With my sons would I die, and so forget Anguish and horror of war. Oh that thy sire Had slain me, ere mine eyes beheld aflame Illium, had slain me when I brought to him Ransom for Hector, whom thy father slew.
He spared me -- so the Fates had spun my thread Of destiny. But thou, glut with my blood Thy fierce heart, and let me forget my pain."
Answered Achilles' battle-eager son:
"Fain am I, yea, in haste to grant thy prayer.
A foe like thee will I not leave alive;
For naught is dearer unto men than life."
With one stroke swept he off that hoary head Lightly as when a reaper lops an ear In a parched cornfield at the harvest-tide.
With lips yet murmuring low it rolled afar From where with quivering limbs the body lay Amidst dark-purple blood and slaughtered men.
So lay he, chiefest once of all the world In lineage, wealth, in many and goodly sons.
Ah me, not long abides the honour of man, But shame from unseen ambush leaps on him So clutched him Doom, so he forgat his woes.
Yea, also did those Danaan car-lords hurl From a high tower the babe Astyanax, Dashing him out of life. They tore the child Out of his mother's arms, in wrathful hate Of Hector, who in life had dealt to them Such havoc; therefore hated they his seed, And down from that high rampart flung his child -- A wordless babe that nothing knew of war!
As when amid the mountains hungry wolves Chase from the mother's side a suckling calf, And with malignant cunning drive it o'er An echoing cliffs edge, while runs to and fro Its dam with long moans mourning her dear child, And a new evil followeth hard on her, For suddenly lions seize her for a prey;
So, as she agonized for her son, the foe To bondage haled with other captive thralls That shrieking daughter of King Eetion.
Then, as on those three fearful deaths she thought Of husband, child, and father, Andromaehe Longed sore to die. Yea, for the royally-born Better it is to die in war, than do The service of the thrall to baser folk.
All piteously the broken-hearted cried:
"Oh hurl my body also from the wall, Or down the cliff, or cast me midst the fire, Ye Argives! Woes are mine unutterable!
For Peleus' son smote down my noble father In Thebe, and in Troy mine husband slew, Who unto me was all mine heart's desire, Who left me in mine halls one little child, My darling and my pride -- of all mine hopes In him fell merciless Fate hath cheated me!
Oh therefore thrust this broken-hearted one Now out of life! Hale me not overseas Mingled with spear-thralls; for my soul henceforth Hath no more pleasure in life, since God hath slain My nearest and my dearest! For me waits Trouble and anguish and lone homelessness!"
So cried she, longing for the grave; for vile Is life to them whose glory is swallowed up Of shame: a horror is the scorn of men.
But, spite her prayers, to thraldom dragged they her.
In all the homes of Troy lay dying men, And rose from all a lamentable cry, Save only Antenor's halls; for unto him The Argives rendered hospitality's debt, For that in time past had his roof received And sheltered godlike Menelaus, when He with Odysseus came to claim his own.
Therefore the mighty sons of Achaea showed Grace to him, as to a friend, and spared his life And substance, fearing Themis who seeth all.
Then also princely Anchises' noble son -- Hard had he fought through Priam's burg that night With spear and valour, and many had he slain -- When now he saw the city set aflame By hands of foes, saw her folk perishing In multitudes, her treasures spoiled, her wives And children dragged to thraldom from their homes, No more he hoped to see the stately walls Of his birth-city, but bethought him now How from that mighty ruin to escape.
And as the helmsman of a ship, who toils On the deep sea, and matches all his craft Against the winds and waves from every side Rushing against him in the stormy time, Forspent at last, both hand and heart, when now The ship is foundering in the surge, forsakes The helm, to launch forth in a little boat, And heeds no longer ship and lading; so Anchises' gallant son forsook the town And left her to her foes, a sea of fire.
His son and father alone he snatched from death;
The old man broken down with years he set On his broad shoulders with his own strong hands, And led the young child by his small soft hand, Whose little footsteps lightly touched the ground;
And, as he quaked to see that work of deaths His father led him through the roar of fight, And clinging hung on him the tender child, Tears down his soft cheeks streaming. But the man O'er many a body sprang with hurrying feet, And in the darkness in his own despite Trampled on many. Cypris guided them, Earnest to save from that wild ruin her son, His father, and his child. As on he pressed, The flames gave back before him everywhere:
The blast of the Fire-god's breath to right and left Was cloven asunder. Spears and javelins hurled Against him by the Achaeans harmless fell.
Also, to stay them, Calchas cried aloud:
"Forbear against Aeneas' noble head To hurl the bitter dart, the deadly spear!
Fated he is by the high Gods' decree To pass from Xanthus, and by Tiber's flood To found a city holy and glorious Through all time, and to rule o'er tribes of men Far-sundered. Of his seed shall lords of earth Rule from the rising to the setting sun.
Yea, with the Immortals ever shall he dwell, Who is son of Aphrodite lovely-tressed.
From him too is it meet we hold our hands Because he hath preferred his father and son To gold, to all things that might profit a man Who fleeth exiled to an alien land.
This one night hath revealed to us a man Faithful to death to his father and his child."
Then hearkened they, and as a God did all Look on him. Forth the city hasted he Whither his feet should bear him, while the foe Made havoc still of goodly-builded Troy.
Then also Menelaus in Helen's bower Found, heavy with wine, ill-starred Deiphobus, And slew him with the sword: but she had fled And hidden her in the palace. O'er the blood Of that slain man exulted he, and cried:
