The Fall of Troy | Page 8

No man of you?Shall from mine hands deliver his own life,?And win back home, to gladden parents eyes,?Or comfort wife or children. Ye shall lie?Dead, ravined on by vultures and by wolves,?And none shall heap the earth-mound o'er your clay.?Where skulketh now the strength of Tydeus' son,?And where the might of Aeacus' scion??Where is Aias' bulk? Ye vaunt them mightiest men?Of all your rabble. Ha! they will not dare?With me to close in battle, lest I drag?Forth from their fainting frames their craven souls!"
Then heart-uplifted leapt she on the foe,?Resistless as a tigress, crashing through?Ranks upon ranks of Argives, smiting now?With that huge halberd massy-headed, now?Hurling the keen dart, while her battle-horse?Flashed through the fight, and on his shoulder bare?Quiver and bow death-speeding, close to her hand,?If mid that revel of blood she willed to speed?The bitter-biting shaft. Behind her swept?The charging lines of men fleet-footed, friends?And brethren of the man who never flinched?From close death-grapple, Hector, panting all?The hot breath of the War-god from their breasts,?All slaying Danaans with the ashen spear,?Who fell as frost-touched leaves in autumn fall?One after other, or as drops of rain.?And aye went up a moaning from earth's breast?All blood-bedrenched, and heaped with corse on corse.?Horses pierced through with arrows, or impaled?On spears, were snorting forth their last of strength?With screaming neighings. Men, with gnashing teeth?Biting the dust, lay gasping, while the steeds?Of Trojan charioteers stormed in pursuit,?Trampling the dying mingled with the dead?As oxen trample corn in threshing-floors.
Then one exulting boasted mid the host?Of Troy, beholding Penthesileia rush?On through the foes' array, like the black storm?That maddens o'er the sea, what time the sun?Allies his might with winter's Goat-horned Star;?And thus, puffed up with vain hope, shouted he:?"O friends, in manifest presence down from heaven?One of the deathless Gods this day hath come?To fight the Argives, all of love for us,?Yea, and with sanction of almighty Zeus,?He whose compassion now remembereth?Haply strong-hearted Priam, who may boast?For his a lineage of immortal blood.?For this, I trow, no mortal woman seems,?Who is so aweless-daring, who is clad?In splendour-flashing arms: nay, surely she?Shall be Athene, or the mighty-souled?Enyo -- haply Eris, or the Child?Of Leto world-renowned. O yea, I look?To see her hurl amid yon Argive men?Mad-shrieking slaughter, see her set aflame?Yon ships wherein they came long years agone?Bringing us many sorrows, yea, they came?Bringing us woes of war intolerable.?Ha! to the home-land Hellas ne'er shall these?With joy return, since Gods on our side fight."
In overweening exultation so?Vaunted a Trojan. Fool! -- he had no vision?Of ruin onward rushing upon himself?And Troy, and Penthesileia's self withal.?For not as yet had any tidings come?Of that wild fray to Aias stormy-souled,?Nor to Achilles, waster of tower and town.?But on the grave-mound of Menoetius' son?They twain were lying, with sad memories?Of a dear comrade crushed, and echoing?Each one the other's groaning. One it was?Of the Blest Gods who still was holding back?These from the battle-tumult far away,?Till many Greeks should fill the measure up?Of woeful havoc, slain by Trojan foes?And glorious Penthesileia, who pursued?With murderous intent their rifled ranks,?While ever waxed her valour more and more,?And waxed her might within her: never in vain?She aimed the unswerving spear-thrust: aye she pierced?The backs of them that fled, the breasts of such?As charged to meet her. All the long shaft dripped?With steaming blood. Swift were her feet as wind?As down she swooped. Her aweless spirit failed?For weariness nor fainted, but her might?Was adamantine. The impending Doom,?Which roused unto the terrible strife not yet?Achilles, clothed her still with glory; still?Aloof the dread Power stood, and still would shed?Splendour of triumph o'er the death-ordained?But for a little space, ere it should quell?That Maiden 'neath the hands of Aeaeus' son.?In darkness ambushed, with invisible hand?Ever it thrust her on, and drew her feet?Destruction-ward, and lit her path to death?With glory, while she slew foe after foe.?As when within a dewy garden-close,?Longing for its green springtide freshness, leaps?A heifer, and there rangeth to and fro,?When none is by to stay her, treading down?All its green herbs, and all its wealth of bloom,?Devouring greedily this, and marring that?With trampling feet; so ranged she, Ares' child,?Through reeling squadrons of Achaea's sons,?Slew these, and hunted those in panic rout.
From Troy afar the women marvelling gazed?At the Maid's battle-prowess. Suddenly?A fiery passion for the fray hath seized?Antimachus' daughter, Meneptolemus' wife,?Tisiphone. Her heart waxed strong, and filled?With lust of fight she cried to her fellows all,?With desperate-daring words, to spur them on?To woeful war, by recklessness made strong.?"Friends, let a heart of valour in our breasts?Awake! Let us be like our lords, who fight?With foes for fatherland, for babes, for us,?And never pause for breath in that stern strife!?Let us too throne war's spirit in our hearts!?Let us too face the fight which favoureth none!?For we, we women, be not