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Book One THE BOOK OF THE HERALD
DAWN in her journey eternal compelling the labour of mortals, Dawn the beginner of things with the night for their rest or their ending, Pallid and bright-lipped a r rived from the mists and the chill of the Euxine. Earth in the dawn-fire delivered from starry and shadowy vastness Woke to the wonder of life and its passion and sorrow and beauty, All on her bosom sustaining, the patient compassionate Mother. Out of the formless vision of Night with its look on things hidden Given to the gaze of the azure she lay in her garment of greenness, Wearing light on her brow. In the dawn-ray lofty and voiceless Ida climbed with her god-haunted peaks into diamond lustres, Ida first of the hills with the ranges silent beyond her Watching the dawn in their giant companies, as since the ages First began they had watched her, upbearing Time on their summits. Troas cold on her plain awaited the boon of the sunshine. There, like a hope through an emerald dream sole-pacing for ever, Stealing to wideness beyond, crept Simois lame in his currents, Guiding his argent thread mid the green of the reeds and the grasses. Headlong, impatient of Space and its boundaries, Time and its slowness, Xanthus clamoured aloud as he ran to the far-surging waters, Joining his call to the many-voiced roar of the mighty Acgean, Answering Ocean’s limitless cry like a whelp to its parent. Forests looked up through their rifts, the ravines grew aware of their shadows. Closer now gliding glimmered the golden feet of the goddess. Over the hills and the headlands spreading her garment of splendour, Fateful she came with her eyes impartial looking on all things, Bringer to man of the day of his fortune and day of his downfall. Full of her luminous errand. careless of eve and its weeping, Fateful she paused unconcerned above Ilion’s mysteried greatness, Domes like shimmering tongues of the crystal flames of the morning. Opalesque rhythm-line of tower-tops, notes of the lyre of the sun-god. Page-1
High over all that a nation had built and its love and its love and its laughter,
Lighting the la st time highway and homestead, market and temple,
Dealers of death though death they know not, who in the morning Even as fleets on a chariot divine through the gold streets of ether, Swiftly when Life fleets, invisibly changing the arc of the soul-drift, And, with the choice that has chanced or the fate man has called and suffers Weighted, the moment travels driving the past towards the future,
Earth se e s not; life’ s clamour deafens the ear of the spirit: Only its face and its feet are seen, not the burden it carries. Weight of the event and its surface we bear, but the meaning is hidden. Now too the messenger hastened driving the car of the errand: Even while dawn was a gleam in the east, he had cried to his coursers. Half yet awake in light’s turrets started the scouts of the morning Hearing the jar of the wheels and the throb of the hooves’ exultation, Hooves of the horses of Greece as they galloped to Phrygian Troya. Proudly they trampled through Xanthus thwarting the foam of his anger, Whinnying high as in scorn crossed Simois’ tangled currents, Xanthus’ reed-girdled twin, the gentle and sluggard river. One and unarmed in the car was the driver; grey was he, shrunken, Worn with his decades. To Pergama cinctured with strength Cyclopean Old and alone he arrived, insignificant, feeblest of mortals, Carrying Fate in his helpless hands and the doom of an empire. Ilion, couchant, saw him arrive from the sea and the darkness. Heard mid the faint slow stirrings of life in the sleep of the city, Rapid there neared a running of feet, and the cry of the summons Beat round the doors that guarded the doors that guarded the domes of the splendour of Priam, Page-2
"Wardens charged with the night, ye who stand in Laomedon’s gateway, Waken the Ilian kings. Talthybius, herald of Argos, Parleying stands at the portals of Troy in the grey of the dawning." High and insistent the call. In the dimness and hush of his chamber Charioted far in his dreams amid visions of glory and terror, Scenes of a vivider world,—though blurred and deformed in the brain-cells, Vague and inconsequent, there full of colour and beauty and greatness,— Suddenly drawn by the pull of the conscious thread of the earth-bond And of the needs of Time and the travail assigned in the transience Warned by his body, Deiphobus, reached in that splendid remoteness, Touched through the nerve-ways of life that branch to the brain of the dreamer,
Heard the terrestrial call and slumber startled receded Sliding like dew from the mane of a lion. Reluctant he traveled Back from the light of the fields beyond death, from the wonderful kingdoms Where he had wandered a soul among souls in the countries beyond us, Free from the toil and incertitude, free from the struggle and danger: Now, compelled, he returned from the respite given to the time-born, Called to the strife and the wounds of the earth and the burden of daylight. He from the carven couch up reared his giant stature. Haste-spurred he laved his eyes and regained earth’s memories, haste-spurred Donning apparel and armour strode through the town of his fathers, Watched by her gods on his way to his fate, towards Pergama’s portals. Nine long years had passed and the tenth now was wearily ending, Years of the wrath of the gods, and the leaguer still threatened the ramparts Since through a tranquil morn the ships came past Tenders sailing And the first Argive fell slain as he leaped on the Phrygian beaches; Still the assailants attacked, still fought back the stubborn defenders. When the reward is withheld and endlessly lengthens the labour, Weary of fruitless toil grows the transient heart of the mortal. Weary of battle the invaders warring hearth less and homeless Prayed to the gods for release and return to the land of their fathers : Weary of battle the Phrygians beset in their beautiful city Prayed to the gods for an end of the danger and mortal encounter. Long had the high-beached ships forgotten their measureless ocean. Greece seemed old and strange to her children camped on the beaches, Old like a life long past one remembers hardly believing But as a dream that has happened, but as the tale of another. Time with his tardy touch and Nature changing our substance Slowly had dimmed the faces loved and the scenes once cherished : Page-3
Yet was the dream still dear to them longing for wife and for children,
But from the peaks of Olympus and shimmering summits of Ida Page-4
Slayer and saviour, thinker and mystic, leaped from his sun-peaks Evil once ended renews and no issue comes out
of living : Page-5
But their immortal content from the struggle titanic departed. Vacant the noise of the battle roared like the sea on the shingles; Wearily hunted the spears their quarry; strength was disheartened; Silence increased with the march of the months on the tents of the leaguer. But not alone on the Achaians the steps of the moments fell heavy ; Slowly the shadow deepened on Ilion mighty and scornful : Dragging her days went by ; in the rear of the hearts of her people Something that knew what they dared not know and the mind would not utter,
Something that smote at her soul of defiance and beauty and laughter, Darkened the hours. For Doom in her sombre and giant uprising Neared, assailing the skies : the sense of her lived in all pastimes ; Time was pursued by unease and a terror woke in the midnight : Even the ramparts felt her, stones that the gods had erected. Now no longer she dallied and played, but bounded and hastened, Seeing before her the end and, imagining massacre calmly, Laughed and admired the flames and rejoiced in the cry of the captives. Under her, dead to the watching immortals, Deiphobus hastened Clanging in arms through the streets of the beautiful insolent city, Brilliant, a gleaming husk but empty and left by the daemon. Even as a star long extinguished whose light still travels the spaces, Seen in its form by men, but itself goes phantom-like fleeting Void and null and dark through the uncaring infinite vastness, So now he seemed to the sight that sees all things from the Real. Timeless its vision of Time creates the hour by things coming. Borne on a force from the past and no more by a power for the future Mighty and bright was his body, but shadowy the shape of his spirit Only an eidolon seemed of the being that had lived in him, fleeting Vague like a phantom seen by the dim Acherontian waters.
But to the guardian towers that watched over Pergama’s gateway Out of the waking city Deiphobus swiftly arriving Called, and swinging back the huge gates slowly, reluctant, Flung Troy wide to the entering Argive. Ilion’s portals Parted admitting her destiny, then with a sullen and iron Cry they closed. Mute, staring, grey like a wolf descended Old Talthybius, propping his steps on the staff of his errand ; Feeble his body, but fierce still his glance with the fire within him ; Speechless and brooding he gazed on the hated and coveted city. Suddenly, seeking heaven with her buildings hewn as for Titans, Marvellous, rhythmic, a child of the gods with marble for raiment, Page-6
Smiting the vision with harmony, splendid and mighty and golden, Ilion stood up around him entrenched in her giant defenses. Strength was uplifted on strength and grandeur supported by grandeur; Beauty lay in her lap. Remote, hieratic and changeless, Filled with her deeds and her dreams her gods looked out on the Argive, Helpless and dumb with his hate as he gazed on her, they too like mortals Knowing their centuries past, not knowing the morrow before them. Dire were his eyes upon Troya the beautiful, his face like a doom-mask : All Greece gazed in them, hated, admired, grew afraid, grew relentless. But to the Greek Deiphobus cried and he turned from his passion Fixing his ominous eyes with the god in them straight on the Trojan : "Messenger, voice of Achaia, wherefore confronting the daybreak Comest thou driving thy car from the sleep of the tents that besiege us ? Fateful, I deem, was the thought that, conceived in the silence of midnight, Raised up thy aged limbs from the couch of their rest in the stillness,— Thoughts of a mortal but forged by the Will that uses our members And of its promptings our speech and our acts are the tools and the image. Oft from the veil and the shadow they leap out like stars in their brightness, Lights that we think our own, yet they are but tokens and counters, Signs of the Forces that flow through us serving a Power that is secret. What in the dawning bringst thou to Troya the mighty and dateless Now in the ending of Time, when the gods are weary of struggle ? Sends Agamemnon challenge or courtesy, Greek, to the Trojans ?" High like the north wind answered the voice of the doom from Achaia : "Trojan Deiphobus, daybreak, silence of night and the evening Sink and arise and even the strong sun rests from his splendour. Not for the servant is rest nor Time is his, only his death-pyre. I have not come from the monarch of men or the armoured assembly Held on the wind-swept marge of the thunder and laughter of ocean. One in his singleness greater than kings and multitudes sends me. I am a voice out of Phthia, I am the will of the Hellene. Peace in my right I bring to you, death in my left hand. Trojan, Proudly receive them, honour the gifts of the mighty Achilles. Death accept, if Ate deceives you and Doom is your lover, Peace if your fate can turn and the god in you chooses to hearken. Full is my heart and my lips are impatient of speech undelivered. It was not made for the streets or the market, nor to be uttered Meanly to common ears, but where counsel and majesty harbour Far from the crowd in the halls of the great and to wisdom and foresight Secrecy whispers, there I will speak among Ilion’s princes." Page-7
"Envoy," answered the Laomedontian, "voice of Achilles,
Thou, Thrasymachus, haste. Let the domes of the mansion of Ilus
But with the god in his feet Thrasymachus rapidly running Page-8
Whether of evil or good it is they who shall choose who are masters
Now too, deeming he comes with a purpose framed by a mortal, Ever can pierce where they dwell and uncover their far-stretching purpose ? Silent they toil, they are hid in the clouds, they are wrapped with the midnight.
Yet to Apollo, I pray, the Archer friendly to mortals,
Then, in a farewell brief and un thought and unconscious of meaning,
Destined to perish even before his perishing nation,
Turned to his mighty future the hero born of a goddess. Page-9
Loser of his world by the will of a heaven that seemed ruthless and adverse. Out of his mind it arose like an epic canto by canto ;
Each of its halls was a strophe, its chambers lines of an epode, Page-10
Herald, thy car while! the sun yet hesitates under the mountains ?
"Princes of Pergama, whelps of the lion who roar for the mellay,
Errs a dangerous gleam in the woodlands, fatal and silent. So for a while he endures, for a while he seeks and he suffers Patient yet in his terrible grace as assured of his banquet ; But he has lacked too long and he lifts his head and to heaven Roars in his wonder incensed, impatiently. Startled the valleys Shrink from the dreadful alarum, the cattle gallop to shelter. Arming the herdsmen cry to each other for comfort and courage."
1 though Page-11
So Talthybius spoke, as a harper voicing his prelude
Hast thou not woven thy words to intimidate children in Argos Sitting alarmed in the shadows who listen pale to their nurses ? Greek, thou art standing in Ilion now and thou speak’st to1 princes. Use not thy words but thy king’s. If friendship their honey-breathed burden, Friendship we clasp from Achilles, but challenge outpace with our challenge Meeting the foe ere he moves in his will to the clash of encounter. Such is the way of the Trojans since Phryx by the Hellespont halting Seated Troy on her hill with Ocean for comrade and sister."
Shaking in wrath his filleted head Talthybius answered : "Princes, ye speak their words who drive you ! Thus said Achilles : Rise,2 Talthybius, meet in her spaces the car of the morning ; Challenge her coursers divine as they bound through the plains of the Troad. Hasten, let not the day wear gold ere thou stand in her ramparts Herald charged with my will to a haughty and obstinate nation, Speak in the palace of Priam the word of the Pthian Achilles. Freely and not as his vassal who leads, Agamemnon, the Argive, But as a ruler in Hellas I send thee, king of my nations. Long I lingered3 apart from the mellay of gods in the Troad, Long has my listless spear leaned back on the peace of my tent-side, Deaf to the talk of the trumpets, the whine of the chariots speeding ; Sole with my heart I have lived, unheeding the Hellene murmur, Child when it roared for the hunt the lion-pack of the war-god, Day after day I walked at dawn and in blush of the sunset, Far by the call of the seas and alone with the gods and my dreaming, Leaned to the unsatisfied chant of my heart and the rhythms of Ocean, Sung to by hopes that were sweet-lipped and vain. Polyxena’s brothers Still are the brood of the Titan Laomedon slain in his greatness, Engines of God unable to bear all the might that they harbour.
1 Alternative to "speak’st to" : facest her 2 Haste 3 Alternative to ”I Lingered”: I have walked Page-12
Awe they have chid from their hearts, nor our common humanity binds them, Stay have they none in the gods who approve, giving calmness to mortals : But like the Titans of old they have hugged to them grandeur and ruin. Seek then the race self-doomed and the leaders blinded by heaven— Not in the agora swept by the winds of debate and the shoutings Lion-voiced, huge of the people ! In Troya’s high-crested mansion Speak out my word to the hero Deiphobus, head of the mellay, Paris the racer of doom and the stubborn strength of AEneas. Herald of Greece, when thy feet shall stand1 on the gold and the marble, Rise in the Ilian megaron, curb not the cry of the challenge. Thus shalt thou say to them stroking the ground with the staff of defiance, Fronting the tempests of war, the insensate, the gamblers with ruin.2 ‘Princes of Troy, I have sat in your halls, I have slept in your chambers ; Not in the battle alone, as a warrior glad of his foemen, Glad of3 the strength that mates with his own, in peace we encountered. Marvelling I sat in the halls of my enemies, close to the bosoms Scarred by the dints of my sword and the eyes I had seen through the battle, Ate rejoicing the food of the East at the tables of Priam, Served by the delicatest hands in the world, by Hecuba’s daughter, Or with our souls reconciled in some careless and rapturous midnight Drank of the sweetness of Phrygian wine, admired4 your bodies Shaped by the gods indeed and my spirit revolted from hatred; Softening it yearned in its strings to the beauty and joy of its foemen, Yearned from the death that o’ertakes and the flame that cries and desires Even at the end to save and even on the verge to deliver Troy and her wonderful works and her sons and her deep-bosomed daughters. Warned by the gods who reveal to the heart what the mind cannot hearken Deaf with its thoughts, I offered you friendship, I offered you bridal, Hellas for comrade, Achilles for brother, the world for enjoyment Won by my spear. And one heard my call and one turned to my seeking. Why is it then that the war-cry sinks not to rest by the Xanthus ? We are not voices from Argolis, Lacedaemonian tricksters, Splendid and subtle and false; we are speakers of truth, we are Hellenes, Men of the northland faithful in friendship and noble in anger, Strong like our fathers of old. But you answered my truth with evasion
1 be pressed 2 downfall 3 Alternative to "glad of" : Loving 4 admiring Page-13
Hoping to seize what I will not yield and you flattered your people. Long have I waited for wisdom to dawn on your violent natures. Lonely I paced o’er the sands by the thousand-throated waters Praying to Pallas the wise that the doom might turn1 from your mansions Buildings delightful, gracious as rhythms, lyrics in marble, Works of the transient gods;—and I yearned for the end of the war-din Hoping that Death might relent to the beautiful sons of the Trojans. Far from the cry of the spears, from the speed and the laughter of axles, Heavy upon me like iron the intolerable yoke of inaction Weighed like a load on a runner. The war-cry rose by Scamander; Xanthus was crossed on a bridge of the fallen, not by Achilles. Often I stretched out my hand to the spear, for the Trojan beaches Rang with the voice of Deiphobus shouting and slaying the Argives; Often my heart like an anxious mother for Greece and her children Leaped, for the air was full of the leonine roar of Aeneas. Always the evening fell or the gods protected the Argives. Then by the moat of the ships, on the hither plain of the Xanthus New was the voice that climbed through the din and sailed on the breezes, High, insistent, clear, and it shouted an unknown war-cry Threatening doom to the peoples. A woman had come in to aid you Regal and insolent, fair as the morning and fell as the north wind, Freed from the distaff who grasps at the sword and spurns at subjection Breaking the rule of the gods. She is turbulent, swift in the battle. Clanging her voice of the swan as a summons to death and disaster, Fleet-footed, happy and pitiless, laughing she runs to the slaughter; Strong with the gait that allures she leaps from her car to the slaying, Dabbles in blood smooth hands like lilies. Europe astonished Reels from her shock to the Ocean. She is the panic and mellay, War is her paean, the chariots thunder of Penthesilea. Doom was her coming, it seems, to the men of the West and their legions; Ajax sleeps for ever2, Meriones lies on the beaches, One by one they are falling before you, the great in Achaia. Ever the wounded are borne like the stream of the ants when they forage, Past my ships, and they hush their moans as they near and in silence Gaze at the legions inactive accusing the fame of Achilles. 1 Alternative to "that the doom might turn" : for the doom to swerve 2 Here, as in some other lines, Ajax is spoken of as having been slain by Penthesilea. Elsewhere in the poem we come across a living Ajax. The discrepancy is explained by the fact that in the Trojan War there were two Ajaxes, the Great and the Small. The latter, called also the Locrian, figures as alive in llion. Page-14
Still have I borne with you, waited a little, looked for a summons, Longing for bridal torches, not flame on the Ilian housetops, Blood in the chambers of sweetness, the golden amorous city Swallowed by doom. Not broken I turned from the wrestle Titanic, Hopeless, weary of toil in the ebb of my glorious spirit, But from my stress of compassion for doom of the kindred nations, But for her sake whom my soul desires, for the daughter of Priam. And for Polyxena’s sake I will speak to you yet as your lover Once ere the Fury, abrupt from Erebus, deaf to your crying, Mad with the joy of the massacre, seizes on wealth and on women Calling to Fire as it strides and Ilion sinks into ashes. Yield; for your doom is impatient. No longer your helpers hasten, Legions swift to your call; the yoke of your pride and your splendour Lies not now on the nations of earth as when Fortune desired you, Strength was your slave and Troya the lioness hungrily roaring Threatened the western world from her ramparts built by Apollo. Gladly released from the thraldom they hated, the insolent shackles Curbing their manhood the peoples arise and they pray for your ruin; Piled are their altars with gifts; their blessings help the Achaians. Memnon came, but he sleeps, and the faces swart of his nation Darken no more like a cloud over thunder and surge of the onset. Wearily Lycia fights; far fled are the Carian levies. Thrace retreats to her plains preferring the whistle of storm-winds Or on the banks of the Strymon to wheel in her Orphean measure, Not in the revel of swords and fronting the spears of the Hellenes. Princes of Pergama, open your gates to our Peace who would enter Life in her gracious clasp and forgetfulness, grave of earth’s passions, Healer of wounds and the past. In a comity equal, Hellenic, Asia join with Greece, our world from the frozen rivers Trod by the hooves of the Scythian to farthest undulant Ganges. Tyndarid Helen yield,1 the desirable cause of your danger, Back to Greece that is empty long of her smile and her movements. Broider with2 riches her coming, pomp of her slaves and the wagons Endlessly groaning with gold that arrive with the ransom of nations. So shall the Fury be pacified, she who exultant from Sparta Breathed in the sails of the Trojan ravisher helping his oarsmen.
1 resign 2 Alternatives : Frame in, Chase in, Equal with, Double with Page-15
So shall the gods be appeased and the thoughts cancelled, Justice contented trace back her steps and for brands of the burning Torches delightful shall break into Troy with1 the swords of the bridal. I like a bridegroom will seize on your city and clasp and defend her Safe from the envy of Argos, from Lacedaemonian hatred, Safe from the hunger of Crete and the Locrian’s violent rapine. But if you turn from my voice and you hearken only to Ares Crying for battle within you deluded by Hera and Pallas, Swiftly fierce death’s surges shall close over Troy and her ramparts Built by the gods shall be stubble and earth to the tread of the Hellene. For to my tents I return not, I swear it by Zeus and Apollo, Master of Truth who sits within Delphi fathomless brooding Sole in the caverns of Nature and hearkens her underground murmur, Giving my oath to his keeping mute and stern who forgets not. Not from the panting of Ares’ toil to repose, from the wrestle Locked of hope and death in the ruthless clasp of the mellay Leaving again the Trojan ramparts unmounted, leaving Greece unavenged, the Aegean a lake and Europe a province. Choosing from Hellas exile, from Peleus and Deidamia, Choosing the field for my chamber of sleep and the battle for hearthside I shall go warring on till Asia enslaved to my footsteps Feels the tread of the God in my sandal pressed on her bosom. Rest shall I then when the borders of Greece are fringed with the Ganges: Thus shall the past pay its Titan ransom2 and, Fate her balance Changing, a continent ravished suffer the fortune of Helen. This I have sworn allying my will to Zeus and Ananke.’ " So was it spoken, the Pthian challenge. Silent the heroes Looked back amazed on their past and into the night of their future. Silent their hearts felt a grasp from gods and had hints of the heavens. Hush was awhile in the room as if Fate were trying her balance Poised on the thoughts of her mortals. At length with a magical laughter Sweet as the jangling of bells upon anklets leaping in measure Answered high3 to the gods the virgin Penthesilea. "Long I had heard in my distant realms of the fame of Achilles, Ignorant still while I played with the ball and ran in the dances
1 and 2 Alternative to "the past pay its Titan ransom" : the Titan ransom be paid 3 aloud Page-16
Thinking not ever to war; but I dreamed of the shock of the hero. So might a poet inland who imagines the rumour of Ocean Yearn with his lust for its1 giant upheaval, its2 dance as of hill-tops, Toss of the yellow mane and the tawny march and the voices Lionlike claiming earth as a prey for the clamorous waters. So have I longed as I came for the cry and the speed of Achilles. But he has lurked in his ships, he has sulked like a boy that is angry. Glad am I now of his soul that arises hungry for battle, Glad, whether victor I live or defeated travel to the shadows. Once shall my spear have rung on the shield of the Pthian Achilles. Peace I desire not. I came to a haughty and resolute nation, Honour and fame they cherish, not life by the gift of a foeman. Sons of the ancient house on whom Ilion looks as on Titans, Chiefs whom the world admires, do you fear then the shock of the Pthian? Gods, it is said, have decided your doom. Are you less in your greatness? Are you not gods to reverse their decrees or unshaken to suffer? Memnon is dead and the Carians leave you ? Lycia lingers ? But from the streams of my East I have come to you, Penthesilea." "Virgin of Asia," answered Talthybius, "doom of a nation Brought thee to Troy and her haters Olympian shielded thy coming, Vainly who feedest men’s hearts with a. hope that the gods have rejected. Doom in thy sweet voice utters her counsels robed like a woman." Answered the virgin disdainfully, wroth at the words of the Argive: "Hast thou not ended the errand they gave thee, envoy of Hellas? Not, do I think, as our counsellor cam’st thou elected from Argos, Nor as a lover to Troy hast thou hastened with amorous footing Hurting thy heart with her forwardness. Hatred and rapine sent thee, Greed of the Ilian gold and lust of the Phrygian women. Voice of Achaian aggression! Doom am I truly; let Gnossus Witness it, Salamis speak of my fatal arrival and Argos Silent remember her wounds." But the Argive answered the virgin: "Hearken then to the words of the Hellene, Penthesilea. . ‘Virgin to whom earth’s strongest are corn in the sweep of thy sickle, Lioness vain of thy bruit thou besiegest the paths of the battle! Art thou not satiate yet? hast thou drunk then so little of slaughter? Death has ascended thy car; he has chosen thy hand for his harvest, But I have heard of thy pride and disdain, how thou scornest the Argives And of thy fate thou complainest that ever averse to thy wishes
1 the 2 the Page-17
Cloisters the Pthian and matches with weaklings Penthesilea. Not to this end was thy sweetness made and the joy of thy members, Not to this rhythm Heaven tuned its pipe in thy throat of enchantment Armoured like men to go warring forth and with hardness and fierceness Mix in the strife and the hate while the varied meaning of Nature Perishes hurt in its heart and life is emptied of music. Long have I marked in your world a madness. Monarchs descending Court the imperious mob of their slaves and their suppliant gesture Shameless and venal offends the majestic tradition of ages: Princes plead in the agora; spurred by the tongue of a coward, Heroes march to an impious war at a priestly bidding. Gold is sought by the great with the chaffering heart of the trader. Asia fails and the Gods are abandoning Ida for Hellas. Why must thou come here to perish, O noble and exquisite virgin, Here in a cause net thine, in a quarrel remote from thy beauty, Leaving a land that is lovely and far to be slain among strangers ? Girl, to thy rivers go back and thy hills where the grapes are aspirant. Trust not a fate that indulges; for all things, Penthesilea, Break with excess and he is the wisest who walks by a measure. Yet, if thou wilt, thou shalt meet me today in the shock of the battle; There will I give thee the fame thou desires; captive in Hellas, Men shall point to thee always, smiling and whispering, saying, ‘This is the woman who fought with the Greeks, overthrowing their heroes;
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This is the slayer of Ajax, this is the slave of Achilles.’ " Then with her musical laughter the fearless Penthesilea : "Well do I hope that Achilles enslaved shall taste of that glory Or on the Phrygian fields lie slain by the spear of a woman. " But to the herald Achaian the Priamid, leader of Troya : "Rest in the halls of thy foes and ease thy fatigue and thy winters. Herald, abide till the people have heard and reply to Achilles. Not as the kings of the West are Ilion’s princes and archons, Monarchs of men who drive their nations dumb to the battle. Not in the palace of Priam and not in the halls of the mighty Whispered councils prevail and the few dispose of the millions; But with their nation consulting, feeling the hearts of the commons Ilion’s princes march to the war or give peace to their foemen. Lightning departs from her kings and the thunder returns from her people Met in the ancient assembly where Ilus founded his columns And since her famous centuries, names that the ages remember Leading her, Troya proclaims her decrees to obedient nations." Ceasing he cried to the thralls of his house and they tended the Argive. Brought to a chamber of rest in the luminous peace of the mansion, Grey he sat and endured the food and the wine of his foemen,— Chiding his spirit that murmured within him and gazed un delighted, Vexed with the endless pomps of Laomedon. Far from those glories Memory winged it back to a sward half-forgotten, a village Nestling in leaves and low hills watching it crowned with the sunset. So for his hour he abode in earth’s palace of lordliest beauty, But in its caverns his heart was weary and, hurt by the splendours, Longed for Greece and the smoke-darkened roof of a cottage in Argos, Eyes of a woman faded and children crowding the hearthside. Joyless he rose and eastward expected the sunrise on Ida. Page-19 |