XXI.
But, as a beacon from a ‘leaguer’d town
Within a sea-girt isle, leaps suddenly,
A cloud by day; but when the sun goes down,
The tongues of fire flash out, and soar on high,
To summon warlike men that dwell thereby
And bid them bring a rescue over-seas, –
So now Athene sent a flame to fly
From brow and temples of Aeacides.
XXII.
Then all unarm’d he sped, and through the throng,
He pass’d to the dyke’s edge, beyond the wall,
Nor leap’d the ranks of fighting men among,
But shouted clearer than the clarion’s call
When foes on a beleaguer’d city fall.
Three times he cried, and terror fell on these
That heard him; and the Trojans, one and all,
Fled from that shouting of Aeacides.
XXIII.
Backward the Trojans reel’d in headlong flight,
Chariots and men, and left their bravest slain;
And the sun fell; hut Troy through all the night
Watch’d by her fires upon the Ilian plain,
For Hector did the sacred walls disdain
Of Ilios; nor knew that he should stand
Ere night return’d, and burial crave in vain,
Unarm’d, forsaken, at Achilles’ hand.
XXIV.
But all that night within his chamber high
Hephaestus made his iron anvils ring;
And, ere the dawn, had wrought a panoply,
The goodliest ever worn by mortal king.
This to the Argive camp did Thetis bring,
And when her child had proved it, like the star
That heralds day, he went forth summoning
The host Achaean to delight of war.
XXV.
And as a mountain torrent leaves its bed,
And seaward sweeps the toils of men in spate,
Or as a forest-fire, that overhead
Burns in the boughs, a thing insatiate,
So raged the fierce Achilles in his hate;
And Xanthus, angry for his Trojans slain,
Brake forth, while fire and wind made desolate
What war and wave had spared upon the plain.
XXVI.
Now through the fume and vapour of the smoke
Between the wind’s voice and the water’s cry,
The battle shouting of the Trojans broke,
And reached the Ilian walls confusedly,
But over soon the folk that watch’d might spy
Thin broken bands that fled, avoiding death,
Yet many a man beneath the spear must die,
Ere by the sacred gateway they drew breath.
XXVII.
And as when fire doth on a forest fall
And hot winds bear it raging in its flight,
And beechen boughs, and pines are ruin’d all,
So raged Achilles’ anger in that fight;
And many an empty car, with none to smite
The madden’d horses, o’er the bridge of war
Was wildly whirled, and many a maid’s delight
That day to the red wolves was dearer far.
* * *
*
XXVIII.
Some Muse that loved not Troy hath done thee wrong,
Homer! who whisper’d thee that Hector fled
Thrice round the sacred walls he kept so long;
Nay, when he saw his people vanquished
Alone he stood for Troy; alone he sped
One moment, to the struggle of the spear,
And, by the Gods deserted, fell and bled,
A warrior stainless of reproach and fear.
XXIX.
Then all the people from the battlement
Beheld what dreadful things Achilles wrought,
For on the body his revenge he spent,
The anger of the high Gods heeding nought,
To whom was Hector dearest, while he fought,
Of all the Trojan men that were their joy,
But now no more their favour might be bought
By savour of his hecatombs in Troy.
XXX.
So for twelve days rejoiced the Argive host,
And now Patroclus hath to Hades won,
But Hector naked lay, and still his ghost
Must wail where waters of Cocytus run;
Till Priam did what no man born hath done,
Who dared to pass among the Argive bands,
And clasp’d the knees of him that slew his son,
And kiss’d his awful homicidal hands.
XXXI.
At such a price was Hector’s body sent
To Ilios, where the women wail’d him shrill;
And Helen’s sorrow brake into lament
As bursts a lake the barriers of a hill,
For lost, lost, lost was that one friend who still
Stood by her with kind speech and gentle heart,
The sword of war, pure faith, and steadfast will,
That strove to keep all evil things apart.
* * *
*
XXXII.
And so men buried Hector. But they came,
The Amazons, from frozen fields afar.
A match for heroes in the dreadful game
Of spears, the darlings of the God of War,
Whose coming was to Priam dearer far
Than light to him that is a long while blind,
When leech’s hand hath taen away the bar
That vex’d him, or the healing God is kind;
XXXIII.
And Troy was glad, and with the morning light
The Amazons went forth to slay and slay;
And wondrously they drave the foe in flight,
Until the Sun had wander’d half his way;
But when he stoop’d to twilight and the grey
Hour when men loose the steer beneath the yoke,
No more Achilles held him from the fray,
But dreadful through the women’s ranks he broke.
XXXIV.
Then comes eclipse upon the crescent shield,
And death on them that bear it, and they fall
One here, one there, about the stricken field,
As in that art, of Love memorial,
Which moulders on the holy Carian wall.
Ay, still we see, still love, still pity there
The warrior-maids, so brave, so god-like tall,
In Time’s despite imperishably fair.
XXXV.
But, as a dove that braves a falcon, stood
Penthesilea, wrath outcasting fear,
Or as a hind, that in the darkling wood
Withstands a lion for her younglings dear;
So stood the girl before Achilles’ spear;
In vain, for singing from his hand it sped,
And crash’d through shield and breastplate till the sheer
Cold bronze drank blood, and down the queen fell dead.
XXXVI.
Then from her locks the helm Achilles tore
And boasted o’er the slain; but lo, the face
Of her thus lying in the dust and gore
Seem’d lovelier than is the maiden grace
Of Artemis, when weary from the chase,
She sleepeth in a haunted dell unknown.
And all the Argives marvell’d for a space,
But most Achilles made a heavy moan:
XXXVII.
And in his heart there came the weary thought
Of all that was, and all that might have been,
Of all the sorrow that his sword had wrought,
Of Death that now drew near him: of the green
Vales of Larissa, where, with such a queen,
With such a love as now his spear had slain,
He had been happy, who must wind the skein
Of grievous wars, and ne’er be glad again.
XXXVIII.
Yea, now wax’d Fate half weary of her game,
And had no care but aye to kill and kill,
And many young kings to the battle came,
And of that joy they quickly had their fill,
And last came Memnon: and the Trojans still
Took heart, like wearied mariners that see
(Long toss’d on unknown waves at the winds’ will)
Through clouds the gleaming crest of Helike.
XXXIX.
For Memnon was the child of the bright Dawn,
A Goddess wedded to a mortal king,
Who dwells for ever on the shores withdrawn
That border on the land of sun-rising;
And he was nurtured nigh the sacred spring
That is the hidden fountain of all seas,
By them that in the Gods’ own garden sing,
The lily-maidens call’d Hesperides.
XL.
But him the child of Thetis in the fight
Met on a windy winter day, when high
The dust was whirled, and wrapp’d them like the night
That falleth on the mountains stealthily
When the floods come, and down their courses dry
The torrents roar, and lightning flasheth far:
So rang, so shone their harness terribly
Beneath the blinding thunder-cloud of war.
XLI.
Then the Dawn shudder’d on her golden throne,
And called unto the West Wind, and he blew
And brake the cloud asunder; and alone
Achilles stood, but Memnon, smitten through,
Lay beautiful amid the dreadful dew
Of battle, and a deathless heart was fain
Of tears, to Gods impossible, that drew
From mortal hearts a little of their pain.
XLII..
But now, their leader slain, the Trojans fled,
And fierce Achilles drove them in his hate,
Avenging still his dear Patroclus dead,
Nor knew the hour with his own doom was great,
Nor trembled, standing in the Scaean gate,
Where ancient prophecy foretold his fall;
Then suddenly there sped the bolt of Fate,
And smote Achilles by the Ilian wall:
XLIII.
From Paris’ bow it sped, and even there,
Even as he grasp’d the skirts of victory,
Achilles fell, nor any man might dare
From forth the Trojan gateway to draw nigh;
But, as the woodmen watch a lion die,
Pierced with the hunter’s arrow, nor come near
Till Death hath veil’d his eyelids utterly,
Even so the Trojans held aloof in fear.
XLIV.
But there his fellows on his wondrous shield
Laid the fair body of Achilles slain,