The Fall of Troy [60]
men, Whom Deidameia chose as trustiest Of all her household, and unto her son Gave them for henchmen swift to do his will. And these attended Achilles' valiant son, As through the city to the ship he sped. On, with glad laughter, in their midst he strode; And Thetis and the Nereids joyed thereat. Yea, glad was even the Raven-haired, the Lord Of all the sea, beholding that brave son Of princely Achilles, marking how he longed For battle. Beardless boy albeit he was, His prowess and his might were inward spurs To him. He hasted forth his fatherland Like to the War-god, when to gory strife He speedeth, wroth with foes, when maddeneth His heart, and grim his frown is, and his eyes Flash levin-flame around him, and his face Is clothed with glory of beauty terror-blent, As on he rusheth: quail the very Gods. So seemed Achilles' goodly son; and prayers Went up through all the city unto Heaven To bring their noble prince safe back from war; And the Gods hearkened to them. High he towered Above all stateliest men which followed him.
So came they to the heavy-plunging sea, And found the rowers in the smooth-wrought ship Handling the tackle, fixing mast and sail. Straightway they went aboard: the shipmen cast The hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones, The strength and stay of ships in time of need. Then did the Sea-queen's lord grant voyage fair To these with gracious mind; for his heart yearned O'er the Achaeans, by the Trojan men And mighty-souled Eurypylus hard-bestead. On either side of Neoptolemus sat Those heroes, gladdening his soul with tales
Of his sire's mighty deeds -- of all he wrought In sea-raids, and in valiant Telephus' land, And how he smote round Priam's burg the men Of Troy, for glory unto Atreus' sons. His heart glowed, fain to grasp his heritage, His aweless father's honour and renown.
In her bower, sorrowing for her son the while, Deidameia poured forth sighs and tears. With agony of soul her very heart Melted in her, as over coals doth lead Or wax, and never did her moaning cease, As o'er the wide sea her gaze followed him. Ay, for her son a mother fretteth still, Though it be to a feast that he hath gone, By a friend bidden forth. But soon the sail Of that good ship far-fleeting o'er the blue Grew faint and fainter -- melted in sea-haze. But still she sighed, still daylong made her moan.
On ran the ship before a following wind, Seeming to skim the myriad-surging sea, And crashed the dark wave either side the prow: Swiftly across the abyss unplumbed she sped. Night's darkness fell about her, but the breeze Held, and the steersman's hand was sure. O'er gulfs Of brine she flew, till Dawn divine rose up To climb the sky. Then sighted they the peaks Of Ida, Chrysa next, and Smintheus' fane, Then the Sigean strand, and then the tomb Of Aeacus' son. Yet would Laertes' seed, The man discreet of soul, not point it out To Neoptolemus, lest the tide of grief Too high should swell within his breast. They passed Calydnae's isles, left Tenedos behind; And now was seen the fane of Eleus, Where stands Protesilaus' tomb, beneath The shade of towcry elms; when, soaring high Above the plain, their topmost boughs discern Troy, straightway wither all their highest sprays. Nigh Ilium now the ship by wind and oar Was brought: they saw the long strand fringed with keels Of Argives, who endured sore travail of war Even then about the wall, the which themselves Had reared to screen the ships and men in stress Of battle. Even now Eurypylus' hands To earth were like to dash it and destroy; But the quick eyes of Tydeus' strong son marked How rained the darts and stones on that long wall. Forth of the ship he sprang, and shouted loud With all the strength of his undaunted breast: "Friends, on the Argive men is heaped this day Sore travail! Let us don our flashing arms With speed, and to yon battle-turmoil haste. For now upon our towers the warrior sons Of Troy press hard -- yea, haply will they tear The long walls down, and burn the ships with fire, And so the souls that long for home-return Shall win it never;
So came they to the heavy-plunging sea, And found the rowers in the smooth-wrought ship Handling the tackle, fixing mast and sail. Straightway they went aboard: the shipmen cast The hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones, The strength and stay of ships in time of need. Then did the Sea-queen's lord grant voyage fair To these with gracious mind; for his heart yearned O'er the Achaeans, by the Trojan men And mighty-souled Eurypylus hard-bestead. On either side of Neoptolemus sat Those heroes, gladdening his soul with tales
Of his sire's mighty deeds -- of all he wrought In sea-raids, and in valiant Telephus' land, And how he smote round Priam's burg the men Of Troy, for glory unto Atreus' sons. His heart glowed, fain to grasp his heritage, His aweless father's honour and renown.
In her bower, sorrowing for her son the while, Deidameia poured forth sighs and tears. With agony of soul her very heart Melted in her, as over coals doth lead Or wax, and never did her moaning cease, As o'er the wide sea her gaze followed him. Ay, for her son a mother fretteth still, Though it be to a feast that he hath gone, By a friend bidden forth. But soon the sail Of that good ship far-fleeting o'er the blue Grew faint and fainter -- melted in sea-haze. But still she sighed, still daylong made her moan.
On ran the ship before a following wind, Seeming to skim the myriad-surging sea, And crashed the dark wave either side the prow: Swiftly across the abyss unplumbed she sped. Night's darkness fell about her, but the breeze Held, and the steersman's hand was sure. O'er gulfs Of brine she flew, till Dawn divine rose up To climb the sky. Then sighted they the peaks Of Ida, Chrysa next, and Smintheus' fane, Then the Sigean strand, and then the tomb Of Aeacus' son. Yet would Laertes' seed, The man discreet of soul, not point it out To Neoptolemus, lest the tide of grief Too high should swell within his breast. They passed Calydnae's isles, left Tenedos behind; And now was seen the fane of Eleus, Where stands Protesilaus' tomb, beneath The shade of towcry elms; when, soaring high Above the plain, their topmost boughs discern Troy, straightway wither all their highest sprays. Nigh Ilium now the ship by wind and oar Was brought: they saw the long strand fringed with keels Of Argives, who endured sore travail of war Even then about the wall, the which themselves Had reared to screen the ships and men in stress Of battle. Even now Eurypylus' hands To earth were like to dash it and destroy; But the quick eyes of Tydeus' strong son marked How rained the darts and stones on that long wall. Forth of the ship he sprang, and shouted loud With all the strength of his undaunted breast: "Friends, on the Argive men is heaped this day Sore travail! Let us don our flashing arms With speed, and to yon battle-turmoil haste. For now upon our towers the warrior sons Of Troy press hard -- yea, haply will they tear The long walls down, and burn the ships with fire, And so the souls that long for home-return Shall win it never;