Book XXI

The Battle in the River Scamander

Flight of the Trojans before Achilles, some toward Troy, and the rest toward the river Scamander⁠—Twelve Trojan youths made captive in the river, to be butchered at the funeral pile of Patroclus⁠—Insult offered by Achilles to the god of the river, who causes his waters to rush against him, and forces him to flee for his life⁠—Interference of Vulcan, who is summoned by Juno to the aid of Achilles, and who, by drying up the waters of the river, compels it to submit⁠—Combat of Mars and Minerva, and of the other gods⁠—Achilles decoyed away from the gates of Troy by Apollo disguised in the form of Agenor, while the Trojans enter the city.

Now when they reached the pleasant banks

The eddying Xanthus runs, the river sprung

From deathless Jove, Achilles drave his foes through which

Asunder. Part he chased across the plain

Townward, along the way by which the Greek;

In terror fled the day before, pursued

By glorious Hector. Panic-struck they ran

Along that way, while, to restrain their flight,

Before them Juno hung a veil of cloud

And darkness. Meanwhile half the flying crowd

Leaped down to that deep stream and rolled among

Its silver eddies. With a mighty noise

They plunged; the torrent dashed; the banks around

Remurmured shrilly to the cries of those

Who floated struggling in the current’s whirl,

As when before the fierce, devouring flames

A swarm of locusts, springing into air,

Fly toward a river, while the fire behind

Crackles with sudden fierceness, and in fright

They fall into the waves, the roaring stream

Of the deep-eddied Xanthus thus was filled

Before Achilles with a mingled crowd

Of steeds and men. The Jove-descended man

Left leaning on the tamarisks his spear

Upon the river’s border, and leaped in,

Armed only with his sword, intent to deal

Death on the fugitives; on every side

He smote, and from the smitten by the sword

Rose lamentable cries; the waves around

Grew crimson with their blood. As when before

A dolphin of huge bulk the fishes flee

In fear, and crowd the creeks that lie around

The sheltered haven⁠—for their foe devours

All that he overtakes⁠—the Trojans thus

Hid from his sight among the hollow rocks

Beside the rushing river. When his hand

Was weary with the work of death, he took

Twelve youths alive, whose blood was yet to pay

The penalty for Menoetiades,

His slaughtered friend. He led them from the stream,

Passive with fear like fawns, and tied their hands

Behind them with the well-twined cords that bound

Their tunics. Then he gave them to his friends,

Who led the captives to the roomy ships.

Again Achilles rushed upon the foe

Intent on slaughter. One he met who climbed

The river’s bank, Dardanian Priam’s son,

Lycaon, whom in former days he made

His captive, by surprise, when in the night

He found him lopping with an axe the boughs

Of a wild fig-tree, that the trunk might form

The circle of a wheel. Achilles came,

An unexpected foe, and bore him off

To sea, and sold him in the populous isle

Of Lemnos. He was bought by Jason’s son,

The Imbrian prince, Eëtion, who had been

His host, and now redeemed him with large gifts,

And sent him to Arisba’s noble town.

Yet thence he stole, and reached his father’s house

Again, and there made merry with his friends

Eleven days, but on the twelfth a god

Delivered him again into the hands

Of Peleus’ son, who now would send his soul

Repining down to Hades. When the chief,

The swift of foot, beheld him stand unarmed,

With neither helm nor shield nor spear⁠—for these

He had thrown down⁠—faint with the sweaty toil

Of clambering up the bank, and every limb

Unstrung with weariness, then wrathfully

Thus said Achilles to his mighty soul:⁠—

“O strange! My eyes behold a miracle.

Sure, the brave sons of Troy whom I have slain

Will rise up from the nether darkness yet,

Since this man, whom I once reprieved from death

And sold in Lemnos the divine, comes back.

Nor could the ocean’s gray abyss of brine,

Beyond which many long in vain to pass,

Detain him in that isle. But he shall taste

The sharpness of my spear, that I may prove

Whether he after that will reappear,

And whether the kind earth, which holds so well

The valiant dead, can keep him in her womb.”

So pondered he and stood. The Trojan drew

Close to him, with intent to clasp his knees,

Fear-struck, yet hoping to avoid the doom

Of bitter death. The great Achilles raised

His ponderous spear to strike. Lycaon stooped,

And, darting underneath the weapon, seized

The hero’s knees; behind him in the ground

The spear stood fixed, though eager yet for blood;

One arm was round his adversary’s knees,

The other held⁠—and would not let it go⁠—

The spear, while thus with wingèd words he prayed:⁠—

“I clasp thy knees, Achilles; look on me

Kindly and pity me, O foster-child

Of Jove. I am thy suppliant, and may claim

Thy mercy. I partook with thee the fruits

Of Ceres, when amid my fruitful fields

Thou madest me a captive, carrying me

From friends and kindred to the sacred isle

Of Lemnos. Thou didst sell me there⁠—my price

A hundred beeves⁠—and thou shalt now receive,

For ransom, thrice as many. It is yet

But the twelfth morning since I came to Troy

After much hardship, and a pitiless fate

Betrays me to thy hands. I must believe

That Father Jove in wrath delivers me

To thee again. Laothoe brought me forth

To a brief life; that mother was the child

Of aged Altes⁠—Altes ruling o’er

The warlike Leleges, by whom are tilled

The heights of Pedasus, where Satnio flows⁠—

And Priam wedded her with other maids.

She bore two children to be slain by thee;

One was the godlike Polydore, whom thou

Didst smite with thy keen spear, in the front rank

Of those who fought on foot. His evil fate

Must overtake me now, for, since a god

Has brought me near thee, there is no escape.

Yet let me tell thee this, and weigh it well,

And let it save my life. I came not forth

From the same womb with Hector, by whose hand

Thy brave and gentle friend, Patroclus, died.”

The illustrious son of Priam ended here

His prayer, and heard a merciless reply:⁠—

“Fool! Never talk of ransom⁠—not a word.

Before the evil day on which my friend

Was slain, it pleased me oftentimes to spare

The Trojans. Many a one I took alive

And sold; but now no man of all their race,

Whom any god may bring within my reach,

Shall leave the field alive, and least of all

The sons of Priam. Die thou, then; and why

Shouldst thou, my friend, lament? Patroclus died,

And greatly he excelled thee. Seest thou not

How eminent in stature and in form

Am I, whom to a prince renowned for worth

A goddess mother bore; yet will there come

To me a violent death at morn, at eve,

Or at the midday hour, whenever he

Whose weapon is to take my life shall cast

The spear or send an arrow from the string.”

He spake: the Trojan’s heart and knees grew faint;

His hand let go the spear; he sat and cowered

With outstretched arms. Achilles drew his sword,

And smote his neck just at the collar-bone;

The two-edged blade was buried deep. He fell

Prone on the earth; the black blood spouted forth

And steeped the soil. Achilles by the foot

Flung him to float among the river-waves,

And uttered, boastfully, these wingèd words:⁠—

“Lie there among the fishes, who shall feed

Upon thy blood unscared. No mother there

Shall weep thee lying on thy bier; thy corpse

Scamander shall bear down to the broad sea,

Where, as he sees thee darkening its face,

Some fish shall hasten, darting through the waves,

To feed upon Lycaon’s fair white limbs.

So perish ye, till sacred Troy be ours,

You fleeing, while I follow close and slay.

This river cannot aid you⁠—this fair stream

With silver eddies, to whose deity

Ye offer many beeves in sacrifice,

And fling into its gulfs your firm-paced steeds;

But thus ye all shall perish, till I take

Full vengeance for Patroclus of the Greeks,

Whom, while I stood aloof from war, ye slew.”

He spake: and, deeply moved with inward wrath,

The River pondered how to render vain

The prowess of Achilles, and avert

Destruction from the Trojans. Now the son

Of Peleus rushed, his ponderous spear in hand,

To slay Asteropasus, who was sprung

From Pelegon, and Pelegon was born

To the broad river Axius, of a maid,

The eldest-born of Acessamenus,

Named Periboea; for the river-god

Was joined with her in love. Achilles sprang

To meet the youth, as, rising from the stream,

Armed with two spears, he stood, his heart made strong

And resolute by Xanthus, who had seen

Indignantly so many Trojans die⁠—

Youths whom Achilles slaughtered in his stream,

And had no pity on them. When the twain

Were near each other, standing face to face,

The swift Achilles was the first to speak:⁠—

“Who and whence art thou that dost venture thus

To meet me? They who seek to measure strength

With me are sons of most unhappy men.”

And thus the illustrious son of Pelegon

Made answer: “Brave Pelides, why inquire

My lineage? I am from a distant coast⁠—

Paeonia’s fertile fields; I lead to war

Paeonia’s warriors with long spears, and this

Is now the eleventh morning since I came

To join the war at Troy. I claim descent

From Axius, the broad Axius, who pours forth

The fairest river on the earth. His son

Was Pelegon, expert to wield the spear,

And I was born to Pelegon. And now,

Illustrious son of Peleus, let us fight.”

He spake: Achilles raised the Pelian ash

To smite; Asteropaeus aimed at him

Both lances, for he used both hands alike.

One struck the Grecian’s shield, yet passed not through,

Stopped by the god-given gold; the other gashed

Lightly the elbow of his dexter arm;

The black blood spouted forth, the spear passed on

Beyond him, and, still eager for its prey,

Stood fixed in earth. Achilles then, intent

To slay Asteropaeus, hurled at him

His trusty spear. The weapon missed its mark,

And, striking the high bank, was buried there

Up to the middle of its ashen staff.

Achilles drew the keen sword from his thigh,

And flew with fury toward his foe, who toiled

In vain with sinewy arm to pluck that spear

From out the bank; and thrice he shook the beam

Fiercely, and thrice desisted, lacking strength,

And last he sought, by bending it, to break

The ashen weapon of Aeacides.

But ere it snapped Achilles took his life,

Smiting him at the navel with the sword.

Forth gushed the entrails to the ground, and o’er

His dying eyes the darkness came; and then

Achilles, leaping on his breast, tore off

The armor, and exultingly exclaimed:⁠—

“Lie there! A perilous task it was for thee

To combat with a son of Jove, though born

Thyself to a great River. I can boast

Descent from sovereign Jove. I owe my birth

To Peleus, ruler of the Myrmidons.

His father was Aeacus, who was born

To Jupiter, a god more potent far

Than all the rivers flowing to the sea.

And mightier is the race of Jupiter

Than that of any stream. Here close at hand

Is a great river, if such aid can aught

Avail thee; but to strive with Jupiter

Is not permitted. Acheloüs, king

Of rivers, cannot vie with him, nor yet

The great and mighty deep from which proceed

All streams and seas and founts and watery depths.

He trembles at the bolt of mighty Jove

And his hoarse thunder crashing in the sky.”

As thus he spake he plucked from out the bank

His brazen spear, and left the lifeless chief

Stretched in the sand, where the dark water steeped

His limbs, and eels and fishes came and gnawed

The warrior’s reins. Achilles hastened on,

Pursuing the Pseonian knights, who now,

When they beheld their bravest overthrown

In desperate battle by the mighty arm

And falchion of Pelides, took to flight

Along the eddying river. There he slew

Mydon, Thersilochus, Astypylus,

Mnesus, and Thrasius, and struck down in death

Aenius and Ophelestes. Many more

Of the Pseonians the swift-footed Greek

Had slain, had not the eddying River, roused

To anger, put a human semblance on,

And uttered from its whirling deeps a voice:⁠—

“O son of Peleus! Thou who dost excel

All other men in might and dreadful deeds⁠—

For the gods aid thee ever⁠—if the son

Of Saturn gives thee to destroy the race

Of Trojans, drive them from me to the plain,

And there perform thy terrible exploits.

For now my pleasant waters, in their flow,

Are choked with heaps of dead, and I no more

Can pour them into the great deep, so thick

The corpses clog my bed, while thou dost slay

And sparest not. Now then, withhold thy hand,

Prince of the people! I am horror-struck.”

Achilles the swift-footed made reply:

“Be it as thou commandest, foster-child

Of Jove, Scamander! Yet I shall not cease

To slay these treaty-breakers till at length

I shut them up within their town, and force

Hector to meet me, that we may decide

Which shall o’ercome the other⁠—he or I.”

He spake, and rushed upon the men of Troy,

Terrible as a god, while from his bed

The eddying River called to Phoebus thus:⁠—

“Why this, thou bearer of the silver bow,

Thou son of Jove? Thou heedest not the will

Of Saturn’s son, who strictly bade that thou

Shouldst aid the Trojans till the latest gleam

Of sunset, and till night is on the fields.”

And then Achilles, mighty with the spear,

From the steep bank leaped into the mid-stream,

While, foul with ooze, the angry River raised

His waves, and pushed along the heaps of dead

Slain by Achilles. These, with mighty roar

As of a bellowing ox, Scamander cast

Aground; the living with his whirling gulfs

He hid, and saved them in his friendly streams.

In tumult terribly the surges rose

Around Achilles, beating on his shield,

And made his feet to stagger, till he grasped

A tall, fair-growing elm upon the bank.

Down came the tree, and in its loosened roots

Brought the earth with it; the fair stream was checked

By the thick branches, and the prostrate trunk

Bridged it from side to side. Achilles sprang

From the deep pool, and fled with rapid feet

Across the plain in terror. Nor did then

The mighty river-god refrain, but rose

Against him with a darker crest, to drive

The noble son of Peleus from the field,

And so deliver Troy. Pelides sprang

A spear’s cast backward⁠—sprang with all the speed

Of the black eagle’s wing, the hunter-bird,

Fleetest and strongest of the fowls of air.

Like him he darted; clashing round his breast,

The brazen mail rang fearfully. Askance

He fled; the water with a mighty roar

Followed him close. As, when a husbandman

Leads forth, from some dark spring of earth, a rill

Among his planted garden-beds, and clears

Its channel, spade in hand, the pebbles there

Move with the current, which runs murmuring down

The sloping surface and outstrips its guide⁠—

So rushed the waves where’er Achilles ran,

Swift as he was; for mightier are the gods

Than men. As often as the noble son

Of Peleus made a stand in hope to know

Whether the deathless gods of the great heaven

Conspired to make him flee, so often came

A mighty billow of the Jove-born stream

And drenched his shoulders. Then again he sprang

Away; the rapid torrent made his knees

To tremble, while it swept, where’er he trod,

The earth from underneath his feet. He looked

To the broad heaven above him, and complained:⁠—

“Will not some god, O Father Jove, put forth

His power to save me in my hour of need

From this fierce river? Any fate but this

I am resigned to suffer. None of all

The immortal ones is more in fault than she

To whom I owe my birth; her treacherous words

Deluded me to think that I should fall

Beneath the walls of Troy by the swift shafts

Of Phoebus. Would that Hector, the most brave

Of warriors reared upon the Trojan soil,

Had slain me; he had slain a brave man then,

And a brave man had stripped me of my arms.

But now it is my fate to perish, caught

In this great river, like a swineherd’s boy,

Who in the time of rains attempts to pass

A torrent, and is overwhelmed and drowned.”

He spake, and Neptune and Minerva came

Quickly and stood beside him. In the form

Of men they came, and took his hand, and cheered

His spirit with their words. And thus the god

Neptune, who makes the earth to tremble, said:⁠—

“Fear not, Pelides, neither let thy heart

Be troubled, since thou hast among the gods,

By Jove’s consent, auxiliars such as I

And Pallas. It is not thy doom to be

Thus vanquished by a river. Soon its rage

Will cease, as thou shalt see. Meantime we give

This counsel; heed it well: let not thy hand

Refrain from slaughter till the Trojan host

Are all shut up⁠—all that escape thy arm⁠—

Within the lofty walls of Troy. Then take

The life of Hector, and return on board

Thy galleys; we will make that glory thine.”

Thus having spoken, they withdrew and joined

The immortals, while Achilles hastened on,

Encouraged by the mandate of the gods,

Across the plain. The plain was overflowed

With water; sumptuous arms were floating round,

And bodies of slain youths. Achilles leaped,

And stemmed with powerful limbs the stream, and still

Went forward; for Minerva mightily

Had strengthened him. Nor did Scamander fail

To put forth all his power, enraged the more

Against the son of Peleus; higher still

His torrent swelled and tossed with all its waves,

And thus he called to Simoïs with a shout:⁠—

“O brother, join with me to hold in check

This man, who threatens soon to overthrow

King Priam’s noble city; for no more

The Trojan host resist him. Come at once

And aid me; fill thy channel from its springs,

And summon all thy brooks, and lift on high

A mighty wave, and roll along thy bed,

Mingled in one great torrent, trees and stones,

That we may tame this savage man, who now

In triumph walks the field, and bears himself

As if he were a god. His strength, I deem,

Will not avail him, nor his noble form,

Nor those resplendent arms, which yet shall lie

Scattered along the bottom of my gulfs,

And foul with ooze. Himself too I shall wrap

In sand, and pile the rubbish of my bed

In heaps around him. Never shall the Greeks

Know where to gather up his bones, o’erspread

By me with river-slime, for there shall be

His burial-place; no other tomb the Greeks

Will need when they perform his funeral rites.”

He spake, and wrathfully he rose against

Achilles⁠—rose with turbid waves, and noise,

And foam, and blood and bodies of the dead.

One purple billow of the Jove-born stream

Swelled high and whelmed Achilles. Juno saw,

And trembled lest the hero should be whirled

Downward by the great river, and in haste

She called to Vulcan, her beloved son:⁠—

“Vulcan, my son, arise! We deemed that thou

And eddying Xanthus were of equal might

In battle. Come with instant aid, and bring

Thy vast array of flames, while from the deep

I call a tempest of the winds⁠—the West

And the swift South⁠—and they shall sweep along

A fiery torrent to consume the foe,

Warriors and weapons. Thou meantime lay waste

The groves along the Xanthus; hurl at him

Thy fires, nor let him with soft words or threats

Avert thy fury. Pause not from the work

Of ruin till I shout and give the sign,

And then shalt thou restrain thy restless fires.”

She spake, and Vulcan at her word sent forth

His fierce, devouring flames. Upon the plain

They first were kindled, and consumed the dead

That strewed it, where Achilles struck them down.

The ground was dried; the glimmering flood was stayed.

As when the autumnal north-wind, breathing

A newly watered garden, quickly dries

The clammy mould, and makes the tiller glad,

So did the spacious plain grow dry on which

The dead were turned to ashes. Then the god

Seized on the river with his glittering fires.

The elms, the willows, and the tamarisks

Fell, scorched to cinders, and the lotus-herbs,

Rushes, and reeds that richly fringed the banks

Of that fair-flowing current were consumed.

The eels and fishes, that were wont to glide

Hither and thither through the pleasant depths

And eddies, languished in the fiery breath

Of Vulcan, mighty artisan. The strength

Of the great River withered, and he spake:⁠—

“O Vulcan, there is none of all the gods

Who may contend with thee. I combat not

With fires like thine. Cease then. With my consent

The noble son of Peleus may drive out

The Trojans from their city. What have I

To do with war⁠—the attack or the defence?”

Thus in that fiery glow he spake, while seethed

His pleasant streams. As over a strong fire

A cauldron filled with fat of pampered swine

Glows bubbling on all sides, while underneath

Burns the dry fuel, thus were his fair streams

Scorched by the heat, and simmered, while the blast

Sent forth by Vulcan, the great artisan,

Tormented him, and he besought the aid

Of Juno with these supplicating words:⁠—

“Why should thy son, O Juno, wreak on me

His fury, more than on the other gods?

My fault is less than theirs who give their aid

To Troy; and I will cease, if thou command.

Bid him desist, and here I pledge my oath

Not to attempt to save the Trojan race

From ruin, though their city sink in flames

Before the torches of the warlike Greeks.”

This when the white-armed goddess Juno heard,

She said to Vulcan, her beloved son:⁠—

“Dear son, refrain; it is not well that thus

A god should suffer for the sake of men.”

She spake, and Vulcan quenched his dreadful fires,

And back the pleasant waters to their bed

Went gliding. Xanthus had been made to yield,

And the two combatants no longer strove

Since Juno, though offended, bade them cease,

Yet was the conflict terrible among

The other gods, as zeal for different sides

Impelled them. With a loud uproar they met

Each other in the field; the spacious earth

Rebellowed to the noise, and the great heaven

Returned it. To the ear of Jove it rose,

Who, sitting on Olympus, laughed within

His secret heart as he beheld the gods

Contending, for not long they stood apart.

Shield-breaking Mars began the assault; he rushed

Toward Pallas, brandishing his brazen spear,

And thus accosted her with insolent words:⁠—

“Thou shameless one, thou whose effrontery

Is boundless, why wilt thou provoke the gods

To strife? Thy temper is most arrogant.

Rememberest thou the time when thou didst prompt

Tydides Diomed to strike at me?

It was thy hand that held his shining spear,

And aimed it well, and gave the wound; but now

Will I take vengeance on thee for that wrong.”

He spake, and smote Minerva’s fringèd shield,

The dreadful aegis, which not even Jove

Could pierce with thunderbolts. The murderous Mars

Smote it with his huge spear. She only stepped

Backward a space, and with her powerful hand

Lifted a stone that lay upon the plain,

Black, huge, and jagged, which the men of old

Had placed there for a landmark. This she hurled

At Mars, and struck him on the neck; he fell

With nerveless limbs, and covered, as he lay,

Seven acres of the field: his armor clashed

Around him in his fall; his locks all soiled

Lay in the trodden dust. The goddess stood

O’er him, and boasted thus with wingèd words:⁠—

“Fool that thou art, hast thou not learned how much

The might I boast excels thine own, that thus

Thou measurest strength with me? Now dost thou feel

Thy mother’s curse fulfilled, who meditates

Thy chastisement, since thou hast left the Greeks

And joined the treaty-breaking sons of Troy.”

She spake, and turned away her glorious eyes.

Jove’s daughter, Venus, took the hand of Mars,

And led him groaning thence, while hardly yet

His strength came back. The white-armed Juno saw,

And spake to Pallas thus, with wingèd words:⁠—

“See, daughter of the Aegis-bearer, Jove,

Unconquerable maid! That shameless one,

Through all the tumult, from the thick of fight,

Leads hence the murderous Mars; but follow her.”

She spake, and Pallas gladly hastened forth,

And, overtaking Venus, dealt at her

A mighty buffet on the breast; her heart

Fainted, her knees gave way; and, as she lay

Prostrate with Mars upon the fruitful earth,

Exulting Pallas spake these wingèd words:⁠—

“Would that all those who aid the cause of Troy

And combat with the mailed Greeks were thus!

Would that they were as hardy and as brave

As Venus here, who ventured to the help

Of Mars, and met the force of my right arm!

Then had the stately Ilium been o’erthrown

Long since, and we had rested from the war.”

She spake: the white-armed Juno gently smiled.

And then King Neptune to Apollo said:⁠—

“Why, Phoebus, stand we thus aloof? it ill

Becomes us, while the other gods engage

In conflict. ’Twere a shame should we return

Up to Olympus and the brazen halls

Of Jove with no blow struck. Begin, for thou

Art younger born, and I, who both in years

And knowledge am before thee, must not make

The assault. O silly god, and slow of thought!

Hast thou indeed forgotten all the wrongs

We suffered once in Troy, and only we

Of all the gods, when, sent to earth by Jove,

We served a twelvemonth for a certain hire

The proud Laomedon, by whom our tasks

Were set? I built a city and a wall

Of broad extent, and beautiful, and strong

To stand assault; and, Phoebus, thou didst feed

His stamping oxen, with curved horns, among

The lawns of woody Ida seamed with glens.

But when the welcome hours had brought the day

Of our reward, the ruffian king refused

The promised wages, and dismissed us both

With menaces; to bind thee hand and foot

He threatened, and to sell thee as a slave

In distant isles, and to cut off the ears

Of both of us. So we returned to heaven,

Incensed at him who thus withheld the hire

He promised. Dost thou favor Troy for this?

Wilt thou not rather act with us until

These treaty-breakers, with their children all

And their chaste matrons, perish utterly?”

Then thus the archer-king, Apollo, spake:

“Thou wouldst not deem me wise, should I contend

With thee, O Neptune, for the sake of men,

Who flourish like the forest-leaves awhile,

And feed upon the fruits of earth and then

Decay and perish. Let us quit the field,

And leave the combat to the warring hosts.”

He spake, and turned, afraid to meet in arms

His uncle; but the sylvan Dian heard⁠—

His sister, mistress of the beasts that range

The wilds⁠—and harshly thus upbraided him:⁠—

“O mighty Archer, dost thou flee and yield

The victory to Neptune, who bears off

A glory cheaply earned? Why dost thou bear

That idle bow, thou coxcomb? I shall hope

No more to hear thee in our father’s halls.

And in the presence of the immortals, boast

That thou wilt fight with Neptune hand to bard.”

The archer-god, Apollo, answered not;

But thus the imperial wife of Jupiter,

Indignantly and with reproachful words,

Rebuked the quivered goddess of the chase:⁠—

“How is it that thou darest, shameless one,

Resist me? Thou wilt find it hard, though trained

In archery, to match thy strength with mine,

Though Jove has made thee among womankind

A lioness, and though he gives thee power

To slay whomever of thy sex thou wilt;

Yet wilt thou find it easier to strike down

The mountain beasts of prey, and forest deer,

Than combat with thy betters. If thou choose

To try the event of battle, then put forth

Thy strength against me, and thou shalt be taught

How greatly I excel in might of arm.”

Thus Juno spake, and grasped in her left hand

Both Dian’s wrists, and, plucking with her right

The quiver from her shoulders, beat with it

Her ears, and smiled as under her quick blows

The sufferer writhed. To earth the arrows fell,

And Dian weeping fled. As when a dove,

Not fated to be overtaken yet,

Flees from a hawk to find her hiding-place,

The hollow rock, so Dian fled in tears,

And left her arrows. To Latona, then,

Heaven’s messenger, the Argus-queller, spake:⁠—

“Far be it from me to contend with thee,

Latona; perilous it were to meet

A consort of the Cloud-compeller, Jove,

In combat. Go and freely make thy boast

Among the gods that thou hast vanquished me.”

He spake: Latona gathered from the ground

The bow and shafts which in that whirl of dust

Had fallen here and there, and, bearing them,

Followed her daughter, who meantime had reached

Olympus and the brazen halls of Jove.

And there, a daughter at her father’s knees,

She sat her down, while, as she wept, her robe

Of heavenly texture trembled. Graciously

Jove smiled, and drew her toward him and inquired:

“What dweller of the sky has dared do this,

Dear child, as though some flagrant guilt were thine?”

And thus replied the mistress of the chase

Crowned with the crescent: “Father, ’twas thy queen,

The white-armed Juno; she who causes strife

And wrath among the gods has done me wrong.”

So talked they, while to sacred Ilium came

Phoebus Apollo; ’twas his charge to watch

The well-built city’s ramparts, lest the Greeks

That day should lay it waste against the will

Of fate. The other gods went back to heaven,

Some angry, some exulting. They sat down

Beside the All-Father, him who darkens heaven

With gathered clouds. Meantime Achilles chased

And slew the Trojans and their firm-paced steeds.

As, when the smoke rolls heavenward from a town

Given by the angry gods a prey to fire,

Toil is the lot of all, and bitter woe

The fate of many, such the woe and toil

Caused by Achilles to the sons of Troy.

The aged Priam from a lofty tower

Beheld the large-limbed son of Peleus range

The field, and all the Trojans helplessly

Fleeing in tumult. With a cry of grief

He came from that high station to the ground,

And gave commandment to the sturdy men

Who stood to watch the gates along the wall:⁠—

“Hold the gates open while the flying host

Enter the city; for Achilles comes,

Routing them, near at hand, and we may see

Terrible havoc. But when all our troops

Are once within the walls, and breathe again,

Shut the close-fitting portals; for I dread

Lest that fierce warrior rush into our streets.”

He spake: they drew the bolts and opened wide

The gates, and gave a refuge to the host.

Then leaped Apollo forth to meet their flight

And rescue them. All faint with burning thirst,

And grimed with dust, they hurried o’er the plain,

And toward the city and its lofty walls,

While eagerly Achilles on their track

Pressed with his spear; his heart was full of rage,

And all on fire his spirit with desire

For glory. Then the Greeks had overthrown

The towery Troy, if Phoebus had not moved

Agenor, a young hero, nobly born,

Blameless, and brave, Antenor’s son, to meet

Achilles. Phoebus breathed into his heart

Courage, as, standing by the youth, he leaned

Against a beechen tree, and, wrapped from sight

In darkness, watched to rescue him from death.

Agenor stood as he beheld approach

The mighty spoiler, and, perplexed in mind,

Sighed heavily, and said to his great soul:⁠—

“Ah me! If with the routed troops I flee

From fierce Achilles, he will overtake

And slay me; I shall die as cowards die.

But if I leave the host to be pursued

By Peleus’ son, and by another way

Flee from the wall across the plain, until

I reach the lawns of Ida, and am hid

Among its thickets, then I may at eve

Bathe in the river and return refreshed

To Troy. But why give way to thoughts like these?

For he may yet observe me as I haste

From Ilium o’er the plain, and his swift feet

May follow; there will then be no escape

From death and fate, since he in might of arm

Excels all other men. If now I here

Confront him before Troy, I cannot think

That he is weapon-proof; one life alone

Dwells in him, though Saturnian Jupiter

Bestows on him the glory of the day.”

He spake, and firmly waited for the son

Of Peleus; eagerly his fearless heart

Longed for the combat. As a panther leaves

The covert of the wood and comes to meet

A huntsman, nor is scared nor put to flight

By noise of baying hounds, not even though

A spear’s thrust or a javelin flung from far

Have wounded him, yet, wounded, he fights on,

Until he grapples with his enemy

Or perishes⁠—thus did the noble son

Of the renowned Antenor press to try

His prowess with Achilles, and disdained

To flee before him. Holding his round shield

Before his face, and with his lifted spear

Aimed at the Greek, he shouted thus aloud:⁠—

“Renowned Achilles! Thou dost fondly know

That thou today wilt overthrow the town

Of the magnanimous Trojans. Many toils,

Thou fool! must be endured ere that can be;

For we are many and are brave who dwell

Within it, and shall well defend the town

For our beloved parents and our wives

And little ones. Here shall thou meet thy doom,

Brave as thou art, and terrible in war.”

As thus he spake, his powerful hand dismissed

The keen-edged spear, nor missed his aim; it struck

The son of Peleus just below the knee.

The tin of which the greave was newly forged

Rang shrilly, and sent back the brazen point;

It could not pierce the armor which a god

Had given. And then the son of Peleus aimed

His weapon at Agenor. Phoebus came

And snatched away his triumph, bearing off

The godlike youth, Agenor, in a veil

Of darkness from the perils of the war.

Then he decoyed Achilles from the host

Of Troy; the archer of the skies put on

Agenor’s perfect semblance, and appeared

Before the Greek, and fled; his hasty flight

Was followed close. Achilles chased the god

Ever before him, yet still near, across

The fruitful fields, to the deep-eddied stream

Of Xanthus; for Apollo artfully

Made it to seem that he should soon o’ertake

His flying foe, and thus beguiled him on.

Meantime the routed Trojans gladly thronged

Into the city, filled the streets, and closed

The portals. None now dared without the walls

To wait for others, or remain to know

Who had escaped with life, and who were slain

In battle; eagerly they flung themselves

Into the city⁠—everyone whose feet

And knees had borne him from the field alive.