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Robert Laurence Binyon - Penthesilea
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I
The Coming Of The Amazons
 Dark in the noonday, dark as solemn pines,
 A circle of dark towers above the plain,
 Troy sat bereaved; her desolation seemed
 To have drawn slowly down in sultry drops
 The sky of gathered and contracted cloud,
 Hung silent, close as is a cavern roof,
 That deep in heavy forests, lost from day,
 Echoes the groans of a hurt lioness
 For her slain cubs; she fills her den with groans,
 Stretching her hoarse throat to the flinty floor;
 And with like lamentable echo, barred
 Within the great gates, dirge of women swelled
 Along the dark--door`d streets that lately shone
 With Hector`s splendour as he strode to war,
 Wailing for Hector fallen; upon towers
 Unchampioned men grasped idle spears and groaned.
 But in the heart of Troy dead silence dwelt.
 There to a temple, throned on a green mound,
 Andromache was stolen; there she bowed
 Her widowed forehead, pressed upon the strength
 Of a square pillar; not a sob, nor sigh
 Passed from her, but immovably inclined
 She waited yet expected nought; that hour
 Of grief was on her, when the exhausted flood
 Of passion ebbs, and the still shaken heart
 Hungers for staunching silence: then the touch
 Of patient cold stone is desired like bliss.
 So mourned Andromache, unmoved to know
 If earth that lacked her Hector, still endured,
 Absorbed into the vastness of a grief
 Only by its own majesty consoled.
 Crouched at her feet the child Astyanax
 Played on the slabbed floor with the creviced dust,
 Or followed with soft parted lips and eyes
 Bemused, the foiled flight of a swallow`s wings
 That, strayed within, sighed swiftly up and down
 The temple gloom; there was no other stir
 In that hushed place of stone, while the slow day
 Declining moved the sullen cope of heaven
 With westering breezes; under brooding cloud
 Light newly trembled; looking up, the boy
 Saw wide sheen in the portico that laid
 Long shadows from the pillars. It was then
 A faint and clear sound in the distance rose,
 He knew not what, but wondered, as full soon
 Troy seemed to stir and waken; it drew nigh
 Up the steep street, a noise of horses` hooves
 Numerous and gallant with the ring of arms.
 He rose up, and on soft feet tripping stole
 To the porch--pillars, looked forth, and returned
 Bright--eyed, back to his mother; thrice he twitched
 Her robe, ere she perceived; then slow she turned
 Her face down on him; bending so, she changed
 As a sky changes when the unmuffled moon
 Steals tender over April`s vanished rain;
 And love, older than sorrow, filled her eyes
 A mother`s, not a widow`s now. With awe
 In his quick voice the boy cried, ``Mother, come!
 The Goddesses ride up to fight for us.``
 Andromache smiled on him; though she heard,
 Scarce sought to understand; and yet it seemed
 Those soft lips brought an answer from afar
 As oracle or dream to her sad soul,
 That long had waited; she too heard that sound,
 And as impetuous freshet in the spring
 Breaks on a stagnant stream, the bright blood--warm
 Extravagance of hope shot like a pain
 Through her dulled body; then her heart recoiled
 On doubt and trembled, though the noise now near,
 Mingled with cries and swarm of running feet,
 Drew her steps on; beside her pressed the boy
 Exchanging wonder with his mother`s eyes,
 Till on one knee she dropt, and holding him
 In jealous--clasping arms close to her breast
 Looked to the door; now thronging heads appeared
 Beneath the temple steps; and they beheld
 Framed in the wide porch men and women pass,
 And over them, proceeding proud and fair,
 Like goddesses indeed, a wondrous troop
 That glorified the sunlight as they rode
 With easy hips bestriding their tall steeds,
 Whose necks shone as they turned this way and that,
 Bold riders on bold horses; light mail--coats
 They wore upon loose tunics, over which
 Where to the throat the stormy bosom swelled
 A virgin shoulder gleamed; for now the fire
 Of evening, struck back from the temple wall,
 Burned ardent hues upon them, moving past
 Untamable as their own steeds that moved
 With them, and beautiful with ice--bright eyes,
 Glancing around them strange, and tossing hair;
 Flashed upon bronze bits of the horses, flamed
 Along smooth brown wood of their javelin--shafts
 To the bright points, and radiantly repelled
 From hilt and helm, glowed changing upon shields
 Like moons in August, like a hundred moons
 Of moving brilliance; scarves of coral red
 Blown from the baldric, trembled like the fire
 In eyes that kindled the beholder`s soul
 To presage of what fury these fierce queens
 Should madden with, when they were loosed to dance
 The dance of battle, matched with men or gods,
 Wild as the white brooks when they leap and shout
 In tumult, tossing down the wintry hills.
 So filled with wonder the thronged faces saw
 Those terrible and lovely huntresses,
 Mid whom one rode yet queenlier than the rest,
 With steadfast eyes superb; a spirit crowned
 She seemed, the votaress of some far desire;
 She turned not like the others, but rode on
 Like one that follows a star fixt in heaven,
 Fixt as her thought is; whom beholding now
 Mourning Andromache with closer arms
 Entwined her boy; her heart was full, it pressed
 Against her side, invoking that strange hope
 That here was the avenger of her loss,
 A sword brought from afar; she leaned at gaze,
 Following that form, impassioned to divine
 What purpose charmed her from the world of men,
 When lo! the street was empty, all had passed.
 She rose and with uncertain motion stood,
 Swayed like a slender poplar when the south
 Tremulously bows it, over her dear child,
 Who clung upon her fingers looking up
 Wide--eyed with joy: together they went forth.

 Already fast as over an ebb shore
 The fresh tide rolls up with a rising wind
 Invading dry ledge and deserted pool,
 And ere the seaward rocks be overstormed,
 Streams gliding with a soft stir far inland,
 So fast through Troy the stir of rumour ran
 To every hushed house; every chieftain heard
 Indoors and sent forth messengers to see.
 Even to Priam`s palace it was borne.
 Then there was hurrying through the empty courts,
 And women drawing water at the wells
 Set down their pitchers; boys ran out; it seemed
 As if a city of sleepers sprang to life,
 A thousand beating hearts. Priam alone
 Heard not at all, for none was with him now,
 But solitary in that pillared hall
 Where he had feasted with his glorious sons
 In days of old, sat patient, mournful, rapt,
 His chilly limbs warmed by a cloak`s long fold,
 In such December solitude of mind
 As when the last leaf glides to frozen earth
 And all the boughs are bare: the days to come
 Were darkness, and the past days like a sea
 Of roaring waters; vacant unto each
 He mused upon the evening gold that fell
 Aslant a pillar`s roundness, holding up
 One hand against the fire that burned beside.
 He heard not, saw not, though without the sound
 Of opened gates and murmuring hubbub fast
 Increasing on the distance, gathered in
 As to the silent centre where he sat
 Alone in gloom, nor noted how behind
 Came stealing steps; Cassandra first, the shunned
 Of all the happy, who yet disbelieved
 The fate of her foreseeing; others next
 Of Priam`s house, mid whom the heavenly eyes
 Of Helen, like a mirror to the doom
 Coming on beauty till the end of time,
 Shone in their sadness; beautiful she leaned
 On fair flushed Paris of the golden head.
 They as they entered stood expectantly
 Pausing, although the King still sat entranced,
 Clouded in sorrow`s deep and distant reign;
 Until Cassandra touched him on the arm
 And his eyes woke; a sad, astonished gaze
 He lifted; in that moment the far door
 Was opened: lo, upon the threshold gleamed
 The splendour of an armèd Amazon
 Coming towards him; her eyes sought his own:
 Slowly, and yet without a pause she came;
 And those that saw her deeply breathed; she moved
 As if a clearness from within inspired
 Her motion, challenging their inmost thoughts.
 Simplicity ennobled all her ways;
 The heart leapt at the turning of her head;
 But in her eyes a soul, deep as the night
 Filled by the beauty of assembling stars,
 Night on lone mountains, could shine out sword--keen
 As now, though touched for Priam`s woe she gazed,
 While, slowly stirred, he lifted up to her
 His brow, and it was kingly: now he seemed,
 Though seated, in his stature to resume
 Old majesty; for princes of the East
 Had sued to him, and Asia sought his word
 To hearken to its wisdom. Some few steps
 The Amazon approached; at last she spoke.
 ``Art thou the royal Priam?`` ``What seek`st thou,``
 He answered, ``of an old unhappy man?``
 ``I seek,`` her voice rose ardently, ``to bear
 My arms against Achilles in thy cause,
 To hazard in the venture all I may
 For Troy and thee, O King. This is my quest.``
 Proudly she spoke; but he, as old men will,
 Because he wondered, was displeased, nor knew
 How to rub clear the dimmed sense of his grief,
 And pausing half incredulous replied,
 ``What hast thou said? Abuse not these old ears.
 Thou know`st that I have suffered--who art thou?
 A woman! Art a woman, and would lift
 Thy hand against Achilles? Never hand
 Of man prevailed against him yet, and thou
 A woman made to bear and suckle babes,``--
 ``A woman,`` she broke in, ``but not as those
 Who spin at home and blench to see a sword.
 Penthesilea am I called, and am
 An Amazon, and Amazons I rule.
 They call me queen; but I like them was reared
 To suffer and to dare; my body bathed
 In cold Thermodon can outrace his speed;
 And I have slain the lion in his lair,
 Yea, and have fought with men and have prevailed.``

 Admiring murmur followed on her words,
 From those that hearkened with hope--kindled eyes.
 Priam said only ``Hector fell.`` That word,
 Slow--spoken, not to her, but in the dark
 Of his own grieving mind, dropt like a stone
 Down a well`s echoing silence. There was pause.
 Just in that moment stole Andromache
 Over the threshold; then her heart drank wine,
 For she beheld Penthesilea there,
 Moved but not shaken, like a Goddess stand
 Of all regarded, while her spirit seemed
 To swell within her on some secret wave
 Of strength, and lifting up her queenly head
 She spoke like music through the darkening hall.
 ``One certain night I stood upon our hills
 Before the dawn was come, and I beheld
 All the stars over me from south to north
 And east to west, each in his place, as they
 Had shone before I was or thou, O King.
 And as I looked, one fell: far down the sky
 It shot in fire to nothing. Who might think
 One of heaven`s splendours, fixed in heaven, could fall?
 O Priam, even Achilles, even he,
 This far--renowned one, shall be overthrown
 For all his glory and his might, perhaps
 By hand unguessed, and thou behold him fall,
 It may be by another, or by me.``

 Yet Priam would not be persuaded, nay,
 Clinging to his old lamenting thoughts, he cried:
 ``There was none brave as Hector, and he fell,
 Hector is fallen; snap all swords in two,
 Break all your bows asunder, as my heart
 Is broken: it were better. What avails?
 What wouldst thou, Queen?`` Yet even as he spoke,
 Gazing upon the noble Amazon
 The strong bonds of his grief were loosed awhile.
 There seemed a courage in those shapely arms,
 In that clear brow, which to refuse might be
 Unpardoned of the gods: her clarion words
 Rang through him still; and as a traveller tired
 Vacantly resting at the long day`s end
 Under the hollow of a stream`s high bank
 Hears rushing over him the beat of wings
 And sees a wild swan snowy--throated take
 His effortless great flight in the sun`s beams,
 So Priam saw her! bound afar to lands
 Of morning, like the beauty of those wide wings,
 Free, where he might not follow, left alone
 In the fast--falling night; but oh, not so,
 Not bound afar, but at his feet, with eyes
 Of proud petition, of a sweet command,
 Penthesilea like a vision stayed
 And her voice breathed one silver summons, Hope!

 A hush took all who listened, then they stirred.
 Only Cassandra, crouching by the King,
 Hid her dark face; the others, nearer drawn,
 Looked upon Priam, and his soul was moved,
 But not as they; his gaze now at the full
 Answered the clear magnanimous regard
 Of her that spoke with pity, as he replied,
 ``What sad word hast thou uttered! Oh, thy lips
 Are young that shape it, ere they understand.
 Look on me that was once called happy, Queen!
 What knowest thou of ill? I have borne more
 Than my young fears, stretched by some childish wrong,
 Imagined that the whole world could contain,
 Or this frail flesh that pens us in our place
 Find possible to bear. I have been taught.
 None was so blest in sons, and none so curst.
 And now I know not if the Gods be kind
 Or if `tis the last cruelty they use,
 That having heaped such evil on our heads
 They lend us power to bear it. O speak not!
 For I can teach thee how men learn to bear;
 `Tis not with fortitude of hope increased,
 `Tis with dulled sense that thickens on the soul
 And all its longings pined in frost that cramps
 The quivering heart up, till it feel no more.
 I am so knitted in harsh fortune`s root
 As tottering towers, in bitter fibre bound
 That props what it has killed. Yet I endure.
 Why wilt thou trouble me? For thy young face
 Pricks with its courage like reviving blood
 In a numbed arm. I was at peace, O Queen.``

 He ended, and the glorious Amazon,
 Moved even to tears, stept toward him and knelt down
 And touched his knees, entreating: ``Let me learn,
 Even though the price be of such utmost pain
 As thou hast tasted: I would prove my heart,
 That is prepared for all things: let me go!
 I am not all so ignorant of grief.
 Grant me this boon, that I may fight for thee.``
 Priam heard marvelling; bending o`er her, soft
 He laid his old hands on her youthful hair,
 Answering: ``Is thy heart so fixed indeed?
 Ah, child, is not life sweet? Turn again home
 In honour, for so surely as I live
 And as Troy stands, thou shalt have honour here.
 The hazard is too much. I, that have ploughed
 This heavy and hard furrow into Time
 Cannot turn back, but thou canst. Wilt thou not?
 None shall reproach thee. O too much ere now,
 Too much, too dear blood in my cause is spilt.
 And thou art dear and shalt be always dear
 And thy name named with blessing in my house.``
 Penthesilea lifted up her head.
 She looked on him and smiled. ``I thank thee, King.
 And thou art wise and I am foolish, yet
 Though Heaven in thunder did forbid me this
 My heart is fixed.`` Then Priam sighed, she rose,
 And he made answer: ``Be it as thou wilt
 And I will say some good thing of the Gods
 Since they have raised a woman`s heart so high.
 Bring torches, for the Queen shall feast with us
 This night, and on the morrow if she will
 Go with our battle forth. Bid Troy prepare.``
 So Priam ordered, and the chiefs obeyed.
 Through all the city ran the word for war,
 And swords refurbished gleamed in kindled eyes
 At hope of help unlooked for: Troy was glad,
 And all the Amazons that night held feast
 Among the captains in the torch--lit halls
 Of Priam`s royal house. At his right hand,
 Admired of all, Penthesilea sat,
 Still in her bright mail, though unhelmeted;
 For when she had bathed, they brought her women`s robes
 But she refused; for in her heart she thought,
 I shall be deemed but as a woman is
 And they will put no faith in me for deeds.

 How strange the hush was of the glimmering room
 In a high tower apart, when after feast
 And song were ended, and all gone to rest,
 Penthesilea sat beside the bed
 Whereon her coat of mail, now laid aside,
 Shone keenly crumpled into glittering folds
 Next the smooth texture of a coverlet
 Embroidered in dim Indian town with shapes
 Of golden lions thronged by suns and stars;
 A Tyrian rug was soft to her bare feet
 When kneeling by her side Harmothoe
 Had loosed their sandal--thongs, and bathed them both
 In warm clear water from a brazen bowl;
 Who now was gone; and the Queen, left alone,
 Stood up, and let the loose white robe fall free,
 Holding her strong hands clasped behind her head,
 While through their fingers streamed the heavy hair:
 She sighed,--a fierce sigh panted from her breast,
 Like some imprisoned leopard`s, ill at ease
 In those rich walls that held her from the air,
 And with faint subtlety of old perfume
 Wrought on her sense remembrance, as through dream,
 Of what dead women fair in idle hours
 Had here adorned them, pacing with soft feet
 The coloured stones inlaid upon the floor,
 Parting these curtains with their silver rings
 To gaze upon a mirror, kneeling down
 Beside the ebon coffer, to search out
 Within its depths of robe laid over robe
 Some beaten armlet of Assyrian gold,
 Jade--brooch or branches of rose coral brought
 From far bays of Arabian Astabel;
 Foreign and fair devices; dream on dream,
 In the low lamp--flame`s wavering, oppressed
 The panting free heart of the Amazon.
 Thus as she leaned with heavy--lidded eyes
 Backward, and into grandeur slow rebelled
 The strong mould of her breast beneath the throat,
 Andromache stole in to her; she stood
 With wondering gaze fixt faltering in the door
 A moment, then, hope trembling at her lips,
 While the warm blood rushed up her cheek, she ran
 Swift to the other`s knees, and falling cried,
 ``O Goddess, help! Ah, surely thou art come
 From heaven to avenge me, for the gods in heaven
 Loved Hector well; thou hast a woman`s shape
 But mov`st not like a woman, no, nor look`st.
 O certify my heart, my wounded heart!
 Fill me, for I am empty; turn again
 The water of life into this stony bed
 Where my days used to run. I am alone.
 Reveal thyself, if to none else, to me.``

 Penthesilea with stern looks amazed
 With both hands on her shoulders put her off,
 Saying, ``Who art thou? What wild thought is thine?
 Rise up, kneel not, embrace not so my knees,
 My arms are stronger, nay, look up, behold,``
 Then with a milder voice continuing,
 ``I am no goddess, feel, my heart beats quick;
 I am not calm as the gods are in heaven.
 This flesh is mortal, strike and it will bleed,
 Has bled ere now; and feels thy wound and throbbed
 To hear thy supplication, and to see
 How like a bird thou droppedst to my feet!``

 Andromache sank backward on her knees,
 Wide--eyed with fearful doubt, then slowly rose
 And stood apart, cold now as if despair
 Had closed about her sudden as dark night;
 Like thunder--drops her words fell desolate:
 ``O my great hope, how easy was thy lure,
 How sweet and now how bitter to my taste!
 The folly of my fond heart bites my heart.
 The gods are loth to be revealed when they
 Take among men disguises: but oh no,
 Thou art a woman, thy face speaks the truth.
 And yet, yet, if a woman, whence and why
 Comest thou, what madness pricks thee so to dare
 What scarce a God might compass, when my own
 Great Hector whom none else could vanquish fell?``
 But now the Amazon regarding her
 More earnestly, spoke heedless of her cry,
 ``I saw thee in the hall where Priam was.
 Art thou not Priam`s daughter?`` ``Hector`s wife,``
 Answered the other. ``Then I know thy name,
 Andromache men call thee; and I know
 Thy wound: sit by me, be my friend to--night,
 Tell me of this Achilles, I would know
 What manner of a man is he who sounds
 In the world`s ear so terrible. Is he
 Fair--haired, as I have heard, or swarthy--cheeked
 Like those men I have matched my strength against,
 The Gargareans? Do his inches tower
 Much over mine? How goes he into fight?
 On horseback, as we Amazons, or afoot?
 Or standing in a chariot hurls his spear?
 Tell me of all these things, that I may know
 And be aware and in the battle take
 What vantage may be mine among the Greeks
 The better to avenge thee, if fate will.``

 Andromache said no word for a space,
 Facing her with dulled eyes and mind confused;
 Then to her lips a word outleapt her thought
 Fledged with a bitter meaning: she exclaimed,
 ``Thou lovest him!`` The queen laughed, a scornful laugh,
 ``O woman, have you none but woman`s thoughts?
 Because you are weak and have such clinging arms,--
 I felt them soft and trembling round my knees--
 Deem you such weakness rules an Amazon?
 What is this love you are so quick to find
 The key of all you cannot understand?
 To tremble and to wait on a man`s mood
 And seek I know not what bliss in his arms
 That fondle you a plaything, far from all
 The thoughts that make him strong! Such thoughts I have,
 Such will to tame and conquer, such delight
 In battle, such resolve never to yield
 My soul to any other`s servitude.
 Love, love! Think you I have been wont to bathe
 My body in snow--brooks to temper it
 True as a sword--blade, slept on forest leaves,
 Raced the wild colts to break them, chased the deer,
 The lion even, seen the red blood spirt
 Of men into whose murderous eyes I looked
 And did not quail, think you that such as I
 Have hung my life`s joy on another`s smile,
 Pining with fancies such as in close walls
 You women fill slow days with feeding on,
 Who lie upon soft couches and dream dreams?``

 She ended with an anger--burning eye
 Standing dilated in her beauteous scorn
 Over against Andromache, who shook
 Her head, distrustfully insisting still,
 ``Yet, yet thou lovest him.`` Suddenly a fire
 Swept o`er her and impatiently she cried,
 ``When thou hast borne a man--child, speak of love!
 Thou knowest not, thou, though in thine ignorant heart
 The blind beginnings of that selfsame power
 Compel thee where it wills, where thou wouldst not.
 Thou hast not loved, thou hast not known a man,
 Yet a man`s glory, a man`s imagined form
 Has drawn thee from thy mountains even here,
 To meet him face to face. Ask thy heart why!
 Hate, hope, fear, longing, `tis all one; `tis love
 Betwixt a man and woman. Ah, didst think,
 Penthesilea, to escape? But now
 Necessity has overtaken thee.
 Achilles masters and o`ertops thy mind
 Who wouldst be wooed not with soft words but spears.
 And thou must seek him. To thy wooing go!
 But oh, thou goest into a fell embrace,
 For he will clutch thee as a hawk a hare,
 And thy bride--bed shall be the bloody ground.``

 With that harsh word she would have turned to go
 But stayed upon the threshold; for the voice
 Of Penthesilea called her, changing now
 To a deep cry, not angered nor in scorn
 But grievous, as though suddenly her heart
 Imperiously swelled beyond its bounds
 And loosed its secret storm and sweetness out,
 The proud voice breaking into truth and pain.
 ``No, no! not so, thou shalt not leave me so,
 Thou dost not know me; far away thy words
 Fly over me, they hurt me not at all.
 Yet, didst thou know my heart--I am not wise
 In love, thou say`st, yet I am wise in grief.
 `Twas not Achilles drew me; it was grief
 That drove me hither, grief brims up my heart
 And blinded me to thy grief: sit by me,
 Andromache, and hear me: nay thou must.
 I had a sister, whom indeed I loved,
 For we were twinned in thought and act and soul,
 My bedfellow and playmate; oft have we
 To one another brought a timely arm
 Faint in the heat of battle or of chase.
 But oh, it was this arm, that should have first
 Withered on the shoulder, this right arm that sped
 The bolt that slew her, my Hippolyta!
 She had outstript me on the woody hills
 Hunting a hind that fled us; I saw not;
 But where the boughs were stirring in the brake
 I drew my bow, the arrow leapt, I ran,
 Parted the hazels, and beheld her there
 Lying beyond, the arrow in her side,
 Where still I see her on soaked yellow ferns
 Under a thorn, trailed with black bryony,
 So near a pool, the fingers of her hand
 Could touch the trembling harebells on its brink.
 She bled within,--there was no blood at all
 To soil her body that still seemed to live--
 Nor gave a cry, but with one hand she beat
 On the wet ground a little, then was still.
 But when I took her by the hand, it hung
 Cold in my grasp, though close I cherished it,
 And kissed her cheek, her mouth a hundred times,
 Calling upon her name, Hippolyta:
 Calling the dead that heard not.--I have seen
 When Euxine on a sudden rises black
 With storm, a sail that sought our haven swept
 Out into darkness, from the cliffs have watched
 How it flew onward fearfully, far out
 Blind under sheets of tempest and was lost.
 From that hour I drove like that driving ship
 Borne on, I recked not whither, over wastes
 Of time that have no harbour and no peace.
 I fled, and yet I feared being thought to flee.
 Therefore did I imagine to my soul
 Some dear atonement that should make my name
 Burn on the lips of men; set up my mark
 And that pursued, till the usurping hope
 Of glory with a glozing tongue sometimes
 Flattered my dark thoughts to forget: but oh,
 It is myself that am pursued, the hounds
 Of memory are upon me,--Break this off.
 Too much is spoken. Yet my heart is eased.
 Forget this weakness, tell not to another
 Penthesilea`s sorrow, for from now
 She puts it from her, she is strong again.
 Nay, from my childhood up `twas in my soul
 The dearest hope to do a thing of fame.
 To--morrow I will slay thy husband`s slayer,
 Or gladly, if the fates refuse, will die.``
 While she was speaking, sad Andromache
 Changed in her countenance, her soft bosom swelled
 And her eyes brightening were soon dimmed with tears.
 At last she broke forth: ``O unhappy Queen,
 Pardon!`` But ere another word could pass
 Her lips, there was a babbling cry without,
 Soft feet came running to the door, and there
 Parting the heavy curtain, stood the child
 Astyanax, who ran to her and called,
 ``O Mother, I have found you. Come to bed;
 I woke and could not find you, and was afraid.``
 The old nurse following at his heels began
 To chide him, but Andromache embraced
 Her boy and kissed him; he looked wondering up
 Now at the Amazon and spoke in awe,
 ``It is the Goddess, mother``; when again
 She hugged him close, and gentle came her voice,
 ``Penthesilea, pardon! I have erred,
 My hope was blind and my despair was blind.
 I dreamed of Gods come down to succour me.
 Lo, here is my avenger!`` and she held
 The boy before her, while the warrior queen
 Admiring his bold limbs and fearless gaze
 That wandered to the splendour of the mail
 Lying on the bed, uplifted with a smile
 The sword beside it, saying, ``Wilt thou fight
 With such a sword when thou art grown a man?``
 Whereat he gravely answered to her face,
 ``Yea, I am Hector`s son.`` Andromache
 Drawing him towards her, with warm kisses, spoke:
 ``I keep thy father`s sword for thee; but now
 Thou must to bed and sleep. Sleep also thou,
 Penthesilea; and to--morrow morn
 Eat with me ere thou go, and thou shalt have
 All such as Hector`s heart delighted in
 When he went forth to battle. Fare thee well.``

 Penthesilea was alone. She turned;
 Lo, in the corner the moon`s wandered beam
 Lay gentle, like the soul of solitude.
 She drew a curtain; over earth the night
 Rose naked; and she looked with longing eyes
 Past the low plain, where Simois wound his stream
 To choke in marsh mist and the creeping ooze,
 Up to the mountain tops, and far beyond
 Saw in her memory clear a certain glen
 Where snows among the pale cloud gleamed above
 Crag--pines, but from the spongy mosses sprang
 Tall ash and chestnut, plundered by the gusts
 Of autumn to let fall gold leaves adrift
 Upon the young Thermodon, that between
 Gray boulders, dancing in his frolic race
 Over the abrupt edge of a gloomy gulf,
 Leapt and was lost; but lost in splendour! so
 Should her life be ennobled in its end,
 Lifting her heart she prayed, and in her mind
 Knew how, removed from all that others use
 And have their joy in, she must fix her course
 One way, since exiles in the world of men
 Heroic hearts are unto the end alone.


II.
THE BATTLE

 Waters of Asia, westward--beating waves
 Of estuaries, and mountain--warded straits,
 Whose solitary beaches long had lost
 The ashen glimmer of that sinking moon,
 Listened in darkness to their own lone sound
 Moving about the shores of sleep, when first
 A faint light stole, and hills in the east emerged,
 A faint wind soon, born upon ocean, blew;
 The cold stars faded; high on forest slopes
 The goatherd woke in his thatched hut and shook
 His cloak about him, striding forth, and saw
 Pale over the round world of shadow tower
 The silently awakened presences
 Of Rhodope and Ida, dawning peaks
 Far opposite, that slowly flushed, till all
 The hill--thronged vales streamed out in sudden gold
 He saw the young sun ripple into fire
 Propontis, and the bright seas run like wine
 Into the dim west where aerial snows
 Of Athos hovered o`er a hundred isles;
 Nearer, Troy towers stood gleaming; in the plain
 The river smoked with mist, and cranes in flocks
 Rose through the sun--soaked vapour toward the sea
 Beyond the trench and trench--encircled huts
 And black--beaked Danaan ships upon the strand.

 There in their huts and tents the Danaans woke,
 And streamed abroad in the keen morning air,
 But armed not yet; their camp made holiday,
 With shields hung up, with heads unhelmeted.
 Greek challenged Greek to hurling of the quoit,
 To wrestle and race; not a sole trumpet rang,
 For Troy since Hector`s slaying kept her gates
 Fast--barred, nor sent her files forth to the war.
 So now the battle--weary Greeks prepared
 Their meal beside the trenches, eased at heart,
 When single scouts came running from the plain:
 ``Arm, arm!`` they cried, ``for Troy will fight to--day,
 The Amazons are come to succour them.``
 Then sportful laughter leapt from mouth to mouth
 Among the gay--eyed youth, mocking to hear,
 And one to another shot a mirthful word.
 ``The hawk is dead, the twittering swallows come
 To harry us! We will go garlanded
 To battle and will hale these women home.``

 So as for sport they armed; but ere the word
 Had run through half the camp, Thersites rose,
 Filled with his dwarfish malice that rejoiced
 In quarrels without causes between friends,
 Pleased with the comedy of angry wits
 When wisest men show weakest; he arose
 Glancing from side to side in evil glee,
 And went along the sea--beach till he came
 Where lay Achilles and his Myrmidons
 Who pitched apart, a separate host; he went
 Alone, for all despised him, though they feared
 His tongue, and coming to Achilles` tent
 Called to him with a gibing pomp of speech.
 ``Hail, son of Thetis, slayer of thousands, hail!
 Hear what fresh tidings echoes through our camp!
 Thy fame is flown into the Asian lands,
 And how thou didst, a goddess helping thee,
 Hew Hector down, provokes the envious world
 To emulate thy glory. Lo, to--day
 Troy`s latest hope, there comes to challenge thee
 A woman.`` Then Achilles laughed aloud,
 But he continued: ``Nay, it is a queen,
 Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons,
 Brings her wild squadrons to this faint--heart Troy,
 A queen of fame, with courage like a man`s
 And more than woman`s beauty. Agamemnon
 Already in his gloating thought adorns
 His palace with this all--outshining gem
 Captive to him. O Eagle of the Greeks
 Doth not the quarry please thee?`` But again
 Achilles laughed: ``Come, yet another day
 I shall have peace and leisure from the fight.
 I wore a woman`s robes once, feigned their ways
 In Scyros, and I know them, quick to fire
 Upon imagination of a deed
 That blazes through them like a strand of flax
 Left light as ashes, fluttering, when the hour strikes
 For doing what a man`s heart leaps to do.
 On such Achilles draws not. Get thee gone,
 Thersites, let the Greeks fight if they will
 With these mad women: but my heart is stirred
 To be alone and think upon the dead
 This day. Thy wry face puts me out of tune.
 Begone, thou crookedness, ere thou be driven!``
 So trudging back with ill smiles on his mouth
 Thersites went, well pleased to bear bad news.

 Achilles stood at his tent--door; the sea
 Before him smiled; but heavy thoughts like rain
 Clouded his darkening spirit, as his eyes
 Looked homeward toward the far Thessalian coast
 Where he was nurtured in fresh upland glens
 Of Pelion, and his father even now
 Kept his old age, watching uncomforted;
 But most the thought of dear Patroclus` dust
 Drew his soul down to sorrow; pacing slow
 The shore he came to where the mound was heaped
 On those beloved ashes; there he bade
 Fetch wine, and poured libation to the dead.

 There came a runner hasting from the camp,
 Who cried: ``Achilles, arm! The battle joins;
 And half our host, yet unprepared, recoils
 Before the onset of those Amazons
 Whose horses rush upon them, and they cry,
 Where is Achilles? Arm, and bring us aid.
 `Tis Agamemnon sends thee this command.``
 But Peleus` son looked frowning and replied,
 ``Go tell the King I heed not his command
 Nor any man`s; to--day my sword is sheathed.``
 With that he turned him to his grief; the peal
 Of distant horn and crying of many cries,
 All the harsh drone of battle muttering swelled
 Beyond the trench and rows of stranded ships
 Half--sunk in sand, that with their rampart shut
 The beach into its calm of little waves
 Falling and hushing; but to Achilles` ear
 That roar was vain and hateful; and he drew
 His cloak over his head, and cried with groans,
 ``O to what end, what end? Must our souls beat
 Their high--attempered force out, and keen edge
 Blunt in a senseless turmoil, but to make
 A pageant for the Gods? O friend, I lose
 How much more than thyself in losing thee!
 Have I appeased thy ghost, and given thee sleep
 By my so great revenge? Yet am not I
 Appeased. Because in courage and in strength
 The Gods have made me excellent beyond
 All other sons of men, this is my woe
 That none can match me, easy comes the crown
 Of glory, and I would toss it from my hand
 Into these careless waters, could I find
 Some stay and dear abode such as I found
 In those thoughts that together, O my friend,
 We held, and well--companioned, ever looked
 On through all days with never sated eyes.
 But now the splendour and the spur is gone.
 I hunger after thine untimeliness
 For which my tears were shed. O that these Gods
 Who smile on their calm seats in happy heaven
 Could be provoked to wrath and themselves come
 Against me armed; then were there scope and marge
 For this full fire to burn in, that consumes
 My soul in puny angers at the pomp
 Of Agamemnon`s puffed authority.
 But me they mean for some inglorious doom,
 And even now, plotting my shame, have sent
 A woman to defy me!`` Thus he cried,
 Pacing in angry grief the calm sea--sand,
 While still the noise of war, rolled nearer, charged
 The air with jarring clamour; noon was passed,
 And the sky strewn with slow clouds idly moved;
 But ever louder at the trench it rose.

 At last a second runner from the camp
 Came, and Achilles knew him as he ran;
 It was a youth from white Iolcos town,
 Of Peleus` kin; he sobbed forth breathless words.
 ``Come to the trench, Achilles, come and see!
 Not women are these Amazons but wolves!
 Like Maenads, maddened beyond strength of men,
 They rage and with amazement bear us down.``
 So both went forth to the great dyke and looked
 Over the trench; then in Achilles` heart
 Grief straightway slumbered, and the cruel sting
 Of battle stirred in him: as one who sees
 A wild bright bay of angry ocean storm
 With thunderous upleaping, surge on surge,
 Black rampart rocks, filling the brilliant air
 With sound and splendour, and joy charms his eyes,
 So now rejoiced Achilles; not less fierce
 In onset than those waters snowy--maned,
 The Amazons on their wild horses rode
 Storming upon the stubborn infantry,
 And by them, thrice--inspirited, with shouts
 Of vengeance, the victorious ranks of Troy.
 Achilles looked far o`er the fray and laughed:
 ``See how the sullen Ajax like a bear
 Stung by a bee--swarm, puzzles how to strike:
 But you shall see how these same Maenads fly
 When that I leap upon them. Say, I come.``
 Glad the youth turned, and ran back to the Greeks,
 And through them flew the word ``Achilles comes.``

 Penthesilea through the press all day
 Had sought for Hector`s slayer, and sought in vain,
 Though many a captain on her path in arms
 So tall, so splendid stood, that hope had sprung
 Not twice or thrice alone that this was he
 She should defy; the rest she scorned, yet some
 Essayed her prowess and came wounded off
 Or fell beneath her, and so trampled, died.
 Lo, as a potter strikes with eager hands
 Shapes of soft moulded clay, fired with the thought
 To make a thing more noble, so she smote
 Those meaner challengers, crushed idly down
 If haply from the wreck and tumult might
 Spring the desired Achilles; her bright axe
 Shone over shouts and groans and maddened more
 The tempest of those headlong Amazons
 Who rushed black--maned upon spurred horses, where
 The spears bristled the thickest. They outmatched
 The fury of impetuous Diomed,
 Who even now where fierce Antandra struck
 Hardly avoided, catching at her rein,
 And was borne backward raging in his beard
 With half his helm--plumes shorn away; with her
 Derione and Thermodossa, red
 With rapture of the sword, Antibrote,
 Hippodamia and Brontissa drave
 Like screaming gusts of whirlwind when the air
 Fills with torn boughs of cracking oaks, and pines
 Shiver to ground uprooted; thrust on thrust
 Met shrieks, where desperately tugging hands
 Clutching a spear were tost up suddenly
 As it stabbed home; strange--echoing female cries
 Exulted; in the van Harmothoe
 Called, as her axe--blows rang about her path
 Hard as the white hail when it strips the vines
 And their bruised clusters; the gay Danaan youth,
 Spoiled of their sweet imagined sport, laughed now
 But as the mad in whom no mirth is, driven
 Before the Amazons in pale amaze
 And terror of their beauty and their strength,
 While crest on crest the Phrygians followed on.
 But most all marvelled, friend and foe, to see
 Clear where the foremost onset hurled and clanged,
 Penthesilea like a star in storm
 That through the black rents of a burying cloud
 Rides unimperilled; for none stayed her, not
 Diomed, nor Ajax; yet her quest despaired;
 Achilles came not; something failed the hour,
 And ere he came `twas lost: there at the trench
 In baffled frenzy the wild warring queens
 Perceived it in their hearts, and raged the more,
 Wanting the one goal`s glory that should force
 Their last strength onward; by so much as they
 Began to faint, by so much more the foe
 Rousing his stubborn manhood, clenched his ranks
 And bore them backward. Then Achilles came.
 He leapt upon the dyke, bright as a brand
 Breaking to sudden fire; they saw him shine,
 They heard his great voice clear above the roar,
 And half the battle swerved along the plain
 Toward Simois. Far upon the city wall
 Andromache was gazing; now she pressed
 Her hands upon her bounding heart in fear;
 She saw her own host in the centre break
 Before Achilles and roll back; in vain
 Penthesilea on the seaward wing
 Maintained the onset; half her Amazons
 Caught in the frayed edge of the flight, were turned,
 Were flying; nay, it seemed that earth and heaven
 Joined in that altered combat and pursuit,
 For in the west the sun charged out of clouds
 And shot his rays forth over shadowy isles
 Set in the fiery seas, and flashed behind
 The Argives and their crested coming on,
 Dazzling the ranks of Troy, that broken now
 Reeled from the middle outward, here and there
 Stemmed by a chieftain`s cry; with hot--blood cheek
 The youthful Troilus was storming, shamed,
 And shouted: ``Rally at the river bank!``
 But now among the fleers thudding hooves,
 The maddened steeds of single Amazons,
 Headlong and helpless, thrice confounded them,
 In whom the terror of Achilles stung
 Sharp as a cruel rowel in the flanks
 Of those scared horses; uncontrollably
 Crushed, wrestling, groaning, trodden, all were hurled
 Together wild as from a foundered ship
 A hundred men, flung forth, one moment strive
 Huddled in the hollow of one tremendous wave,
 The next upon its crest toss up to crash
 Down upon rocks they agonize to shun:
 So desperate in a huge blind tide of flight
 Phrygian and Amazon together reeled.
 All in a moment they had reached the stream.
 A grove of oaks stood on the hither side,
 Where Troilus made rally some stout hearts
 Staying the rout. Woe then to him that fled,
 When in his back the pouncing arrow plunged
 And straight was bloody to the feathers! woe
 To him that fled, there was no help for him!
 Ingloriously he fell, or pressed by shields
 Of comrades from behind was beaten down,
 Or on the crumbling bank was crushed by hooves
 That broke the bones in many a breathing breast
 Of strong men, trampled like tall mallow stalks
 At the stream`s edge, broken like leafy boughs
 That cracked and splintered in the whirling stroke
 Of swords; and many falling in the stream
 Meshed by long weeds were strangled in the ooze.
 Black--haired Antandra there, forced with the rout,
 Strove ever like a raging lioness
 To turn on her pursuers: on the bank
 She stayed her horse, and some Thessalian youth,
 Stung by her beauty, caught her by the belt
 And dragged her from the saddle; she, so spent,
 Let fall the axe from her dead--weary arms,
 But with sobbed breath caught him so desperately
 That both together in a blind embrace
 Fell plunging in the shallows, rolled among
 Marsh--marigolds; she thrust upon his face
 Under the water, laughed and strove to rise,
 When even then a javelin bit her breast
 And clove her through; so died Antandra; so
 Fell many another; pity there was none,
 For cruel is the anger of men shamed
 When they avenge their shame; and that fierce hour
 Made many a widow on far hill--town wall
 That golden evening dandling with fond smile
 A son already fatherless; and still
 Achilles` murderous and resistless hands
 Were stayed not. So by Simois the red flight
 Streamed swift and fearful as a fever--dream.

 But meanwhile upon either wing the war
 Swung doubtful, nay, the Greeks were overmatched,
 Wanting their champion, drawn with all his men
 So far dispersed, though now shrill trumpets rang
 Recalling them, for on the seaward side
 Penthesilea pressing hardly, she
 With the fierce remnant of her Amazons
 And gray Antenor, passionately smote
 As in a kind of anguish; like a net
 Trapping a lion`s limbs, the battle closed
 Round her deep--thwarted spirit: Sthenelus
 Assailed her, striding huge among the rest;
 And riding at him, as she struck, the axe
 Crashed broken on his helm, she wrenched the spear
 From his stunned arm, when on the other side
 Leapt Ornytus against her, and she swerved
 To dart the spear--point through him, crying out,
 ``O that thou wert Achilles!`` All at once
 Clear from the distant battle`s farther edge
 Sounded upon a sudden several horns,
 Harsh--blown bull`s horns; Antenor knew the note
 Of signal, and he called across the spears,
 ``Penthesilea, hark, upon the left
 The son of Aphrodite holds the day.
 Between us all the foe is locked and hemmed,
 And hot Achilles has pursued too far.
 Press, `tis Troy`s hour!`` and even as he spoke
 The Greeks relaxed; but now, flushed from the rout,
 Those same pursuers singly and in troops
 Mixed in the battle, all confused, and swung
 A score of ways with half--arrested clash
 And crossing tides of onset; streaming loose
 In separate combats, or bewildered pause
Source
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