But Priam mourned for Aesacus, not knowing
He lived, a wingĖd creature. To the tomb
That bore his name Hector brought sacrifice,
So did the other brothers, all but Paris,
Who, not long after, brought upon his country
Long warfare over the woman he had stolen.
A thousand ships were launched, and all the Greeks,
Banded together, followed, and they would have
Taken their vengeance sooner, but the storms
Made the sea pathless, and Boeotia held them,
Impatient, at the little port of Aulis.
When here, as always, they had gotten ready
Their sacrifice for Jove, just as the altar
Glowed with the lighted fires, they saw a serpent,
Blue-green in color, creeping up a plane-tree
Above them, toward a nest, high up, which held
Eight fledglings. These, together with the mother,
Flying too close to her doomed brood, the serpent
Seized and devoured. Amazement seized the people,
But the augur Calchas saw the meaning clearly:
"Rejoice, O Greeks: we shall win the war, and Troy
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Go down before us, but our task will be
Of long duration: the nine birds mean nine years."
Meanwhile the serpent, coiled around the branches,
Was changed to stone, and the stone kept the form
Of the twining serpent.
Nereus continued
Boisterous over the waves; he would not carry
The war across the sea, and there were people
Who thought that Neptune, who had built the walls
Of Troy, was therefore bound to spare the city.
Calchas knew better, and said so: virgin blood
Must satisfy the virgin goddess' anger.
The common cause was stronger than affection,
The king subdued the father; Agamemnon
Led Iphigenia to the solemn altar,
And while she stood there, ready for the offering
Of her chaste blood, and even the priests were weeping,
Diana yielded, veiled their eyes with cloud,
And even while the rites went on, confused
With darkness and the cries of people praying,
Iphigenia was taken, and a deer
Left in her place as victim, so the goddess
Was satisfied; her anger and the ocean's
Subsided, and the thousand ships responded
To the fresh winds astern and, with much trouble,
Came to the Phrygian shores.
There is a place
At the world's center, triple boundary
Of land and sky and sea. From here all things,
No matter what, are visible; every word
Comes to these hollow ears. Here Rumor dwells,
Her palace high upon the mountain-summit,
With countless entrances, thousands on thousands,
And never a door to close them. Day and night
The halls stand open, and the bronze re-echoes,
Repeats all words, redoubles every murmur.
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There is no quiet, no silence anywhere,
No uproar either, only the subdued
Murmur of little voices, like the murmur
Of sea-waves heard far-off, or the last rumble
Of thunder dying in the cloud. The halls
Are filled with presences that shift and wander,
Rumors in thousands, lies and truth together,
Confused, confusing. Some fill idle ears
With stories, others go far-off to tell
What they have heard, and every story grows,
And each new teller adds to what he hears.
Here is Credulity, and reckless Error,
Vain Joy, and panic Fear, sudden Sedition,
Whispers that none can trace, and she, their goddess,
Sees all that happens in heaven, on land, on ocean,
Searching the world for news.
She spread the tidings
That the Greek fleet was coming, and brave armies,
And so the Trojans, dressed in readiness,
Received them at their shores. Protesilaus
Was first to fall, so the fates willed, when Hector
Let fly the deadly spear. The early fighting
Cost the Greeks dear, and Hector gave them lessons
In how to kill. And Trojans learned those lessons
In blood, and Sigean shores were turned to crimson.
Cygnus, the son of Neptune, slew his thousands;
Achilles, in his car, rode through the Trojans
Leveling columns with his spear, and seeking
Cygnus or Hector. Hector was denied him
Till the tenth year, but he did meet with Cygnus,
Urged on his horses, whose white necks were straining
Against the yoke, rode down his enemy,
Brandished his spear, and cried: "Whoever you are,
O youth, take this for comfort in your dying:
It was Achilles of Thessaly who killed you."
After the taunt, the spear. It did not swerve,
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And the point was sharp, but only bruised the breast,
No damage done. "O son of Thetis," Cygnus
Called back, "you see I know you: why do you wonder
That no wound hurts me?" (And Achilles, surely,
Was wondering.) "I do not wear this helmet,
Golden with horsehair crest, I do not carry
This hollow shield on my left arm, for safety.
I wear them out of pride, for decoration,
As Mars, too, wears his armor. If I lost them,
I still would walk unharmed. You are the son
Of Thetis, a sea-goddess; that is something,
But I am son of the great ocean monarch
Who rules both Thetis and her many sisters
And Nereus, their father." He flung a spear.
Through brass and the nine leathers of layer driving,
It pierced, but the tenth layer kept it harmless.
Achilles shook it off, flung spear again,
Again it left no wound, and even when Cygnus
Offered his body naked of protection
The third spear did no hurt. Achilles rages
As a bull rages in the wide arena
Against the scarlet cloth and never finds it.
Could the spear have lost its point? He looked it over.
No, it was on the shaft. "Has my hand weakened,"
He thought, "In this one instance? Once I had
Strength enough, surely, when I led the onslaught
Against Lyrnessus' walls, and made the rivers
Run red with blood, and Telephus, more than once,
Felt my spear's power and thrust. On this field also
I have made and seen my heaps of slain; my hand
Is strong, as it has been." As if he needed
Proof of the past, he flung one spear the more
Straight at Menoetes, and the weapon drove
Through mail and breast, and as the dying victim
Came clanging to the ground, from the hot wound
Achilles pulled the spear in wild rejoicing:
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"This is the hand, this is the spear, that brought me
Victory once again, and I shall use them
Against this foe, and the same fate befall him!"
He threw again at Cygnus, and the ash
Went straight, and hit the shoulder, and bounced off
As from a wall. Achilles saw the blood
Where it had landed, and rejoiced, in vain
--That was Menoetes' blood! Down from his chariot
He leaped, closed in, swung sword, saw shield and helmet
Both pierced, and felt the sword go blunt on the body.
This was too much; with shield and hilt as weapons
Over and over again he beat on the temples,
The unprotected visage. One gave way,
And one came pressing on: no rest was given,
No respite from that battle-shock. And fear
Took hold of Cygnus, the dark shadows swam
Before his eyes; as he stepped back, a boulder
Barred off retreat. As he bent back against it,
Achilles dragged him down, rode him with knees
And shield together, loosed his helmet-thongs,
Fastened them tight around the throat, kept choking,
Was ready to strip the armor for his prize,
And found the armor empty, for the sea-god
Had changed him into the snowy bird whose name
He had while living.
All this toil and warfare
Brought a long truce, and men laid down their weapons
And took their rest, but guards patrolled the trenches
And guards patrolled the walls. There came a day
When Cygnus' conqueror, Achilles, offered
A heifer's blood as sacrifice to Pallas.
The entrails smoked on the altars, and the odor
Loved by the gods ascended to the heavens,
And what was left from the gods' share the heroes
Put on their tables, and the chiefs reclined
On couches there, and took their fill, and drank
[page 290]
Deep of the wine, and for their music listened
Not to the sound of lyre nor voice of song
Nor boxwood flute, but they drew out the night
In talk of war, and valor was the theme.
They spoke of battles, both their own and others',
Lived over, with pleasure, dangers they had met,
For what else would Achilles speak of? what
Would others tell in great Achilles' presence?
And most of all the conversation turned
On his last victory, the defeat of Cygnus,
Wonderful, so they thought, for a young man
To have a body that no spear could pierce,
That blunted sword-edge. Even Achilles wondered,
And Nestor said: "Your youthful generation
Has known one only, this Cygnus, who could scorn
The steel, invulnerable to any wound.
I can recall another, long ago,
Whose body took a thousand blows, unharmed,
What was his name now? Caeneus, that was it,
Caeneus of Thessaly, Thessalian Caeneus.
He once dwelt on Mount Othrys and was famous
For all he did, but the strange thing about it
Is, he was born a woman." All who listened
Clamored to hear the story, and Achilles
Was urgent: "Tell us, father: you are wise
And eloquent; we all want to hear about him.
Who was this Caeneus? why changed? who fought him?
Who beat him if he ever was beaten? where,
In what campaign did you know him?" Nestor answered:
"Time has slowed me down; I forget many things
That happened in my youth, but I remember
A good deal more, and this thing stands out clearly
>From all the doings of war and peace. I must have
Seen much, if any man could. I have been living
Two hundred years, am now in my third hundred.
Famous for beauty was Elatus' daughter,
Caenis, her name was, loveliest of girls
In Thessaly, throughout the neighboring cities
And your own town (she came from there, Achilles)
And many suitors had their eyes upon her,
And your own father might have been one, I think,
But maybe he was married to your mother
By then, or going to be. Well, anyway,
Caenis would not consent to any marriage.
She used to walk the lonely shore, and Neptune
(Or so they say) got hold of her one day,
Took her by force, and liked what he had taken
And told the girl: 'Ask me for anything,
And you shall have it. What do you want the most'
(That was what people said, at least.) And Caenis
Replied: 'The wrong you have done me makes me ask
For something most important, that I may never
Again be able to suffer so. I ask you
That I may not be woman; that would be best.'
She spoke the last words with a deeper tone,
The voice might have been a man's, and it was, truly,
For the deep ocean's god had given his word
And to it added that no man should hurt her,
That she should never fall by any thrust,
So she, or he, went on his way rejoicing
And spent the years in male pursuits, and traveled
All over Thessaly.
"Now Ixion's son
Had married Hippodame, and invited
The cloud-born Centaurs to the wedding banquet
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In a shady cavern under the trees. The leaders
Of Thessaly were there, and I was with them,
And the palace rang with all those noisy feasters,
And people sang Here comes the bride, and the hall
Smoked to its rafters, and the bride came in,
Beautiful, with her bridesmaids and young matrons,
And we called Pirithous a lucky fellow,
And that was a mistake, an act which almost
Broke up the omens of a happy marriage,
For Eurytus, the wildest of the Centaurs,
And all of them were wild enough, grew heated
With wine or lust or both of them together,
Grabbed Hippodame by the hair and dragged her
Beyond the upset tables, through the yelling,
And all the others took a girl, whichever
They liked, or, anyway, whichever they could,
Till the whole scene looked like a town being ravaged,
With women shrieking all over the place. We all
Jumped up as quick as we could, and Theseus first
Cried out: 'What is this, Eurytus? Are you crazy?
To insult Pirithous while I live, to attack him,
And so attack us both?' And the great hero,
By way of proving his words, pushed off the Centaurs,
Rescued the bride from all that raging fury.
Eurytus said nothing, there was nothing
For him to say; instead, he rushed at Theseus,
Struck him on face and chest. There stood near by
An ancient wine-bowl, with carved figures on it,
And Theseus, in a towering anger, seized it,
Flung it at Eurytus, who, dying, spouted
Blood from his mouth, and brains, and wine together,
As all his brothers shouted down each other
Crying 'To arms, to arms!' Wine gave them courage,
And their first weapons were the flasks and goblets
And caldrons: all utensils meant for feasting
Were used for war and murder. Ophion's son,
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Amycus, robbed the inner shrine and from it
Bore off a chandelier with glittering lamps,
Lifted it high, the way an axe is lifted
To strike a white bull for a sacrifice,
And dashed it at the head of Celadon,
Smashing his face so that no man would know it.
His eyes bulged from their sockets, and his cheek-bones
Splintered, and what had been his nose was driven
Into his palate. Pelates of Pella
Wrenched off a maple table-leg and used it
To knock Amycus down with, with his chin
Driven into his breast. That made things even,
As he spat out black blood and teeth together.
A second blow finished him off. Then Gryneus,
Staring, wild-eyed, at the smoking altar near him,
Cried out, 'Why not use this?' and caught it up
With all its fires and hurled it at the throng
And crushed two men, Broteas and Orios,
Whose mother, so folks said, was named Mycale
And she, or so they said, had incantations
To bring the horns of the moon to earth no matter
How much she struggled. 'You shall not escape me
If I can find a weapon!' one Exadius
Cried out, and found a weapon, a stag's antlers
Hung on a pine-tree as a votive offering.
And Gryneus' eyes were pierced by those twin prongs,
Eyeballs gouged out; one of them stuck to the horn,
The other rolled down his beard till a blood-clot caught it.
Then Rhoetus caught up a brand of plum-wood,
Whirled it, and smashed it through Charaxus' temples,
Whose yellow hair, caught by the fire, burned fiercely
Like a dry field of grain, and the blood, seared dry,
Hissed horribly in the wound, as a bar of iron,
Red-hot in the fire, is taken by the blacksmith,
Lifted in curving tongs, and plunged, still glowing,
Into the tub of water. How it sizzles,
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Sputters and hisses in the lukewarm water!
That was the way Charaxus acted. Wounded,
He pawed at the fire, and tore up from the ground
And heaved to his shoulder a millstone, that a team
Of oxen could hardly drag. It was too heavy
To reach his enemy, but it did hit someone,
Charaxus' friend Cometes, and it crushed him.
And Rhoetus was delighted: 'That's the way!
Be brave like that, all of you!' And he came on
With his brand again, and used it for a mallet,
Pounding the skull-bones into the brains. In triumph
He turned on Dryas, Corythus, Euagrus,
And Corythus fell, a youngster who had never
Cut himself shaving, and Euagrus shouted:
'What glory do you get from killing children?'
Rhoetus gave him no chance for further talking
But shoved the firebrand into his mouth, wide open,
Ramming it down his throat. He went for Dryas
And this time had no luck, for Dryas stabbed him
With a sharp stake between the neck and shoulder,
And Rhoetus wrenched it loose, and ran, all reeking
With his own blood. Orneus fled, and Medon,
And Lycabas, with a wound in his right shoulder,
And Thaumas, and Pisenor. Mermeros fled;
He used to be the fastest runner of all,
But slower now from a wound. And Pholus fled
And Melaneus fled, and a boar-hunter
Whose name was Abas, and Asbolus, the augur,
Who had tried to stop the brawling, spoke to Nessus
Fleeing beside him: 'Never mind; you need not
Run quite so fast, you will be spared, they tell me,
For the bow of Hercules.' But Eurynomus,
Lycidas, Areos, Imbreus fell; all these
Dryas struck down confronting him. Crenaeus
Also received his wounds in front; Crenaeus
Was running, but looked back, and a javelin got him
[page 295]
Between the eyes. And during all this uproar
Aphidnas lay asleep, sprawled out, his hand
Still clinging to a goblet, drunk, and Iying
On a shaggy bearskin. Phorbas, from far off,
Studied him, noticed that he never stirred,
Cried: 'Mix your wine with water of the Styx
And drink it there!' and flung his javelin
Whose iron-tipped ash went through his neck. He lay there,
Head back, and never knew he died, and blood
Poured over the place he lay, and filled his wine-cup.
I saw Petraeus trying to pull an oak-tree
Out of the earth. He held it in both arms,
Yanking it back and forth, and just as he loosened
The rooted trunk, Pirithous pinned him there,
The spear going through his ribs. They say that Lycus
Fell by the valor of Pirithous, also Chromis.
It may be so, but Dictys and Helops brought him
More reputation than either of these, for Helops
Got a javelin through his temples, in one ear
And out the other. Dictys tried to run,
And stumbled at the edge of a cliff and fell
And landed on an ash-tree's top, impaled
On the broken spikes of the branches. Aphareus
Came to avenge him, and tried to hurl a boulder
Torn from the mountain-side, but as he threw it,
The son of Aegeus caught him with an oak-club,
Crippling his elbow. No use bothering more
With his maimed body, so Theseus leaped high
On tall Bienor's back; that was one Centaur
Who had never carried anyone but himself.
But Theseus dug his knees into his sides
His left hand clutched the mane, he smashed at the face,
The mouth, that screamed and threatened, and he pounded
The temples with his knotty club. He slew
Nedymnus and Lycopes, a javelin-thrower,
[page 296]
Hippasos, bearded to the breast, and Ripheus,
Taller than trees, and Thereus, a hunter
Who brought back bears alive from Thessaly's mountains.
Demoleon could not stand this any longer:
He had been jerking at a pine, to tear it
Up from the roots, the trunk and all, and could not,
And so he broke it off and sent it flying,
But Theseus saw it coming, and stepped back
As Pallas told him to; at least, he told us
That Pallas told him to. It did some damage,
That pine, it tore off Crantor's breast and shoulder.
He had been your father's armor-bearer, Achilles;
Amyntor, the Dolopian king, when beaten
In war, had given him to Aeacus' son,
Your father, Peleus. And when Peleus saw him
So foully mangled, he cried out in horror:
'Here is a funeral-offering for you, Crantor!'
I do not know which had more purpose in it,
Or which more strength, his right arm or his spirit,
But the ash went through the ribs and stuck to the bones;
Demoleon broke the shaft off, but the point
Stayed in the lungs. His agony made him braver:
Wounded, he reared against his foe, struck at him
With hoof and foreleg. Peleus took the blows
On helm and ringing shield, kept himself covered,
Held his own weapon ready, and in a moment
Drove it through breast, where the horse-part and man-part
Were joined together. I forgot to tell you
That Peleus, before this, had slain Phlegraeos
And Hyles, from a distance, and in close quarters
Iphinous and Clanis. Now he added
Dorylas, with a helmet made of wolf's hide,
Who did not carry a spear, but went around
With a bull's curving horns to use as weapons
And had them red with blood. I called out to him,
For my courage gave me strength, 'Look here, Dorylas!
[page 297]
Those horns are little good against a spear.'
And I hurled the spear, and since he could not dodge it
He flung his right hand up to save his forehead,
And so my spear pinned his hand against his forehead,
And everybody yelled, and Peleus
Was near, and while the creature stood there helpless,
He stabbed him in the belly, so he jumped forward
Trailing his guts along the ground, and trod them
And burst them as he trod them, and got tangled
In what was left, and fell with empty belly.
The beauty of Cyllarus had no power to save him
In that great fight. Centaurs have beauty, maybe.
His youthful beard was just beginning, golden,
And golden locks fell down his neck and shoulders.
He had a pleasing liveliness of expression,
And as for neck and shoulders, breast, arms, all
That had humanity, you could call it perfect,
A work of art, and the horse part of him
Was every bit as faultless: give him head
And neck, he would be worthy of a Castor,
So arched his back for the rider, so bold and strong
The muscles on his chest. He was black all over
Except for legs and tail, and these were white,
Whiter than snow. Many a Centaur-female
Had sought him out, but only one had won him,
Hylonome, of those half-beasts the fairest
In all the woods. She, by her coaxing ways,
By loving and confessing love, possessed him,
And she was dainty, if such creatures could be,
Combing her hair, or mane, twining her locks
With rosemary, or violets, or roses,
Or sometimes with white lilies. Twice a day
She bathed her face in the brook cascading down
>From Pagasa's woody heights, and twice a day
he bathed her body in that stream. She would not
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Wear garments over shoulder or left side
Unless she knew they suited her, the skins
Of choicest quality. They loved each other.
Together they ranged the mountain-sides, together
Rested in caves; together they had come,
This time, to the palace of the Lapithae,
Together joined the battle, and a spear,
Nobody knows who flung it, came from the left,
Struck Cyllarus where neck and shoulder join,
Pierced to the heart, a light wound, deep enough
So that the heart grew cold and the body also
After the shaft was drawn. Hylonome
Embraced the dying body, staunched the wound,
Or tried to staunch it, with her hand; her lips
Sought for his own, to keep the dying breath
>From leaving the body, and failed, and she cried something
I could not hear in all that din and shouting,
And threw herself on the spear that killed her lover
And fell, in death, above him.
"I still can see him,
Phaeocomes, who had bound six lion hides
Together with thongs, a makeshift sort of armor
Protecting horse and man. He hurled a log
Which nowadays two oxen could hardly move,
Struck Tectaphos on the head, a crushing blow
That shattered his skull, and squeezed, through mouth and
nostrils,
Through eyes and ears, the jellied brains, as curds
Are strained through sieves. But I, as he made ready
To strip his victim (and your father can prove it)
Drove sword into his groin. Chthonius also
Fell by the sword, and Teleboas. One
Had a forked stick as weapon, the other a spear
Which wounded me; you still can see the scar.
Those were the days when I should have been a warrior
Sent out to capture Troy. I had the power
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To check, if not surpass, the might of Hector.
But I forget--Hector was not yet born,
Or if he was, he was nothing but a boy,
And now I am weak and old. Do I need to tell you
How Periphas slew Pyraethus, or how Ampyx
Brought down Echeclus? Macareus slaughtered
Erigdupus with a crow-bar. And I remember
How Nessus threw a spear that hurt Cymelus
Where spears can hurt the most. And let me tell you
Mopsus, the son of Ampycus, was more
Than just a prophet; he could fight, I tell you.
It was his weapon stopped Hodites' talking,
Pinning his tongue to his chin, and his chin to his throat.
Caeneus--he was the one I told you of,
Remember?--had killed five: Antimachus,
Styphelus, Bromus, Elymus, Pyracmos.
Their wounds I have forgotten, but, you see,
I still remember their names. Then one came forward,
Latreus, who bulked enormous, with the spoils
Of slain Halaesus. He was middle-aged,
This Latreus, with gray hair around his temples
But he had a young man's strength. You could always tell him
By his shield and sword and Macedonian lance.
He faced each side in turn, and clashed his arms,
Rode in a circle, poured out many words
On the empty air: 'Am I to stand this woman,
This Caenis? Woman you are, and always will be,
Caenis, to me; does not your birth remind you
Of what you used to be, at what a cost
You gained this Iying semblance of a man?
Remember, daughter, all that you have suffered,
Go back to your distaff and your weaving-baskets,
Go turn the wheel, go spin the wool; leave arms
To men, where they belong!' Across his boasting
The spear of Caeneus flew, plowed up his side
Where horse met man, and mad with pain he struck
[page 300]
With his long pike full in the face of Caeneus,
But the pike jumped back, the way a hailstone bounces
>From a tin roof, or a pebble from a drum.
Then he came closer, tried to jab the sword
In the unyielding side, and got no farther.
'The sword's edge, then, since the point is dull,' cried Latreus,
'Will be the death of you!' and the long right arm
Aimed for the loins, but the blow came off the flesh
Clanging as if from marble, and the blade
Was shattered, and there stood Caeneus, unharmed,
Giving his enemy time to look and wonder,
And then he struck; clear to the hilt he drove
The blade, and turned the weapon in his vitals,
Wound within wound. Now all of them together
The double-bodied creatures rushed in roaring,
All against one, they aimed, they drove their weapons,
And the weapons fell back blunted, and he stood there
Unwounded, with not even a mark upon him,
A sight that struck them dumb, till Monychus
Cried out: 'O great disgrace! that a whole people
Is mocked by one, one man, and he a man
Just barely, but a man he is, and we
Seem what he was before. Much good it does us
To have our double strength, our double nature!
I doubt if we are sons of any goddess,
Nor yet Ixion's sons. He was great enough
To hope to mate with Juno, and we are conquered
By half a man! Let us pile mountains on him,
Tree-trunks and stones, smother his life with forests,
Use weight alone for weapon and wound!' So saying,
He hurled a fallen tree, blown down by the wind,
And the others followed; in no time at all
Othrys was stripped of trees, and Pelion's mountain
Lost all its shade. Buried beneath that mound,
Caeneus strained and heaved and lifted oak-trees
But the pile rose, buried his mouth, and gave him
[page 301]
No air to breathe. He tried to lift his head,
To shake the mass of forest off, he moved
As Ida over there moves in an earthquake.
We are not sure what happened. Some men say
The weight of the mountains bore his body down
To Tartarus, but this has been denied.
The son of Ampycus claimed he saw a bird
With golden wings go flying to clear air,
I saw it, too, myself, the only time
I ever saw such a bird, and Mopsus saw him
Circling the camp in easy flight, the wings
Whirring with mighty sound, and Mopsus followed
That flight with all his eyes and all his heart:
'Hail and farewell, great Caeneus, mighty hero,
Flier without a peer, pride of the Lapiths!'
People believed the story since he told it,
And grief increased our anger that one hero
Should be borne down by such a weight of foes.
We did not stop till half of them were slaughtered,
The others saved by running, or by the darkness."
So Nestor's story ended, but there was one,
Tlepolemus, who asked, with some vexation,
Why Hercules was left out. "Old-timer," he said,
"It is queer you never had a word to say
In praise of Hercules. My father often
Told me of many a victory of his
Over those cloud-born creatures. What about it?"
And Nestor answered with no pleasure: "Why
Force me to think of those old injuries,
Reopen time-healed wounds, rehearse again
The offenses that once made me hate your father?
God knows he has done things no one could believe,
Earned praise all over the whole world, God knows, and I
[page 302]
Wish I could call it all a lie, but I cannot.
Still, we do not praise Hector, we do not praise
Deiphobus or Polydamas; who
Would praise his enemies? Young man, your father
Brought down Messene's walls, he ravaged cities,
Elis and Pylos, that had not deserved it,
Made ruin of my house with fire and sword.
Not to say anything about the others,
There once were twelve of us, the sons of Neleus,
Splendid young men, and he killed all of us
Except myself. That others could be conquered
Is something we must bear, but one death seemed
Strange altogether. Periclymenus
Had power, through Neptune's will, to change his form
At will, and now tried everything
And found all changes vain, and in the end
Took on the form of eagle, carrier
Of thunderbolts, most dear to the king of the gods.
With all that power of wing, of beak and talon,
He had torn the face of Hercules, and soared
High to the clouds, but the unerring bow
Loosed arrow at him there, and found the joint
Of wing and shoulder, a slight wound, to be sure,
But fatal, for it cost him power of motion,
And down he fell, the weakened wing no longer
Catching the air, and the weight of the body drove
The weapon through the breast and throat. So now,
My handsome Rhodian captain, why should I
Owe Hercules any praise? I avenge my brothers
In this small way, ignoring him. Between us
There lies no enmity."
Nestor's long story,
However gently told, had made them thirsty:
The wine went round again, and then they slumbered.
But Neptune still grieved for the son whose body
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Was now a swan's, and most of all he hated
Achilles with a deadly hate. Ten years
The war went on, and Neptune sought Apollo:
"Dearest to me of all my brother's sons,
Who helped me, and for nothing, build the walls
Of Troy, is it not pitiful to see
These walls about to topple? Is it not
Pitiful that so many thousands perished
Defending them, the nameless dead, and Hector
Dragged in the dirt around the town? Achilles,
Fiercer and bloodier than the war itself,
Destroyer of our workmanship, lives on,
Keeps out of my reach, or I would make him feel
The power of my trident. You can find him
Better than I can, with invisible arrow:
Bring him to sudden death!" Apollo nodded;
His own, and Neptune's, grievance drew him earthward,
Cloud-wrapped to the Trojan columns. There he saw
Paris in off-hand fashion taking pot-shots
At Greek nonentities. As very god
He spoke rebuking Paris: "Why waste arrows
On common rabble? If you care at all
For vengeance, for your people, hit Achilles,
Revenge your murdered brothers!" and he pointed
To where Achilles stood, his bright sword reaping
The Trojan ranks, and Apollo swung the bow,
Guided the hand of Paris, and old Priam
Could almost smile, for the first time since Hector
Had been brought low. So the great conqueror,
Conqueror of the mightiest, was conquered
By coward and seducer. How much better
To have been killed outright by a manly woman
Than womanish man, to have the Amazon,
Penthesilea, whom he slew, been victor
With her great battle-axe!
So now Achilles,
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The Terror of Troy, the ornament and bulwark
Of the Greek name, the great invincible captain,
Was burned. The same god armed him and consumed him.
Now he is only dust, and of Achilles,
Of all that might, nothing, or almost nothing,
Remains, a pitiful handful, scarce sufficient
To stop a hole to keep the wind away.
But still his glory lives, and in that glory
He fills the whole wide world. This is the measure
To judge him by, in this the son of Peleus
Is still himself; against that victory
The gates of Hell shall not prevail. His shield
Still wages war, and arms are taken up
Over his arms, that men may know, and truly,
Who owned them once. Not Diomede nor Ajax,
Oileus' son, nor Menelaus claimed them,
Nor Agamemnon, nor the other leaders.
Only two captains had the nerve and daring
To claim so great a prize: these were Ulysses
And the other Ajax, son of Telamon,
But Agamemnon would not choose between them,
So, to avoid the burden and the hatred
Of any such decision, he called the captains
Of all the host to council, to sit in judgment.