Then turned to flight his comrades panic-struck, And of his arms the Myrmidons stripped the dead, While fled the Trojans, and Achilles chased, As whirlwind swift and mighty to destroy.
Then groaned the Dawn, and palled herself in clouds, And earth was darkened. At their mother's hest All the light Breathings of the Dawn took hands, And slid down one 1ong stream of sighing wind To Priam's plain, and floated round the dead, And softly, swiftly caught they up, and bare Through silver mists the Dawn-queen's son, with hearts Sore aching for their brother's fall, while moaned Around them all the air. As on they passed, Fell many blood-gouts from those pierced limbs Down to the earth, and these were made a sign To generations yet to be. The Gods Gathered them up from many lands, and made Thereof a far-resounding river, named Of all that dwell beneath long Ida's flanks Paphlagoneion. As its waters flow 'Twixt fertile acres, once a year they turn To blood, when comes the woeful day whereon Died Memnon. Thence a sick and choking reek Steams: thou wouldst say that from a wound unhealed Corrupting humours breathed an evil stench.
Ay, so the Gods ordained: but now flew on Bearing Dawn's mighty son the rushing winds Skimming earth's face and palled about with night.
Nor were his Aethiopian comrades left To wander of their King forlorn: a God Suddenly winged those eager souls with speed Such as should soon be theirs for ever, changed To flying fowl, the children of the air.
Wailing their King in the winds' track they sped.
As when a hunter mid the forest-brakes Is by a boar or grim-jawed lion slain, And now his sorrowing friends take up the corse, And bear it heavy-hearted; and the hounds Follow low-whimpering, pining for their lord In that disastrous hunting lost; so they Left far behind that stricken field of blood, And fast they followed after those swift winds With multitudinous moaning, veiled in mist Unearthly. Trojans over all the plain And Danaans marvelled, seeing that great host Vanishing with their King. All hearts stood still In dumb amazement. But the tireless winds Sighing set hero Memnon's giant corpse Down by the deep flow of Aesopus' stream, Where is a fair grove of the bright-haired Nymphs, The which round his long barrow afterward Aesopus' daughters planted, screening it With many and manifold trees: and long and loud Wailed those Immortals, chanting his renown, The son of the Dawn-goddess splendour-throned.
Now sank the sun: the Lady of the Morn Wailing her dear child from the heavens came down.
Twelve maidens shining-tressed attended her, The warders of the high paths of the sun For ever circling, warders of the night And dawn, and each world-ordinance framed of Zeus, Around whose mansion's everlasting doors From east to west they dance, from west to east, Whirling the wheels of harvest-laden years, While rolls the endless round of winter's cold, And flowery spring, and lovely summer-tide, And heavy-clustered autumn. These came down From heaven, for Memnon wailing wild and high;
And mourned with these the Pleiads. Echoed round Far-stretching mountains, and Aesopus' stream.
Ceaseless uprose the keen, and in their midst, Fallen on her son and clasping, wailed the Dawn;
