Book V

How the Arms of Achilles were cause of madness and death unto Aias.

  So when all other contests had an end,
  Thetis the Goddess laid down in the midst
  Great-souled Achilles' arms divinely wrought;
  And all around flashed out the cunning work
  Wherewith the Fire-god overchased the shield
  Fashioned for Aeacus' son, the dauntless-souled.

  Inwrought upon that labour of a God
  Were first high heaven and cloudland, and beneath
  Lay earth and sea: the winds, the clouds were there,
  The moon and sun, each in its several place;
  There too were all the stars that, fixed in heaven,
  Are borne in its eternal circlings round.
  Above and through all was the infinite air
  Where to and fro flit birds of slender beak:
  Thou hadst said they lived, and floated on the breeze.
  Here Tethys' all-embracing arms were wrought,
  And Ocean's fathomless flow. The outrushing flood
  Of rivers crying to the echoing hills
  All round, to right, to left, rolled o'er the land.

  Round it rose league-long mountain-ridges, haunts
  Of terrible lions and foul jackals: there
  Fierce bears and panthers prowled; with these were seen
  Wild boars that whetted deadly-clashing tusks
  In grimly-frothing jaws. There hunters sped
  After the hounds: beaters with stone and dart,
  To the life portrayed, toiled in the woodland sport.

  And there were man-devouring wars, and all
  Horrors of fight: slain men were falling down
  Mid horse-hoofs; and the likeness of a plain
  Blood-drenched was on that shield invincible.
  Panic was there, and Dread, and ghastly Enyo
  With limbs all gore-bespattered hideously,
  And deadly Strife, and the Avenging Spirits
  Fierce-hearted—she, still goading warriors on
  To the onset they, outbreathing breath of fire.
  Around them hovered the relentless Fates;
  Beside them Battle incarnate onward pressed
  Yelling, and from their limbs streamed blood and sweat.
  There were the ruthless Gorgons: through their hair
  Horribly serpents coiled with flickering tongues.
  A measureless marvel was that cunning work
  Of things that made men shudder to behold
  Seeming as though they verily lived and moved.

  And while here all war's marvels were portrayed,
  Yonder were all the works of lovely peace.
  The myriad tribes of much-enduring men
  Dwelt in fair cities. Justice watched o'er all.
  To diverse toils they set their hands; the fields
  Were harvest-laden; earth her increase bore.

  Most steeply rose on that god-laboured work
  The rugged flanks of holy Honour's mount,
  And there upon a palm-tree throned she sat
  Exalted, and her hands reached up to heaven.
  All round her, paths broken by many rocks
  Thwarted the climbers' feet; by those steep tracks
  Daunted ye saw returning many folk:
  Few won by sweat of toil the sacred height.

  And there were reapers moving down long swaths
  Swinging the whetted sickles: 'neath their hands
  The hot work sped to its close. Hard after these
  Many sheaf-binders followed, and the work
  Grew passing great. With yoke-bands on their necks
  Oxen were there, whereof some drew the wains
  Heaped high with full-eared sheaves, and further on
  Were others ploughing, and the glebe showed black
  Behind them. Youths with ever-busy goads
  Followed: a world of toil was there portrayed.

  And there a banquet was, with pipe and harp,
  Dances of maids, and flashing feet of boys,
  All in swift movement, like to living souls.

  Hard by the dance and its sweet winsomeness
  Out of the sea was rising lovely-crowned
  Cypris, foam-blossoms still upon her hair;
  And round her hovered smiling witchingly
  Desire, and danced the Graces lovely-tressed.

  And there were lordly Nereus' Daughters shown
  Leading their sister up from the wide sea
  To her espousals with the warrior-king.
  And round her all the Immortals banqueted
  On Pelion's ridge far-stretching. All about
  Lush dewy watermeads there were, bestarred
  With flowers innumerable, grassy groves,
  And springs with clear transparent water bright.

  There ships with sighing sheets swept o'er the sea,
  Some beating up to windward, some that sped
  Before a following wind, and round them heaved
  The melancholy surge. Seared shipmen rushed
  This way and that, adread for tempest-gusts,
  Hauling the white sails in, to 'scape the death—
  It all seemed real—some tugging at the oars,
  While the dark sea on either side the ship
  Grew hoary 'neath the swiftly-plashing blades.

  And there triumphant the Earth-shaker rode
  Amid sea-monsters' stormy-footed steeds
  Drew him, and seemed alive, as o'er the deep
  They raced, oft smitten by the golden whip.
  Around their path of flight the waves fell smooth,
  And all before them was unrippled calm.
  Dolphins on either hand about their king
  Swarmed, in wild rapture of homage bowing backs,
  And seemed like live things o'er the hazy sea
  Swimming, albeit all of silver wrought.

  Marvels of untold craft were imaged there
  By cunning-souled Hephaestus' deathless hands
  Upon the shield. And Ocean's fathomless flood
  Clasped like a garland all the outer rim,
  And compassed all the strong shield's curious work.

  And therebeside the massy helmet lay.
  Zeus in his wrath was set upon the crest
  Throned on heaven's dome; the Immortals all around
  Fierce-battling with the Titans fought for Zeus.
  Already were their foes enwrapped with flame,
  For thick and fast as snowflakes poured from heaven
  The thunderbolts: the might of Zeus was roused,
  And burning giants seemed to breathe out flames.

  And therebeside the fair strong corslet lay,
  Unpierceable, which clasped Peleides once:
  There were the greaves close-lapping, light alone
  To Achilles; massy of mould and huge they were.

  And hard by flashed the sword whose edge and point
  No mail could turn, with golden belt, and sheath
  Of silver, and with haft of ivory:
  Brightest amid those wondrous arms it shone.
  Stretched on the earth thereby was that dread spear,
  Long as the tall-tressed pines of Pelion,
  Still breathing out the reek of Hector's blood.

  Then mid the Argives Thetis sable-stoled
  In her deep sorrow for Achilles spake;
  "Now all the athlete-prizes have been won
  Which I set forth in sorrow for my child.
  Now let that mightiest of the Argives come
  Who rescued from the foe my dead: to him
  These glorious and immortal arms I give
  Which even the blessed Deathless joyed to see."

  Then rose in rivalry, each claiming them,
  Laertes' seed and godlike Telamon's son,
  Aias, the mightiest far of Danaan men:
  He seemed the star that in the glittering sky
  Outshines the host of heaven, Hesperus,
  So splendid by Peleides' arms he stood;
  "And let these judge," he cried, "Idomeneus,
  Nestor, and kingly-counselled Agamemnon,"
  For these, he weened, would sureliest know the truth
  Of deeds wrought in that glorious battle-toil.
  "To these I also trust most utterly,"
  Odysseus said, "for prudent of their wit
  Be these, and princeliest of all Danaan men."

  But to Idomeneus and Atreus' son
  Spake Nestor apart, and willingly they heard:
  "Friends, a great woe and unendurable
  This day the careless Gods have laid on us,
  In that into this lamentable strife
  Aias the mighty hath been thrust by them
  Against Odysseus passing-wise. For he,
  To whichsoe'er God gives the victor's glory—
  O yea, he shall rejoice! But he that loseth—
  All for the grief in all the Danaans' hearts
  For him! And ours shall be the deepest grief
  Of all; for that man will not in the war
  Stand by us as of old. A sorrowful day
  It shall be for us, whichsoe'er of these
  Shall break into fierce anger, seeing they
  Are of our heroes chiefest, this in war,
  And that in counsel. Hearken then to me,
  Seeing that I am older far than ye,
  Not by a few years only: with mine age
  Is prudence joined, for I have suffered and wrought
  Much; and in counsel ever the old man,
  Who knoweth much, excelleth younger men.
  Therefore let us ordain to judge this cause
  'Twixt godlike Aias and war-fain Odysseus,
  Our Trojan captives. They shall say whom most
  Our foes dread, and who saved Peleides' corse
  From that most deadly fight. Lo, in our midst
  Be many spear-won Trojans, thralls of Fate;
  And these will pass true judgment on these twain,
  To neither showing favour, since they hate
  Alike all authors of their misery."

  He spake: replied Agamemnon lord of spears:
  "Ancient, there is none other in our midst
  Wiser than thou, of Danaans young or old,
  In that thou say'st that unforgiving wrath
  Will burn in him to whom the Gods herein
  Deny the victory; for these which strive
  Are both our chiefest. Therefore mine heart too
  Is set on this, that to the thralls of war
  This judgment we commit: the loser then
  Shall against Troy devise his deadly work
  Of vengeance, and shall not be wroth with us."

  He spake, and these three, being of one mind,
  In hearing of all men refused to judge
  Judgment so thankless: they would none of it.
  Therefore they set the high-born sons of Troy
  There in the midst, spear-thralls although they were,
  To give just judgment in the warriors' strife.
  Then in hot anger Aias rose, and spake:
  "Odysseus, frantic soul, why hath a God
  Deluded thee, to make thee hold thyself
  My peer in might invincible? Dar'st thou say
  That thou, when slain Achilles lay in dust,
  When round him swarmed the Trojans, didst bear back
  That furious throng, when I amidst them hurled
  Death, and thou coweredst away? Thy dam
  Bare thee a craven and a weakling wretch
  Frail in comparison of me, as is
  A cur beside a lion thunder-voiced!
  No battle-biding heart is in thy breast,
  But wiles and treachery be all thy care.
  Hast thou forgotten how thou didst shrink back
  From faring with Achaea's gathered host
  To Ilium's holy burg, till Atreus' sons
  Forced thee, the cowering craven, how loth soe'er,
  To follow them—would God thou hadst never come!
  For by thy counsel left we in Lemnos' isle
  Groaning in agony Poeas' son renowned.
  And not for him alone was ruin devised
  Of thee; for godlike Palamedes too
  Didst thou contrive destruction—ha, he was
  Alike in battle and council better than thou!
  And now thou dar'st to rise up against me,
  Neither remembering my kindness, nor
  Having respect unto the mightier man
  Who rescued thee erewhile, when thou didst quaff
  In fight before the onset of thy foes,
  When thou, forsaken of all Greeks beside,
   Midst tumult of the fray, wast fleeing too!
  Oh that in that great fight Zeus' self had stayed
  My dauntless might with thunder from his heaven!
  Then with their two-edged swords the Trojan men
  Had hewn thee limb from limb, and to their dogs
  Had cast thy carrion! Then thou hadst not presumed
  To meet me, trusting in thy trickeries!
  Wretch, wherefore, if thou vauntest thee in might
  Beyond all others, hast thou set thy ships
  In the line's centre, screened from foes, nor dared
  As I, on the far wing to draw them up?
  Because thou wast afraid! Not thou it was
  Who savedst from devouring fire the ships;
  But I with heart unquailing there stood fast
  Facing the fire and Hector ay, even he
  Gave back before me everywhere in fight.
  Thou—thou didst fear him aye with deadly fear!
  Oh, had this our contention been but set
  Amidst that very battle, when the roar
  Of conflict rose around Achilles slain!
  Then had thine own eyes seen me bearing forth
  Out from the battle's heart and fury of foes
  That goodly armour and its hero lord
  Unto the tents. But here thou canst but trust
  In cunning speech, and covetest a place
  Amongst the mighty! Thou—thou hast not strength
  To wear Achilles' arms invincible,
  Nor sway his massy spear in thy weak hands!
  But I they are verily moulded to my frame:
  Yea, seemly it is I wear those glorious arms,
  Who shall not shame a God's gifts passing fair.
  But wherefore for Achilles' glorious arms
  With words discourteous wrangling stand we here?
  Come, let us try in strife with brazen spears
  Who of us twain is best in murderous right!
  For silver-footed Thetis set in the midst
  This prize for prowess, not for pestilent words.
  In folkmote may men have some use for words:
  In pride of prowess I know me above thee far,
  And great Achilles' lineage is mine own."

  He spake: with scornful glance and bitter speech
  Odysseus the resourceful chode with him:
  "Aias, unbridled tongue, why these vain words
  To me? Thou hast called me pestilent, niddering,
  And weakling: yet I boast me better far
  Than thou in wit and speech, which things increase
  The strength of men. Lo, how the craggy rock,
  Adamantine though it seem, the hewers of stone
  Amid the hills by wisdom undermine
  Full lightly, and by wisdom shipmen cross
  The thunderous-plunging sea, when mountain-high
  It surgeth, and by craft do hunters quell
  Strong lions, panthers, boars, yea, all the brood
  Of wild things. Furious-hearted bulls are tamed
  To bear the yoke-bands by device of men.
  Yea, all things are by wit accomplished. Still
  It is the man who knoweth that excels
  The witless man alike in toils and counsels.
  For my keen wit did Oeneus' valiant son
  Choose me of all men with him to draw nigh
  To Hector's watchmen: yea, and mighty deeds
  We twain accomplished. I it was who brought
  To Atreus' sons Peleides far-renowned,
  Their battle-helper. Whensoe'er the host
  Needeth some other champion, not for the sake
  Of thine hands will he come, nor by the rede
  Of other Argives: of Achaeans I
  Alone will draw him with soft suasive words
  To where strong men are warring. Mighty power
  The tongue hath over men, when courtesy
  Inspires it. Valour is a deedless thing;
  And bulk and big assemblage of a man
  Cometh to naught, by wisdom unattended.
  But unto me the Immortals gave both strength
  And wisdom, and unto the Argive host
  Made me a blessing. Nor, as thou hast said,
  Hast thou in time past saved me when in flight
  From foes. I never fled, but steadfastly
  Withstood the charge of all the Trojan host.
  Furious the enemy came on like a flood
  But I by might of hands cut short the thread
  Of many lives. Herein thou sayest not true
  Me in the fray thou didst not shield nor save,
  But for thine own life roughtest, lest a spear
  Should pierce thy back if thou shouldst turn to flee
  From war. My ships? I drew them up mid-line,
  Not dreading the battle-fury of any foe,
  But to bring healing unto Atreus' sons
  Of war's calamities: and thou didst set
  Far from their help thy ships. Nay more, I seamed
  With cruel stripes my body, and entered so
  The Trojans' burg, that I might learn of them
  All their devisings for this troublous war.
  Nor ever I dreaded Hector's spear; myself
  Rose mid the foremost, eager for the fight,
  When, prowess-confident, he defied us all.
  Yea, in the fight around Achilles, I
  Slew foes far more than thou; 'twas I who saved
  The dead king with this armour. Not a whit
  I dread thy spear now, but my grievous hurt
  With pain still vexeth me, the wound I gat
  In fighting for these arms and their slain lord.
  In me as in Achilles is Zeus' blood."

  He spake; strong Aias answered him again.
  "Most cunning and most pestilent of men,
  Nor I, nor any other Argive, saw
  Thee toiling in that fray, when Trojans strove
  Fiercely to hale away Achilles slain.
  My might it was that with the spear unstrung
  The knees of some in fight, and others thrilled
  With panic as they pressed on ceaselessly.
  Then fled they in dire straits, as geese or cranes
  Flee from an eagle swooping as they feed
  Along a grassy meadow; so, in dread
  The Trojans shrinking backward from my spear
  And lightening sword, fled into Ilium
  To 'scape destruction. If thy might came there
  Ever at all, not anywhere nigh me
  With foes thou foughtest: somewhere far aloot
  Mid other ranks thou toiledst, nowhere nigh
  Achilles, where the one great battle raged."

  He spake; replied Odysseus the shrewd heart:
  "Aias, I hold myself no worse than thou
  In wit or might, how goodly in outward show
  Thou be soever. Nay, I am keener far
  Of wit than thou in all the Argives' eyes.
  In battle-prowess do I equal thee
  Haply surpass; and this the Trojans know,
  Who tremble when they see me from afar.
  Aye, thou too know'st, and others know my strength
  By that hard struggle in the wrestling-match,
  When Peleus' son set glorious prizes forth
  Beside the barrow of Patroclus slain."

  So spake Laertes' son the world-renowned.
  Then on that strife disastrous of the strong
  The sons of Troy gave judgment. Victory
  And those immortal arms awarded they
  With one consent to Odysseus mighty in war.
  Greatly his soul rejoiced; but one deep groan
  Brake from the Greeks. Then Aias' noble might
  Stood frozen stiff; and suddenly fell on him
  Dark wilderment; all blood within his frame
  Boiled, and his gall swelled, bursting forth in flood.
  Against his liver heaved his bowels; his heart
  With anguished pangs was thrilled; fierce stabbing throes
  Shot through the filmy veil 'twixt bone and brain;
  And darkness and confusion wrapped his mind.
  With fixed eyes staring on the ground he stood
  Still as a statue. Then his sorrowing friends
  Closed round him, led him to the shapely ships,
  Aye murmuring consolations. But his feet
  Trod for the last time, with reluctant steps,
  That path; and hard behind him followed Doom.

  When to the ships beside the boundless sea
  The Argives, faint for supper and for sleep,
  Had passed, into the great deep Thetis plunged,
  And all the Nereids with her. Round them swam
  Sea-monsters many, children of the brine.

  Against the wise Prometheus bitter-wroth
  The Sea-maids were, remembering how that Zeus,
  Moved by his prophecies, unto Peleus gave
  Thetis to wife, a most unwilling bride.
  Then cried in wrath to these Cymothoe:
  "O that the pestilent prophet had endured
  All pangs he merited, when, deep-burrowing,
  The eagle tare his liver aye renewed!"

  So to the dark-haired Sea-maids cried the Nymph.
  Then sank the sun: the onrush of the night
  Shadowed the fields, the heavens were star-bestrewn;
  And by the long-prowed ships the Argives slept
  By ambrosial sleep o'ermastered, and by wine
  The which from proud Idomeneus' realm of Crete:
  The shipmen bare o'er foaming leagues of sea.

  But Aias, wroth against the Argive men,
  Would none of meat or drink, nor clasped him round
  The arms of sleep. In fury he donned his mail,
  He clutched his sword, thinking unspeakable thoughts;
  For now he thought to set the ships aflame,
  And slaughter all the Argives, now, to hew
  With sudden onslaught of his terrible sword
  Guileful Odysseus limb from limb. Such things
  He purposed—nay, had soon accomplished all,
  Had Pallas not with madness smitten him;
  For over Odysseus, strong to endure, her heart
  Yearned, as she called to mind the sacrifices
  Offered to her of him continually.
  Therefore she turned aside from Argive men
  The might of Aias. As a terrible storm,
  Whose wings are laden with dread hurricane-blasts,
  Cometh with portents of heart-numbing fear
  To shipmen, when the Pleiads, fleeing adread
  From glorious Orion, plunge beneath
  The stream of tireless Ocean, when the air
  Is turmoil, and the sea is mad with storm;
  So rushed he, whithersoe'er his feet might bear.
  This way and that he ran, like some fierce beast
  Which darteth down a rock-walled glen's ravines
  With foaming jaws, and murderous intent
  Against the hounds and huntsmen, who have torn
  Out of the cave her cubs, and slain: she runs
  This way and that, and roars, if mid the brakes
  Haply she yet may see the dear ones lost;
  Whom if a man meet in that maddened mood,
  Straightway his darkest of all days hath dawned;
  So ruthless-raving rushed he; blackly boiled
  His heart, as caldron on the Fire-god's hearth
  Maddens with ceaseless hissing o'er the flames
  From blazing billets coiling round its sides,
  At bidding of the toiler eager-souled
  To singe the bristles of a huge-fed boar;
  So was his great heart boiling in his breast.
  Like a wild sea he raved, like tempest-blast,
  Like the winged might of tireless flame amidst
  The mountains maddened by a mighty wind,
  When the wide-blazing forest crumbles down
  In fervent heat. So Aias, his fierce heart
  With agony stabbed, in maddened misery raved.
  Foam frothed about his lips; a beast-like roar
  Howled from his throat. About his shoulders clashed
  His armour. They which saw him trembled, all
  Cowed by the fearful shout of that one man.

  From Ocean then uprose Dawn golden-reined:
  Like a soft wind upfloated Sleep to heaven,
  And there met Hera, even then returned
  To Olympus back from Tethys, unto whom
  But yester-morn she went. She clasped him round,
  And kissed him, who had been her marriage-kin
  Since at her prayer on Ida's erest he had lulled
  To sleep Cronion, when his anger burned
  Against the Argives. Straightway Hera passed
  To Zeus's mansion, and Sleep swiftly flew
  To Pasithea's couch. From slumber woke
  All nations of the earth. But Aias, like
  Orion the invincible, prowled on,
  Still bearing murderous madness in his heart.
  He rushed upon the sheep, like lion fierce
  Whose savage heart is stung with hunger-pangs.
  Here, there, he smote them, laid them dead in dust
  Thick as the leaves which the strong North-wind's might
  Strews, when the waning year to winter turns;
  So on the sheep in fury Aias fell,
  Deeming he dealt to Danaans evil doom.

  Then to his brother Menelaus came,
  And spake, but not in hearing of the rest:
  "This day shall surely be a ruinous day
  For all, since Aias thus is sense-distraught.
  It may be he will set the ships aflame,
  And slay us all amidst our tents, in wrath
  For those lost arms. Would God that Thetis ne'er
  Had set them for the prize of rivalry!
  Would God Laertes' son had not presumed
  In folly of soul to strive with a better man!
  Fools were we all; and some malignant God
  Beguiled us; for the one great war-defence
  Left us, since Aeacus' son in battle fell,
  Was Aias' mighty strength. And now the Gods
  Will to our loss destroy him, bringing bane
  On thee and me, that all we may fill up
  The cup of doom, and pass to nothingness."

  He spake; replied Agamemnon, lord of spears:
  "Now nay, Menelaus, though thine heart he wrung,
  Be thou not wroth with the resourceful king
  Of Cephallenian folk, but with the Gods
  Who plot our ruin. Blame not him, who oft
  Hath been our blessing and our enemies' curse."

  So heavy-hearted spake the Danaan kings.
  But by the streams of Xanthus far away
  'Neath tamarisks shepherds cowered to hide from death,
  As when from a swift eagle cower hares
  'Neath tangled copses, when with sharp fierce scream
  This way and that with wings wide-shadowing
  He wheeleth very nigh; so they here, there,
  Quailed from the presence of that furious man.
  At last above a slaughtered ram he stood,
  And with a deadly laugh he cried to it:
  "Lie there in dust; be meat for dogs and kites!
  Achilles' glorious arms have saved not thee,
  For which thy folly strove with a better man!
  Lie there, thou cur! No wife shall fall on thee,
  And clasp, and wail thee and her fatherless childs,
  Nor shalt thou greet thy parents' longing eyes,
  The staff of their old age! Far from thy land
  Thy carrion dogs and vultures shall devour!"

  So cried he, thinking that amidst the slain
  Odysseus lay blood-boltered at his feet.
  But in that moment from his mind and eyes
  Athena tore away the nightmare-fiend
  Of Madness havoc-breathing, and it passed
  Thence swiftly to the rock-walled river Styx
  Where dwell the winged Erinnyes, they which still
  Visit with torments overweening men.

  Then Aias saw those sheep upon the earth
  Gasping in death; and sore amazed he stood,
  For he divined that by the Blessed Ones
  His senses had been cheated. All his limbs
  Failed under him; his soul was anguished-thrilled:
  He could not in his horror take one step
  Forward nor backward. Like some towering rock
  Fast-rooted mid the mountains, there he stood.
  But when the wild rout of his thoughts had rallied,
  He groaned in misery, and in anguish wailed:
  "Ah me! why do the Gods abhor me so?
  They have wrecked my mind, have with fell madness filled,
  Making me slaughter all these innocent sheep!
  Would God that on Odysseus' pestilent heart
  Mine hands had so avenged me! Miscreant, he
  Brought on me a fell curse! O may his soul
  Suffer all torments that the Avenging Fiends
  Devise for villains! On all other Greeks
  May they bring murderous battle, woeful griefs,
  And chiefly on Agamemnon, Atreus' son!
  Not scatheless to the home may he return
  So long desired! But why should I consort,
  I, a brave man, with the abominable?
  Perish the Argive host, perish my life,
  Now unendurable! The brave no more
  Hath his due guerdon, but the baser sort
  Are honoured most and loved, as this Odysseus
  Hath worship mid the Greeks: but utterly
  Have they forgotten me and all my deeds,
  All that I wrought and suffered in their cause."

  So spake the brave son of strong Telamon,
  Then thrust the sword of Hector through his throat.
  Forth rushed the blood in torrent: in the dust
  Outstretched he lay, like Typhon, when the bolts
  Of Zeus had blasted him. Around him groaned
  The dark earth as he fell upon her breast.

  Then thronging came the Danaans, when they saw
  Low laid in dust the hero; but ere then
  None dared draw nigh him, but in deadly fear
  They watched him from afar. Now hasted they
  And flung themselves upon the dead, outstretched
  Upon their faces: on their heads they cast
  Dust, and their wailing went up to the sky.
  As when men drive away the tender lambs
  Out of the fleecy flock, to feast thereon,
  And round the desolate pens the mothers leap
  Ceaselessly bleating, so o'er Aias rang
  That day a very great and bitter cry.
  Wild echoes pealed from Ida forest-palled,
  And from the plain, the ships, the boundless sea.

  Then Teucer clasping him was minded too
  To rush on bitter doom: howbeit the rest
  Held from the sword his hand. Anguished he fell
  Upon the dead, outpouring many a tear
  More comfortlessly than the orphan babe
  That wails beside the hearth, with ashes strewn
  On head and shoulders, wails bereavement's day
  That brings death to the mother who hath nursed
  The fatherless child; so wailed he, ever wailed
  His great death-stricken brother, creeping slow
  Around the corpse, and uttering his lament:
  "O Aias, mighty-souled, why was thine heart
  Distraught, that thou shouldst deal unto thyself
  Murder and bale? All, was it that the sons
  Of Troy might win a breathing-space from woes,
  Might come and slay the Greeks, now thou art not?
  From these shall all the olden courage fail
  When fast they fall in fight. Their shield from harm
  Is broken now! For me, I have no will
  To see mine home again, now thou art dead.
  Nay, but I long here also now to die,
  That so the earth may shroud me—me and thee
  Not for my parents so much do I care,
  If haply yet they live, if haply yet
  Spared from the grave, in Salamis they dwell,
  As for thee, O my glory and my crown!"

  So cried he groaning sore; with answering moan
  Queenly Tecmessa wailed, the princess-bride
  Of noble Aias, captive of his spear,
  Yet ta'en by him to wife, and household-queen
  O'er all his substance, even all that wives
  Won with a bride-price rule for wedded lords.
  Clasped in his mighty arms, she bare to him
  A son Eurysaces, in all things like
  Unto his father, far as babe might be
  Yet cradled in his tent. With bitter moan
  Fell she on that dear corpse, all her fair form
  Close-shrouded in her veil, and dust-defiled,
  And from her anguished heart cried piteously:
  "Alas for me, for me now thou art dead,
  Not by the hands of foes in fight struck down,
  But by thine own! On me is come a grief
  Ever-abiding! Never had I looked
  To see thy woeful death-day here by Troy.
  Ah, visions shattered by rude hands of Fate!
  Oh that the earth had yawned wide for my grave
  Ere I beheld thy bitter doom! On me
  No sharper, more heart-piercing pang hath come—
  No, not when first from fatherland afar
  And parents thou didst bear me, wailing sore
  Mid other captives, when the day of bondage
  Had come on me, a princess theretofore.
  Not for that dear lost home so much I grieve,
  Nor for my parents dead, as now for thee:
  For all thine heart was kindness unto me
  The hapless, and thou madest me thy wife,
  One soul with thee; yea, and thou promisedst
  To throne me queen of fair-towered Salamis,
  When home we won from Troy. The Gods denied
  Accomplishment thereof. And thou hast passed
  Unto the Unseen Land: thou hast forgot
  Me and thy child, who never shall make glad
  His father's heart, shall never mount thy throne.
  But him shall strangers make a wretched thrall:
  For when the father is no more, the babe
  Is ward of meaner men. A weary life
  The orphan knows, and suffering cometh in
  From every side upon him like a flood.
  To me too thraldom's day shall doubtless come,
  Now thou hast died, who wast my god on earth."

  Then in all kindness Agamemnon spake:
  "Princess, no man on earth shall make thee thrall,
  While Teucer liveth yet, while yet I live.
  Thou shalt have worship of us evermore
  And honour as a Goddess, with thy son,
  As though yet living were that godlike man,
  Aias, who was the Achaeans' chiefest strength.
  Ah that he had not laid this load of grief
  On all, in dying by his own right hand!
  For all the countless armies of his foes
  Never availed to slay him in fair fight."

  So spake he, grieved to the inmost heart. The folk
  Woefully wafted all round. O'er Hellespont
  Echoes of mourning rolled: the sighing air
  Darkened around, a wide-spread sorrow-pall.
  Yea, grief laid hold on wise Odysseus' self
  For the great dead, and with remorseful soul
  To anguish-stricken Argives thus he spake:
  "O friends, there is no greater curse to men
  Than wrath, which groweth till its bitter fruit
  Is strife. Now wrath hath goaded Aias on
  To this dire issue of the rage that filled
  His soul against me. Would to God that ne'er
  Yon Trojans in the strife for Achilles' arms
  Had crowned me with that victory, for which
  Strong Telamon's brave son, in agony
  Of soul, thus perished by his own right hand!
  Yet blame not me, I pray you, for his wrath:
  Blame the dark dolorous Fate that struck him down.
  For, had mine heart foreboded aught of this,
  This desperation of a soul distraught,
  Never for victory had I striven with him,
  Nor had I suffered any Danaan else,
  Though ne'er so eager, to contend with him.
  Nay, I had taken up those arms divine
  With mine own hands, and gladly given them
  To him, ay, though himself desired it not.
  But for such mighty grief and wrath in him
  I had not looked, since not for a woman's sake
  Nor for a city, nor possessions wide,
  I then contended, but for Honour's meed,
  Which alway is for all right-hearted men
  The happy goal of all their rivalry.
  But that great-hearted man was led astray
  By Fate, the hateful fiend; for surely it is
  Unworthy a man to be made passion's fool.
  The wise man's part is, steadfast-souled to endure
  All ills, and not to rage against his lot."

  So spake Laertes' son, the far-renowned.
  But when they all were weary of grief and groan,
  Then to those sorrowing ones spake Neleus' son:
  "O friends, the pitiless-hearted Fates have laid
  Stroke after stroke of sorrow upon us,
  Sorrow for Aias dead, for mighty Achilles,
  For many an Argive, and for mine own son
  Antilochus. Yet all unmeet it is
  Day after day with passion of grief to wail
  Men slain in battle: nay, we must forget
  Laments, and turn us to the better task
  Of rendering dues beseeming to the dead,
  The dues of pyre, of tomb, of bones inurned.
  No lamentations will awake the dead;
  No note thereof he taketh, when the Fates,
  The ruthless ones, have swallowed him in night."

  So spake he words of cheer: the godlike kings
  Gathered with heavy hearts around the dead,
  And many hands upheaved the giant corpse,
  And swiftly bare him to the ships, and there
  Washed they away the blood that clotted lay
  Dust-flecked on mighty limbs and armour: then
  In linen swathed him round. From Ida's heights
  Wood without measure did the young men bring,
  And piled it round the corpse. Billets and logs
  Yet more in a wide circle heaped they round;
  And sheep they laid thereon, fair-woven vests,
  And goodly kine, and speed-triumphant steeds,
  And gleaming gold, and armour without stint,
  From slain foes by that glorious hero stripped.
  And lucent amber-drops they laid thereon,
  Years, say they, which the Daughters of the Sun,
  The Lord of Omens, shed for Phaethon slain,
  When by Eridanus' flood they mourned for him.
  These, for undying honour to his son,
  The God made amber, precious in men's eyes.
  Even this the Argives on that broad-based pyre
  Cast freely, honouring the mighty dead.
  And round him, groaning heavily, they laid
  Silver most fair and precious ivory,
  And jars of oil, and whatsoe'er beside
  They have who heap up goodly and glorious wealth.
  Then thrust they in the strength of ravening flame,
  And from the sea there breathed a wind, sent forth
  By Thetis, to consume the giant frame
  Of Aias. All the night and all the morn
  Burned 'neath the urgent stress of that great wind
  Beside the ships that giant form, as when
  Enceladus by Zeus' levin was consumed
  Beneath Thrinacia, when from all the isle
  Smoke of his burning rose—or like as when
  Hercules, trapped by Nessus' deadly guile,
  Gave to devouring fire his living limbs,
  What time he dared that awful deed, when groaned
  All Oeta as he burned alive, and passed
  His soul into the air, leaving the man
  Far-famous, to be numbered with the Gods,
  When earth closed o'er his toil-tried mortal part.
  So huge amid the flames, all-armour clad,
  Lay Aias, all the joy of fight forgot,
  While a great multitude watching thronged the sands.
  Glad were the Trojans, but the Achaeans grieved.

  But when that goodly frame by ravening fire
  Was all consumed, they quenched the pyre with wine;
  They gathered up the bones, and reverently
  Laid in a golden casket. Hard beside
  Rhoeteium's headland heaped they up a mound
  Measureless-high. Then scattered they amidst
  The long ships, heavy-hearted for the man
  Whom they had honoured even as Achilles.
  Then black night, bearing unto all men sleep,
  Upfloated: so they brake bread, and lay down
  Waiting the Child of the Mist. Short was sleep,
  Broken by fitful staring through the dark,
  Haunted by dread lest in the night the foe
  Should fall on them, now Telamon's son was dead.