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Medieval and Classical Library

The Fall of Troy

How died for Troy the Queen of the Amazons, Penthesileia.

Online Medieval and Classical Library Release #18b

     When godlike Hector by Peleides slain
     Passed, and the pyre had ravined up his flesh,
     And earth had veiled his bones, the Trojans then
     Tarried in Priam's city, sore afraid
     Before the might of stout-heart Aeacus' son:
     As kine they were, that midst the copses shrink
     From faring forth to meet a lion grim,
     But in dense thickets terror-huddled cower;
     So in their fortress shivered these to see
10   That mighty man.  Of those already dead
     They thought of all whose lives he reft away
     As by Scamander's outfall on he rushed,
     And all that in mid-flight to that high wall
     He slew, how he quelled Hector, how he haled
     His corse round Troy; -- yea, and of all beside
     Laid low by him since that first day whereon
     O'er restless seas he brought the Trojans doom.
     Ay, all these they remembered, while they stayed
     Thus in their town, and o'er them anguished grief
20   Hovered dark-winged, as though that very day
     All Troy with shrieks were crumbling down in fire.

     Then from Thermodon, from broad-sweeping streams,
     Came, clothed upon with beauty of Goddesses,
     Penthesileia -- came athirst indeed
     For groan-resounding battle, but yet more
     Fleeing abhorred reproach and evil fame,
     Lest they of her own folk should rail on her
     Because of her own sister's death, for whom
     Ever her sorrows waxed, Hippolyte,
30   Whom she had struck dead with her mighty spear,
     Not of her will -- 'twas at a stag she hurled.
     So came she to the far-famed land of Troy.
     Yea, and her warrior spirit pricked her on,
     Of murder's dread pollution thus to cleanse
     Her soul, and with such sacrifice to appease
     The Awful Ones, the Erinnyes, who in wrath
     For her slain sister straightway haunted her
     Unseen: for ever round the sinner's steps
     They hover; none may 'scape those Goddesses.
40   And with her followed twelve beside, each one
     A princess, hot for war and battle grim,
     Far-famous each, yet handmaids unto her:
     Penthesileia far outshone them all.
     As when in the broad sky amidst the stars
     The moon rides over all pre-eminent,
     When through the thunderclouds the cleaving heavens
     Open, when sleep the fury-breathing winds;
     So peerless was she mid that charging host.
     Clonie was there, Polemusa, Derinoe,
50   Evandre, and Antandre, and Bremusa,
     Hippothoe, dark-eyed Harmothoe,
     Alcibie, Derimacheia, Antibrote,
     And Thermodosa glorying with the spear.
     All these to battle fared with warrior-souled
     Penthesileia: even as when descends
     Dawn from Olympus' crest of adamant,
     Dawn, heart-exultant in her radiant steeds
     Amidst the bright-haired Hours; and o'er them all,
     How flawless-fair soever these may be,
60   Her splendour of beauty glows pre-eminent;
     So peerless amid all the Amazons Unto
     Troy-town Penthesileia came.
     To right, to left, from all sides hurrying thronged
     The Trojans, greatly marvelling, when they saw
     The tireless War-god's child, the mailed maid,
     Like to the Blessed Gods; for in her face
     Glowed beauty glorious and terrible.
     Her smile was ravishing: beneath her brows
     Her love-enkindling eyes shone like to stars,
70   And with the crimson rose of shamefastness
     Bright were her cheeks, and mantled over them
     Unearthly grace with battle-prowess clad.

     Then joyed Troy's folk, despite past agonies,
     As when, far-gazing from a height, the hinds
     Behold a rainbow spanning the wide sea,
     When they be yearning for the heaven-sent shower,
     When the parched fields be craving for the rain;
     Then the great sky at last is overgloomed,
     And men see that fair sign of coming wind
80   And imminent rain, and seeing, they are glad,
     Who for their corn-fields' plight sore sighed before;
     Even so the sons of Troy when they beheld
     There in their land Penthesileia dread
     Afire for battle, were exceeding glad;
     For when the heart is thrilled with hope of good,
     All smart of evils past is wiped away:
     So, after all his sighing and his pain,
     Gladdened a little while was Priam's soul.
     As when a man who hath suffered many a pang
90   From blinded eyes, sore longing to behold
     The light, and, if he may not, fain would die,
     Then at the last, by a cunning leech's skill,
     Or by a God's grace, sees the dawn-rose flush,
     Sees the mist rolled back from before his eyes, --
     Yea, though clear vision come not as of old,
     Yet, after all his anguish, joys to have
     Some small relief, albeit the stings of pain
     Prick sharply yet beneath his eyelids; -- so
     Joyed the old king to see that terrible queen --
100  The shadowy joy of one in anguish whelmed
     For slain sons.  Into his halls he led the Maid,
     And with glad welcome honoured her, as one
     Who greets a daughter to her home returned
     From a far country in the twentieth year;
     And set a feast before her, sumptuous
     As battle-glorious kings, who have brought low
     Nations of foes, array in splendour of pomp,
     With hearts in pride of victory triumphing.
     And gifts he gave her costly and fair to see,
110  And pledged him to give many more, so she
     Would save the Trojans from the imminent doom.
     And she such deeds she promised as no man
     Had hoped for, even to lay Achilles low,
     To smite the wide host of the Argive men,
     And cast the brands red-flaming on the ships.
     Ah fool! -- but little knew she him, the lord
     Of ashen spears, how far Achilles' might
     In warrior-wasting strife o'erpassed her own!

     But when Andromache, the stately child
120  Of king Eetion, heard the wild queen's vaunt,
     Low to her own soul bitterly murmured she:
     "Ah hapless!  why with arrogant heart dost thou
     Speak such great swelling words?  No strength is thine
     To grapple in fight with Peleus' aweless son.
     Nay, doom and swift death shall he deal to thee.
     Alas for thee!  What madness thrills thy soul?
     Fate and the end of death stand hard by thee!
     Hector was mightier far to wield the spear
     Than thou, yet was for all his prowess slain,
130  Slain for the bitter grief of Troy, whose folk
     The city through looked on him as a God.
     My glory and his noble parents' glory
     Was he while yet he lived -- O that the earth
     Over my dead face had been mounded high,
     Or ever through his throat the breath of life
     Followed the cleaving spear!  But now have I
     Looked -- woe is me! -- on grief unutterable,
     When round the city those fleet-footed steeds
     Haled him, steeds of Achilles, who had made
140  Me widowed of mine hero-husband, made
     My portion bitterness through all my days."

     So spake Eetion's lovely-ankled child
     Low to her own soul, thinking on her lord.
     So evermore the faithful-hearted wife
     Nurseth for her lost love undying grief.

     Then in swift revolution sweeping round
     Into the Ocean's deep stream sank the sun,
     And daylight died.  So when the banqueters
     Ceased from the wine-cup and the goodly feast,
150  Then did the handmaids spread in Priam's halls
     For Penthesileia dauntless-souled the couch
     Heart-cheering, and she laid her down to rest;
     And slumber mist-like overveiled her eyes [depths
     Like sweet dew dropping round.  From heavens' blue
     Slid down the might of a deceitful dream
     At Pallas' hest, that so the warrior-maid
     Might see it, and become a curse to Troy
     And to herself, when strained her soul to meet;
     The whirlwind of the battle.  In this wise
160  The Trito-born, the subtle-souled, contrived:
     Stood o'er the maiden's head that baleful dream
     In likeness of her father, kindling her
     Fearlessly front to front to meet in fight
     Fleetfoot Achilles.  And she heard the voice,
     And all her heart exulted, for she weened
     That she should on that dawning day achieve
     A mighty deed in battle's deadly toil
     Ah, fool, who trusted for her sorrow a dream
     Out of the sunless land, such as beguiles
170  Full oft the travail-burdened tribes of men,
     Whispering mocking lies in sleeping ears,
     And to the battle's travail lured her then!

     But when the Dawn, the rosy-ankled, leapt
     Up from her bed, then, clad in mighty strength
     Of spirit, suddenly from her couch uprose
     Penthesileia.  Then did she array
     Her shoulders in those wondrous-fashioned arms
     Given her of the War-god.  First she laid
     Beneath her silver-gleaming knees the greaves
180  Fashioned of gold, close-clipping the strong limbs.
     Her rainbow-radiant corslet clasped she then
     About her, and around her shoulders slung,
     With glory in her heart, the massy brand
     Whose shining length was in a scabbard sheathed
     Of ivory and silver.  Next, her shield
     Unearthly splendid, caught she up, whose rim
     Swelled like the young moon's arching chariot-rail
     When high o'er Ocean's fathomless-flowing stream
     She rises, with the space half filled with light
190  Betwixt her bowing horns.  So did it shine
     Unutterably fair.  Then on her head
     She settled the bright helmet overstreamed
     With a wild mane of golden-glistering hairs.
     So stood she, lapped about with flaming mail,
     In semblance like the lightning, which the might,
     The never-wearied might of Zeus, to earth
     Hurleth, what time he showeth forth to men
     Fury of thunderous-roaring rain, or swoop
     Resistless of his shouting host of winds.
200  Then in hot haste forth of her bower to pass
     Caught she two javelins in the hand that grasped
     Her shield-band; but her strong right hand laid hold
     On a huge halberd, sharp of either blade,
     Which terrible Eris gave to Ares' child
     To be her Titan weapon in the strife
     That raveneth souls of men.  Laughing for glee
     Thereover, swiftly flashed she forth the ring
     Of towers.  Her coming kindled all the sons
     Of Troy to rush into the battle forth
210  Which crowneth men with glory.  Swiftly all
     Hearkened her gathering-ery, and thronging came,
     Champions, yea, even such as theretofore
     Shrank back from standing in the ranks of war
     Against Achilles the all-ravager.
     But she in pride of triumph on she rode
     Throned on a goodly steed and fleet, the gift
     Of Oreithyia, the wild North-wind's bride,
     Given to her guest the warrior-maid, what time
     She came to Thrace, a steed whose flying feet
220  Could match the Harpies' wings.  Riding thereon
     Penthesileia in her goodlihead
     Left the tall palaces of Troy behind.
     And ever were the ghastly-visaged Fates
     Thrusting her on into the battle, doomed
     To be her first against the Greeks -- and last!
     To right, to left, with unreturning feet
     The Trojan thousands followed to the fray,
     The pitiless fray, that death-doomed warrior-maid,
     Followed in throngs, as follow sheep the ram
230  That by the shepherd's art strides before all.
     So followed they, with battle-fury filled,
     Strong Trojans and wild-hearted Amazons.
     And like Tritonis seemed she, as she went
     To meet the Giants, or as flasheth far
     Through war-hosts Eris, waker of onset-shouts.
     So mighty in the Trojans' midst she seemed,
     Penthesileia of the flying feet.

     Then unto Cronos' Son Laomedon's child
     Upraised his hands, his sorrow-burdened hands,
240  Turning him toward the sky-encountering fane
     Of Zeus of Ida, who with sleepless eyes
     Looks ever down on Ilium; and he prayed:
     "Father, give ear!  Vouchsafe that on this day
     Achaea's host may fall before the hands
     Of this our warrior-queen, the War-god's child;
     And do thou bring her back unscathed again
     Unto mine halls: we pray thee by the love
     Thou bear'st to Ares of the fiery heart
     Thy son, yea, to her also!  is she not
250  Most wondrous like the heavenly Goddesses?
     And is she not the child of thine own seed?
     Pity my stricken heart withal!  Thou know'st
     All agonies I have suffered in the deaths
     Of dear sons whom the Fates have torn from me
     By Argive hands in the devouring fight.
     Compassionate us, while a remnant yet
     Remains of noble Dardanus' blood, while yet
     This city stands unwasted!  Let us know
     From ghastly slaughter and strife one breathing-space!"

260  In passionate prayer he spake: -- lo, with shrill scream
     Swiftly to left an eagle darted by
     And in his talons bare a gasping dove.
     Then round the heart of Priam all the blood
     Was chilled with fear.  Low to his soul he said:
     "Ne'er shall I see return alive from war
     Penthesileia!"  On that selfsame day
     The Fates prepared his boding to fulfil;
     And his heart brake with anguish of despair.

     Marvelled the Argives, far across the plain
270  Seeing the hosts of Troy charge down on them,
     And midst them Penthesileia, Ares' child.
     These seemed like ravening beasts that mid the hills
     Bring grimly slaughter to the fleecy flocks;
     And she, as a rushing blast of flame she seemed
     That maddeneth through the copses summer-scorched,
     When the wind drives it on; and in this wise
     Spake one to other in their mustering host:
     "Who shall this be who thus can rouse to war
     The Trojans, now that Hector hath been slain --
280  These who, we said, would never more find heart
     To stand against us?  Lo now, suddenly
     Forth are they rushing, madly afire for fight!
     Sure, in their midst some great one kindleth them
     To battle's toil!  Thou verily wouldst say
     This were a God, of such great deeds he dreams!
     Go to, with aweless courage let us arm
     Our own breasts: let us summon up our might
     In battle-fury.  We shall lack not help
     Of Gods this day to close in fight with Troy."

290  So cried they; and their flashing battle-gear
     Cast they about them: forth the ships they poured
     Clad in the rage of fight as with a cloak.
     Then front to front their battles closed, like beasts
     Of ravin, locked in tangle of gory strife.
     Clanged their bright mail together, clashed the spears,
     The corslets, and the stubborn-welded shields
     And adamant helms.  Each stabbed at other's flesh
     With the fierce brass: was neither ruth nor rest,
     And all the Trojan soil was crimson-red.

300  Then first Penthesileia smote and slew
     Molion; now Persinous falls, and now
     Eilissus; reeled Antitheus 'neath her spear
     The pride of Lernus quelled she: down she bore
     Hippalmus 'neath her horse-hoofs; Haemon's son
     Died; withered stalwart Elasippus' strength.
     And Derinoe laid low Laogonus,
     And Clonie Menippus, him who sailed
     Long since from Phylace, led by his lord
     Protesilaus to the war with Troy.
310  Then was Podarces, son of Iphiclus,
     Heart-wrung with ruth and wrath to see him lie
     Dead, of all battle-comrades best-beloved.
     Swiftly at Clonie he hurled, the maid
     Fair as a Goddess: plunged the unswerving lance
     'Twixt hip and hip, and rushed the dark blood forth
     After the spear, and all her bowels gushed out.
     Then wroth was Penthesileia; through the brawn
     Of his right arm she drave the long spear's point,
     She shore atwain the great blood-brimming veins,
320  And through the wide gash of the wound the gore
     Spirted, a crimson fountain.  With a groan
     Backward he sprang, his courage wholly quelled
     By bitter pain; and sorrow and dismay
     Thrilled, as he fled, his men of Phylace.
     A short way from the fight he reeled aside,
     And in his friends' arms died in little space.
     Then with his lance Idomeneus thrust out,
     And by the right breast stabbed Bremusa.  Stilled
     For ever was the beating of her heart.
330  She fell, as falls a graceful-shafted pine
     Hewn mid the hills by woodmen: heavily,
     Sighing through all its boughs, it crashes down.
     So with a wailing shriek she fell, and death
     Unstrung her every limb: her breathing soul
     Mingled with multitudinous-sighing winds.
     Then, as Evandre through the murderous fray
     With Thermodosa rushed, stood Meriones,
     A lion in the path, and slew: his spear
     Right to the heart of one he drave, and one
340  Stabbed with a lightning sword-thrust 'twixt the hips:
     Leapt through the wounds the life, and fled away.
     Oileus' fiery son smote Derinoe
     'Twixt throat and shoulder with his ruthless spear;
     And on Alcibie Tydeus' terrible son
     Swooped, and on Derimacheia: head with neck
     Clean from the shoulders of these twain he shore
     With ruin-wreaking brand.  Together down
     Fell they, as young calves by the massy axe
     Of brawny flesher felled, that, shearing through
350  The sinews of the neck, lops life away.
     So, by the hands of Tydeus' son laid low
     Upon the Trojan plain, far, far away
     From their own highland-home, they fell.  Nor these
     Alone died; for the might of Sthenelus
     Down on them hurled Cabeirus' corse, who came
     From Sestos, keen to fight the Argive foe,
     But never saw his fatherland again.
     Then was the heart of Paris filled with wrath
     For a friend slain.  Full upon Sthenelus
360  Aimed he a shaft death-winged, yet touched him not,
     Despite his thirst for vengeance: otherwhere
     The arrow glanced aside, and carried death
     Whither the stern Fates guided its fierce wing,
     And slew Evenor brazen-tasleted,
     Who from Dulichium came to war with Troy.
     For his death fury-kindled was the son
     Of haughty Phyleus: as a lion leaps
     Upon the flock, so swiftly rushed he: all
     Shrank huddling back before that terrible man.
370  Itymoneus he slew, and Hippasus' son
     Agelaus: from Miletus brought they war
     Against the Danaan men by Nastes led,
     The god-like, and Amphimachus mighty-souled.
     On Mycale they dwelt; beside their home
     Rose Latmus' snowy crests, stretched the long glens
     Of Branchus, and Panormus' water-meads.
     Maeander's flood deep-rolling swept thereby,
     Which from the Phrygian uplands, pastured o'er
     By myriad flocks, around a thousand forelands
380  Curls, swirls, and drives his hurrying ripples on
     Down to the vine-clad land of Carian men
     These mid the storm of battle Meges slew,
     Nor these alone, but whomsoe'er his lance
     Black-shafted touched, were dead men; for his breast
     The glorious Trito-born with courage thrilled
     To bring to all his foes the day of doom.
     And Polypoetes, dear to Ares, slew
     Dresaeus, whom the Nymph Neaera bare
     To passing-wise Theiodamas for these
390  Spread was the bed of love beside the foot
     Of Sipylus the Mountain, where the Gods
     Made Niobe a stony rock, wherefrom
     Tears ever stream: high up, the rugged crag
     Bows as one weeping, weeping, waterfalls
     Cry from far-echoing Hermus, wailing moan
     Of sympathy: the sky-encountering crests
     Of Sipylus, where alway floats a mist
     Hated of shepherds, echo back the cry.
     Weird marvel seems that Rock of Niobe
400  To men that pass with feet fear-goaded: there
     They see the likeness of a woman bowed,
     In depths of anguish sobbing, and her tears
     Drop, as she mourns grief-stricken, endlessly.
     Yea, thou wouldst say that verily so it was,
     Viewing it from afar; but when hard by
     Thou standest, all the illusion vanishes;
     And lo, a steep-browed rock, a fragment rent
     From Sipylus -- yet Niobe is there,
     Dreeing her weird, the debt of wrath divine,
410  A broken heart in guise of shattered stone.

     All through the tangle of that desperate fray
     Stalked slaughter and doom.  The incarnate Onset-shout
     Raved through the rolling battle; at her side
     Paced Death the ruthless, and the Fearful Faces,
     The Fates, beside them strode, and in red hands
     Bare murder and the groans of dying men.
     That day the beating of full many a heart,
     Trojan and Argive, was for ever stilled,
     While roared the battle round them, while the fury
420  Of Penthesileia fainted not nor failed;
     But as amid long ridges of lone hills
     A lioness, stealing down a deep ravine,
     Springs on the kine with lightning leap, athirst
     For blood wherein her fierce heart revelleth;
     So on the Danaans leapt that warrior-maid.
     And they, their souls were cowed: backward they shrank,
     And fast she followed, as a towering surge
     Chases across the thunder-booming sea
     A flying bark, whose white sails strain beneath
430  The wind's wild buffering, and all the air
     Maddens with roaring, as the rollers crash
     On a black foreland looming on the lee
     Where long reefs fringe the surf-tormented shores.
     So chased she, and so dashed the ranks asunder
     Triumphant-souled, and hurled fierce threats before:
     "Ye dogs, this day for evil outrage done
     To Priam shall ye pay!  No man of you
     Shall from mine hands deliver his own life,
     And win back home, to gladden parents eyes,
440  Or comfort wife or children.  Ye shall lie
     Dead, ravined on by vultures and by wolves,
     And none shall heap the earth-mound o'er your clay.
     Where skulketh now the strength of Tydeus' son,
     And where the might of Aeacus' scion?
     Where is Aias' bulk?  Ye vaunt them mightiest men
     Of all your rabble.  Ha!  they will not dare
     With me to close in battle, lest I drag
     Forth from their fainting frames their craven souls!"

     Then heart-uplifted leapt she on the foe,
450  Resistless as a tigress, crashing through
     Ranks upon ranks of Argives, smiting now
     With that huge halberd massy-headed, now
     Hurling the keen dart, while her battle-horse
     Flashed through the fight, and on his shoulder bare
     Quiver and bow death-speeding, close to her hand,
     If mid that revel of blood she willed to speed
     The bitter-biting shaft.  Behind her swept
     The charging lines of men fleet-footed, friends
     And brethren of the man who never flinched
460  From close death-grapple, Hector, panting all
     The hot breath of the War-god from their breasts,
     All slaying Danaans with the ashen spear,
     Who fell as frost-touched leaves in autumn fall
     One after other, or as drops of rain.
     And aye went up a moaning from earth's breast
     All blood-bedrenched, and heaped with corse on corse.
     Horses pierced through with arrows, or impaled
     On spears, were snorting forth their last of strength
     With screaming neighings.  Men, with gnashing teeth
470  Biting the dust, lay gasping, while the steeds
     Of Trojan charioteers stormed in pursuit,
     Trampling the dying mingled with the dead
     As oxen trample corn in threshing-floors.

     Then one exulting boasted mid the host
     Of Troy, beholding Penthesileia rush
     On through the foes' array, like the black storm
     That maddens o'er the sea, what time the sun
     Allies his might with winter's Goat-horned Star;
     And thus, puffed up with vain hope, shouted he:
480  "O friends, in manifest presence down from heaven
     One of the deathless Gods this day hath come
     To fight the Argives, all of love for us,
     Yea, and with sanction of almighty Zeus,
     He whose compassion now remembereth
     Haply strong-hearted Priam, who may boast
     For his a lineage of immortal blood.
     For this, I trow, no mortal woman seems,
     Who is so aweless-daring, who is clad
     In splendour-flashing arms: nay, surely she
490  Shall be Athene, or the mighty-souled
     Enyo -- haply Eris, or the Child
     Of Leto world-renowned.  O yea, I look
     To see her hurl amid yon Argive men
     Mad-shrieking slaughter, see her set aflame
     Yon ships wherein they came long years agone
     Bringing us many sorrows, yea, they came
     Bringing us woes of war intolerable.
     Ha!  to the home-land Hellas ne'er shall these
     With joy return, since Gods on our side fight."

500  In overweening exultation so
     Vaunted a Trojan.  Fool! -- he had no vision
     Of ruin onward rushing upon himself
     And Troy, and Penthesileia's self withal.
     For not as yet had any tidings come
     Of that wild fray to Aias stormy-souled,
     Nor to Achilles, waster of tower and town.
     But on the grave-mound of Menoetius' son
     They twain were lying, with sad memories
     Of a dear comrade crushed, and echoing
510  Each one the other's groaning.  One it was
     Of the Blest Gods who still was holding back
     These from the battle-tumult far away,
     Till many Greeks should fill the measure up
     Of woeful havoc, slain by Trojan foes 
     And glorious Penthesileia, who pursued
     With murderous intent their rifled ranks,
     While ever waxed her valour more and more,
     And waxed her might within her: never in vain
     She aimed the unswerving spear-thrust: aye she pierced
520  The backs of them that fled, the breasts of such
     As charged to meet her.  All the long shaft dripped
     With steaming blood.  Swift were her feet as wind
     As down she swooped.  Her aweless spirit failed
     For weariness nor fainted, but her might
     Was adamantine.  The impending Doom,
     Which roused unto the terrible strife not yet
     Achilles, clothed her still with glory; still
     Aloof the dread Power stood, and still would shed
     Splendour of triumph o'er the death-ordained
530  But for a little space, ere it should quell
     That Maiden 'neath the hands of Aeaeus' son.
     In darkness ambushed, with invisible hand
     Ever it thrust her on, and drew her feet
     Destruction-ward, and lit her path to death
     With glory, while she slew foe after foe.
     As when within a dewy garden-close,
     Longing for its green springtide freshness, leaps
     A heifer, and there rangeth to and fro,
     When none is by to stay her, treading down
540  All its green herbs, and all its wealth of bloom,
     Devouring greedily this, and marring that
     With trampling feet; so ranged she, Ares' child,
     Through reeling squadrons of Achaea's sons,
     Slew these, and hunted those in panic rout.

     From Troy afar the women marvelling gazed
     At the Maid's battle-prowess.  Suddenly
     A fiery passion for the fray hath seized
     Antimachus' daughter, Meneptolemus' wife,
     Tisiphone.  Her heart waxed strong, and filled
550  With lust of fight she cried to her fellows all,
     With desperate-daring words, to spur them on
     To woeful war, by recklessness made strong.
     "Friends, let a heart of valour in our breasts
     Awake!  Let us be like our lords, who fight
     With foes for fatherland, for babes, for us,
     And never pause for breath in that stern strife!
     Let us too throne war's spirit in our hearts!
     Let us too face the fight which favoureth none!
     For we, we women, be not creatures cast
560  In diverse mould from men: to us is given
     Such energy of life as stirs in them.
     Eyes have we like to theirs, and limbs: throughout
     Fashioned we are alike: one common light
     We look on, and one common air we breathe:
     With like food are we nourished --  nay, wherein
     Have we been dowered of God more niggardly
     Than men?  Then let us shrink not from the fray
     See ye not yonder a woman far excelling
     Men in the grapple of fight?  Yet is her blood
570  Nowise akin to ours, nor fighteth she
     For her own city.  For an alien king
     She warreth of her own heart's prompting, fears
     The face of no man; for her soul is thrilled
     With valour and with spirit invincible.
     But we -- to right, to left, lie woes on woes
     About our feet: this mourns beloved sons,
     And that a husband who for hearth and home
     Hath died; some wail for fathers now no more;
     Some grieve for brethren and for kinsmen lost.
580  Not one but hath some share in sorrow's cup.
     Behind all this a fearful shadow looms,
     The day of bondage!  Therefore flinch not ye
     From war, O sorrow-laden!  Better far
     To die in battle now, than afterwards
     Hence to be haled into captivity
     To alien folk, we and our little ones,
     In the stern grip of fate leaving behind
     A burning city, and our husbands' graves."

     So cried she, and with passion for stern war
590  Thrilled all those women; and with eager speed
     They hasted to go forth without the wall
     Mail-clad, afire to battle for their town
     And people: all their spirit was aflame.
     As when within a hive, when winter-tide
     Is over and gone, loud hum the swarming bees
     What time they make them ready forth to fare
     To bright flower-pastures, and no more endure
     To linger therewithin, but each to other
     Crieth the challenge-cry to sally forth;
600  Even so bestirred themselves the women of Troy,
     And kindled each her sister to the fray.
     The weaving-wool, the distaff far they flung,
     And to grim weapons stretched their eager hands.

     And now without the city these had died
     In that wild battle, as their husbands died
     And the strong Amazons died, had not one voice
     Of wisdom cried to stay their maddened feet,
     When with dissuading words Theano spake:
     "Wherefore, ah wherefore for the toil and strain
610  Of battle's fearful tumult do ye yearn,
     Infatuate ones?  Never your limbs have toiled
     In conflict yet.  In utter ignoranee
     Panting for labour unendurable,
     Ye rush on all-unthinking; for your strength
     Can never be as that of Danaan men,
     Men trained in daily battle.  Amazons
     Have joyed in ruthless fight, in charging steeds,
     From the beginning: all the toil of men
     Do they endure; and therefore evermore
620  The spirit of the War-god thrills them through.
     'They fall not short of men in anything:
     Their labour-hardened frames make great their hearts
     For all achievement: never faint their knees
     Nor tremble.  Rumour speaks their queen to be
     A daughter of the mighty Lord of War.
     Therefore no woman may compare with her
     In prowess -- if she be a woman, not
     A God come down in answer to our prayers.
     Yea, of one blood be all the race of men,
630  Yet unto diverse labours still they turn;
     And that for each is evermore the best
     Whereto he bringeth skill of use and wont.
     Therefore do ye from tumult of the fray
     Hold you aloof, and in your women's bowers
     Before the loom still pace ye to and fro;
     And war shall be the business of our lords.
     Lo, of fair issue is there hope: we see
     The Achaeans falling fast: we see the might
     Of our men waxing ever: fear is none
640  Of evil issue now: the pitiless foe
     Beleaguer not the town: no desperate need
     There is that women should go forth to war."

     So cried she, and they hearkened to the words
     Of her who had garnered wisdom from the years;
     So from afar they watched the fight.  But still
     Penthesileia brake the ranks, and still
     Before her quailed the Achaeans: still they found
     Nor screen nor hiding-place from imminent death.
     As bleating goats are by the blood-stained jaws
650  Of a grim panther torn, so slain were they.
     In each man's heart all lust of battle died,
     And fear alone lived.  This way, that way fled
     The panic-stricken: some to earth had flung
     The armour from their shoulders; some in dust
     Grovelled in terror 'neath their shields: the steeds
     Fled through the rout unreined of charioteers.
     In rapture of triumph charged the Amazons,
     With groan and scream of agony died the Greeks.
     Withered their manhood was in that sore strait;
660  Brief was the span of all whom that fierce maid
     Mid the grim jaws of battle overtook.
     As when with mighty roaring bursteth down
     A storm upon the forest-trees, and some
     Uprendeth by the roots, and on the earth
     Dashes them down, the tail stems blossom-crowned,
     And snappeth some athwart the trunk, and high
     Whirls them through air, till all confused they lie
     A ruin of splintered stems and shattered sprays;
     So the great Danaan host lay, dashed to dust
670  By doom of Fate, by Penthesileia's spear.

     But when the very ships were now at point
     To be by hands of Trojans set aflame,
     Then battle-bider Aias heard afar
     The panic-cries, and spake to Aeacus' son:
     "Achilles, all the air about mine ears
     Is full of multitudinous eries, is full
     Of thunder of battle rolling nearer aye.
     Let us go forth then, ere the Trojans win
     Unto the ships, and make great slaughter there
680  Of Argive men, and set the ships aflame.
     Foulest reproach such thing on thee and me
     Should bring; for it beseems not that the seed
     Of mighty Zeus should shame the sacred blood
     Of hero-fathers, who themselves of old
     With Hercules the battle-eager sailed
     To Troy, and smote her even at her height
     Of glory, when Laomedon was king.
     Ay, and I ween that our hands even now
     Shall do the like: we too are mighty men."

690  He spake: the aweless strength of Aeacus' son
     Hearkened thereto, for also to his ears
     By this the roar of bitter battle came.
     Then hasted both, and donned their warrior-gear
     All splendour-gleaming: now, in these arrayed
     Facing that stormy-tossing rout they stand.
     Loud clashed their glorious armour: in their souls
     A battle-fury like the War-god's wrath
     Maddened; such might was breathed into these twain
     By Atrytone, Shaker of the Shield,
700  As on they pressed.  With joy the Argives saw
     The coming of that mighty twain: they seemed
     In semblance like A1oeus' giant sons
     Who in the old time made that haughty vaunt
     Of piling on Olympus' brow the height
     Of Ossa steeply-towering, and the crest
     Of sky-encountering Pelion, so to rear
     A mountain-stair for their rebellious rage
     To scale the highest heaven.  Huge as these
     The sons of Aeacus seemed, as forth they strode
710  To stem the tide of war.  A gladsome sight
     To friends who have fainted for their coming, now
     Onward they press to crush triumphant foes.
     Many they slew with their resistless spears;
     As when two herd-destroying lions come
     On sheep amid the copses feeding, far
     From help of shepherds, and in heaps on heaps
     Slay them, till they have drunken to the full
     Of blood, and filled their maws insatiate
     With flesh, so those destroyers twain slew on,
720  Spreading wide havoc through the hosts of Troy.

     There Deiochus and gallant Hyllus fell
     By Alas slain, and fell Eurynomus
     Lover of war, and goodly Enyeus died.
     But Peleus' son burst on the Amazons
     Smiting Antandre, Polemusa then,
     Antibrote, fierce-souled Hippothoe,
     Hurling Harmothoe down on sisters slain.
     Then hard on all their-reeling ranks he pressed
     With Telamon's mighty-hearted son; and now
730  Before their hands battalions dense and strong
     Crumbled as weakly and as suddenly
     As when in mountain-folds the forest-brakes
     Shrivel before a tempest-driven fire.

     When battle-eager Penthesileia saw
     These twain, as through the scourging storm of war
     Like ravening beasts they rushed, to meet them there
     She sped, as when a leopard grim, whose mood
     Is deadly, leaps from forest-coverts forth,
     Lashing her tail, on hunters closing round,
740  While these, in armour clad, and putting trust
     In their long spears, await her lightning leap;
     So did those warriors twain with spears upswung
     Wait Penthesileia.  Clanged the brazen plates
     About their shoulders as they moved.  And first
     Leapt the long-shafted lance sped from the hand
     Of goodly Penthesileia.  Straight it flew
     To the shield of Aeacus' son, but glancing thence
     This way and that the shivered fragments sprang
     As from a rock-face: of such temper were
750  The cunning-hearted Fire-god's gifts divine.
     Then in her hand the warrior-maid swung up
     A second javelin fury-winged, against
     Aias, and with fierce words defied the twain:
     "Ha, from mine hand in vain one lance hath leapt!
     But with this second look I suddenly
     To quell the strength and courage of two foes, --
     Ay, though ye vaunt you mighty men of war
     Amid your Danaans!  Die ye shall, and so
     Lighter shall be the load of war's affliction
760  That lies upon the Trojan chariot-lords.
     Draw nigh, come through the press to grips with me,
     So shall ye learn what might wells up in breasts
     Of Amazons.  With my blood is mingled war!
     No mortal man begat me, but the Lord
     Of War, insatiate of the battle-cry.
     Therefore my might is more than any man's."

     With scornful laughter spake she: then she hurled
     Her second lance; but they in utter scorn
     Laughed now, as swiftly flew the shaft, and smote
770  The silver greave of Aias, and was foiled
     Thereby, and all its fury could not scar
     The flesh within; for fate had ordered not
     That any blade of foes should taste the blood
     Of Aias in the bitter war.  But he
     Recked of the Amazon naught, but turned him thence
     To rush upon the Trojan host, and left
     Penthesileia unto Peleus' son
     Alone, for well he knew his heart within
     That she, for all her prowess, none the less
780  Would cost Achilles battle-toil as light,
     As effortless, as doth the dove the hawk.

     Then groaned she an angry groan that she had sped
     Her shafts in vain; and now with scoffing speech
     To her in turn the son of Peleus spake:
     "Woman, with what vain vauntings triumphing
     Hast thou come forth against us, all athirst
     To battle with us, who be mightier far
     Than earthborn heroes?  We from Cronos' Son,
     The Thunder-roller, boast our high descent.
790  Ay, even Hector quailed, the battle-swift,
     Before us, e'en though far away he saw
     Our onrush to grim battle.  Yea, my spear
     Slew him, for all his might.  But thou -- thine heart
     Is utterly mad, that thou hast greatly dared
     To threaten us with death this day!  On thee
     Thy latest hour shall swiftly come -- is come!
     Thee not thy sire the War-god now shall pluck
     Out of mine hand, but thou the debt shalt pay
     Of a dark doom, as when mid mountain-folds
800  A pricket meets a lion, waster of herds.
     What, woman, hast thou heard not of the heaps
     Of slain, that into Xanthus' rushing stream
     Were thrust by these mine hands? -- or hast thou heard
     In vain, because the Blessed Ones have stol'n
     Wit and discretion from thee, to the end
     That Doom's relentless gulf might gape for thee?"

     He spake; he swung up in his mighty hand
     And sped the long spear warrior-slaying, wrought
     By Chiron, and above the right breast pierced
810  The battle-eager maid.  The red blood leapt
     Forth, as a fountain wells, and all at once
     Fainted the strength of Penthesileia's limbs;
     Dropped the great battle-axe from her nerveless hand;
     A mist of darkness overveiled her eyes,
     And anguish thrilled her soul.  Yet even so
     Still drew she difficult breath, still dimly saw
     The hero, even now in act to drag
     Her from the swift steed's back.  Confusedly
     She thought: "Or shall I draw my mighty sword,
820  And bide Achilles' fiery onrush, or
     Hastily cast me from my fleet horse down
     To earth, and kneel unto this godlike man,
     And with wild breath promise for ransoming
     Great heaps of brass and gold, which pacify
     The hearts of victors never so athirst
     For blood, if haply so the murderous might
     Of Aeacus' son may hearken and may spare,
     Or peradventure may compassionate
     My youth, and so vouchsafe me to behold
830  Mine home again? -- for O, I long to live!"

     So surged the wild thoughts in her; but the Gods
     Ordained it otherwise.  Even now rushed on
     In terrible anger Peleus' son: he thrust
     With sudden spear, and on its shaft impaled
     The body of her tempest-footed steed,
     Even as a man in haste to sup might pierce
     Flesh with the spit, above the glowing hearth
     To roast it, or as in a mountain-glade
     A hunter sends the shaft of death clear through
840  The body of a stag with such winged speed
     That the fierce dart leaps forth beyond, to plunge
     Into the tall stem of an oak or pine.
     So that death-ravening spear of Peleus' son
     Clear through the goodly steed rushed on, and pierced
     Penthesileia.  Straightway fell she down
     Into the dust of earth, the arms of death,
     In grace and comeliness fell, for naught of shame
     Dishonoured her fair form.  Face down she lay
     On the long spear outgasping her last breath,
850  Stretched upon that fleet horse as on a couch;
     Like some tall pine snapped by the icy mace
     Of Boreas, earth's forest-fosterling
     Reared by a spring to stately height, amidst
     Long mountain-glens, a glory of mother earth;
     So from the once fleet steed low fallen lay
     Penthesileia, all her shattered strength
     Brought down to this, and all her loveliness.

     Now when the Trojans saw the Warrior-queen
     Struck down in battle, ran through all their lines
860  A shiver of panic.  Straightway to their walls
     Turned they in flight, heart-agonized with grief.
     As when on the wide sea, 'neath buffetings
     Of storm-blasts, castaways whose ship is wrecked
     Escape, a remnant of a crew, forspent
     With desperate conflict with the cruel sea:
     Late and at last appears the land hard by,
     Appears a city: faint and weary-limbed
     With that grim struggle, through the surf they strain
     To land, sore grieving for the good ship 1ost,
870  And shipmates whom the terrible surge dragged down
     To nether gloom; so, Troyward as they fled
     From battle, all those Trojans wept for her,
     The Child of the resistless War-god, wept
     For friends who died in groan-resounding fight.

     Then over her with scornful laugh the son
     Of Peleus vaunted: "In the dust lie there
     A prey to teeth of dogs, to ravens' beaks,
     Thou wretched thing!  Who cozened thee to come
     Forth against me?  And thoughtest thou to fare
880  Home from the war alive, to bear with thee
     Right royal gifts from Priam the old king,
     Thy guerdon for slain Argives?  Ha, 'twas not
     The Immortals who inspired thee with this thought,
     Who know that I of heroes mightiest am,
     The Danaans' light of safety, but a woe
     To Trojans and to thee, O evil-starred!
     Nay, but it was the darkness-shrouded Fates
     And thine own folly of soul that pricked thee on
     To leave the works of women, and to fare
890  To war, from which strong men shrink shuddering back."

     So spake he, and his ashen spear the son
     Of Peleus drew from that swift horse, and from
     Penthesileia in death's agony.
     Then steed and rider gasped their lives away
     Slain by one spear.  Now from her head he plucked
     The helmet splendour-flashing like the beams
     Of the great sun, or Zeus' own glory-light.
     Then, there as fallen in dust and blood she lay,
     Rose, like the breaking of the dawn, to view
900  'Neath dainty-pencilled brows a lovely face,
     Lovely in death.  The Argives thronged around,
     And all they saw and marvelled, for she seemed
     Like an Immortal.  In her armour there
     Upon the earth she lay, and seemed the Child
     Of Zeus, the tireless Huntress Artemis
     Sleeping, what time her feet forwearied are
     With following lions with her flying shafts
     Over the hills far-stretching.  She was made
     A wonder of beauty even in her death
910  By Aphrodite glorious-crowned, the Bride
     Of the strong War-god, to the end that he,
     The son of noble Peleus, might be pierced
     With the sharp arrow of repentant love.
     The warriors gazed, and in their hearts they prayed
     That fair and sweet like her their wives might seem,
     Laid on the bed of love, when home they won.
     Yea, and Achilles' very heart was wrung
     With love's remorse to have slain a thing so sweet,
     Who might have borne her home, his queenly bride,
920  To chariot-glorious Phthia; for she was
     Flawless, a very daughter of the Gods,
     Divinely tall, and most divinely fair.

     Then Ares' heart was thrilled with grief and rage
     For his child slain.  Straight from Olympus down
     He darted, swift and bright as thunderbolt
     Terribly flashing from the mighty hand Of
     Zeus, far leaping o'er the trackless sea,
     Or flaming o'er the land, while shuddereth
     All wide Olympus as it passeth by.
930  So through the quivering air with heart aflame
     Swooped Ares armour-clad, soon as he heard
     The dread doom of his daughter.  For the Gales,
     The North-wind's fleet-winged daughters, bare to him,
     As through the wide halls of the sky he strode,
     The tidings of the maiden's woeful end.
     Soon as he heard it, like a tempest-blast
     Down to the ridges of Ida leapt he: quaked
     Under his feet the long glens and ravines
     Deep-scored, all Ida's torrent-beds, and all
940  Far-stretching foot-hills.  Now had Ares brought
     A day of mourning on the Myrmidons,
     But Zeus himself from far Olympus sent
     Mid shattering thunders terror of levin-bolts
     Which thick and fast leapt through the welkin down
     Before his feet, blazing with fearful flames.
     And Ares saw, and knew the stormy threat
     Of the mighty-thundering Father, and he stayed
     His eager feet, now on the very brink
     Of battle's turmoil.  As when some huge crag
950  Thrust from a beetling cliff-brow by the winds
     And torrent rains, or lightning-lance of Zeus,
     Leaps like a wild beast, and the mountain-glens
     Fling back their crashing echoes as it rolls
     In mad speed on, as with resistless swoop
     Of bound on bound it rushes down, until
     It cometh to the levels of the plain,
     And there perforce its stormy flight is stayed;

     So Ares, battle-eager Son of Zeus,
     Was stayed, how loth soe'er; for all the Gods
960  To the Ruler of the Blessed needs must yield,
     Seeing he sits high-throned above them all,
     Clothed in his might unspeakable.  Yet still
     Many a wild thought surged through Ares' soul,
     Urging him now to dread the terrible threat
     Of Cronos' wrathful Son, and to return
     Heavenward, and now to reck not of his Sire,
     But with Achilles' blood to stain those hands,
     The battle-tireless.  At the last his heart
     Remembered how that many and many a son
970  Of Zeus himself in many a war had died,
     Nor in their fall had Zeus availed them aught.
     Therefore he turned him from the Argives -- else,
     Down smitten by the blasting thunderbolt,
     With Titans in the nether gloom he had lain,
     Who dared defy the eternal will of Zeus.

     Then did the warrior sons of Argos strip
     With eager haste from corpses strown all round
     The blood-stained spoils.  But ever Peleus' son
     Gazed, wild with all regret, still gazed on her,
980  The strong, the beautiful, laid in the dust;
     And all his heart was wrung, was broken down
     With sorrowing love, deep, strong as he had known
     When that beloved friend Patroclus died.

     Loud jeered Thersites, mocking to his face:
     "Thou sorry-souled Achilles!  art not shamed
     To let some evil Power beguile thine heart
     To pity of a pitiful Amazon
     Whose furious spirit purposed naught but ill
     To us and ours?  Ha, woman-mad art thou,
990  And thy soul lusts for this thing, as she were
     Some lady wise in household ways, with gifts
     And pure intent for honoured wedlock wooed!
     Good had it been had her spear reached thine heart,
     The heart that sighs for woman-creatures still!
     Thou carest not, unmanly-souled, not thou,
     For valour's glorious path, when once thine eye
     Lights on a woman!  Sorry wretch, where now
     Is all thy goodly prowess?  where thy wit?
     And where the might that should beseem a king
1000 All-stainless?  Dost not know what misery
     This self-same woman-madness wrought for Troy?
     Nothing there is to men more ruinous
     Than lust for woman's beauty; it maketh fools
     Of wise men.  But the toil of war attains
     Renown.  To him that is a hero indeed
     Glory of victory and the War-god's works
     Are sweet.  'Tis but the battle-blencher craves
     The beauty and the bed of such as she!"

     So railed he long and loud: the mighty heart
1010 Of Peleus' son leapt into flame of wrath.
     A sudden buffet of his resistless hand
     Smote 'neath the railer's ear, and all his teeth
     Were dashed to the earth: he fell upon his face:
     Forth of his lips the blood in torrent gushed:
     Swift from his body fled the dastard soul
     Of that vile niddering.  Achaea's sons
     Rejoiced thereat, for aye he wont to rail
     On each and all with venomous gibes, himself
     A scandal and the shame of all the host.
1020 Then mid the warrior Argives cried a voice:
     "Not good it is for baser men to rail
     On kings, or secretly or openly;
     For wrathful retribution swiftly comes.
     The Lady of Justice sits on high; and she
     Who heapeth woe on woe on humankind,
     Even Ate, punisheth the shameless tongue."

     So mid the Danaans cried a voice: nor yet
     Within the mighty soul of Peleus' son
     Lulled was the storm of wrath, but fiercely he spake:
1030 "Lie there in dust, thy follies all forgot!
     'Tis not for knaves to beard their betters: once
     Thou didst provoke Odysseus' steadfast soul,
     Babbling with venomous tongue a thousand gibes,
     And didst escape with life; but thou hast found
     The son of Peleus not so patient-souled,
     Who with one only buffet from his hand
     Unkennels thy dog's soul!  A bitter doom
     Hath swallowed thee: by thine own rascalry
     Thy life is sped.  Hence from Achaean men,
1040 And mouth out thy revilings midst the dead!"

     So spake the valiant-hearted aweless son
     Of Aeacus.  But Tydeus' son alone
     Of all the Argives was with anger stirred
     Against Achilles for Thersites slain,
     Seeing these twain were of the self-same blood,
     The one, proud Tydeus' battle-eager son,
     The other, seed of godlike Agrius:
     Brother of noble Oeneus Agrius was;
     And Oeneus in the Danaan land begat
1050 Tydeus the battle-eager, son to whom
     Was stalwart Diomedes.  Therefore wroth
     Was he for slain Thersites, yea, had raised
     Against the son of Peleus vengeful hands,
     Exeept the noblest of Aehaea's sons
     Had thronged around him, and besought him sore,
     And held him back therefrom.  With Peleus' son
     Also they pleaded; else those mighty twain,
     The mightiest of all Argives, were at point
     To close with clash of swords, so stung were they
1060 With bitter wrath; yet hearkened they at last
     To prayers of comrades, and were reconciled.

     Then of their pity did the Atreid kings --
     For these too at the imperial loveliness
     Of Penthesileia marvelled -- render up
     Her body to the men of Troy, to bear
     Unto the burg of Ilus far-renowned
     With all her armour.  For a herald came
     Asking this boon for Priam; for the king
     Longed with deep yearning of the heart to lay
1070 That battle-eager maiden, with her arms,
     And with her war-horse, in the great earth-mound
     Of old Laomedon.  And so he heaped
     A high broad pyre without the city wall:
     Upon the height thereof that warrior-queen
     They laid, and costly treasures did they heap
     Around her, all that well beseems to burn
     Around a mighty queen in battle slain.
     And so the Fire-god's swift-upleaping might,
     The ravening flame, consumed her.  All around
1080 The people stood on every hand, and quenched
     The pyre with odorous wine.  Then gathered they
     The bones, and poured sweet ointment over them,
     And laid them in a casket: over all
     Shed they the rich fat of a heifer, chief
     Among the herds that grazed on Ida's slope.
     And, as for a beloved daughter, rang
     All round the Trojan men's heart-stricken wail,
     As by the stately wall they buried her
     On an outstanding tower, beside the bones
1090 Of old Laomedon, a queen beside
     A king.  This honour for the War-god's sake
     They rendered, and for Penthesileia's own.
     And in the plain beside her buried they
     The Amazons, even all that followed her
     To battle, and by Argive spears were slain.
     For Atreus' sons begrudged not these the boon
     Of tear-besprinkled graves, but let their friends,
     The warrior Trojans, draw their corpses forth,
     Yea, and their own slain also, from amidst
1100 The swath of darts o'er that grim harvest-field.
     Wrath strikes not at the dead: pitied are foes
     When life has fled, and left them foes no more.

     Far off across the plain the while uprose
     Smoke from the pyres whereon the Argives laid
     The many heroes overthrown and slain
     By Trojan hands what time the sword devoured;
     And multitudinous lamentation wailed
     Over the perished.  But above the rest
     Mourned they o'er brave Podarces, who in fight
1110 Was no less mighty than his hero-brother
     Protesilaus, he who long ago
     Fell, slain of Hector: so Podarces now,
     Struck down by Penthesileia's spear, hath cast
     Over all Argive hearts the pall of grief.
     Wherefore apart from him they laid in clay
     The common throng of slain; but over him
     Toiling they heaped an earth-mound far-descried
     In memory of a warrior aweless-souled.
     And in a several pit withal they thrust
1120 The niddering Thersites' wretched corse.
     Then to the ships, acclaiming Aeacus' son,
     Returned they all.  But when the radiant day
     Had plunged beneath the Ocean-stream, and night,
     The holy, overspread the face of earth,
     Then in the rich king Agamemnon's tent
     Feasted the might of Peleus' son, and there
     Sat at the feast those other mighty ones
     All through the dark, till rose the dawn divine.

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