The Iliad

But soon as the Lapiths saw the Trojans storm the wall,

and cries broke from the Argives lost in sudden panic,

then the two burst forth to fight before the gates

like wild boars, a pair of them up on the hilltops

bracing to take some breakneck rout of men and dogs

and the two go slanting in on the charge, shattering timber

round about them, shearing off the trunks at the roots

and a grinding, screeching clatter of tusks goes up

till a hunter spears them, tears their lives out—

so the clatter screeched from the gleaming bronze

that cased their chests as blows piled on blows.

Deadly going, fighting now for all they were worth,

staking all on their own strength and friends overhead

as they ripped off rocks from the rampart’s sturdy ledge

and hurled them down, defending themselves, their shelters,

their fast ships—the rocks pelted the ground like snow

that a sudden squall in fury, driving the dark clouds,

heaps thick-and-fast on the earth that feeds us all.

So the missiles showering from their hands—Achaeans,

Trojans, helmets and bossed shields clashing, ringing

shrilly under the blows of boulders big as millstones.

And now with a deep groan and pounding both thighs

Asius son of Hyrtacus cried in anguish, “Father Zeus—

so even you are an outright liar after all!

I never dreamed these heroic Argive ranks

could hold back our charge, our invincible arms.

Look, like wasps quick and pinched at the waist

or bees who build their hives on a rocky path,

they never give up their hollow house, they hold on,

keep the honey-hunters at bay, fight for their young.

So these men will never budge from the gates

though they’re only two defenders—

not till they kill us all or we kill them!”

But his wailing failed to move the heart of Zeus:

it was Zeus’s pleasure to hand the prize to Hector.

Now squad on squad, gate to gate they fought—

but how can I tell it all, sing it all like a god?

The strain is far too great. Everywhere round the wall

the surging inhuman blaze of war leapt up the rocks—

the Argives, desperate, had no choice, they struggled now

to defend the ships, and the gods were cast down in spirit,

all who had urged the Argive soldiers on in battle ...

But the Lapiths still kept fighting, slaughtering on.

There—Pirithous’ son the rugged Polypoetes

skewered Damasus, pierced his bronze-sided helmet.

None of the bronze plate could hold it, boring through

the metal and skull the brazen spearpoint pounded,

Damasus’ brains splattered all inside his casque—

Polypoetes beat him down despite the Trojan’s rage,

then Pylon and Ormenus, killed and stripped them both.

And the tested veteran Leonteus speared Hippomachus,

gouged Antimachus’ offspring down across the belt,

then drawing his long sharp sword from its sheath

he rushed the front and took Antiphates first

with a quick thrust, stabbing at close range—

he slammed on his back, sprawled along the ground.

Then Menon, Orestes, Iamenus—Leonteus killed the lot,

crowding corpse on corpse on the earth that rears us all.

While the Lapiths stripped their kills of gleaming gear

the fighters trooping behind Polydamas and Hector,

the greatest force, the best and bravest, grim set

above all to breach the wall and torch the ships,

still halted up at the trench, torn with doubt.

For suddenly, just as the men tried to cross,

a fatal bird-sign flashed before their eyes,

an eagle flying high on the left across their front

and clutching a monstrous bloody serpent in both talons,

still alive, still struggling—it had not lost its fight,

writhing back to strike it fanged the chest of its captor

right beside the throat—and agonized by the bites

the eagle flung it away to earth, dashed it down

amidst the milling fighters, loosed a shriek

and the bird veered off along the gusting wind.

The Trojans shuddered to see the serpent glistening,

wriggling at their feet, a sign from storming Zeus.

And Polydamas stood by headstrong Hector, saying,

“Hector, you always seem to attack me in assembly,

despite my good advice. Never right, is it,

for a common man to speak against you, King,

never in open council, and god forbid in war.

Our part is always to magnify your power. Well,

once again I am bound to say what I think best.

Stop the attack, don’t fight them at their ships!

All will end as the omen says, I do believe,

if the bird-sign really came to us, the Trojans,

just as our fighters tried to cross the trench.

That eagle flying high on the left across our front,

clutching this bloody serpent in both its talons,

still alive—but he let the monster drop at once,

before he could sweep it back to his own home ...

he never fed his nestlings in the end.

Nor will we.

Even if we can breach the Argives’ gates and wall,

assaulting in force, and the Argives give ground,

back from the ships we’ll come,

back the way we went but our battle-order ruined,

whole battalions of Trojans left behind and killed—

the Achaeans will cut us down with bronze to save their fleet!

So a knowing seer of the gods would read this omen,

someone clear in his mind and skilled with signs,

a man the Trojan armies would obey.“

His helmet flashing,

Hector wheeled with a dark glance: “Enough, Polydamas!

Your pleading repels me now—

you must have something better than this to say.

But if you are serious, speaking from the heart,

the gods themselves have blotted out your senses.

You tell me to forget the plans of storming Zeus,

all he promised me when he nodded in assent?

You tell me to put my trust in birds,

flying off on their long wild wings? Never.

I would never give them a glance, a second thought,

whether they fly on the right toward the dawn and sunrise

or fly on the left toward the haze and coming dark!

No, no, put our trust in the will of mighty Zeus,

king of the deathless gods and men who die.

Bird-signs!

Fight for your country—that is the best, the only omen!

You, why are you so afraid of war and slaughter?

Even if all the rest of us drop and die around you,