A mist of darkness overveiled her eyes, And anguish thrilled her soul. Yet even so Still drew she difficult breath, still dimly saw The hero, even now in act to drag Her from the swift steed's back. Confusedly She thought: "Or shall I draw my mighty sword, And bide Achilles' fiery onrush, or Hastily cast me from my fleet horse down To earth, and kneel unto this godlike man, And with wild breath promise for ransoming Great heaps of brass and gold, which pacify The hearts of victors never so athirst For blood, if haply so the murderous might Of Aeacus' son may hearken and may spare, Or peradventure may compassionate My youth, and so vouchsafe me to behold Mine home again? -- for O, I long to live!"
So surged the wild thoughts in her; but the Gods Ordained it otherwise. Even now rushed on In terrible anger Peleus' son: he thrust With sudden spear, and on its shaft impaled The body of her tempest-footed steed, Even as a man in haste to sup might pierce Flesh with the spit, above the glowing hearth To roast it, or as in a mountain-glade A hunter sends the shaft of death clear through The body of a stag with such winged speed That the fierce dart leaps forth beyond, to plunge Into the tall stem of an oak or pine.
So that death-ravening spear of Peleus' son Clear through the goodly steed rushed on, and pierced Penthesileia. Straightway fell she down Into the dust of earth, the arms of death, In grace and comeliness fell, for naught of shame Dishonoured her fair form. Face down she lay On the long spear outgasping her last breath, Stretched upon that fleet horse as on a couch;
Like some tall pine snapped by the icy mace Of Boreas, earth's forest-fosterling Reared by a spring to stately height, amidst Long mountain-glens, a glory of mother earth;
So from the once fleet steed low fallen lay Penthesileia, all her shattered strength Brought down to this, and all her loveliness.
Now when the Trojans saw the Warrior-queen Struck down in battle, ran through all their lines A shiver of panic. Straightway to their walls Turned they in flight, heart-agonized with grief.
As when on the wide sea, 'neath buffetings Of storm-blasts, castaways whose ship is wrecked Escape, a remnant of a crew, forspent With desperate conflict with the cruel sea:
Late and at last appears the land hard by, Appears a city: faint and weary-limbed With that grim struggle, through the surf they strain To land, sore grieving for the good ship 1ost, And shipmates whom the terrible surge dragged down To nether gloom; so, Troyward as they fled From battle, all those Trojans wept for her, The Child of the resistless War-god, wept For friends who died in groan-resounding fight.
Then over her with scornful laugh the son Of Peleus vaunted: "In the dust lie there A prey to teeth of dogs, to ravens' beaks, Thou wretched thing! Who cozened thee to come Forth against me? And thoughtest thou to fare Home from the war alive, to bear with thee Right royal gifts from Priam the old king, Thy guerdon for slain Argives? Ha, 'twas not The Immortals who inspired thee with this thought, Who know that I of heroes mightiest am, The Danaans' light of safety, but a woe To Trojans and to thee, O evil-starred!
Nay, but it was the darkness-shrouded Fates And thine own folly of soul that pricked thee on To leave the works of women, and to fare To war, from which strong men shrink shuddering back."
So spake he, and his ashen spear the son Of Peleus drew from that swift horse, and from Penthesileia in death's agony.
Then steed and rider gasped their lives away Slain by one spear. Now from her head he plucked The helmet splendour-flashing like the beams Of the great sun, or Zeus' own glory-light.
Then, there as fallen in dust and blood she lay, Rose, like the breaking of the dawn, to view 'Neath dainty-pencilled brows a lovely face, Lovely in death. The Argives thronged around, And all they saw and marvelled, for she seemed Like an Immortal. In her armour there Upon the earth she lay, and seemed the Child Of Zeus, the tireless Huntress Artemis Sleeping, what time her feet forwearied are With following lions with her flying shafts Over the hills far-stretching. She was made A wonder of beauty even in her death By Aphrodite glorious-crowned, the Bride Of the strong War-god, to the end that he, The son of noble Peleus, might be pierced With the sharp arrow of repentant love.
The warriors gazed, and in their hearts they prayed That fair and sweet like her their wives might seem, Laid on the bed of love, when home they won.
Yea, and Achilles' very heart was wrung With love's remorse to have slain a thing so sweet, Who might have borne her home, his queenly bride, To chariot-glorious Phthia; for she was Flawless, a very daughter of the Gods, Divinely tall, and most divinely fair.
Then Ares' heart was thrilled with grief and rage For his child slain. Straight from Olympus down He darted, swift and bright as thunderbolt Terribly flashing from the mighty hand Of Zeus, far leaping o'er the trackless sea, Or flaming o'er the land, while shuddereth All wide Olympus as it passeth by.
So through the quivering air with heart aflame Swooped Ares armour-clad, soon as he heard The dread doom of his daughter. For the Gales, The North-wind's fleet-winged daughters, bare to him, As through the wide halls of the sky he strode, The tidings of the maiden's woeful end.
Soon as he heard it, like a tempest-blast Down to the ridges of Ida leapt he: quaked Under his feet the long glens and ravines Deep-scored, all Ida's torrent-beds, and all Far-stretching foot-hills. Now had Ares brought A day of mourning on the Myrmidons, But Zeus himself from far Olympus sent Mid shattering thunders terror of levin-bolts Which thick and fast leapt through the welkin down Before his feet, blazing with fearful flames.
