He spake, and tore the long lance from the corse,While shrank the Trojans back in dread, at sightOf that strong-hearted man. Straightway he strippedThe armour from the dead, for friends to bearFast to the ships Achaean. But himselfTo the swift chariot and the tireless steedsSprang, and sped onward like a thunderboltThat lightning-girdled leaps through the wide airFrom Zeus's hands unconquerable -- the boltBefore whose downrush all the Immortals quailSave only Zeus. It rusheth down to earth,It rendeth trees and rugged mountain-crags;So rushed he on the Trojans, flashing doomBefore their eyes; dashed to the earth they fellBefore the charge of those immortal steeds:The earth was heaped with slain, was dyed with gore.As when in mountain-glens the unnumbered leavesDown-streaming thick and fast hide all the ground,So hosts of Troy untold on earth were strewnBy Neoptolemus and fierce-hearted Greeks,Shed by whose hands the blood in torrents ran'Neath feet of men and horses. Chariot-railsWere dashed with blood-spray whirled up from the tyres.Now had the Trojans fled within their gatesAs calves that flee a lion, or as swineFlee from a storm -- but murderous Ares came,Unmarked of other Gods, down from the heavens,Eager to help the warrior sons of Troy.Red-fire and Flame, Tumult and Panic-fear,His car-steeds, bare him down into the fight,The coursers which to roaring BoreasGrim-eyed Erinnys bare, coursers that breathedLife-blasting flame: groaned all the shivering air,As battleward they sped. Swiftly he cameTo Troy: loud rang the earth beneath the feetOf that wild team. Into the battle's heartTossing his massy spear, he came; with a shoutHe cheered the Trojans on to face the foe.They heard, and marvelled at that wondrous cry,Not seeing the God's immortal form, nor steeds,Veiled in dense mist. But the wise prophet-soulOf Helenus knew the voice divine that leaptUnto the Trojans' ears, they knew not whence,And with glad heart to the fleeing host he cried:"O cravens, wherefore fear Achilles' son,Though ne'er so brave? He is mortal even as we;His strength is not as Ares' strength, who is comeA very present help in our sore need.That was his shout far-pealing, bidding usFight on against the Argives. Let your heartsBe strong, O friends: let courage fill your breasts.No mightier battle-helper can draw nighTo Troy than he. Who is of more availFor war than Ares, when he aideth menHard-fighting? Lo, to our help he cometh now!On to the fight! Cast to the winds your fears!"They fled no more, they faced the Argive men,As hounds, that mid the copses fled at first,Turn them about to face and fight the wolf,Spurred by the chiding of their shepherd-lord;So turned the sons of Troy again to war,Casting away their fear. Man leapt on manValiantly fighting; loud their armour clashedSmitten with swords, with lances, and with darts.Spears plunged into men's flesh: dread Ares drankHis fill of blood: struck down fell man on man,As Greek and Trojan fought. In level poiseThe battle-balance hung. As when young menIn hot haste prune a vineyard with the steel,And each keeps pace with each in rivalry,Since all in strength and age be equal-matched;So did the awful scales of battle hangLevel: all Trojan hearts beat high, and firmStood they in trust on aweless Ares' might,While the Greeks trusted in Achilles' son.Ever they slew and slew: stalked through the midstDeadly Enyo, her shoulders and her handsBlood-splashed, while fearful sweat streamed from her limbs.Revelling in equal fight, she aided none,Lest Thetis' or the War-god's wrath be stirred.Then Neoptolemus slew one far-renowned,Perimedes, who had dwelt by Smintheus' grove;Next Cestrus died, Phalerus battle-staunch,Perilaus the strong, Menalcas lord of spears,Whom Iphianassa bare by the haunted footOf Cilla to the cunning craftsman Medon.In the home-land afar the sire abode,And never kissed his son's returning head:For that fair home and all his cunning worksDid far-off kinsmen wrangle o'er his grave.Deiphobus slew Lycon battle-staunch:The lance-head pierced him close above the groin,And round the long spear all his bowels gushed out.Aeneas smote down Dymas, who erewhileIn Aulis dwelt, and followed unto TroyArcesilaus, and saw never moreThe dear home-land. Euryalus hurled a dart,And through Astraeus' breast the death-winged pointFlew, shearing through the breathways of man's life;And all that lay within was drenched with blood.And hard thereby great-souled Agenor slewHippomenes, hero Teucer's comrade staunch,With one swift thrust 'twixt shoulder and neck: his soulRushed forth in blood; death's night swept over him.Grief for his comrade slain on Teucer fell;He strained his bow, a swift-winged shaft he sped,But smote him not, for slightly Agenor swerved.Yet nigh him Deiophontes stood; the shaftInto his left eye plunged, passed through the ball,And out through his right ear, because the FatesWhither they willed thrust on the bitter barbs.Even as in agony he leapt full height,Yet once again the archer's arrow hissed:It pierced his throat, through the neck-sinews cleftUnswerving, and his hard doom came on him.So man to man dealt death; and joyed the FatesAnd Doom, and fell Strife in her maddened gleeShouted aloud, and Ares terriblyShouted in answer, and with courage thrilledThe Trojans, and with panic fear the Greeks,And shook their reeling squadrons. But one manHe scared not, even Achilles' son; he abode,And fought undaunted, slaying foes on foes.As when a young lad sweeps his hand aroundFlies swarming over milk, and nigh the bowlHere, there they lie, struck dead by that light touch,And gleefully the child still plies the work;So stern Achilles' glorious scion joyedOver the slain, and recked not of the GodWho spurred the Trojans on: man after manTasted his vengeance of their charging host.Even as a giant mountain-peak withstandsOn-rushing hurricane-blasts, so he abodeUnquailing. Ares at his eager moodGrew wroth, and would have cast his veil of cloudAway, and met him face to face in fight,But now Athena from Olympus swoopedTo forest-mantled Ida. Quaked the earthAnd Xanthus' murmuring streams; so mightilyShe shook them: terror-stricken were the soulsOf all the Nymphs, adread for Priam's town.From her immortal armour flashed aroundThe hovering lightnings; fearful serpents breathedFire from her shield invincible; the crestOf her great helmet swept the clouds. And nowShe was at point to close in sudden fightWith Ares; but the mighty will of ZeusDaunted them both, from high heaven thunderingHis terrors. Ares drew back from the war,For manifest to him was Zeus's wrath.To wintry Thrace he passed; his haughty heartReeked no more of the Trojans. In the plainOf Troy no more stayed Pallas; she was goneTo hallowed Athens. But the armies stillStrove in the deadly fray; and fainted nowThe Trojans' prowess; but all battle-fainThe Argives pressed on these as they gave ground.As winds chase ships that fly with straining sailsOn to the outsea -- as on forest-brakesLeapeth the fury of flame -- as swift hounds driveDeer through the mountains, eager for the prey,So did the Argives chase them: Achilles' sonStill cheered them on, still slew with that great spearWhomso he overtook. On, on they fledTill into stately-gated Troy they poured.Then had the Argives a short breathing-spaceFrom war, when they had penned the hosts of TroyIn Priam's burg, as shepherds pen up lambsUpon a lonely steading. And, as whenAfter hard strain, a breathing-space is givenTo oxen that, quick-panting 'neath the yoke,Up a steep hill have dragged a load, so breathedAwhile the Achaeans after toil in arms.Then once more hot for the fray did they besetThe city-towers. But now with gates fast barredThe Trojans from the walls withstood the assault.As when within their steading shepherd-folkAbide the lowering tempest, when a dayOf storm hath dawned, with fury of lightnings, rainAnd heavy-drifting snow, and dare not hasteForth to the pasture, howsoever fain,Till the great storm abate, and rivers, wideWith rushing floods, again be passable;So trembling on their walls they abode the rageOf foes against their ramparts surging fast.And as when daws or starlings drop in cloudsDown on an orchard-close, full fain to feastUpon its pleasant fruits, and take no heedOf men that shout to scare them thence away,Until the reckless hunger be appeasedThat makes them bold; so poured round Priam's burgThe furious Danaans. Against the gatesThey hurled themselves, they strove to batter downThe mighty-souled Earth-shaker's work divine.Yet did tim Troyfolk not, despite their fear,Flinch from the fight: they manned their towers, they toiledUnresting: ever from the fair-built wallsLeapt arrows, stones, and fleet-winged javelins downAmidst the thronging foes; for Phoebus thrilledTheir souls with steadfast hardihood. Fain was heTo save them still, though Hector was no more.Then Meriones shot forth a deadly shaft,And smote Phylodamas, Polites' friend,Beneath the jaw; the arrow pierced his throat.Down fell he like a vulture, from a rockBy fowler's barbed arrow shot and slain;So from the high tower swiftly down he fell:His life fled; clanged his armour o'er the corpse.With laughter of triumph stalwart Molus' sonA second arrow sped, with strong desireTo smite Polites, ill-starred Priam's son:But with a swift side-swerve did he escapeThe death, nor did the arrow touch his flesh.As when a shipman, as his bark flies onO'er sea-gulfs, spies amid the rushing tideA rock, and to escape it swiftly putsThe helm about, and turns aside the shipEven as he listeth, that a little strengthAverts a great disaster; so did heForesee and shun the deadly shaft of doom.Ever they fought on; walls, towers, battlementsWere blood-besprent, wherever Trojans fellSlain by the arrows of the stalwart Greeks.Yet these escaped not scatheless; many of themDyed the earth red: aye waxed the havoc of deathAs friends and foes were stricken. O'er the strifeShouted for glee Enyo, sister of War.Now had the Argives burst the gates, had breachedThe walls of Troy, for boundless was their might;But Ganymedes saw from heaven, and cried,Anguished with fear for his own fatherland:"O Father Zeus, if of thy seed I am,If at thine best I left far-famous TroyFor immortality with deathless Gods,O hear me now, whose soul is anguish-thrilled!I cannot bear to see my fathers' townIn flames, my kindred in disastrous strifeϊPerishing: bitterer sorrow is there none!Oh, if thine heart is fixed to do this thing,Let me be far hence! Less shall be my griefIf I behold it not with these mine eyes.That is the depth of horror and of shameTo see one's country wrecked by hands of foes."
Tears For Fears Mad World Torrent
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