The Fall of Troy [97]
as they fled, The spear had passed, clear through to the breast, and some Whose waists the lance had pierced, impaling them Where sharpest stings the anguish-laden steel. And all about the city dolorous howls Of dogs uprose, and miserable moans Of strong men stricken to death; and every home With awful cries was echoing. Rang the shrieks Of women, like to screams of cranes, which see An eagle stooping on them from the sky, Which have no courage to resist, but scream Long terror-shrieks in dread of Zeus's bird; So here, so there the Trojan women wailed, Some starting from their sleep, some to the ground Leaping: they thought not in that agony Of robe and zone; in naught but tunics clad Distraught they wandered: others found nor veil Nor cloak to cast about them, but, as came Onward their foes, they stood with beating hearts Trembling, as lettered by despair, essaying, All-hapless, with their hands alone to hide Their nakedness. And some in frenzy of woe: Their tresses tore, and beat their breasts, and screamed. Others against that stormy torrent of foes Recklessly rushed, insensible of fear, Through mad desire to aid the perishing, Husbands or children; for despair had given High courage. Shrieks had startled from their sleep Soft little babes whose hearts had never known Trouble -- and there one with another lay Gasping their lives out! Some there were whose dreams Changed to a sudden vision of doom. All round The fell Fates gloated horribly o'er the slain. And even as swine be slaughtered in the court Of a rich king who makes his folk a feast, So without number were they slain. The wine Left in the mixing-bowls was blent with blood Gruesomely. No man bare a sword unstained With murder of defenceless folk of Troy, Though he were but a weakling in fair fight. And as by wolves or jackals sheep are torn, What time the furnace-breath of midnoon-heat Darts down, and all the flock beneath the shade Are crowded, and the shepherd is not there, But to the homestead bears afar their milk; And the fierce brutes leap on them, tear their throats, Gorge to the full their ravenous maws, and then Lap the dark blood, and linger still to slay All in mere lust of slaughter, and provide An evil banquet for that shepherd-lord; So through the city of Priam Danaans slew One after other in that last fight of all. No Trojan there was woundless, all men's limbs With blood in torrents spilt were darkly dashed.
Nor seetheless were the Danaans in the fray: With beakers some were smitten, with tables some, Thrust in the eyes of some were burning brands Snatched from the hearth; some died transfixed with spits Yet left within the hot flesh of the swine Whereon the red breath of the Fire-god beat; Others struck down by bills and axes keen Gasped in their blood: from some men's hands were shorn The fingers, who, in wild hope to escape The imminent death, had clutched the blades of swords. And here in that dark tumult one had hurled A stone, and crushed the crown of a friend's head. Like wild beasts trapped and stabbed within a fold On a lone steading, frenziedly they fought, Mad with despair-enkindled rage, beneath That night of horror. Hot with battle-lust Here, there, the fighters rushed and hurried through The palace of Priam. Many an Argive fell Spear-slain; for whatso Trojan in his halls Might seize a sword, might lift a spear in hand, Slew foes -- ay, heavy though he were with wine.
Upflashed a glare unearthly through the town, For many an Argive bare in hand a torch To know in that dim battle friends from foes.
Then Tydeus' son amid the war-storm met Spearman Coroebus, lordly Mygdon's son, And 'neath the left ribs pierced him with the lance Where run the life-ways of man's meat and drink; So met him black death borne upon the spear: Down in dark blood he fell mid hosts of slain. Ah fool! the bride he won not, Priam's child Cassandra, yea, his loveliest, for whose sake To Priam's burg but yesterday he came, And vaunted he would thrust the Argives back From Ilium. Never did the Gods fulfil His hope: the Fates hurled doom upon his
Nor seetheless were the Danaans in the fray: With beakers some were smitten, with tables some, Thrust in the eyes of some were burning brands Snatched from the hearth; some died transfixed with spits Yet left within the hot flesh of the swine Whereon the red breath of the Fire-god beat; Others struck down by bills and axes keen Gasped in their blood: from some men's hands were shorn The fingers, who, in wild hope to escape The imminent death, had clutched the blades of swords. And here in that dark tumult one had hurled A stone, and crushed the crown of a friend's head. Like wild beasts trapped and stabbed within a fold On a lone steading, frenziedly they fought, Mad with despair-enkindled rage, beneath That night of horror. Hot with battle-lust Here, there, the fighters rushed and hurried through The palace of Priam. Many an Argive fell Spear-slain; for whatso Trojan in his halls Might seize a sword, might lift a spear in hand, Slew foes -- ay, heavy though he were with wine.
Upflashed a glare unearthly through the town, For many an Argive bare in hand a torch To know in that dim battle friends from foes.
Then Tydeus' son amid the war-storm met Spearman Coroebus, lordly Mygdon's son, And 'neath the left ribs pierced him with the lance Where run the life-ways of man's meat and drink; So met him black death borne upon the spear: Down in dark blood he fell mid hosts of slain. Ah fool! the bride he won not, Priam's child Cassandra, yea, his loveliest, for whose sake To Priam's burg but yesterday he came, And vaunted he would thrust the Argives back From Ilium. Never did the Gods fulfil His hope: the Fates hurled doom upon his