The Fall of Troy. active 4th century Smyrnaeus Quintus

The Fall of Troy - active 4th century Smyrnaeus Quintus


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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 her of the War-god. First she laid

       Beneath her silver-gleaming knees the greaves

       Fashioned of gold, close-clipping the strong limbs.

       Her rainbow-radiant corslet clasped she then

       About her, and around her shoulders slung,

       With glory in her heart, the massy brand

       Whose shining length was in a scabbard sheathed

       Of ivory and silver. Next, her shield

       Unearthly splendid, caught she up, whose rim

       Swelled like the young moon's arching chariot-rail

       When high o'er Ocean's fathomless-flowing stream

       She rises, with the space half filled with light

       Betwixt her bowing horns. So did it shine

       Unutterably fair. Then on her head

       She settled the bright helmet overstreamed

       With a wild mane of golden-glistering hairs.

       So stood she, lapped about with flaming mail,

       In semblance like the lightning, which the might,

       The never-wearied might of Zeus, to earth

       Hurleth, what time he showeth forth to men

       Fury of thunderous-roaring rain, or swoop

       Resistless of his shouting host of winds.

       Then in hot haste forth of her bower to pass

       Caught she two javelins in the


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