The Fall of Troy [45]
now the Gods Will to our loss destroy him, bringing bane On thee and me, that all we may fill up The cup of doom, and pass to nothingness."
He spake; replied Agamemnon, lord of spears: "Now nay, Menelaus, though thine heart he wrung, Be thou not wroth with the resourceful king Of Cephallenian folk, but with the Gods Who plot our ruin. Blame not him, who oft Hath been our blessing and our enemies' curse."
So heavy-hearted spake the Danaan kings. But by the streams of Xanthus far away 'Neath tamarisks shepherds cowered to hide from death, As when from a swift eagle cower hares 'Neath tangled copses, when with sharp fierce scream This way and that with wings wide-shadowing He wheeleth very nigh; so they here, there, Quailed from the presence of that furious man. At last above a slaughtered ram he stood, And with a deadly laugh he cried to it: "Lie there in dust; be meat for dogs and kites! Achilles' glorious arms have saved not thee, For which thy folly strove with a better man! Lie there, thou cur! No wife shall fall on thee, And clasp, and wail thee and her fatherless childs, Nor shalt thou greet thy parents' longing eyes, The staff of their old age! Far from thy land Thy carrion dogs and vultures shall devour!"
So cried he, thinking that amidst the slain Odysseus lay blood-boltered at his feet. But in that moment from his mind and eyes Athena tore away the nightmare-fiend Of Madness havoc-breathing, and it passed Thence swiftly to the rock-walled river Styx Where dwell the winged Erinnyes, they which still Visit with torments overweening men.
Then Aias saw those sheep upon the earth Gasping in death; and sore amazed he stood, For he divined that by the Blessed Ones His senses had been cheated. All his limbs Failed under him; his soul was anguished-thrilled: He could not in his horror take one step Forward nor backward. Like some towering rock Fast-rooted mid the mountains, there he stood. But when the wild rout of his thoughts had rallied, He groaned in misery, and in anguish wailed: "Ah me! why do the Gods abhor me so? They have wrecked my mind, have with fell madness filled, Making me slaughter all these innocent sheep! Would God that on Odysseus' pestilent heart Mine hands had so avenged me! Miscreant, he Brought on me a fell curse! O may his soul Suffer all torments that the Avenging Fiends Devise for villains! On all other Greeks May they bring murderous battle, woeful griefs, And chiefly on Agamemnon, Atreus' son! Not scatheless to the home may he return So long desired! But why should I consort, I, a brave man, with the abominable? Perish the Argive host, perish my life, Now unendurable! The brave no more Hath his due guerdon, but the baser sort Are honoured most and loved, as this Odysseus Hath worship mid the Greeks: but utterly Have they forgotten me and all my deeds, All that I wrought and suffered in their cause."
So spake the brave son of strong Telamon, Then thrust the sword of Hector through his throat. Forth rushed the blood in torrent: in the dust Outstretched he lay, like Typhon, when the bolts Of Zeus had blasted him. Around him groaned The dark earth as he fell upon her breast.
Then thronging came the Danaans, when they saw Low laid in dust the hero; but ere then None dared draw nigh him, but in deadly fear They watched him from afar. Now hasted they And flung themselves upon the dead, outstretched Upon their faces: on their heads they cast Dust, and their wailing went up to the sky. As when men drive away the tender lambs Out of the fleecy flock, to feast thereon, And round the desolate pens the mothers leap Ceaselessly bleating, so o'er Aias rang That day a very great and bitter cry. Wild echoes pealed from Ida forest-palled, And from the plain, the ships, the boundless sea.
Then Teucer clasping him was minded too To rush on bitter doom: howbeit the rest Held from the sword his hand. Anguished he fell Upon the dead, outpouring many a tear More comfortlessly than the orphan babe That wails beside the hearth, with ashes strewn On head and shoulders, wails bereavement's
He spake; replied Agamemnon, lord of spears: "Now nay, Menelaus, though thine heart he wrung, Be thou not wroth with the resourceful king Of Cephallenian folk, but with the Gods Who plot our ruin. Blame not him, who oft Hath been our blessing and our enemies' curse."
So heavy-hearted spake the Danaan kings. But by the streams of Xanthus far away 'Neath tamarisks shepherds cowered to hide from death, As when from a swift eagle cower hares 'Neath tangled copses, when with sharp fierce scream This way and that with wings wide-shadowing He wheeleth very nigh; so they here, there, Quailed from the presence of that furious man. At last above a slaughtered ram he stood, And with a deadly laugh he cried to it: "Lie there in dust; be meat for dogs and kites! Achilles' glorious arms have saved not thee, For which thy folly strove with a better man! Lie there, thou cur! No wife shall fall on thee, And clasp, and wail thee and her fatherless childs, Nor shalt thou greet thy parents' longing eyes, The staff of their old age! Far from thy land Thy carrion dogs and vultures shall devour!"
So cried he, thinking that amidst the slain Odysseus lay blood-boltered at his feet. But in that moment from his mind and eyes Athena tore away the nightmare-fiend Of Madness havoc-breathing, and it passed Thence swiftly to the rock-walled river Styx Where dwell the winged Erinnyes, they which still Visit with torments overweening men.
Then Aias saw those sheep upon the earth Gasping in death; and sore amazed he stood, For he divined that by the Blessed Ones His senses had been cheated. All his limbs Failed under him; his soul was anguished-thrilled: He could not in his horror take one step Forward nor backward. Like some towering rock Fast-rooted mid the mountains, there he stood. But when the wild rout of his thoughts had rallied, He groaned in misery, and in anguish wailed: "Ah me! why do the Gods abhor me so? They have wrecked my mind, have with fell madness filled, Making me slaughter all these innocent sheep! Would God that on Odysseus' pestilent heart Mine hands had so avenged me! Miscreant, he Brought on me a fell curse! O may his soul Suffer all torments that the Avenging Fiends Devise for villains! On all other Greeks May they bring murderous battle, woeful griefs, And chiefly on Agamemnon, Atreus' son! Not scatheless to the home may he return So long desired! But why should I consort, I, a brave man, with the abominable? Perish the Argive host, perish my life, Now unendurable! The brave no more Hath his due guerdon, but the baser sort Are honoured most and loved, as this Odysseus Hath worship mid the Greeks: but utterly Have they forgotten me and all my deeds, All that I wrought and suffered in their cause."
So spake the brave son of strong Telamon, Then thrust the sword of Hector through his throat. Forth rushed the blood in torrent: in the dust Outstretched he lay, like Typhon, when the bolts Of Zeus had blasted him. Around him groaned The dark earth as he fell upon her breast.
Then thronging came the Danaans, when they saw Low laid in dust the hero; but ere then None dared draw nigh him, but in deadly fear They watched him from afar. Now hasted they And flung themselves upon the dead, outstretched Upon their faces: on their heads they cast Dust, and their wailing went up to the sky. As when men drive away the tender lambs Out of the fleecy flock, to feast thereon, And round the desolate pens the mothers leap Ceaselessly bleating, so o'er Aias rang That day a very great and bitter cry. Wild echoes pealed from Ida forest-palled, And from the plain, the ships, the boundless sea.
Then Teucer clasping him was minded too To rush on bitter doom: howbeit the rest Held from the sword his hand. Anguished he fell Upon the dead, outpouring many a tear More comfortlessly than the orphan babe That wails beside the hearth, with ashes strewn On head and shoulders, wails bereavement's