Book XIV
How the conquerors sailed from Troy unto judgment of tempest and shipwreck.
Then rose from Ocean Dawn the golden-thronedUp to the heavens; night into Chaos sank.And now the Argives spoiled fair-fenced Troy,And took her boundless treasures for a prey.Like river-torrents seemed they, that sweep down,By rain, floods swelled, in thunder from the hills,And seaward hurl tall trees and whatsoe’erGrows on the mountains, mingled with the wreckOf shattered cliff and crag; so the long linesOf Danaans who had wasted Troy with fireSeemed, streaming with her plunder to the ships.Troy’s daughters therewithal in scattered bandsThey haled down seaward—virgins yet unwed,And new-made brides, and matrons silver-haired,And mothers from whose bosoms foes had tornBabes for the last time closing lips on breasts.
Amidst of these Menelaus led his wifeForth of the burning city, having wroughtA mighty triumph—joy and shame were his.Cassandra heavenly-fair was haled the prizeOf Agamemnon: to Achilles’ sonAndromache had fallen: HecubaOdysseus dragged unto his ship. The tearsPoured from her eyes as water from a spring;Trembled her limbs, fear-frenzied was her heart;Rent were her hoary tresses and besprentWith ashes of the hearth, cast by her handsWhen she saw Priam slain and Troy aflame.And aye she deeply groaned for thraldom’s dayThat trapped her vainly loth. Each hero ledA wailing Trojan woman to his ship.Here, there, uprose from these the wild lament,The woeful-mingling cries of mother and babe.As when with white-tusked swine the herdmen driveTheir younglings from the hill-pens to the plainAs winter closeth in, and evermoreEach answereth each with mingled plaintive cries;So moaned Troy’s daughters by their foes enslaved,Handmaid and queen made one in thraldom’s lot.
But Helen raised no lamentation: shameSat on her dark-blue eyes, and cast its flushOver her lovely cheeks. Her heart beat hardWith sore misgiving, lest, as to the shipsShe passed, the Achaeans might mishandle her.Therefore with fluttering soul she trembled sore;And, her head darkly mantled in her veil,Close-following trod she in her husband’s steps,With cheek shame-crimsoned, like the Queen of Love,What time the Heaven-abiders saw her claspedIn Ares’ arms, shaming in sight of allThe marriage-bed, trapped in the myriad-meshedToils of Hephaestus: tangled there she layIn agony of shame, while thronged aroundThe Blessed, and there stood Hephaestus’ self:For fearful it is for wives to be beheldBy husbands’ eyes doing the deed of shame.Lovely as she in form and roseate blushPassed Helen mid the Trojan captives onTo the Argive ships. But the folk all aroundMarvelled to see the glory of lovelinessOf that all-flawless woman. No man daredOr secretly or openly to castReproach on her. As on a Goddess allGazed on her with adoring wistful eyes.As when to wanderers on a stormy sea,After long time and passion of prayer, the sightOf fatherland is given; from deadly deepsEscaped, they stretch hands to her joyful-souled;So joyed the Danaans all, no man of themRemembered any more war’s travail and pain.Such thoughts Cytherea stirred in them, for graceTo Helen starry-eyed, and Zeus her sire.
Then, when he saw that burg beloved destroyed,Xanthus, scarce drawing breath from bloody war,Mourned with his Nymphs for ruin fallen on Troy,Mourned for the city of Priam blotted out.As when hail lashes a field of ripened wheat,And beats it small, and smites off all the earsWith merciless scourge, and levelled with the groundAre stalks, and on the earth is all the grainWoefully wasted, and the harvest’s lordIs stricken with deadly grief; so Xanthus’ soulWas utterly whelmed in grief for Ilium madeA desolation; grief undying was his,Immortal though he was. Mourned SimoisAnd long-ridged Ida: all who on Ida dweltWailed from afar the ruin of Priam’s town.
But with loud laughter of glee the Argives soughtTheir galleys, chanting the triumphant mightOf victory, chanting now the Blessed Gods,Now their own valour, and Epeius’ workEver renowned. Their song soared up to heaven,Like multitudinous cries of daws, when breaksA day of sunny calm and windless airAfter a ruining storm: from their glad heartsSo rose the joyful clamour, till the GodsHeard and rejoiced in heaven, all who had helpedWith willing hands the war-fain Argive men.But chafed those others which had aided Troy,Beholding Priam’s city wrapped in flame,Yet powerless for her help to overrideFate; for not Cronos’ Son can stay the handOf Destiny, whose might transcendeth allThe Immortals, and Zeus sanctioneth all her deeds.
The Argives on the flaming altar-woodLaid many thighs of oxen, and made hasteTo spill sweet wine on their burnt offerings,Thanking the Gods for that great work achieved.And loudly at the feast they sang the praiseOf all the mailed men whom the Horse of TreeHad ambushed. Far-famed Sinon they extolledFor that dire torment he endured of foes;Yea, song and honour-guerdons without endAll rendered him: and that resolved soulGlad-hearted joyed for the Argives victory,And for his own misfeaturing sorrowed not.For to the wise and prudent man renownIs better far than gold, than goodlihead,Than all good things men have or hope to win.
So, feasting by the ships all void of fear,Cried one to another ever and anon:“We have touched the goal of this long war, have wonGlory, have smitten our foes and their great town!Now grant, O Zeus, to our prayers safe home-return!”But not to all the Sire vouchsafed return.
Then rose a cunning harper in their midst.And sang the song of triumph and of peaceRe-won, and with glad hearts untouched by careThey heard; for no more fear of war had they,But of sweet toil of law-abiding daysAnd blissful, fleeting hours henceforth they dreamed.All the War’s Story in their eager earsHe sang—how leagued peoples gathering metAt hallowed Aulis—how the invincible strengthOf Peleus’ son smote fenced cities twelveIn sea-raids, how he marched o’er leagues on leaguesOf land, and spoiled eleven—all he wroughtIn fight with Telephus and Eetion—How he slew giant Cycnus—all the toilOf war that through Achilles’ wrath befellThe Achaeans—how he dragged dead Hector roundHis own Troy’s wall, and how he slew in fightPenthesileia and Tithonus’ son:—How Aias laid low Glaucus, lord of spears,Then sang he how the child of Aeacus’ sonStruck down Eurypylus, and how the shaftsOf Philoctetes dealt to Paris death.Then the song named all heroes who passed inTo ambush in the Horse of Guile, and hymnedThe fall of god-descended Priam’s burg;The feast he sang last, and peace after war;Then many another, as they listed, sang.
But when above those feasters midnight’s starsHung, ceased the Danaans from the feast and wine,And turned to sleep’s forgetfulness of care,For that with yesterday’s war-travail allWere wearied; wherefore they, who fain all nightHad revelled, needs must cease: how loth soe’er,Sleep drew them thence; here, there, soft slumbered they.
But in his tent Menelaus lovinglyWith bright-haired Helen spake; for on their eyesSleep had not fallen yet. The Cyprian QueenBrooded above their souls, that olden loveMight be renewed, and heart-ache chased away.
Helen first brake the silence, and she said:“O Menelaus, be not wroth with me!Not of my will I left thy roof, thy bed,But Alexander and the sons of TroyCame upon me, and snatched away, when thouWast far thence. Oftentimes did I essayBy the death-noose to perish wretchedly,Or by the bitter sword; but still they stayedMine hand, and still spake comfortable wordsTo salve my grief for thee and my sweet child.For her sake, for the sake of olden love,And for thine own sake, I beseech thee now,Forget thy stern displeasure against thy wife.”
Answered her Menelaus wise of wit:“No more remember past griefs: seal them upHid in thine heart. Let all be locked withinThe dim dark mansion of forgetfulness.What profits it to call ill deeds to mind?”
Glad was she then: fear flitted from her heart,And came sweet hope that her lord’s wrath was dead.She cast her arms around him, and their eyesWith tears were brimming as they made sweet moan;And side by side they laid them, and their heartsThrilled with remembrance of old spousal joy.And as a vine and ivy entwine their stemsEach around other, that no might of windAvails to sever them, so clung these twainTwined in the passionate embrace of love.
When came on these too sorrow-drowning sleep,Even then above his son’s head rose and stoodGodlike Achilles’ mighty shade, in formAs when he lived, the Trojans’ bane, the joyOf Greeks, and kissed his neck and flashing eyesLovingly, and spake comfortable words:“All hail, my son! Vex not thine heart with griefFor thy dead sire; for with the Blessed GodsNow at the feast I sit. Refrain thy soulFrom sorrow, and plant my strength within thy mind.Be foremost of the Argives ever; yieldTo none in valour, but in council bowBefore thine elders: so shall all acclaimThy courtesy. Honour princely men and wise;For the true man is still the true man’s friend,Even as the vile man cleaveth to the knave.If good thy thought be, good shall be thy deeds:But no man shall attain to Honour’s height,Except his heart be right within: her stemIs hard to climb, and high in heaven spreadHer branches: only they whom strength and toilAttend, strain up to pluck her blissful fruit,Climbing the Tree of Honour glow-crowned.Thou therefore follow fame, and let thy soulBe not in sorrow afflicted overmuch,Nor in prosperity over-glad. To friends,To comrades, child and wife, be kindly of heart,Remembering still that near to all men standThe gates of doom, the mansions of the dead:For humankind are like the flower of grass,The blossom of spring; these fade the while those bloom:Therefore be ever kindly with thy kind.Now to the Argives say—to Atreus’ sonAgamemnon chiefly—if my battle-toilRound Priam’s walls, and those sea-raids I ledOr ever I set foot on Trojan land,Be in their hearts remembered, to my tombBe Priam’s daughter Polyxeina led—Whom as my portion of the spoil I claim—And sacrificed thereon: else shall my wrathAgainst them more than for Briseis burn.The waves of the great deep will I turmoilTo bar their way, upstirring storm on storm,That through their own mad folly pining awayHere they may linger long, until to meThey pour drink-offerings, yearning sore for home.But, when they have slain the maiden, I grudge notThat whoso will may bury her far from me.”
Then as a wind-breath swift he fleeted thence,And came to the Elysian Plain, wheretoA path to heaven reacheth, for the feetAscending and descending of the Blest.Then the son started up from sleep, and calledHis sire to mind, and glowed the heart in him.
When to wide heaven the Child of Mist uprose,Scattering night, unveiling earth and air,Then from their rest upsprang Achaea’s sonsYearning for home. With laughter ‘gan they haleDown to the sea the keels: but lo, their hasteWas reined in by Achilles’ mighty son:
He assembled them, and told his sire’s behest:“Hearken, dear sons of Argives battle-staunch,To this my glorious father’s hest, to meSpoken in darkness slumbering on my bed:He saith, he dwells with the Immortal Gods:He biddeth you and Atreus’ son the kingTo bring, as his war-guerdon passing-fair,To his dim dark tomb Polyxeina queenly-robed,To slay her there, but far thence bury her.But if ye slight him, and essay to sailThe sea, he threateneth to stir up the wavesTo bar your path upon the deep, and hereStorm-bound long time to hold you, ships and men.”
Then hearkened they, and as to a God they prayed;For even now a storm-blast on the seaUpheaved the waves, broad-backed and thronging fastMore than before beneath the madding wind.Tossed the great deep, smit by Poseidon’s handsFor a grace to strong Achilles. All the windsSwooped on the waters. Prayed the Dardans allTo Achilles, and a man to his fellow cried:“Great Zeus’s seed Achilles verily was;Therefore is he a God, who in days pastDwelt among us; for lapse of dateless timeMakes not the sons of Heaven to fade away.”
Then to Achilles’ tomb the host returned,And led the maid, as calf by herdmen draggedFor sacrifice, from woodland pastures tornFrom its mother’s side, and lowing long and loudIt moans with anguished heart; so Priam’s childWailed in the hands of foes. Down streamed her tearsAs when beneath the heavy sacks of sandOlives clear-skinned, ne’er blotched by drops of storm,Pour out their oil, when the long levers creakAs strong men strain the cords; so poured the tearsOf travail-burdened Priam’s daughter, haledTo stern Achilles’ tomb, tears blent with moans.Drenched were her bosom-folds, glistened the dropsOn flesh clear-white as costly ivory.
Then, to crown all her griefs, yet sharper painFell on the heart of hapless Hecuba.Then did her soul recall that awful dream,The vision of sleep of that night overpast:Herseemed that on Achilles’ tomb she stoodMoaning, her hair down-streaming to the ground,And from her breasts blood dripped to earth the while,And drenched the tomb. Fear-haunted touching this,Foreboding all calamity, she wailedPiteously; far rang her wild lament.As a dog moaning at her master’s door,Utters long howls, her teats with milk distent,Whose whelps, ere their eyes opened to the light,Her lords afar have flung, a prey to kites;And now with short sharp cries she plains, and nowLong howling: the weird outcry thrills the air;So wailed and shrieked for her child Hecuba:“Ah me! what sorrows first or last shall ILament heart-anguished, who am full of woes?Those unimagined ills my sons, my kingHave suffered? or my city, or daughters shamed?Or my despair, my day of slavery?Oh, the grim fates have caught me in a netOf manifold ills! O child, they have spun for theeDread weird of unimagined misery!They have thrust thee away, when near was Hymen’s hymn,From thine espousals, marked thee for destructionDark, unendurable, unspeakable!For lo, a dead man’s heart, Achilles’ heart,Is by our blood made warm with life to-day!O child, dear child, that I might die with thee,That earth might swallow me, ere I see thy doom!”So cried she, weeping never-ceasing tears,For grief on bitter grief encompassed her.But when these reached divine Achilles’ tomb,Then did his son unsheathe the whetted sword,His left hand grasped the maid, and his right handWas laid upon the tomb, and thus he cried:“Hear, father, thy son’s prayer, hear all the prayersOf Argives, and be no more wroth with us!Lo, unto thee now all thine heart’s desireWill we fulfil. Be gracious to us thou,And to our praying grant sweet home-return.”
Into the maid’s throat then he plunged the bladeOf death: the dear life straightway sobbed she forth,With the last piteous moan of parting breath.Face-downward to the earth she fell: all roundHer flesh was crimsoned from her neck, as snowStained on a mountain-side with scarlet bloodRushing, from javelin-smitten boar or bear.The maiden’s corpse then gave they, to be borneUnto the city, to Antenor’s home,For that, when Troy yet stood, he nurtured herIn his fair halls, a bride for his own sonEurymachus. The old man buried her,King Priam’s princess-child, nigh his own house,By Ganymedes’ shrine, and overagainstThe temple of Pallas the Unwearied One.Then were the waves stilled, and the blast was hushedTo sleep, and all the sea-flood lulled to calm.
Swift with glad laughter hied they to the ships,Hymning Achilles and the Blessed Ones.A feast they made, first severing thighs of kineFor the Immortals. Gladsome sacrificeSteamed on all sides: in cups of silver and goldThey drank sweet wine: their hearts leaped up with hopeOf winning to their fatherland again.But when with meats and wine all these were filled,Then in their eager ears spake Neleus’ son:“Hear, friends, who have ‘scaped the long turmoil of war,That I may say to you one welcome word:Now is the hour of heart’s delight, the hourOf home-return. Away! Achilles soulHath ceased from ruinous wrath; Earth-shaker stillsThe stormy wave, and gentle breezes blow;No more the waves toss high. Haste, hale the shipsDown to the sea. Now, ho for home-return!”
Eager they heard, and ready made the ships.Then was a marvellous portent seen of men;For all-unhappy Priam’s queen was changedFrom woman’s form into a pitiful hound;And all men gathered round in wondering awe.Then all her body a God transformed to stone—A mighty marvel for men yet unborn!At Calchas’ bidding this the Achaeans boreIn a swift ship to Hellespont’s far side.Then down to the sea in haste they ran the keels:Their wealth they laid aboard, even all the spoilTaken, or ever unto Troy they came,From conquered neighbour peoples; therewithalWhatso they took from Ilium, wherein mostThey joyed, for untold was the sum thereof.And followed with them many a captive maidWith anguished heart: so went they aboard the ships.But Calchas would not with that eager hostLaunch forth; yea, he had fain withheld therefromAll the Achaeans, for his prophet-soulForeboded dread destruction looming o’erThe Argives by the Rocks Capherean.But naught they heeded him; malignantFate Deluded men’s souls: only AmphilochusThe wise in prophet-lore, the gallant sonOf princely Amphiaraus, stayed with him.Fated were these twain, far from their own land,To reach Pamphylian and Cilician burgs;And this the Gods thereafter brought to pass.
But now the Achaeans cast the hawsers looseFrom shore: in haste they heaved the anchor-stones.Roared Hellespont beneath swift-flashing oars;Crashed the prows through the sea. About the bowsMuch armour of slain foes was lying heaped:Along the bulwarks victory-trophies hungCountless. With garlands wreathed they all the ships,Their heads, the spears, the shields wherewith they had foughtAgainst their foes. The chiefs stood on the prows,And poured into the dark sea once and againWine to the Gods, to grant them safe return.But with the winds their prayers mixed; far awayVainly they floated blent with cloud and air.
With anguished hearts the captive maids looked backOn Ilium, and with sobs and moans they wailed,Striving to hide their grief from Argive eyes.Clasping their knees some sat; in misery someVeiled with their hands their faces; others nursedYoung children in their arms: those innocentsNot yet bewailed their day of bondage, norTheir country’s ruin; all their thoughts were setOn comfort of the breast, for the babe’s heartHath none affinity with sorrow. AllSat with unbraided hair and pitiful breastsScored with their fingers. On their cheeks there layStains of dried tears, and streamed thereover nowFresh tears full fast, as still they gazed abackOn the lost hapless home, wherefrom yet roseThe flames, and o’er it writhed the rolling smoke.Now on Cassandra marvelling they gazed,Calling to mind her prophecy of doom;But at their tears she laughed in bitter scorn,In anguish for the ruin of her land.
Such Trojans as had scaped from pitiless warGathered to render now the burial-duesUnto their city’s slain. Antenor ledTo that sad work: one pyre for all they raised.
But laughed with triumphing hearts the Argive men,As now with oars they swept o’er dark sea-ways,Now hastily hoised the sails high o’er the ships,And fleeted fast astern Dardania-land,And Hero Achilles’ tomb. But now their hearts,How blithe soe’er, remembered comrades slain,And sorely grieved, and wistfully they lookedBack to the alien’s land; it seemed to themAye sliding farther from their ships. Full soonBy Tenedos’ beaches slipt they: now they ranBy Chrysa, Sminthian Phoebus’ holy place,And hallowed Cilla. Far away were glimpsedThe windy heights of Lesbos. Rounded nowWas Lecton’s foreland, where is the last peakOf Ida. In the sails loud hummed the wind,Crashed round the prows the dark surge: the long wavesShowed shadowy hollows, far the white wake gleamed.
Now had the Argives all to the hallowed soilOf Hellas won, by perils of the deepUnscathed, but for Athena Daughter of ZeusThe Thunderer, and her indignation’s wrath.When nigh Euboea’s windy heights they drew,She rose, in anger unappeasableAgainst the Locrian king, devising doomCrushing and pitiless, and drew nigh to ZeusLord of the Gods, and spake to him apartIn wrath that in her breast would not be pent:“Zeus, Father, unendurable of GodsIs men’s presumption! They reck not of thee,Of none of the Blessed reck they, forasmuchAs vengeance followeth after sin no more;And ofttimes more afflicted are good menThan evil, and their misery hath no end.Therefore no man regardeth justice: shameLives not with men! And I, I will not dwellHereafter in Olympus, not be namedThy daughter, if I may not be avengedOn the Achaeans’ reckless sin! Behold,Within my very temple Oileus’ sonHath wrought iniquity, hath pitied notCassandra stretching unregarded handsOnce and again to me; nor did he dreadMy might, nor reverenced in his wicked heartThe Immortal, but a deed intolerableHe did. Therefore let not thy spirit divineBegrudge mine heart’s desire, that so all menMay quake before the manifest wrath of Gods.”
Answered the Sire with heart-assuaging words:“Child, not for the Argives’ sake withstand I thee;But all mine armoury which the Cyclops’ mightTo win my favour wrought with tireless hands,To thy desire I give. O strong heart, hurlA ruining storm thyself on the Argive fleet.”
Then down before the aweless Maid he castSwift lightning, thunder, and deadly thunderbolt;And her heart leapt, and gladdened was her soul.She donned the stormy Aegis flashing far,Adamantine, massy, a marvel to the Gods,Whereon was wrought Medusa’s ghastly head,Fearful: strong serpents breathing forth the blastOf ravening fire were on the face thereof.Crashed on the Queen’s breast all the Aegis-links,As after lightning crashes the firmament.Then grasped she her father’s weapons, which no GodSave Zeus can lift, and wide Olympus shook.Then swept she clouds and mist together on high;Night over earth was poured, haze o’er the sea.Zeus watched, and was right glad as broad heaven’s floorRocked ’neath the Goddess’s feet, and crashed the sky,As though invincible Zeus rushed forth to war.Then sped she Iris unto Acolus,From heaven far-flying over misty seas,To bid him send forth all his buffering windsO’er iron-bound Caphereus’ cliffs to sweepCeaselessly, and with ruin of madding blastsTo upheave the sea. And Iris heard, and swiftShe darted, through cloud-billows plunging down—Thou hadst said: “Lo, in the sky dark water and fire!”And to Aeolia came she, isle of caves,Of echoing dungeons of mad-raging windsWith rugged ribs of mountain overarched,Whereby the mansion stands of AeolusHippotas’ son. Him found she therewithinWith wife and twelve sons; and she told to himAthena’s purpose toward the homeward-boundAchaeans. He denied her not, but passedForth of his halls, and in resistless handsUpswung his trident, smiting the mountain-sideWithin whose chasm-cell the wild winds dweltTempestuously shrieking. Ever pealedWeird roarings of their voices round its vaults.Cleft by his might was the hill-side; forth they poured.He bade them on their wings bear blackest stormTo upheave the sea, and shroud Caphereus’ heights.Swiftly upsprang they, ere their king’s commandWas fully spoken. Mightily moaned the seaAs they rushed o’er it; waves like mountain-cliffsFrom all sides were uprolled. The Achaeans’ heartsWere terror-palsied, as the uptowering surgeNow swung the ships up high through palling mist,Now hurled them rolled as down a precipiceTo dark abysses. Up through yawning deepsSome power resistless belched the boiling sandFrom the sea’s floor. Tossed in despair, fear-dazed,Men could not grasp the oar, nor reef the sailAbout the yard-arm, howsoever fain,Ere the winds rent it, could not with the sheetsTrim the torn canvas, buffeted so were theyBy ruining blasts. The helmsman had no powerTo guide the rudder with his practised hands,For those ill winds hurled all confusedly.No hope of life was left them: blackest night,Fury of tempest, wrath of deathless Gods,Raged round them. Still Poseidon heaved and swungThe merciless sea, to work the heart’s desireOf his brother’s glorious child; and she on highStormed with her lightnings, ruthless in her rage.Thundered from heaven Zeus, in purpose fixedTo glorify his daughter. All the islesAnd mainlands round were lashed by leaping seasNigh to Euboea, where the Power divineScourged most with unrelenting stroke on strokeThe Argives. Groan and shriek of perishing menRang through the ships; started great beams and snappedWith ominous sound, for ever ship on shipWith shivering timbers crashed. With hopeless toilMen strained with oars to thrust back hulls that reeledDown on their own, but with the shattered planksWere hurled into the abyss, to perish thereBy pitiless doom; for beams of foundering shipsFrom this, from that side battered out their lives,And crushed were all their bodies wretchedly.Some in the ships fell down, and like dead menLay there; some, in the grip of destiny,Clinging to oars smooth-shaven, tried to swim;Some upon planks were tossing. Roared the surgeFrom fathomless depths: it seemed as though sea, sky,And land were blended all confusedly.
Still from Olympus thundering AtrytoneWielded her Father’s power unshamed, and stillThe welkin shrieked around. Her ruin of wrathNow upon Aias hurled she: on his shipDashed she a thunderbolt, and shivered itWide in a moment into fragments small,While earth and air yelled o’er the wreck, and whirledAnd plunged and fell the whole sea down thereon.They in the ship were all together flungForth: all about them swept the giant waves,Round them leapt lightnings flaming through the dark.Choked with the strangling surf of hissing brine,Gasping out life, they drifted o’er the sea.
But even in death those captive maids rejoiced,As some ill-starred ones, clasping to their breastsTheir babes, sank in the sea; some flung their armsRound Danaans’ horror-stricken heads, and draggedThese down with them, so rendering to their foesRequital for foul outrage down to them.And from on high the haughty Trito-bornLooked down on all this, and her heart was glad.
But Aias floated now on a galley’s plank,Now through the brine with strong hands oared his path,Like some old Titan in his tireless might.Cleft was the salt sea-surge by the sinewy handsOf that undaunted man: the Gods beheldAnd marvelled at his courage and his strength.But now the billows swung him up on highThrough misty air, as though to a mountain’s peak,Now whelmed him down, as they would bury himIn ravening whirlpits: yet his stubborn handsToiled on unwearied. Aye to right and leftFlashed lightnings down, and quenched them in the sea;For not yet was the Child of Thunderer ZeusPurposed to smite him dead, despite her wrath,Ere he had drained the cup of travail and painDown to the dregs; so in the deep long timeAffliction wore him down, tormented soreOn every side. Grim Fates stood round the manUnnumbered; yet despair still kindled strength.He cried: “Though all the Olympians banded comeIn wrath, and rouse against me all the sea,I will escape them!” But no whit did heElude the Gods’ wrath; for the Shaker of EarthIn fierceness of his indignation markedWhere his hands clung to the Gyraean Rock,And in stern anger with an earthquake shookBoth sea and land. Around on all sides crashedCaphereus’ cliffs: beneath the Sea-king’s wrathThe surf-tormented beaches shrieked and roared.The broad crag rifted reeled into the sea,The rock whereto his desperate hands had clung;Yet did he writhe up round its jutting spurs,While flayed his hands were, and from ’neath his nailsThe blood ran. Wrestling with him roared the waves,And the foam whitened all his hair and beard.
Yet had he ‘scaped perchance his evil doom,Had not Poseidon, wroth with his hardihood,Cleaving the earth, hurled down the chasm the rock,As in the old time Pallas heaved on highSicily, and on huge EnceladusDashed down the isle, which burns with the burning yetOf that immortal giant, as he breathesFire underground; so did the mountain-crag,Hurled from on high, bury the Locrian king,Pinning the strong man down, a wretch crushed flat.And so on him death’s black destruction cameWhom land and sea alike were leagued to slay.
Still over the great deep were swept the restOf those Achaeans, crouching terror-dazedDown in the ships, save those that mid the wavesHad fallen. Misery encompassed all;For some with heavily-plunging prows drave on,With keels upturned some drifted. Here were mastsSnapped from the hull by rushing gusts, and thereWere tempest-rifted wrecks of scattered beams;And some had sunk, whelmed in the mighty deep,Swamped by the torrent downpour from the clouds:For these endured not madness of wind-tossed seaLeagued with heaven’s waterspout; for streamed the skyCeaselessly like a river, while the deepRaved round them. And one cried: “Such floods on menFell only when Deucalion’s deluge came,When earth was drowned, and all was fathomless sea!”
So cried a Danaan, seeing soul-appalledThat wild storm. Thousands perished; corpses throngedThe great sea-highways: all the beaches wereToo strait for them: the surf belched multitudesForth on the land. The heavy-booming seaWith weltering beams of ships was wholly paved,And here and there the grey waves gleamed between.
So found they each his several evil fate,Some whelmed beneath broad-rushing billows, someWretchedly perishing with their shattered shipsBy Nauplius’ devising on the rocks.Wroth for that son whom they had done to death,He; when the storm rose and the Argives died,Rejoiced amid his sorrow, seeing a GodGave to his hands revenge, which now he wreakedUpon the host he hated, as o’er the deepThey tossed sore-harassed. To his sea-god sireHe prayed that all might perish, ships and menWhelmed in the deep. Poseidon heard his prayer,And on the dark surge swept them nigh his land.He, like a harbour-warder, lifted highA blazing torch, and so by guile he trappedThe Achaean men, who deemed that they had wonA sheltering haven: but sharp reefs and cragsGave awful welcome unto ships and men,Who, dashed to pieces on the cruel rocksIn the black night, crowned ills with direr ills.Some few escaped, by a God or Power unseenPlucked from death’s hand. Athena now rejoicedHer heart within, and now was racked with fearsFor prudent-souled Odysseus; for his weirdWas through Poseidon’s wrath to suffer woesFull many.
But Earth-shaker’s jealousy nowBurned against those long walls and towers uppiledBy the strong Argives for a fence againstThe Trojans’ battle-onset. Swiftly thenHe swelled to overbrimming all the seaThat rolls from Euxine down to Hellespont,And hurled it on the shore of Troy: and Zeus,For a grace unto the glorious Shaker of Earth,Poured rain from heaven: withal Far-darter bareIn that great work his part; from Ida’s heightsInto one channel led he all her streams,And flooded the Achaeans’ work. The seaDashed o’er it, and the roaring torrents stillRushed on it, swollen by the rains of Zeus;And the dark surge of the wide-moaning seaStill hurled them back from mingling with the deep,Till all the Danaan walls were blotted outBeneath their desolating flood. Then earthWas by Poseidon chasm-cleft: up rushedDeluge of water, slime and sand, while quakedSigeum with the mighty shock, and roaredThe beach and the foundations of the landDardanian. So vanished, whelmed from sight,That mighty rampart. Earth asunder yawned,And all sank down, and only sand was seen,When back the sea rolled, o’er the beach outspreadFar down the heavy-booming shore. All thisThe Immortals’ anger wrought. But in their shipsThe Argives storm-dispersed went sailing on.So came they home, as heaven guided each,Even all that ‘scaped the fell sea-tempest blasts.