The Fall of Troy [66]
aside, And pierced Meilanion battle-staunch, the son Of Cleite lovely-faced, Erylaus' bride, Who bare him where Caicus meets the sea. Wroth for his comrade slain, Eurypylus Rushed upon Antiphus, but terror-winged He plunged amid his comrades; so the spear Of the avenger slew him not, whose doom Was one day wretchedly to be devoured By the manslaying Cyclops: so it pleased Stern Fate, I know not why. Elsewhither sped Eurypylus; and aye as he rushed on Fell 'neath his spear a multitude untold. As tall trees, smitten by the strength of steel In mountain-forest, fill the dark ravines, Heaped on the earth confusedly, so fell The Achaeans 'neath Eurypylus' flying spears -- Till heart-uplifted met him face to face Achilles' son. The long spears in their hands They twain swung up, each hot to smite his foe. But first Eurypylus cried the challenge-cry; "Who art thou? Whence hast come to brave me here? To Hades merciless Fate is bearing thee; For in grim fight hath none escaped mine hands; But whoso, eager for the fray, have come Hither, on all have I hurled anguished death. By Xanthus' streams have dogs devoured their flesh And gnawed their bones. Answer me, who art thou? Whose be the steeds that bear thee exultant on?"
Answered Achilles' battle-eager son: "Wherefore, when I am hurrying to the fray, Dost thou, a foe, put question thus to me, As might a friend, touching my lineage, Which many know? Achilles' son am I, Son of the man whose long spear smote thy sire, And made him flee -- yea, and the ruthless fates Of death had seized him, but my father's self Healed him upon the brink of woeful death. The steeds which bear me were my godlike sire's; These the West-wind begat, the Harpy bare: Over the barren sea their feet can race Skimming its crests: in speed they match the winds. Since then thou know'st the lineage of my steeds And mine, now put thou to the test the might Of my strong spear, born on steep Pelion's crest, Who hath left his father-stock and forest there."
He spake; and from the chariot sprang to earth That glorious man: he swung the long spear up. But in his brawny hand his foe hath seized A monstrous stone: full at the golden shield Of Neoptolemus he sped its flight; But, no whir staggered by its whirlwind rush, He like a giant mountain-foreland stood Which all the banded fury of river-floods Can stir not, rooted in the eternal hills; So stood unshaken still Achilles' son. Yet not for this Eurypylus' dauntless might Shrank from Achilles' son invincible, On-spurred by his own hardihood and by Fate. Their hearts like caldrons seethed o'er fires of wrath, Their glancing armour flashed about their limbs. Like terrible lions each on other rushed, Which fight amid the mountains famine-stung, Writhing and leaping in the strain of strife For a slain ox or stag, while all the glens Ring with their conflict; so they grappled, so Clashed they in pitiless strife. On either hand Long lines of warriors Greek and Trojan toiled In combat: round them roared up flames of war. Like mighty rushing winds they hurled together With eager spears for blood of life athirst. Hard by them stood Enyo, spurred them on Ceaselessly: never paused they from the strife. Now hewed they each the other's shield, and now Thrust at the greaves, now at the crested helms. Reckless of wounds, in that grim toil pressed on Those aweless heroes: Strife incarnate watched And gloated o'er them. Ran the sweat in streams From either: straining hard they stood their ground, For both were of the seed of Blessed Ones. From Heaven, with hearts at variance, Gods looked down; For some gave glory to Achilles' son, Some to Eurypylus the godlike. Still They fought on, giving ground no more than rock. Of granite mountains. Rang from side to side Spear-smitten shields. At last the Pelian lance, Sped onward by a mighty thrust, hath passed Clear through Eurypylus' throat. Forth poured the blood Torrent-like; through the portal of the wound The soul from the body flew: darkness of death Dropped o'er his eyes. To earth in clanging arms He fell, like stately pine
Answered Achilles' battle-eager son: "Wherefore, when I am hurrying to the fray, Dost thou, a foe, put question thus to me, As might a friend, touching my lineage, Which many know? Achilles' son am I, Son of the man whose long spear smote thy sire, And made him flee -- yea, and the ruthless fates Of death had seized him, but my father's self Healed him upon the brink of woeful death. The steeds which bear me were my godlike sire's; These the West-wind begat, the Harpy bare: Over the barren sea their feet can race Skimming its crests: in speed they match the winds. Since then thou know'st the lineage of my steeds And mine, now put thou to the test the might Of my strong spear, born on steep Pelion's crest, Who hath left his father-stock and forest there."
He spake; and from the chariot sprang to earth That glorious man: he swung the long spear up. But in his brawny hand his foe hath seized A monstrous stone: full at the golden shield Of Neoptolemus he sped its flight; But, no whir staggered by its whirlwind rush, He like a giant mountain-foreland stood Which all the banded fury of river-floods Can stir not, rooted in the eternal hills; So stood unshaken still Achilles' son. Yet not for this Eurypylus' dauntless might Shrank from Achilles' son invincible, On-spurred by his own hardihood and by Fate. Their hearts like caldrons seethed o'er fires of wrath, Their glancing armour flashed about their limbs. Like terrible lions each on other rushed, Which fight amid the mountains famine-stung, Writhing and leaping in the strain of strife For a slain ox or stag, while all the glens Ring with their conflict; so they grappled, so Clashed they in pitiless strife. On either hand Long lines of warriors Greek and Trojan toiled In combat: round them roared up flames of war. Like mighty rushing winds they hurled together With eager spears for blood of life athirst. Hard by them stood Enyo, spurred them on Ceaselessly: never paused they from the strife. Now hewed they each the other's shield, and now Thrust at the greaves, now at the crested helms. Reckless of wounds, in that grim toil pressed on Those aweless heroes: Strife incarnate watched And gloated o'er them. Ran the sweat in streams From either: straining hard they stood their ground, For both were of the seed of Blessed Ones. From Heaven, with hearts at variance, Gods looked down; For some gave glory to Achilles' son, Some to Eurypylus the godlike. Still They fought on, giving ground no more than rock. Of granite mountains. Rang from side to side Spear-smitten shields. At last the Pelian lance, Sped onward by a mighty thrust, hath passed Clear through Eurypylus' throat. Forth poured the blood Torrent-like; through the portal of the wound The soul from the body flew: darkness of death Dropped o'er his eyes. To earth in clanging arms He fell, like stately pine