The Fall of Troy | Page 5

glows pre-eminent;
So peerless amid all the Amazons Unto

Troy-town Penthesileia came.
To right, to left, from all sides hurrying
thronged
The Trojans, greatly marvelling, when they saw
The
tireless War-god's child, the mailed maid,
Like to the Blessed Gods;
for in her face
Glowed beauty glorious and terrible.
Her smile was
ravishing: beneath her brows
Her love-enkindling eyes shone like to
stars,
And with the crimson rose of shamefastness
Bright were her
cheeks, and mantled over them
Unearthly grace with battle-prowess
clad.
Then joyed Troy's folk, despite past agonies,
As when, far-gazing
from a height, the hinds
Behold a rainbow spanning the wide sea,

When they be yearning for the heaven-sent shower,
When the
parched fields be craving for the rain;
Then the great sky at last is
overgloomed,
And men see that fair sign of coming wind
And
imminent rain, and seeing, they are glad,
Who for their corn-fields'
plight sore sighed before;
Even so the sons of Troy when they beheld

There in their land Penthesileia dread
Afire for battle, were
exceeding glad;
For when the heart is thrilled with hope of good,

All smart of evils past is wiped away:
So, after all his sighing and his
pain,
Gladdened a little while was Priam's soul.
As when a man
who hath suffered many a pang
From blinded eyes, sore longing to
behold
The light, and, if he may not, fain would die,
Then at the last,
by a cunning leech's skill,
Or by a God's grace, sees the dawn-rose
flush,
Sees the mist rolled back from before his eyes, --
Yea, though
clear vision come not as of old,
Yet, after all his anguish, joys to have

Some small relief, albeit the stings of pain
Prick sharply yet
beneath his eyelids; -- so
Joyed the old king to see that terrible queen
--
The shadowy joy of one in anguish whelmed
For slain sons. Into
his halls he led the Maid,
And with glad welcome honoured her, as
one
Who greets a daughter to her home returned
From a far country
in the twentieth year;
And set a feast before her, sumptuous
As

battle-glorious kings, who have brought low
Nations of foes, array in
splendour of pomp,
With hearts in pride of victory triumphing.
And
gifts he gave her costly and fair to see,
And pledged him to give
many more, so she
Would save the Trojans from the imminent doom.

And she such deeds she promised as no man
Had hoped for, even
to lay Achilles low,
To smite the wide host of the Argive men,
And
cast the brands red-flaming on the ships.
Ah fool! -- but little knew
she him, the lord
Of ashen spears, how far Achilles' might
In
warrior-wasting strife o'erpassed her own!
But when Andromache, the stately child
Of king Eetion, heard the
wild queen's vaunt,
Low to her own soul bitterly murmured she:

"Ah hapless! why with arrogant heart dost thou
Speak such great
swelling words? No strength is thine
To grapple in fight with Peleus'
aweless son.
Nay, doom and swift death shall he deal to thee.
Alas
for thee! What madness thrills thy soul?
Fate and the end of death
stand hard by thee!
Hector was mightier far to wield the spear
Than
thou, yet was for all his prowess slain,
Slain for the bitter grief of
Troy, whose folk
The city through looked on him as a God.
My
glory and his noble parents' glory
Was he while yet he lived -- O that
the earth
Over my dead face had been mounded high,
Or ever
through his throat the breath of life
Followed the cleaving spear! But
now have I
Looked -- woe is me! -- on grief unutterable,
When
round the city those fleet-footed steeds
Haled him, steeds of Achilles,
who had made
Me widowed of mine hero-husband, made
My
portion bitterness through all my days."
So spake Eetion's lovely-ankled child
Low to her own soul, thinking
on her lord.
So evermore the faithful-hearted wife
Nurseth for her
lost love undying grief.
Then in swift revolution sweeping round

Into the Ocean's deep
stream sank the sun,
And daylight died. So when the banqueters

Ceased from the wine-cup and the goodly feast,
Then did the

handmaids spread in Priam's halls
For Penthesileia dauntless-souled
the couch
Heart-cheering, and she laid her down to rest;
And
slumber mist-like overveiled her eyes [depths
Like sweet dew
dropping round. From heavens' blue
Slid down the might of a
deceitful dream
At Pallas' hest, that so the warrior-maid
Might see
it, and become a curse to Troy
And to herself, when strained her soul
to meet;
The whirlwind of the battle. In this wise
The Trito-born,
the subtle-souled, contrived:
Stood o'er the maiden's head that baleful
dream
In likeness of her father, kindling her
Fearlessly front to
front to meet in fight
Fleetfoot Achilles. And she heard the voice,

And all her heart exulted, for she weened
That she should on that
dawning day achieve
A mighty deed in battle's deadly toil
Ah, fool,
who trusted for her sorrow a dream
Out of the sunless land, such as
beguiles
Full oft the travail-burdened tribes of men,
Whispering
mocking lies in sleeping ears,
And to the battle's travail lured her
then!
But when the Dawn, the rosy-ankled, leapt
Up from her bed, then,
clad in mighty strength
Of spirit, suddenly from her couch uprose

Penthesileia. Then did she array
Her shoulders in those
wondrous-fashioned arms
Given