Scars of War

Achilles

He was just a lad when he came to Troy, but not an ordinary growing boy. After all he was half divine; even as a child he gave more than one sign of the hero to come. They disguised him as a girl. To keep him home was hopeless, though his hair did curl.

In war he learned there was more than revenge: There was sorrow and grief and loss of friends. Love led to hate: all Troy must pay for taking his beloved Patroclus away.

Achilles learned that his talent for killing was not enough. He had to be willing to learn from his grief how old Priam felt when his dearest son Hector was dealt the fatal thrust that left him lying in the dust.

Achilles the hero lived more for himself than for the Greeks; his kind of wealth consisted of choosing short life but superb greatness. Yes, arête is surely the exact word.

In men’s minds his memory would always recall how beauty of body and great strength are not all a hero needs. Stubborn as all heroes have to be, though he was born of greatness. I think we’ll agree in men’s minds he would never die.

Penelope and her Long-lost Husband

So many men had tried to trick her; No wonder she had to be sure. How young he had been when he set out for Troy Twenty long years ago! This grizzled, weather-worn old man Was still ruggedly handsome behind his wild beard.

And now she gazed into those long-remembered eyes, Trying to recollect the young man behind the old. Oh, how age had sucked away the bloom of youth! Yet who but Odysseus had that slight stutter, that Hint of shyness beneath his confident manner?

Scars of war remain, and other scars as well. Like a badge of honor on his thigh that scar still shows: She knew it well and how while still a youth he had Been badly wounded by a wild boar. For Penelope It was his passport home that could not be denied!

When Odysseus knelt to plead for recognition, His garment slipped; that precious scar caught her eye. Now she was sure, but she cooly held her peace. She was a match for Odysseus in subtlety and wit.

The heyday of the blood may have cooled a little, But a sudden surge of love and their bodies mingled. Behold the old nurse lifting her hands in rapture! I’m telling you the true story of how it went that day.

Let their names be carved on an old oak tree. Young lovers take note: Can you match such constancy?