Metamorphoses
Ovid
Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.
- The ship was tossed about in the wild storm:
- aloft as from a mountain peak it seemed
- to look down on the valley and the depth
- of Acheron; and, when sunk down in a trough
- of waves engulfing, it appeared to look
- up at the zenith from infernal seas.
- Often the waves fell on the sides with crash
- as terrible as when a flying stone
- or iron ram shatters a citadel.
- As lions, mustering up their strength anew,
- might hurl their breasts against the spears
- and outstretched arms of huntsmen, so the waves,
- upon the rising of the winds, rushed forth
- against the battered sides of the tossed ship
- and rose much higher than the slanting masts.
- The ship-bolts lost their grip, the loosened planks,
- despoiled of covering wax, gave open seams,
- through which streamed water of the fatal waves.—
- vast sheets of rain pour from dissolving clouds,
- so suddenly, it seemed that all the heavens
- were flung into the deep, while swelling seas
- ascended to the emptied fields of heaven!
- The sails are drenched with rain, the salt sea waves
- are mingled with the waters of the skies.
- The firmament is black without a star,
- and night is doubly dark with its own gloom
- and blackness of the storm. Quick lightning makes
- the black skies glitter, and the waves are fired
- with flames of thunder-bolts. Now floods leap up
- into the very middle of the ship.
- Just as a soldier, more courageous than
- the rest of his brave fellows, after he
- has often charged against the embattled walls
- of a defended city, gains at length
- the place which he has fought for; all inflamed
- with his desire of glory, scales the wall
- and stands alone among a thousand foes;
- so, when destructive waves have beat against
- the ship's high sides, the tenth wave with known power,
- rushes more furious than the nine before,
- nor ceases to attack the failing ship,
- until dashed high above the captured walls
- it surges in the hold. Part of the sea
- is still attempting to get in the ship,
- and part is in it. All are panic stricken,
- like men within a doomed and shaken town;
- who see some foes attack the walls without,
- and others hold possession of the walls
- within the city. Every art has failed,
- their courage sinks. With every coming wave
- another death seems rushing in upon them.
- One sailor yields in tears; another falls
- down, stupefied; another calls those blest
- whom funeral rites await; another prays,
- addressing trusted gods, lifting his hands
- up to that heaven unseen, as vainly he
- implores some aid divine, and one in fright
- recalls his brothers and his parent, while
- another names his children and his home:
- each frightened sailor thinks of all he left.
- King Ceyx thinks only of Halcyone,
- no other name is on his lips but hers:
- and though he longs for her, yet he is glad
- that she is safe at home. Ah, how he tried
- to look back to the shore of his loved land,
- to turn his last gaze towards his wife and home.
- But he has lost direction.—The tossed sea
- is raging in a hurricane so vast,
- and all the sky is hidden by the gloom
- of thickened storm-clouds, doubled in pitch-black.
- The mast is shattered by the violence
- of drenching tempests, and the useless helm
- is broken. One undaunted giant wave
- stands over wreck and spoil, and looks down like
- a conqueror upon the other waves:
- then falls as heavily as if some god
- should hurl Mount Athos or Mount Pindus, torn
- from rock foundations, into that wide sea:
- so, with down-rushing weight and violence
- it struck and plunged the ship to the lowest deeps.
- And as the ship sank, many of the crew
- sank overwhelmed in deep surrounding waves,
- never to rise from suffocating death:
- but some in desperation, clung for life
- to broken timbers and escaped that fate.
- King Ceyx clung to a fragment of the wreck
- with that majestic hand which often before
- had proudly swayed the sceptre. And in vain,
- alas, he called upon his father's name,
- alas, he begged his father-in-law's support.
- But, while he swam, his lips most frequently
- pronounced that dearest name, “Halcyone!”
- He longs to have his body carried by waves
- to her dear gaze and have at last,
- entombment by the hands of his loved friends.
- Swimming, he called Halcyone—far off,
- as often as the billows would allow
- his lips to open, and among the waves
- his darling's name was murmured, till at last
- a night-black arch of water swept above
- the highest waves and buried him beneath
- engulfing billows.
- Lucifer was dim
- past recognition when the dawn appeared
- and, since he never could depart from heaven,
- soon hid his grieving countenance in clouds.
- Meanwhile, Halcyone, all unaware
- of his sad wreck, counts off the passing nights
- and hastens to prepare for him his clothes
- that he may wear as soon as he returns to her;
- and she is choosing what to wear herself,
- and vainly promises his safe return—
- all this indeed, while she in hallowed prayer
- is giving frankincense to please the gods:
- and first of loving adorations, she
- paid at the shrine of Juno. There she prayed
- for Ceyx—after he had suffered death,
- that he might journey safely and return
- and might love her above all other women,
- this one last prayer alone was granted to her
- but Juno could not long accept as hers
- these supplications on behalf of one
- then dead; and that she might persuade Halcyone
- to turn her death-polluted hands away
- from hallowed altars, Juno said in haste,
- “O, Iris, best of all my messengers,
- go quickly to the dreadful court of Sleep,
- and in my name command him to despatch
- a dream in the shape of Ceyx, who is dead,
- and tell Halcyone the woeful truth.”
- So she commanded.—Iris instantly
- assumed a garment of a thousand tints;
- and as she marked the high skies with her arch,
- went swiftly thence as ordered, to the place
- where Sleep was then concealed beneath a rock.
- Near the Cimmerian Land there is a cave,
- with a long entrance, in a hallowed mountain,
- the home of slothful Sleep. To that dark cave
- the Sun, when rising or in middle skies,
- or setting, never can approach with light.
- There dense fogs, mingled with the dark, exhale
- darkness from the black soil—and all that place
- is shadowed in a deep mysterious gloom.
- No wakeful bird with visage crested high
- calls forth the morning's beauty in clear notes;
- nor do the watchful dogs, more watchful geese,
- nor wild beasts, cattle, nor the waving trees,
- make sound or whisper; and the human voice
- is never heard there—silent Rest is there.
- But, from the bottom of a rock beneath,
- Lethean waters of a stream ooze forth,
- sounds of a rivulet, which trickle with
- soft murmuring amid the pebbles and
- invite soft sleep. Before the cavern doors
- most fertile poppies and a wealth of herbs
- bloom in abundance, from the juice of which
- the humid night-hours gather sleep and spread
- it over darkened Earth. No door is in
- that cavern-home and not a hinge's noise
- nor guarding porter's voice disturbs the calm.
- But in the middle is a resting-couch,
- raised high on night-black ebony and soft
- with feathered cushions, all jet black, concealed
- by a rich coverlet as dark as night,
- on which the god of sleep, dissolved in sloth
- lies with unmoving limbs. Around him there
- in all directions, unsubstantial dreams
- recline in imitation of all shapes—
- as many as the uncounted ears of corn
- at harvest—as the myriad leaves of trees—
- or tiny sand grains spread upon the shore.
- As soon as Iris entered that dread gloom,
- she pushed aside the visions in her way
- with her fair glowing hands; and instantly,
- that sacred cavern of the god of Sleep
- was all illuminated with the glow
- and splendor of her garment.—Out of himself
- the god with difficulty lifted up
- his lanquid eyes. From this small sign of life
- relapsing many times to languid sloth,
- while nodding, with his chin he struck his breast
- again and again. At last he roused himself
- from gloom and slumber; and, while raised upon
- his elbow, he enquired of Iris why
- she came to him.—He knew her by her name.
- She answered him, “O, Sleep, divine repose
- of all things! Gentlest of the deities!
- Peace to the troubled mind, from which you drive
- the cares of life, restorer of men's strength
- when wearied with the toils of day, command
- a vision that shall seem the actual form
- of royal Ceyx to visit Trachin famed
- for Hercules and tell Halcyone
- his death by shipwreck. It is Juno's wish.”
- Iris departed after this was said.
- For she no longer could endure the effect
- of slumber-vapor; and as soon as she
- knew sleep was creeping over her tired limbs
- she flew from there—and she departed by
- the rainbow, over which she came before.
- Out of the multitude—his thousand sons—
- the god of sleep raised Morpheus by his power.
- Most skillful of his sons, who had the art
- of imitating any human shape;
- and dexterously could imitate in men
- the gait and countenance, and every mode
- of speaking. He could simulate the dress
- and customary words of any man
- he chose to represent—but he could not
- assume the form of anything but man.
- Such was his art. Another of Sleep's sons
- could imitate all kinds of animals;
- such as a wild beast or a flying bird,
- or even a serpent with its twisted shape;
- and that son, by the gods above was called
- Icelos—but the inhabitants of earth
- called him Phobetor—and a third son, named
- Phantasos, cleverly could change himself
- into the forms of earth that have no life;
- into a statue, water, or a tree.
- It was the habit of these three to show
- themselves at night to kings and generals;
- and other sons would frequently appear
- among the people of the common class.
- All such the aged god of Sleep passed by.
- Selecting only Morpheus from among
- the many brothers to accomplish this,
- and execute what Iris had desired.
- And after all that work, he dropped his head,
- and sank again in languid drowsiness,
- shrinking to sloth within his lofty couch.
- Morpheus at once flew through the night
- of darkness, on his wings that make no sound,
- and in brief space of intervening time,
- arrived at the Haemonian city walls;
- and there he laid aside his wings, and took
- the face and form of Ceyx. In that form
- as one deprived of life, devoid of clothes,
- wan and ghastly, he stood beside the bed
- of the sad wife. The hero's beard seemed dripping,
- sea water streamed down from his drenching hair.
- Then leaning on the bed, while dropping tears
- were running down his cheeks, he said these words:
- “Most wretched wife, can you still recognize
- your own loved Ceyx, or have my looks changed:
- so much with death you can not?—Look at me,
- and you will be assured I am your own:
- but here instead of your dear husband, you
- will find only his ghost. Your faithful prayers
- did not avail, Halcyone, and I
- have perished. Give up all deluding hopes
- of my return. The stormy Southwind caught
- my ship while sailing the Aegean sea;
- and there, tossed by the mighty wind, my ship
- was dashed to pieces. While I vainly called
- upon your name, the angry waters closed
- above my drowning head and it is no
- uncertain messenger that tells you this
- and nothing from vague rumors has been told.
- But it is I myself, come from the wreck,
- now telling you my fate. Come then, arise
- shed tears, and put on mourning; do not send
- me unlamented, down to Tartarus.”
- And Morpheus added to these words a voice
- which she would certainly believe was her
- beloved husband's; and he seemed to be
- shedding fond human tears; and even his hands
- were moved in gestures that Ceyx often used.
- Halcyone shed tears and groaned aloud,
- and, as she moved her arms and caught at his
- dear body, she embraced the vacant air
- she cried out loudly, “Stay, oh stay with me!
- Why do you hurry from me? We will go
- together!” Agitated by her own
- excited voice; and by what seemed to be
- her own dear husband, she awoke from sleep.
- And first looked all about her to persuade
- herself that he whom she had lately seen
- must yet be with her, for she had aroused
- the servants who in haste brought lights desired.
- When she could find him nowhere, in despair
- she struck her face and tore her garment from
- her breast and beat her breast with mourning hands.
- She did not wait to loosen her long hair;
- but tore it with her hands and to her nurse,
- who asked the cause of her wild grief, she cried:
- “Alas, Halcyone is no more! no more!
- with her own Ceyx she is dead! is dead!
- Away with words of comfort, he is lost
- by shipwreck! I have seen him, and I knew
- him surely—as a ghost he came to me;
- and when desirous to detain him, I
- stretched forth my arms to him, his ghost left me—
- it vanished from me; but it surely was
- the ghost of my dead husband. If you ask
- description of it, I must truly say
- he did not have his well known features—he
- was not so cheerful as he was in life!
- Alas, I saw him pale and naked, with
- his hair still dripping—his ghost from the waves
- stood on this very spot:” and while she moaned
- she sought his footprints on the floor. “Alas,
- this was my fear, and this is what my mind
- shuddered to think of, when I begged that you
- would not desert me for the wind's control.
- But how I wish, since you were sailing forth
- to perish, that you had but taken me
- with you. If I had gone with you, it would
- have been advantage to me, for I should
- have shared the whole course of my life with you
- and you would not have met a separate death.
- I linger here but I have met my death,
- I toss on waves, and drift upon the sea.
- “My heart would be more cruel than the waves,
- if it should ask me to endure this life—
- if I should struggle to survive such grief.
- I will not strive nor leave you so forlorn,
- at least I'll follow you to death. If not
- the urn at least the lettered stone
- shall keep us still together. If your bones
- are not united with my bones, 'tis sure
- our names must be united.”Overcome
- with grief, she could not say another word—
- but she continued wailing, and her groans
- were heaved up from her sorrow-stricken breast.
- At early dawn, she went from her abode
- down to the seashore, where most wretchedly,
- she stood upon the spot from which he sailed,
- and sadly said; “He lingered here while he
- was loosening the cables, and he kissed
- me on this seashore when he left me here.”
- And while she called to recollection all
- that she had seen when standing there, and while
- she looked far out on flowing waves from there,
- she noticed floating on the distant sea—
- what shall I say? At first even she could not
- be sure of what she saw. But presently
- although still distant—it was certainly
- a floating corpse. She could not see what man
- he might be, but because it seemed to her
- it surely was a shipwrecked body, she
- was moved as at an omen and began
- to weep; and, moaning as she stood there, said:—
- “Ah wretched one, whoever it may be,
- ah, wretched is the wife whom you have left!”
- As driven by the waves the body came
- still nearer to her, she was less and less
- the mistress of herself, the more she looked
- upon it; and, when it was close enough
- for her to see its features, she beheld
- her husband. “It is he,” she cried and then
- she tore her face, her hair, her royal robe
- and then, extending both her trembling hands
- towards Ceyx, “So dearest one! So do you come
- to me again?” She cried, “O luckless mate.”
- A mole, made by the craft of man, adjoins
- the sea and breaks the shoreward rush of waves.
- To this she leaped—it seemed impossible—
- and then, while beating the light air with wings
- that instant formed upon her, she flew on,
- a mourning bird, and skimmed above the waves.
- And while she lightly flew across the sea
- her clacking mouth with its long slender bill,
- full of complaining, uttered moaning sounds:
- but when she touched the still and pallied form,
- embracing his dear limbs with her new wings,
- she gave cold kisses with her hardened bill.
- All those who saw it doubted whether Ceyx
- could feel her kisses; and it seemed to them
- the moving waves had raised his countenance.
- But he was truly conscious of her grief;
- and through the pity of the gods above,
- at last they both were changed to flying birds,
- together in their fate. Their love lived on,
- nor in these birds were marriage bonds dissolved,
- and they soon coupled and were parent birds.
- Each winter during seven full days of calm
- Halcyone broods on her floating nest—
- her nest that sails upon a halcyon sea:
- the passage of the deep is free from storms,
- throughout those seven full days; and Aeolus
- restraining harmful winds, within their cave,
- for his descendants' sake gives halcyon seas.
- An old man saw the two birds fly across
- the wide extended sea and praised their love,
- undying to the end. His old friend who
- stood near him, said, “There is another bird,
- which you can see skimming above the waves
- with folded legs drawn up;” and as he spoke,
- he pointed at a divedapper, which had
- a long throat, and continued, “It was first
- the son of a great king, as Ceyx, was:
- and if you wish to know his ancestry,
- I can assure you he descended from
- Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymede—
- taken by Jupiter, and old Laomedon,
- and Priam, ruler at the fall of Troy.
- “Aesacus was the brother of the great
- illustrious Hector; and, if he had not
- been victimized by a strange fate in youth,
- he would have equalled Hector's glorious fame,
- Hector was child of Hecuba, who was
- daughter of Dymas. Alexirhoe,
- the daughter of the two-horned Granicus,
- so rumor has it, secretly brought forth
- Aesacus, hidden under Ida's shade.
- “He loathed the city and away from court,
- frequented lonely mountains and the fields
- of unambitious peasants. Rarely he
- was seen among the throngs of Ilium.—
- yet, neither churlish nor impregnable
- to love's appeal, he saw Hesperia,
- the daughter of Cebrenus, while she was
- once resting on the velvet-shaded banks
- of her sire's cherished stream. Aesacus had
- so often sought for her throughout the woods.
- “Just when he saw her, while she rested there,
- her hair spread on her shoulders to the sun,
- she saw him, and without delay she fled,
- even as the frightened deer runs from the wolf
- or as the water-duck, when she has left
- her favored stream, surprised, flies from the hawk.
- Aesacus followed her, as swift with love
- as she was swift with fear. But in the grass
- a lurking snake struck at her rosy heel
- and left its venom in her flesh.—And so,
- her flight was ended by untimely death.
- “Oh, frantic, he embraced her breathless form,
- and cried: ‘Alas, alas, that I pursued!
- I did not dream of such a dreadful fate!
- Success was not worth such a price
- I and the snake together caused your death—
- the serpent gave the wound, I was the cause.
- Mine is the greater guilt, and by my death
- I'll give you consolation for your death!’ ”
- “He said those words and leaped on a high rock,
- which years of sounding waves had undermined,
- and hurled himself into the sea below.
- “Tethys was moved with pity for his fall,
- received him softly, and then covered him
- with feathers, as he swam among the waves.
- The death he sought for was not granted him.
- At this the lover was wroth. Against his will,
- he was obliged to live in his distress,
- with opposition to his spirit that desired
- departure from the wretched pain of life.
- “As he assumed upon his shoulders wings
- newformed, he flew aloft and from that height
- again he plunged his body in the waves
- his feathers broke all danger of that fall—
- and this new bird, Aesacus, plunged headlong
- into the deep, and tried incessantly
- that method of destruction. His great love
- unsatisfied, made his sad body lean,
- till even the spaces fixed between the joints
- of his legs have grown long; his neck is long;
- so that his head is far away from his
- lean body. Still he hunts the sea
- and takes his name from diving in the waves.
- Sadly his father, Priam, mourned for him,
- not knowing that young Aesacus had assumed
- wings on his shoulders, and was yet alive.
- Then also Hector with his brothers made
- complete but unavailing sacrifice,
- upon a tomb which bore his carved name.
- Paris was absent. But soon afterwards,
- he brought into that land a ravished wife,
- Helen, the cause of a disastrous war,
- together with a thousand ships, and all
- the great Pelasgian nation.
- Vengeance would
- not long have been delayed, but the fierce winds
- raged over seas impassable, and held
- the ships at fishy Aulis. They could not
- be moved from the Boeotian land. Here, when
- a sacrifice had been prepared to Jove,
- according to the custom of their land,
- and when the ancient altar glowed with fire,
- the Greeks observed an azure colored snake
- crawling up in a plane tree near the place
- where they had just begun their sacrifice.
- Among the highest branches was a nest,
- with twice four birds—and those the serpent seized
- together with the mother-bird as she
- was fluttering round her loss. And every bird
- the serpent buried in his greedy maw.
- All stood amazed: but Calchas, who perceived
- the truth, exclaimed, “Rejoice Pelasgian men,
- for we shall conquer; Troy will fall; although
- the toil of war must long continue—so
- the nine birds equal nine long years of war.”
- And while he prophesied, the serpent, coiled
- about the tree, was transformed to a stone,
- curled crooked as a snake.
- but Nereus stormed
- in those Aonian waves, and not a ship
- moved forward. Some declared that Neptune thus
- was aiding Troy, because he built the walls
- of that great city. Not so Calchas, son
- of Thestor! He knew all the truth, and told
- them plainly that a virgin's blood
- alone might end a virgin goddess' wrath.
- The public good at last prevailed above
- affection, and the duty of a king
- at last proved stronger than a father's love:
- when Iphigenia as a sacrifice,
- stood by the altar with her weeping maids
- and was about to offer her chaste blood,
- the goddess, moved by pity, spread a mist
- before their eyes, amid the sacred rites
- and mournful supplications. It is said
- she left a hind there in the maiden's place
- and carried Iphigenia away. The hind,
- as it was fitting, calmed Diana's rage
- and also calmed the anger of the sea.
- The thousand ships received the winds astern
- and gained the Phrygian shore.
- There is a spot
- convenient in the center of the world,
- between the land and sea and the wide heavens,
- the meeting of the threefold universe.
- From there is seen all things that anywhere
- exist, although in distant regions far;
- and there all sounds of earth and space are heard.
- Fame is possessor of this chosen place,
- and has her habitation in a tower,
- which aids her view from that exalted highs.
- And she has fixed there numerous avenues,
- and openings, a thousand, to her tower
- and no gates with closed entrance, for the house
- is open, night and day, of sounding brass,
- reechoing the tones of every voice.
- It must repeat whatever it may hear;
- and there's no rest, and silence in no part.
- There is no clamor; but the murmuring sound
- of subdued voices, such as may arise
- from waves of a far sea, which one may hear
- who listens at a distance; or the sound
- which ends a thunderclap, when Jupiter
- has clashed black clouds together. Fickle crowds
- are always in that hall, that come and go,
- and myriad rumors—false tales mixed with true—
- are circulated in confusing words.
- Some fill their empty ears with all this talk,
- and some spread elsewhere all that's told to them.
- The volume of wild fiction grows apace,
- and each narrator adds to what he hears.
- Credulity is there and rash Mistake,
- and empty Joy, and coward Fear alarmed
- by quick Sedition, and soft Whisper—all
- of doubtful life. Fame sees what things are done
- in heaven and on the sea, and on the earth.
- She spies all things in the wide universe.
- Fame now had spread the tidings, a great fleet
- of Greek ships was at that time on its way,
- an army of brave men. The Trojans stood,
- all ready to prevent the hostile Greeks
- from landing on their shores. By the decree
- of Fate, the first man killed of the invaders' force
- was strong Protesilaus, by the spear
- of valiant Hector, whose unthought-of power
- at that time was discovered by the Greeks
- to their great cost. The Phyrgians also learned,
- at no small cost of blood, what warlike strength
- came from the Grecian land. The Sigean shores
- grew red with death-blood: Cygnus, Neptune's son,
- there slew a thousand men: for which, in wrath,
- Achilles pressed his rapid chariot
- straight through the Trojan army; making a lane
- with his great spear, shaped from a Pelion tree.
- And as he sought through the fierce battle's press,
- either for Cygnus or for Hector, he
- met Cygnus and engaged at once with him
- (Fate had preserved great Hector from such foe
- till ten years from that day).
- Cheering his steeds,
- their white necks pressed upon the straining yoke,
- he steered the chariot towards his foe,
- and, brandishing the spear with his strong arm,
- he cried, “Whoever you may be, you have
- the consolation of a glorious death
- you die by me, Haemonian Achilles!”
- His heavy spear flew after the fierce words.
- Although the spear was whirled direct and true,
- yet nothing it availed with sharpened point.
- It only bruised, as with a blunted stroke,
- the breast of Cygnus! “By report we knew
- of you before this battle, goddess born.”
- The other answered him, “But why are you
- surprised that I escape the threatened wound?”
- (Achilles was surprised). “This helmet crowned,
- great with its tawny horse-hair, and this shield,
- broad-hollowed, on my left arm, are not held
- for help in war: they are but ornament,
- as Mars wears armor. All of them shall be
- put off, and I will fight with you unhurt.
- It is a privilege that I was born
- not as you, of a Nereid but of him
- whose powerful rule is over Nereus,
- his daughters and their ocean.” So, he spoke.
- Immediately he threw his spear against Achilles,
- destined to pierce the curving shield through brass,
- and through nine folds of tough bull's hide.
- It stopped there, for it could not pierce the tenth.
- The hero wrenched it out, and hurled again
- a quivering spear at Cygnus, with great strength.
- The Trojan stood unwounded and unharmed.
- Nor did a third spear injure Cygnus, though
- he stood there with his body all exposed.
- Achilles raged at this, as a wild bull
- in open circus, when with dreadful horns
- he butts against the hanging purple robes
- which stir his wrath and there observes how they
- evade him, quite unharmed by his attack.
- Achilles then examined his good spear,
- to see if by some chance the iron point
- was broken from it, but the point was firm,
- fixed on the wooden shaft. “My hand is weak,”
- he said, “but is it possible its strength
- forsook me though it never has before?
- For surely I had my accustomed strength,
- when first I overthrew Lyrnessus' walls,
- or when I won the isle of Tenedos
- or Thebes (then under King Eetion)
- and I drenched both with their own peoples' blood,
- or when the river Caycus ran red
- with slaughter of its people, or, when twice
- Telephus felt the virtue of my spear.
- On this field also, where such heaps lie slain,
- my right hand surely has proved its true might;
- and it is mighty.”
- So he spoke of strength,
- remembered. But as if in proof against
- his own distrust, he hurled a spear against
- Menoetes, a soldier in the Lycian ranks.
- The sharp spear tore the victim's coat of mail
- and pierced his breast beneath. Achilles, when
- he saw his dying head strike on the earth
- wrenched the same spear from out the reeking wound,
- and said, “This is the hand, and this the spear
- I conquered with; and I will use the same
- against him who in luck escaped their power;
- and the result should favor as I pray
- the helpful gods.”
- And, as he said such words,
- in haste he hurled his ashen spear, again
- at Cygnus. It went straight and struck unshunned.
- Resounding on the shoulder of that foe,
- it bounced back as if it hit a wall
- or solid cliff. Yet when Achilles saw
- just where the spear struck, Cygnus there
- was stained with blood. He instantly rejoiced;
- but vainly, for it was Menoetes' blood!
- Then in a sudden rage, Achilles leaped
- down headlong from his lofty chariot;
- and, seeking his god-favored foe, he struck
- in conflict fiercely, with his gleaming sword.
- Although he saw that he had pierced both shield
- and helmet through, he did not harm the foe—
- his sword was even blunted on the flesh.
- Achilles could not hold himself for rage,
- but furious, with his sword-hilt and his shield
- he battered wildly the uncovered face
- and hollow-temples of his Trojan foe.
- Cygnus gave way; Achilles rushed on him,
- buffeting fiercely, so that he could not
- recover from the shock. Fear seized upon
- Cygnus, and darkness swam before his eyes.
- Then, as he moved back with retreating steps,
- a large stone hindered him and blocked his way.
- His back pushed against this, Achilles seized
- and dashed him violently to the ground.
- Then pressing with buckler and hard knees the breast
- of Cygnus, he unlaced the helmet thongs,
- wound them about the foeman's neck and drew
- them tightly under his chin, till Cygnus' throat
- could take no breath of life. Achilles rose
- eager to strip his conquered foe but found
- his empty armor, for the god of ocean
- had changed the victim into that white bird
- whose name he lately bore.
- There was a truce
- for many days after this opening fight
- while both sides resting, laid aside their arms.
- A watchful guard patroled the Phrygian walls;
- the Grecian trenches had their watchful guard.
- Then, on a festal day, Achilles gave
- the blood of a slain heifer to obtain
- the favor of Athena for their cause.
- The entrails burned upon the altar, while
- the odor, grateful to the deities,
- was mounting to the skies. When sacred rites
- were done, a banquet for the heroes was
- served on their tables. There the Grecian chiefs
- reclined on couches; while they satisfied
- themselves with roasted flesh, and banished cares:
- and thirst with wine. Nor harp nor singing voice
- nor long pipe made of boxwood pierced with holes,
- delighted them. They talked of their own deeds
- and valor, all that thrilling night: and even
- the strength of enemies whom they had met
- and overcome. What else could they admit
- or think of, while the great Achilles spoke
- or listened to them? But especially
- the recent victory over Cygnus held
- them ardent. Wonderful it seemed to them
- that such a youth could be composed of flesh
- not penetrable by the sharpest spear;
- of flesh which blunted even hardened steel,
- and never could be wounded. All the Greeks,
- and even Achilles wondered at the thought.
- Then Nestor said to them: “During your time,
- Cygnus has been the only man you knew
- who could despise all weapons and whose flesh
- could not be pierced by thrust of sword or spear.
- But long ago I saw another man
- able to bear unharmed a thousand strokes,
- Caeneus of Thessaly, Caeneus who lived
- upon Mt. Othrys. He was famed in war
- yet, strange to say, by birth he was a woman!”
- Then all expressed the greatest wonderment,
- and begged to hear the story of his life.
- Achilles cried, “O eloquent old man!
- The wisdom of our age! All of us wish
- to hear, who was this Caeneus? Why was he
- changed to the other sex? in what campaigns,
- and in what wars was he so known to you?
- Who conquered him, if any ever did?”
- The aged man replied to them with care:—
- “Although my great age is a harm to me,
- and many actions of my early days
- escape my memory; yet, most of them
- are well remembered. Nothing of old days,
- amid so many deeds of war and peace,
- can be more firmly fixed upon my mind
- than the strange story I shall tell of him.
- “If long extent of years made anyone
- a witness of most wonderful events
- and many, truly I may say to you
- that I have lived two hundred years; and now
- have entered my third century.
- The daughter of Elatus, Caenis, was
- remarkable for charm—most beautiful
- of all Thessalian maidens—many sighed
- for her in vain through all the neighboring towns
- and yours, Achilles, for that was her home.
- But Peleus did not try to win her love,
- for he was either married at that time
- to your dear mother, or was pledged to her.
- “Caenis never became the willing bride
- of any suitor; but report declares,
- while she was walking on a lonely shore,
- the god of ocean saw and ravished her.
- And in the joy of that love Neptune said,
- ‘Request of me whatever you desire,
- and nothing shall deny your dearest wish!’—
- the story tells us that he made this pledge.
- And Caenis said to Neptune, ‘The great wrong,
- which I have suffered from you justifies
- the wonderful request that I must make;
- I ask that I may never suffer such
- an injury again. Grant I may be
- no longer woman, and I'll ask no more.’
- while she was speaking to him, the last words
- of her strange prayer were uttered in so deep,
- in such a manly tone, it seemed indeed
- they must be from a man.—That was a fact:
- Neptune not only had allowed her prayer
- but made the new man proof against all wounds
- of spear or sword. Rejoicing in the gift
- he went his way as Caeneus Atracides,
- spent years in every manful exercise,
- and roamed the plains of northern Thessaly.
- “The son of bold Ixion, Pirithous
- wedding Hippodame, had asked as guests
- the cloud-born centaurs to recline around
- the ordered tables, in a cool cave, set
- under some shading trees. Thessalian chiefs
- were there and I myself was with them there.
- The festal place resounded with the rout
- in noisy clamor, singing nuptial verse;
- and in the great room, filled with smoking fire,
- the maiden came escorted by a crowd
- of matrons and young married women; she
- most beautiful of all that lovely throng.
- “And so Pirithous, the fortunate son,
- of bold Ixion, was so praised by all,
- for his pure joy and lovely wife,
- it seemed his very blessings must have led
- to fatal harm: for savage Eurytus,
- wildest of the wild centaurs, now inflamed
- with sudden envy, drunkenness, and lust,
- upset the tables and made havoc there
- so dreadful, that the banquet suddenly
- was changed from love to uproar. Seized by the hair,
- the bride was violently dragged away.
- When Eurytus caught up Hippodame
- each one of all the centaurs took at will
- the maid or matron that he longed for most.
- The palace, seeming like a captured town,
- resounded with affrighted shrieks of women.
- At once we all sprang up. And Theseus cried,
- “What madness, Eurytus, has driven you
- to this vile wickedness! While I have life,
- you dare attack Pirithous. You know
- not what you do, for one wrong injures both!’
- The valiant hero did not merely talk:
- he pushed them off as they were pressing on,
- and rescued her whom Eurytus had seized.
- Since Eurytus could not defend such deeds
- with words, he turned and beat with violent hands
- the face of him who saved the bride and struck
- his generous breast. By chance, an ancient bowl
- was near at hand. This rough with figures carved,
- the son of Aegeus caught and hurled it full
- in that vile centaur's face. He, spouting out
- thick gouts of blood, and bleeding from his wounds—
- his brains and wine mixed,—kicked the blood-soaked sand.
- His double membered centaur brothers, wild
- with passion at his death, all shouted out,
- ‘To arms! to arms!’ Their courage raised by wine!
- In their first onset, hurled cups flew about,
- and shattered wine casks, hollow basins—things
- before adapted to a banquet, now
- for death and carnage in the furious fight.
- Amycus first (Opinion's son) began to spoil
- the inner sanctuary of its gifts.
- He snatched up from that shrine a chandelier,
- adorned with glittering lamps, and lifted high,
- with all the force of one who strives to break
- the bull s white neck with sacrificial axe,
- he dashed it at the head of Celadon,
- one of the Lapithae, and crushed his skull
- into the features of his face. His eyes
- leaped from his sockets, and the shattered bones
- of his smashed face gave way so that his nose
- was driven back and fastened in his throat.
- But Belates of Pella tore away
- a table-leg of maple wood and felled
- Amycus to the ground; his sunken chin
- cast down upon his breast; and, as he spat
- his teeth out mixed with blood, a second blow
- despatched him to the shades of Tartarus.
- “Gryneus, seeing a smoking altar, cried,
- ‘Good use for this,’ with which words he raised up
- that heavy, blazing altar. Hurling it
- into the middle of the Lapithae,
- he struck down Broteas and Orius:
- Mycale, mother of that Orius,
- was famous for her incantations,
- which she had often used to conjure down
- the shining twin-horns of the unwilling moon.
- Exadius threatened, ‘You shall not escape!
- Let me but have a weapon!’ And with that,
- he whirled the antlers of a votive stag,
- which he found there, hung on a tall pine-tree;
- and with that double-branching horn he pierced
- the eyes of Gryneus, and he gouged them out.
- One eye stuck to the horn; the other rolled
- down on his beard, to which it strictly clung
- in dreadful clotted gore.
- Then Rhoetus snatched
- a blazing brand of plum-wood from an altar
- and whirling it upon the right, smashed through
- the temples of Charaxus, wonderful
- with golden hair. Seized by the violent flames,
- his yellow locks burned fiercely, as a field
- of autumn grain; and even the scorching blood
- gave from the sore wound a terrific noise
- as a red-hot iron in pincers which the smith
- lifts out and plunges in the tepid pool,
- hissing and sizzling. Charaxus shook
- the fire from his burnt locks; and heaved up on
- his shoulders a large threshold stone torn from
- the ground—a weight sufficient for a team
- of oxen. The vast weight impeded him,
- so that it could not even touch his foe—
- and yet, the massive stone did hit his friend,
- Cometes, who was standing near to him,
- and crushed him down. Then Rhoetus, crazed with joy,
- exulting yelled, ‘I pray that all of you
- may be so strong!’ Wielding his half-burnt stake
- with heavy blows again and again, he broke
- the sutures of his enemy's skull, until
- the bones were mingled with his oozing brains.
- “Victorious, then rushed he upon Evagrus,
- and Corythus and Dryas. First of these
- was youthful Corythus, whose cheeks were then
- just covered with soft down. When he fell dead,
- Evagrus cried, ‘What glory do you get,
- killing a boy?’ But Rhoetus did not give
- him time for uttering one word more. He pushed
- the red hot stake into the foeman's mouth,
- while he still spoke, and down into his lungs.
- He then pursued the savage Dryas, while
- whirling the red fire fast about his head;
- but not with like success, for, while he still
- rejoiced in killings, Dryas turned and pierced
- him with a stake where neck and shoulder meet.
- “Rhoetus groaned and with a great effort pulled
- the stake out from the bone, then fled away,
- drenched in his blood. And Orneus followed him.
- Lycabas fled, and Medon with a wound
- in his right shoulder. Thaumas and Pisenor
- and Mermerus fled with them. Mermerus,
- who used to excell all others in a race,
- ran slowly, crippled by a recent wound.
- Pholus and Melaneus ran for their lives
- and with them Abas, hunter of wild boars
- and Asbolus, the augur, who in vain
- had urged his friends to shun that hapless fight.
- As Nessus joined the rout, he said to him,
- ‘You need not flee, for you shall be reserved
- a victim for the bow of Hercules!’
- but neither Lycidas, Eurynomus
- nor Areos, nor Imbreus had escaped
- from death: for all of these the strong right hand
- of Dryas pierced, as they confronted him.
- Crenaeus there received a wound in front.
- Although he turned in flight, as he looked back,
- a heavy javelin between his eyes
- pierced through him, where his nose and forehead joined.
- “In all this uproar, Aphidas lay flat,
- in endless slumber from the wine he drank,
- incessant, and his nerveless hand still held
- the cup of mixed wine, as he lay full stretched,
- upon a shaggy bear-skin from Mount Ossa.
- When Phorbas saw him, harmless in that sleep,
- he laid his fingers in his javelin's thong,
- and shouted loudly, ‘Mix your wine, down there,
- with waters of the Styx!’ And stopping talk,
- let fly his javelin at the sleeping youth—
- the ashen shaft, iron-tipped, was driven through
- his neck, exposed, as he by chance lay there—
- his head thrown back. He did not even feel
- a touch of death—and from his deep-pierced throat
- his crimson blood flowed out upon the couch,
- and in the wine-bowl still grasped in his hand.
- “I saw Petraeus when he strove to tear
- up from the earth, an acorn-bearing oak.
- And, while he struggled with it, back and forth,
- and was just ready to wrench up the trunk,
- Pirithous hurled a well aimed spear at him,
- transfixed his ribs, and pinned his body tight,
- writhing, to that hard oak: and Lycus fell
- and Chromis fell, before Pirithous.
- “They gave less glory to the conqueror
- than Helops or than Dictys. Helops was
- killed by a javelin, which pierced his temples
- from the right side, clear through to his left ear.
- And Dictys, running in a desperate haste,
- hoping in vain, to escape Ixion's son,
- slipped on the steep edge of a precipice;
- and, as he fell down headlong crashed into
- the top of a huge ash-tree, which impaled
- his dying body on its broken spikes.
- “Aphareus, eager to avenge him tried
- to lift a rock from that steep mountain side;
- but as he heaved, the son of Aegeus struck
- him squarely with an oaken club; and smashed,
- and broke the huge bones of that centaur's arm.
- He has no time, and does not want to give
- that useless foe to death. He leaps upon
- the back of tall Bienor, never trained
- to carry riders, and he fixed his knees
- firm in the centaur's ribs, and holding tight
- to the long hair, seized by his left hand, struck
- and shattered the hard features and fierce face
- and bony temples with his club of gnarled
- strong oak. And with it, he struck to the ground
- Nedymnus and Lycopes, dart expert,
- and Hippasus, whose beard hid all his breast.
- And Rhipheus taller than the highest trees
- and Thereus, who would carry home alive
- the raging bears, caught in Thessalian hills.
- Demoleon could no longer stand and look
- on Theseus and his unrestrained success.
- He struggled with vast effort to tear up
- an old pine, trunk and all, with its long roots,
- and, failing shortly in that first attempt,
- he broke it off and hurled it at his foe.
- But Theseus saw the pine tree in its flight
- and, warned by Pallas, got beyond its range—
- his boast was, Pallas had directed him!
- And yet, the missle was not launched in vain.
- It sheared the left shoulder and the breast
- from tall Crantor. He, Achilles, was
- your father's armor bearer and was given
- by King Amyntor, when he sued for peace.
- “When Peleus at a distance saw him torn
- and mangled, he exclaimed, ‘At least receive
- this sacrifice, O Crantor! most beloved!
- Dearest of young men!’ And with sturdy arm
- and all his strength of soul as well, he hurled
- his ashen lance against Demoleon,
- which piercing through his shivered ribs, hung there
- and quivered in the bones. The centaur wrenched
- the wooden shaft out, with his frenzied hands,
- but could not move the pointed head, which stuck
- within his lungs. His very anguish gave
- him such a desperation, that he rose
- against his foe and trampled and beat down
- the hero with his hoofs, Peleus allowed
- the blows to fall on helm and ringing shield.
- Protected so, he watched his time and thrust
- up through the centaur's shoulder. By one stroke
- he pierced two breasts, where horse and man-form met.
- Before this, Peleus with the spear had killed
- both Myles and Phlegraeus and with the sword
- Iphinous and Clanis. Now he killed
- Dorylas, who was clad in a wolfskin cap
- and fought with curving bull's horns dripping blood.
- “To him I said, for courage gave me strength,
- ‘Your horns! how much inferior to my steel!’—
- and threw my spear. Since he could not avoid
- the gleaming point, he held up his right hand
- to shield his forehead from the threatened wound.
- His hand was pierced and pinned against his forehead.
- He shouted madly. Peleus, near him while
- he stood there pinned and helpless with his wound,
- struck him with sharp sword in the belly deep.
- He leaped forth fiercely, as he trailed his bowels
- upon the ground, with his entangled legs
- treading upon them, bursting them, he fell
- with empty belly, lifeless to the earth.
- “Cyllarus, beauty did not save your life—
- if beauty is in any of your tribe—
- your golden beard was in its early growth,
- your golden hair came flowing to your shoulders.
- in your bright face there was a pleasing glance.
- The neck and shoulders and the hands and breast,:
- and every aspect of his human form
- resembled those admired statues which
- our gifted artists carve. Even the shape
- of the fine horse beneath the human form
- was perfect too. Give him the head and neck
- of a full-blooded horse, and he would seem
- a steed for Castor, for his back was shaped
- so comfortable to be sat upon
- and muscle swelled upon his arching chest.
- His lustrous body was as black as pitch,
- and yet his legs and flowing tail
- were white as snow.
- Many a female of his kind
- loved him, but only Hylonome gained
- his love. There was no other centaur maid
- so beautiful as she within the woods.
- By coaxing ways she had won Cyllarus,
- by loving and confessing love. By daintiness,
- so far as that was possible in one
- of such a form, she held his love; for now
- she smoothed her long locks with a comb; and now
- she decked herself with rosemary and now
- with violets or with roses in her hair;
- and sometimes she wore lilies, white as snow;
- and twice each day she bathed her lovely face,
- in the sweet stream that falls down from the height
- of wooded Pagasa; and daily, twice
- she dipped her body in the stream. She wore
- upon her shoulders and left side a skin,
- greatly becoming, of selected worth.
- “Their love was equal, and together they
- would wander over mountain-sides, and rest
- together in cool caves; and so it was,
- they went together to that palace-cave,
- known to the Lapithae. Together they
- fought fiercely in this battle, side by side.
- Thrown by an unknown hand, a javelin pierced
- Cyllarus, just below the fatal spot
- where the chest rises to the neck—his heart,
- though only slightly wounded, grew quite cold,
- and his whole body felt cold, afterwards,
- as quickly as the weapon was drawn out.
- Then Hylonome held in her embrace
- the dying body; fondled the dread wound
- and, fixing her lips closely to his lips
- endeavored to hold back his dying breath.
- But soon she saw that he indeed was dead.
- With mourning words, which clamor of the fight
- prevented me from hearing, she threw herself
- on the spear that pierced her Cyllarus and fell
- upon his breast, embracing him in death.
- “Another sight still comes before my eyes,
- the centaur Phaeocomes with his log.
- He wore six lion skins well wrapped around
- his body, and with fixed connecting knots
- they covered him, both horse and man. He hurled
- a trunk two yokes of oxen scarce could move
- and struck the hapless son of Olenus
- a crushing blow upon the head. The broad
- round dome was shattered, and his dying brains
- oozed out through hollow nostrils, mouth, and ears,
- as curdled milk seeps down through oaken twigs;
- or other liquors, crushed out under weights,
- flow through a well-pierced sieve and, thick,
- squeeze out through numerous holes.
- As he began
- to spoil his victim—and your father can
- affirm the truth of this—I thrust my sword
- deep in the wretch's groin. Chthonius, too,
- and Teleboas fell there by my sword.
- The former had a two-pronged stick as his
- sole weapon, and the other had a spear,
- with which the wounded me. You see the scar.
- The old scar still is surely visible!
- “Those were my days of youth and strength, and then
- I ought to have warred against the citadel
- of Pergama. I could have checked, or even
- vanquished, the arms of Hector: but, alas,
- Hector had not been born, or was perhaps
- a boy. Old age has dulled my youthful strength.
- What use is it, to speak of Periphas,
- who overcame Pyretus, double-formed?
- Why tell of Ampyx, who with pointless shaft,
- victorious thrust Echeclus through the face?
- Macareus, hurling a heavy crowbar pierced
- Erigdupus and laid him low.
- A hunting spear that Nessus strongly hurled,
- was buried in the groin of Cymelus.
- Do not believe that Mopsus, son of Ampycus,
- was merely a prophet of events to come,
- he slew a daring two-formed monster there.
- Hodites tried in vain to speak, before
- his death, but could not, for his tongue was nailed
- against his chin, his chin against his throat.
- “Five of the centaurs Caeneus put to death:
- Styphelus, Bromus, and Antimachus,
- Elymus, and Pyracmos with his axe.
- I have forgot their wounds but noted well
- their names and number. Latreus, huge of limb,
- had killed and stripped Emathian Halesus.
- Now in his armor he came rushing out,
- in years he was between old age and youth;
- but he retained the vigor of his youth;
- his temples showed his hair was mixed with grey.
- Conspicuous for his Macedonian lance
- and sword and shield, facing both sides—each way,
- he insolently clashed his arms; and while
- he rode poured out these words in empty air.
- “ ‘Shall I put up with one like you, O Caeneus?
- For you are still a woman in my sight.
- Have you forgot your birth or that disgrace
- by which you won reward—at what a price
- you got the false resemblance to a man?!
- Consider both your birth, and what you have
- submitted to! Take up a distaff, and
- wool basket! Twist your threads with practiced thumb!
- Leave warfare to your men!’
- “While puffed-up pride
- was vaunting out such nonsense, Caeneus hurled
- a spear and pierced the stretched out running side,
- just where the man was joined upon the horse.
- “The Centaur, Latreus, raved with pain and struck
- with his great pike, the face of Caeneus.
- His pike rebounded as the hail that slants
- up from the roof; or as a pebble might
- rebound from hollow drum. Then coming near,
- he tried to drive a sword into the hard side
- of Caeneus, but it could not make a wound.
- ‘Aha!’ he cried, ‘this will not get you off.
- The good edge of my sword will take your life,
- although the point is blunt!’ He turned the edge
- against the flank of Caeneus and swung round
- the hero's loins with his long, curving arm.
- The flesh resounded like a marble block,
- the keen blade shattered on the unyielding skin.
- “And, after Caeneus had exposed his limbs
- unhurt to Latreus, who stood there amazed,
- ‘Come now,’ he said, ‘and let us try my steel
- against your body!’ And, clear to the hilt,
- down through the monster's shoulder-blade he plunged
- his deadly sword and, turning it again,
- deep in the Centaur's entrails, made new wounds
- within his wound.
- “Then, quite beside themselves,
- the double-natured monsters rushed against
- that single-handed youth with huge uproar,
- and thrust and hurled their weapons all at him.
- Their blunted weapons fell and he remained
- unharmed and without even a mark.”
- “That strange sight left them speechless. ‘Oh what shame!’
- at length cried Monychus, ‘Our mighty host,—
- a nation of us, are defeated and defied
- by one who hardly is a man. Although
- indeed, he is a man, and we have proved,
- by our weak actions, we are certainly
- what he was! Shame on us! Oh, what if we
- have twofold strength, of what avail our huge
- and mighty limbs, doubly united in
- the strongest, hugest bodies in this world?
- And how can I believe that we were born
- of any goddess? It is surely vain
- to claim descent of great Ixion, who
- high-souled, sought Juno for his mighty mate;
- imagine it, while we are conquered by
- an enemy, who is but half a man!
- Wake up! and let us heap tree-trunks and stones
- and mountains on him! Crush his stubborn life!
- Let forests smother him to death! Their weight
- will be as deadly as a hundred wounds!’
- “While he was raving, by some chance he found
- a tree thrown down there by the boisterous wind:
- example to the rest, he threw that tree
- against the powerful foe; and in short time
- Othrys was bare of trees, and Pelion had no shade.
- Buried under that mountainous forest heap,
- Caeneus heaved up against the weight of oaks
- upon his brawny shoulders piled. But, as
- the load increased above his face and head,
- he could not draw a breath. Gasping for life,
- he strove to lift his head into the air,
- and sometimes he convulsed the towering mass,
- as if great Ida, now before our eyes,
- should tremble with some heaving of the earth.
- “What happened to him could not well be known.
- Some thought his body was borne down by weight
- into the vast expanse of Tartarus.
- The son of Ampycus did not agree,
- for from the middle of the pile we saw
- a bird with golden wings mount high in air.
- Before or since, I never saw the like.
- “When Mopsus was aware of that bird's flight—
- it circled round the camp on rustling wings—
- with eyes and mind he followed it and shouted aloud:
- ‘Hail, glory of the Lapithaean race,
- their greatest hero, now a bird unique!’
- and we believed the verdict of the seer.
- “Our grief increased resentment, and we bore
- it with disgust that one was overwhelmed
- by such a multitude. Then in revenge
- we plied our swords, till half our foes were dead,
- and only flight and darkness saved the rest.”
- Nestor had hardly told this marvellous tale
- of bitter strife betwixt the Lapithae
- and those half-human, vanquished Centaurs, when
- Tlepolemus, incensed because no word
- of praise was given to Hercules, replied
- in this way; “Old sir, it is very strange,
- you have neglected to say one good word
- in praise of Hercules. My father told
- me often, that he overcame in battle
- those cloud born centaurs.”
- Nestor, very loth,
- replied, “Why force me to recall old wrongs,
- to uncover sorrow buried by the years,
- that made me hate your father? It is true
- his deeds were wonderful beyond belief,
- heaven knows, and filled the earth with well earned praise
- which I should rather wish might be denied.
- Deiphobus, the wise Polydamas, and even
- great Hector get no praise from me.
- Your father, I recall once overthrew
- Messene's walls and with no cause destroyed
- Elis and Pylos and with fire and sword
- ruined my own loved home. I cannot name
- all whom he killed. But there were twelve of us,
- the sons of Neleus and all warrior youths,
- and all those twelve but me alone he killed.
- Ten of them met the common fate of war,
- but sadder was the death of Periclymenus.
- “Neptune, the founder of my family,
- had granted him a power to assume
- whatever shape he chose, and when he wished
- to lay that shape aside. When he, in vain,
- had been transformed to many other shapes
- he turned into the form of that bird, which
- is wont to carry in his crooked talons
- the forked lightnings, favorite bird of Jove.
- With wings and crooked bill and sharp-hooked talons,
- he assailed and tore the face of Hercules.
- But, when he soared away on eagle wings
- up to the clouds and hovered, poised in air,
- that hero aimed his too unerring bow
- and hit him where the new wing joined his side.
- The wound was not large, but his sinews cut
- failed to uphold him, and denied his wings
- their strength and motion. He fell down to earth;
- his weakened pinions could not catch the air.
- And the sharp arrow, which had lightly pierced
- the wing, was driven upward through the side
- into the left part of my brother's neck.
- “O noble leader of the Rhodian fleet,
- why should I sing the praise of Hercules?
- But for my brothers I take no revenge
- except withholding praise of his great deeds.
- With you, my friendship will remain secure.”
- When Nestor with his honied tongue had told
- these tales of old, they all took wine again
- and they arose and gave the night to sleep.
- But Neptune, who commands the ocean waves,
- lamented with a father's grief his son,
- whose person he had changed into a bird—
- the swan of Phaethon, and towards Achilles,
- grim victor in the fight, his lasting hate
- made him pursue resentment far beyond
- the ordinary manner of the gods.
- After nine years of war he spoke these words,
- addressing long haired Sminthean Apollo:
- “O nephew the most dear to me of all
- my brother's sons, with me you built in vain
- the walls of Troy: you must be lost in grief,
- when you look on those towers so soon to fall?
- Or do you not lament the multitudes
- slain in defence of them—To name but one:
- “Does not the ghost of Hector, dragged around
- his Pergama, appear to you? And yet
- the fierce Achilles, who is bloodstained more
- than slaughtering war, lives on this earth,
- for the destruction of our toil. Let him
- once get into my power, and I will make
- him feel the action of my triple spear.
- But, since I may not meet him face to face,
- do you with sudden arrow give him death.”
- The Delian god, Apollo, gave assent,
- both for his own hate and his uncle's rage.
- Veiled in a cloud, he found the Trojan host
- and, there, while bloody strife went on, he saw
- the hero Paris shoot at intervals
- his arrows at the nameless host of Greeks.
- Revealing his divinity, he said:
- “Why spend your arrows on the common men
- if you would serve your people, take good aim
- at great Achilles and at last avenge
- your hapless brothers whom he gave to death.”
- He pointed out Achilles—laying low
- the Trojan warriors with his mighty spear.
- On him he turned the Trojan's willing bow
- and guided with his hand the fatal shaft.
- It was the first joy that old Priam knew
- since Hector's death. So then Achilles you,
- who overcame the mighty, were subdued
- by a coward who seduced a Grecian wife!
- Ah, if you could not die by manly hands,
- your choice had been the axe.
- Now that great terror of the Trojan race,
- the glory and defence of the Pelasgians,
- Achilles, first in war, lay on the pyre.
- The god of Fire first armed, then burned, his limbs.
- And now he is but ashes; and of him, so great,
- renowned and mighty, but a pitiful
- handful of small dust insufficient for
- a little urn! But all his glory lives
- enough to fill the world—a great reward.
- And in that glory is his real life:
- in a true sense he will never know the void
- of Tartarus.
- But soon his very shield—
- that men might know to whom it had belonged—
- brings war, and arms are taken for his arms.
- Neither Diomed nor Ajax called the less
- ventured to claim the hero's mighty shield.
- Menelaus and other warlike chiefs,
- even Agamemnon, all withdrew their claims.
- Only the greater Ajax and Ulysses
- had such assurance that they dared contest
- for that great prize. Then Agamemnon chose
- to avoid the odium of preferring one.
- He bade the Argolic chieftains take their seats
- within the camp and left to all of them
- the hearing and decision of the cause.