As when within a dewy garden-close, Longing for its green springtide freshness, leaps A heifer, and there rangeth to and fro, When none is by to stay her, treading down All its green herbs, and all its wealth of bloom, Devouring greedily this, and marring that With trampling feet; so ranged she, Ares' child, Through reeling squadrons of Achaea's sons, Slew these, and hunted those in panic rout.
From Troy afar the women marvelling gazed At the Maid's battle-prowess. Suddenly A fiery passion for the fray hath seized Antimachus' daughter, Meneptolemus' wife, Tisiphone. Her heart waxed strong, and filled With lust of fight she cried to her fellows all, With desperate-daring words, to spur them on To woeful war, by recklessness made strong.
"Friends, let a heart of valour in our breasts Awake! Let us be like our lords, who fight With foes for fatherland, for babes, for us, And never pause for breath in that stern strife!
Let us too throne war's spirit in our hearts!
Let us too face the fight which favoureth none!
For we, we women, be not creatures cast In diverse mould from men: to us is given Such energy of life as stirs in them.
Eyes have we like to theirs, and limbs: throughout Fashioned we are alike: one common light We look on, and one common air we breathe:
With like food are we nourished -- nay, wherein Have we been dowered of God more niggardly Than men? Then let us shrink not from the fray See ye not yonder a woman far excelling Men in the grapple of fight? Yet is her blood Nowise akin to ours, nor fighteth she For her own city. For an alien king She warreth of her own heart's prompting, fears The face of no man; for her soul is thrilled With valour and with spirit invincible.
But we -- to right, to left, lie woes on woes About our feet: this mourns beloved sons, And that a husband who for hearth and home Hath died; some wail for fathers now no more;
Some grieve for brethren and for kinsmen lost.
Not one but hath some share in sorrow's cup.
Behind all this a fearful shadow looms, The day of bondage! Therefore flinch not ye From war, O sorrow-laden! Better far To die in battle now, than afterwards Hence to be haled into captivity To alien folk, we and our little ones, In the stern grip of fate leaving behind A burning city, and our husbands' graves."
So cried she, and with passion for stern war Thrilled all those women; and with eager speed They hasted to go forth without the wall Mail-clad, afire to battle for their town And people: all their spirit was aflame.
As when within a hive, when winter-tide Is over and gone, loud hum the swarming bees What time they make them ready forth to fare To bright flower-pastures, and no more endure To linger therewithin, but each to other Crieth the challenge-cry to sally forth;
Even so bestirred themselves the women of Troy, And kindled each her sister to the fray.
The weaving-wool, the distaff far they flung, And to grim weapons stretched their eager hands.
And now without the city these had died In that wild battle, as their husbands died And the strong Amazons died, had not one voice Of wisdom cried to stay their maddened feet, When with dissuading words Theano spake:
"Wherefore, ah wherefore for the toil and strain Of battle's fearful tumult do ye yearn, Infatuate ones? Never your limbs have toiled In conflict yet. In utter ignoranee Panting for labour unendurable, Ye rush on all-unthinking; for your strength Can never be as that of Danaan men, Men trained in daily battle. Amazons Have joyed in ruthless fight, in charging steeds, From the beginning: all the toil of men Do they endure; and therefore evermore The spirit of the War-god thrills them through.
'They fall not short of men in anything:
Their labour-hardened frames make great their hearts For all achievement: never faint their knees Nor tremble. Rumour speaks their queen to be A daughter of the mighty Lord of War.
Therefore no woman may compare with her In prowess -- if she be a woman, not A God come down in answer to our prayers.
Yea, of one blood be all the race of men, Yet unto diverse labours still they turn;
And that for each is evermore the best Whereto he bringeth skill of use and wont.
Therefore do ye from tumult of the fray Hold you aloof, and in your women's bowers Before the loom still pace ye to and fro;
And war shall be the business of our lords.
Lo, of fair issue is there hope: we see The Achaeans falling fast: we see the might Of our men waxing ever: fear is none Of evil issue now: the pitiless foe Beleaguer not the town: no desperate need There is that women should go forth to war."
So cried she, and they hearkened to the words Of her who had garnered wisdom from the years;
So from afar they watched the fight. But still Penthesileia brake the ranks, and still Before her quailed the Achaeans: still they found Nor screen nor hiding-place from imminent death.
As bleating goats are by the blood-stained jaws Of a grim panther torn, so slain were they.
In each man's heart all lust of battle died, And fear alone lived. This way, that way fled The panic-stricken: some to earth had flung The armour from their shoulders; some in dust Grovelled in terror 'neath their shields: the steeds Fled through the rout unreined of charioteers.
In rapture of triumph charged the Amazons, With groan and scream of agony died the Greeks.
Withered their manhood was in that sore strait;
Brief was the span of all whom that fierce maid Mid the grim jaws of battle overtook.
As when with mighty roaring bursteth down A storm upon the forest-trees, and some Uprendeth by the roots, and on the earth Dashes them down, the tail stems blossom-crowned, And snappeth some athwart the trunk, and high Whirls them through air, till all confused they lie A ruin of splintered stems and shattered sprays;
So the great Danaan host lay, dashed to dust By doom of Fate, by Penthesileia's spear.
But when the very ships were now at point To be by hands of Trojans set aflame, Then battle-bider Aias heard afar The panic-cries, and spake to Aeacus' son:
