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. And Ares saw, and knew the stormy threat Of the mighty-thundering Father, and he stayed His eager feet, now on the very brink Of battle's turmoil. As when some huge crag Thrust from a beetling cliff-brow by the winds And torrent rains, or lightning-lance of Zeus, Leaps like a wild beast, and the mountain-glens Fling back their crashing echoes as it rolls In mad speed on, as with resistless swoop