Book IV

The Breaking of the Truce, and the First Battle

A council of the gods, who decide that the war shall go on⁠—Minerva sent down to cause the breaking of the truce⁠—Pandarus persuaded by her to aim an arrow at Menelaus, who is wounded by it, and healed by Machaon⁠—Exhortations of Agamemnon addressed to the Greek chiefs⁠—A furious battle, and great slaughter on both sides.

Meantime the immortal gods with Jupiter

Upon his golden pavement sat and held

A council. Hebe, honored of them all,

Ministered nectar, and from cups of gold

They pledged each other, looking down on Troy.

When, purposely to kindle Juno’s mood

To anger, Saturn’s son, with biting words

That well betrayed his covert meaning, spake:⁠—

“Two goddesses⁠—the Argive Juno one,

The other Pallas, her invincible friend⁠—

Take part with Menelaus, yet they sit

Aloof, content with looking on, while still

Venus, the laughter-loving one, protects

Her Paris, ever near him, warding off

The stroke of fate. Just now she rescued him

When he was near his death. The victory

Belongs to Menelaus, loved of Mars.

Now let us all consider what shall be

The issue⁠—whether we allow the war,

With all its waste of life, to be renewed,

Or cause the warring nations to sit down

In amity. If haply it shall be

The pleasure and the will of all the gods,

Let Priam’s city keep its dwellers still,

And Menelaus lead his Helen home.”

He spake, but Juno and Minerva sat,

And with closed lips repined, for secretly

They plotted evil for the Trojan race.

Minerva held her peace in bitterness

Of heart and sore displeased with Father Jove.

But Juno could not curb her wrath, and spake:⁠—

“What words, austere Saturnius, hast thou said!

Wilt thou then render vain the toils I bear,

And all my sweat? My very steeds even now

Are weary with the mustering of the host

That threaten woe to Priam and his sons.

Yet do thy will; but be at least assured

That all the other gods approve it not.”

The cloud-compelling Jupiter replied

In anger: “Pestilent one! What grievous wrong

Hath Priam done to thee, or Priam’s sons,

That thou shouldst persevere to overthrow

His noble city? Shouldst thou through the gates

Of Ilium make thy way, and there devour,

Within the ramparts, Priam and his sons

And all the men of Troy alive, thy rage

Haply might be appeased. Do as thou wilt,

So that this difference breed no lasting strife

Between us. Yet I tell thee this⁠—and thou

Bear what I say in mind: In time to come,

Should I design to level in the dust

Some city where men dear to thee are born,

Seek not to thwart my vengeance, but submit.

For now I fully yield me to thy wish,

Though with unwilling mind. Wherever dwell

The race of humankind beneath the sun

And starry heaven, of all their cities Troy

Has been by me most honored⁠—sacred Troy⁠—

And Priam, and the people who obey

Priam, the wielder of the ashen spear;

For there my altars never lacked their rites⁠—

Feasts, incense, and libations duly paid.”

Then Juno, the majestic, with large eyes,

Rejoined: “The cities most beloved by me

Are three⁠—Mycenae, with her spacious streets,

Argos, and Sparta. Raze them to the ground,

If they be hateful to thee. I shall ne’er

Contend to save them, nor repine to see

Their fall; for, earnestly as I might seek

To rescue them from ruin, all my aid

Would not avail, so much the mightier thou.

Yet doth it ill become thee thus to make

My efforts vain. I am a goddess, sprung

From the same stock with thee; I am the child

Of crafty Saturn, and am twice revered⁠—

Both for my birth and that I am the spouse

Of thee who rulest over all the gods.

Now let us each yield somewhat⁠—I to thee

And thou to me; the other deathless gods

Will follow us. Let Pallas be despatched

To that dread battle-field on which are ranged

The Trojans and Achaians, and stir up

The Trojan warriors first to lift their hands

Against the elated Greeks and break the league,”

She ended, and the Father of the gods

And mortals instantly complied, and called

Minerva, and in wingèd accents said:⁠—

“Haste to the battle-field, and there, among

The Trojan and Achaian armies, cause

The Trojan warriors first to lift their hands

Against the elated Greeks and break the league.”

So saying, Jupiter to Pallas gave

The charge she wished already. She in haste

Shot from the Olympian summits, like a star

Sent by the crafty Saturn’s son to warn

The seamen or some mighty host in arms⁠—

A radiant meteor scattering sparkles round.

So came and lighted Pallas on the earth

Amidst the armies. All who saw were seized

With wonder⁠—Trojan knights and well-armed Greeks;

And many a one addressed his comrade thus:⁠—

“Sure we shall have the wasting war again,

And stubborn combats; or, it may be, Jove,

The arbiter of wars among mankind,

Decrees that the two nations dwell in peace.”

So Greeks and Trojans said. The goddess went

Among the Trojan multitude disguised;

She seemed Laodocus, Antenor’s son,

A valiant warrior, seeking through the ranks

For godlike Pandarus. At length she found

Lycaon’s gallant and illustrious son,

Standing with bucklered warriors ranged around,

Who followed him from where Aesepus flows;

And, standing near, she spake these wingèd words:⁠—

“Son of Lycaon! Wilt thou hear my words,

Brave as thou art? Then wilt thou aim a shaft

At Menelaus; thus wilt thou have earned

Great thanks and praise from all the men of Troy,

And chiefly from Prince Paris, who will fill,

Foremost of all, thy hands with lavish gifts,

When he shall look on Menelaus slain⁠—

The warlike son of Atreus⁠—by thy hand,

And laid upon his lofty funeral pile.

Aim now at Menelaus the renowned

An arrow, while thou offerest a vow

To Lycian Phoebus, mighty with the bow,

That thou wilt bring to him a hecatomb

Of firstling lambs, when thou again shalt come

Within thine own Zeleia’s sacred walls.”

So spake Minerva, and her words o’ercame

The weak one’s purpose. He uncovered straight

His polished bow, made of the elastic horns

Of a wild goat, which, from his lurking-place,

As once it left its cavern lair, he smote,

And pierced its breast, and stretched it on the rock.

Full sixteen palms in length the horns had grown

From the goat’s forehead. These an artisan

Had smoothed, and, aptly fitting each to each,

Polished the whole and tipped the work with gold.

To bend that bow, the warrior lowered it

And pressed an end against the earth. His friends

Held up, meanwhile, their shields before his face,

Lest the brave sons of Greece should lift their spears

Against him ere the champion of their host,

The warlike Menelaus, should have felt

The arrow. Then the Lycian drew aside

The cover from his quiver, taking out

A well-fledged arrow that had never flown⁠—

A cause of future sorrows. On the string

He laid that fatal arrow, while he made

To Lycian Phoebus, mighty with the bow,

A vow to sacrifice before his shrine

A noble hecatomb of firstling lambs

When he should come again to his abode

Within his own Zeleia’s sacred walls.

Grasping the bowstring and the arrow’s notch,

He drew them back, and forced the string to meet

His breast, the arrow-head to meet the bow,

Till the bow formed a circle. Then it twanged.

The cord gave out a shrilly sound; the shaft

Leaped forth in eager haste to reach the host.

Yet, Menelaus, then the blessed gods,

The deathless ones, forgot thee not; and first,

Jove’s daughter, gatherer of spoil, who stood

Before thee, turned aside the deadly shaft.

As when a mother, while her child is wrapped

In a sweet slumber, scares away the fly,

So Pallas turned the weapon from thy breast,

And guided it to where the golden clasps

Made fast the belt, and where the corselet’s mail

Was doubled. There the bitter arrow struck

The belt, and through its close contexture passed,

And fixed within the well-wrought corselet stood,

Yet reached the plated quilt which next his skin

The hero wore⁠—his surest guard against

The weapon’s force⁠—and broke through that alike;

And there the arrow gashed the part below,

And the dark blood came gushing from the wound.

As when some Carian or Maeonian dame

Tinges with purple the white ivory,

To form a trapping for the cheeks of steeds⁠—

And many a horseman covets it, yet still

It lies within her chamber, to become

The ornament of some great monarch’s steed

And make its rider proud⁠—thy shapely thighs,

Thy legs, and thy fair ankles thus were stained,

O Menelaus! with thy purple blood.

When Agamemnon, king of men, beheld

The dark blood flowing from his brother’s wound,

He shuddered. Menelaus, great in war,

Felt the like horror; yet, when he perceived

That still the arrow, neck and barb, remained

Without the mail, the courage rose again

That filled his bosom. Agamemnon, then,

The monarch, sighing deeply, took the hand

Of Menelaus⁠—while his comrades round

Like him lamented⁠—sighing as he spake:⁠—

“Dear brother, when I sent thee forth alone

To combat with the Trojans for the Greeks,

I ratified a treaty for thy death,

Since now the Trojans smite and under foot

Trample the league. Yet not in vain shall be

The treaty, nor the blood of lambs, nor wine

Poured to the gods, nor right hands firmly pledged;

For though it please not now Olympian Jove

To make the treaty good, he will in time

Cause it to be fulfilled, and they shall pay

Dearly with their own heads and with their wives

And children for this wrong. And this I know

In my undoubting mind⁠—a day will come

When sacred Troy and Priam and the race

Governed by Priam, mighty with the spear,

Shall perish all. Saturnian Jove, who sits

On high, a dweller of the upper air,

Shall shake his dreadful aegis in the sight

Of all, indignant at this treachery.

Such the event will be; but I shall grieve

Bitterly, Menelaus, if thou die,

Thy term of life cut short. I shall go back

To my dear Argos with a brand of shame

Upon me. For the Greeks will soon again

Bethink them of their country; we shall then

Leave Argive Helen to remain the boast

Of Priam and the Trojans⁠—while thy bones

Shall moulder, mingling with the earth of Troy⁠—

Our great design abandoned. Then shall say

Some haughty Trojan, leaping on the tomb

Of Menelaus: ‘So in time to come

May Agamemnon wreak his wrath, as here

He wreaked it, whither he had vainly led

An army, and now hastens to his home

And his own land, with ships that bear no spoil,

And the brave Menelaus left behind.’

So shall some Trojan say; but, ere that time,

May the earth open to receive my bones!”

The fair-haired Menelaus cheerfully

Replied: “Grieve not, nor be the Greeks alarmed

For me, since this sharp arrow has not found

A vital part, but, ere it reached so far,

The embroidered belt, the quilt beneath, and plate

Wrought by the armorer’s cunning, broke its force.”

King Agamemnon took the word and said:⁠—

“Dear Menelaus! Would that it were so,

Yet the physician must explore thy wound,

And with his balsams soothe the bitter pain.”

Then turning to Talthybius, he addressed

The sacred herald: “Hasten with all speed,

Talthybius; call Machaon, warrior-son

Of Aesculapius, that much-honored leech,

And bring him to the Achaian general,

The warlike Menelaus, whom some hand

Of Trojan or of Lycian, skilled to bend

The bow, hath wounded with his shaft⁠—a deed

For him to exult in, but a grief to us.”

He spake; nor failed the herald to obey,

But hastened at the word and passed among

The squadrons of Achaia, mailed in brass,

In search of great Machaon. Him he found

As midst the valiant ranks of bucklered men

He stood⁠—the troops who followed him to war

From Triccae, nurse of steeds. Then, drawing near,

The herald spake to him in wingèd words:⁠—

“O son of Aesculapius, come in haste.

King Agamemnon calls thee to the aid

Of warlike Menelaus, whom some hand

Of Trojan or of Lycian, skilled to bend

The bow, hath wounded with his shaft⁠—a deed

For him to exult in, but a grief to us.”

Machaon’s heart was touched, and forth they went

Through the great throng, the army of the Greeks.

And when they came where Atreus’ warlike son

Was wounded, they perceived the godlike man

Standing amid a circle of the chiefs,

The bravest of the Achaians, who at once

Had gathered round. Without delay he drew

The arrow from the fairly-fitted belt.

The barbs were bent in drawing. Then he loosed

The embroidered belt, the quilted vest beneath,

And plate⁠—the armorer’s work⁠—and carefully

O’erlooked the wound where fell the bitter shaft,

Cleansed it from blood, and sprinkled over it

With skill the soothing balsams which of yore

The friendly Chiron to his father gave.

While round the warlike Menelaus thus

The chiefs were busy, all the Trojans moved

Into array of battle; they put on

Their armor, and were eager for the fight.

Then wouldst thou not have seen, hadst thou been there,

King Agamemnon slumbering, or in fear,

And skulking from the combat, but alert,

Preparing for the glorious tasks of war.

His horses, and his chariot bright with brass,

He left, and bade Eurymedon, his groom,

The son of Ptolemy Piraides,

Hold them apart still panting, yet with charge

To keep them near their master, till the hour

When he should need them, weary with the toil

Of such a vast command. Meantime he went

On foot among his files of soldiery,

And whomsoe’er he found with fiery steeds

Hasting to battle, thus he cheered them on:⁠—

“O Argives! Let not your hot courage cool,

For Father Jove will never take the part

Of treachery. Whosoe’er have been the first

To break the league, upon their lifeless limbs

Shall vultures feast; and doubt not we shall bear

Away in our good ships the wives they love

And their young children, when we take their town.”

But whomsoe’er he saw that kept afar

From the dread field, he angrily rebuked:⁠—

“O Argives! Who with arrows only fight,

Base as ye are, have ye no sense of shame?

Why stand ye stupefied, like fawns, that, tired

With coursing the wide pastures, stop at last,

Their strength exhausted! Thus ye stand amazed,

Nor think of combat. Wait ye for the hour

When to your ships, with their fair-sculptured prows,

Moored on the borders of the hoary deep,

The Trojans come, that haply ye may see

If the great hand of Jove will shield you then?”

Thus Agamemnon, as supreme in power,

Threaded the warrior-files, until he came

Where stood the Cretans. All in arms they stood

Around Idomeneus, the great in war.

Like a wild boar in strength, he led the van,

And, in the rear, Meriones urged on

His phalanxes. The king of men rejoiced,

And blandly thus bespake Idomeneus:⁠—

“Idomeneus! I honor thee above

The other knights of Greece, as well in war

As in all other labors, and no less

In banquets, when the Achaian nobles charge

Their goblets with the dark-red mingled wine

In sign of honor. All the other Greeks

Drink by a certain measure, but thy cup

Stands ever full, like mine, that thou mayst drink

When thou desirest. Hasten to the war

With all the valor thou dost glory in.”

The Cretan chief, Idomeneus, replied:⁠—

“Atrides, I remain thy true ally,

As I have pledged my faith. But thou exhort

The other long-haired Greeks, and bid them rush

To combat, since the Trojans break their oath.

For woe and death must be the lot of those

Who broke the peace they vowed so solemnly.”

He spake. The son of Atreus, glad at heart,

Passed on among the squadrons, till he came

To where the warriors Ajax formed their ranks

For battle, with a cloud of infantry.

As when some goatherd from the hill-top sees

A cloud that traverses the deep before

A strong west wind⁠—beholding it afar,

Pitch-black it seems, and bringing o’er the waves

A whirlwind with it; he is seized with fear,

And drives his flock to shelter in a cave⁠—

So with the warriors Ajax to the war

Moved, dense and dark, the phalanxes of youths

Trained for the combat, and their serried files

Bristling with spears and shields. The king of men

Saw with delight, and spake these wingèd words:⁠—

“O warriors Ajax, leaders of the Greeks

In brazen armor, I enjoin you not

To rouse the courage of your soldiery.

Such word would ill become me, for yourselves

Have made your followers eager to engage

In manful combat. Would to Jupiter,

To Pallas, and Apollo, that there dwelt

In every bosom such a soul as yours!

Then would the city of King Priam fall

At once, o’erthrown and levelled by our hands.”

Thus having said, he left them and went on

To others. There he found the smooth of speech,

Nestor, the Pylian orator, employed

In marshalling his squadrons. Near to him

Alastor and the large-limbed Pelagon,

Chromius, and Haemon, prince among his tribe,

And Bias, shepherd of the people, stood.

The cavalry with steeds and cars he placed

In front. A vast and valiant multitude

Of infantry he stationed in the rear,

To be the bulwark of the war. Between

He made the faint of spirit take their place,

That, though unwillingly, they might be forced

To combat with the rest. And first he gave

His orders to the horsemen, bidding them

To keep their coursers reined, nor let them range

At random through the tumult of the crowd:⁠—

“And let no man, too vain of horsemanship,

And trusting in his valor, dare advance

Beyond the rest to attack the men of Troy,

Nor let him fall behind the rest, to make

Our ranks the weaker. Whoso from his car

Can reach an enemy’s, let him stand and strike

With his long spear, for ’tis the shrewder way.

By rules like these, which their brave hearts obeyed,

The men of yore laid level towns and towers.”

The aged man, long versed in tasks of war,

Counselled them thus. King Agamemnon heard,

Delighted, and in wingèd words he said:⁠—

“O aged man, would that thy knees were firm

As is thy purpose, and thy strength as great!

But age, the common fate of all, has worn

Thy frame: would that some others had thy age,

And thou wert of the number of our youths!”

Then answered Nestor, the Gerenian knight:⁠—

“O son of Atreus, I myself could wish

That I were now as when of yore I struck

The high-born Ereuthalion down. The gods

Bestow not all their gifts on man at once.

If I were then a youth, old age in turn

Is creeping o’er me. Still I keep among

The knights, and counsel and admonish them⁠—

The office of the aged. Younger men,

They who can trust their strength, must wield the spear.”

He spake. The son of Atreus passed him by,

Pleased with his words, and, moving onward, came

Where⁠—with the Athenians, ever prompt to raise

The war-cry, grouped around him⁠—stood the knight

Menestheus, son of Peteus. Near to these

Was wise Ulysses, with his sturdy band

Of Cephalonians. None of these had heard

The clamor of the battle, for the hosts

Of Trojan knights and Greeks had just begun

To move, and there they waited for the advance

Of other squadrons marching on to charge

The Trojans and begin the war anew.

The king of men, Atrides, was displeased,

And spake, and chid them thus with wingèd words:⁠—

“O son of Peteus, foster-child of Jove,

And thou, the man of craft and evil wiles!

Why stand ye here aloof, irresolute,

And wait for others? Ye should be the first

To meet the foe and stem the battle’s rage.

I bid you first to banquets which the Greeks

Give to their leaders, where ye feast at will

On roasted meats and bowls of pleasant wine.

Now, ere ye move, ye willingly would see

Ten Grecian squadrons join the deadly strife.”

The man of many arts, Ulysses, spake,

And frowned: “O Atreus’ son! What words are those

Which pass thy lips? How canst thou say that we

Avoid the battle? Ever when the Greeks

Seek bloody conflict with the Trojan knights,

Thou, if thou wilt, and if thou givest heed

To things like these, shalt with thine eyes behold

The father of Telemachus engaged

In combat with the foremost knights that form

The Trojan van. Thou utterest empty words.”

King Agamemnon, when he saw the chief

Offended, changed his tone, and, smiling, said:⁠—

“Son of Laertes, nobly-born and wise

Ulysses! It is not for me to chide

Nor to exhort thee, for thy heart, I know,

Counsels thee kindly toward me, and thy thought

Agrees with mine. We will discuss all this

Hereafter. If just now too harsh a word

Was uttered, may the immortals make it vain!”

So saying, he departed, and went on

To others. By his steeds and by his car,

That shone with fastenings of brass, he found

The son of Tydeus, large-souled Diomed,

And Sthenelus, the son of Capaneus,

Standing beside him. Looking at them both,

King Agamemnon to Tydides spake

In wingèd words, and thus reproved the chief:⁠—

“O son of Tydeus, that undaunted knight!

What is there to appall thee? Why look through

The spaces that divide the warlike ranks?

Not thus did Tydeus feel the touch of fear,

But ever foremost of his warriors fought.

So they declare who saw his deeds, for I

Was never with him, nor have ever seen

The hero. Yet they say that he excelled

All others. Certain is it that he once

Entered Mycenae as a friendly guest,

With no array of soldiery, but came

With godlike Polynices. ’Twas the time

When warrior-bands were gathered to besiege

The sacred walls of Thebes, and earnestly

They prayed that from Mycenae they might lead

Renowned auxiliars to the war, and we

Would willingly have given the aid they asked⁠—

For we approved the prayer⁠—but Jove, with signs

Of angry omen, changed our purposes.

The chiefs departed, journeying on to where

Asopus flows through reeds and grass, and thence

The Achaians sent an embassy to Thebes

By Tydeus. There he met the many sons

Of Cadmus at the banquets in the hall

Of valiant Eteocles. Though alone

Among so many, and a stranger guest,

The hero feared them not, but challenged them

To vie with him in games; and easily

He won the victory, such aid was given

By Pallas. Then the sons of Cadmus, skilled

In horsemanship, were wroth, and privily

Sent fifty armed youths to lie in wait

For his return. Two leaders had the band⁠—

Maion, the son of Harmon, like a god

In form, and Lycophontes, brave in war,

Son of Autophonos. A bloody death

Did Tydeus give the youths. He slew them all

Save Maion, whom he suffered to return,

Obedient to an omen from the gods.

Such was Aetolian Tydeus; but his son,

A better speaker, is less brave in war.”

He spake; and valiant Diomed, who heard

The king’s reproof with reverence, answered not.

Then spake the son of honored Capaneus:⁠—

“Atrides, speak not falsely, when thou know’st

The truth so well. Assuredly we claim

To be far braver than our fathers were.

We took seven-gated Thebes with fewer troops

Than theirs, when, trusting in the omens sent

From heaven, and in the aid of Jupiter, so

We led our men beneath the city walls

Sacred to Mars. Our fathers perished there

Through their own folly. Therefore never seek

To place them in the same degree with us.”

The brave Tydides with a frown replied:⁠—

“Nay, hold thy peace, my friend, and heed my words.

Of Agamemnon I will not complain⁠—

The shepherd of the people; it is his

To exhort the well-armed Greeks to gallant deeds.

Great glory will attend him if the Greeks

Shall overcome the Trojans, and shall take

The sacred Ilium; but his grief will be

Bitter if we shall fail and be destroyed.

Hence think we only of the furious charge!”

He spake, and from his chariot leaped to earth

All armed; the mail upon the monarch’s breast

Rang terribly as he marched swiftly on.

The boldest might have heard that sound with fear.

As when the ocean-billows, surge on surge,

Are pushed along to the resounding shore

Before the western wind, and first a wave

Uplifts itself, and then against the land

Dashes and roars, and round the headland peaks

Tosses on high and spouts its spray afar,

So moved the serried phalanxes of Greece

To battle, rank succeeding rank, each chief

Giving command to his own troops; the rest

Marched noiselessly: you might have thought no voice

Was in the breasts of all that mighty throng,

So silently they all obeyed their chiefs,

Their showy armor glittering as they moved

In firm array. But, as the numerous flock

Of some rich man, while the white milk is drawn

Within his sheepfold, hear the plaintive call

Of their own lambs, and bleat incessantly⁠—

Such clamors from the mighty Trojan host

Arose; nor was the war-cry one, nor one

The voice, but words of mingled languages,

For they were called from many different climes.

These Mars encouraged to the fight; but those

The blue-eyed Pallas. Terror too was there,

And Fright, and Strife that rages unappeased⁠—

Sister and comrade of man-slaying Mars⁠—

Who rises small at first, but grows, and lifts

Her head to heaven and walks upon the earth.

She, striding through the crowd and heightening

The mutual rancor, flung into the midst

Contention, source of bale to all alike.

And now, when met the armies in the field,

The ox-hide shields encountered, and the spears,

And might of warriors mailed in brass; then clashed

The bossy bucklers, and the battle-din

Was loud; then rose the mingled shouts and groans

Of those who slew and those who fell; the earth

Ran with their blood. As when the winter streams

Rush down the mountain-sides, and fill, below,

With their swift waters, poured from gushing springs,

Some hollow vale, the shepherd on the heights

Hears the far roar⁠—such was the mingled din

That rose from the great armies when they met.

Then first Antilochus, advancing, struck

The Trojan champion Echepolus down,

Son of Thalysius, fighting in the van.

He smote him on the helmet’s cone, where streamed

The horse-hair plume. The brazen javelin stood

Fixed in his forehead, piercing through the bone,

And darkness gathered o’er his eyes. He fell

As falls a tower before some stubborn siege.

Then Elephenor, son of Chalcodon,

Prince of the brave Abrantes, by the foot

Seized the slain chieftain, dragging him beyond

The reach of darts, to strip him of his arms;

Yet dropped him soon, for brave Agenor saw,

And, as he stooped to drag the body, hurled

His brazen spear and pierced the uncovered side

Seen underneath the shield. At once his limbs

Relaxed their hold, and straight the spirit fled.

Then furious was the struggle of the Greeks

And Trojans o’er the slain; they sprang like wolves

Upon each other, and man slaughtered man.

Then by the hand of Ajax Telamon

Fell Simoisius, in the bloom of youth,

Anthemion’s son. His mother once came down

From Ida, with her parents, to their flocks

Beside the Simoïs; there she brought him forth

Upon its banks, and gave her boy the name

Of Simoisius. Unrequited now

Was all the care with which his parents nursed

His early years, and short his term of life⁠—

Slain by the hand of Ajax, large of soul.

For, when he saw him coming, Ajax smote

Near the right pap the Trojan’s breast; the blade

Passed through, and out upon the further side.

He fell among the dust of earth, as falls

A poplar growing in the watery soil

Of some wide marsh⁠—a fair, smooth bole,

with boughs Only on high, which with his gleaming axe

Some artisan has felled to bend its trunk

Into the circle of some chariot-wheel;

Withering it lies upon the river’s bank.

So did the high-born Ajax spoil the corpse

Of Simoisius, Anthemion’s son.

But Antiphus, the son of Priam, clad

In shining armor, saw, and, taking aim,

Cast his sharp spear at Ajax through the crowd.

The weapon struck him not, but pierced the groin

Of one who was Ulysses’ faithful friend⁠—

Leucus⁠—as from the spot he dragged the dead;

He fell, the body dropping from his hold.

Ulysses, stung with fury at his fall,

Rushed to the van, arrayed in shining brass,

Drew near the foe, and, casting a quick glance

Around him, hurled his glittering spear. The host

Of Trojans, as it left his hand, shrank back

Upon each other. Not in vain it flew,

But struck Democoön, the spurious son

Of Priam, who, to join the war, had left

Abydos, where he tended the swift mares.

Ulysses, to revenge his comrade’s death,

Smote him upon the temple with his spear.

Through both the temples passed the brazen point,

And darkness gathered o’er his eyes; he fell,

His armor clashing round him with his fall.

Then did the foremost bands, and Hector’s self,

Fall back. The Argives shouted, dragging off

The slain, and rushing to the ground they won.

Then was Apollo angered, looking down

From Pergamus, and thus he called aloud:⁠—

“Rally, ye Trojans! Tamers of fleet steeds!

Yield not the battle to the Greeks. Their limbs

Are not of stone or iron, to withstand

The trenchant steel ye wield. Nor does the son

Of fair-haired Thetis now, Achilles, take

Part in the battle, but sits, brooding o’er

The choler that devours him, in his ships.”

Thus from the city spake the terrible god.

Meantime Tritonian Pallas, glorious child

Of Jupiter, went through the Grecian ranks

Where’er they wavered, and revived their zeal.

Diores, son of Amarynceus, then

Met his hard fate. The fragment of a rock

Was thrown by hand at his right leg, and struck

The ankle. Piroüs, son of Imbrasus,

Who came from Aenus, leading to the war

His Thracian soldiers, flung it; and it crushed

Tendons and bones, and down the warrior fell

In dust, and toward his comrades stretched his hands,

And gasped for breath. But he who gave the wound,

Piroüs, came up and pierced him with his spear.

Forth gushed the entrails, and the eyes grew dark.

But Piroüs by Aetolian Thoas fell,

Who met him with his spear and pierced his breast

Above the pap. The brazen weapon stood

Fixed in the lungs. Then Thoas came and plucked

The massive spear away, and drew his sword,

And thrusting through him the sharp blade, he took

His life away. Yet could he not despoil

The slain man of his armor, for around

His comrades thronged, the Thracians, with their tufts

Of streaming hair, and, wielding their long spears,

Drove him away. And he, though huge of limb,

And valiant and renowned, was forced to yield

To numbers pressing on him, and withdrew.

Thus near each other stretched upon the ground

Piroüs, the leader of the Thracian band,

And he who led the Epeans, brazen-mailed

Diores, lay with many others slain.

Then could no man, who near at hand beheld

The battle of that day, see cause of blame

In aught, although, unwounded and unbruised

By weapons, Pallas led him by the hand

In safety through the midst, and turned aside

The violence of javelins; for that day

Saw many a Trojan slain, and many a Greek,

Stretched side by side upon the bloody field.