So here, so there the Trojan women wailed, Some starting from their sleep, some to the ground Leaping: they thought not in that agony Of robe and zone; in naught but tunics clad Distraught they wandered: others found nor veil Nor cloak to cast about them, but, as came Onward their foes, they stood with beating hearts Trembling, as lettered by despair, essaying, All-hapless, with their hands alone to hide Their nakedness. And some in frenzy of woe:
Their tresses tore, and beat their breasts, and screamed.
Others against that stormy torrent of foes Recklessly rushed, insensible of fear, Through mad desire to aid the perishing, Husbands or children; for despair had given High courage. Shrieks had startled from their sleep Soft little babes whose hearts had never known Trouble -- and there one with another lay Gasping their lives out! Some there were whose dreams Changed to a sudden vision of doom. All round The fell Fates gloated horribly o'er the slain.
And even as swine be slaughtered in the court Of a rich king who makes his folk a feast, So without number were they slain. The wine Left in the mixing-bowls was blent with blood Gruesomely. No man bare a sword unstained With murder of defenceless folk of Troy, Though he were but a weakling in fair fight.
And as by wolves or jackals sheep are torn, What time the furnace-breath of midnoon-heat Darts down, and all the flock beneath the shade Are crowded, and the shepherd is not there, But to the homestead bears afar their milk;
And the fierce brutes leap on them, tear their throats, Gorge to the full their ravenous maws, and then Lap the dark blood, and linger still to slay All in mere lust of slaughter, and provide An evil banquet for that shepherd-lord;
So through the city of Priam Danaans slew One after other in that last fight of all.
No Trojan there was woundless, all men's limbs With blood in torrents spilt were darkly dashed.
Nor seetheless were the Danaans in the fray:
With beakers some were smitten, with tables some, Thrust in the eyes of some were burning brands Snatched from the hearth; some died transfixed with spits Yet left within the hot flesh of the swine Whereon the red breath of the Fire-god beat;
Others struck down by bills and axes keen Gasped in their blood: from some men's hands were shorn The fingers, who, in wild hope to escape The imminent death, had clutched the blades of swords.
And here in that dark tumult one had hurled A stone, and crushed the crown of a friend's head.
Like wild beasts trapped and stabbed within a fold On a lone steading, frenziedly they fought, Mad with despair-enkindled rage, beneath That night of horror. Hot with battle-lust Here, there, the fighters rushed and hurried through The palace of Priam. Many an Argive fell Spear-slain; for whatso Trojan in his halls Might seize a sword, might lift a spear in hand, Slew foes -- ay, heavy though he were with wine.
Upflashed a glare unearthly through the town, For many an Argive bare in hand a torch To know in that dim battle friends from foes.
Then Tydeus' son amid the war-storm met Spearman Coroebus, lordly Mygdon's son, And 'neath the left ribs pierced him with the lance Where run the life-ways of man's meat and drink;
So met him black death borne upon the spear:
Down in dark blood he fell mid hosts of slain.
Ah fool! the bride he won not, Priam's child Cassandra, yea, his loveliest, for whose sake To Priam's burg but yesterday he came, And vaunted he would thrust the Argives back From Ilium. Never did the Gods fulfil His hope: the Fates hurled doom upon his head.
With him the slayer laid Eurydamas low, Antenor's gallant son-in-law, who most For prudence was pre-eminent in Troy.
Then met he Ilioneus the elder of days, And flashed his terrible sword forth. All the limbs Of that grey sire were palsied with his fear:
He put forth trembling hands, with one he caught The swift avenging sword, with one he clasped The hero's knees. Despite his fury of war, A moment paused his wrath, or haply a God Held back the sword a space, that that old man Might speak to his fierce foe one word of prayer.
Piteously cried he, terror-overwhelmed:
"I kneel before thee, whosoe'er thou be Of mighty Argives. Oh compassionate My suppliant hands! Abate thy wrath! To slay The young and valiant is a glorious thing;
But if thou smite an old man, small renown Waits on thy prowess. Therefore turn from me Thine hands against young men, if thou dost hope Ever to come to grey hairs such as mine."
So spake he; but replied strong Tydeus' son:
"Old man, I look to attain to honoured age;
But while my Strength yet waxeth, will not I Spare any foe, but hurl to Hades all.
The brave man makes an end of every foe."
Then through his throat that terrible warrior drave The deadly blade, and thrust it straight to where The paths of man's life lead by swiftest way Blood-paved to doom: death palsied his poor strength By Diomedes' hands. Thence rushed he on Slaying the Trojans, storming in his might All through their fortress: pierced by his long spear Eurycoon fell, Perimnestor's son renowned.
Amphimedon Aias slew: Agamemnon smote Damastor's son: Idomeneus struck down Mimas: by Meges Deiopites died.
Achilles' son with his resistless lance Smote godlike Pammon; then his javelin pierced Polites in mid-rush: Antiphonus Dead upon these he laid, all Priam's sons.
Agenor faced him in the fight, and fell:
Hero on hero slew he; everywhere Stalked at his side Death's black doom manifest:
Clad in his sire's might, whomso he met he slew.
Last, on Troy's king in murderous mood he came.
By Zeus the Hearth-lord's altar. Seeing him, Old Priam knew him and quaked not; for he longed Himself to lay his life down midst his sons;
And craving death to Achilles' seed he spake:
"Fierce-hearted son of Achilles strong in war, Slay me, and pity not my misery.
I have no will to see the sun's light more, Who have suffered woes so many and so dread.
