How Paris was stricken to death, and in vain sought help of Oenone.
Now were the Trojans all without the town Of Priam, armour-clad, with battle-cars And chariot-steeds; for still they burnt their dead, And still they feared lest the Achaean men Should fall on them. They looked, and saw them come With furious speed against the walls. In haste They cast a hurried earth-mound o'er the slain, For greatly trembled they to see their foes.
Then in their sore disquiet spake to them Polydamas, a wise and prudent chief:
"Friends, unendurably against us now Maddens the war. Go to, let us devise How we may find deliverance from our strait.
Still bide the Danaans here, still gather strength:
Now therefore let us man our stately towers, And thence withstand them, fighting night and day, Until yon Danaans weary, and return To Sparta, or, renownless lingering here Beside the wall, lose heart. No strength of theirs Shall breach the long walls, howsoe'er they strive, For in the imperishable work of Gods Weakness is none. Food, drink, we shall not lack, For in King Priam's gold-abounding halls Is stored abundant food, that shall suffice For many more than we, through many years, Though thrice so great a host at our desire Should gather, eager to maintain our cause."
Then chode with him Anchises' valiant son:
"Polydamas, wherefore do they call thee wise, Who biddest suffer endless tribulations Cooped within walls? Never, how long soe'er The Achaeans tarry here, will they lose heart;
But when they see us skulking from the field, More fiercely will press on. So ours shall be The sufferance, perishing in our native home, If for long season they beleaguer us.
No food, if we be pent within our walls, Shall Thebe send us, nor Maeonia wine, But wretchedly by famine shall we die, Though the great wall stand firm. Nay, though our lot Should be to escape that evil death and doom, And not by famine miserably to die;
Yet rather let us fight in armour clad For children and grey fathers! Haply Zeus Will help us yet; of his high blood are we.
Nay, even though we be abhorred of him, Better straightway to perish gloriously Fighting unto the last for fatherland, Than die a death of lingering agony!"
Shouted they all who heard that gallant rede.
Swiftly with helms and shields and spears they stood In close array. The eyes of mighty Zeus From heaven beheld the Trojans armed for fight Against the Danaans: then did he awake Courage in these and those, that there might be Strain of unflinching fight 'twixt host and host.
That day was Paris doomed, for Helen's sake Fighting, by Philoctetes' hands to die.
To one place Strife incarnate drew them all, The fearful Battle-queen, beheld of none, But cloaked in clouds blood-raining: on she stalked Swelling the mighty roar of battle, now Rushed through Troy's squadrons, through Achaea's now;
Panic and Fear still waited on her steps To make their father's sister glorious.
From small to huge that Fury's stature grew;
Her arms of adamant were blood-besprent, The deadly lance she brandished reached the sky.
Earth quaked beneath her feet: dread blasts of fire Flamed from her mouth: her voice pealed thunder-like Kindling strong men. Swift closed the fronts of fight Drawn by a dread Power to the mighty work.
Loud as the shriek of winds that madly blow In early spring, when the tall woodland trees Put forth their leaves -- loud as the roar of fire Blazing through sun-scorched brakes -- loud as the voice Of many waters, when the wide sea raves Beneath the howling blast, with thunderous crash Of waves, when shake the fearful shipman's knees;
So thundered earth beneath their charging feet.
Strife swooped on them: foe hurled himself on foe.
First did Aeneas of the Danaans slay Harpalion, Arizelus' scion, born In far Boeotia of Amphinome, Who came to Troy to help the Argive men With godlike Prothoenor. 'Neath his waist Aeneas stabbed, and reft sweet life from him.
Dead upon him he cast Thersander's son, For the barbed javelin pierced through Hyllus' throat Whom Arethusa by Lethaeus bare In Crete: sore grieved Idomeneus for his fall.
By this Peleides' son had swiftly slain Twelve Trojan warriors with his father's spear.
First Cebrus fell, Harmon, Pasitheus then, Hysminus, Schedius, and Imbrasius, Phleges, Mnesaeus, Ennomus, Amphinous, Phasis, Galenus last, who had his home By Gargarus' steep -- a mighty warrior he Among Troy's mighties: with a countless host To Troy he came: for Priam Dardanus' son Promised him many gifts and passing fair.
Ah fool! his own doom never he foresaw, Whose weird was suddenly to fall in fight Ere he bore home King Priam's glorious gifts.
Doom the Destroyer against the Argives sped Valiant Aeneas' friend, Eurymenes.
Wild courage spurred him on, that he might slay Many -- and then fill death's cup for himself.
Man after man he slew like some fierce beast, And foes shrank from the terrible rage that burned On his life's verge, nor reeked of imminent doom.
Yea, peerless deeds in that fight had he done, Had not his hands grown weary, his spear-head Bent utterly: his sword availed him not, Snapped at the hilt by Fate. Then Meges' dart Smote 'neath his ribs; blood spurted from his mouth, And in death's agony Doom stood at his side.
Even as he fell, Epeius' henchmen twain, Deileon and Amphion, rushed to strip His armour; but Aeneas brave and strong Chilled their hot hearts in death beside the dead.
As one in latter summer 'mid his vines Kills wasps that dart about his ripening grapes, And so, ere they may taste the fruit, they die;
So smote he them, ere they could seize the arms.
Menon and Amphinous Tydeides slew, Both goodly men. Paris slew Hippasus' son Demoleon, who in Laconia's land Beside the outfall of Eurotas dwelt, The stream deep-flowing, and to Troy he came With Menelaus. Under his right breast The shaft of Paris smote him unto death, Driving his soul forth like a scattering breath.
