My glory and his noble parents' glory Was he while yet he lived -- O that the earth Over my dead face had been mounded high, Or ever through his throat the breath of life Followed the cleaving spear! But now have I Looked -- woe is me! -- on grief unutterable, When round the city those fleet-footed steeds Haled him, steeds of Achilles, who had made Me widowed of mine hero-husband, made My portion bitterness through all my days."
So spake Eetion's lovely-ankled child Low to her own soul, thinking on her lord.
So evermore the faithful-hearted wife Nurseth for her lost love undying grief.
Then in swift revolution sweeping round Into the Ocean's deep stream sank the sun, And daylight died. So when the banqueters Ceased from the wine-cup and the goodly feast, Then did the handmaids spread in Priam's halls For Penthesileia dauntless-souled the couch Heart-cheering, and she laid her down to rest;
And slumber mist-like overveiled her eyes [depths Like sweet dew dropping round. From heavens' blue Slid down the might of a deceitful dream At Pallas' hest, that so the warrior-maid Might see it, and become a curse to Troy And to herself, when strained her soul to meet;
The whirlwind of the battle. In this wise The Trito-born, the subtle-souled, contrived:
Stood o'er the maiden's head that baleful dream In likeness of her father, kindling her Fearlessly front to front to meet in fight Fleetfoot Achilles. And she heard the voice, And all her heart exulted, for she weened That she should on that dawning day achieve A mighty deed in battle's deadly toil Ah, fool, who trusted for her sorrow a dream Out of the sunless land, such as beguiles Full oft the travail-burdened tribes of men, Whispering mocking lies in sleeping ears, And to the battle's travail lured her then!
But when the Dawn, the rosy-ankled, leapt Up from her bed, then, clad in mighty strength Of spirit, suddenly from her couch uprose Penthesileia. Then did she array Her shoulders in those wondrous-fashioned arms Given her of the War-god. First she laid Beneath her silver-gleaming knees the greaves Fashioned of gold, close-clipping the strong limbs.
Her rainbow-radiant corslet clasped she then About her, and around her shoulders slung, With glory in her heart, the massy brand Whose shining length was in a scabbard sheathed Of ivory and silver. Next, her shield Unearthly splendid, caught she up, whose rim Swelled like the young moon's arching chariot-rail When high o'er Ocean's fathomless-flowing stream She rises, with the space half filled with light Betwixt her bowing horns. So did it shine Unutterably fair. Then on her head She settled the bright helmet overstreamed With a wild mane of golden-glistering hairs.
So stood she, lapped about with flaming mail, In semblance like the lightning, which the might, The never-wearied might of Zeus, to earth Hurleth, what time he showeth forth to men Fury of thunderous-roaring rain, or swoop Resistless of his shouting host of winds.
Then in hot haste forth of her bower to pass Caught she two javelins in the hand that grasped Her shield-band; but her strong right hand laid hold On a huge halberd, sharp of either blade, Which terrible Eris gave to Ares' child To be her Titan weapon in the strife That raveneth souls of men. Laughing for glee Thereover, swiftly flashed she forth the ring Of towers. Her coming kindled all the sons Of Troy to rush into the battle forth Which crowneth men with glory. Swiftly all Hearkened her gathering-ery, and thronging came, Champions, yea, even such as theretofore Shrank back from standing in the ranks of war Against Achilles the all-ravager.
But she in pride of triumph on she rode Throned on a goodly steed and fleet, the gift Of Oreithyia, the wild North-wind's bride, Given to her guest the warrior-maid, what time She came to Thrace, a steed whose flying feet Could match the Harpies' wings. Riding thereon Penthesileia in her goodlihead Left the tall palaces of Troy behind.
And ever were the ghastly-visaged Fates Thrusting her on into the battle, doomed To be her first against the Greeks -- and last!
To right, to left, with unreturning feet The Trojan thousands followed to the fray, The pitiless fray, that death-doomed warrior-maid, Followed in throngs, as follow sheep the ram That by the shepherd's art strides before all.
So followed they, with battle-fury filled, Strong Trojans and wild-hearted Amazons.
And like Tritonis seemed she, as she went To meet the Giants, or as flasheth far Through war-hosts Eris, waker of onset-shouts.
So mighty in the Trojans' midst she seemed, Penthesileia of the flying feet.
Then unto Cronos' Son Laomedon's child Upraised his hands, his sorrow-burdened hands, Turning him toward the sky-encountering fane Of Zeus of Ida, who with sleepless eyes Looks ever down on Ilium; and he prayed:
"Father, give ear! Vouchsafe that on this day Achaea's host may fall before the hands Of this our warrior-queen, the War-god's child;
And do thou bring her back unscathed again Unto mine halls: we pray thee by the love Thou bear'st to Ares of the fiery heart Thy son, yea, to her also! is she not Most wondrous like the heavenly Goddesses?
And is she not the child of thine own seed?
Pity my stricken heart withal! Thou know'st All agonies I have suffered in the deaths Of dear sons whom the Fates have torn from me By Argive hands in the devouring fight.
Compassionate us, while a remnant yet Remains of noble Dardanus' blood, while yet This city stands unwasted! Let us know From ghastly slaughter and strife one breathing-space!"
In passionate prayer he spake: -- lo, with shrill scream Swiftly to left an eagle darted by And in his talons bare a gasping dove.
Then round the heart of Priam all the blood Was chilled with fear. Low to his soul he said:
"Ne'er shall I see return alive from war Penthesileia!" On that selfsame day The Fates prepared his boding to fulfil;
And his heart brake with anguish of despair.
