Book VIII
How Hercules’ Grandson perished in fight with the Son of Achilles
When from the far sea-line, where is the caveOf Dawn, rose up the sun, and scattered lightOver the earth, then did the eager sonsOf Troy and of Achaea arm themselvesAthirst for battle: these Achilles’ sonCheered on to face the Trojans awelessly;And those the giant strength of Telephus’ seedKindled. He trusted to dash down the wallTo earth, and utterly destroy the shipsWith ravening fire, and slay the Argive host.Ah, but his hope was as the morning breezeDelusive: hard beside him stood the FatesLaughing to scorn his vain imaginings.
Then to the Myrmidons spake Achilles’ son,The aweless, to the fight enkindling them:“Hear me, mine henchmen: take ye to your heartsThe spirit of war, that we may heal the woundsOf Argos, and be ruin to her foes.Let no man fear, for mighty prowess isThe child of courage; but fear slayeth strengthAnd spirit. Gird yourselves with strength for war;Give foes no breathing-space, that they may sayThat mid our ranks Achilles liveth yet.”
Then clad he with his father’s flashing armsHis shoulders. Then exulted Thetis’ heartWhen from the sea she saw the mighty strengthOf her son’s son. Then forth with eagle-speedAfront of that high wall he rushed, his earDrawn by the immortal horses of his sire.As from the ocean-verge upsprings the sunIn glory, flashing fire far over earth—Fire, when beside his radiant chariot-teamRaces the red star Sirius, scattererOf woefullest diseases over men;So flashed upon the eyes of Ilium’s hostThat battle-eager hero, Achilles’ son.Onward they whirled him, those immortal steeds,The which, when now he longed to chase the foeBack from the ships, Automedon, who wontTo rein them for his father, brought to him.With joy that pair bore battleward their lord,So like to Aeacus’ son, their deathless heartsHeld him no worser than Achilles’ self.Laughing for glee the Argives gathered roundThe might resistless of Neoptolemus,Eager for fight as wasps [whose woodland bowerThe axe] hath shaken, who dart swarming forthFurious to sting the woodman: round their nestLong eddying, they torment all passers by;So streamed they forth from galley and from wallBurning for fight, and that wide space was thronged,And all the plain far blazed with armour-sheen,As shone from heaven’s vault the sun thereon.As flees the cloud-rack through the welkin wideScourged onward by the North-wind’s Titan blasts,When winter-tide and snow are hard at hand,And darkness overpalls the firmament;So with their thronging squadrons was the earthCovered before the ships. To heaven uprolled,Dust hung on hovering wings’ men’s armour clashed;Rattled a thousand chariots; horses neighedOn-rushing to the fray. Each warrior’s prowessKindled him with its trumpet-call to war.
As leap the long sea-rollers, onward hurledBy two winds terribly o’er th’ broad sea-floodRoaring from viewless bournes, with whirlwind blastsCrashing together, when a ruining stormMaddens along the wide gulfs of the deep,And moans the Sea-queen with her anguished wavesWhich sweep from every hand, uptoweringLike precipiced mountains, while the bitter squall,Ceaselessly veering, shrieks across the sea;So clashed in strife those hosts from either handWith mad rage. Strife incarnate spurred them on,And their own prowess. Crashed together theseLike thunderclouds outlightening, thrilling the air.With shattering trumpet-challenge, when the blastsAre locked in frenzied wrestle, with mad breathRending the clouds, when Zeus is wroth with menWho travail with iniquity, and floutHis law. So grappled they, as spear with spearClashed, shield with shield, and man on man was hurled.
And first Achilles’ war-impetuous sonStruck down stout Melaneus and Alcidamas,Sons of the war-lord Alexinomus,Who dwelt in Caunus mountain-cradled, nighThe clear lake shining at Tarbelus’ feet’Neath snow-capt Imbrus. Menes, fleetfoot sonOf King Cassandrus, slew he, born to himBy fair Creusa, where the lovely streamsOf Lindus meet the sea, beside the marchesOf battle-biding Carians, and the heightsOf Lycia the renowned. He slew withalMorys the spearman, who from Phrygia came;Polybus and Hippomedon by his sideHe laid, this stabbed to the heart, that pierced betweenShoulder and neck: man after man he slew.Earth groaned ’neath Trojan corpses; rank on rankCrumbled before him, even as parched brakesSink down before the blast of ravening fireWhen the north wind of latter summer blows;So ruining squadrons fell before his charge.
Meanwhile Aeneas slew Aristolochus,Crashing a great stone down on his head: it brakeHelmet and skull together, and fled his life.Fleetfoot Eumaeus Diomede slew; he dweltIn craggy Dardanus, where the bride-bed isWhereon Anchises clasped the Queen of Love.Agamemnon smote down Stratus: unto ThraceReturned he not from war, but died far offFrom his dear fatherland. And MerionesStruck Chlemus down, Peisenor’s son, the friendOf god-like Glaucus, and his comrade leal,Who by Limurus’ outfall dwelt: the folkHonoured him as their king, when reigned no moreGlaucus, in battle slain,—all who abodeAround Phoenice’s towers, and by the crestOf Massicytus, and Chimaera’s glen.
So man slew man in fight; but more than allEurypylus hurled doom on many a foe.First slew he battle-bider Eurytus,Menoetius of the glancing taslet next,Elephenor’s godlike comrades. Fell with theseHarpalus, wise Odysseus’ warrior-friend;But in the fight afar that hero toiled,And might not aid his fallen henchman: yetFierce Antiphus for that slain man was wroth,And hurled his spear against Eurypylus,Yet touched him not; the strong shaft glanced aside,And pierced Meilanion battle-staunch, the sonOf Cleite lovely-faced, Erylaus’ bride,Who bare him where Caicus meets the sea.Wroth for his comrade slain, EurypylusRushed upon Antiphus, but terror-wingedHe plunged amid his comrades; so the spearOf the avenger slew him not, whose doomWas one day wretchedly to be devouredBy the manslaying Cyclops: so it pleasedStern Fate, I know not why. Elsewhither spedEurypylus; and aye as he rushed onFell ’neath his spear a multitude untold.As tall trees, smitten by the strength of steelIn mountain-forest, fill the dark ravines,Heaped on the earth confusedly, so fellThe Achaeans ’neath Eurypylus’ flying spears—Till heart-uplifted met him face to faceAchilles’ son. The long spears in their handsThey 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 comeHither, on all have I hurled anguished death.By Xanthus’ streams have dogs devoured their fleshAnd 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 fatesOf death had seized him, but my father’s selfHealed 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 raceSkimming its crests: in speed they match the winds.Since then thou know’st the lineage of my steedsAnd mine, now put thou to the test the mightOf 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 earthThat glorious man: he swung the long spear up.But in his brawny hand his foe hath seizedA monstrous stone: full at the golden shieldOf Neoptolemus he sped its flight;But, no whir staggered by its whirlwind rush,He like a giant mountain-foreland stoodWhich all the banded fury of river-floodsCan stir not, rooted in the eternal hills;So stood unshaken still Achilles’ son.Yet not for this Eurypylus’ dauntless mightShrank 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 strifeFor a slain ox or stag, while all the glensRing with their conflict; so they grappled, soClashed they in pitiless strife. On either handLong lines of warriors Greek and Trojan toiledIn combat: round them roared up flames of war.Like mighty rushing winds they hurled togetherWith eager spears for blood of life athirst.Hard by them stood Enyo, spurred them onCeaselessly: never paused they from the strife.Now hewed they each the other’s shield, and nowThrust at the greaves, now at the crested helms.Reckless of wounds, in that grim toil pressed onThose aweless heroes: Strife incarnate watchedAnd gloated o’er them. Ran the sweat in streamsFrom 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. StillThey fought on, giving ground no more than rock.Of granite mountains. Rang from side to sideSpear-smitten shields. At last the Pelian lance,Sped onward by a mighty thrust, hath passedClear through Eurypylus’ throat. Forth poured the bloodTorrent-like; through the portal of the woundThe soul from the body flew: darkness of deathDropped o’er his eyes. To earth in clanging armsHe fell, like stately pine or silver firUprooted by the fury of Boreas;Such space of earth Eurypylus’ giant frameCovered in falling: rang again the floorAnd plain of Troyland. Grey death-pallor sweptOver the corpse, and all the flush of lifeFaded away. With a triumphant laughShouted the mighty hero over him:“Eurypylus, thou saidst thou wouldst destroyThe Danaan ships and men, wouldst slay us allWretchedly—but the Gods would not fulfilThy wish. For all thy might invincible,My father’s massy spear hath now subduedThee under me, that spear no man shall ’scape,Though he be brass all through, who faceth me.”
He spake, and tore the long lance from the corse,While shrank the Trojans back in dread, at sightOf that strong-hearted man. Straightway he strippedThe armour from the dead, for friends to bearFast to the ships Achaean. But himselfTo the swift chariot and the tireless steedsSprang, and sped onward like a thunderboltThat lightning-girdled leaps through the wide airFrom Zeus’s hands unconquerable—the boltBefore whose downrush all the Immortals quailSave only Zeus. It rusheth down to earth,It rendeth trees and rugged mountain-crags;So rushed he on the Trojans, flashing doomBefore their eyes; dashed to the earth they fellBefore the charge of those immortal steeds:The earth was heaped with slain, was dyed with gore.As when in mountain-glens the unnumbered leavesDown-streaming thick and fast hide all the ground,So hosts of Troy untold on earth were strewnBy Neoptolemus and fierce-hearted Greeks,Shed by whose hands the blood in torrents ran’Neath feet of men and horses. Chariot-railsWere dashed with blood-spray whirled up from the tyres.
Now had the Trojans fled within their gatesAs calves that flee a lion, or as swineFlee from a storm—but murderous Ares came,Unmarked of other Gods, down from the heavens,Eager to help the warrior sons of Troy.Red-fire and Flame, Tumult and Panic-fear,His car-steeds, bare him down into the fight,The coursers which to roaring BoreasGrim-eyed Erinnys bare, coursers that breathedLife-blasting flame: groaned all the shivering air,As battleward they sped. Swiftly he cameTo Troy: loud rang the earth beneath the feetOf that wild team. Into the battle’s heartTossing his massy spear, he came; with a shoutHe cheered the Trojans on to face the foe.They heard, and marvelled at that wondrous cry,Not seeing the God’s immortal form, nor steeds,Veiled in dense mist. But the wise prophet-soulOf Helenus knew the voice divine that leaptUnto the Trojans’ ears, they knew not whence,And with glad heart to the fleeing host he cried:“O cravens, wherefore fear Achilles’ son,Though ne’er so brave? He is mortal even as we;His strength is not as Ares’ strength, who is comeA very present help in our sore need.That was his shout far-pealing, bidding usFight on against the Argives. Let your heartsBe strong, O friends: let courage fill your breasts.No mightier battle-helper can draw nighTo Troy than he. Who is of more availFor war than Ares, when he aideth menHard-fighting? Lo, to our help he cometh now!On to the fight! Cast to the winds your fears!”
They fled no more, they faced the Argive men,As hounds, that mid the copses fled at first,Turn them about to face and fight the wolf,Spurred by the chiding of their shepherd-lord;So turned the sons of Troy again to war,Casting away their fear. Man leapt on manValiantly fighting; loud their armour clashedSmitten with swords, with lances, and with darts.Spears plunged into men’s flesh: dread Ares drankHis fill of blood: struck down fell man on man,As Greek and Trojan fought. In level poiseThe battle-balance hung. As when young menIn hot haste prune a vineyard with the steel,And each keeps pace with each in rivalry,Since all in strength and age be equal-matched;So did the awful scales of battle hangLevel: all Trojan hearts beat high, and firmStood they in trust on aweless Ares’ might,While the Greeks trusted in Achilles’ son.Ever they slew and slew: stalked through the midstDeadly Enyo, her shoulders and her handsBlood-splashed, while fearful sweat streamed from her limbs.Revelling in equal fight, she aided none,Lest Thetis’ or the War-god’s wrath be stirred.
Then Neoptolemus slew one far-renowned,Perimedes, who had dwelt by Smintheus’ grove;Next Cestrus died, Phalerus battle-staunch,Perilaus the strong, Menalcas lord of spears,Whom Iphianassa bare by the haunted footOf Cilla to the cunning craftsman Medon.In the home-land afar the sire abode,And never kissed his son’s returning head:For that fair home and all his cunning worksDid far-off kinsmen wrangle o’er his grave.Deiphobus slew Lycon battle-staunch:The lance-head pierced him close above the groin,And round the long spear all his bowels gushed out.Aeneas smote down Dymas, who erewhileIn Aulis dwelt, and followed unto TroyArcesilaus, and saw never moreThe dear home-land. Euryalus hurled a dart,And through Astraeus’ breast the death-winged pointFlew, shearing through the breathways of man’s life;And all that lay within was drenched with blood.And hard thereby great-souled Agenor slewHippomenes, hero Teucer’s comrade staunch,With one swift thrust ‘twixt shoulder and neck: his soulRushed forth in blood; death’s night swept over him.Grief for his comrade slain on Teucer fell;He strained his bow, a swift-winged shaft he sped,But smote him not, for slightly Agenor swerved.Yet nigh him Deiophontes stood; the shaftInto his left eye plunged, passed through the ball,And out through his right ear, because the FatesWhither they willed thrust on the bitter barbs.Even as in agony he leapt full height,Yet once again the archer’s arrow hissed:It pierced his throat, through the neck-sinews cleftUnswerving, and his hard doom came on him.
So man to man dealt death; and joyed the FatesAnd Doom, and fell Strife in her maddened gleeShouted aloud, and Ares terriblyShouted in answer, and with courage thrilledThe Trojans, and with panic fear the Greeks,And shook their reeling squadrons. But one manHe scared not, even Achilles’ son; he abode,And fought undaunted, slaying foes on foes.As when a young lad sweeps his hand aroundFlies swarming over milk, and nigh the bowlHere, there they lie, struck dead by that light touch,And gleefully the child still plies the work;So stern Achilles’ glorious scion joyedOver the slain, and recked not of the GodWho spurred the Trojans on: man after manTasted his vengeance of their charging host.Even as a giant mountain-peak withstandsOn-rushing hurricane-blasts, so he abodeUnquailing. Ares at his eager moodGrew wroth, and would have cast his veil of cloudAway, and met him face to face in fight,But now Athena from Olympus swoopedTo forest-mantled Ida. Quaked the earthAnd Xanthus’ murmuring streams; so mightilyShe shook them: terror-stricken were the soulsOf all the Nymphs, adread for Priam’s town.From her immortal armour flashed aroundThe hovering lightnings; fearful serpents breathedFire from her shield invincible; the crestOf her great helmet swept the clouds. And nowShe was at point to close in sudden fightWith Ares; but the mighty will of ZeusDaunted them both, from high heaven thunderingHis terrors. Ares drew back from the war,For manifest to him was Zeus’s wrath.To wintry Thrace he passed; his haughty heartReeked no more of the Trojans. In the plainOf Troy no more stayed Pallas; she was goneTo hallowed Athens. But the armies stillStrove in the deadly fray; and fainted nowThe Trojans’ prowess; but all battle-fainThe Argives pressed on these as they gave ground.As winds chase ships that fly with straining sailsOn to the outsea—as on forest-brakesLeapeth the fury of flame—as swift hounds driveDeer through the mountains, eager for the prey,So did the Argives chase them: Achilles’ sonStill cheered them on, still slew with that great spearWhomso he overtook. On, on they fledTill into stately-gated Troy they poured.
Then had the Argives a short breathing-spaceFrom war, when they had penned the hosts of TroyIn Priam’s burg, as shepherds pen up lambsUpon a lonely steading. And, as whenAfter hard strain, a breathing-space is givenTo oxen that, quick-panting ’neath the yoke,Up a steep hill have dragged a load, so breathedAwhile the Achaeans after toil in arms.Then once more hot for the fray did they besetThe city-towers. But now with gates fast barredThe Trojans from the walls withstood the assault.As when within their steading shepherd-folkAbide the lowering tempest, when a dayOf storm hath dawned, with fury of lightnings, rainAnd heavy-drifting snow, and dare not hasteForth to the pasture, howsoever fain,Till the great storm abate, and rivers, wideWith rushing floods, again be passable;So trembling on their walls they abode the rageOf foes against their ramparts surging fast.And as when daws or starlings drop in cloudsDown on an orchard-close, full fain to feastUpon its pleasant fruits, and take no heedOf men that shout to scare them thence away,Until the reckless hunger be appeasedThat makes them bold; so poured round Priam’s burgThe furious Danaans. Against the gatesThey hurled themselves, they strove to batter downThe mighty-souled Earth-shaker’s work divine.
Yet did tim Troyfolk not, despite their fear,Flinch from the fight: they manned their towers, they toiledUnresting: ever from the fair-built wallsLeapt arrows, stones, and fleet-winged javelins downAmidst the thronging foes; for Phoebus thrilledTheir souls with steadfast hardihood. Fain was heTo save them still, though Hector was no more.
Then Meriones shot forth a deadly shaft,And smote Phylodamas, Polites’ friend,Beneath the jaw; the arrow pierced his throat.Down fell he like a vulture, from a rockBy fowler’s barbed arrow shot and slain;So from the high tower swiftly down he fell:His life fled; clanged his armour o’er the corpse.With laughter of triumph stalwart Molus’ sonA second arrow sped, with strong desireTo smite Polites, ill-starred Priam’s son:But with a swift side-swerve did he escapeThe death, nor did the arrow touch his flesh.As when a shipman, as his bark flies onO’er sea-gulfs, spies amid the rushing tideA rock, and to escape it swiftly putsThe helm about, and turns aside the shipEven as he listeth, that a little strengthAverts a great disaster; so did heForesee and shun the deadly shaft of doom.
Ever they fought on; walls, towers, battlementsWere blood-besprent, wherever Trojans fellSlain by the arrows of the stalwart Greeks.Yet these escaped not scatheless; many of themDyed the earth red: aye waxed the havoc of deathAs friends and foes were stricken. O’er the strifeShouted for glee Enyo, sister of War.
Now had the Argives burst the gates, had breachedThe walls of Troy, for boundless was their might;But Ganymedes saw from heaven, and cried,Anguished with fear for his own fatherland:“O Father Zeus, if of thy seed I am,If at thine best I left far-famous TroyFor immortality with deathless Gods,O hear me now, whose soul is anguish-thrilled!I cannot bear to see my fathers’ townIn flames, my kindred in disastrous strifePerishing: bitterer sorrow is there none!Oh, if thine heart is fixed to do this thing,Let me be far hence! Less shall be my griefIf I behold it not with these mine eyes.That is the depth of horror and of shameTo see one’s country wrecked by hands of foes.”
With groans and tears so pleaded Ganymede.Then Zeus himself with one vast pall of cloudVeiled all the city of Priam world-renowned;And all the murderous fight was drowned in mist,And like a vanished phantom was the wallIn vapours heavy-hung no eye could pierce;And all around crashed thunders, lightnings flamedFrom heaven. The Danaans heard Zeus’ clarion pealAwe-struck; and Neleus’ son cried unto them:“Far-famous lords of Argives, all our strengthPalsied shall be, while Zeus protecteth thusOur foes. A great tide of calamityOn us is rolling; haste we then to the ships;Cease we awhile from bitter toil of strife,Lest the fire of his wrath consume us all.Submit we to his portents; needs must allObey him ever, who is mightier farThan all strong Gods, all weakling sons of men.On the presumptuous Titans once in wrathHe poured down fire from heaven: then burned all earthBeneath, and Ocean’s world-engirdling floodBoiled from its depths, yea, to its utmost bounds:Far-flowing mighty rivers were dried up:Perished all broods of life-sustaining earth,All fosterlings of the boundless sea, and allDwellers in rivers: smoke and ashes veiledThe air: earth fainted in the fervent heat.Therefore this day I dread the might of Zeus.Now, pass we to the ships, since for to-dayHe helpeth Troy. To us too shall he grantGlory hereafter; for the dawn on men,Though whiles it frown, anon shall smile. Not yet,But soon, shall Fate lead us to smite yon town,If true indeed was Calchas’ prophecySpoken aforetime to the assembled Greeks,That in the tenth year Priam’s burg should fall.”
Then left they that far-famous town, and turnedFrom war, in awe of Zeus’s threatenings,Hearkening to one with ancient wisdom wise.Yet they forgat not friends in battle slain,But bare them from the field and buried them.These the mist hid not, but the town aloneAnd its unscaleable wall, around which fellTrojans and Argives many in battle slain.So came they to the ships, and put from themTheir battle-gear, and strode into the wavesOf Hellespont fair-flowing, and washed awayAll stain of dust and sweat and clotted gore.
The sun drave down his never-wearying steedsInto the dark west: night streamed o’er the earth,Bidding men cease from toil. The Argives thenAcclaimed Achilles’ valiant son with praiseHigh as his father’s. Mid triumphant mirthHe feasted in kings’ tents: no battle-toilHad wearied him; for Thetis from his limbsHad charmed all ache of travail, making himAs one whom labour had no power to tire.When his strong heart was satisfied with meat,He passed to his father’s tent, and over himSleep’s dews were poured. The Greeks slept in the plainBefore the ships, by ever-changing guardsWatched; for they dreaded lest the host of Troy,Or of her staunch allies, should kindle flameUpon the ships, and from them all cut offTheir home-return. In Priam’s burg the whileBy gate and wall men watched and slept in turn,Adread to hear the Argives’ onset-shout.