"Achilles, all the air about mine ears Is full of multitudinous eries, is full Of thunder of battle rolling nearer aye.
Let us go forth then, ere the Trojans win Unto the ships, and make great slaughter there Of Argive men, and set the ships aflame.
Foulest reproach such thing on thee and me Should bring; for it beseems not that the seed Of mighty Zeus should shame the sacred blood Of hero-fathers, who themselves of old With Hercules the battle-eager sailed To Troy, and smote her even at her height Of glory, when Laomedon was king.
Ay, and I ween that our hands even now Shall do the like: we too are mighty men."
He spake: the aweless strength of Aeacus' son Hearkened thereto, for also to his ears By this the roar of bitter battle came.
Then hasted both, and donned their warrior-gear All splendour-gleaming: now, in these arrayed Facing that stormy-tossing rout they stand.
Loud clashed their glorious armour: in their souls A battle-fury like the War-god's wrath Maddened; such might was breathed into these twain By Atrytone, Shaker of the Shield, As on they pressed. With joy the Argives saw The coming of that mighty twain: they seemed In semblance like A1oeus' giant sons Who in the old time made that haughty vaunt Of piling on Olympus' brow the height Of Ossa steeply-towering, and the crest Of sky-encountering Pelion, so to rear A mountain-stair for their rebellious rage To scale the highest heaven. Huge as these The sons of Aeacus seemed, as forth they strode To stem the tide of war. A gladsome sight To friends who have fainted for their coming, now Onward they press to crush triumphant foes.
Many they slew with their resistless spears;
As when two herd-destroying lions come On sheep amid the copses feeding, far From help of shepherds, and in heaps on heaps Slay them, till they have drunken to the full Of blood, and filled their maws insatiate With flesh, so those destroyers twain slew on, Spreading wide havoc through the hosts of Troy.
There Deiochus and gallant Hyllus fell By Alas slain, and fell Eurynomus Lover of war, and goodly Enyeus died.
But Peleus' son burst on the Amazons Smiting Antandre, Polemusa then, Antibrote, fierce-souled Hippothoe, Hurling Harmothoe down on sisters slain.
Then hard on all their-reeling ranks he pressed With Telamon's mighty-hearted son; and now Before their hands battalions dense and strong Crumbled as weakly and as suddenly As when in mountain-folds the forest-brakes Shrivel before a tempest-driven fire.
When battle-eager Penthesileia saw These twain, as through the scourging storm of war Like ravening beasts they rushed, to meet them there She sped, as when a leopard grim, whose mood Is deadly, leaps from forest-coverts forth, Lashing her tail, on hunters closing round, While these, in armour clad, and putting trust In their long spears, await her lightning leap;
So did those warriors twain with spears upswung Wait Penthesileia. Clanged the brazen plates About their shoulders as they moved. And first Leapt the long-shafted lance sped from the hand Of goodly Penthesileia. Straight it flew To the shield of Aeacus' son, but glancing thence This way and that the shivered fragments sprang As from a rock-face: of such temper were The cunning-hearted Fire-god's gifts divine.
Then in her hand the warrior-maid swung up A second javelin fury-winged, against Aias, and with fierce words defied the twain:
"Ha, from mine hand in vain one lance hath leapt!
But with this second look I suddenly To quell the strength and courage of two foes, -- Ay, though ye vaunt you mighty men of war Amid your Danaans! Die ye shall, and so Lighter shall be the load of war's affliction That lies upon the Trojan chariot-lords.
Draw nigh, come through the press to grips with me, So shall ye learn what might wells up in breasts Of Amazons. With my blood is mingled war!
No mortal man begat me, but the Lord Of War, insatiate of the battle-cry.
Therefore my might is more than any man's."
With scornful laughter spake she: then she hurled Her second lance; but they in utter scorn Laughed now, as swiftly flew the shaft, and smote The silver greave of Aias, and was foiled Thereby, and all its fury could not scar The flesh within; for fate had ordered not That any blade of foes should taste the blood Of Aias in the bitter war. But he Recked of the Amazon naught, but turned him thence To rush upon the Trojan host, and left Penthesileia unto Peleus' son Alone, for well he knew his heart within That she, for all her prowess, none the less Would cost Achilles battle-toil as light, As effortless, as doth the dove the hawk.
Then groaned she an angry groan that she had sped Her shafts in vain; and now with scoffing speech To her in turn the son of Peleus spake:
"Woman, with what vain vauntings triumphing Hast thou come forth against us, all athirst To battle with us, who be mightier far Than earthborn heroes? We from Cronos' Son, The Thunder-roller, boast our high descent.
Ay, even Hector quailed, the battle-swift, Before us, e'en though far away he saw Our onrush to grim battle. Yea, my spear Slew him, for all his might. But thou -- thine heart Is utterly mad, that thou hast greatly dared To threaten us with death this day! On thee Thy latest hour shall swiftly come -- is come!
Thee not thy sire the War-god now shall pluck Out of mine hand, but thou the debt shalt pay Of a dark doom, as when mid mountain-folds A pricket meets a lion, waster of herds.
What, woman, hast thou heard not of the heaps Of slain, that into Xanthus' rushing stream Were thrust by these mine hands? -- or hast thou heard In vain, because the Blessed Ones have stol'n Wit and discretion from thee, to the end That Doom's relentless gulf might gape for thee?"
He spake; he swung up in his mighty hand And sped the long spear warrior-slaying, wrought By Chiron, and above the right breast pierced The battle-eager maid. The red blood leapt Forth, as a fountain wells, and all at once Fainted the strength of Penthesileia's limbs;
Dropped the great battle-axe from her nerveless hand;
