Hector

My brother, quickly now, give me your spear,
for mine is lost and I have failed my throw—
not wholly, though.  I struck his shield there, near
where Death is figured, dragging men below.
Give me a spear, and I’ll fend off this woe
and pierce the glorious shield through even Death—
Why should I tremble as if struck myself?

But keep your eyes upon him—steady now.
Achilles takes his aim; the spear he wields
as sturdy as Zeus-Father’s oak-tree bough,
him by whose will we conquer or we yield.
Take cover now beneath your well-wrought shield!
God smiles on us: Achilles’ spear flew wide,
and now beneath his figured shield he hides.

That image burns me, as a star on earth,
a light that pierces when I close my eyes:
The end of all things, sorrow same as mirth,
an omen like the vulture as it flies,
but for Achilles’ fall, or my own rise?
Give me a spear, Deïphobus, now you must!
Or by Death’s hand we shall be dragged in dust.

Where are you, brother? Coward, have you flown?
Yet all this time how strange you’ve made no noise,
and in the dirt no footprints but my own.
How long have I heard only my own voice?
How many years the Argives will rejoice,
and in Achilles’ hand again the spear
that fell behind me. Oh, some god is near!

Athena, by my guess. The aegis shakes,
and on that shield divine Medusa’s head
has stopped my blood. My heart no longer quakes.
I will call no man happy ‘til he’s dead
and walks no more between content and dread
on either hand, and falls as gods decree.
I fall today. Let there still honor be.

Hear me, you gods swift-footed and fleet-winged
that baffle eyes of men and daze their sense.
I stand a king’s son who would yet be kinged
but for your will. Grant me this recompense:
Let it be known that I in Troy’s defense
was ever first in battle and in fame.
Let men in future songs still speak my name.

But for myself, I go down to the shades.
I will not fight your word. All men must die
until of something else than earth we’re made.
As it is now, our spirits ever fly;
this I accept.  But know I, Hector, I
have heard you promise lies. If god deceives,
he should watch out, for thieves are robbed by thieves.

Know there will come a day when Zeus shall fall,
and greater than Achilles’ fall is great
his plummet from the heights shall shake us all.
Not even gods escape the hand of fate.
From Hades, then, that time I shall await
when something rises greater than your might.
But now I take my sword in hand and fight.

Hector’s body is brought back to Troy, from a Roman sarcophagus ca. 180–200 AD. Photo By Marie-Lan Nguyen (January 2005), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38922