None would name fool the father who essayed, Battling with foes for his son's sake, to thrust The ruthless slayer back from that dear corpse, But ah that yet my strength were whole in me, That thou might'st know my spear! Now canst thou vaunt Proudly enow: a young man's heart is bold And light his wit. Uplifted is thy soul And vain thy speech. If in my strength of youth Thou hadst met me -- ha, thy friends had not rejoiced, For all thy might! But me the grievous weight Of age bows down, like an old lion whom A cur may boldly drive back from the fold, For that he cannot, in his wrath's despite, Maintain his own cause, being toothless now, And strengthless, and his strong heart tamed by time.
So well the springs of olden strength no more Now in my breast. Yet am I stronger still Than many men; my grey hairs yield to few That have within them all the strength of youth."
So drew he back a little space, and left Lying in dust his son, since now no more Lived in the once lithe limbs the olden strength, For the years' weight lay heavy on his head.
Back leapt Thrasymedes likewise, spearman good, And battle-eager Phereus, and the rest Their comrades; for that slaughter-dealing man Pressed hard on them. As when from mountains high A shouting river with wide-echoing din Sweeps down its fathomless whirlpools through the gloom, When God with tumult of a mighty storm Hath palled the sky in cloud from verge to verge, When thunders crash all round, when thick and fast Gleam lightnings from the huddling clouds, when fields Are flooded as the hissing rain descends, And all the air is filled with awful roar Of torrents pouring down the hill-ravines;
So Memnon toward the shores of Hellespont Before him hurled the Argives, following hard Behind them, slaughtering ever. Many a man Fell in the dust, and left his life in blood 'Neath Aethiop hands. Stained was the earth with gore As Danaans died. Exulted Memnon's soul As on the ranks of foemen ever he rushed, And heaped with dead was all the plain of Troy.
And still from fight refrained he not; he hoped To be a light of safety unto Troy And bane to Danaans. But all the while Stood baleful Doom beside him, and spurred on To strife, with flattering smile. To right, to left His stalwart helpers wrought in battle-toil, Alcyoneus and Nychius, and the son Of Asius furious-souled; Meneclus' spear, Clydon and Alexippus, yea, a host Eager to chase the foe, men who in fight Quit them like men, exulting in their king.
Then, as Meneclus on the Danaans charged, The son of Neleus slew him. Wroth for his friend, Whole throngs of foes fierce-hearted Memnon slew.
As when a hunter midst the mountains drives Swift deer within the dark lines of his toils -- The eager ring of beaters closing in Presses the huddled throng into the snares Of death: the dogs are wild with joy of the chase Ceaselessly giving tongue, the while his darts Leap winged with death on brocket and on hind;
So Memnon slew and ever slew: his men Rejoiced, the while in panic stricken rout Before that glorious man the Argives fled.
As when from a steep mountain's precipice-brow Leaps a huge crag, which all-resistless Zeus By stroke of thunderbolt hath hurled from the crest;
Crash oakwood copses, echo long ravines, Shudders the forest to its rattle and roar, And flocks therein and herds and wild things flee Scattering, as bounding, whirling, it descends With deadly pitiless onrush; so his foes Fled from the lightning-flash of Memnon's spear.
Then to the side of Aeacus' mighty son Came Nestor. Anguished for his son he cried:
"Achilles, thou great bulwark of the Greeks, Slain is my child! The armour of my dead Hath Memnon, and I fear me lest his corse Be cast a prey to dogs. Haste to his help!
True friend is he who still remembereth A friend though slain, and grieves for one no more."
Achilles heard; his heart was thrilled with grief:
He glanced across the rolling battle, saw Memnon, saw where in throngs the Argives fell Beneath his spear. Forthright he turned away From where the rifted ranks of Troy fell fast Before his hands, and, thirsting for the fight, Wroth for Antilochus and the others slain, Came face to face with Memnon. In his hands That godlike hero caught up from the ground A stone, a boundary-mark 'twixt fields of wheat, And hurled. Down on the shield of Peleus' son It crashed. But he, the invincible, shrank not Before the huge rock-shard, but, thrusting out His long lance, rushed to close with him, afoot, For his steeds stayed behind the battle-rout.
On the right shoulder above the shield he smote And staggered him; but he, despite the wound, Fought on with heart unquailing. Swiftly he thrust And pricked with his strong spear Achilles' arm.
Forth gushed the blood: rejoicing with vain joy To Aeacus' son with arrogant words he cried:
"Now shalt thou in thy death fill up, I trow, Thy dark doom, overmastered by mine hands.
Thou shalt not from this fray escape alive!
Fool, wherefore hast thou ruthlessly destroyed Trojans, and vaunted thee the mightiest man Of men, a deathless Nereid's son? Ha, now Thy doom hath found thee! Of birth divine am I, The Dawn-queen's mighty son, nurtured afar By lily-slender Hesperid Maids, beside The Ocean-river. Therefore not from thee Nor from grim battle shrink I, knowing well How far my goddess-mother doth transcend A Nereid, whose child thou vauntest thee.
To Gods and men my mother bringeth light;
On her depends the issue of all things, Works great and glorious in Olympus wrought Whereof comes blessing unto men. But thine -- She sits in barren crypts of brine: she dwells Glorying mid dumb sea-monsters and mid fish, Deedless, unseen! Nothing I reck of her, Nor rank her with the immortal Heavenly Ones."
In stern rebuke spake Aeacus' aweless son:
"Memnon, how wast thou so distraught of wit That thou shouldst face me, and to fight defy Me, who in might, in blood, in stature far Surpass thee? From supremest Zeus I trace My glorious birth; and from the strong Sea-god Nereus, begetter of the Maids of the Sea, The Nereids, honoured of the Olympian Gods.
