue aye to keep Taintless, men say, the flesh of warriors slain. Like softly-breathing sleeper dewy-fresh She made him: over that dead face she drew A stern frown, even as when he lay, with wrath Darkening his grim face, clasping his slain friend Patroclus; and she made his frame to be More massive, like a war-god to behold. And wonder seized the Argives, as they thronged And saw the image of a living man, Where all the stately length of Peleus' son Lay on the couch, and seemed as though he slept.
Around him all the woeful captive-maids, Whom he had taken for a prey, what time He had ravaged hallowed Lemnos, and had scaled The towered crags of Thebes, Eetion's town, Wailed, as they stood and rent their fair young flesh, And smote their breasts, and from their hearts bemoaned That lord of gentleness and courtesy, Who honoured even the daughters of his foes. And stricken most of all with heart-sick pain Briseis, hero Achilles' couchmate, bowed Over the dead, and tore her fair young flesh With ruthless fingers, shrieking: her soft breast Was ridged with gory weals, so cruelly She smote it thou hadst said that crimson blood Had dripped on milk. Yet, in her griefs despite, Her winsome loveliness shone out, and grace Hung like a veil about her, as she wailed: "Woe for this grief passing all griefs beside! Never on me came anguish like to this Not when my brethren died, my fatherland Was wasted -- like this anguish for thy death! Thou wast my day, my sunlight, my sweet life, Mine hope of good, my strong defence from harm, Dearer than all my beauty -- yea, more dear Than my lost parents! Thou wast all in all To me, thou only, captive though I be. Thou tookest from me every bondmaid's task And like a wife didst hold me. Ah, but now Me shall some new Achaean master bear To fertile Sparta, or to thirsty Argos. The bitter cup of thraldom shall I drain, Severed, ah me, from thee! Oh that the earth Had veiled my dead face ere I saw thy doom!"
So for slain Peleus' son did she lament With woeful handmaids and heart-anguished Greeks, Mourning a king, a husband. Never dried Her tears were: ever to the earth they streamed Like sunless water trickling from a rock While rime and snow yet mantle o'er the earth Above it; yet the frost melts down before The east-wind and the flame-shafts of the sun.
Now came the sound of that upringing wail To Nereus' Daughters, dwellers in the depths Unfathomed. With sore anguish all their hearts Were smitten: piteously they moaned: their cry Shivered along the waves of Hellespont. Then with dark mantles overpalled they sped Swiftly to where the Argive men were thronged. As rushed their troop up silver paths of sea, The flood disported round them as they came. With one wild cry they floated up; it rang, A sound as when fleet-flying cranes forebode A great storm. Moaned the monsters of the deep Plaintively round that train of mourners. Fast On sped they to their goal, with awesome cry Wailing the while their sister's mighty son. Swiftly from Helicon the Muses came Heart-burdened with undying grief,
So counselled Neleus' son, the passing-wise. Then hasted he his men, and bade them set Caldrons of cold spring-water o'er the flames, And wash the corse, and clothe in vesture fair, Sea-purple, which his mother gave her son At his first sailing against Troy. With speed They did their lord's command: with loving care, All service meetly rendered, on a couch Laid they the mighty fallen, Peleus' son.
The Trito-born, the passing-wise, beheld And pitied him, and showered upon his head Ambrosia, which hath virtue aye to keep Taintless, men say, the flesh of warriors slain. Like softly-breathing sleeper dewy-fresh She made him: over that dead face she drew A stern frown, even as when he lay, with wrath Darkening his grim face, clasping his slain friend Patroclus; and she made his frame to be More massive, like a war-god to behold. And wonder seized the Argives, as they thronged And saw the image of a living man, Where all the stately length of Peleus' son Lay on the couch, and seemed as though he slept.
Around him all the woeful captive-maids, Whom he had taken for a prey, what time He had ravaged hallowed Lemnos, and had scaled The towered crags of Thebes, Eetion's town, Wailed, as they stood and rent their fair young flesh, And smote their breasts, and from their hearts bemoaned That lord of gentleness and courtesy, Who honoured even the daughters of his foes. And stricken most of all with heart-sick pain Briseis, hero Achilles' couchmate, bowed Over the dead, and tore her fair young flesh With ruthless fingers, shrieking: her soft breast Was ridged with gory weals, so cruelly She smote it thou hadst said that crimson blood Had dripped on milk. Yet, in her griefs despite, Her winsome loveliness shone out, and grace Hung like a veil about her, as she wailed: "Woe for this grief passing all griefs beside! Never on me came anguish like to this Not when my brethren died, my fatherland Was wasted -- like this anguish for thy death! Thou wast my day, my sunlight, my sweet life, Mine hope of good, my strong defence from harm, Dearer than all my beauty -- yea, more dear Than my lost parents! Thou wast all in all To me, thou only, captive though I be. Thou tookest from me every bondmaid's task And like a wife didst hold me. Ah, but now Me shall some new Achaean master bear To fertile Sparta, or to thirsty Argos. The bitter cup of thraldom shall I drain, Severed, ah me, from thee! Oh that the earth Had veiled my dead face ere I saw thy doom!"
So for slain Peleus' son did she lament With woeful handmaids and heart-anguished Greeks, Mourning a king, a husband. Never dried Her tears were: ever to the earth they streamed Like sunless water trickling from a rock While rime and snow yet mantle o'er the earth Above it; yet the frost melts down before The east-wind and the flame-shafts of the sun.
Now came the sound of that upringing wail To Nereus' Daughters, dwellers in the depths Unfathomed. With sore anguish all their hearts Were smitten: piteously they moaned: their cry Shivered along the waves of Hellespont. Then with dark mantles overpalled they sped Swiftly to where the Argive men were thronged. As rushed their troop up silver paths of sea, The flood disported round them as they came. With one wild cry they floated up; it rang, A sound as when fleet-flying cranes forebode A great storm. Moaned the monsters of the deep Plaintively round that train of mourners. Fast On sped they to their goal, with awesome cry Wailing the while their sister's mighty son. Swiftly from Helicon the Muses came Heart-burdened with undying grief,