How the conquerors sailed from Troy unto judgment of tempest and shipwreck.
Then rose from Ocean Dawn the golden-throned Up to the heavens; night into Chaos sank.
And now the Argives spoiled fair-fenced Troy, And took her boundless treasures for a prey.
Like river-torrents seemed they, that sweep down, By rain, floods swelled, in thunder from the hills, And seaward hurl tall trees and whatsoe'er Grows on the mountains, mingled with the wreck Of shattered cliff and crag; so the long lines Of Danaans who had wasted Troy with fire Seemed, streaming with her plunder to the ships.
Troy's daughters therewithal in scattered bands They haled down seaward -- virgins yet unwed, And new-made brides, and matrons silver-haired, And mothers from whose bosoms foes had torn Babes for the last time closing lips on breasts.
Amidst of these Menelaus led his wife Forth of the burning city, having wrought A mighty triumph -- joy and shame were his.
Cassandra heavenly-fair was haled the prize Of Agamemnon: to Achilles' son Andromache had fallen: Hecuba Odysseus dragged unto his ship. The tears Poured from her eyes as water from a spring;
Trembled her limbs, fear-frenzied was her heart;
Rent were her hoary tresses and besprent With ashes of the hearth, cast by her hands When she saw Priam slain and Troy aflame.
And aye she deeply groaned for thraldom's day That trapped her vainly loth. Each hero led A wailing Trojan woman to his ship.
Here, there, uprose from these the wild lament, The woeful-mingling cries of mother and babe.
As when with white-tusked swine the herdmen drive Their younglings from the hill-pens to the plain As winter closeth in, and evermore Each answereth each with mingled plaintive cries;
So moaned Troy's daughters by their foes enslaved, Handmaid and queen made one in thraldom's lot.
But Helen raised no lamentation: shame Sat on her dark-blue eyes, and cast its flush Over her lovely cheeks. Her heart beat hard With sore misgiving, lest, as to the ships She passed, the Achaeans might mishandle her.
Therefore with fluttering soul she trembled sore;
And, her head darkly mantled in her veil, Close-following trod she in her husband's steps, With cheek shame-crimsoned, like the Queen of Love, What time the Heaven-abiders saw her clasped In Ares' arms, shaming in sight of all The marriage-bed, trapped in the myriad-meshed Toils of Hephaestus: tangled there she lay In agony of shame, while thronged around The Blessed, and there stood Hephaestus' self:
For fearful it is for wives to be beheld By husbands' eyes doing the deed of shame.
Lovely as she in form and roseate blush Passed Helen mid the Trojan captives on To the Argive ships. But the folk all around Marvelled to see the glory of loveliness Of that all-flawless woman. No man dared Or secretly or openly to cast Reproach on her. As on a Goddess all Gazed on her with adoring wistful eyes.
As when to wanderers on a stormy sea, After long time and passion of prayer, the sight Of fatherland is given; from deadly deeps Escaped, they stretch hands to her joyful-souled;
So joyed the Danaans all, no man of them Remembered any more war's travail and pain.
Such thoughts Cytherea stirred in them, for grace To Helen starry-eyed, and Zeus her sire.
Then, when he saw that burg beloved destroyed, Xanthus, scarce drawing breath from bloody war, Mourned with his Nymphs for ruin fallen on Troy, Mourned for the city of Priam blotted out.
As when hail lashes a field of ripened wheat, And beats it small, and smites off all the ears With merciless scourge, and levelled with the ground Are stalks, and on the earth is all the grain Woefully wasted, and the harvest's lord Is stricken with deadly grief; so Xanthus' soul Was utterly whelmed in grief for Ilium made A desolation; grief undying was his, Immortal though he was. Mourned Simois And long-ridged Ida: all who on Ida dwelt Wailed from afar the ruin of Priam's town.
But with loud laughter of glee the Argives sought Their galleys, chanting the triumphant might Of victory, chanting now the Blessed Gods, Now their own valour, and Epeius' work Ever renowned. Their song soared up to heaven, Like multitudinous cries of daws, when breaks A day of sunny calm and windless air After a ruining storm: from their glad hearts So rose the joyful clamour, till the Gods Heard and rejoiced in heaven, all who had helped With willing hands the war-fain Argive men.
But chafed those others which had aided Troy, Beholding Priam's city wrapped in flame, Yet powerless for her help to override Fate; for not Cronos' Son can stay the hand Of Destiny, whose might transcendeth all The Immortals, and Zeus sanctioneth all her deeds.
The Argives on the flaming altar-wood Laid many thighs of oxen, and made haste To spill sweet wine on their burnt offerings, Thanking the Gods for that great work achieved.
And loudly at the feast they sang the praise Of all the mailed men whom the Horse of Tree Had ambushed. Far-famed Sinon they extolled For that dire torment he endured of foes;
Yea, song and honour-guerdons without end All rendered him: and that resolved soul Glad-hearted joyed for the Argives victory, And for his own misfeaturing sorrowed not.
For to the wise and prudent man renown Is better far than gold, than goodlihead, Than all good things men have or hope to win.
So, feasting by the ships all void of fear, Cried one to another ever and anon:
"We have touched the goal of this long war, have won Glory, have smitten our foes and their great town!
Now grant, O Zeus, to our prayers safe home-return!"
But not to all the Sire vouchsafed return.
Then rose a cunning harper in their midst.
And sang the song of triumph and of peace Re-won, and with glad hearts untouched by care They heard; for no more fear of war had they, But of sweet toil of law-abiding days And blissful, fleeting hours henceforth they dreamed.
