Book V
How the Arms of Achilles were cause of madness and death unto Aias.
So when all other contests had an end,Thetis the Goddess laid down in the midstGreat-souled Achilles’ arms divinely wrought;And all around flashed out the cunning workWherewith the Fire-god overchased the shieldFashioned for Aeacus’ son, the dauntless-souled.
Inwrought upon that labour of a GodWere first high heaven and cloudland, and beneathLay earth and sea: the winds, the clouds were there,The moon and sun, each in its several place;There too were all the stars that, fixed in heaven,Are borne in its eternal circlings round.Above and through all was the infinite airWhere to and fro flit birds of slender beak:Thou hadst said they lived, and floated on the breeze.Here Tethys’ all-embracing arms were wrought,And Ocean’s fathomless flow. The outrushing floodOf rivers crying to the echoing hillsAll round, to right, to left, rolled o’er the land.
Round it rose league-long mountain-ridges, hauntsOf terrible lions and foul jackals: thereFierce bears and panthers prowled; with these were seenWild boars that whetted deadly-clashing tusksIn grimly-frothing jaws. There hunters spedAfter the hounds: beaters with stone and dart,To the life portrayed, toiled in the woodland sport.
And there were man-devouring wars, and allHorrors of fight: slain men were falling downMid horse-hoofs; and the likeness of a plainBlood-drenched was on that shield invincible.Panic was there, and Dread, and ghastly EnyoWith limbs all gore-bespattered hideously,And deadly Strife, and the Avenging SpiritsFierce-hearted—she, still goading warriors onTo the onset they, outbreathing breath of fire.Around them hovered the relentless Fates;Beside them Battle incarnate onward pressedYelling, and from their limbs streamed blood and sweat.There were the ruthless Gorgons: through their hairHorribly serpents coiled with flickering tongues.A measureless marvel was that cunning workOf things that made men shudder to beholdSeeming as though they verily lived and moved.
And while here all war’s marvels were portrayed,Yonder were all the works of lovely peace.The myriad tribes of much-enduring menDwelt in fair cities. Justice watched o’er all.To diverse toils they set their hands; the fieldsWere harvest-laden; earth her increase bore.
Most steeply rose on that god-laboured workThe rugged flanks of holy Honour’s mount,And there upon a palm-tree throned she satExalted, and her hands reached up to heaven.All round her, paths broken by many rocksThwarted the climbers’ feet; by those steep tracksDaunted ye saw returning many folk:Few won by sweat of toil the sacred height.
And there were reapers moving down long swathsSwinging the whetted sickles: ’neath their handsThe hot work sped to its close. Hard after theseMany sheaf-binders followed, and the workGrew passing great. With yoke-bands on their necksOxen were there, whereof some drew the wainsHeaped high with full-eared sheaves, and further onWere others ploughing, and the glebe showed blackBehind them. Youths with ever-busy goadsFollowed: a world of toil was there portrayed.
And there a banquet was, with pipe and harp,Dances of maids, and flashing feet of boys,All in swift movement, like to living souls.
Hard by the dance and its sweet winsomenessOut of the sea was rising lovely-crownedCypris, foam-blossoms still upon her hair;And round her hovered smiling witchinglyDesire, and danced the Graces lovely-tressed.
And there were lordly Nereus’ Daughters shownLeading their sister up from the wide seaTo her espousals with the warrior-king.And round her all the Immortals banquetedOn Pelion’s ridge far-stretching. All aboutLush dewy watermeads there were, bestarredWith flowers innumerable, grassy groves,And springs with clear transparent water bright.
There ships with sighing sheets swept o’er the sea,Some beating up to windward, some that spedBefore a following wind, and round them heavedThe melancholy surge. Seared shipmen rushedThis way and that, adread for tempest-gusts,Hauling the white sails in, to ’scape the death—It all seemed real—some tugging at the oars,While the dark sea on either side the shipGrew hoary ’neath the swiftly-plashing blades.
And there triumphant the Earth-shaker rodeAmid sea-monsters’ stormy-footed steedsDrew him, and seemed alive, as o’er the deepThey raced, oft smitten by the golden whip.Around their path of flight the waves fell smooth,And all before them was unrippled calm.Dolphins on either hand about their kingSwarmed, in wild rapture of homage bowing backs,And seemed like live things o’er the hazy seaSwimming, albeit all of silver wrought.
Marvels of untold craft were imaged thereBy cunning-souled Hephaestus’ deathless handsUpon the shield. And Ocean’s fathomless floodClasped like a garland all the outer rim,And compassed all the strong shield’s curious work.
And therebeside the massy helmet lay.Zeus in his wrath was set upon the crestThroned on heaven’s dome; the Immortals all aroundFierce-battling with the Titans fought for Zeus.Already were their foes enwrapped with flame,For thick and fast as snowflakes poured from heavenThe thunderbolts: the might of Zeus was roused,And burning giants seemed to breathe out flames.
And therebeside the fair strong corslet lay,Unpierceable, which clasped Peleides once:There were the greaves close-lapping, light aloneTo Achilles; massy of mould and huge they were.
And hard by flashed the sword whose edge and pointNo mail could turn, with golden belt, and sheathOf silver, and with haft of ivory:Brightest amid those wondrous arms it shone.Stretched on the earth thereby was that dread spear,Long as the tall-tressed pines of Pelion,Still breathing out the reek of Hector’s blood.
Then mid the Argives Thetis sable-stoledIn her deep sorrow for Achilles spake;“Now all the athlete-prizes have been wonWhich I set forth in sorrow for my child.Now let that mightiest of the Argives comeWho rescued from the foe my dead: to himThese glorious and immortal arms I giveWhich even the blessed Deathless joyed to see.”
Then rose in rivalry, each claiming them,Laertes’ seed and godlike Telamon’s son,Aias, the mightiest far of Danaan men:He seemed the star that in the glittering skyOutshines the host of heaven, Hesperus,So splendid by Peleides’ arms he stood;“And let these judge,” he cried, “Idomeneus,Nestor, and kingly-counselled Agamemnon,”For these, he weened, would sureliest know the truthOf deeds wrought in that glorious battle-toil.“To these I also trust most utterly,”Odysseus said, “for prudent of their witBe these, and princeliest of all Danaan men.”
But to Idomeneus and Atreus’ sonSpake Nestor apart, and willingly they heard:“Friends, a great woe and unendurableThis day the careless Gods have laid on us,In that into this lamentable strifeAias the mighty hath been thrust by themAgainst Odysseus passing-wise. For he,To whichsoe’er God gives the victor’s glory—O yea, he shall rejoice! But he that loseth—All for the grief in all the Danaans’ heartsFor him! And ours shall be the deepest griefOf all; for that man will not in the warStand by us as of old. A sorrowful dayIt shall be for us, whichsoe’er of theseShall break into fierce anger, seeing theyAre of our heroes chiefest, this in war,And that in counsel. Hearken then to me,Seeing that I am older far than ye,Not by a few years only: with mine ageIs prudence joined, for I have suffered and wroughtMuch; and in counsel ever the old man,Who knoweth much, excelleth younger men.Therefore let us ordain to judge this cause‘Twixt godlike Aias and war-fain Odysseus,Our Trojan captives. They shall say whom mostOur foes dread, and who saved Peleides’ corseFrom that most deadly fight. Lo, in our midstBe many spear-won Trojans, thralls of Fate;And these will pass true judgment on these twain,To neither showing favour, since they hateAlike all authors of their misery.”
He spake: replied Agamemnon lord of spears:“Ancient, there is none other in our midstWiser than thou, of Danaans young or old,In that thou say’st that unforgiving wrathWill burn in him to whom the Gods hereinDeny the victory; for these which striveAre both our chiefest. Therefore mine heart tooIs set on this, that to the thralls of warThis judgment we commit: the loser thenShall against Troy devise his deadly workOf vengeance, and shall not be wroth with us.”
He spake, and these three, being of one mind,In hearing of all men refused to judgeJudgment so thankless: they would none of it.Therefore they set the high-born sons of TroyThere in the midst, spear-thralls although they were,To give just judgment in the warriors’ strife.Then in hot anger Aias rose, and spake:“Odysseus, frantic soul, why hath a GodDeluded thee, to make thee hold thyselfMy peer in might invincible? Dar’st thou sayThat thou, when slain Achilles lay in dust,When round him swarmed the Trojans, didst bear backThat furious throng, when I amidst them hurledDeath, and thou coweredst away? Thy damBare thee a craven and a weakling wretchFrail in comparison of me, as isA cur beside a lion thunder-voiced!No battle-biding heart is in thy breast,But wiles and treachery be all thy care.Hast thou forgotten how thou didst shrink backFrom faring with Achaea’s gathered hostTo Ilium’s holy burg, till Atreus’ sonsForced thee, the cowering craven, how loth soe’er,To follow them—would God thou hadst never come!For by thy counsel left we in Lemnos’ isleGroaning in agony Poeas’ son renowned.And not for him alone was ruin devisedOf thee; for godlike Palamedes tooDidst thou contrive destruction—ha, he wasAlike in battle and council better than thou!And now thou dar’st to rise up against me,Neither remembering my kindness, norHaving respect unto the mightier manWho rescued thee erewhile, when thou didst quaffIn fight before the onset of thy foes,When thou, forsaken of all Greeks beside,Midst tumult of the fray, wast fleeing too!Oh that in that great fight Zeus’ self had stayedMy dauntless might with thunder from his heaven!Then with their two-edged swords the Trojan menHad hewn thee limb from limb, and to their dogsHad cast thy carrion! Then thou hadst not presumedTo meet me, trusting in thy trickeries!Wretch, wherefore, if thou vauntest thee in mightBeyond all others, hast thou set thy shipsIn the line’s centre, screened from foes, nor daredAs I, on the far wing to draw them up?Because thou wast afraid! Not thou it wasWho savedst from devouring fire the ships;But I with heart unquailing there stood fastFacing the fire and Hector ay, even heGave back before me everywhere in fight.Thou—thou didst fear him aye with deadly fear!Oh, had this our contention been but setAmidst that very battle, when the roarOf conflict rose around Achilles slain!Then had thine own eyes seen me bearing forthOut from the battle’s heart and fury of foesThat goodly armour and its hero lordUnto the tents. But here thou canst but trustIn cunning speech, and covetest a placeAmongst the mighty! Thou—thou hast not strengthTo wear Achilles’ arms invincible,Nor sway his massy spear in thy weak hands!But I they are verily moulded to my frame:Yea, seemly it is I wear those glorious arms,Who shall not shame a God’s gifts passing fair.But wherefore for Achilles’ glorious armsWith words discourteous wrangling stand we here?Come, let us try in strife with brazen spearsWho of us twain is best in murderous right!For silver-footed Thetis set in the midstThis prize for prowess, not for pestilent words.In folkmote may men have some use for words:In pride of prowess I know me above thee far,And great Achilles’ lineage is mine own.”
He spake: with scornful glance and bitter speechOdysseus the resourceful chode with him:“Aias, unbridled tongue, why these vain wordsTo me? Thou hast called me pestilent, niddering,And weakling: yet I boast me better farThan thou in wit and speech, which things increaseThe strength of men. Lo, how the craggy rock,Adamantine though it seem, the hewers of stoneAmid the hills by wisdom undermineFull lightly, and by wisdom shipmen crossThe thunderous-plunging sea, when mountain-highIt surgeth, and by craft do hunters quellStrong lions, panthers, boars, yea, all the broodOf wild things. Furious-hearted bulls are tamedTo bear the yoke-bands by device of men.Yea, all things are by wit accomplished. StillIt is the man who knoweth that excelsThe witless man alike in toils and counsels.For my keen wit did Oeneus’ valiant sonChoose me of all men with him to draw nighTo Hector’s watchmen: yea, and mighty deedsWe twain accomplished. I it was who broughtTo Atreus’ sons Peleides far-renowned,Their battle-helper. Whensoe’er the hostNeedeth some other champion, not for the sakeOf thine hands will he come, nor by the redeOf other Argives: of Achaeans IAlone will draw him with soft suasive wordsTo where strong men are warring. Mighty powerThe tongue hath over men, when courtesyInspires it. Valour is a deedless thing;And bulk and big assemblage of a manCometh to naught, by wisdom unattended.But unto me the Immortals gave both strengthAnd wisdom, and unto the Argive hostMade me a blessing. Nor, as thou hast said,Hast thou in time past saved me when in flightFrom foes. I never fled, but steadfastlyWithstood the charge of all the Trojan host.Furious the enemy came on like a floodBut I by might of hands cut short the threadOf many lives. Herein thou sayest not trueMe in the fray thou didst not shield nor save,But for thine own life roughtest, lest a spearShould pierce thy back if thou shouldst turn to fleeFrom war. My ships? I drew them up mid-line,Not dreading the battle-fury of any foe,But to bring healing unto Atreus’ sonsOf war’s calamities: and thou didst setFar from their help thy ships. Nay more, I seamedWith cruel stripes my body, and entered soThe Trojans’ burg, that I might learn of themAll their devisings for this troublous war.Nor ever I dreaded Hector’s spear; myselfRose mid the foremost, eager for the fight,When, prowess-confident, he defied us all.Yea, in the fight around Achilles, ISlew foes far more than thou; ’twas I who savedThe dead king with this armour. Not a whitI dread thy spear now, but my grievous hurtWith pain still vexeth me, the wound I gatIn fighting for these arms and their slain lord.In me as in Achilles is Zeus’ blood.”
He spake; strong Aias answered him again.“Most cunning and most pestilent of men,Nor I, nor any other Argive, sawThee toiling in that fray, when Trojans stroveFiercely to hale away Achilles slain.My might it was that with the spear unstrungThe knees of some in fight, and others thrilledWith panic as they pressed on ceaselessly.Then fled they in dire straits, as geese or cranesFlee from an eagle swooping as they feedAlong a grassy meadow; so, in dreadThe Trojans shrinking backward from my spearAnd lightening sword, fled into IliumTo ’scape destruction. If thy might came thereEver at all, not anywhere nigh meWith foes thou foughtest: somewhere far alootMid other ranks thou toiledst, nowhere nighAchilles, where the one great battle raged.”
He spake; replied Odysseus the shrewd heart:“Aias, I hold myself no worse than thouIn wit or might, how goodly in outward showThou be soever. Nay, I am keener farOf wit than thou in all the Argives’ eyes.In battle-prowess do I equal theeHaply surpass; and this the Trojans know,Who tremble when they see me from afar.Aye, thou too know’st, and others know my strengthBy that hard struggle in the wrestling-match,When Peleus’ son set glorious prizes forthBeside the barrow of Patroclus slain.”
So spake Laertes’ son the world-renowned.Then on that strife disastrous of the strongThe sons of Troy gave judgment. VictoryAnd those immortal arms awarded theyWith one consent to Odysseus mighty in war.Greatly his soul rejoiced; but one deep groanBrake from the Greeks. Then Aias’ noble mightStood frozen stiff; and suddenly fell on himDark wilderment; all blood within his frameBoiled, and his gall swelled, bursting forth in flood.Against his liver heaved his bowels; his heartWith anguished pangs was thrilled; fierce stabbing throesShot through the filmy veil ‘twixt bone and brain;And darkness and confusion wrapped his mind.With fixed eyes staring on the ground he stoodStill as a statue. Then his sorrowing friendsClosed round him, led him to the shapely ships,Aye murmuring consolations. But his feetTrod for the last time, with reluctant steps,That path; and hard behind him followed Doom.
When to the ships beside the boundless seaThe Argives, faint for supper and for sleep,Had passed, into the great deep Thetis plunged,And all the Nereids with her. Round them swamSea-monsters many, children of the brine.
Against the wise Prometheus bitter-wrothThe Sea-maids were, remembering how that Zeus,Moved by his prophecies, unto Peleus gaveThetis to wife, a most unwilling bride.Then cried in wrath to these Cymothoe:“O that the pestilent prophet had enduredAll pangs he merited, when, deep-burrowing,The eagle tare his liver aye renewed!”
So to the dark-haired Sea-maids cried the Nymph.Then sank the sun: the onrush of the nightShadowed the fields, the heavens were star-bestrewn;And by the long-prowed ships the Argives sleptBy ambrosial sleep o’ermastered, and by wineThe which from proud Idomeneus’ realm of Crete:The shipmen bare o’er foaming leagues of sea.
But Aias, wroth against the Argive men,Would none of meat or drink, nor clasped him roundThe arms of sleep. In fury he donned his mail,He clutched his sword, thinking unspeakable thoughts;For now he thought to set the ships aflame,And slaughter all the Argives, now, to hewWith sudden onslaught of his terrible swordGuileful Odysseus limb from limb. Such thingsHe purposed—nay, had soon accomplished all,Had Pallas not with madness smitten him;For over Odysseus, strong to endure, her heartYearned, as she called to mind the sacrificesOffered to her of him continually.Therefore she turned aside from Argive menThe might of Aias. As a terrible storm,Whose wings are laden with dread hurricane-blasts,Cometh with portents of heart-numbing fearTo shipmen, when the Pleiads, fleeing adreadFrom glorious Orion, plunge beneathThe stream of tireless Ocean, when the airIs turmoil, and the sea is mad with storm;So rushed he, whithersoe’er his feet might bear.This way and that he ran, like some fierce beastWhich darteth down a rock-walled glen’s ravinesWith foaming jaws, and murderous intentAgainst the hounds and huntsmen, who have tornOut of the cave her cubs, and slain: she runsThis way and that, and roars, if mid the brakesHaply she yet may see the dear ones lost;Whom if a man meet in that maddened mood,Straightway his darkest of all days hath dawned;So ruthless-raving rushed he; blackly boiledHis heart, as caldron on the Fire-god’s hearthMaddens with ceaseless hissing o’er the flamesFrom blazing billets coiling round its sides,At bidding of the toiler eager-souledTo singe the bristles of a huge-fed boar;So was his great heart boiling in his breast.Like a wild sea he raved, like tempest-blast,Like the winged might of tireless flame amidstThe mountains maddened by a mighty wind,When the wide-blazing forest crumbles downIn fervent heat. So Aias, his fierce heartWith agony stabbed, in maddened misery raved.Foam frothed about his lips; a beast-like roarHowled from his throat. About his shoulders clashedHis armour. They which saw him trembled, allCowed by the fearful shout of that one man.
From Ocean then uprose Dawn golden-reined:Like a soft wind upfloated Sleep to heaven,And there met Hera, even then returnedTo Olympus back from Tethys, unto whomBut yester-morn she went. She clasped him round,And kissed him, who had been her marriage-kinSince at her prayer on Ida’s erest he had lulledTo sleep Cronion, when his anger burnedAgainst the Argives. Straightway Hera passedTo Zeus’s mansion, and Sleep swiftly flewTo Pasithea’s couch. From slumber wokeAll nations of the earth. But Aias, likeOrion the invincible, prowled on,Still bearing murderous madness in his heart.He rushed upon the sheep, like lion fierceWhose savage heart is stung with hunger-pangs.Here, there, he smote them, laid them dead in dustThick as the leaves which the strong North-wind’s mightStrews, when the waning year to winter turns;So on the sheep in fury Aias fell,Deeming he dealt to Danaans evil doom.
Then to his brother Menelaus came,And spake, but not in hearing of the rest:“This day shall surely be a ruinous dayFor all, since Aias thus is sense-distraught.It may be he will set the ships aflame,And slay us all amidst our tents, in wrathFor those lost arms. Would God that Thetis ne’erHad set them for the prize of rivalry!Would God Laertes’ son had not presumedIn folly of soul to strive with a better man!Fools were we all; and some malignant GodBeguiled us; for the one great war-defenceLeft us, since Aeacus’ son in battle fell,Was Aias’ mighty strength. And now the GodsWill to our loss destroy him, bringing baneOn thee and me, that all we may fill upThe 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 kingOf Cephallenian folk, but with the GodsWho plot our ruin. Blame not him, who oftHath 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 screamThis way and that with wings wide-shadowingHe 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 landThy carrion dogs and vultures shall devour!”
So cried he, thinking that amidst the slainOdysseus lay blood-boltered at his feet.But in that moment from his mind and eyesAthena tore away the nightmare-fiendOf Madness havoc-breathing, and it passedThence swiftly to the rock-walled river StyxWhere dwell the winged Erinnyes, they which stillVisit with torments overweening men.
Then Aias saw those sheep upon the earthGasping in death; and sore amazed he stood,For he divined that by the Blessed OnesHis senses had been cheated. All his limbsFailed under him; his soul was anguished-thrilled:He could not in his horror take one stepForward nor backward. Like some towering rockFast-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 heartMine hands had so avenged me! Miscreant, heBrought on me a fell curse! O may his soulSuffer all torments that the Avenging FiendsDevise for villains! On all other GreeksMay they bring murderous battle, woeful griefs,And chiefly on Agamemnon, Atreus’ son!Not scatheless to the home may he returnSo 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 moreHath his due guerdon, but the baser sortAre honoured most and loved, as this OdysseusHath worship mid the Greeks: but utterlyHave 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 dustOutstretched he lay, like Typhon, when the boltsOf Zeus had blasted him. Around him groanedThe dark earth as he fell upon her breast.
Then thronging came the Danaans, when they sawLow laid in dust the hero; but ere thenNone dared draw nigh him, but in deadly fearThey watched him from afar. Now hasted theyAnd flung themselves upon the dead, outstretchedUpon their faces: on their heads they castDust, and their wailing went up to the sky.As when men drive away the tender lambsOut of the fleecy flock, to feast thereon,And round the desolate pens the mothers leapCeaselessly bleating, so o’er Aias rangThat 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 tooTo rush on bitter doom: howbeit the restHeld from the sword his hand. Anguished he fellUpon the dead, outpouring many a tearMore comfortlessly than the orphan babeThat wails beside the hearth, with ashes strewnOn head and shoulders, wails bereavement’s dayThat brings death to the mother who hath nursedThe fatherless child; so wailed he, ever wailedHis great death-stricken brother, creeping slowAround the corpse, and uttering his lament:“O Aias, mighty-souled, why was thine heartDistraught, that thou shouldst deal unto thyselfMurder and bale? All, was it that the sonsOf Troy might win a breathing-space from woes,Might come and slay the Greeks, now thou art not?From these shall all the olden courage failWhen fast they fall in fight. Their shield from harmIs broken now! For me, I have no willTo see mine home again, now thou art dead.Nay, but I long here also now to die,That so the earth may shroud me—me and theeNot for my parents so much do I care,If haply yet they live, if haply yetSpared from the grave, in Salamis they dwell,As for thee, O my glory and my crown!”
So cried he groaning sore; with answering moanQueenly Tecmessa wailed, the princess-brideOf noble Aias, captive of his spear,Yet ta’en by him to wife, and household-queenO’er all his substance, even all that wivesWon with a bride-price rule for wedded lords.Clasped in his mighty arms, she bare to himA son Eurysaces, in all things likeUnto his father, far as babe might beYet cradled in his tent. With bitter moanFell she on that dear corpse, all her fair formClose-shrouded in her veil, and dust-defiled,And from her anguished heart cried piteously:“Alas for me, for me now thou art dead,Not by the hands of foes in fight struck down,But by thine own! On me is come a griefEver-abiding! Never had I lookedTo see thy woeful death-day here by Troy.Ah, visions shattered by rude hands of Fate!Oh that the earth had yawned wide for my graveEre I beheld thy bitter doom! On meNo sharper, more heart-piercing pang hath come—No, not when first from fatherland afarAnd parents thou didst bear me, wailing soreMid other captives, when the day of bondageHad come on me, a princess theretofore.Not for that dear lost home so much I grieve,Nor for my parents dead, as now for thee:For all thine heart was kindness unto meThe hapless, and thou madest me thy wife,One soul with thee; yea, and thou promisedstTo throne me queen of fair-towered Salamis,When home we won from Troy. The Gods deniedAccomplishment thereof. And thou hast passedUnto the Unseen Land: thou hast forgotMe and thy child, who never shall make gladHis father’s heart, shall never mount thy throne.But him shall strangers make a wretched thrall:For when the father is no more, the babeIs ward of meaner men. A weary lifeThe orphan knows, and suffering cometh inFrom every side upon him like a flood.To me too thraldom’s day shall doubtless come,Now thou hast died, who wast my god on earth.”
Then in all kindness Agamemnon spake:“Princess, no man on earth shall make thee thrall,While Teucer liveth yet, while yet I live.Thou shalt have worship of us evermoreAnd honour as a Goddess, with thy son,As though yet living were that godlike man,Aias, who was the Achaeans’ chiefest strength.Ah that he had not laid this load of griefOn all, in dying by his own right hand!For all the countless armies of his foesNever availed to slay him in fair fight.”
So spake he, grieved to the inmost heart. The folkWoefully wafted all round. O’er HellespontEchoes of mourning rolled: the sighing airDarkened around, a wide-spread sorrow-pall.Yea, grief laid hold on wise Odysseus’ selfFor the great dead, and with remorseful soulTo anguish-stricken Argives thus he spake:“O friends, there is no greater curse to menThan wrath, which groweth till its bitter fruitIs strife. Now wrath hath goaded Aias onTo this dire issue of the rage that filledHis soul against me. Would to God that ne’erYon Trojans in the strife for Achilles’ armsHad crowned me with that victory, for whichStrong Telamon’s brave son, in agonyOf soul, thus perished by his own right hand!Yet blame not me, I pray you, for his wrath:Blame the dark dolorous Fate that struck him down.For, had mine heart foreboded aught of this,This desperation of a soul distraught,Never for victory had I striven with him,Nor had I suffered any Danaan else,Though ne’er so eager, to contend with him.Nay, I had taken up those arms divineWith mine own hands, and gladly given themTo him, ay, though himself desired it not.But for such mighty grief and wrath in himI had not looked, since not for a woman’s sakeNor for a city, nor possessions wide,I then contended, but for Honour’s meed,Which alway is for all right-hearted menThe happy goal of all their rivalry.But that great-hearted man was led astrayBy Fate, the hateful fiend; for surely it isUnworthy a man to be made passion’s fool.The wise man’s part is, steadfast-souled to endureAll ills, and not to rage against his lot.”
So spake Laertes’ son, the far-renowned.But when they all were weary of grief and groan,Then to those sorrowing ones spake Neleus’ son:“O friends, the pitiless-hearted Fates have laidStroke after stroke of sorrow upon us,Sorrow for Aias dead, for mighty Achilles,For many an Argive, and for mine own sonAntilochus. Yet all unmeet it isDay after day with passion of grief to wailMen slain in battle: nay, we must forgetLaments, and turn us to the better taskOf rendering dues beseeming to the dead,The dues of pyre, of tomb, of bones inurned.No lamentations will awake the dead;No note thereof he taketh, when the Fates,The ruthless ones, have swallowed him in night.”
So spake he words of cheer: the godlike kingsGathered with heavy hearts around the dead,And many hands upheaved the giant corpse,And swiftly bare him to the ships, and thereWashed they away the blood that clotted layDust-flecked on mighty limbs and armour: thenIn linen swathed him round. From Ida’s heightsWood without measure did the young men bring,And piled it round the corpse. Billets and logsYet more in a wide circle heaped they round;And sheep they laid thereon, fair-woven vests,And goodly kine, and speed-triumphant steeds,And gleaming gold, and armour without stint,From slain foes by that glorious hero stripped.And lucent amber-drops they laid thereon,Years, say they, which the Daughters of the Sun,The Lord of Omens, shed for Phaethon slain,When by Eridanus’ flood they mourned for him.These, for undying honour to his son,The God made amber, precious in men’s eyes.Even this the Argives on that broad-based pyreCast freely, honouring the mighty dead.And round him, groaning heavily, they laidSilver most fair and precious ivory,And jars of oil, and whatsoe’er besideThey have who heap up goodly and glorious wealth.Then thrust they in the strength of ravening flame,And from the sea there breathed a wind, sent forthBy Thetis, to consume the giant frameOf Aias. All the night and all the mornBurned ’neath the urgent stress of that great windBeside the ships that giant form, as whenEnceladus by Zeus’ levin was consumedBeneath Thrinacia, when from all the isleSmoke of his burning rose—or like as whenHercules, trapped by Nessus’ deadly guile,Gave to devouring fire his living limbs,What time he dared that awful deed, when groanedAll Oeta as he burned alive, and passedHis soul into the air, leaving the manFar-famous, to be numbered with the Gods,When earth closed o’er his toil-tried mortal part.So huge amid the flames, all-armour clad,Lay Aias, all the joy of fight forgot,While a great multitude watching thronged the sands.Glad were the Trojans, but the Achaeans grieved.
But when that goodly frame by ravening fireWas all consumed, they quenched the pyre with wine;They gathered up the bones, and reverentlyLaid in a golden casket. Hard besideRhoeteium’s headland heaped they up a moundMeasureless-high. Then scattered they amidstThe long ships, heavy-hearted for the manWhom they had honoured even as Achilles.Then black night, bearing unto all men sleep,Upfloated: so they brake bread, and lay downWaiting the Child of the Mist. Short was sleep,Broken by fitful staring through the dark,Haunted by dread lest in the night the foeShould fall on them, now Telamon’s son was dead.