Book VII

How the Son of Achilles was brought to the War from the Isle of Scyros.

  When heaven hid his stars, and Dawn awoke
  Outspraying splendour, and night's darkness fled,
  Then undismayed the Argives' warrior-sons
  Marched forth without the ships to meet in fight
  Eurypylus, save those that tarried still
  To render to Machaon midst the ships
  Death-dues, with Nireus—Nireus, who in grace
  And goodlihead was like the Deathless Ones,
  Yet was not strong in bodily might: the Gods
  Grant not perfection in all things to men;
  But evil still is blended with the good
  By some strange fate: to Nireus' winsome grace
  Was linked a weakling's prowess. Yet the Greeks
  Slighted him not, but gave him all death-dues,
  And mourned above his grave with no less grief
  Than for Machaon, whom they honoured aye,
  For his deep wisdom, as the immortal Gods.
  One mound they swiftly heaped above these twain.

  Then in the plain once more did murderous war
  Madden: the multitudinous clash and cry
  Rose, as the shields were shattered with huge stones,
  Were pierced with lances. So they toiled in fight;
  But all this while lay Podaleirius
  Fasting in dust and groaning, leaving not
  His brother's tomb; and oft his heart was moved
  With his own hands to slay himself. And now
  He clutched his sword, and now amidst his herbs
  Sought for a deadly drug; and still his friends
  Essayed to stay his hand and comfort him
  With many pleadings. But he would not cease
  From grieving: yea, his hands had spilt his life
  There on his noble brother's new-made tomb,
  But Nestor heard thereof, and sorrowed sore
  In his affliction, and he came on him
  As now he flung him on that woeful grave,
  And now was casting dust upon his head,
  Beating his breast, and on his brother's name
  Crying, while thralls and comrades round their lord
  Groaned, and affliction held them one and all.
  Then gently spake he to that stricken one:
  "Refrain from bitter moan and deadly grief,
  My son. It is not for a wise man's honour
  To wail, as doth a woman, o'er the fallen.
  Thou shalt not bring him up to light again
  Whose soul hath fleeted vanishing into air,
  Whose body fire hath ravined up, whose bones
  Earth has received. His end was worthy his life.
  Endure thy sore grief, even as I endured,
  Who lost a son, slain by the hands of foes,
  A son not worse than thy Machaon, good
  With spears in battle, good in counsel. None
  Of all the youths so loved his sire as he
  Loved me. He died for me yea, died to save
  His father. Yet, when he was slain, did I
  Endure to taste food, and to see the light,
  Well knowing that all men must tread one path
  Hades-ward, and before all lies one goal,
  Death's mournful goal. A mortal man must bear
  All joys, all griefs, that God vouchsafes to send."

  Made answer that heart-stricken one, while still
  Wet were his cheeks with ever-flowing tears:
  "Father, mine heart is bowed 'neath crushing grief
  For a brother passing wise, who fostered me
  Even as a son. When to the heavens had passed
  Our father, in his arms he cradled me:
  Gladly he taught me all his healing lore;
  We shared one table; in one bed we lay:
  We had all things in common these, and love.
  My grief cannot forget, nor I desire,
  Now he is dead, to see the light of life."

  Then spake the old man to that stricken one:
  "To all men Fate assigns one same sad lot,
  Bereavement: earth shall cover all alike,
  Albeit we tread not the same path of life,
  And none the path he chooseth; for on high
  Good things and bad lie on the knees of
  Gods Unnumbered, indistinguishably blent.
  These no Immortal seeth; they are veiled
  In mystic cloud-folds. Only Fate puts forth
  Her hands thereto, nor looks at what she takes,
  But casts them from Olympus down to earth.
  This way and that they are wafted, as it were
  By gusts of wind. The good man oft is whelmed
  In suffering: wealth undeserved is heaped
  On the vile person. Blind is each man's life;
  Therefore he never walketh surely; oft
  He stumbleth: ever devious is his path,
  Now sloping down to sorrow, mounting now
  To bliss. All-happy is no living man
  From the beginning to the end, but still
  The good and evil clash. Our life is short;
  Beseems not then in grief to live. Hope on,
  Still hope for better days: chain not to woe
  Thine heart. There is a saying among men
  That to the heavens unperishing mount the souls
  Of good men, and to nether darkness sink
  Souls of the wicked. Both to God and man
  Dear was thy brother, good to brother-men,
  And son of an Immortal. Sure am I
  That to the company of Gods shall he
  Ascend, by intercession of thy sire."

  Then raised he that reluctant mourner up
  With comfortable words. From that dark grave
  He drew him, backward gazing oft with groans.
  To the ships they came, where Greeks and Trojan men
  Had bitter travail of rekindled war.

  Eurypylus there, in dauntless spirit like
  The War-god, with mad-raging spear and hands
  Resistless, smote down hosts of foes: the earth
  Was clogged with dead men slain on either side.
  On strode he midst the corpses, awelessly
  He fought, with blood-bespattered hands and feet;
  Never a moment from grim strife he ceased.
  Peneleos the mighty-hearted came
  Against him in the pitiless fray: he fell
  Before Eurypylus' spear: yea, many more
  Fell round him. Ceased not those destroying hands,
  But wrathful on the Argives still he pressed,
  As when of old on Pholoe's long-ridged heights
  Upon the Centaurs terrible Hercules rushed
  Storming in might, and slew them, passing-swift
  And strong and battle-cunning though they were;
  So rushed he on, so smote he down the array,
  One after other, of the Danaan spears.
  Heaps upon heaps, here, there, in throngs they fell
  Strewn in the dust. As when a river in flood
  Comes thundering down, banks crumble on either side
  To drifting sand: on seaward rolls the surge
  Tossing wild crests, while cliffs on every hand
  Ring crashing echoes, as their brows break down
  Beneath long-leaping roaring waterfalls,
  And dikes are swept away; so fell in dust
  The war-famed Argives by Eurypylus slain,
  Such as he overtook in that red rout.
  Some few escaped, whom strength of fleeing feet
  Delivered. Yet in that sore strait they drew
  Peneleos from the shrieking tumult forth,
  And bare to the ships, though with swift feet themselves
  Were fleeing from ghastly death, from pitiless doom.
  Behind the rampart of the ships they fled
  In huddled rout: they had no heart to stand
  Before Eurypylus, for Hercules,
  To crown with glory his son's stalwart son,
  Thrilled them with panic. There behind their wall
  They cowered, as goats to leeward of a hill
  Shrink from the wild cold rushing of the wind
  That bringeth snow and heavy sleet and haft.
  No longing for the pasture tempteth them
  Over the brow to step, and face the blast,
  But huddling screened by rock-wall and ravine
  They abide the storm, and crop the scanty grass
  Under dim copses thronging, till the gusts
  Of that ill wind shall lull: so, by their towers
  Screened, did the trembling Danaans abide
  Telephus' mighty son. Yea, he had burnt
  The ships, and all that host had he destroyed,
  Had not Athena at the last inspired
  The Argive men with courage. Ceaselessly
  From the high rampart hurled they at the foe
  With bitter-biting darts, and slew them fast;
  And all the walls were splashed with reeking gore,
  And aye went up a moan of smitten men.

  So fought they: nightlong, daylong fought they on,
  Ceteians, Trojans, battle-biding Greeks,
  Fought, now before the ships, and now again
  Round the steep wall, with fury unutterable.
  Yet even so for two days did they cease
  From murderous fight; for to Eurypylus came
  A Danaan embassage, saying, "From the war
  Forbear we, while we give unto the flames
  The battle-slain." So hearkened he to them:
  From ruin-wreaking strife forebore the hosts;
  And so their dead they buried, who in dust
  Had fallen. Chiefly the Achaeans mourned
  Peneleos; o'er the mighty dead they heaped
  A barrow broad and high, a sign for men
  Of days to be. But in a several place
  The multitude of heroes slain they laid,
  Mourning with stricken hearts. On one great pyre
  They burnt them all, and buried in one grave.
  So likewise far from thence the sons of Troy
  Buried their slain. Yet murderous Strife slept not,
  But roused again Eurypylus' dauntless might
  To meet the foe. He turned not from the ships,
  But there abode, and fanned the fury of war.

  Meanwhile the black ship on to Scyros ran;
  And those twain found before his palace-gate
  Achilles' son, now hurling dart and lance,
  Now in his chariot driving fleetfoot steeds.
  Glad were they to behold him practising
  The deeds of war, albeit his heart was sad
  For his slain sire, of whom had tidings come
  Ere this. With reverent eyes of awe they went
  To meet him, for that goodly form and face
  Seemed even as very Achilles unto them.
  But he, or ever they had spoken, cried:
  "All hail, ye strangers, unto this mine home
  Say whence ye are, and who, and what the need
  That hither brings you over barren seas."

  So spake he, and Odysseus answered him:
  "Friends are we of Achilles lord of war,
  To whom of Deidameia thou wast born—
  Yea, when we look on thee we seem to see
  That Hero's self; and like the Immortal Ones
  Was he. Of Ithaca am I: this man
  Of Argos, nurse of horses—if perchance
  Thou hast heard the name of Tydeus' warrior son
  Or of the wise Odysseus. Lo, I stand
  Before thee, sent by voice of prophecy.
  I pray thee, pity us: come thou to Troy
  And help us. Only so unto the war
  An end shall be. Gifts beyond words to thee
  The Achaean kings shall give: yea, I myself
  Will give to thee thy godlike father's arms,
  And great shall be thy joy in bearing them;
  For these be like no mortal's battle-gear,
  But splendid as the very War-god's arms.
  Over their marvellous blazonry hath gold
  Been lavished; yea, in heaven Hephaestus' self
  Rejoiced in fashioning that work divine,
  The which thine eyes shall marvel to behold;
  For earth and heaven and sea upon the shield
  Are wrought, and in its wondrous compass are
  Creatures that seem to live and move—a wonder
  Even to the Immortals. Never man
  Hath seen their like, nor any man hath worn,
  Save thy sire only, whom the Achaeans all
  Honoured as Zeus himself. I chiefliest
  From mine heart loved him, and when he was slain,
  To many a foe I dealt a ruthless doom,
  And through them all bare back to the ships his corse.
  Therefore his glorious arms did Thetis give
  To me. These, though I prize them well, to thee
  Will I give gladly when thou com'st to Troy.
  Yea also, when we have smitten Priam's towns
  And unto Hellas in our ships return,
  Shall Menelaus give thee, an thou wilt,
  His princess-child to wife, of love for thee,
  And with his bright-haired daughter shall bestow
  Rich dower of gold and treasure, even all
  That meet is to attend a wealthy king."

  So spake he, and replied Achilles' son:
  "If bidden of oracles the Achaean men
  Summon me, let us with to-morrow's dawn
  Fare forth upon the broad depths of the sea,
  If so to longing Danaans I may prove
  A light of help. Now pass we to mine halls,
  And to such guest-fare as befits to set
  Before the stranger. For my marriage-day—
  To this the Gods in time to come shall see."

  Then hall-ward led he them, and with glad hearts
  They followed. To the forecourt when they came
  Of that great mansion, found they there the Queen
  Deidameia in her sorrow of soul
  Grief-wasted, as when snow from mountain-sides
  Before the sun and east-wind wastes away;
  So pined she for that princely hero slain.
  Then came to her amidst her grief the kings,
  And greeted her in courteous wise. Her son
  Drew near and told their lineage and their names;
  But that for which they came he left untold
  Until the morrow, lest unto her woe
  There should be added grief and floods of tears,
  And lest her prayers should hold him from the path
  Whereon his heart was set. Straight feasted these,
  And comforted their hearts with sleep, even all
  Which dwelt in sea-ringed Scyros, nightlong lulled
  By long low thunder of the girdling deep,
  Of waves Aegean breaking on her shores.
  But not on Deidameia fell the hands
  Of kindly sleep. She bore in mind the names
  Of crafty Odysseus and of Diomede
  The godlike, how these twain had widowed her
  Of battle-fain Achilles, how their words
  Had won his aweless heart to fare with them
  To meet the war-cry where stern Fate met him,
  Shattered his hope of home-return, and laid
  Measureless grief on Peleus and on her.
  Therefore an awful dread oppressed her soul
  Lest her son too to tumult of the war
  Should speed, and grief be added to her grief.

  Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they
  Rose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew;
  And on her son's broad breast she cast herself,
  And bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air,
  As when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills
  Seeks through the glens her calf, and all around
  Echo long ridges of the mountain-steep;
  So on all sides from dim recesses rang
  The hall; and in her misery she cried:
  "Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing
  To follow strangers unto Ilium
  The fount of tears, where perish many in fight,
  Yea, cunning men in war and battle grim?
  And thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt
  The ways of war, which save men in the day
  Of peril. Hearken thou to me, abide
  Here in thine home, lest evil tidings come
  From Troy unto my ears, that thou in fight
  Hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou
  Hitherward shalt from battle-toil return.
  Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death—
  He, mightier than thou, mightier than all
  Heroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess' son—
  But was in battle slain, all through the wiles
  And crafty counsels of these very men
  Who now to woeful war be kindling thee.
  Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear
  Lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved
  Of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain,
  For never heavier blow on woman falls
  Than when her lord hath perished, and her sons
  Die also, and her house is left to her
  Desolate. Straightway evil men remove
  Her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all,
  Setting the right at naught. There is no lot
  More woeful and more helpless than is hers
  Who is left a widow in a desolate home."

  Loud-wailing spake she; but her son replied:
  "Be of good cheer, my mother; put from thee
  Evil foreboding. No man is in war
  Beyond his destiny slain. If my weird be
  To die in my country's cause, then let me die
  When I have done deeds worthy of my sire."

  Then to his side old Lycomedes came,
  And to his battle-eager grandson spake:
  "O valiant-hearted son, so like thy sire,
  I know thee strong and valorous; yet, O yet
  For thee I fear the bitter war; I fear
  The terrible sea-surge. Shipmen evermore
  Hang on destruction's brink. Beware, my child,
  Perils of waters when thou sailest back
  From Troy or other shores, such as beset
  Full oftentimes the voyagers that ride
  The long sea-ridges, when the sun hath left
  The Archer-star, and meets the misty Goat,
  When the wild blasts drive on the lowering storm,
  Or when Orion to the darkling west
  Slopes, into Ocean's river sinking slow.
  Beware the time of equal days and nights,
  When blasts that o'er the sea's abysses rush,
  None knoweth whence in fury of battle clash.
  Beware the Pleiads' setting, when the sea
  Maddens beneath their power nor these alone,
  But other stars, terrors of hapless men,
  As o'er the wide sea-gulf they set or rise."

  Then kissed he him, nor sought to stay the feet
  Of him who panted for the clamour of war,
  Who smiled for pleasure and for eagerness
  To haste to the ship. Yet were his hurrying feet
  Stayed by his mother's pleading and her tears
  Still in those halls awhile. As some swift horse
  Is reined in by his rider, when he strains
  Unto the race-course, and he neighs, and champs
  The curbing bit, dashing his chest with foam,
  And his feet eager for the course are still
  Never, his restless hooves are clattering aye;
  His mane is a stormy cloud, he tosses high
  His head with snortings, and his lord is glad;
  So reined his mother back the glorious son
  Of battle-stay Achilles, so his feet
  Were restless, so the mother's loving pride
  Joyed in her son, despite her heart-sick pain.

  A thousand times he kissed her, then at last
  Left her alone with her own grief and moan
  There in her father's halls. As o'er her nest
  A swallow in her anguish cries aloud
  For her lost nestlings which, mid piteous shrieks,
  A fearful serpent hath devoured, and wrung
  The loving mother's heart; and now above
  That empty cradle spreads her wings, and now
  Flies round its porchway fashioned cunningly
  Lamenting piteously her little ones:
  So for her child Deidameia mourned.
  Now on her son's bed did she cast herself,
  Crying aloud, against his door-post now
  She leaned, and wept: now laid she in her lap
  Those childhood's toys yet treasured in her bower,
  Wherein his babe-heart joyed long years agone.
  She saw a dart there left behind of him,
  And kissed it o'er and o'er yea, whatso else
  Her weeping eyes beheld that was her son's.

  Naught heard he of her moans unutterable,
  But was afar, fast striding to the ship.
  He seemed, as his feet swiftly bare him on,
  Like some all-radiant star; and at his side
  With Tydeus' son war-wise Odysseus went,
  And with them twenty gallant-hearted men,
  Whom Deidameia chose as trustiest
  Of all her household, and unto her son
  Gave them for henchmen swift to do his will.
  And these attended Achilles' valiant son,
  As through the city to the ship he sped.
  On, with glad laughter, in their midst he strode;
  And Thetis and the Nereids joyed thereat.
  Yea, glad was even the Raven-haired, the Lord
  Of all the sea, beholding that brave son
  Of princely Achilles, marking how he longed
  For battle. Beardless boy albeit he was,
  His prowess and his might were inward spurs
  To him. He hasted forth his fatherland
  Like to the War-god, when to gory strife
  He speedeth, wroth with foes, when maddeneth
  His heart, and grim his frown is, and his eyes
  Flash levin-flame around him, and his face
  Is clothed with glory of beauty terror-blent,
  As on he rusheth: quail the very Gods.
  So seemed Achilles' goodly son; and prayers
  Went up through all the city unto Heaven
  To bring their noble prince safe back from war;
  And the Gods hearkened to them. High he towered
  Above all stateliest men which followed him.

  So came they to the heavy-plunging sea,
  And found the rowers in the smooth-wrought ship
  Handling the tackle, fixing mast and sail.
  Straightway they went aboard: the shipmen cast
  The hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones,
  The strength and stay of ships in time of need.
  Then did the Sea-queen's lord grant voyage fair
  To these with gracious mind; for his heart yearned
  O'er the Achaeans, by the Trojan men
  And mighty-souled Eurypylus hard-bestead.
  On either side of Neoptolemus sat
  Those heroes, gladdening his soul with tales
  Of his sire's mighty deeds—of all he wrought
  In sea-raids, and in valiant Telephus' land,
  And how he smote round Priam's burg the men
  Of Troy, for glory unto Atreus' sons.
  His heart glowed, fain to grasp his heritage,
  His aweless father's honour and renown.

  In her bower, sorrowing for her son the while,
  Deidameia poured forth sighs and tears.
  With agony of soul her very heart
  Melted in her, as over coals doth lead
  Or wax, and never did her moaning cease,
  As o'er the wide sea her gaze followed him.
  Ay, for her son a mother fretteth still,
  Though it be to a feast that he hath gone,
  By a friend bidden forth. But soon the sail
  Of that good ship far-fleeting o'er the blue
  Grew faint and fainter—melted in sea-haze.
  But still she sighed, still daylong made her moan.

  On ran the ship before a following wind,
  Seeming to skim the myriad-surging sea,
  And crashed the dark wave either side the prow:
  Swiftly across the abyss unplumbed she sped.
  Night's darkness fell about her, but the breeze
  Held, and the steersman's hand was sure. O'er gulfs
  Of brine she flew, till Dawn divine rose up
  To climb the sky. Then sighted they the peaks
  Of Ida, Chrysa next, and Smintheus' fane,
  Then the Sigean strand, and then the tomb
  Of Aeacus' son. Yet would Laertes' seed,
  The man discreet of soul, not point it out
  To Neoptolemus, lest the tide of grief
  Too high should swell within his breast. They passed
  Calydnae's isles, left Tenedos behind;
  And now was seen the fane of Eleus,
  Where stands Protesilaus' tomb, beneath
  The shade of towery elms; when, soaring high
  Above the plain, their topmost boughs discern
  Troy, straightway wither all their highest sprays.
  Nigh Ilium now the ship by wind and oar
  Was brought: they saw the long strand fringed with keels
  Of Argives, who endured sore travail of war
  Even then about the wall, the which themselves
  Had reared to screen the ships and men in stress
  Of battle. Even now Eurypylus' hands
  To earth were like to dash it and destroy;
  But the quick eyes of Tydeus' strong son marked
  How rained the darts and stones on that long wall.
  Forth of the ship he sprang, and shouted loud
  With all the strength of his undaunted breast:
  "Friends, on the Argive men is heaped this day
  Sore travail! Let us don our flashing arms
  With speed, and to yon battle-turmoil haste.
  For now upon our towers the warrior sons
  Of Troy press hard—yea, haply will they tear
  The long walls down, and burn the ships with fire,
  And so the souls that long for home-return
  Shall win it never; nay, ourselves shall fall
  Before our due time, and shall lie in graves
  In Troyland, far from children and from wives."

  All as one man down from the ship they leapt;
  For trembling seized on all for that grim sight—
  On all save aweless Neoptolemus
  Whose might was like his father's: lust of war
  Swept o'er him. To Odysseus' tent in haste
  They sped, for close it lay to where the ship
  Touched land. About its walls was hung great store
  Of change of armour, of wise Odysseus some,
  And rescued some from gallant comrades slain.
  Then did the brave man put on goodly arms;
  But they in whose breasts faintlier beat their hearts
  Must don the worser. Odysseus stood arrayed
  In those which came with him from Ithaca:
  To Diomede he gave fair battle-gear
  Stripped in time past from mighty Socus slain.
  But in his father's arms Achilles' son
  Clad him and lo, he seemed Achilles' self!
  Light on his limbs and lapping close they lay—
  So cunning was Hephaestus' workmanship—
  Which for another had been a giant's arms.
  The massive helmet cumbered not his brows;
  Yea, the great Pelian spear-shaft burdened not
  His hand, but lightly swung he up on high
  The heavy and tall lance thirsting still for blood.

  Of many Argives which beheld him then
  Might none draw nigh to him, how fain soe'er,
  So fast were they in that grim grapple locked
  Of the wild war that raged all down the wall.
  But as when shipmen, under a desolate isle
  Mid the wide sea by stress of weather bound,
  Chafe, while afar from men the adverse blasts
  Prison them many a day; they pace the deck
  With sinking hearts, while scantier grows their store
  Of food; they weary till a fair wind sings;
  So joyed the Achaean host, which theretofore
  Were heavy of heart, when Neoptolemus came,
  Joyed in the hope of breathing-space from toil.
  Then like the aweless lion's flashed his eyes,
  Which mid the mountains leaps in furious mood
  To meet the hunters that draw nigh his cave,
  Thinking to steal his cubs, there left alone
  In a dark-shadowed glen but from a height
  The beast hath spied, and on the spoilers leaps
  With grim jaws terribly roaring; even so
  That glorious child of Aeacus' aweless son
  Against the Trojan warriors burned in wrath.
  Thither his eagle-swoop descended first
  Where loudest from the plain uproared the fight,
  There weakest, he divined, must be the wall,
  The battlements lowest, since the surge of foes
  Brake heaviest there. Charged at his side the rest
  Breathing the battle-spirit. There they found
  Eurypylus mighty of heart and all his men
  Scaling a tower, exultant in the hope
  Of tearing down the walls, of slaughtering
  The Argives in one holocaust. No mind
  The Gods had to accomplish their desire!
  But now Odysseus, Diomede the strong,
  Leonteus, and Neoptolemus, as a God
  In strength and beauty, hailed their javelins down,
  And thrust them from the wall. As dogs and shepherds
  By shouting and hard fighting drive away
  Strong lions from a steading, rushing forth
  From all sides, and the brutes with glaring eyes
  Pace to and fro; with savage lust for blood
  Of calves and kine their jaws are slavering;
  Yet must their onrush give back from the hounds
  And fearless onset of the shepherd folk;
  [So from these new defenders shrank the foe]
  A little, far as one may hurl a stone
  Exceeding great; for still Eurypylus
  Suffered them not to flee far from the ships,
  But cheered them on to bide the brunt, until
  The ships be won, and all the Argives slain;
  For Zeus with measureless might thrilled all his frame.
  Then seized he a rugged stone and huge, and leapt
  And hurled it full against the high-built wall.
  It crashed, and terribly boomed that rampart steep
  To its foundations. Terror gripped the Greeks,
  As though that wall had crumbled down in dust;
  Yet from the deadly conflict flinched they not,
  But stood fast, like to jackals or to wolves
  Bold robbers of the sheep—when mid the hills
  Hunter and hound would drive them forth their caves,
  Being grimly purposed there to slay their whelps.
  Yet these, albeit tormented by the darts,
  Flee not, but for their cubs' sake bide and fight;
  So for the ships' sake they abode and fought,
  And for their own lives. But Eurypylus
  Afront of all the ships stood, taunting them:
  "Coward and dastard souls! no darts of yours
  Had given me pause, nor thrust back from your ships,
  Had not your rampart stayed mine onset-rush.
  Ye are like to dogs, that in a forest flinch
  Before a lion! Skulking therewithin
  Ye are fighting—nay, are shrinking back from death!
  But if ye dare come forth on Trojan ground,
  As once when ye were eager for the fray,
  None shall from ghastly death deliver you:
  Slain by mine hand ye all shall lie in dust!"

  So did he shout a prophecy unfulfilled,
  Nor heard Doom's chariot-wheels fast rolling near
  Bearing swift death at Neoptolemus' hands,
  Nor saw death gleaming from his glittering spear.
  Ay, and that hero paused not now from fight,
  But from the ramparts smote the Trojans aye.
  From that death leaping from above they quailed
  In tumult round Eurypylus: deadly fear
  Gripped all their hearts. As little children cower
  About a father's knees when thunder of Zeus
  Crashes from cloud to cloud, when all the air
  Shudders and groans, so did the sons of Troy,
  With those Ceteians round their great king, cower
  Ever as prince Neoptolemus hurled; for death
  Rode upon all he cast, and bare his wrath
  Straight rushing down upon the heads of foes.
  Now in their hearts those wildered Trojans said
  That once more they beheld Achilles' self
  Gigantic in his armour. Yet they hid
  That horror in their breasts, lest panic fear
  Should pass from them to the Ceteian host
  And king Eurypylus; so on every side
  They wavered 'twixt the stress of their hard strait
  And that blood-curdling dread, 'twixt shame and fear.
  As when men treading a precipitous path
  Look up, and see adown the mountain-slope
  A torrent rushing on them, thundering down
  The rocks, and dare not meet its clamorous flood,
  But hurry shuddering on, with death in sight
  Holding as naught the perils of the path;
  So stayed the Trojans, spite of their desire
  [To flee the imminent death that waited them]
  Beneath the wall. Godlike Eurypylus
  Aye cheered them on to fight. He trusted still
  That this new mighty foe would weary at last
  With toil of slaughter; but he wearied not.

  That desperate battle-travail Pallas saw,
  And left the halls of Heaven incense-sweet,
  And flew o'er mountain-crests: her hurrying feet
  Touched not the earth, borne by the air divine
  In form of cloud-wreaths, swifter than the wind.
  She came to Troy, she stayed her feet upon
  Sigeum's windy ness, she looked forth thence
  Over the ringing battle of dauntless men,
  And gave the Achaeans glory. Achilles' son
  Beyond the rest was filled with valour and strength
  Which win renown for men in whom they meet.
  Peerless was he in both: the blood of Zeus
  Gave strength; to his father's valour was he heir;
  So by those towers he smote down many a foe.
  And as a fisher on the darkling sea,
  To lure the fish to their destruction, takes
  Within his boat the strength of fire; his breath
  Kindles it to a flame, till round the boat
  Glareth its splendour, and from the black sea
  Dart up the fish all eager to behold
  The radiance—for the last time; for the barbs
  Of his three-pointed spear, as up they leap,
  Slay them; his heart rejoices o'er the prey.
  So that war-king Achilles' glorious son
  Slew hosts of onward-rushing foes around
  That wall of stone. Well fought the Achaeans all,
  Here, there, adown the ramparts: rang again
  The wide strand and the ships: the battered walls
  Groaned ever. Men with weary ache of toil
  Fainted on either side; sinews and might
  Of strong men were unstrung. But o'er the son
  Of battle-stay Achilles weariness
  Crept not: his battle-eager spirit aye
  Was tireless; never touched by palsying fear
  He fought on, as with the triumphant strength
  Of an ever-flowing river: though it roll
  'Twixt blazing forests, though the madding blast
  Roll stormy seas of flame, it feareth not,
  For at its brink faint grows the fervent heat,
  The strong flood turns its might to impotence;
  So weariness nor fear could bow the knees
  Of Hero Achilles' gallant-hearted son,
  Still as he fought, still cheered his comrades on.
  Of myriad shafts sped at him none might touch
  His flesh, but even as snowflakes on a rock
  Fell vainly ever: wholly screened was he
  By broad shield and strong helmet, gifts of a God.
  In these exulting did the Aeacid's son
  Stride all along the wall, with ringing shouts
  Cheering the dauntless Argives to the fray,
  Being their mightiest far, bearing a soul
  Insatiate of the awful onset-cry,
  Burning with one strong purpose, to avenge
  His father's death: the Myrmidons in their king
  Exulted. Roared the battle round the wall.

  Two sons he slew of Meges rich in gold,
  Scion of Dymas—sons of high renown,
  Cunning to hurl the dart, to drive the steed
  In war, and deftly cast the lance afar,
  Born at one birth beside Sangarius' banks
  Of Periboea to him, Celtus one,
  And Eubius the other. But not long
  His boundless wealth enjoyed they, for the
  Fates Span them a thread of life exceeding brief.
  As on one day they saw the light, they died
  On one day by the same hand. To the heart
  Of one Neoptolemus sped a javelin; one
  He smote down with a massy stone that crashed
  Through his strong helmet, shattered all its ridge,
  And dashed his brains to earth. Around them fell
  Foes many, a host untold. The War-god's work
  Waxed ever mightier till the eventide,
  Till failed the light celestial; then the host
  Of brave Eurypylus from the ships drew back
  A little: they that held those leaguered towers
  Had a short breathing-space; the sons of Troy
  Had respite from the deadly-echoing strife,
  From that hard rampart-battle. Verily all
  The Argives had beside their ships been slain,
  Had not Achilles' strong son on that day
  Withstood the host of foes and their great chief
  Eurypylus. Came to that young hero's side
  Phoenix the old, and marvelling gazed on one
  The image of Peleides. Tides of joy
  And grief swept o'er him—grief, for memories
  Of that swift-footed father—joy, for sight
  Of such a son. He for sheer gladness wept;
  For never without tears the tribes of men
  Live—nay, not mid the transports of delight.
  He clasped him round as father claspeth son
  Whom, after long and troublous wanderings,
  The Gods bring home to gladden a father's heart.
  So kissed he Neoptolemus' head and breast,
  Clasping him round, and cried in rapture of joy:
  "Hail, goodly son of that Achilles whom
  I nursed a little one in mine own arms
  With a glad heart. By Heaven's high providence
  Like a strong sapling waxed he in stature fast,
  And daily I rejoiced to see his form
  And prowess, my life's blessing, honouring him
  As though he were the son of mine old age;
  For like a father did he honour me.
  I was indeed his father, he my son
  In spirit: thou hadst deemed us of one blood
  Who were in heart one: but of nobler mould
  Was he by far, in form and strength a God.
  Thou art wholly like him—yea, I seem to see
  Alive amid the Argives him for whom
  Sharp anguish shrouds me ever. I waste away
  In sorrowful age—oh that the grave had closed
  On me while yet he lived! How blest to be
  By loving hands of kinsmen laid to rest!
  Ah child, my sorrowing heart will nevermore
  Forget him! Chide me not for this my grief.
  But now, help thou the Myrmidons and Greeks
  In their sore strait: wreak on the foe thy wrath
  For thy brave sire. It shall be thy renown
  To slay this war-insatiate Telephus' son;
  For mightier art thou, and shalt prove, than he,
  As was thy father than his wretched sire."

  Made answer golden-haired Achilles' son:
  "Ancient, our battle-prowess mighty Fate
  And the o'ermastering War-god shall decide."

  But, as he spake, he had fain on that same day
  Forth of the gates have rushed in his sire's arms;
  But night, which bringeth men release from toil,
  Rose from the ocean veiled in sable pall.

  With honour as of mighty Achilles' self
  Him mid the ships the glad Greeks hailed, who had won
  Courage from that his eager rush to war.
  With princely presents did they honour him,
  With priceless gifts, whereby is wealth increased;
  For some gave gold and silver, handmaids some,
  Brass without weight gave these, and iron those;
  Others in deep jars brought the ruddy wine:
  Yea, fleetfoot steeds they gave, and battle-gear,
  And raiment woven fair by women's hands.
  Glowed Neoptolemus' heart for joy of these.
  A feast they made for him amidst the tents,
  And there extolled Achilles' godlike son
  With praise as of the immortal Heavenly Ones;
  And joyful-voiced Agamemnon spake to him:
  "Thou verily art the brave-souled Aeacid's son,
  His very image thou in stalwart might,
  In beauty, stature, courage, and in soul.
  Mine heart burns in me seeing thee. I trust
  Thine hands and spear shall smite yon hosts of foes,
  Shall smite the city of Priam world-renowned—
  So like thy sire thou art! Methinks I see
  Himself beside the ships, as when his shout
  Of wrath for dead Patroclus shook the ranks
  Of Troy. But he is with the Immortal Ones,
  Yet, bending from that heaven, sends thee to-day
  To save the Argives on destruction's brink."

  Answered Achilles' battle-eager son:
  "Would I might meet him living yet, O King,
  That so himself might see the son of his love
  Not shaming his great father's name. I trust
  So shall it be, if the Gods grant me life."

  So spake he in wisdom and in modesty;
  And all there marvelled at the godlike man.
  But when with meat and wine their hearts were filled,
  Then rose Achilles' battle-eager son,
  And from the feast passed forth unto the tent
  That was his sire's. Much armour of heroes slain
  Lay there; and here and there were captive maids
  Arraying that tent widowed of its lord,
  As though its king lived. When that son beheld
  Those Trojan arms and handmaid-thralls, he groaned,
  By passionate longing for his father seized.
  As when through dense oak-groves and tangled glens
  Comes to the shadowed cave a lion's whelp
  Whose grim sire by the hunters hath been slain,
  And looketh all around that empty den,
  And seeth heaps of bones of steeds and kine
  Slain theretofore, and grieveth for his sire;
  Even so the heart of brave Peleides' son
  With grief was numbed. The handmaids marvelling gazed;
  And fair Briseis' self, when she beheld
  Achilles' son, was now right glad at heart,
  And sorrowed now with memories of the dead.
  Her soul was wildered all, as though indeed
  There stood the aweless Aeacid living yet.

  Meanwhile exultant Trojans camped aloof
  Extolled Eurypylus the fierce and strong,
  As erst they had praised Hector, when he smote
  Their foes, defending Troy and all her wealth.
  But when sweet sleep stole over mortal men,
  Then sons of Troy and battle-biding Greeks
  All slumber-heavy slept unsentinelled.