Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/208

206 Finds, on some grassy lair, the couching fawns,

Their bones he cracks, their reeking vitals draws,

And grinds the quivering flesh with bloody jaws;

The frighted hind beholds, and dares not stay,

But swift through rustling thickets bursts her way;

All drowned in sweat the panting mother flies,

And the big tears roll trickling from her eyes.

Amidst the tumult of the routed train,

The sons of false Antimachus were slain,

He, who for bribes his faithless counsels sold,

And voted Helen's stay for Paris' gold.

Atrides marked, as these their safety sought,

And slew the children for the father's fault;

Their headstrong horse unable to restrain,

They shook with fear and dropped the silken rein;

Then in their chariot on their knees they fall,

And thus with lifted hands for mercy call:

"O spare our youth, and, for the life we owe,

Antimachus shall copious gifts bestow;

Soon as he hears, that, not in battle slain,

The Grecian ships his captive sons detain,

Large heaps of brass in ransom shall be told,

And steel well-tempered, and persuasive gold."

These words, attended with a flood of tears,

The youths addressed to unrelenting ears:

The vengeful monarch gave this stern reply:

"If from Antimachus ye spring, ye die:

The daring wretch who once in council stood

To shed Ulysses' and my brother's blood,

For proffered peace! and sues his seed for grace?

No, die, and pay the forfeit of your race."

This said, Pisander from the car he cast,

And pierced his breast: supine he breathed his last;

His brother leaped to earth; but, as he lay,

The trenchant faulchion lopped his hands away:

His severed head was tossed among the throng,

And rolling drew a bloody trail along.

Then, where the thickest fought, the victor flew;

The king's example all his Greeks pursue.

Now by the foot the flying foot were slain,

Horse trod by horse lay foaming on the plain.

From the dry fields thick clouds of dust arise,

Shade the black host, and intercept the skies.

The brass-hoofed steeds tumultuous plunge and bound,

And the thick thunder beats the labouring ground.

Still, slaughtering on, the king of men proceeds;

The distanced army wonders at his deeds.

As when the winds with raging flames conspire,

And o'er the forests roll the flood of fire,