第45章 BOOK VII(3)

But not on Deidameia fell the hands Of kindly sleep. She bore in mind the names Of crafty Odysseus and of Diomede The godlike, how these twain had widowed her Of battle-fain Achilles, how their words Had won his aweless heart to fare with them To meet the war-cry where stern Fate met him, Shattered his hope of home-return, and laid Measureless grief on Peleus and on her.

Therefore an awful dread oppressed her soul Lest her son too to tumult of the war Should speed, and grief be added to her grief.

Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they Rose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew;

And on her son's broad breast she cast herself, And bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air, As when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills Seeks through the glens her calf, and all around Echo long ridges of the mountain-steep;

So on all sides from dim recesses rang The hall; and in her misery she cried:

"Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing To follow strangers unto Ilium The fount of tears, where perish many in fight, Yea, cunning men in war and battle grim?

And thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt The ways of war, which save men in the day Of peril. Hearken thou to me, abide Here in thine home, lest evil tidings come From Troy unto my ears, that thou in fight Hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou Hitherward shalt from battle-toil return.

Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death -- He, mightier than thou, mightier than all Heroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess' son -- But was in battle slain, all through the wiles And crafty counsels of these very men Who now to woeful war be kindling thee.

Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear Lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved Of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain, For never heavier blow on woman falls Than when her lord hath perished, and her sons Die also, and her house is left to her Desolate. Straightway evil men remove Her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all, Setting the right at naught. There is no lot More woeful and more helpless than is hers Who is left a widow in a desolate home."

Loud-wailing spake she; but her son replied:

"Be of good cheer, my mother; put from thee Evil foreboding. No man is in war Beyond his destiny slain. If my weird be To die in my country's cause, then let me die When I have done deeds worthy of my sire."

Then to his side old Lycomedes came, And to his battle-eager grandson spake:

"O valiant-hearted son, so like thy sire, I know thee strong and valorous; yet, O yet For thee I fear the bitter war; I fear The terrible sea-surge. Shipmen evermore Hang on destruction's brink. Beware, my child, Perils of waters when thou sailest back From Troy or other shores, such as beset Full oftentimes the voyagers that ride The long sea-ridges, when the sun hath left The Archer-star, and meets the misty Goat, When the wild blasts drive on the lowering storm, Or when Orion to the darkling west Slopes, into Ocean's river sinking slow.

Beware the time of equal days and nights, When blasts that o'er the sea's abysses rush, None knoweth whence in fury of battle clash.

Beware the Pleiads' setting, when the sea Maddens beneath their power nor these alone, But other stars, terrors of hapless men, As o'er the wide sea-gulf they set or rise."

Then kissed he him, nor sought to stay the feet Of him who panted for the clamour of war, Who smiled for pleasure and for eagerness To haste to the ship. Yet were his hurrying feet Stayed by his mother's pleading and her tears Still in those halls awhile. As some swift horse Is reined in by his rider, when he strains Unto the race-course, and he neighs, and champs The curbing bit, dashing his chest with foam, And his feet eager for the course are still Never, his restless hooves are clattering aye;

His mane is a stormy cloud, he tosses high His head with snortings, and his lord is glad;

So reined his mother back the glorious son Of battle-stay Achilles, so his feet Were restless, so the mother's loving pride Joyed in her son, despite her heart-sick pain.

A thousand times he kissed her, then at last Left her alone with her own grief and moan There in her father's halls. As o'er her nest A swallow in her anguish cries aloud For her lost nestlings which, mid piteous shrieks, A fearful serpent hath devoured, and wrung The loving mother's heart; and now above That empty cradle spreads her wings, and now Flies round its porchway fashioned cunningly Lamenting piteously her little ones:

So for her child Deidameia mourned.

Now on her son's bed did she cast herself, Crying aloud, against his door-post now She leaned, and wept: now laid she in her lap Those childhood's toys yet treasured in her bower, Wherein his babe-heart joyed long years agone.

She saw a dart there left behind of him, And kissed it o'er and o'er yea, whatso else Her weeping eyes beheld that was her son's.

Naught heard he of her moans unutterable, But was afar, fast striding to the ship.

He seemed, as his feet swiftly bare him on, Like some all-radiant star; and at his side With Tydeus' son war-wise Odysseus went, And with them twenty gallant-hearted men, Whom Deidameia chose as trustiest Of all her household, and unto her son Gave them for henchmen swift to do his will.

And these attended Achilles' valiant son, As through the city to the ship he sped.

On, with glad laughter, in their midst he strode;

And Thetis and the Nereids joyed thereat.

Yea, glad was even the Raven-haired, the Lord Of all the sea, beholding that brave son Of princely Achilles, marking how he longed For battle. Beardless boy albeit he was, His prowess and his might were inward spurs To him. He hasted forth his fatherland Like to the War-god, when to gory strife He speedeth, wroth with foes, when maddeneth His heart, and grim his frown is, and his eyes Flash levin-flame around him, and his face Is clothed with glory of beauty terror-blent, As on he rusheth: quail the very Gods.

So seemed Achilles' goodly son; and prayers Went up through all the city unto Heaven To bring their noble prince safe back from war;