第21章 BOOK III(3)

Ocythous he smote, Agestratus, Aganippus, Zorus, Nessus, Erymas The war-renowned, who came from Lycia-land With mighty-hearted Glaucus, from his home In Melanippion on the mountain-ridge, Athena's fane, which Massikyton fronts Anigh Chelidonia's headland, dreaded sore Of scared seafarers, when its lowering crags Must needs be doubled. For his death the blood Of famed Hippolochus' son was horror-chilled;

For this was his dear friend. With one swift thrust He pierced the sevenfold hides of Aias' shield, Yet touched his flesh not; stayed the spear-head was By those thick hides and by the corset-plate Which lapped his battle-tireless limbs. But still From that stern conflict Glaucus drew not back, Burning to vanquish Aias, Aeacus' son, And in his folly vaunting threatened him:

"Aias, men name thee mightiest man of all The Argives, hold thee in passing-high esteem Even as Achilles: therefore thou, I wot, By that dead warrior dead this day shalt lie!"

So hurled he forth a vain word, knowing not How far in might above him was the man Whom his spear threatened. Battle-bider Aias Darkly and scornfully glaring on him, said "Thou craven wretch, and knowest thou not this, How much was Hector mightier than thou In war-craft? yet before my might, my spear, He shrank. Ay, with his valour was there blent Discretion. Thou thy thoughts are deathward set, Who dar'st defy me to the battle, me, A mightier far than thou! Thou canst not say That friendship of our fathers thee shall screen;

Nor me thy gifts shall wile to let thee pass Scatheless from war, as once did Tydeus' son.

Though thou didst 'scape his fury, will not I Suffer thee to return alive from war.

Ha, in thy many helpers dost thou trust Who with thee, like so many worthless flies, Flit round the noble Achilles' corpse? To these Death and black doom shall my swift onset deal."

Then on the Trojans this way and that he turned, As mid long forest-glens a lion turns On hounds, and Trojans many and Lycians slew That came for honour hungry, till he stood Mid a wide ring of flinchers; like a shoal Of darting fish when sails into their midst Dolphin or shark, a huge sea-fosterling;

So shrank they from the might of Telamon's son, As aye he charged amidst the rout. But still Swarmed fighters up, till round Achilles' corse To right, to left, lay in the dust the slain Countless, as boars around a lion at bay;

And evermore the strife waxed deadlier.

Then too Hippolochus' war-wise son was slain By Aias of the heart of fire. He fell Backward upon Achilles, even as falls A sapling on a sturdy mountain-oak;

So quelled by the spear on Peleus' son he fell.

But for his rescue Anchises' stalwart son Strove hard, with all his comrades battle-fain, And haled the corse forth, and to sorrowing friends Gave it, to bear to Ilium's hallowed burg.

Himself to spoil Achilles still fought on, Till warrior Aias pierced him with the spear Through the right forearm. Swiftly leapt he back From murderous war, and hasted thence to Troy.

There for his healing cunning leeches wrought, Who stanched the blood-rush, and laid on the gash Balms, such as salve war-stricken warriors' pangs.

But Aias still fought on: here, there he slew With thrusts like lightning-flashes. His great heart Ached sorely for his mighty cousin slain.

And now the warrior-king Laertes' son Fought at his side: before him blenched the foe, As he smote down Peisander's fleetfoot son, The warrior Maenalus, who left his home In far-renowned Abydos: down on him He hurled Atymnius, the goodly son Whom Pegasis the bright-haired Nymph had borne To strong Emathion by Granicus' stream.

Dead by his side he laid Orestius' son, Proteus, who dwelt 'neath lofty Ida's folds.

Ah, never did his mother welcome home That son from war, Panaceia beauty-famed!

He fell by Odysseus' hands, who spilt the lives Of many more whom his death-hungering spear Reached in that fight around the mighty dead.

Yet Alcon, son of Megacles battle-swift, Hard by Odysseus' right knee drave the spear Home, and about the glittering greave the blood Dark-crimsom welled. He recked not of the wound, But was unto his smiter sudden death;

For clear through his shield he stabbed him with his spear Amidst his battle-fury: to the earth Backward he dashed him by his giant might And strength of hand: clashed round him in the dust His armour, and his corslet was distained With crimson life-blood. Forth from flesh and shield The hero plucked the spear of death: the soul Followed the lance-head from the body forth, And life forsook its mortal mansion. Then Rushed on his comrades, in his wound's despite, Odysseus, nor from that stern battle-toil Refrained him. And by this a mingled host Of Danaans eager-hearted fought around The mighty dead, and many and many a foe Slew they with those smooth-shafted ashen spears.

Even as the winds strew down upon the ground The flying leaves, when through the forest-glades Sweep the wild gusts, as waneth autumn-tide, And the old year is dying; so the spears Of dauntless Danaans strewed the earth with slain, For loyal to dead Achilles were they all, And loyal to hero Aias to the death.

For like black Doom he blasted the ranks of Troy.

Then against Aias Paris strained his bow;

But he was ware thereof, and sped a stone Swift to the archer's head: that bolt of death Crashed through his crested helm, and darkness closed Round him. In dust down fell he: naught availed His shafts their eager lord, this way and that Scattered in dust: empty his quiver lay, Flew from his hand the bow. In haste his friends Upcaught him from the earth, and Hector's steeds Hurried him thence to Troy, scarce drawing breath, And moaning in his pain. Nor left his men The weapons of their lord, but gathered up All from the plain, and bare them to the prince;

While Aias after him sent a wrathful shout: