Noon smote down on the field, Burning on spears and helms, Shining from Theseus' shield. As a wave of the sea that whelms A rock, and its crest uprears, Through the wreck of the trampled wheat The charge of the charioteers Thundering broke. A sleet Veiled light, and the air was alive, As with hissing of snakes, as with swarms Of the Spring by a populous hive, As with wind, and the clamour of storms: So hurtled the arrowy hail Loosed from the Amazon ranks, Smote ringing on brazen mail, Struck fanged through the shuddering flanks Of the stallions; and half were hurled In the dust, and broken, and brayed By the chariots over them whirled, Which, eager and undismayed, Swept ruining on to the hordes Of the Amazonian camp, With the lightning of terrible swords; Till the dead were heaped, as a ramp For the quick. But the chariots shocked On the thicket of close-set spears; And the long ranks reeled, and rocked, Broke; and the charioteers Went through them, cleaving as ploughs Cleave earth: they were rent, and tossed With the tumult of tortured boughs. And the stallions, with foam embossed, Fought, tearing each other with teeth, In the red, blind rage of their lust, Screaming; and writhed underneath The wounded, trodden as must Of the grapes trodden out in the press, Empurpling the knees, and bare Thighs of the men. Through the stress Of their shoulders drove as a share, Hippolyta. Avenging she came; And they streamed, and they surged round her car, The women: her face was a flame As she rode through the tempest of war; And they cried, made glad with the sight, As those desiring the dawn, When the darkness is cloven by light, Cry for gladness: they rallied, upborne, When she rayed as the sun through their cloud. But she strung the bow, and she prayed Unto Artemis, calling aloud, As a maid might call to a maid; And the Goddess of shining brows Heard, as she paused from the chace Upon Tainaros hoary with snows; And a shadow darkened her face: A shadow, and then a ray Lightening, glorying, smiled, As her thought pierced years to a day Unborn, and an unborn child, With the pure fount of his praise Lifted to her, from the shrine Rock-hewn, at the three cross-ways In a waste of hills, as wine Gladdening her; and she shed A wonder, a terror, a fear, A beauty that filled with dread, A glory no eyes might bear On her maid; stooped, hushed, from the height Her thought, as a bird on the wing, Rained down from her, swifter than light. Hippolyta notched on the string An arrow, and loosed it, and smote, As he drove at her car with a jest, Agelaus, cleaving his throat Speechless; and smote through the breast Polytherses; and Euenor then Felt the teeth of the flints at his veins, As his mares dragged him back to his men All bloody, entangled in reins; Then Damastor she smote: and they fled As doves or as linnets fly When a hawk that has towered overhead Stoops, ravening, out of the sky On their quires. But her arrows sighed After them, swifter than feet: They ran, shrieked, stumbled, and died, Shot through with her shafts. In the wheat, With the sunlight gilding their greaves, Helmets, and shields, and mail, They lay, strewn thickly as leaves When Autumn has swung his flail. But afar, where Thermodon rolled The deep, swift strength of its flood To the ocean turbidly gold, Drave Theseus, eager for blood; And as herds stampede in affright At the reek of the beast in the air Precipitately through the night When a lion forth comes from his lair, So the women before him fled In a rout, headlong, overborne, For he drave as a beast all red, With the blood of the prey he had torn, Circled them round; they were rent, Whirled under him, flung from him, far Seaward, and lost; until spent, Heaped in a mound by her car Broken, and dying, and dead, Hippolyta saw. And she fled.
Theseus followed. Afar, Over the storm of the spears, He had seen her face as a star Shine; and no tremble of tears Softened her terrible eyes, Cruel they shone there, and blue With the beauty of windless skies. But her bowstring ever she drew, Loosening arrows that sang Through the air exulting as wind; And the clamour of battle rang Most by her car, while behind The fierce, wild women upheld Their queen, and their anger burned In staring eyeballs. She felled A man as her car overturned, Sped onward, her swift white feet The dead and the dying spurned Who lay in the wasted wheat. Theseus followed his prey As a lean hound follows the fleet Quarry: the dusty way Smoked with the speed of his feet. She was swift; but he burned in the chace: He was flame, he was sandalled with fire, Hungering after her face, With a fury, a lust, a desire, As a hound that whines for the blood Of the hart flying winged with fear; And she yearned, and she longed for the wood, Seeming far from her still, though near, And she strained, and she panted, and pressed, With her head flung backward for breath, And the quick sobs shaking her breast, Agonised, now, as by death, Fearing utterly, fighting with fate, Stumbling. And swifter behind, With a love made hot by his hate, Strained he pursuing. The wind, Lifted, and played with the fold Of her chlamys; and showed made bare The swift limbs shining, as gold From sunlight, and streamed through her hair As wind in a cresset of fire, As tresses of flame in the night, While she fled, desired, from desire, Till the brakes hid the flame from his sight.
Yea, but no long time he stood, As one who resigns the prize When a moment baffled. The wood Hid her indeed from his eyes, But the track of her feet lay clean As the slot of a deer in the grass. Slower he followed, and keen Were his downcast eyes. As a glass A wide lake gleamed in the ebb Of the latest tide of the light; Stars shone clear through the web Of the branches, beckoning night; The leaves fell softly, gilt With autumn, and tawny and red; And the blue of the skies lay spilt, Pooled, shining, from late rains shed; The tall reeds seemed to dream By the full lake's murmuring marge. She paused by a chiming stream, Listened awhile, hung her targe From a tree with her unstrung bow, Loosened her breast-plate and greaves, Bathing her limbs: and slow, Like a snake through the fallen leaves, Theseus crept on his prize, Paused, to gaze on her grace, The fine clean curve of the thighs, Pure brow, and well-chiselled face, Beautiful knees, and the play Of muscles, splendidly wrought. Theseus leapt on his prey.
Laughing softly, he sought Ease from desire as a flame: Struggled she still, and fought, Calling on Artemis' name, Who went, unheeding her prayer, Beyond Tainaros streaming with floods, Till the cries came faint through the air, Dwindling among the woods, For the numberless tongues of the leaves Echoed with myriad cries Low, and as plaintive as grieves The wood under darkening skies. The quick, sharp sobs from her breast Came thick, and she, to whom spears Hurtling close were a zest To battle, felt the hot tears Well and fall from her eyes, Struggled not long, lay still. Theseus stooped on his prize, Drank of her lips his fill.
