第12章 BOOK II(1)

How Memnon, Son of the Dawn, for Troy's sake fell in the Battle.

When o'er the crests of the far-echoing hills The splendour of the tireless-racing sun Poured o'er the land, still in their tents rejoiced Achaea's stalwart sons, and still acclaimed Achilles the resistless. But in Troy Still mourned her people, still from all her towers Seaward they strained their gaze; for one great fear Gripped all their hearts -- to see that terrible man At one bound overleap their high-built wall, Then smite with the sword all people therewithin, And burn with fire fanes, palaces, and homes.

And old Thymoetes spake to the anguished ones:

"Friends, I have lost hope: mine heart seeth not Or help, or bulwark from the storm of war, Now that the aweless Hector, who was once Troy's mighty champion, is in dust laid low.

Not all his might availed to escape the Fates, But overborne he was by Achilles' hands, The hands that would, I verily deem, bear down A God, if he defied him to the fight, Even as he overthrew this warrior-queen Penthesileia battle-revelling, From whom all other Argives shrank in fear.

Ah, she was marvellous! When at the first I looked on her, meseemed a Blessed One From heaven had come down hitherward to bring Light to our darkness -- ah, vain hope, vain dream!

Go to, let us take counsel, what to do Were best for us. Or shall we still maintain A hopeless fight against these ruthless foes, Or shall we straightway flee a city doomed?

Ay, doomed! -- for never more may we withstand Argives in fighting field, when in the front Of battle pitiless Achilles storms."

Then spake Laomedon's son, the ancient king:

"Nay, friend, and all ye other sons of Troy, And ye our strong war-helpers, flinch we not Faint-hearted from defence of fatherland!

Yet let us go not forth the city-gates To battle with yon foe. Nay, from our towers And from our ramparts let us make defence, Till our new champion come, the stormy heart Of Memnon. Lo, he cometh, leading on Hosts numberless, Aethiopia's swarthy sons.

By this, I trow, he is nigh unto our gates;

For long ago, in sore distress of soul, I sent him urgent summons. Yea, and he Promised me, gladly promised me, to come To Troy, and make all end of all our woes.

And now, I trust, he is nigh. Let us endure A little longer then; for better far It is like brave men in the fight to die Than flee, and live in shame mid alien fo1k."

So spake the old king; but Polydamas, The prudent-hearted, thought not good to war Thus endlessly, and spake his patriot rede:

"If Memnon have beyond all shadow of doubt Pledged him to thrust dire ruin far from us, Then do I gainsay not that we await The coming of that godlike man within Our walls -- yet, ah, mine heart misgives me, lest, Though he with all his warriors come, he come But to his death, and unto thousands more, Our people, nought but misery come thereof;

For terribly against us leaps the storm Of the Achaeans' might. But now, go to, Let us not flee afar from this our Troy To wander to some alien land, and there, In the exile's pitiful helplessness, endure All flouts and outrage; nor in our own land Abide we till the storm of Argive war O'erwhelm us. Nay, even now, late though it be, Better it were for us to render back Unto the Danaans Helen and her wealth, Even all that glory of women brought with her From Sparta, and add other treasure -- yea, Repay it twofold, so to save our Troy And our own souls, while yet the spoiler's hand Is laid not on our substance, and while yet Troy hath not sunk in gulfs of ravening flame.

I pray you, take to heart my counsel! None Shall, well I wot, be given to Trojan men Better than this. Ah, would that long ago Hector had hearkened to my pleading, when I fain had kept him in the ancient home!"

So spake Polydamas the noble and strong, And all the listening Trojans in their hearts Approved; yet none dared utter openly The word, for all with trembling held in awe Their prince and Helen, though for her sole sake Daily they died. But on that noble man Turned Paris, and reviled him to his face:

"Thou dastard battle-blencher Polydamas!

Not in thy craven bosom beats a heart That bides the fight, but only fear and panic.

Yet dost thou vaunt thee -- quotha! -- still our best In counsel! -- no man's soul is base as thine!

Go to, thyself shrink shivering from the strife!

Cower, coward, in thine halls! But all the rest, We men, will still go armour-girt, until We wrest from this our truceless war a peace That shall not shame us! 'Tis with travail and toil Of strenuous war that brave men win renown;

But flight? -- weak women choose it, and young babes!

Thy spirit is like to theirs. No whit I trust Thee in the day of battle -- thee, the man Who maketh faint the hearts of all the host!"

So fiercely he reviled: Polydamas Wrathfully answered; for he shrank not, he, From answering to his face. A caitiff hound, A reptile fool, is he who fawns on men Before their faces, while his heart is black With malice, and, when they be gone, his tongue Backbites them. Openly Polydamas Flung back upon the prince his taunt and scoff:

"O thou of living men most mischievous!

Thy valour -- quotha! -- brings us misery!

Thine heart endures, and will endure, that strife Should have no limit, save in utter ruin Of fatherland and people for thy sake!

Ne'er may such wantwit valour craze my soul!

Be mine to cherish wise discretion aye, A warder that shall keep mine house in peace."

Indignantly he spake, and Paris found No word to answer him, for conscience woke Remembrance of all woes he had brought on Troy, And should bring; for his passion-fevered heart Would rather hail quick death than severance From Helen the divinely fair, although For her sake was it that the sons of Troy Even then were gazing from their towers to see The Argives and Achilles drawing nigh.

But no long time thereafter came to them Memnon the warrior-king, and brought with him A countless host of swarthy Aethiops.