Book XI
How the sons of Troy for the last time fought from her walls and her towers.
Troy’s daughters mourned within her walls; might noneGo forth to Paris’ tomb, for far awayFrom high-built Troy it lay. But the young menWithout the city toiled unceasinglyIn fight wherein from slaughter rest was none,Though dead was Paris; for the Achaeans pressedHard on the Trojans even unto Troy.Yet these charged forth—they could not choose but so,For Strife and deadly Enyo in their midstStalked, like the fell Erinyes to behold,Breathing destruction from their lips like flame.Beside them raged the ruthless-hearted FatesFiercely: here Panic-fear and Ares thereStirred up the hosts: hard after followedDread With slaughter’s gore besprent, that in one hostMight men see, and be strong, in the other fear;And all around were javelins, spears, and dartsMurder-athirst from this side, that side, showered.Aye, as they hurled together, armour clashed,As foe with foe grappled in murderous fight.
There Neoptolemus slew Laodamas,Whom Lycia nurtured by fair Xanthus’ stream,The stream revealed to men by Leto, brideOf Thunderer Zeus, when Lycia’s stony plainWas by her hands uptorn mid agoniesOf travail-throes wherein she brought to lightMid bitter pangs those babes of birth divine.Nirus upon him laid he dead; the spearCrashed through his jaw, and clear through mouth and tonguePassed: on the lance’s irresistible pointShrieking was he impaled: flooded with goreHis mouth was as he cried. The cruel shaft,Sped on by that strong hand, dashed him to earthIn throes of death. Evenor next he smoteAbove the flank, and onward drave the spearInto his liver: swiftly anguished deathCame upon him. Iphition next he slew:He quelled Hippomedon, Hippasus’ bold son,Whom Ocyone the Nymph had borne besideSangarius’ river-flow. Ne’er welcomed sheHer son’s returning face, but ruthless FateWith anguish thrilled her of her child bereaved.
Bremon Aeneas slew, and Andromachus,Of Cnossus this, of hallowed Lyctus that:On one spot both from their swift chariots fell;This gasped for breath, his throat by the long spearTransfixed; that other, by a massy stone,Sped from a strong hand, on the temple struck,Breathed out his life, and black doom shrouded him.The startled steeds, bereft of charioteers,Fleeing, mid all those corpses were confused,And princely Aeneas’ henchmen seized on themWith hearts exulting in the goodly spoil.
There Philoctetes with his deadly shaftSmote Peirasus in act to flee the war:The tendons twain behind the knee it snapped,And palsied all his speed. A Danaan marked,And leapt on that maimed man with sweep of swordShearing his neck through. On the breast of earthThe headless body fell: the head far flungWent rolling with lips parted as to shriek;And swiftly fleeted thence the homeless soul.
Polydamas struck down EurymachusAnd Cleon with his spear. From Syme cameWith Nireus’ following these: cunning were bothIn craft of fisher-folk to east the hookBaited with guile, to drop into the seaThe net, from the boat’s prow with deftest handsSwiftly and straight to plunge the three-forked spear.But not from bane their sea-craft saved them now.
Eurypylus battle-staunch laid Hellus low,Whom Cleito bare beside Gygaea’s mere,Cleito the fair-cheeked. Face-down in the dustOutstretched he lay: shorn by the cruel swordFrom his strong shoulder fell the arm that heldHis long spear. Still its muscles twitched, as thoughFain to uplift the lance for fight in vain;For the man’s will no longer stirred therein,But aimlessly it quivered, even as leapsThe severed tail of a snake malignant-eyed,Which cannot chase the man who dealt the wound;So the right hand of that strong-hearted manWith impotent grip still clutched the spear for fight.
Aenus and Polydorus Odysseus slew,Ceteians both; this perished by his spear,That by his sword death-dealing. SthenelusSmote godlike Abas with a javelin-cast:On through his throat and shuddering nape it rushed:Stopped were his heart-beats, all his limbs collapsed.
Tydeides slew Laodocus; Melius fellBy Agamemnon’s hand; DeiphobusSmote Alcimus and Dryas: Hippasus,How war-renowned soe’er, Agenor slewFar from Peneius’ river. Crushed by fate,Love’s nursing-debt to parents ne’er he paid.
Lamus and stalwart Lyncus Thoas smote,And Meriones slew Lycon; MenelausLaid low Archelochus. Upon his homeLooked down Corycia’s ridge, and that great rockOf the wise Fire-god, marvellous in men’s eyes;For thereon, nightlong, daylong, unto himFire blazes, tireless and unquenchable.Laden with fruit around it palm-trees grow,While mid the stones fire plays about their roots.Gods’ work is this, a wonder to all time.
By Teucer princely Hippomedon’s son was slain,Menoetes: as the archer drew on him,Rushed he to smite him; but already handAnd eye, and bow-craft keen were aiming straightOn the arching horn the shaft. Swiftly releasedIt leapt on the hapless man, while sang the string.Stricken full front he heaved one choking gasp,Because the fates on the arrow riding flewRight to his heart, the throne of thought and strengthFor men, whence short the path is unto death.
Far from his brawny hand Euryalus hurledA massy stone, and shook the ranks of Troy.As when in anger against long-screaming cranesA watcher of the field leaps from the ground,In swift hand whirling round his head the sling,And speeds the stone against them, scatteringBefore its hum their ranks far down the windOutspread, and they in huddled panic dartWith wild cries this way and that, who theretoforeSwept on in ordered lines; so shrank the foeTo right and left from that dread bolt of doomHurled of Euryalus. Not in vain it flewFate-winged; it shattered Meles’ helm and headDown to the eyes: so met him ghastly death.
Still man slew man, while earth groaned all around,As when a mighty wind scourges the land,And this way, that way, under its shrieking blastsThrough the wide woodland bow from the roots and fallGreat trees, while all the earth is thundering round;So fell they in the dust, so clanged their arms,So crashed the earth around. Still hot were theyFor fell fight, still dealt bane unto their foes.
Nigh to Aeneas then Apollo came,And to Eurymachus, brave Antenor’s son;For these against the mighty Achaeans foughtShoulder to shoulder, as two strong oxen, matchedIn age, yoked to a wain; nor ever ceasedFrom battling. Suddenly spake the God to theseIn Polymestor’s shape, the seer his motherBy Xanthus bare to the Far-darter’s priest:“Eurymachus, Aeneas, seed of Gods,‘Twere shame if ye should flinch from Argives! Nay,Not Ares’ self should joy to encounter you,An ye would face him in the fray; for FateHath spun long destiny-threads for thee and thee.”
He spake, and vanished, mingling with the winds.But their hearts felt the God’s power: suddenlyFlooded with boundless courage were their frames,Maddened their spirits: on the foe they leaptLike furious wasps that in a storm of rageSwoop upon bees, beholding them draw nighIn latter-summer to the mellowing grapes,Or from their hives forth-streaming thitherward;So fiercely leapt these sons of Troy to meetWar-hardened Greeks. The black Fates joyed to seeTheir conflict, Ares laughed, Enyo yelledHorribly. Loud their glancing armour clanged:They stabbed, they hewed down hosts of foes untoldWith irresistible hands. The reeling ranksFell, as the swath falls in the harvest heat,When the swift-handed reapers, ranged adownThe field’s long furrows, ply the sickle fast;So fell before their hands ranks numberless:With corpses earth was heaped, with torrent bloodWas streaming: Strife incarnate o’er the slainGloated. They paused not from the awful toil,But aye pressed on, like lions chasing sheep.Then turned the Greeks to craven flight; all feetUnmaimed as yet fled from the murderous war.Aye followed on Anchises’ warrior son,Smiting foes’ backs with his avenging spear:On pressed Eurymachus, while glowed the heartOf Healer Apollo watching from on high.
As when a man descries a herd of swineDraw nigh his ripening corn, before the sheavesFall neath the reapers’ hands, and harketh onAgainst them his strong dogs; as down they rush,The spoilers see and quake; no more think theyOf feasting, but they turn in panic flightHuddling: fast follow at their heels the houndsBiting remorselessly, while long and loudSquealing they flee, and joys the harvest’s lord;So rejoiced Phoebus, seeing from the warFleeing the mighty Argive host. No moreCared they for deeds of men, but cried to the GodsFor swift feet, in whose feet alone was hopeTo escape Eurymachus’ and Aeneas’ spearsWhich lightened ever all along their rear.
But one Greek, over-trusting in his strength,Or by Fate’s malice to destruction drawn,Curbed in mid flight from war’s turmoil his steed,And strove to wheel him round into the fightTo face the foe. But fierce Agenor thrustEre he was ware; his two-edged partizanShore though his shoulder; yea, the very boneOf that gashed arm was cloven by the steel;The tendons parted, the veins spirted blood:Down by his horse’s neck he slid, and straightFell mid the dead. But still the strong arm hungWith rigid fingers locked about the reinsLike a live man’s. Weird marvel was that sight,The bloody hand down hanging from the rein,Scaring the foes yet more, by Ares’ will.Thou hadst said, “It craveth still for horsemanship!”So bare the steed that sign of his slain lord.
Aeneas hurled his spear; it found the waistOf Anthalus’ son, it pierced the navel through,Dragging the inwards with it. Stretched in dust,Clutching with agonized hands at steel and bowels,Horribly shrieked he, tore with his teeth the earthGroaning, till life and pain forsook the man.Scared were the Argives, like a startled teamOf oxen ’neath the yoke-band straining hard,What time the sharp-fanged gadfly stings their flanksAthirst for blood, and they in frenzy of painStart from the furrow, and sore disquietedThe hind is for marred work, and for their sake,Lest haply the recoiling ploughshare lightOn their leg-sinews, and hamstring his team;So were the Danaans scared, so feared for themAchilles’ son, and shouted thunder-voiced:“Cravens, why flee, like starlings nothing-worthScared by a hawk that swoopeth down on them?Come, play the men! Better it is by farTo die in war than choose unmanly flight!”
Then to his cry they hearkened, and straightwayWere of good heart. Mighty of mood he leaptUpon the Trojans, swinging in his handThe lightening spear: swept after him his hostOf Myrmidons with hearts swelled with the strengthResistless of a tempest; so the GreeksWon breathing-space. With fury like his sire’sOne after other slew he of the foe.Recoiling back they fell, as waves on-rolledBy Boreas foaming from the deep to the strand,Are caught by another blast that whirlwind-likeLeaps, in a short lull of the north-wind, forth,Smites them full-face, and hurls them back from the shore;So them that erewhile on the Danaans pressedGodlike Achilles’ son now backward hurledA short space only brave Aeneas’ spiritLet him not flee, but made him bide the fightFearlessly; and Enyo level heldThe battle’s scales. Yet not against AeneasAchilles’ son upraised his father’s spear,But elsewhither turned his fury: in reverenceFor Aphrodite, Thetis splendour-veiledTurned from that man her mighty son’s son’s rageAnd giant strength on other hosts of foes.There slew he many a Trojan, while the ranksOf Greeks were ravaged by Aeneas’ hand.Over the battle-slain the vultures joyed,Hungry to rend the hearts and flesh of men.But all the Nymphs were wailing, daughters bornOf Xanthus and fair-flowing Simois.
So toiled they in the fight: the wind’s breath rolledHuge dust-clouds up; the illimitable airWas one thick haze, as with a sudden mist:Earth disappeared, faces were blotted out;Yet still they fought on; each man, whomso he met,Ruthlessly slew him, though his very friendIt might be—in that turmoil none could tellWho met him, friend or foe: blind wildermentEnmeshed the hosts. And now had all been blentConfusedly, had perished miserably,All falling by their fellows’ murderous swords,Had not Cronion from Olympus helpedTheir sore strait, and he swept aside the dustOf conflict, and he calmed those deadly winds.Yet still the hosts fought on; but lighter farTheir battle-travail was, who now discernedWhom in the fray to smite, and whom to spare.The Danaans now forced back the Trojan host,The Trojans now the Danaan ranks, as swayedThe dread fight to and fro. From either sideDarts leapt and fell like snowflakes. Far awayShepherds from Ida trembling watched the strife,And to the Heaven-abiders lifted handsOf supplication, praying that all their foesMight perish, and that from the woeful warTroy might win breathing-space, and see at lastThe day of freedom: the Gods hearkened not.Far other issues Fate devised, nor reckedOf Zeus the Almighty, nor of none besideOf the Immortals. Her unpitying soulCares naught what doom she spinneth with her threadInevitable, be it for men new-bornOr cities: all things wax and wane through her.So by her hest the battle-travail swelled‘Twixt Trojan chariot-lords and Greeks that closedIn grapple of fight—they dealt each other deathRuthlessly: no man quailed, but stout of heartFought on; for courage thrusts men into war.
But now when many had perished in the dust,Then did the Argive might prevail at lastBy stern decree of Pallas; for she cameInto the heart of battle, hot to helpThe Greeks to lay waste Priam’s glorious town.Then Aphrodite, who lamented soreFor Paris slain, snatched suddenly awayRenowned Aeneas from the deadly strife,And poured thick mist about him. Fate forbadeThat hero any longer to contendWith Argive foes without the high-built wall.Yea, and his mother sorely feared the wrathOf Pallas passing-wise, whose heart was keenTo help the Danaans now—yea, feared lest sheMight slay him even beyond his doom, who sparedNot Ares’ self, a mightier far than he.
No more the Trojans now abode the edgeOf fight, but all disheartened backward drew.For like fierce ravening beasts the Argive menLeapt on them, mad with murderous rage of war.Choked with their slain the river-channels were,Heaped was the field; in red dust thousands fell,Horses and men; and chariots overturnedWere strewn there: blood was streaming all aroundLike rain, for deadly Doom raged through the fray.
Men stabbed with swords, and men impaled on spearsLay all confusedly, like scattered beams,When on the strand of the low-thundering seaMen from great girders of a tall ship’s hullStrike out the bolts and clamps, and scatter wideLong planks and timbers, till the whole broad beachIs paved with beams o’erplashed by darkling surge;So lay in dust and blood those slaughtered men,Rapture and pain of fight forgotten now.
A remnant from the pitiless strife escapedEntered their stronghold, scarce eluding doom.Children and wives from their limbs blood-besprentReceived their arms bedabbled with foul gore;And baths for all were heated. Leeches ranThrough all the town in hot haste to the homesOf wounded men to minister to their hurts.Here wives and daughters moaned round men come backFrom war, there cried on many who came notHere, men stung to the soul by bitter pangsGroaned upon beds of pain; there, toil-spent menTurned them to supper. Whinnied the swift steedsAnd neighed o’er mangers heaped. By tent and shipFar off the Greeks did even as they of Troy.
When o’er the streams of Ocean Dawn drove upHer splendour-flashing steeds, and earth’s tribes waked,Then the strong Argives’ battle-eager sonsMarched against Priam’s city lofty-towered,Save some that mid the tents by wounded menTarried, lest haply raiders on the shipsMight fall, to help the Trojans, while these foughtThe foe from towers, while rose the flame of war.
Before the Scaean gate fought Capaneus’ sonAnd godlike Diomedes. High aboveDeiphobus battle-staunch and strong PolitesWith many comrades, stoutly held them backWith arrows and huge stones. Clanged evermoreThe smitten helms and shields that fenced strong menFrom bitter doom and unrelenting fate,
Before the Gate Idaean Achilles’ sonSet in array the fight: around him toiledHis host of battle-cunning Myrmidons.Helenus and Agenor gallant-souled,Down-hailing darts, against them held the wall,Aye cheering on their men. No spurring theseNeeded to fight hard for their country’s walls.
Odysseus and Eurypylus made assaultUnresting on the gates that fated the plainAnd looked to the swift ships. From wall and towerWith huge stones brave Aeneas made defence.
In battle-stress by Simons Teucer toiled.Each endured hardness at his several post.
Then round war-wise Odysseus men renowned,By that great captain’s battle cunning ruled,Locked shields together, raised them o’er their headsRanged side by side, that many were made one.Thou hadst said it was a great hall’s solid roof,Which no tempestuous wind-blast misty wetCan pierce, nor rain from heaven in torrents poured.So fenced about with shields firm stood the ranksOf Argives, one in heart for fight, and oneIn that array close-welded. From aboveThe Trojans hailed great stones; as from a rockRolled these to earth. Full many a spear and dartAnd galling javelin in the pierced shields stood;Some in the earth stood; many glanced awayWith bent points falling baffled from the shieldsBattered on all sides. But that clangorous dinNone feared; none flinched; as pattering drops of rainThey heard it. Up to the rampart’s foot they marched:None hung back; shoulder to shoulder on they cameLike a long lurid cloud that o’er the skyCronion trails in wild midwinter-tide.On that battalion moved, with thunderous treadOf tramping feet: a little above the earthRose up the dust; the breeze swept it asideDrifting away behind the men. There wentA sound confused of voices with them, likeThe hum of bees that murmur round the hives,And multitudinous panting, and the gaspOf men hard-breathing. Exceeding glad the sonsOf Atreus, glorying in them, saw that wallUnwavering of doom-denouncing war.In one dense mass against the city-gateThey hurled themselves, with twibills strove to breachThe long walls, from their hinges to upheaveThe gates, and dash to earth. The pulse of hopeBeat strong in those proud hearts. But naught availedTarges nor levers, when Aeneas’ mightSwung in his hands a stone like a thunderbolt,Hurled it with uttermost strength, and dashed to deathAll whom it caught beneath the shields, as whenA mountain’s precipice-edge breaks off and fallsOn pasturing goats, and all that graze therebyTremble; so were those Danaans dazed with dread.Stone after stone he hurled on the reeling ranks,As when amid the hills Olympian ZeusWith thunderbolts and blazing lightnings rendsFrom their foundations crags that rim a peak,And this way, that way, sends them hurtling down;Then the flocks tremble, scattering in wild flight;So quailed the Achaeans, when Aeneas dashedTo sudden fragments all that battle-wallMoulded of adamant shields, because a GodGave more than human strength. No man of themCould lift his eyes unto him in that fight,Because the arms that lapped his sinewy limbsFlashed like the heaven-born lightnings. At his sideStood, all his form divine in darkness cloaked,Ares the terrible, and winged the flightOf what bare down to the Argives doom or dread.He fought as when Olympian Zeus himselfFrom heaven in wrath smote down the insolent bandsOf giants grim, and shook the boundless earth,And sea, and ocean, and the heavens, when reeledThe knees of Atlas neath the rush of Zeus.So crumbled down beneath Aeneas’ boltsThe Argive squadrons. All along the wallWroth with the foeman rushed he: from his handsWhatso he lighted on in onslaught-hasteHurled he; for many a battle-staying boltLay on the walls of those staunch Dardan men.With such Aeneas stormed in giant might,With such drave back the thronging foes. All roundThe Trojans played the men. Sore travail and painHad all folk round the city: many fell,Argives and Trojans. Rang the battle-cries:Aeneas cheered the war-fain Trojans onTo fight for home, for wives, and their own soulsWith a good heart: war-staunch Achilles’ sonShouted: “Flinch not, ye Argives, from the walls,Till Troy be taken, and sink down in flames!”And round these twain an awful measureless roarRang, daylong as they fought: no breathing-spaceCame from the war to them whose spirits burned,These, to smite Ilium, those, to guard her safe.
But from Aeneas valiant-souled afarFought Aias, speeding midst the men of TroyWinged death; for now his arrow straight through airFlew, now his deadly dart, and smote them downOne after one: yet others cowered awayBefore his peerless prowess, and abodeThe fight no more, but fenceless left the wall
Then one, of all the Locrians mightiest,Fierce-souled Alcimedon, trusting in his princeAnd his own might and valour of his youth,All battle-eager on a ladder setSwift feet, to pave for friends a death-strewn pathInto the town. Above his head he raised
The screening shield; up that dread path he wentHardening his heart from trembling, in his handNow shook the threatening spear, now upward climbedFast high in air he trod the perilous way.Now on the Trojans had disaster come,But, even as above the parapetHis head rose, and for the first time and the lastFrom her high rampart he looked down on Troy,Aeneas, who had marked, albeit afar,That bold assault, rushed on him, dashed on his headSo huge a stone that the hero’s mighty strengthShattered the ladder. Down from on high he rushedAs arrow from the string: death followed himAs whirling round he fell; with air was blentHis lost life, ere he crashed to the stony ground.Strong spear, broad shield, in mid fall flew from his hands,And from his head the helm: his corslet cameAlone with him to earth. The Locrian menGroaned, seeing their champion quelled by evil doom;For all his hair and all the stones aroundWere brain-bespattered: all his bones were crushed,And his once active limbs besprent with gore.
Then godlike Poeas’ war-triumphant sonMarked where Aeneas stormed along the wallIn lion-like strength, and straightway shot a shaftAimed at that glorious hero, neither missedThe man: yet not through his unyielding targeTo the fair flesh it won, being turned asideBy Cytherea and the shield, but grazedThe buckler lightly: yet not all in vainFell earthward, but between the targe and helmSmote Medon: from the tower he fell, as fallsA wild goat from a crag, the hunter’s shaftDeep in its heart: so nerveless-flung he fell,And fled away from him the precious life.Wroth for his friend, a stone Aeneas hurled,And Philoctetes’ stalwart comrade slew,Toxaechmes; for he shattered his head and crushedHelmet and skull-bones; and his noble heartWas stilled. Loud shouted princely Poeas’ son:“Aeneas, thou, forsooth, dost deem thyselfA mighty champion, fighting from a towerWhence craven women war with foes! Now ifThou be a man, come forth without the wallIn battle-harness, and so learn to knowIn spear-craft and in bow-craft Poeas’ son!”
So cried he; but Anchises’ valiant seed,How fain soe’er, naught answered, for the stressOf desperate conflict round that wall and burgCeaselessly raging: pause from fight was none:Yea, for long time no respite had there beenFor the war-weary from that endless toil.