Here were men hurling cruel jagged stones, There speeding arrows and new-whetted darts, There with the axe or twibill hewing hard, Slashing with swords, and thrusting out with spears:
Their mad hands clutched all manner of tools of death.
At first the Argives bore the ranks of Troy Backward a little; but they rallied, charged, Leapt on the foe, and drenched the field with blood.
Like a black hurricane rushed Eurypylus Cheering his men on, hewing Argives down Awelessly: measureless might was lent to him By Zeus, for a grace to glorious Hercules.
Nireus, a man in beauty like the Gods, His spear long-shafted stabbed beneath the ribs, Down on the plain he fell, forth streamed the blood Drenching his splendid arms, drenching the form Glorious of mould, and his thick-clustering hair.
There mid the slain in dust and blood he lay, Like a young lusty olive-sapling, which A river rushing down in roaring flood, Tearing its banks away, and cleaving wide A chasm-channel, hath disrooted; low It lieth heavy-blossomed; so lay then The goodly form, the grace of loveliness Of Nireus on earth's breast. But o'er the slain Loud rang the taunting of Eurypylus:
"Lie there in dust! Thy beauty marvellous Naught hath availed thee! I have plucked thee away From life, to which thou wast so fain to cling.
Rash fool, who didst defy a mightier man Unknowing! Beauty is no match for strength!"
He spake, and leapt upon the slain to strip His goodly arms: but now against him came Machaon wroth for Nireus, by his side Doom-overtaken. With his spear he drave At his right shoulder: strong albeit he was, He touched him, and blood spurted from the gash.
Yet, ere he might leap back from grapple of death, Even as a lion or fierce mountain-boar Maddens mid thronging huntsmen, furious-fain To rend the man whose hand first wounded him;
So fierce Eurypylus on Machaon rushed.
The long lance shot out swiftly, and pierced him through On the right haunch; yet would he not give back, Nor flinch from the onset, fast though flowed the blood.
In haste he snatched a huge stone from the ground, And dashed it on the head of Telephus' son;
But his helm warded him from death or harm Then waxed Eurypylus more hotly wroth With that strong warrior, and in fury of soul Clear through Machaon's breast he drave his spear, And through the midriff passed the gory point.
He fell, as falls beneath a lion's jaws A bull, and round him clashed his glancing arms.
Swiftly Eurypylus plucked the lance of death Out of the wound, and vaunting cried aloud:
"Wretch, wisdom was not bound up in thine heart, That thou, a weakling, didst come forth to fight A mightier. Therefore art thou in the toils Of Doom. Much profit shall be thine, when kites Devour the flesh of thee in battle slain!
Ha, dost thou hope still to return, to 'scape Mine hands? A leech art thou, and soothing salves Thou knowest, and by these didst haply hope To flee the evil day! Not thine own sire, On the wind's wings descending from Olympus, Should save thy life, not though between thy lips He should pour nectar and ambrosia!"
Faint-breathing answered him the dying man:
"Eurypylus, thine own weird is to live Not long: Fate is at point to meet thee here On Troy's plain, and to still thine impious tongue."
So passed his spirit into Hades' halls.
Then to the dead man spake his conqueror:
"Now on the earth lie thou. What shall betide Hereafter, care I not -- yea, though this day Death's doom stand by my feet: no man may live For ever: each man's fate is foreordained."
Stabbing the corpse he spake. Then shouted loud Teucer, at seeing Machaon in the dust.
Far thence he stood hard-toiling in the fight, For on the centre sore the battle lay:
Foe after foe pressed on; yet not for this Was Teucer heedless of the fallen brave, Neither of Nireus lying hard thereby Behind Machaon in the dust. He saw, And with a great voice raised the rescue-cry:
"Charge, Argives! Flinch not from the charging foe!
For shame unspeakable shall cover us If Trojan men hale back to Ilium Noble Machaon and Nireus godlike-fair.
Come, with a good heart let us face the foe To rescue these slain friends, or fall ourselves Beside them. Duty bids that men defend Friends, and to aliens leave them not a prey, Not without sweat of toil is glory won!"
Then were the Danaans anguish-stung: the earth All round them dyed they red with blood of slain, As foe fought foe in even-balanced fight.
By this to Podaleirius tidings came How that in dust his brother lay, struck down By woeful death. Beside the ships he sat Ministering to the hurts of men with spears Stricken. In wrath for his brother's sake he rose, He clad him in his armour; in his breast Dread battle-prowess swelled. For conflict grim He panted: boiled the mad blood round his heart He leapt amidst the foemen; his swift hands Swung the snake-headed javelin up, and hurled, And slew with its winged speed Agamestor's son Cleitus, a bright-haired Nymph had given him birth Beside Parthenius, whose quiet stream Fleets smooth as oil through green lands, till it pours Its shining ripples to the Euxine sea.
Then by his warrior-brother laid he low Lassus, whom Pronoe, fair as a goddess, bare Beside Nymphaeus' stream, hard by a cave, A wide and wondrous cave: sacred it is Men say, unto the Nymphs, even all that haunt The long-ridged Paphlagonian hills, and all That by full-clustered Heracleia dwell.
That cave is like the work of gods, of stone In manner marvellous moulded: through it flows Cold water crystal-clear: in niches round Stand bowls of stone upon the rugged rock, Seeming as they were wrought by carvers' hands.
Statues of Wood-gods stand around, fair Nymphs, Looms, distaffs, all such things as mortal craft Fashioneth. Wondrous seem they unto men Which pass into that hallowed cave. It hath, Up-leading and down-leading, doorways twain, Facing, the one, the wild North's shrilling blasts, And one the dank rain-burdened South. By this Do mortals pass beneath the Nymphs' wide cave;
