 The Iliad of Homer 

 THE ILIAD. 

 

BOOK IX. 

ARGUMENT.

THE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES.

Agamemnon, after the last day's defeat, 
proposes to the Greeks to quit the 
siege, and return to their country. 
Diomed opposes this, and Nestor seconds 
him, praising his wisdom and 
resolution. He orders the guard to be 
strengthened, and a council summoned to 
deliberate what measures are to be 
followed in this emergency. Agamemnon 
pursues this advice, and Nestor further 
prevails upon him to send ambassadors 
to Achilles, in order to move him to a 
reconciliation. Ulysses and Ajax are 
made choice of, who are accompanied by 
old Phoenix. They make, each of them, 
very moving and pressing speeches, but 
are rejected with roughness by 
Achilles, who notwithstanding retains 
Phoenix in his tent. The ambassadors 
return unsuccessfully to the camp, and 
the troops betake themselves to sleep.

This book, and the next following, take 
up the space of one night, which is the 
twenty-seventh from the beginning of 
the poem. The scene lies on the 
sea-shore, the station of the Grecian 
ships.

 Thus joyful Troy maintain'd the watch 
of night; While fear, pale comrade of 
inglorious flight,(199) And heaven-bred 
horror, on the Grecian part, Sat on 
each face, and sadden'd every heart. As 
from its cloudy dungeon issuing forth, 
A double tempest of the west and north 
Swells o'er the sea, from Thracia's 
frozen shore, Heaps waves on waves, and 
bids the Ćgean roar: This way and that 
the boiling deeps are toss'd: Such 
various passions urged the troubled 
host, Great Agamemnon grieved above the 
rest; Superior sorrows swell'd his 
royal breast; Himself his orders to the 
heralds bears, To bid to council all 
the Grecian peers, But bid in whispers: 
these surround their chief, In solemn 
sadness and majestic grief. The king 
amidst the mournful circle rose: Down 
his wan cheek a briny torrent flows. So 
silent fountains, from a rock's tall 
head, In sable streams soft-trickling 
waters shed. With more than vulgar 
grief he stood oppress'd; Words, mix'd 
with sighs, thus bursting from his 
breast:

 "Ye sons of Greece! partake your 
leader's care; Fellows in arms and 
princes of the war! Of partial Jove too 
justly we complain, And heavenly 
oracles believed in vain. A safe return 
was promised to our toils, With 
conquest honour'd and enrich'd with 
spoils: Now shameful flight alone can 
save the host; Our wealth, our people, 
and our glory lost. So Jove decrees, 
almighty lord of all! Jove, at whose 
nod whole empires rise or fall, Who 
shakes the feeble props of human trust, 
And towers and armies humbles to the 
dust. Haste then, for ever quit these 
fatal fields, Haste to the joys our 
native country yields; Spread all your 
canvas, all your oars employ, Nor hope 
the fall of heaven-defended Troy."

 He said: deep silence held the Grecian 
band; Silent, unmov'd in dire dismay 
they stand; A pensive scene! till 
Tydeus' warlike son Roll'd on the king 
his eyes, and thus begun: "When kings 
advise us to renounce our fame, First 
let him speak who first has suffer'd 
shame. If I oppose thee, prince! thy 
wrath withhold, The laws of council bid 
my tongue be bold. Thou first, and thou 
alone, in fields of fight, Durst brand 
my courage, and defame my might: Nor 
from a friend the unkind reproach 
appear'd, The Greeks stood witness, all 
our army heard. The gods, O chief! from 
whom our honours spring, The gods have 
made thee but by halves a king: They 
gave thee sceptres, and a wide command; 
They gave dominion o'er the seas and 
land; The noblest power that might the 
world control They gave thee not--a 
brave and virtuous soul. Is this a 
general's voice, that would suggest 
Fears like his own to every Grecian 
breast? Confiding in our want of worth, 
he stands; And if we fly, 'tis what our 
king commands. Go thou, inglorious! 
from the embattled plain; Ships thou 
hast store, and nearest to the main; A 
noble care the Grecians shall employ, 
To combat, conquer, and extirpate Troy. 
Here Greece shall stay; or, if all 
Greece retire, Myself shall stay, till 
Troy or I expire; Myself, and 
Sthenelus, will fight for fame; God 
bade us fight, and 'twas with God we 
came."

 He ceased; the Greeks loud 
acclamations raise, And voice to voice 
resounds Tydides' praise. Wise Nestor 
then his reverend figure rear'd; He 
spoke: the host in still attention 
heard: 

 "O truly great! in whom the gods have 
join'd Such strength of body with such 
force of mind: In conduct, as in 
courage, you excel, Still first to act 
what you advise so well. These 
wholesome counsels which thy wisdom 
moves, Applauding Greece with common 
voice approves. Kings thou canst blame; 
a bold but prudent youth: And blame 
even kings with praise, because with 
truth. And yet those years that since 
thy birth have run Would hardly style 
thee Nestor's youngest son. Then let me 
add what yet remains behind, A thought 
unfinish'd in that generous mind; Age 
bids me speak! nor shall the advice I 
bring Distaste the people, or offend 
the king:

 "Cursed is the man, and void of law 
and right, Unworthy property, unworthy 
light, Unfit for public rule, or 
private care, That wretch, that 
monster, who delights in war; Whose 
lust is murder, and whose horrid joy, 
To tear his country, and his kind 
destroy! This night, refresh and 
fortify thy train; Between the trench 
and wall let guards remain: Be that the 
duty of the young and bold; But thou, O 
king, to council call the old; Great is 
thy sway, and weighty are thy cares; 
Thy high commands must spirit all our 
wars. With Thracian wines recruit thy 
honour'd guests, For happy counsels 
flow from sober feasts. Wise, weighty 
counsels aid a state distress'd, And 
such a monarch as can choose the best. 
See what a blaze from hostile tents 
aspires, How near our fleet approach 
the Trojan fires! Who can, unmoved, 
behold the dreadful light? What eye 
beholds them, and can close to-night? 
This dreadful interval determines all; 
To-morrow, Troy must flame, or Greece 
must fall."

 Thus spoke the hoary sage: the rest 
obey; Swift through the gates the 
guards direct their way. His son was 
first to pass the lofty mound, The 
generous Thrasymed, in arms renown'd: 
Next him, Ascalaphus, Ialmen, stood, 
The double offspring of the 
warrior-god: Deipyrus, Aphareus, Merion 
join, And Lycomed of Creon's noble 
line. Seven were the leaders of the 
nightly bands, And each bold chief a 
hundred spears commands. The fires they 
light, to short repasts they fall, Some 
line the trench, and others man the 
wall.

 The king of men, on public counsels 
bent, Convened the princes in his ample 
tent, Each seized a portion of the 
kingly feast, But stay'd his hand when 
thirst and hunger ceased. Then Nestor 
spoke, for wisdom long approved, And 
slowly rising, thus the council moved.

 "Monarch of nations! whose superior 
sway Assembled states, and lords of 
earth obey, The laws and sceptres to 
thy hand are given, And millions own 
the care of thee and Heaven. O king! 
the counsels of my age attend; With 
thee my cares begin, with thee must 
end. Thee, prince! it fits alike to 
speak and hear, Pronounce with 
judgment, with regard give ear, To see 
no wholesome motion be withstood, And 
ratify the best for public good. Nor, 
though a meaner give advice, repine, 
But follow it, and make the wisdom 
thine. Hear then a thought, not now 
conceived in haste, At once my present 
judgment and my past. When from 
Pelides' tent you forced the maid, I 
first opposed, and faithful, durst 
dissuade; But bold of soul, when 
headlong fury fired, You wronged the 
man, by men and gods admired: Now seek 
some means his fatal wrath to end, With 
prayers to move him, or with gifts to 
bend."

 To whom the king. "With justice hast 
thou shown A prince's faults, and I 
with reason own. That happy man, whom 
Jove still honours most, Is more than 
armies, and himself a host. Bless'd in 
his love, this wondrous hero stands; 
Heaven fights his war, and humbles all 
our bands. Fain would my heart, which 
err'd through frantic rage, The 
wrathful chief and angry gods assuage. 
If gifts immense his mighty soul can 
bow,(201) Hear, all ye Greeks, and 
witness what I vow. Ten weighty talents 
of the purest gold, And twice ten vases 
of refulgent mould: Seven sacred 
tripods, whose unsullied frame Yet 
knows no office, nor has felt the 
flame; Twelve steeds unmatch'd in 
fleetness and in force, And still 
victorious in the dusty course; (Rich 
were the man whose ample stores exceed 
The prizes purchased by their winged 
speed;) Seven lovely captives of the 
Lesbian line, Skill'd in each art, 
unmatch'd in form divine, The same I 
chose for more than vulgar charms, When 
Lesbos sank beneath the hero's arms: 
All these, to buy his friendship, shall 
be paid, And join'd with these the 
long-contested maid; With all her 
charms, Briseis I resign, And solemn 
swear those charms were never mine; 
Untouch'd she stay'd, uninjured she 
removes, Pure from my arms, and 
guiltless of my loves,(202) These 
instant shall be his; and if the powers 
Give to our arms proud Ilion's hostile 
towers, Then shall he store (when 
Greece the spoil divides) With gold and 
brass his loaded navy's sides: Besides, 
full twenty nymphs of Trojan race With 
copious love shall crown his warm 
embrace, Such as himself will choose; 
who yield to none, Or yield to Helen's 
heavenly charms alone. Yet hear me 
further: when our wars are o'er, If 
safe we land on Argos' fruitful shore, 
There shall he live my son, our honours 
share, And with Orestes' self divide my 
care. Yet more--three daughters in my 
court are bred, And each well worthy of 
a royal bed; Laodice and Iphigenia 
fair,(203) And bright Chrysothemis with 
golden hair; Her let him choose whom 
most his eyes approve, I ask no 
presents, no reward for love: Myself 
will give the dower; so vast a store As 
never father gave a child before. Seven 
ample cities shall confess his sway, 
Him Enope, and Pherae him obey, 
Cardamyle with ample turrets crown'd, 
And sacred Pedasus for vines renown'd; 
Ćpea fair, the pastures Hira yields, 
And rich Antheia with her flowery 
fields:(204) The whole extent to Pylos' 
sandy plain, Along the verdant margin 
of the main There heifers graze, and 
labouring oxen toil; Bold are the men, 
and generous is the soil; There shall 
he reign, with power and justice 
crown'd, And rule the tributary realms 
around. All this I give, his vengeance 
to control, And sure all this may move 
his mighty soul. Pluto, the grisly god, 
who never spares, Who feels no mercy, 
and who hears no prayers, Lives dark 
and dreadful in deep hell's abodes, And 
mortals hate him, as the worst of gods 
Great though he be, it fits him to 
obey, Since more than his my years, and 
more my sway." 

 PLUTO. 

 The monarch thus. The reverend Nestor 
then: "Great Agamemnon! glorious king 
of men! Such are thy offers as a prince 
may take, And such as fits a generous 
king to make. Let chosen delegates this 
hour be sent (Myself will name them) to 
Pelides' tent. Let Phoenix lead, 
revered for hoary age, Great Ajax next, 
and Ithacus the sage. Yet more to 
sanctify the word you send, Let Hodius 
and Eurybates attend. Now pray to Jove 
to grant what Greece demands; Pray in 
deep silence,(205) and with purest 
hands."(206) 

 THE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES. 

 He said; and all approved. The heralds 
bring The cleansing water from the 
living spring. The youth with wine the 
sacred goblets crown'd, And large 
libations drench'd the sands around. 
The rite perform'd, the chiefs their 
thirst allay, Then from the royal tent 
they take their way; Wise Nestor turns 
on each his careful eye, Forbids to 
offend, instructs them to apply; Much 
he advised them all, Ulysses most, To 
deprecate the chief, and save the host. 
Through the still night they march, and 
hear the roar Of murmuring billows on 
the sounding shore. To Neptune, ruler 
of the seas profound, Whose liquid arms 
the mighty globe surround, They pour 
forth vows, their embassy to bless, And 
calm the rage of stern Ćacides. And 
now, arrived, where on the sandy bay 
The Myrmidonian tents and vessels lay; 
Amused at ease, the godlike man they 
found, Pleased with the solemn harp's 
harmonious sound. (The well wrought 
harp from conquered Thebae came; Of 
polish'd silver was its costly frame.) 
With this he soothes his angry soul, 
and sings The immortal deeds of heroes 
and of kings. Patroclus only of the 
royal train, Placed in his tent, 
attends the lofty strain: Full opposite 
he sat, and listen'd long, In silence 
waiting till he ceased the song. Unseen 
the Grecian embassy proceeds To his 
high tent; the great Ulysses leads. 
Achilles starting, as the chiefs he 
spied, Leap'd from his seat, and laid 
the harp aside. With like surprise 
arose Menoetius' son: Pelides grasp'd 
their hands, and thus begun:

 "Princes, all hail! whatever brought 
you here. Or strong necessity, or 
urgent fear; Welcome, though Greeks! 
for not as foes ye came; To me more 
dear than all that bear the name."

 With that, the chiefs beneath his roof 
he led, And placed in seats with purple 
carpets spread. Then thus--"Patroclus, 
crown a larger bowl, Mix purer wine, 
and open every soul. Of all the 
warriors yonder host can send, Thy 
friend most honours these, and these 
thy friend."

 He said: Patroclus o'er the blazing 
fire Heaps in a brazen vase three 
chines entire: The brazen vase 
Automedon sustains, Which flesh of 
porker, sheep, and goat contains. 
Achilles at the genial feast presides, 
The parts transfixes, and with skill 
divides. Meanwhile Patroclus sweats, 
the fire to raise; The tent is 
brighten'd with the rising blaze: Then, 
when the languid flames at length 
subside, He strows a bed of glowing 
embers wide, Above the coals the 
smoking fragments turns And sprinkles 
sacred salt from lifted urns; With 
bread the glittering canisters they 
load, Which round the board Menoetius' 
son bestow'd; Himself, opposed to 
Ulysses full in sight, Each portion 
parts, and orders every rite. The first 
fat offering to the immortals due, 
Amidst the greedy flames Patroclus 
threw; Then each, indulging in the 
social feast, His thirst and hunger 
soberly repress'd. That done, to 
Phoenix Ajax gave the sign: Not 
unperceived; Ulysses crown'd with wine 
The foaming bowl, and instant thus 
began, His speech addressing to the 
godlike man.

 "Health to Achilles! happy are thy 
guests! Not those more honour'd whom 
Atrides feasts: Though generous plenty 
crown thy loaded boards, That, 
Agamemnon's regal tent affords; But 
greater cares sit heavy on our souls, 
Nor eased by banquets or by flowing 
bowls. What scenes of slaughter in yon 
fields appear! The dead we mourn, and 
for the living fear; Greece on the 
brink of fate all doubtful stands, And 
owns no help but from thy saving hands: 
Troy and her aids for ready vengeance 
call; Their threatening tents already 
shade our wall: Hear how with shouts 
their conquest they proclaim, And point 
at every ship their vengeful flame! For 
them the father of the gods declares, 
Theirs are his omens, and his thunder 
theirs. See, full of Jove, avenging 
Hector rise! See! heaven and earth the 
raging chief defies; What fury in his 
breast, what lightning in his eyes! He 
waits but for the morn, to sink in 
flame The ships, the Greeks, and all 
the Grecian name. Heavens! how my 
country's woes distract my mind, Lest 
Fate accomplish all his rage design'd! 
And must we, gods! our heads inglorious 
lay In Trojan dust, and this the fatal 
day? Return, Achilles: oh return, 
though late, To save thy Greeks, and 
stop the course of Fate; If in that 
heart or grief or courage lies, Rise to 
redeem; ah, yet to conquer, rise! The 
day may come, when, all our warriors 
slain, That heart shall melt, that 
courage rise in vain: Regard in time, O 
prince divinely brave! Those wholesome 
counsels which thy father gave. When 
Peleus in his aged arms embraced His 
parting son, these accents were his 
last:

 "'My child! with strength, with glory, 
and success, Thy arms may Juno and 
Minerva bless! Trust that to Heaven: 
but thou, thy cares engage To calm thy 
passions, and subdue thy rage: From 
gentler manners let thy glory grow, And 
shun contention, the sure source of 
woe; That young and old may in thy 
praise combine, The virtues of humanity 
be thine--' This now-despised advice 
thy father gave; Ah! check thy anger; 
and be truly brave. If thou wilt yield 
to great Atrides' prayers, Gifts worthy 
thee his royal hand prepares; If 
not--but hear me, while I number o'er 
The proffer'd presents, an exhaustless 
store. Ten weighty talents of the 
purest gold, And twice ten vases of 
refulgent mould; Seven sacred tripods, 
whose unsullied frame Yet knows no 
office, nor has felt the flame; Twelve 
steeds unmatched in fleetness and in 
force, And still victorious in the 
dusty course; (Rich were the man, whose 
ample stores exceed The prizes 
purchased by their winged speed;) Seven 
lovely captives of the Lesbian line, 
Skill'd in each art, unmatch'd in form 
divine, The same he chose for more than 
vulgar charms, When Lesbos sank beneath 
thy conquering arms. All these, to buy 
thy friendship shall be paid, And, 
join'd with these, the long-contested 
maid; With all her charms, Briseis 
he'll resign, And solemn swear those 
charms were only thine; Untouch'd she 
stay'd, uninjured she removes, Pure 
from his arms, and guiltless of his 
loves. These instant shall be thine; 
and if the powers Give to our arms 
proud Ilion's hostile towers, Then 
shalt thou store (when Greece the spoil 
divides) With gold and brass thy loaded 
navy's sides. Besides, full twenty 
nymphs of Trojan race With copious love 
shall crown thy warm embrace; Such as 
thyself shall chose; who yield to none, 
Or yield to Helen's heavenly charms 
alone. Yet hear me further: when our 
wars are o'er, If safe we land on 
Argos' fruitful shore, There shalt thou 
live his son, his honour share, And 
with Orestes' self divide his care. Yet 
more--three daughters in his court are 
bred, And each well worthy of a royal 
bed: Laodice and Iphigenia fair, And 
bright Chrysothemis with golden hair: 
Her shalt thou wed whom most thy eyes 
approve; He asks no presents, no reward 
for love: Himself will give the dower; 
so vast a store As never father gave a 
child before. Seven ample cities shall 
confess thy sway, The Enope and Pherae 
thee obey, Cardamyle with ample turrets 
crown'd, And sacred Pedasus, for vines 
renown'd: Ćpea fair, the pastures Hira 
yields, And rich Antheia with her 
flowery fields; The whole extent to 
Pylos' sandy plain, Along the verdant 
margin of the main. There heifers 
graze, and labouring oxen toil; Bold 
are the men, and generous is the soil. 
There shalt thou reign, with power and 
justice crown'd, And rule the tributary 
realms around. Such are the proffers 
which this day we bring, Such the 
repentance of a suppliant king. But if 
all this, relentless, thou disdain, If 
honour and if interest plead in vain, 
Yet some redress to suppliant Greece 
afford, And be, amongst her guardian 
gods, adored. If no regard thy 
suffering country claim, Hear thy own 
glory, and the voice of fame: For now 
that chief, whose unresisted ire Made 
nations tremble, and whole hosts 
retire, Proud Hector, now, the unequal 
fight demands, And only triumphs to 
deserve thy hands."

 Then thus the goddess-born: "Ulysses, 
hear A faithful speech, that knows nor 
art nor fear; What in my secret soul is 
understood, My tongue shall utter, and 
my deeds make good. Let Greece then 
know, my purpose I retain: Nor with new 
treaties vex my peace in vain. Who 
dares think one thing, and another 
tell, My heart detests him as the gates 
of hell.

 "Then thus in short my fix'd resolves 
attend, Which nor Atrides nor his 
Greeks can bend; Long toils, long 
perils in their cause I bore, But now 
the unfruitful glories charm no more. 
Fight or not fight, a like reward we 
claim, The wretch and hero find their 
prize the same. Alike regretted in the 
dust he lies, Who yields ignobly, or 
who bravely dies. Of all my dangers, 
all my glorious pains, A life of 
labours, lo! what fruit remains? As the 
bold bird her helpless young attends, 
From danger guards them, and from want 
defends; In search of prey she wings 
the spacious air, And with the untasted 
food supplies her care: For thankless 
Greece such hardships have I braved, 
Her wives, her infants, by my labours 
saved; Long sleepless nights in heavy 
arms I stood, And sweat laborious days 
in dust and blood. I sack'd twelve 
ample cities on the main,(207) And 
twelve lay smoking on the Trojan plain: 
Then at Atrides' haughty feet were laid 
The wealth I gathered, and the spoils I 
made. Your mighty monarch these in 
peace possess'd; Some few my soldiers 
had, himself the rest. Some present, 
too, to every prince was paid; And 
every prince enjoys the gift he made: I 
only must refund, of all his train; See 
what pre-eminence our merits gain! My 
spoil alone his greedy soul delights: 
My spouse alone must bless his lustful 
nights: The woman, let him (as he may) 
enjoy; But what's the quarrel, then, of 
Greece to Troy? What to these shores 
the assembled nations draws, What calls 
for vengeance but a woman's cause? Are 
fair endowments and a beauteous face 
Beloved by none but those of Atreus' 
race? The wife whom choice and passion 
doth approve, Sure every wise and 
worthy man will love. Nor did my fair 
one less distinction claim; Slave as 
she was, my soul adored the dame. 
Wrong'd in my love, all proffers I 
disdain; Deceived for once, I trust not 
kings again. Ye have my answer--what 
remains to do, Your king, Ulysses, may 
consult with you. What needs he the 
defence this arm can make? Has he not 
walls no human force can shake? Has he 
not fenced his guarded navy round With 
piles, with ramparts, and a trench 
profound? And will not these (the 
wonders he has done) Repel the rage of 
Priam's single son? There was a time 
('twas when for Greece I fought) When 
Hector's prowess no such wonders 
wrought; He kept the verge of Troy, nor 
dared to wait Achilles' fury at the 
Scaean gate; He tried it once, and 
scarce was saved by fate. But now those 
ancient enmities are o'er; To-morrow we 
the favouring gods implore; Then shall 
you see our parting vessels crown'd, 
And hear with oars the Hellespont 
resound. The third day hence shall 
Pthia greet our sails,(208) If mighty 
Neptune send propitious gales; Pthia to 
her Achilles shall restore The wealth 
he left for this detested shore: 
Thither the spoils of this long war 
shall pass, The ruddy gold, the steel, 
and shining brass: My beauteous 
captives thither I'll convey, And all 
that rests of my unravish'd prey. One 
only valued gift your tyrant gave, And 
that resumed--the fair Lyrnessian 
slave. Then tell him: loud, that all 
the Greeks may hear, And learn to scorn 
the wretch they basely fear; (For arm'd 
in impudence, mankind he braves, And 
meditates new cheats on all his slaves; 
Though shameless as he is, to face 
these eyes Is what he dares not: if he 
dares he dies;) Tell him, all terms, 
all commerce I decline, Nor share his 
council, nor his battle join; For once 
deceiv'd, was his; but twice were mine, 
No--let the stupid prince, whom Jove 
deprives Of sense and justice, run 
where frenzy drives; His gifts are 
hateful: kings of such a kind Stand but 
as slaves before a noble mind, Not 
though he proffer'd all himself 
possess'd, And all his rapine could 
from others wrest: Not all the golden 
tides of wealth that crown The 
many-peopled Orchomenian town;(209) Not 
all proud Thebes' unrivall'd walls 
contain, The world's great empress on 
the Egyptian plain (That spreads her 
conquests o'er a thousand states, And 
pours her heroes through a hundred 
gates, Two hundred horsemen and two 
hundred cars From each wide portal 
issuing to the wars);(210) Though 
bribes were heap'd on bribes, in number 
more Than dust in fields, or sands 
along the shore; Should all these 
offers for my friendship call, 'Tis he 
that offers, and I scorn them all. 
Atrides' daughter never shall be led 
(An ill-match'd consort) to Achilles' 
bed; Like golden Venus though she 
charm'd the heart, And vied with Pallas 
in the works of art; Some greater Greek 
let those high nuptials grace, I hate 
alliance with a tyrant's race. If 
heaven restore me to my realms with 
life, The reverend Peleus shall elect 
my wife; Thessalian nymphs there are of 
form divine, And kings that sue to mix 
their blood with mine. Bless'd in kind 
love, my years shall glide away, 
Content with just hereditary sway; 
There, deaf for ever to the martial 
strife, Enjoy the dear prerogative of 
life. Life is not to be bought with 
heaps of gold. Not all Apollo's Pythian 
treasures hold, Or Troy once held, in 
peace and pride of sway, Can bribe the 
poor possession of a day! Lost herds 
and treasures we by arms regain, And 
steeds unrivall'd on the dusty plain: 
But from our lips the vital spirit 
fled, Returns no more to wake the 
silent dead. My fates long since by 
Thetis were disclosed, And each 
alternate, life or fame, proposed; 
Here, if I stay, before the Trojan 
town, Short is my date, but deathless 
my renown: If I return, I quit immortal 
praise For years on years, and 
long-extended days. Convinced, though 
late, I find my fond mistake, And warn 
the Greeks the wiser choice to make; To 
quit these shores, their native seats 
enjoy, Nor hope the fall of 
heaven-defended Troy. Jove's arm 
display'd asserts her from the skies! 
Her hearts are strengthen'd, and her 
glories rise. Go then to Greece, report 
our fix'd design; Bid all your 
counsels, all your armies join, Let all 
your forces, all your arts conspire, To 
save the ships, the troops, the chiefs, 
from fire. One stratagem has fail'd, 
and others will: Ye find, Achilles is 
unconquer'd still. Go then--digest my 
message as ye may-- But here this night 
let reverend Phoenix stay: His tedious 
toils and hoary hairs demand A peaceful 
death in Pthia's friendly land. But 
whether he remain or sail with me, His 
age be sacred, and his will be free." 

 GREEK GALLEY. 

 The son of Peleus ceased: the chiefs 
around In silence wrapt, in 
consternation drown'd, Attend the stern 
reply. Then Phoenix rose; (Down his 
white beard a stream of sorrow flows;) 
And while the fate of suffering Greece 
he mourn'd, With accent weak these 
tender words return'd. 

 PROSERPINE. 

 "Divine Achilles! wilt thou then 
retire, And leave our hosts in blood, 
our fleets on fire? If wrath so 
dreadful fill thy ruthless mind, How 
shall thy friend, thy Phoenix, stay 
behind? The royal Peleus, when from 
Pthia's coast He sent thee early to the 
Achaian host; Thy youth as then in sage 
debates unskill'd, And new to perils of 
the direful field: He bade me teach 
thee all the ways of war, To shine in 
councils, and in camps to dare. Never, 
ah, never let me leave thy side! No 
time shall part us, and no fate divide, 
Not though the god, that breathed my 
life, restore The bloom I boasted, and 
the port I bore, When Greece of old 
beheld my youthful flames (Delightful 
Greece, the land of lovely dames), My 
father faithless to my mother's arms, 
Old as he was, adored a stranger's 
charms. I tried what youth could do (at 
her desire) To win the damsel, and 
prevent my sire. My sire with curses 
loads my hated head, And cries, 'Ye 
furies! barren be his bed.' Infernal 
Jove, the vengeful fiends below, And 
ruthless Proserpine, confirm'd his vow. 
Despair and grief distract my labouring 
mind! Gods! what a crime my impious 
heart design'd! I thought (but some 
kind god that thought suppress'd) To 
plunge the poniard in my father's 
breast; Then meditate my flight: my 
friends in vain With prayers entreat 
me, and with force detain. On fat of 
rams, black bulls, and brawny swine, 
They daily feast, with draughts of 
fragrant wine; Strong guards they 
placed, and watch'd nine nights entire; 
The roofs and porches flamed with 
constant fire. The tenth, I forced the 
gates, unseen of all: And, favour'd by 
the night, o'erleap'd the wall, My 
travels thence through spacious Greece 
extend; In Phthia's court at last my 
labours end. Your sire received me, as 
his son caress'd, With gifts enrich'd, 
and with possessions bless'd. The 
strong Dolopians thenceforth own'd my 
reign, And all the coast that runs 
along the main. By love to thee his 
bounties I repaid, And early wisdom to 
thy soul convey'd: Great as thou art, 
my lessons made thee brave: A child I 
took thee, but a hero gave. Thy infant 
breast a like affection show'd; Still 
in my arms (an ever-pleasing load) Or 
at my knee, by Phoenix wouldst thou 
stand; No food was grateful but from 
Phoenix' hand.(211) I pass my watchings 
o'er thy helpless years, The tender 
labours, the compliant cares, The gods 
(I thought) reversed their hard decree, 
And Phoenix felt a father's joys in 
thee: Thy growing virtues justified my 
cares, And promised comfort to my 
silver hairs. Now be thy rage, thy 
fatal rage, resign'd; A cruel heart ill 
suits a manly mind: The gods (the only 
great, and only wise) Are moved by 
offerings, vows, and sacrifice; 
Offending man their high compassion 
wins, And daily prayers atone for daily 
sins. Prayers are Jove's daughters, of 
celestial race, Lame are their feet, 
and wrinkled is their face; With humble 
mien, and with dejected eyes, Constant 
they follow, where injustice flies. 
Injustice swift, erect, and unconfined, 
Sweeps the wide earth, and tramples 
o'er mankind, While Prayers, to heal 
her wrongs, move slow behind. Who hears 
these daughters of almighty Jove, For 
him they mediate to the throne above 
When man rejects the humble suit they 
make, The sire revenges for the 
daughters' sake; From Jove 
commission'd, fierce injustice then 
Descends to punish unrelenting men. O 
let not headlong passion bear the sway 
These reconciling goddesses obey Due 
honours to the seed of Jove belong, Due 
honours calm the fierce, and bend the 
strong. Were these not paid thee by the 
terms we bring, Were rage still 
harbour'd in the haughty king; Nor 
Greece nor all her fortunes should 
engage Thy friend to plead against so 
just a rage. But since what honour asks 
the general sends, And sends by those 
whom most thy heart commends; The best 
and noblest of the Grecian train; 
Permit not these to sue, and sue in 
vain! Let me (my son) an ancient fact 
unfold, A great example drawn from 
times of old; Hear what our fathers 
were, and what their praise, Who 
conquer'd their revenge in former days.

 "Where Calydon on rocky mountains 
stands(212) Once fought the Ćtolian and 
Curetian bands; To guard it those; to 
conquer, these advance; And mutual 
deaths were dealt with mutual chance. 
The silver Cynthia bade contention 
rise, In vengeance of neglected 
sacrifice; On OEneus fields she sent a 
monstrous boar, That levell'd harvests, 
and whole forests tore: This beast 
(when many a chief his tusks had slain) 
Great Meleager stretch'd along the 
plain, Then, for his spoils, a new 
debate arose, The neighbour nations 
thence commencing foes. Strong as they 
were, the bold Curetes fail'd, While 
Meleager's thundering arm prevail'd: 
Till rage at length inflamed his lofty 
breast (For rage invades the wisest and 
the best).

 "Cursed by Althaea, to his wrath he 
yields, And in his wife's embrace 
forgets the fields. (She from Marpessa 
sprung, divinely fair, And matchless 
Idas, more than man in war: The god of 
day adored the mother's charms; Against 
the god the father bent his arms: The 
afflicted pair, their sorrows to 
proclaim, From Cleopatra changed their 
daughter's name, And call'd Alcyone; a 
name to show The father's grief, the 
mourning mother's woe.) To her the 
chief retired from stern debate, But 
found no peace from fierce Althaea's 
hate: Althaea's hate the unhappy 
warrior drew, Whose luckless hand his 
royal uncle slew; She beat the ground, 
and call'd the powers beneath On her 
own son to wreak her brother's death; 
Hell heard her curses from the realms 
profound, And the red fiends that walk 
the nightly round. In vain Ćtolia her 
deliverer waits, War shakes her walls, 
and thunders at her gates. She sent 
ambassadors, a chosen band, Priests of 
the gods, and elders of the land; 
Besought the chief to save the sinking 
state: Their prayers were urgent, and 
their proffers great: (Full fifty acres 
of the richest ground, Half pasture 
green, and half with vineyards 
crown'd:) His suppliant father, aged 
OEneus, came; His sisters follow'd; 
even the vengeful dame, Althaea, sues; 
his friends before him fall: He stands 
relentless, and rejects them all. 
Meanwhile the victor's shouts ascend 
the skies; The walls are scaled; the 
rolling flames arise; At length his 
wife (a form divine) appears, With 
piercing cries, and supplicating tears; 
She paints the horrors of a conquer'd 
town, The heroes slain, the palaces 
o'erthrown, The matrons ravish'd, the 
whole race enslaved: The warrior heard, 
he vanquish'd, and he saved. The 
Ćtolians, long disdain'd, now took 
their turn, And left the chief their 
broken faith to mourn. Learn hence, 
betimes to curb pernicious ire, Nor 
stay till yonder fleets ascend in fire; 
Accept the presents; draw thy 
conquering sword; And be amongst our 
guardian gods adored."

 Thus he: the stern Achilles thus 
replied: "My second father, and my 
reverend guide: Thy friend, believe me, 
no such gifts demands, And asks no 
honours from a mortal's hands; Jove 
honours me, and favours my designs; His 
pleasure guides me, and his will 
confines; And here I stay (if such his 
high behest) While life's warm spirit 
beats within my breast. Yet hear one 
word, and lodge it in thy heart: No 
more molest me on Atrides' part: Is it 
for him these tears are taught to flow, 
For him these sorrows? for my mortal 
foe? A generous friendship no cold 
medium knows, Burns with one love, with 
one resentment glows; One should our 
interests and our passions be; My 
friend must hate the man that injures 
me. Do this, my Phoenix, 'tis a 
generous part; And share my realms, my 
honours, and my heart. Let these 
return: our voyage, or our stay, Rest 
undetermined till the dawning day."

 He ceased; then order'd for the sage's 
bed A warmer couch with numerous 
carpets spread. With that, stern Ajax 
his long silence broke, And thus, 
impatient, to Ulysses spoke:

 "Hence let us go--why waste we time in 
vain? See what effect our low 
submissions gain! Liked or not liked, 
his words we must relate, The Greeks 
expect them, and our heroes wait. Proud 
as he is, that iron heart retains Its 
stubborn purpose, and his friends 
disdains. Stern and unpitying! if a 
brother bleed, On just atonement, we 
remit the deed; A sire the slaughter of 
his son forgives; The price of blood 
discharged, the murderer lives: The 
haughtiest hearts at length their rage 
resign, And gifts can conquer every 
soul but thine.(213) The gods that 
unrelenting breast have steel'd, And 
cursed thee with a mind that cannot 
yield. One woman-slave was ravish'd 
from thy arms: Lo, seven are offer'd, 
and of equal charms. Then hear, 
Achilles! be of better mind; Revere thy 
roof, and to thy guests be kind; And 
know the men of all the Grecian host, 
Who honour worth, and prize thy valour 
most."

 "O soul of battles, and thy people's 
guide! (To Ajax thus the first of 
Greeks replied) Well hast thou spoke; 
but at the tyrant's name My rage 
rekindles, and my soul's on flame: 'Tis 
just resentment, and becomes the brave: 
Disgraced, dishonour'd, like the vilest 
slave! Return, then, heroes! and our 
answer bear, The glorious combat is no 
more my care; Not till, amidst yon 
sinking navy slain, The blood of Greeks 
shall dye the sable main; Not till the 
flames, by Hector's fury thrown, 
Consume your vessels, and approach my 
own; Just there, the impetuous homicide 
shall stand, There cease his battle, 
and there feel our hand."

 This said, each prince a double goblet 
crown'd, And cast a large libation on 
the ground; Then to their vessels, 
through the gloomy shades, The chiefs 
return; divine Ulysses leads. Meantime 
Achilles' slaves prepared a bed, With 
fleeces, carpets, and soft linen 
spread: There, till the sacred morn 
restored the day, In slumber sweet the 
reverend Phoenix lay. But in his inner 
tent, an ampler space, Achilles slept; 
and in his warm embrace Fair Diomede of 
the Lesbian race. Last, for Patroclus 
was the couch prepared, Whose nightly 
joys the beauteous Iphis shared; 
Achilles to his friend consign'd her 
charms When Scyros fell before his 
conquering arms.

 And now the elected chiefs whom Greece 
had sent, Pass'd through the hosts, and 
reach'd the royal tent. Then rising 
all, with goblets in their hands, The 
peers and leaders of the Achaian bands 
Hail'd their return: Atrides first 
begun:

 "Say what success? divine Laertes' 
son! Achilles' high resolves declare to 
all: "Returns the chief, or must our 
navy fall?"

 "Great king of nations! (Ithacus 
replied) Fix'd is his wrath, 
unconquer'd is his pride; He slights 
thy friendship, thy proposals scorns, 
And, thus implored, with fiercer fury 
burns. To save our army, and our fleets 
to free, Is not his care; but left to 
Greece and thee. Your eyes shall view, 
when morning paints the sky, Beneath 
his oars the whitening billows fly; Us 
too he bids our oars and sails employ, 
Nor hope the fall of heaven-protected 
Troy; For Jove o'ershades her with his 
arm divine, Inspires her war, and bids 
her glory shine. Such was his word: 
what further he declared, These sacred 
heralds and great Ajax heard. But 
Phoenix in his tent the chief retains, 
Safe to transport him to his native 
plains When morning dawns; if other he 
decree, His age is sacred, and his 
choice is free."

 Ulysses ceased: the great Achaian 
host, With sorrow seized, in 
consternation lost, Attend the stern 
reply. Tydides broke The general 
silence, and undaunted spoke. "Why 
should we gifts to proud Achilles send, 
Or strive with prayers his haughty soul 
to bend? His country's woes he glories 
to deride, And prayers will burst that 
swelling heart with pride. Be the 
fierce impulse of his rage obey'd, Our 
battles let him or desert or aid; Then 
let him arm when Jove or he think fit: 
That, to his madness, or to Heaven 
commit: What for ourselves we can, is 
always ours; This night, let due repast 
refresh our powers; (For strength 
consists in spirits and in blood, And 
those are owed to generous wine and 
food;) But when the rosy messenger of 
day Strikes the blue mountains with her 
golden ray, Ranged at the ships, let 
all our squadrons shine In flaming 
arms, a long-extended line: In the 
dread front let great Atrides stand, 
The first in danger, as in high 
command."

 Shouts of acclaim the listening heroes 
raise, Then each to Heaven the due 
libations pays; Till sleep, descending 
o'er the tents, bestows The grateful 
blessings of desired repose."(214) 

 ACHILLES. 

 

BOOK X. 

ARGUMENT.

THE NIGHT-ADVENTURE OF DIOMED AND 
ULYSSES.

Upon the refusal of Achilles to return 
to the army, the distress of Agamemnon 
is described in the most lively manner. 
He takes no rest that night, but passes 
through the camp, awaking the leaders, 
and contriving all possible methods for 
the public safety. Menelaus, Nestor, 
Ulysses, and Diomed are employed in 
raising the rest of the captains. They 
call a council of war, and determine to 
send scouts into the enemies' camp, to 
learn their posture, and discover their 
intentions. Diomed undertakes this 
hazardous enterprise, and makes choice 
of Ulysses for his companion. In their 
passage they surprise Dolon, whom 
Hector had sent on a like design to the 
camp of the Grecians. From him they are 
informed of the situation of the Trojan 
and auxiliary forces, and particularly 
of Rhesus, and the Thracians who were 
lately arrived. They pass on with 
success; kill Rhesus, with several of 
his officers, and seize the famous 
horses of that prince, with which they 
return in triumph to the camp.

The same night continues; the scene 
lies in the two camps.

 All night the chiefs before their 
vessels lay, And lost in sleep the 
labours of the day: All but the king: 
with various thoughts oppress'd,(215) 
His country's cares lay rolling in his 
breast. As when by lightnings Jove's 
ethereal power Foretels the rattling 
hail, or weighty shower, Or sends soft 
snows to whiten all the shore, Or bids 
the brazen throat of war to roar; By 
fits one flash succeeds as one expires, 
And heaven flames thick with momentary 
fires: So bursting frequent from 
Atrides' breast, Sighs following sighs 
his inward fears confess'd. Now o'er 
the fields, dejected, he surveys From 
thousand Trojan fires the mounting 
blaze; Hears in the passing wind their 
music blow, And marks distinct the 
voices of the foe. Now looking 
backwards to the fleet and coast, 
Anxious he sorrows for the endangered 
host. He rends his hair, in sacrifice 
to Jove, And sues to him that ever 
lives above: Inly he groans; while 
glory and despair Divide his heart, and 
wage a double war.

 A thousand cares his labouring breast 
revolves; To seek sage Nestor now the 
chief resolves, With him, in wholesome 
counsels, to debate What yet remains to 
save the afflicted state. He rose, and 
first he cast his mantle round, Next on 
his feet the shining sandals bound; A 
lion's yellow spoils his back 
conceal'd; His warlike hand a pointed 
javelin held. Meanwhile his brother, 
press'd with equal woes, Alike denied 
the gifts of soft repose, Laments for 
Greece, that in his cause before So 
much had suffer'd and must suffer more. 
A leopard's spotted hide his shoulders 
spread: A brazen helmet glitter'd on 
his head: Thus (with a javelin in his 
hand) he went To wake Atrides in the 
royal tent. Already waked, Atrides he 
descried, His armour buckling at his 
vessel's side. Joyful they met; the 
Spartan thus begun: "Why puts my 
brother his bright armour on? Sends he 
some spy, amidst these silent hours, To 
try yon camp, and watch the Trojan 
powers? But say, what hero shall 
sustain that task? Such bold exploits 
uncommon courage ask; Guideless, alone, 
through night's dark shade to go, And 
midst a hostile camp explore the foe."

 To whom the king: "In such distress we 
stand, No vulgar counsel our affairs 
demand; Greece to preserve, is now no 
easy part, But asks high wisdom, deep 
design, and art. For Jove, averse, our 
humble prayer denies, And bows his head 
to Hector's sacrifice. What eye has 
witness'd, or what ear believed, In one 
great day, by one great arm achieved, 
Such wondrous deeds as Hector's hand 
has done, And we beheld, the last 
revolving sun What honours the beloved 
of Jove adorn! Sprung from no god, and 
of no goddess born; Yet such his acts, 
as Greeks unborn shall tell, And curse 
the battle where their fathers fell.

 "Now speed thy hasty course along the 
fleet, There call great Ajax, and the 
prince of Crete; Ourself to hoary 
Nestor will repair; To keep the guards 
on duty be his care, (For Nestor's 
influence best that quarter guides, 
Whose son with Merion, o'er the watch 
presides.") To whom the Spartan: "These 
thy orders borne, Say, shall I stay, or 
with despatch return?" "There shall 
thou stay, (the king of men replied,) 
Else may we miss to meet, without a 
guide, The paths so many, and the camp 
so wide. Still, with your voice the 
slothful soldiers raise, Urge by their 
fathers' fame their future praise. 
Forget we now our state and lofty 
birth; Not titles here, but works, must 
prove our worth. To labour is the lot 
of man below; And when Jove gave us 
life, he gave us woe."

 This said, each parted to his several 
cares: The king to Nestor's sable ship 
repairs; The sage protector of the 
Greeks he found Stretch'd in his bed 
with all his arms around The 
various-colour'd scarf, the shield he 
rears, The shining helmet, and the 
pointed spears; The dreadful weapons of 
the warrior's rage, That, old in arms, 
disdain'd the peace of age. Then, 
leaning on his hand his watchful head, 
The hoary monarch raised his eyes and 
said:

 "What art thou, speak, that on designs 
unknown, While others sleep, thus range 
the camp alone; Seek'st thou some 
friend or nightly sentinel? Stand off, 
approach not, but thy purpose tell."

 "O son of Neleus, (thus the king 
rejoin'd,) Pride of the Greeks, and 
glory of thy kind! Lo, here the 
wretched Agamemnon stands, The unhappy 
general of the Grecian bands, Whom Jove 
decrees with daily cares to bend, And 
woes, that only with his life shall 
end! Scarce can my knees these 
trembling limbs sustain, And scarce my 
heart support its load of pain. No 
taste of sleep these heavy eyes have 
known, Confused, and sad, I wander thus 
alone, With fears distracted, with no 
fix'd design; And all my people's 
miseries are mine. If aught of use thy 
waking thoughts suggest, (Since cares, 
like mine, deprive thy soul of rest,) 
Impart thy counsel, and assist thy 
friend; Now let us jointly to the 
trench descend, At every gate the 
fainting guard excite, Tired with the 
toils of day and watch of night; Else 
may the sudden foe our works invade, So 
near, and favour'd by the gloomy shade."

 To him thus Nestor: "Trust the powers 
above, Nor think proud Hector's hopes 
confirm'd by Jove: How ill agree the 
views of vain mankind, And the wise 
counsels of the eternal mind! Audacious 
Hector, if the gods ordain That great 
Achilles rise and rage again, What 
toils attend thee, and what woes 
remain! Lo, faithful Nestor thy command 
obeys; The care is next our other 
chiefs to raise: Ulysses, Diomed, we 
chiefly need; Meges for strength, 
Oileus famed for speed. Some other be 
despatch'd of nimbler feet, To those 
tall ships, remotest of the fleet, 
Where lie great Ajax and the king of 
Crete.(216) To rouse the Spartan I 
myself decree; Dear as he is to us, and 
dear to thee, Yet must I tax his sloth, 
that claims no share With his great 
brother in his martial care: Him it 
behoved to every chief to sue, 
Preventing every part perform'd by you; 
For strong necessity our toils demands, 
Claims all our hearts, and urges all 
our hands."

 To whom the king: "With reverence we 
allow Thy just rebukes, yet learn to 
spare them now: My generous brother is 
of gentle kind, He seems remiss, but 
bears a valiant mind; Through too much 
deference to our sovereign sway, 
Content to follow when we lead the way: 
But now, our ills industrious to 
prevent, Long ere the rest he rose, and 
sought my tent. The chiefs you named, 
already at his call, Prepare to meet us 
near the navy-wall; Assembling there, 
between the trench and gates, Near the 
night-guards, our chosen council waits."

 "Then none (said Nestor) shall his 
rule withstand, For great examples 
justify command." With that, the 
venerable warrior rose; The shining 
greaves his manly legs enclose; His 
purple mantle golden buckles join'd, 
Warm with the softest wool, and doubly 
lined. Then rushing from his tent, he 
snatch'd in haste His steely lance, 
that lighten'd as he pass'd. The camp 
he traversed through the sleeping 
crowd, Stopp'd at Ulysses' tent, and 
call'd aloud. Ulysses, sudden as the 
voice was sent, Awakes, starts up, and 
issues from his tent. "What new 
distress, what sudden cause of fright, 
Thus leads you wandering in the silent 
night?" "O prudent chief! (the Pylian 
sage replied) Wise as thou art, be now 
thy wisdom tried: Whatever means of 
safety can be sought, Whatever counsels 
can inspire our thought, Whatever 
methods, or to fly or fight; All, all 
depend on this important night!" He 
heard, return'd, and took his painted 
shield; Then join'd the chiefs, and 
follow'd through the field. Without his 
tent, bold Diomed they found, All 
sheathed in arms, his brave companions 
round: Each sunk in sleep, extended on 
the field, His head reclining on his 
bossy shield. A wood of spears stood 
by, that, fix'd upright, Shot from 
their flashing points a quivering 
light. A bull's black hide composed the 
hero's bed; A splendid carpet roll'd 
beneath his head. Then, with his foot, 
old Nestor gently shakes The slumbering 
chief, and in these words awakes:

 "Rise, son of Tydeus! to the brave and 
strong Rest seems inglorious, and the 
night too long. But sleep'st thou now, 
when from yon hill the foe Hangs o'er 
the fleet, and shades our walls below?"

 At this, soft slumber from his eyelids 
fled; The warrior saw the hoary chief, 
and said: "Wondrous old man! whose soul 
no respite knows, Though years and 
honours bid thee seek repose, Let 
younger Greeks our sleeping warriors 
wake; Ill fits thy age these toils to 
undertake." "My friend, (he answered,) 
generous is thy care; These toils, my 
subjects and my sons might bear; Their 
loyal thoughts and pious love conspire 
To ease a sovereign and relieve a sire: 
But now the last despair surrounds our 
host; No hour must pass, no moment must 
be lost; Each single Greek, in this 
conclusive strife, Stands on the 
sharpest edge of death or life: Yet, if 
my years thy kind regard engage, Employ 
thy youth as I employ my age; Succeed 
to these my cares, and rouse the rest; 
He serves me most, who serves his 
country best."

 This said, the hero o'er his shoulders 
flung A lion's spoils, that to his 
ankles hung; Then seized his ponderous 
lance, and strode along. Meges the 
bold, with Ajax famed for speed, The 
warrior roused, and to the 
entrenchments lead.

 And now the chiefs approach the 
nightly guard; A wakeful squadron, each 
in arms prepared: The unwearied watch 
their listening leaders keep, And, 
couching close, repel invading sleep. 
So faithful dogs their fleecy charge 
maintain, With toil protected from the 
prowling train; When the gaunt lioness, 
with hunger bold, Springs from the 
mountains toward the guarded fold: 
Through breaking woods her rustling 
course they hear; Loud, and more loud, 
the clamours strike their ear Of hounds 
and men: they start, they gaze around, 
Watch every side, and turn to every 
sound. Thus watch'd the Grecians, 
cautious of surprise, Each voice, each 
motion, drew their ears and eyes: Each 
step of passing feet increased the 
affright; And hostile Troy was ever 
full in sight. Nestor with joy the 
wakeful band survey'd, And thus 
accosted through the gloomy shade. 
"'Tis well, my sons! your nightly cares 
employ; Else must our host become the 
scorn of Troy. Watch thus, and Greece 
shall live." The hero said; Then o'er 
the trench the following chieftains 
led. His son, and godlike Merion, 
march'd behind (For these the princes 
to their council join'd). The trenches 
pass'd, the assembled kings around In 
silent state the consistory crown'd. A 
place there was, yet undefiled with 
gore, The spot where Hector stopp'd his 
rage before; When night descending, 
from his vengeful hand Reprieved the 
relics of the Grecian band: (The plain 
beside with mangled corps was spread, 
And all his progress mark'd by heaps of 
dead:) There sat the mournful kings: 
when Neleus' son, The council opening, 
in these words begun:

 "Is there (said he) a chief so greatly 
brave, His life to hazard, and his 
country save? Lives there a man, who 
singly dares to go To yonder camp, or 
seize some straggling foe? Or favour'd 
by the night approach so near, Their 
speech, their counsels, and designs to 
hear? If to besiege our navies they 
prepare, Or Troy once more must be the 
seat of war? This could he learn, and 
to our peers recite, And pass unharm'd 
the dangers of the night; What fame 
were his through all succeeding days, 
While Phoebus shines, or men have 
tongues to praise! What gifts his 
grateful country would bestow! What 
must not Greece to her deliverer owe? A 
sable ewe each leader should provide, 
With each a sable lambkin by her side; 
At every rite his share should be 
increased, And his the foremost honours 
of the feast."

 Fear held them mute: alone, untaught 
to fear, Tydides spoke--"The man you 
seek is here. Through yon black camps 
to bend my dangerous way, Some god 
within commands, and I obey. But let 
some other chosen warrior join, To 
raise my hopes, and second my design. 
By mutual confidence and mutual aid, 
Great deeds are done, and great 
discoveries made; The wise new prudence 
from the wise acquire, And one brave 
hero fans another's fire."

 Contending leaders at the word arose; 
Each generous breast with emulation 
glows; So brave a task each Ajax strove 
to share, Bold Merion strove, and 
Nestor's valiant heir; The Spartan 
wish'd the second place to gain, And 
great Ulysses wish'd, nor wish'd in 
vain. Then thus the king of men the 
contest ends: "Thou first of warriors, 
and thou best of friends, Undaunted 
Diomed! what chief to join In this 
great enterprise, is only thine. Just 
be thy choice, without affection made; 
To birth, or office, no respect be 
paid; Let worth determine here." The 
monarch spake, And inly trembled for 
his brother's sake.

 "Then thus (the godlike Diomed 
rejoin'd) My choice declares the 
impulse of my mind. How can I doubt, 
while great Ulysses stands To lend his 
counsels and assist our hands? A chief, 
whose safety is Minerva's care; So 
famed, so dreadful, in the works of 
war: Bless'd in his conduct, I no aid 
require; Wisdom like his might pass 
through flames of fire."

 "It fits thee not, before these chiefs 
of fame, (Replied the sage,) to praise 
me, or to blame: Praise from a friend, 
or censure from a foe, Are lost on 
hearers that our merits know. But let 
us haste--Night rolls the hours away, 
The reddening orient shows the coming 
day, The stars shine fainter on the 
ethereal plains, And of night's empire 
but a third remains."

 Thus having spoke, with generous 
ardour press'd, In arms terrific their 
huge limbs they dress'd. A two-edged 
falchion Thrasymed the brave, And ample 
buckler, to Tydides gave: Then in a 
leathern helm he cased his head, Short 
of its crest, and with no plume 
o'erspread: (Such as by youths unused 
to arms are worn:) No spoils enrich it, 
and no studs adorn. Next him Ulysses 
took a shining sword, A bow and quiver, 
with bright arrows stored: A 
well-proved casque, with leather braces 
bound, (Thy gift, Meriones,) his 
temples crown'd; Soft wool within; 
without, in order spread,(217) A boar's 
white teeth grinn'd horrid o'er his 
head. This from Amyntor, rich Ormenus' 
son, Autolycus by fraudful rapine won, 
And gave Amphidamas; from him the prize 
Molus received, the pledge of social 
ties; The helmet next by Merion was 
possess'd, And now Ulysses' thoughtful 
temples press'd. Thus sheathed in arms, 
the council they forsake, And dark 
through paths oblique their progress 
take. Just then, in sign she favour'd 
their intent, A long-wing'd heron great 
Minerva sent: This, though surrounding 
shades obscured their view. By the 
shrill clang and whistling wings they 
knew. As from the right she soar'd, 
Ulysses pray'd, Hail'd the glad omen, 
and address'd the maid:

 "O daughter of that god whose arm can 
wield The avenging bolt, and shake the 
dreadful shield! O thou! for ever 
present in my way, Who all my motions, 
all my toils survey! Safe may we pass 
beneath the gloomy shade, Safe by thy 
succour to our ships convey'd, And let 
some deed this signal night adorn, To 
claim the tears of Trojans yet unborn."

 Then godlike Diomed preferr'd his 
prayer: "Daughter of Jove, unconquer'd 
Pallas! hear. Great queen of arms, 
whose favour Tydeus won, As thou 
defend'st the sire, defend the son. 
When on Ćsopus' banks the banded powers 
Of Greece he left, and sought the 
Theban towers, Peace was his charge; 
received with peaceful show, He went a 
legate, but return'd a foe: Then help'd 
by thee, and cover'd by thy shield, He 
fought with numbers, and made numbers 
yield. So now be present, O celestial 
maid! So still continue to the race 
thine aid! A youthful steer shall fall 
beneath the stroke, Untamed, 
unconscious of the galling yoke, With 
ample forehead, and with spreading 
horns, Whose taper tops refulgent gold 
adorns." The heroes pray'd, and Pallas 
from the skies Accords their vow, 
succeeds their enterprise. Now, like 
two lions panting for the prey, With 
dreadful thoughts they trace the dreary 
way, Through the black horrors of the 
ensanguined plain, Through dust, 
through blood, o'er arms, and hills of 
slain.

 Nor less bold Hector, and the sons of 
Troy, On high designs the wakeful hours 
employ; The assembled peers their lofty 
chief enclosed; Who thus the counsels 
of his breast proposed:

 "What glorious man, for high attempts 
prepared, Dares greatly venture for a 
rich reward? Of yonder fleet a bold 
discovery make, What watch they keep, 
and what resolves they take? If now 
subdued they meditate their flight, 
And, spent with toil, neglect the watch 
of night? His be the chariot that shall 
please him most, Of all the plunder of 
the vanquish'd host; His the fair 
steeds that all the rest excel, And his 
the glory to have served so well."

 A youth there was among the tribes of 
Troy, Dolon his name, Eumedes' only 
boy, (Five girls beside the reverend 
herald told.) Rich was the son in 
brass, and rich in gold; Not bless'd by 
nature with the charms of face, But 
swift of foot, and matchless in the 
race. "Hector! (he said) my courage 
bids me meet This high achievement, and 
explore the fleet: But first exalt thy 
sceptre to the skies, And swear to 
grant me the demanded prize; The 
immortal coursers, and the glittering 
car, That bear Pelides through the 
ranks of war. Encouraged thus, no idle 
scout I go, Fulfil thy wish, their 
whole intention know, Even to the royal 
tent pursue my way, And all their 
counsels, all their aims betray."

 The chief then heaved the golden 
sceptre high, Attesting thus the 
monarch of the sky: "Be witness thou! 
immortal lord of all! Whose thunder 
shakes the dark aerial hall: By none 
but Dolon shall this prize be borne, 
And him alone the immortal steeds 
adorn."

 Thus Hector swore: the gods were 
call'd in vain, But the rash youth 
prepares to scour the plain: Across his 
back the bended bow he flung, A wolf's 
grey hide around his shoulders hung, A 
ferret's downy fur his helmet lined, 
And in his hand a pointed javelin 
shined. Then (never to return) he 
sought the shore, And trod the path his 
feet must tread no more. Scarce had he 
pass'd the steeds and Trojan throng, 
(Still bending forward as he coursed 
along,) When, on the hollow way, the 
approaching tread Ulysses mark'd, and 
thus to Diomed;

 "O friend! I hear some step of hostile 
feet, Moving this way, or hastening to 
the fleet; Some spy, perhaps, to lurk 
beside the main; Or nightly pillager 
that strips the slain. Yet let him 
pass, and win a little space; Then rush 
behind him, and prevent his pace. But 
if too swift of foot he flies before, 
Confine his course along the fleet and 
shore, Betwixt the camp and him our 
spears employ, And intercept his hoped 
return to Troy."

 With that they stepp'd aside, and 
stoop'd their head, (As Dolon pass'd,) 
behind a heap of dead: Along the path 
the spy unwary flew; Soft, at just 
distance, both the chiefs pursue. So 
distant they, and such the space 
between, As when two teams of mules 
divide the green, (To whom the hind 
like shares of land allows,) When now 
new furrows part the approaching 
ploughs. Now Dolon, listening, heard 
them as they pass'd; Hector (he 
thought) had sent, and check'd his 
haste, Till scarce at distance of a 
javelin's throw, No voice succeeding, 
he perceived the foe. As when two 
skilful hounds the leveret wind; Or 
chase through woods obscure the 
trembling hind; Now lost, now seen, 
they intercept his way, And from the 
herd still turn the flying prey: So 
fast, and with such fears, the Trojan 
flew; So close, so constant, the bold 
Greeks pursue. Now almost on the fleet 
the dastard falls, And mingles with the 
guards that watch the walls; When brave 
Tydides stopp'd; a gen'rous thought 
(Inspired by Pallas) in his bosom 
wrought, Lest on the foe some forward 
Greek advance, And snatch the glory 
from his lifted lance. Then thus aloud: 
"Whoe'er thou art, remain; This javelin 
else shall fix thee to the plain." He 
said, and high in air the weapon cast, 
Which wilful err'd, and o'er his 
shoulder pass'd; Then fix'd in earth. 
Against the trembling wood The wretch 
stood propp'd, and quiver'd as he 
stood; A sudden palsy seized his 
turning head; His loose teeth 
chatter'd, and his colour fled; The 
panting warriors seize him as he 
stands, And with unmanly tears his life 
demands.

 "O spare my youth, and for the breath 
I owe, Large gifts of price my father 
shall bestow: Vast heaps of brass shall 
in your ships be told, And steel 
well-temper'd and refulgent gold."

 To whom Ulysses made this wise reply: 
"Whoe'er thou art, be bold, nor fear to 
die. What moves thee, say, when sleep 
has closed the sight, To roam the 
silent fields in dead of night? Cam'st 
thou the secrets of our camp to find, 
By Hector prompted, or thy daring mind? 
Or art some wretch by hopes of plunder 
led, Through heaps of carnage, to 
despoil the dead?"

 Then thus pale Dolon, with a fearful 
look: (Still, as he spoke, his limbs 
with horror shook:) "Hither I came, by 
Hector's words deceived; Much did he 
promise, rashly I believed: No less a 
bribe than great Achilles' car, And 
those swift steeds that sweep the ranks 
of war, Urged me, unwilling, this 
attempt to make; To learn what 
counsels, what resolves you take: If 
now subdued, you fix your hopes on 
flight, And, tired with toils, neglect 
the watch of night."

 "Bold was thy aim, and glorious was 
the prize, (Ulysses, with a scornful 
smile, replies,) Far other rulers those 
proud steeds demand, And scorn the 
guidance of a vulgar hand; Even great 
Achilles scarce their rage can tame, 
Achilles sprung from an immortal dame. 
But say, be faithful, and the truth 
recite! Where lies encamp'd the Trojan 
chief to-night? Where stand his 
coursers? in what quarter sleep Their 
other princes? tell what watch they 
keep: Say, since this conquest, what 
their counsels are; Or here to combat, 
from their city far, Or back to Ilion's 
walls transfer the war?"

 Ulysses thus, and thus Eumedes' son: 
"What Dolon knows, his faithful tongue 
shall own. Hector, the peers assembling 
in his tent, A council holds at Ilus' 
monument. No certain guards the nightly 
watch partake; Where'er yon fires 
ascend, the Trojans wake: Anxious for 
Troy, the guard the natives keep; Safe 
in their cares, the auxiliar forces 
sleep, Whose wives and infants, from 
the danger far, Discharge their souls 
of half the fears of war."

 "Then sleep those aids among the 
Trojan train, (Inquired the chief,) or 
scattered o'er the plain?" To whom the 
spy: "Their powers they thus dispose 
The Paeons, dreadful with their bended 
bows, The Carians, Caucons, the 
Pelasgian host, And Leleges, encamp 
along the coast. Not distant far, lie 
higher on the land The Lycian, Mysian, 
and Maeonian band, And Phrygia's horse, 
by Thymbras' ancient wall; The 
Thracians utmost, and apart from all. 
These Troy but lately to her succour 
won, Led on by Rhesus, great Eioneus' 
son: I saw his coursers in proud 
triumph go, Swift as the wind, and 
white as winter-snow; Rich silver 
plates his shining car infold; His 
solid arms, refulgent, flame with gold; 
No mortal shoulders suit the glorious 
load, Celestial panoply, to grace a 
god! Let me, unhappy, to your fleet be 
borne, Or leave me here, a captive's 
fate to mourn, In cruel chains, till 
your return reveal The truth or 
falsehood of the news I tell."

 To this Tydides, with a gloomy frown: 
"Think not to live, though all the 
truth be shown: Shall we dismiss thee, 
in some future strife To risk more 
bravely thy now forfeit life? Or that 
again our camps thou may'st explore? 
No--once a traitor, thou betray'st no 
more."

 Sternly he spoke, and as the wretch 
prepared With humble blandishment to 
stroke his beard, Like lightning swift 
the wrathful falchion flew, Divides the 
neck, and cuts the nerves in two; One 
instant snatch'd his trembling soul to 
hell, The head, yet speaking, mutter'd 
as it fell. The furry helmet from his 
brow they tear, The wolf's grey hide, 
the unbended bow and spear; These great 
Ulysses lifting to the skies, To 
favouring Pallas dedicates the prize:

 "Great queen of arms, receive this 
hostile spoil, And let the Thracian 
steeds reward our toil; Thee, first of 
all the heavenly host, we praise; O 
speed our labours, and direct our 
ways!" This said, the spoils, with 
dropping gore defaced, High on a 
spreading tamarisk he placed; Then 
heap'd with reeds and gathered boughs 
the plain, To guide their footsteps to 
the place again.

 Through the still night they cross the 
devious fields, Slippery with blood, 
o'er arms and heaps of shields, 
Arriving where the Thracian squadrons 
lay, And eased in sleep the labours of 
the day. Ranged in three lines they 
view the prostrate band: The horses 
yoked beside each warrior stand. Their 
arms in order on the ground reclined, 
Through the brown shade the fulgid 
weapons shined: Amidst lay Rhesus, 
stretch'd in sleep profound, And the 
white steeds behind his chariot bound. 
The welcome sight Ulysses first 
descries, And points to Diomed the 
tempting prize. "The man, the coursers, 
and the car behold! Described by Dolon, 
with the arms of gold. Now, brave 
Tydides! now thy courage try, Approach 
the chariot, and the steeds untie; Or 
if thy soul aspire to fiercer deeds, 
Urge thou the slaughter, while I seize 
the steeds."

 Pallas (this said) her hero's bosom 
warms, Breathed in his heart, and 
strung his nervous arms; Where'er he 
pass'd, a purple stream pursued His 
thirsty falchion, fat with hostile 
blood, Bathed all his footsteps, dyed 
the fields with gore, And a low groan 
remurmur'd through the shore. So the 
grim lion, from his nightly den, 
O'erleaps the fences, and invades the 
pen, On sheep or goats, resistless in 
his way, He falls, and foaming rends 
the guardless prey; Nor stopp'd the 
fury of his vengeful hand, Till twelve 
lay breathless of the Thracian band. 
Ulysses following, as his partner slew, 
Back by the foot each slaughter'd 
warrior drew; The milk-white coursers 
studious to convey Safe to the ships, 
he wisely cleared the way: Lest the 
fierce steeds, not yet to battles bred, 
Should start, and tremble at the heaps 
of dead. Now twelve despatch'd, the 
monarch last they found; Tydides' 
falchion fix'd him to the ground. Just 
then a deathful dream Minerva sent, A 
warlike form appear'd before his tent, 
Whose visionary steel his bosom tore: 
So dream'd the monarch, and awaked no 
more.(218)

 Ulysses now the snowy steeds detains, 
And leads them, fasten'd by the silver 
reins; These, with his bow unbent, he 
lash'd along; (The scourge forgot, on 
Rhesus' chariot hung;) Then gave his 
friend the signal to retire; But him, 
new dangers, new achievements fire; 
Doubtful he stood, or with his reeking 
blade To send more heroes to the 
infernal shade, Drag off the car where 
Rhesus' armour lay, Or heave with manly 
force, and lift away. While unresolved 
the son of Tydeus stands, Pallas 
appears, and thus her chief commands:

 "Enough, my son; from further 
slaughter cease, Regard thy safety, and 
depart in peace; Haste to the ships, 
the gotten spoils enjoy, Nor tempt too 
far the hostile gods of Troy."

 The voice divine confess'd the martial 
maid; In haste he mounted, and her word 
obey'd; The coursers fly before 
Ulysses' bow, Swift as the wind, and 
white as winter-snow.

 Not unobserved they pass'd: the god of 
light Had watch'd his Troy, and mark'd 
Minerva's flight, Saw Tydeus' son with 
heavenly succour bless'd, And vengeful 
anger fill'd his sacred breast. Swift 
to the Trojan camp descends the power, 
And wakes Hippocoon in the 
morning-hour; (On Rhesus' side 
accustom'd to attend, A faithful 
kinsman, and instructive friend;) He 
rose, and saw the field deform'd with 
blood, An empty space where late the 
coursers stood, The yet-warm Thracians 
panting on the coast; For each he wept, 
but for his Rhesus most: Now while on 
Rhesus' name he calls in vain, The 
gathering tumult spreads o'er all the 
plain; On heaps the Trojans rush, with 
wild affright, And wondering view the 
slaughters of the night.

 Meanwhile the chiefs, arriving at the 
shade Where late the spoils of Hector's 
spy were laid, Ulysses stopp'd; to him 
Tydides bore The trophy, dropping yet 
with Dolon's gore: Then mounts again; 
again their nimbler feet The coursers 
ply, and thunder towards the fleet. 

 DIOMED AND ULYSSES RETURNING WITH THE 
SPOILS OF RHESUS. 

 Old Nestor first perceived the 
approaching sound, Bespeaking thus the 
Grecian peers around: "Methinks the 
noise of trampling steeds I hear, 
Thickening this way, and gathering on 
my ear; Perhaps some horses of the 
Trojan breed (So may, ye gods! my pious 
hopes succeed) The great Tydides and 
Ulysses bear, Return'd triumphant with 
this prize of war. Yet much I fear (ah, 
may that fear be vain!) The chiefs 
outnumber'd by the Trojan train; 
Perhaps, even now pursued, they seek 
the shore; Or, oh! perhaps those heroes 
are no more."

 Scarce had he spoke, when, lo! the 
chiefs appear, And spring to earth; the 
Greeks dismiss their fear: With words 
of friendship and extended hands They 
greet the kings; and Nestor first 
demands:

 "Say thou, whose praises all our host 
proclaim, Thou living glory of the 
Grecian name! Say whence these 
coursers? by what chance bestow'd, The 
spoil of foes, or present of a god? Not 
those fair steeds, so radiant and so 
gay, That draw the burning chariot of 
the day. Old as I am, to age I scorn to 
yield, And daily mingle in the martial 
field; But sure till now no coursers 
struck my sight Like these, conspicuous 
through the ranks of fight. Some god, I 
deem, conferred the glorious prize, 
Bless'd as ye are, and favourites of 
the skies; The care of him who bids the 
thunder roar, And her, whose fury 
bathes the world with gore."

 "Father! not so, (sage Ithacus 
rejoin'd,) The gifts of heaven are of a 
nobler kind. Of Thracian lineage are 
the steeds ye view, Whose hostile king 
the brave Tydides slew; Sleeping he 
died, with all his guards around, And 
twelve beside lay gasping on the 
ground. These other spoils from 
conquer'd Dolon came, A wretch, whose 
swiftness was his only fame; By Hector 
sent our forces to explore, He now lies 
headless on the sandy shore."

 Then o'er the trench the bounding 
coursers flew; The joyful Greeks with 
loud acclaim pursue. Straight to 
Tydides' high pavilion borne, The 
matchless steeds his ample stalls 
adorn: The neighing coursers their new 
fellows greet, And the full racks are 
heap'd with generous wheat. But Dolon's 
armour, to his ships convey'd, High on 
the painted stern Ulysses laid, A 
trophy destin'd to the blue-eyed maid.

 Now from nocturnal sweat and sanguine 
stain They cleanse their bodies in the 
neighb'ring main: Then in the polished 
bath, refresh'd from toil, Their joints 
they supple with dissolving oil, In due 
repast indulge the genial hour, And 
first to Pallas the libations pour: 
They sit, rejoicing in her aid divine, 
And the crown'd goblet foams with 
floods of wine. 

 

BOOK XI. 

ARGUMENT

THE THIRD BATTLE, AND THE ACTS OF 
AGAMEMNON.

Agamemnon, having armed himself, leads 
the Grecians to battle; Hector prepares 
the Trojans to receive them, while 
Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva give the 
signals of war. Agamemnon bears all 
before him and Hector is commanded by 
Jupiter (who sends Iris for that 
purpose) to decline the engagement, 
till the king shall be wounded and 
retire from the field. He then makes a 
great slaughter of the enemy. Ulysses 
and Diomed put a stop to him for a time 
but the latter, being wounded by Paris, 
is obliged to desert his companion, who 
is encompassed by the Trojans, wounded, 
and in the utmost danger, till Menelaus 
and Ajax rescue him. Hector comes 
against Ajax, but that hero alone 
opposes multitudes, and rallies the 
Greeks. In the meantime Machaon, in the 
other wing of the army, is pierced with 
an arrow by Paris, and carried from the 
fight in Nestor's chariot. Achilles 
(who overlooked the action from his 
ship) sent Patroclus to inquire which 
of the Greeks was wounded in that 
manner; Nestor entertains him in his 
tent with an account of the accidents 
of the day, and a long recital of some 
former wars which he remembered, 
tending to put Patroclus upon 
persuading Achilles to fight for his 
countrymen, or at least to permit him 
to do it, clad in Achilles' armour. 
Patroclus, on his return, meets 
Eurypylus also wounded, and assists him 
in that distress.

This book opens with the eight 
and-twentieth day of the poem, and the 
same day, with its various actions and 
adventures is extended through the 
twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, 
fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and 
part of the eighteenth books. The scene 
lies in the field near the monument of 
Ilus.

 The saffron morn, with early blushes 
spread,(219) Now rose refulgent from 
Tithonus' bed; With new-born day to 
gladden mortal sight, And gild the 
courts of heaven with sacred light: 
When baleful Eris, sent by Jove's 
command, The torch of discord blazing 
in her hand, Through the red skies her 
bloody sign extends, And, wrapt in 
tempests, o'er the fleet descends. High 
on Ulysses' bark her horrid stand She 
took, and thunder'd through the seas 
and land.

 Even Ajax and Achilles heard the 
sound, Whose ships, remote, the guarded 
navy bound, Thence the black fury 
through the Grecian throng With horror 
sounds the loud Orthian song: The navy 
shakes, and at the dire alarms Each 
bosom boils, each warrior starts to 
arms. No more they sigh, inglorious to 
return, But breathe revenge, and for 
the combat burn. 

 THE DESCENT OF DISCORD. 

 The king of men his hardy host 
inspires With loud command, with great 
example fires! Himself first rose, 
himself before the rest His mighty 
limbs in radiant armour dress'd, And 
first he cased his manly legs around In 
shining greaves with silver buckles 
bound; The beaming cuirass next adorn'd 
his breast, The same which once king 
Cinyras possess'd: (The fame of Greece 
and her assembled host Had reach'd that 
monarch on the Cyprian coast; 'Twas 
then, the friendship of the chief to 
gain, This glorious gift he sent, nor 
sent in vain:) Ten rows of azure steel 
the work infold, Twice ten of tin, and 
twelve of ductile gold; Three 
glittering dragons to the gorget rise, 
Whose imitated scales against the skies 
Reflected various light, and arching 
bow'd, Like colour'd rainbows o'er a 
showery cloud (Jove's wondrous bow, of 
three celestial dies, Placed as a sign 
to man amidst the skies). A radiant 
baldric, o'er his shoulder tied, 
Sustain'd the sword that glitter'd at 
his side: Gold was the hilt, a silver 
sheath encased The shining blade, and 
golden hangers graced. His buckler's 
mighty orb was next display'd, That 
round the warrior cast a dreadful 
shade; Ten zones of brass its ample 
brim surround, And twice ten bosses the 
bright convex crown'd: Tremendous 
Gorgon frown'd upon its field, And 
circling terrors fill'd the expressive 
shield: Within its concave hung a 
silver thong, On which a mimic serpent 
creeps along, His azure length in easy 
waves extends, Till in three heads the 
embroider'd monster ends. Last o'er his 
brows his fourfold helm he placed, With 
nodding horse-hair formidably graced; 
And in his hands two steely javelins 
wields, That blaze to heaven, and 
lighten all the fields.

 That instant Juno, and the martial 
maid, In happy thunders promised Greece 
their aid; High o'er the chief they 
clash'd their arms in air, And, leaning 
from the clouds, expect the war.

 Close to the limits of the trench and 
mound, The fiery coursers to their 
chariots bound The squires restrain'd: 
the foot, with those who wield The 
lighter arms, rush forward to the 
field. To second these, in close array 
combined, The squadrons spread their 
sable wings behind. Now shouts and 
tumults wake the tardy sun, As with the 
light the warriors' toils begun. Even 
Jove, whose thunder spoke his wrath, 
distill'd Red drops of blood o'er all 
the fatal field;(220) The woes of men 
unwilling to survey, And all the 
slaughters that must stain the day.

 Near Ilus' tomb, in order ranged 
around, The Trojan lines possess'd the 
rising ground: There wise Polydamas and 
Hector stood; Ćneas, honour'd as a 
guardian god; Bold Polybus, Agenor the 
divine; The brother-warriors of 
Antenor's line: With youthful Acamas, 
whose beauteous face And fair 
proportion match'd the ethereal race. 
Great Hector, cover'd with his spacious 
shield, Plies all the troops, and 
orders all the field. As the red star 
now shows his sanguine fires Through 
the dark clouds, and now in night 
retires, Thus through the ranks 
appear'd the godlike man, Plunged in 
the rear, or blazing in the van; While 
streamy sparkles, restless as he flies, 
Flash from his arms, as lightning from 
the skies. As sweating reapers in some 
wealthy field, Ranged in two bands, 
their crooked weapons wield, Bear down 
the furrows, till their labours meet; 
Thick fall the heapy harvests at their 
feet: So Greece and Troy the field of 
war divide, And falling ranks are 
strow'd on every side. None stoop'd a 
thought to base inglorious flight;(221) 
But horse to horse, and man to man they 
fight, Not rabid wolves more fierce 
contest their prey; Each wounds, each 
bleeds, but none resign the day. 
Discord with joy the scene of death 
descries, And drinks large slaughter at 
her sanguine eyes: Discord alone, of 
all the immortal train, Swells the red 
horrors of this direful plain: The gods 
in peace their golden mansions fill, 
Ranged in bright order on the Olympian 
hill: But general murmurs told their 
griefs above, And each accused the 
partial will of Jove. Meanwhile apart, 
superior, and alone, The eternal 
Monarch, on his awful throne, Wrapt in 
the blaze of boundless glory sate; And 
fix'd, fulfill'd the just decrees of 
fate. On earth he turn'd his 
all-considering eyes, And mark'd the 
spot where Ilion's towers arise; The 
sea with ships, the fields with armies 
spread, The victor's rage, the dying, 
and the dead.

 Thus while the morning-beams, 
increasing bright, O'er heaven's pure 
azure spread the glowing light, 
Commutual death the fate of war 
confounds, Each adverse battle gored 
with equal wounds. But now (what time 
in some sequester'd vale The weary 
woodman spreads his sparing meal, When 
his tired arms refuse the axe to rear, 
And claim a respite from the sylvan 
war; But not till half the prostrate 
forests lay Stretch'd in long ruin, and 
exposed to day) Then, nor till then, 
the Greeks' impulsive might Pierced the 
black phalanx, and let in the light. 
Great Agamemnon then the slaughter led, 
And slew Bienor at his people's head: 
Whose squire Oileus, with a sudden 
spring, Leap'd from the chariot to 
revenge his king; But in his front he 
felt the fatal wound, Which pierced his 
brain, and stretch'd him on the ground. 
Atrides spoil'd, and left them on the 
plain: Vain was their youth, their 
glittering armour vain: Now soil'd with 
dust, and naked to the sky, Their snowy 
limbs and beauteous bodies lie.

 Two sons of Priam next to battle move, 
The product, one of marriage, one of 
love:(222) In the same car the 
brother-warriors ride; This took the 
charge to combat, that to guide: Far 
other task, than when they wont to 
keep, On Ida's tops, their father's 
fleecy sheep. These on the mountains 
once Achilles found, And captive led, 
with pliant osiers bound; Then to their 
sire for ample sums restored; But now 
to perish by Atrides' sword: Pierced in 
the breast the base-born Isus bleeds: 
Cleft through the head his brother's 
fate succeeds, Swift to the spoil the 
hasty victor falls, And, stript, their 
features to his mind recalls. The 
Trojans see the youths untimely die, 
But helpless tremble for themselves, 
and fly. So when a lion ranging o'er 
the lawns. Finds, on some grassy lair, 
the couching fawns, Their bones he 
cracks, their reeking vitals draws, And 
grinds the quivering flesh with bloody 
jaws; The frighted hind beholds, and 
dares not stay, But swift through 
rustling thickets bursts her way; All 
drown'd in sweat, the panting mother 
flies, And the big tears roll trickling 
from her eyes.

 Amidst the tumult of the routed train, 
The sons of false Antimachus were 
slain; He who for bribes his faithless 
counsels sold, And voted Helen's stay 
for Paris' gold. Atrides mark'd, as 
these their safety sought, And slew the 
children for the father's fault; Their 
headstrong horse unable to restrain, 
They shook with fear, and dropp'd the 
silken rein; Then in the chariot on 
their knees they fall, And thus with 
lifted hands for mercy call:

 "O spare our youth, and for the life 
we owe, Antimachus shall copious gifts 
bestow: Soon as he hears, that, not in 
battle slain, The Grecian ships his 
captive sons detain, Large heaps of 
brass in ransom shall be told, And 
steel well-tempered, and persuasive 
gold."

 These words, attended with the flood 
of tears, The youths address'd to 
unrelenting ears: The vengeful monarch 
gave this stern reply: "If from 
Antimachus ye spring, ye die; The 
daring wretch who once in council stood 
To shed Ulysses' and my brother's 
blood, For proffer'd peace! and sues 
his seed for grace? No, die, and pay 
the forfeit of your race."

 This said, Pisander from the car he 
cast, And pierced his breast: supine he 
breathed his last. His brother leap'd 
to earth; but, as he lay, The trenchant 
falchion lopp'd his hands away; His 
sever'd head was toss'd among the 
throng, And, rolling, drew a bloody 
train along. Then, where the thickest 
fought, the victor flew; The king's 
example all his Greeks pursue. Now by 
the foot the flying foot were slain, 
Horse trod by horse, lay foaming on the 
plain. From the dry fields thick clouds 
of dust arise, Shade the black host, 
and intercept the skies. The 
brass-hoof'd steeds tumultuous plunge 
and bound, And the thick thunder beats 
the labouring ground, Still 
slaughtering on, the king of men 
proceeds; The distanced army wonders at 
his deeds, As when the winds with 
raging flames conspire, And o'er the 
forests roll the flood of fire, In 
blazing heaps the grove's old honours 
fall, And one refulgent ruin levels 
all: Before Atrides' rage so sinks the 
foe, Whole squadrons vanish, and proud 
heads lie low. The steeds fly trembling 
from his waving sword, And many a car, 
now lighted of its lord, Wide o'er the 
field with guideless fury rolls, 
Breaking their ranks, and crushing out 
their souls; While his keen falchion 
drinks the warriors' lives; More 
grateful, now, to vultures than their 
wives!

 Perhaps great Hector then had found 
his fate, But Jove and destiny 
prolong'd his date. Safe from the 
darts, the care of heaven he stood, 
Amidst alarms, and death, and dust, and 
blood.

 Now past the tomb where ancient Ilus 
lay, Through the mid field the routed 
urge their way: Where the wild figs the 
adjoining summit crown, The path they 
take, and speed to reach the town. As 
swift, Atrides with loud shouts 
pursued, Hot with his toil, and bathed 
in hostile blood. Now near the 
beech-tree, and the Scaean gates, The 
hero halts, and his associates waits. 
Meanwhile on every side around the 
plain, Dispersed, disorder'd, fly the 
Trojan train. So flies a herd of 
beeves, that hear dismay'd The lion's 
roaring through the midnight shade; On 
heaps they tumble with successless 
haste; The savage seizes, draws, and 
rends the last. Not with less fury 
stern Atrides flew, Still press'd the 
rout, and still the hindmost slew; 
Hurl'd from their cars the bravest 
chiefs are kill'd, And rage, and death, 
and carnage load the field.

 Now storms the victor at the Trojan 
wall; Surveys the towers, and meditates 
their fall. But Jove descending shook 
the Idaean hills, And down their 
summits pour'd a hundred rills: The 
unkindled lightning in his hand he 
took, And thus the many-coloured maid 
bespoke:

 "Iris, with haste thy golden wings 
display, To godlike Hector this our 
word convey-- While Agamemnon wastes 
the ranks around, Fights in the front, 
and bathes with blood the ground, Bid 
him give way; but issue forth commands, 
And trust the war to less important 
hands: But when, or wounded by the 
spear or dart, That chief shall mount 
his chariot, and depart, Then Jove 
shall string his arm, and fire his 
breast, Then to her ships shall flying 
Greece be press'd, Till to the main the 
burning sun descend, And sacred night 
her awful shade extend."

 He spoke, and Iris at his word obey'd; 
On wings of winds descends the various 
maid. The chief she found amidst the 
ranks of war, Close to the bulwarks, on 
his glittering car. The goddess then: 
"O son of Priam, hear! From Jove I 
come, and his high mandate bear. While 
Agamemnon wastes the ranks around, 
Fights in the front, and bathes with 
blood the ground, Abstain from fight; 
yet issue forth commands, And trust the 
war to less important hands: But when, 
or wounded by the spear or dart, The 
chief shall mount his chariot, and 
depart, Then Jove shall string thy arm, 
and fire thy breast, Then to her ships 
shall flying Greece be press'd, Till to 
the main the burning sun descend, And 
sacred night her awful shade extend."

 She said, and vanish'd. Hector, with a 
bound, Springs from his chariot on the 
trembling ground, In clanging arms: he 
grasps in either hand A pointed lance, 
and speeds from band to band; Revives 
their ardour, turns their steps from 
flight, And wakes anew the dying flames 
of fight. They stand to arms: the 
Greeks their onset dare, Condense their 
powers, and wait the coming war. New 
force, new spirit, to each breast 
returns; The fight renew'd with fiercer 
fury burns: The king leads on: all fix 
on him their eye, And learn from him to 
conquer, or to die.

 Ye sacred nine! celestial Muses! tell, 
Who faced him first, and by his prowess 
fell? The great Iphidamas, the bold and 
young, From sage Antenor and Theano 
sprung; Whom from his youth his 
grandsire Cisseus bred, And nursed in 
Thrace where snowy flocks are fed. 
Scarce did the down his rosy cheeks 
invest, And early honour warm his 
generous breast, When the kind sire 
consign'd his daughter's charms 
(Theano's sister) to his youthful arms. 
But call'd by glory to the wars of 
Troy, He leaves untasted the first 
fruits of joy; From his loved bride 
departs with melting eyes, And swift to 
aid his dearer country flies. With 
twelve black ships he reach'd Percope's 
strand, Thence took the long laborious 
march by land. Now fierce for fame, 
before the ranks he springs, Towering 
in arms, and braves the king of kings. 
Atrides first discharged the missive 
spear; The Trojan stoop'd, the javelin 
pass'd in air. Then near the corslet, 
at the monarch's heart, With all his 
strength, the youth directs his dart: 
But the broad belt, with plates of 
silver bound, The point rebated, and 
repell'd the wound. Encumber'd with the 
dart, Atrides stands, Till, grasp'd 
with force, he wrench'd it from his 
hands; At once his weighty sword 
discharged a wound Full on his neck, 
that fell'd him to the ground. 
Stretch'd in the dust the unhappy 
warrior lies, And sleep eternal seals 
his swimming eyes. Oh worthy better 
fate! oh early slain! Thy country's 
friend; and virtuous, though in vain! 
No more the youth shall join his 
consort's side, At once a virgin, and 
at once a bride! No more with presents 
her embraces meet, Or lay the spoils of 
conquest at her feet, On whom his 
passion, lavish of his store, Bestow'd 
so much, and vainly promised more! 
Unwept, uncover'd, on the plain he lay, 
While the proud victor bore his arms 
away.

 Coon, Antenor's eldest hope, was nigh: 
Tears, at the sight, came starting from 
his eye, While pierced with grief the 
much-loved youth he view'd, And the 
pale features now deform'd with blood. 
Then, with his spear, unseen, his time 
he took, Aim'd at the king, and near 
his elbow strook. The thrilling steel 
transpierced the brawny part, And 
through his arm stood forth the barbed 
dart. Surprised the monarch feels, yet 
void of fear On Coon rushes with his 
lifted spear: His brother's corpse the 
pious Trojan draws, And calls his 
country to assert his cause; Defends 
him breathless on the sanguine field, 
And o'er the body spreads his ample 
shield. Atrides, marking an unguarded 
part, Transfix'd the warrior with his 
brazen dart; Prone on his brother's 
bleeding breast he lay, The monarch's 
falchion lopp'd his head away: The 
social shades the same dark journey go, 
And join each other in the realms below.

 The vengeful victor rages round the 
fields, With every weapon art or fury 
yields: By the long lance, the sword, 
or ponderous stone, Whole ranks are 
broken, and whole troops o'erthrown. 
This, while yet warm distill'd the 
purple flood; But when the wound grew 
stiff with clotted blood, Then grinding 
tortures his strong bosom rend, Less 
keen those darts the fierce Ilythiae 
send: (The powers that cause the 
teeming matron's throes, Sad mothers of 
unutterable woes!) Stung with the 
smart, all-panting with the pain, He 
mounts the car, and gives his squire 
the rein; Then with a voice which fury 
made more strong, And pain augmented, 
thus exhorts the throng:

 "O friends! O Greeks! assert your 
honours won; Proceed, and finish what 
this arm begun: Lo! angry Jove forbids 
your chief to stay, And envies half the 
glories of the day."

 He said: the driver whirls his 
lengthful thong; The horses fly; the 
chariot smokes along. Clouds from their 
nostrils the fierce coursers blow, And 
from their sides the foam descends in 
snow; Shot through the battle in a 
moment's space, The wounded monarch at 
his tent they place.

 No sooner Hector saw the king retired, 
But thus his Trojans and his aids he 
fired: "Hear, all ye Dardan, all ye 
Lycian race! Famed in close fight, and 
dreadful face to face: Now call to mind 
your ancient trophies won, Your great 
forefathers' virtues, and your own. 
Behold, the general flies! deserts his 
powers! Lo, Jove himself declares the 
conquest ours! Now on yon ranks impel 
your foaming steeds; And, sure of 
glory, dare immortal deeds."

 With words like these the fiery chief 
alarms His fainting host, and every 
bosom warms. As the bold hunter cheers 
his hounds to tear The brindled lion, 
or the tusky bear: With voice and hand 
provokes their doubting heart, And 
springs the foremost with his lifted 
dart: So godlike Hector prompts his 
troops to dare; Nor prompts alone, but 
leads himself the war. On the black 
body of the foe he pours; As from the 
cloud's deep bosom, swell'd with 
showers, A sudden storm the purple 
ocean sweeps, Drives the wild waves, 
and tosses all the deeps. Say, Muse! 
when Jove the Trojan's glory crown'd, 
Beneath his arm what heroes bit the 
ground? Assaeus, Dolops, and Autonous 
died, Opites next was added to their 
side; Then brave Hipponous, famed in 
many a fight, Opheltius, Orus, sunk to 
endless night; Ćsymnus, Agelaus; all 
chiefs of name; The rest were vulgar 
deaths unknown to fame. As when a 
western whirlwind, charged with storms, 
Dispels the gather'd clouds that Notus 
forms: The gust continued, violent and 
strong, Rolls sable clouds in heaps on 
heaps along; Now to the skies the 
foaming billows rears, Now breaks the 
surge, and wide the bottom bares: Thus, 
raging Hector, with resistless hands, 
O'erturns, confounds, and scatters all 
their bands. Now the last ruin the 
whole host appals; Now Greece had 
trembled in her wooden walls; But wise 
Ulysses call'd Tydides forth, His soul 
rekindled, and awaked his worth. "And 
stand we deedless, O eternal shame! 
Till Hector's arm involve the ships in 
flame? Haste, let us join, and combat 
side by side." The warrior thus, and 
thus the friend replied:

 "No martial toil I shun, no danger 
fear; Let Hector come; I wait his fury 
here. But Jove with conquest crowns the 
Trojan train: And, Jove our foe, all 
human force is vain."

 He sigh'd; but, sighing, raised his 
vengeful steel, And from his car the 
proud Thymbraeus fell: Molion, the 
charioteer, pursued his lord, His death 
ennobled by Ulysses' sword. There 
slain, they left them in eternal night, 
Then plunged amidst the thickest ranks 
of fight. So two wild boars outstrip 
the following hounds, Then swift 
revert, and wounds return for wounds. 
Stern Hector's conquests in the middle 
plain Stood check'd awhile, and Greece 
respired again.

 The sons of Merops shone amidst the 
war; Towering they rode in one 
refulgent car: In deep prophetic arts 
their father skill'd, Had warn'd his 
children from the Trojan field. Fate 
urged them on: the father warn'd in 
vain; They rush'd to fight, and 
perish'd on the plain; Their breasts no 
more the vital spirit warms; The stern 
Tydides strips their shining arms. 
Hypirochus by great Ulysses dies, And 
rich Hippodamus becomes his prize. 
Great Jove from Ide with slaughter 
fills his sight, And level hangs the 
doubtful scale of fight. By Tydeus' 
lance Agastrophus was slain, The 
far-famed hero of Paeonian strain; 
Wing'd with his fears, on foot he 
strove to fly, His steeds too distant, 
and the foe too nigh: Through broken 
orders, swifter than the wind, He fled, 
but flying left his life behind. This 
Hector sees, as his experienced eyes 
Traverse the files, and to the rescue 
flies; Shouts, as he pass'd, the 
crystal regions rend, And moving armies 
on his march attend. Great Diomed 
himself was seized with fear, And thus 
bespoke his brother of the war:

 "Mark how this way yon bending 
squadrons yield! The storm rolls on, 
and Hector rules the field: Here stand 
his utmost force."--The warrior said; 
Swift at the word his ponderous javelin 
fled; Nor miss'd its aim, but where the 
plumage danced Razed the smooth cone, 
and thence obliquely glanced. Safe in 
his helm (the gift of Phoebus' hands) 
Without a wound the Trojan hero stands; 
But yet so stunn'd, that, staggering on 
the plain. His arm and knee his sinking 
bulk sustain; O'er his dim sight the 
misty vapours rise, And a short 
darkness shades his swimming eyes. 
Tydides followed to regain his lance; 
While Hector rose, recover'd from the 
trance, Remounts his car, and herds 
amidst the crowd: The Greek pursues 
him, and exults aloud: "Once more thank 
Phoebus for thy forfeit breath, Or 
thank that swiftness which outstrips 
the death. Well by Apollo are thy 
prayers repaid, And oft that partial 
power has lent his aid. Thou shall not 
long the death deserved withstand, If 
any god assist Tydides' hand. Fly then, 
inglorious! but thy flight, this day, 
Whole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall 
pay,"

 Him, while he triumph'd, Paris eyed 
from far, (The spouse of Helen, the 
fair cause of war;) Around the fields 
his feather'd shafts he sent, From 
ancient Ilus' ruin'd monument: Behind 
the column placed, he bent his bow, And 
wing'd an arrow at the unwary foe; Just 
as he stoop'd, Agastrophus's crest To 
seize, and drew the corslet from his 
breast, The bowstring twang'd; nor flew 
the shaft in vain, But pierced his 
foot, and nail'd it to the plain. The 
laughing Trojan, with a joyful spring. 
Leaps from his ambush, and insults the 
king.

 "He bleeds! (he cries) some god has 
sped my dart! Would the same god had 
fix'd it in his heart! So Troy, 
relieved from that wide-wasting hand, 
Should breathe from slaughter and in 
combat stand: Whose sons now tremble at 
his darted spear, As scatter'd lambs 
the rushing lion fear."

 He dauntless thus: "Thou conqueror of 
the fair, Thou woman-warrior with the 
curling hair; Vain archer! trusting to 
the distant dart, Unskill'd in arms to 
act a manly part! Thou hast but done 
what boys or women can; Such hands may 
wound, but not incense a man. Nor boast 
the scratch thy feeble arrow gave, A 
coward's weapon never hurts the brave. 
Not so this dart, which thou may'st one 
day feel; Fate wings its flight, and 
death is on the steel: Where this but 
lights, some noble life expires; Its 
touch makes orphans, bathes the cheeks 
of sires, Steeps earth in purple, gluts 
the birds of air, And leaves such 
objects as distract the fair." Ulysses 
hastens with a trembling heart, Before 
him steps, and bending draws the dart: 
Forth flows the blood; an eager pang 
succeeds; Tydides mounts, and to the 
navy speeds.

 Now on the field Ulysses stands alone, 
The Greeks all fled, the Trojans 
pouring on; But stands collected in 
himself, and whole, And questions thus 
his own unconquer'd soul:

 "What further subterfuge, what hopes 
remain? What shame, inglorious if I 
quit the plain? What danger, singly if 
I stand the ground, My friends all 
scatter'd, all the foes around? Yet 
wherefore doubtful? let this truth 
suffice, The brave meets danger, and 
the coward flies. To die or conquer, 
proves a hero's heart; And, knowing 
this, I know a soldier's part."

 Such thoughts revolving in his careful 
breast, Near, and more near, the shady 
cohorts press'd; These, in the warrior, 
their own fate enclose; And round him 
deep the steely circle grows. So fares 
a boar whom all the troop surrounds Of 
shouting huntsmen and of clamorous 
hounds; He grinds his ivory tusks; he 
foams with ire; His sanguine eye-balls 
glare with living fire; By these, by 
those, on every part is plied; And the 
red slaughter spreads on every side. 
Pierced through the shoulder, first 
Deiopis fell; Next Ennomus and Thoon 
sank to hell; Chersidamas, beneath the 
navel thrust, Falls prone to earth, and 
grasps the bloody dust. Charops, the 
son of Hippasus, was near; Ulysses 
reach'd him with the fatal spear; But 
to his aid his brother Socus flies, 
Socus the brave, the generous, and the 
wise. Near as he drew, the warrior thus 
began:

 "O great Ulysses! much-enduring man! 
Not deeper skill'd in every martial 
sleight, Than worn to toils, and active 
in the fight! This day two brothers 
shall thy conquest grace, And end at 
once the great Hippasian race, Or thou 
beneath this lance must press the 
field." He said, and forceful pierced 
his spacious shield: Through the strong 
brass the ringing javelin thrown, 
Plough'd half his side, and bared it to 
the bone. By Pallas' care, the spear, 
though deep infix'd, Stopp'd short of 
life, nor with his entrails mix'd.

 The wound not mortal wise Ulysses 
knew, Then furious thus (but first some 
steps withdrew): "Unhappy man! whose 
death our hands shall grace, Fate calls 
thee hence and finish'd is thy race. 
Nor longer check my conquests on the 
foe; But, pierced by this, to endless 
darkness go, And add one spectre to the 
realms below!"

 He spoke, while Socus, seized with 
sudden fright, Trembling gave way, and 
turn'd his back to flight; Between his 
shoulders pierced the following dart, 
And held its passage through the 
panting heart: Wide in his breast 
appear'd the grisly wound; He falls; 
his armour rings against the ground. 
Then thus Ulysses, gazing on the slain: 
"Famed son of Hippasus! there press the 
plain; There ends thy narrow span 
assign'd by fate, Heaven owes Ulysses 
yet a longer date. Ah, wretch! no 
father shall thy corpse compose; Thy 
dying eyes no tender mother close; But 
hungry birds shall tear those balls 
away, And hovering vultures scream 
around their prey. Me Greece shall 
honour, when I meet my doom, With 
solemn funerals and a lasting tomb."

 Then raging with intolerable smart, He 
writhes his body, and extracts the 
dart. The dart a tide of spouting gore 
pursued, And gladden'd Troy with sight 
of hostile blood. Now troops on troops 
the fainting chief invade, Forced he 
recedes, and loudly calls for aid. 
Thrice to its pitch his lofty voice he 
rears; The well-known voice thrice 
Menelaus hears: Alarm'd, to Ajax 
Telamon he cried, Who shares his 
labours, and defends his side: "O 
friend! Ulysses' shouts invade my ear; 
Distressed he seems, and no assistance 
near; Strong as he is, yet one opposed 
to all, Oppress'd by multitudes, the 
best may fall. Greece robb'd of him 
must bid her host despair, And feel a 
loss not ages can repair."

 Then, where the cry directs, his 
course he bends; Great Ajax, like the 
god of war, attends, The prudent chief 
in sore distress they found, With bands 
of furious Trojans compass'd 
round.(223) As when some huntsman, with 
a flying spear, From the blind thicket 
wounds a stately deer; Down his cleft 
side, while fresh the blood distils, He 
bounds aloft, and scuds from hills to 
hills, Till life's warm vapour issuing 
through the wound, Wild mountain-wolves 
the fainting beast surround: Just as 
their jaws his prostrate limbs invade, 
The lion rushes through the woodland 
shade, The wolves, though hungry, scour 
dispersed away; The lordly savage 
vindicates his prey. Ulysses thus, 
unconquer'd by his pains, A single 
warrior half a host sustains: But soon 
as Ajax leaves his tower-like shield, 
The scattered crowds fly frighted o'er 
the field; Atrides' arm the sinking 
hero stays, And, saved from numbers, to 
his car conveys.

 Victorious Ajax plies the routed crew; 
And first Doryclus, Priam's son, he 
slew, On strong Pandocus next inflicts 
a wound, And lays Lysander bleeding on 
the ground. As when a torrent, swell'd 
with wintry rains, Pours from the 
mountains o'er the deluged plains, And 
pines and oaks, from their foundations 
torn, A country's ruins! to the seas 
are borne: Fierce Ajax thus o'erwhelms 
the yielding throng; Men, steeds, and 
chariots, roll in heaps along.

 But Hector, from this scene of 
slaughter far, Raged on the left, and 
ruled the tide of war: Loud groans 
proclaim his progress through the 
plain, And deep Scamander swells with 
heaps of slain. There Nestor and 
Idomeneus oppose The warrior's fury; 
there the battle glows; There fierce on 
foot, or from the chariot's height, His 
sword deforms the beauteous ranks of 
fight. The spouse of Helen, dealing 
darts around, Had pierced Machaon with 
a distant wound: In his right shoulder 
the broad shaft appear'd, And trembling 
Greece for her physician fear'd. To 
Nestor then Idomeneus begun: "Glory of 
Greece, old Neleus' valiant son! Ascend 
thy chariot, haste with speed away, And 
great Machaon to the ships convey; A 
wise physician skill'd our wounds to 
heal, Is more than armies to the public 
weal." Old Nestor mounts the seat; 
beside him rode The wounded offspring 
of the healing god. He lends the lash; 
the steeds with sounding feet Shake the 
dry field, and thunder toward the fleet.

 But now Cebriones, from Hector's car, 
Survey'd the various fortune of the 
war: "While here (he cried) the flying 
Greeks are slain, Trojans on Trojans 
yonder load the plain. Before great 
Ajax see the mingled throng Of men and 
chariots driven in heaps along! I know 
him well, distinguish'd o'er the field 
By the broad glittering of the 
sevenfold shield. Thither, O Hector, 
thither urge thy steeds, There danger 
calls, and there the combat bleeds; 
There horse and foot in mingled deaths 
unite, And groans of slaughter mix with 
shouts of fight."

 Thus having spoke, the driver's lash 
resounds; Swift through the ranks the 
rapid chariot bounds; Stung by the 
stroke, the coursers scour the fields, 
O'er heaps of carcases, and hills of 
shields. The horses' hoofs are bathed 
in heroes' gore, And, dashing, purple 
all the car before; The groaning axle 
sable drops distils, And mangled 
carnage clogs the rapid wheels. Here 
Hector, plunging through the thickest 
fight, Broke the dark phalanx, and let 
in the light: (By the long lance, the 
sword, or ponderous stone. The ranks he 
scatter'd and the troops o'erthrown:) 
Ajax he shuns, through all the dire 
debate, And fears that arm whose force 
he felt so late. But partial Jove, 
espousing Hector's part, Shot 
heaven-bred horror through the 
Grecian's heart; Confused, unnerved in 
Hector's presence grown, Amazed he 
stood, with terrors not his own. O'er 
his broad back his moony shield he 
threw, And, glaring round, by tardy 
steps withdrew. Thus the grim lion his 
retreat maintains, Beset with watchful 
dogs, and shouting swains; Repulsed by 
numbers from the nightly stalls, Though 
rage impels him, and though hunger 
calls, Long stands the showering darts, 
and missile fires; Then sourly slow the 
indignant beast retires: So turn'd 
stern Ajax, by whole hosts repell'd, 
While his swoln heart at every step 
rebell'd.

 As the slow beast, with heavy strength 
endued, In some wide field by troops of 
boys pursued, Though round his sides a 
wooden tempest rain, Crops the tall 
harvest, and lays waste the plain; 
Thick on his hide the hollow blows 
resound, The patient animal maintains 
his ground, Scarce from the field with 
all their efforts chased, And stirs but 
slowly when he stirs at last: On Ajax 
thus a weight of Trojans hung, The 
strokes redoubled on his buckler rung; 
Confiding now in bulky strength he 
stands, Now turns, and backward bears 
the yielding bands; Now stiff recedes, 
yet hardly seems to fly, And threats 
his followers with retorted eye. Fix'd 
as the bar between two warring powers, 
While hissing darts descend in iron 
showers: In his broad buckler many a 
weapon stood, Its surface bristled with 
a quivering wood; And many a javelin, 
guiltless on the plain, Marks the dry 
dust, and thirsts for blood in vain. 
But bold Eurypylus his aid imparts, And 
dauntless springs beneath a cloud of 
darts; Whose eager javelin launch'd 
against the foe, Great Apisaon felt the 
fatal blow; From his torn liver the red 
current flow'd, And his slack knees 
desert their dying load. The victor 
rushing to despoil the dead, From 
Paris' bow a vengeful arrow fled; Fix'd 
in his nervous thigh the weapon stood, 
Fix'd was the point, but broken was the 
wood. Back to the lines the wounded 
Greek retired, Yet thus retreating, his 
associates fired:

 "What god, O Grecians! has your hearts 
dismay'd? Oh, turn to arms; 'tis Ajax 
claims your aid. This hour he stands 
the mark of hostile rage, And this the 
last brave battle he shall wage: Haste, 
join your forces; from the gloomy grave 
The warrior rescue, and your country 
save." Thus urged the chief: a generous 
troop appears, Who spread their 
bucklers, and advance their spears, To 
guard their wounded friend: while thus 
they stand With pious care, great Ajax 
joins the band: Each takes new courage 
at the hero's sight; The hero rallies, 
and renews the fight.

 Thus raged both armies like 
conflicting fires, While Nestor's 
chariot far from fight retires: His 
coursers steep'd in sweat, and stain'd 
with gore, The Greeks' preserver, great 
Machaon, bore. That hour Achilles, from 
the topmost height Of his proud fleet, 
o'erlook'd the fields of fight; His 
feasted eyes beheld around the plain 
The Grecian rout, the slaying, and the 
slain. His friend Machaon singled from 
the rest, A transient pity touch'd his 
vengeful breast. Straight to Menoetius' 
much-loved son he sent: Graceful as 
Mars, Patroclus quits his tent; In evil 
hour! Then fate decreed his doom, And 
fix'd the date of all his woes to come.

 "Why calls my friend? thy loved 
injunctions lay; Whate'er thy will, 
Patroclus shall obey."

 "O first of friends! (Pelides thus 
replied) Still at my heart, and ever at 
my side! The time is come, when yon 
despairing host Shall learn the value 
of the man they lost: Now at my knees 
the Greeks shall pour their moan, And 
proud Atrides tremble on his throne. Go 
now to Nestor, and from him be taught 
What wounded warrior late his chariot 
brought: For, seen at distance, and but 
seen behind, His form recall'd Machaon 
to my mind; Nor could I, through yon 
cloud, discern his face, The coursers 
pass'd me with so swift a pace."

 The hero said. His friend obey'd with 
haste, Through intermingled ships and 
tents he pass'd; The chiefs descending 
from their car he found: The panting 
steeds Eurymedon unbound. The warriors 
standing on the breezy shore, To dry 
their sweat, and wash away the gore, 
Here paused a moment, while the gentle 
gale Convey'd that freshness the cool 
seas exhale; Then to consult on farther 
methods went, And took their seats 
beneath the shady tent. The draught 
prescribed, fair Hecamede prepares, 
Arsinous' daughter, graced with golden 
hairs: (Whom to his aged arms, a royal 
slave, Greece, as the prize of Nestor's 
wisdom gave:) A table first with azure 
feet she placed; Whose ample orb a 
brazen charger graced; Honey 
new-press'd, the sacred flour of wheat, 
And wholesome garlic, crown'd the 
savoury treat, Next her white hand an 
antique goblet brings, A goblet sacred 
to the Pylian kings From eldest times: 
emboss'd with studs of gold, Two feet 
support it, and four handles hold; On 
each bright handle, bending o'er the 
brink, In sculptured gold, two turtles 
seem to drink: A massy weight, yet 
heaved with ease by him, When the brisk 
nectar overlook'd the brim. Temper'd in 
this, the nymph of form divine Pours a 
large portion of the Pramnian wine; 
With goat's-milk cheese a flavourous 
taste bestows, And last with flour the 
smiling surface strows: This for the 
wounded prince the dame prepares: The 
cordial beverage reverend Nestor 
shares: Salubrious draughts the 
warriors' thirst allay, And pleasing 
conference beguiles the day.

 Meantime Patroclus, by Achilles sent, 
Unheard approached, and stood before 
the tent. Old Nestor, rising then, the 
hero led To his high seat: the chief 
refused and said:

 "'Tis now no season for these kind 
delays; The great Achilles with 
impatience stays. To great Achilles 
this respect I owe; Who asks, what 
hero, wounded by the foe, Was borne 
from combat by thy foaming steeds? With 
grief I see the great Machaon bleeds. 
This to report, my hasty course I bend; 
Thou know'st the fiery temper of my 
friend." "Can then the sons of Greece 
(the sage rejoin'd) Excite compassion 
in Achilles' mind? Seeks he the sorrows 
of our host to know? This is not half 
the story of our woe. Tell him, not 
great Machaon bleeds alone, Our bravest 
heroes in the navy groan, Ulysses, 
Agamemnon, Diomed, And stern Eurypylus, 
already bleed. But, ah! what flattering 
hopes I entertain! Achilles heeds not, 
but derides our pain: Even till the 
flames consume our fleet he stays, And 
waits the rising of the fatal blaze. 
Chief after chief the raging foe 
destroys; Calm he looks on, and every 
death enjoys. Now the slow course of 
all-impairing time Unstrings my nerves, 
and ends my manly prime; Oh! had I 
still that strength my youth possess'd, 
When this bold arm the Epeian powers 
oppress'd, The bulls of Elis in glad 
triumph led, And stretch'd the great 
Itymonaeus dead! Then from my fury fled 
the trembling swains, And ours was all 
the plunder of the plains: Fifty white 
flocks, full fifty herds of swine, As 
many goats, as many lowing kine: And 
thrice the number of unrivall'd steeds, 
All teeming females, and of generous 
breeds. These, as my first essay of 
arms, I won; Old Neleus gloried in his 
conquering son. Thus Elis forced, her 
long arrears restored, And shares were 
parted to each Pylian lord. The state 
of Pyle was sunk to last despair, When 
the proud Elians first commenced the 
war: For Neleus' sons Alcides' rage had 
slain; Of twelve bold brothers, I alone 
remain! Oppress'd, we arm'd; and now 
this conquest gain'd, My sire three 
hundred chosen sheep obtain'd. (That 
large reprisal he might justly claim, 
For prize defrauded, and insulted fame, 
When Elis' monarch, at the public 
course, Detain'd his chariot, and 
victorious horse.) The rest the people 
shared; myself survey'd The just 
partition, and due victims paid. Three 
days were past, when Elis rose to war, 
With many a courser, and with many a 
car; The sons of Actor at their army's 
head (Young as they were) the vengeful 
squadrons led. High on the rock fair 
Thryoessa stands, Our utmost frontier 
on the Pylian lands: Not far the 
streams of famed Alphaeus flow: The 
stream they pass'd, and pitch'd their 
tents below. Pallas, descending in the 
shades of night, Alarms the Pylians and 
commands the fight. Each burns for 
fame, and swells with martial pride, 
Myself the foremost; but my sire 
denied; Fear'd for my youth, exposed to 
stern alarms; And stopp'd my chariot, 
and detain'd my arms. My sire denied in 
vain: on foot I fled Amidst our 
chariots; for the goddess led.

 "Along fair Arene's delightful plain 
Soft Minyas rolls his waters to the 
main: There, horse and foot, the Pylian 
troops unite, And sheathed in arms, 
expect the dawning light. Thence, ere 
the sun advanced his noon-day flame, To 
great Alphaeus' sacred source we came. 
There first to Jove our solemn rites 
were paid; An untamed heifer pleased 
the blue-eyed maid; A bull, Alphaeus; 
and a bull was slain To the blue 
monarch of the watery main. In arms we 
slept, beside the winding flood, While 
round the town the fierce Epeians 
stood. Soon as the sun, with 
all-revealing ray, Flamed in the front 
of Heaven, and gave the day. Bright 
scenes of arms, and works of war 
appear; The nations meet; there Pylos, 
Elis here. The first who fell, beneath 
my javelin bled; King Augias' son, and 
spouse of Agamede: (She that all 
simples' healing virtues knew, And 
every herb that drinks the morning 
dew:) I seized his car, the van of 
battle led; The Epeians saw, they 
trembled, and they fled. The foe 
dispersed, their bravest warrior 
kill'd, Fierce as the whirlwind now I 
swept the field: Full fifty captive 
chariots graced my train; Two chiefs 
from each fell breathless to the plain. 
Then Actor's sons had died, but Neptune 
shrouds The youthful heroes in a veil 
of clouds. O'er heapy shields, and o'er 
the prostrate throng, Collecting 
spoils, and slaughtering all along, 
Through wide Buprasian fields we forced 
the foes, Where o'er the vales the 
Olenian rocks arose; Till Pallas 
stopp'd us where Alisium flows. Even 
there the hindmost of the rear I slay, 
And the same arm that led concludes the 
day; Then back to Pyle triumphant take 
my way. There to high Jove were public 
thanks assign'd, As first of gods; to 
Nestor, of mankind. Such then I was, 
impell'd by youthful blood; So proved 
my valour for my country's good.

 "Achilles with unactive fury glows, 
And gives to passion what to Greece he 
owes. How shall he grieve, when to the 
eternal shade Her hosts shall sink, nor 
his the power to aid! 0 friend! my 
memory recalls the day, When, gathering 
aids along the Grecian sea, I, and 
Ulysses, touch'd at Phthia's port, And 
entered Peleus' hospitable court. A 
bull to Jove he slew in sacrifice, And 
pour'd libations on the flaming thighs. 
Thyself, Achilles, and thy reverend 
sire Menoetius, turn'd the fragments on 
the fire. Achilles sees us, to the 
feast invites; Social we sit, and share 
the genial rites. We then explained the 
cause on which we came, Urged you to 
arms, and found you fierce for fame. 
Your ancient fathers generous precepts 
gave; Peleus said only this:--'My son! 
be brave.' Menoetius thus: 'Though 
great Achilles shine In strength 
superior, and of race divine, Yet 
cooler thoughts thy elder years attend; 
Let thy just counsels aid, and rule thy 
friend.' Thus spoke your father at 
Thessalia's court: Words now forgot, 
though now of vast import. Ah! try the 
utmost that a friend can say: Such 
gentle force the fiercest minds obey; 
Some favouring god Achilles' heart may 
move; Though deaf to glory, he may 
yield to love. If some dire oracle his 
breast alarm, If aught from Heaven 
withhold his saving arm, Some beam of 
comfort yet on Greece may shine, If 
thou but lead the Myrmidonian line; 
Clad in Achilles' arms, if thou appear, 
Proud Troy may tremble, and desist from 
war; Press'd by fresh forces, her 
o'er-labour'd train Shall seek their 
walls, and Greece respire again."

 This touch'd his generous heart, and 
from the tent Along the shore with 
hasty strides he went; Soon as he came, 
where, on the crowded strand, The 
public mart and courts of justice 
stand, Where the tall fleet of great 
Ulysses lies, And altars to the 
guardian gods arise; There, sad, he met 
the brave Euaemon's son, Large painful 
drops from all his members run; An 
arrow's head yet rooted in his wound, 
The sable blood in circles mark'd the 
ground. As faintly reeling he confess'd 
the smart, Weak was his pace, but 
dauntless was his heart. Divine 
compassion touch'd Patroclus' breast, 
Who, sighing, thus his bleeding friend 
address'd:

 "Ah, hapless leaders of the Grecian 
host! Thus must ye perish on a 
barbarous coast? Is this your fate, to 
glut the dogs with gore, Far from your 
friends, and from your native shore? 
Say, great Eurypylus! shall Greece yet 
stand? Resists she yet the raging 
Hector's hand? Or are her heroes doom'd 
to die with shame, And this the period 
of our wars and fame?"

 Eurypylus replies: "No more, my 
friend; Greece is no more! this day her 
glories end; Even to the ships 
victorious Troy pursues, Her force 
increasing as her toil renews. Those 
chiefs, that used her utmost rage to 
meet, Lie pierced with wounds, and 
bleeding in the fleet. But, thou, 
Patroclus! act a friendly part, Lead to 
my ships, and draw this deadly dart; 
With lukewarm water wash the gore away; 
With healing balms the raging smart 
allay, Such as sage Chiron, sire of 
pharmacy, Once taught Achilles, and 
Achilles thee. Of two famed surgeons, 
Podalirius stands This hour surrounded 
by the Trojan bands; And great Machaon, 
wounded in his tent, Now wants that 
succour which so oft he lent."

 To him the chief: "What then remains 
to do? The event of things the gods 
alone can view. Charged by Achilles' 
great command I fly, And bear with 
haste the Pylian king's reply: But thy 
distress this instant claims relief." 
He said, and in his arms upheld the 
chief. The slaves their master's slow 
approach survey'd, And hides of oxen on 
the floor display'd: There stretch'd at 
length the wounded hero lay; Patroclus 
cut the forky steel away: Then in his 
hands a bitter root he bruised; The 
wound he wash'd, the styptic juice 
infused. The closing flesh that instant 
ceased to glow, The wound to torture, 
and the blood to flow. 

 HERCULES. 

 

BOOK XII. 

ARGUMENT.

THE BATTLE AT THE GRECIAN WALL.

The Greeks having retired into their 
intrenchments, Hector attempts to force 
them; but it proving impossible to pass 
the ditch, Polydamas advises to quit 
their chariots, and manage the attack 
on foot. The Trojans follow his 
counsel; and having divided their army 
into five bodies of foot, begin the 
assault. But upon the signal of an 
eagle with a serpent in his talons, 
which appeared on the left hand of the 
Trojans, Polydamas endeavours to 
withdraw them again. This Hector 
opposes, and continues the attack; in 
which, after many actions, Sarpedon 
makes the first breach in the wall. 
Hector also, casting a stone of vast 
size, forces open one of the gates, and 
enters at the head of his troops, who 
victoriously pursue the Grecians even 
to their ships.

 While thus the hero's pious cares 
attend The cure and safety of his 
wounded friend, Trojans and Greeks with 
clashing shields engage, And mutual 
deaths are dealt with mutual rage. Nor 
long the trench or lofty walls oppose; 
With gods averse the ill-fated works 
arose; Their powers neglected, and no 
victim slain, The walls were raised, 
the trenches sunk in vain.

 Without the gods, how short a period 
stands The proudest monument of mortal 
hands! This stood while Hector and 
Achilles raged. While sacred Troy the 
warring hosts engaged; But when her 
sons were slain, her city burn'd, And 
what survived of Greece to Greece 
return'd; Then Neptune and Apollo shook 
the shore, Then Ida's summits pour'd 
their watery store; Rhesus and Rhodius 
then unite their rills, Caresus roaring 
down the stony hills, Ćsepus, Granicus, 
with mingled force, And Xanthus foaming 
from his fruitful source; And gulfy 
Simois, rolling to the main(224) 
Helmets, and shields, and godlike 
heroes slain: These, turn'd by Phoebus 
from their wonted ways, Deluged the 
rampire nine continual days; The weight 
of waters saps the yielding wall, And 
to the sea the floating bulwarks fall. 
Incessant cataracts the Thunderer 
pours, And half the skies descend in 
sluicy showers. The god of ocean, 
marching stern before, With his huge 
trident wounds the trembling shore, 
Vast stones and piles from their 
foundation heaves, And whelms the smoky 
ruin in the waves. Now smooth'd with 
sand, and levell'd by the flood, No 
fragment tells where once the wonder 
stood; In their old bounds the rivers 
roll again, Shine 'twixt the hills, or 
wander o'er the plain.(225)

 But this the gods in later times 
perform; As yet the bulwark stood, and 
braved the storm; The strokes yet 
echoed of contending powers; War 
thunder'd at the gates, and blood 
distain'd the towers. Smote by the arm 
of Jove with dire dismay, Close by 
their hollow ships the Grecians lay: 
Hector's approach in every wind they 
hear, And Hector's fury every moment 
fear. He, like a whirlwind, toss'd the 
scattering throng, Mingled the troops, 
and drove the field along. So 'midst 
the dogs and hunters' daring bands, 
Fierce of his might, a boar or lion 
stands; Arm'd foes around a dreadful 
circle form, And hissing javelins rain 
an iron storm: His powers untamed, 
their bold assault defy, And where he 
turns the rout disperse or die: He 
foams, he glares, he bounds against 
them all, And if he falls, his courage 
makes him fall. With equal rage 
encompass'd Hector glows; Exhorts his 
armies, and the trenches shows. The 
panting steeds impatient fury breathe, 
And snort and tremble at the gulf 
beneath; Just at the brink they neigh, 
and paw the ground, And the turf 
trembles, and the skies resound. Eager 
they view'd the prospect dark and deep, 
Vast was the leap, and headlong hung 
the steep; The bottom bare, (a 
formidable show!) And bristled thick 
with sharpen'd stakes below. The foot 
alone this strong defence could force, 
And try the pass impervious to the 
horse. This saw Polydamas; who, wisely 
brave, Restrain'd great Hector, and 
this counsel gave:

 "O thou, bold leader of the Trojan 
bands! And you, confederate chiefs from 
foreign lands! What entrance here can 
cumbrous chariots find, The stakes 
beneath, the Grecian walls behind? No 
pass through those, without a thousand 
wounds, No space for combat in yon 
narrow bounds. Proud of the favours 
mighty Jove has shown, On certain 
dangers we too rashly run: If 'tis will 
our haughty foes to tame, Oh may this 
instant end the Grecian name! Here, far 
from Argos, let their heroes fall, And 
one great day destroy and bury all! But 
should they turn, and here oppress our 
train, What hopes, what methods of 
retreat remain? Wedged in the trench, 
by our own troops confused, In one 
promiscuous carnage crush'd and 
bruised, All Troy must perish, if their 
arms prevail, Nor shall a Trojan live 
to tell the tale. Hear then, ye 
warriors! and obey with speed; Back 
from the trenches let your steeds be 
led; Then all alighting, wedged in firm 
array, Proceed on foot, and Hector lead 
the way. So Greece shall stoop before 
our conquering power, And this (if Jove 
consent) her fatal hour." 

 POLYDAMAS ADVISING HECTOR. 

 This counsel pleased: the godlike 
Hector sprung Swift from his seat; his 
clanging armour rung. The chief's 
example follow'd by his train, Each 
quits his car, and issues on the plain, 
By orders strict the charioteers 
enjoin'd Compel the coursers to their 
ranks behind. The forces part in five 
distinguish'd bands, And all obey their 
several chiefs' commands. The best and 
bravest in the first conspire, Pant for 
the fight, and threat the fleet with 
fire: Great Hector glorious in the van 
of these, Polydamas, and brave 
Cebriones. Before the next the graceful 
Paris shines, And bold Alcathous, and 
Agenor joins. The sons of Priam with 
the third appear, Deiphobus, and 
Helenas the seer; In arms with these 
the mighty Asius stood, Who drew from 
Hyrtacus his noble blood, And whom 
Arisba's yellow coursers bore, The 
coursers fed on Selle's winding shore. 
Antenor's sons the fourth battalion 
guide, And great Ćneas, born on 
fountful Ide. Divine Sarpedon the last 
band obey'd, Whom Glaucus and 
Asteropaeus aid. Next him, the bravest, 
at their army's head, But he more brave 
than all the hosts he led.

 Now with compacted shields in close 
array, The moving legions speed their 
headlong way: Already in their hopes 
they fire the fleet, And see the 
Grecians gasping at their feet.

 While every Trojan thus, and every 
aid, The advice of wise Polydamas 
obey'd, Asius alone, confiding in his 
car, His vaunted coursers urged to meet 
the war. Unhappy hero! and advised in 
vain; Those wheels returning ne'er 
shall mark the plain; No more those 
coursers with triumphant joy Restore 
their master to the gates of Troy! 
Black death attends behind the Grecian 
wall, And great Idomeneus shall boast 
thy fall! Fierce to the left he drives, 
where from the plain The flying 
Grecians strove their ships to gain; 
Swift through the wall their horse and 
chariots pass'd, The gates half-open'd 
to receive the last. Thither, exulting 
in his force, he flies: His following 
host with clamours rend the skies: To 
plunge the Grecians headlong in the 
main, Such their proud hopes; but all 
their hopes were vain!

 To guard the gates, two mighty chiefs 
attend, Who from the Lapiths' warlike 
race descend; This Polypoetes, great 
Perithous' heir, And that Leonteus, 
like the god of war. As two tall oaks, 
before the wall they rise; Their roots 
in earth, their heads amidst the skies: 
Whose spreading arms with leafy honours 
crown'd, Forbid the tempest, and 
protect the ground; High on the hills 
appears their stately form, And their 
deep roots for ever brave the storm. So 
graceful these, and so the shock they 
stand Of raging Asius, and his furious 
band. Orestes, Acamas, in front appear, 
And OEnomaus and Thoon close the rear: 
In vain their clamours shake the 
ambient fields, In vain around them 
beat their hollow shields; The fearless 
brothers on the Grecians call, To guard 
their navies, and defend the wall. Even 
when they saw Troy's sable troops 
impend, And Greece tumultuous from her 
towers descend, Forth from the portals 
rush'd the intrepid pair, Opposed their 
breasts, and stood themselves the war. 
So two wild boars spring furious from 
their den, Roused with the cries of 
dogs and voice of men; On every side 
the crackling trees they tear, And root 
the shrubs, and lay the forest bare; 
They gnash their tusks, with fire their 
eye-balls roll, Till some wide wound 
lets out their mighty soul. Around 
their heads the whistling javelins 
sung, With sounding strokes their 
brazen targets rung; Fierce was the 
fight, while yet the Grecian powers 
Maintain'd the walls, and mann'd the 
lofty towers: To save their fleet their 
last efforts they try, And stones and 
darts in mingled tempests fly.

 As when sharp Boreas blows abroad, and 
brings The dreary winter on his frozen 
wings; Beneath the low-hung clouds the 
sheets of snow Descend, and whiten all 
the fields below: So fast the darts on 
either army pour, So down the rampires 
rolls the rocky shower: Heavy, and 
thick, resound the batter'd shields, 
And the deaf echo rattles round the 
fields.

 With shame repulsed, with grief and 
fury driven, The frantic Asius thus 
accuses Heaven: "In powers immortal who 
shall now believe? Can those too 
flatter, and can Jove deceive? What man 
could doubt but Troy's victorious power 
Should humble Greece, and this her 
fatal hour? But like when wasps from 
hollow crannies drive, To guard the 
entrance of their common hive, 
Darkening the rock, while with 
unwearied wings They strike the 
assailants, and infix their stings; A 
race determined, that to death contend: 
So fierce these Greeks their last 
retreats defend. Gods! shall two 
warriors only guard their gates, Repel 
an army, and defraud the fates?"

 These empty accents mingled with the 
wind, Nor moved great Jove's 
unalterable mind; To godlike Hector and 
his matchless might Was owed the glory 
of the destined fight. Like deeds of 
arms through all the forts were tried, 
And all the gates sustain'd an equal 
tide; Through the long walls the stony 
showers were heard, The blaze of 
flames, the flash of arms appear'd. The 
spirit of a god my breast inspire, To 
raise each act to life, and sing with 
fire! While Greece unconquer'd kept 
alive the war, Secure of death, 
confiding in despair; And all her 
guardian gods, in deep dismay, With 
unassisting arms deplored the day.

 Even yet the dauntless Lapithae 
maintain The dreadful pass, and round 
them heap the slain. First Damasus, by 
Polypoetes' steel, Pierced through his 
helmet's brazen visor, fell; The weapon 
drank the mingled brains and gore! The 
warrior sinks, tremendous now no more! 
Next Ormenus and Pylon yield their 
breath: Nor less Leonteus strews the 
field with death; First through the 
belt Hippomachus he gored, Then sudden 
waved his unresisted sword: Antiphates, 
as through the ranks he broke, The 
falchion struck, and fate pursued the 
stroke: Iamenus, Orestes, Menon, bled; 
And round him rose a monument of dead. 
Meantime, the bravest of the Trojan 
crew, Bold Hector and Polydamas, 
pursue; Fierce with impatience on the 
works to fall, And wrap in rolling 
flames the fleet and wall. These on the 
farther bank now stood and gazed, By 
Heaven alarm'd, by prodigies amazed: A 
signal omen stopp'd the passing host, 
Their martial fury in their wonder 
lost. Jove's bird on sounding pinions 
beat the skies; A bleeding serpent of 
enormous size, His talons truss'd; 
alive, and curling round, He stung the 
bird, whose throat received the wound: 
Mad with the smart, he drops the fatal 
prey, In airy circles wings his painful 
way, Floats on the winds, and rends the 
heaven with cries: Amidst the host the 
fallen serpent lies. They, pale with 
terror, mark its spires unroll'd, And 
Jove's portent with beating hearts 
behold. Then first Polydamas the 
silence broke, Long weigh'd the signal, 
and to Hector spoke:

 "How oft, my brother, thy reproach I 
bear, For words well meant, and 
sentiments sincere? True to those 
counsels which I judge the best, I tell 
the faithful dictates of my breast. To 
speak his thoughts is every freeman's 
right, In peace, in war, in council, 
and in fight; And all I move, deferring 
to thy sway, But tends to raise that 
power which I obey. Then hear my words, 
nor may my words be vain! Seek not this 
day the Grecian ships to gain; For 
sure, to warn us, Jove his omen sent, 
And thus my mind explains its clear 
event: The victor eagle, whose sinister 
flight Retards our host, and fills our 
hearts with fright, Dismiss'd his 
conquest in the middle skies, Allow'd 
to seize, but not possess the prize; 
Thus, though we gird with fires the 
Grecian fleet, Though these proud 
bulwalks tumble at our feet, Toils 
unforeseen, and fiercer, are decreed; 
More woes shall follow, and more heroes 
bleed. So bodes my soul, and bids me 
thus advise; For thus a skilful seer 
would read the skies."

 To him then Hector with disdain 
return'd: (Fierce as he spoke, his eyes 
with fury burn'd:) "Are these the 
faithful counsels of thy tongue? Thy 
will is partial, not thy reason wrong: 
Or if the purpose of thy heart thou 
vent, Sure heaven resumes the little 
sense it lent. What coward counsels 
would thy madness move Against the 
word, the will reveal'd of Jove? The 
leading sign, the irrevocable nod, And 
happy thunders of the favouring god, 
These shall I slight, and guide my 
wavering mind By wandering birds that 
flit with every wind? Ye vagrants of 
the sky! your wings extend, Or where 
the suns arise, or where descend; To 
right, to left, unheeded take your way, 
While I the dictates of high heaven 
obey. Without a sign his sword the 
brave man draws, And asks no omen but 
his country's cause. But why should'st 
thou suspect the war's success? None 
fears it more, as none promotes it 
less: Though all our chiefs amidst yon 
ships expire, Trust thy own cowardice 
to escape their fire. Troy and her sons 
may find a general grave, But thou 
canst live, for thou canst be a slave. 
Yet should the fears that wary mind 
suggests Spread their cold poison 
through our soldiers' breasts, My 
javelin can revenge so base a part, And 
free the soul that quivers in thy 
heart."

 Furious he spoke, and, rushing to the 
wall, Calls on his host; his host obey 
the call; With ardour follow where 
their leader flies: Redoubling clamours 
thunder in the skies. Jove breathes a 
whirlwind from the hills of Ide, And 
drifts of dust the clouded navy hide; 
He fills the Greeks with terror and 
dismay, And gives great Hector the 
predestined day. Strong in themselves, 
but stronger in his aid, Close to the 
works their rigid siege they laid. In 
vain the mounds and massy beams defend, 
While these they undermine, and those 
they rend; Upheaved the piles that prop 
the solid wall; And heaps on heaps the 
smoky ruins fall. Greece on her 
ramparts stands the fierce alarms; The 
crowded bulwarks blaze with waving 
arms, Shield touching shield, a long 
refulgent row; Whence hissing darts, 
incessant, rain below. The bold Ajaces 
fly from tower to tower, And rouse, 
with flame divine, the Grecian power. 
The generous impulse every Greek obeys; 
Threats urge the fearful; and the 
valiant, praise.

 "Fellows in arms! whose deeds are 
known to fame, And you, whose ardour 
hopes an equal name! Since not alike 
endued with force or art; Behold a day 
when each may act his part! A day to 
fire the brave, and warm the cold, To 
gain new glories, or augment the old. 
Urge those who stand, and those who 
faint, excite; Drown Hector's vaunts in 
loud exhorts of fight; Conquest, not 
safety, fill the thoughts of all; Seek 
not your fleet, but sally from the 
wall; So Jove once more may drive their 
routed train, And Troy lie trembling in 
her walls again."

 Their ardour kindles all the Grecian 
powers; And now the stones descend in 
heavier showers. As when high Jove his 
sharp artillery forms, And opes his 
cloudy magazine of storms; In winter's 
bleak un comfortable reign, A snowy 
inundation hides the plain; He stills 
the winds, and bids the skies to sleep; 
Then pours the silent tempest thick and 
deep; And first the mountain-tops are 
cover'd o'er, Then the green fields, 
and then the sandy shore; Bent with the 
weight, the nodding woods are seen, And 
one bright waste hides all the works of 
men: The circling seas, alone absorbing 
all, Drink the dissolving fleeces as 
they fall: So from each side increased 
the stony rain, And the white ruin 
rises o'er the plain.

 Thus godlike Hector and his troops 
contend To force the ramparts, and the 
gates to rend: Nor Troy could conquer, 
nor the Greeks would yield, Till great 
Sarpedon tower'd amid the field; For 
mighty Jove inspired with martial flame 
His matchless son, and urged him on to 
fame. In arms he shines, conspicuous 
from afar, And bears aloft his ample 
shield in air; Within whose orb the 
thick bull-hides were roll'd, Ponderous 
with brass, and bound with ductile 
gold: And while two pointed javelins 
arm his hands, Majestic moves along, 
and leads his Lycian bands.

 So press'd with hunger, from the 
mountain's brow Descends a lion on the 
flocks below; So stalks the lordly 
savage o'er the plain, In sullen 
majesty, and stern disdain: In vain 
loud mastiffs bay him from afar, And 
shepherds gall him with an iron war; 
Regardless, furious, he pursues his 
way; He foams, he roars, he rends the 
panting prey.

 Resolved alike, divine Sarpedon glows 
With generous rage that drives him on 
the foes. He views the towers, and 
meditates their fall, To sure 
destruction dooms the aspiring wall; 
Then casting on his friend an ardent 
look, Fired with the thirst of glory, 
thus he spoke:

 "Why boast we, Glaucus! our extended 
reign,(226) Where Xanthus' streams 
enrich the Lycian plain, Our numerous 
herds that range the fruitful field, 
And hills where vines their purple 
harvest yield, Our foaming bowls with 
purer nectar crown'd, Our feasts 
enhanced with music's sprightly sound? 
Why on those shores are we with joy 
survey'd, Admired as heroes, and as 
gods obey'd, Unless great acts superior 
merit prove, And vindicate the 
bounteous powers above? 'Tis ours, the 
dignity they give to grace; The first 
in valour, as the first in place; That 
when with wondering eyes our martial 
bands Behold our deeds transcending our 
commands, Such, they may cry, deserve 
the sovereign state, Whom those that 
envy dare not imitate! Could all our 
care elude the gloomy grave, Which 
claims no less the fearful and the 
brave, For lust of fame I should not 
vainly dare In fighting fields, nor 
urge thy soul to war. But since, alas! 
ignoble age must come, Disease, and 
death's inexorable doom The life, which 
others pay, let us bestow, And give to 
fame what we to nature owe; Brave 
though we fall, and honour'd if we 
live, Or let us glory gain, or glory 
give!"

 He said; his words the listening chief 
inspire With equal warmth, and rouse 
the warrior's fire; The troops pursue 
their leaders with delight, Rush to the 
foe, and claim the promised fight. 
Menestheus from on high the storm 
beheld Threatening the fort, and 
blackening in the field: Around the 
walls he gazed, to view from far What 
aid appear'd to avert the approaching 
war, And saw where Teucer with the 
Ajaces stood, Of fight insatiate, 
prodigal of blood. In vain he calls; 
the din of helms and shields Rings to 
the skies, and echoes through the 
fields, The brazen hinges fly, the 
walls resound, Heaven trembles, roar 
the mountains, thunders all the ground 
Then thus to Thoos: "Hence with speed 
(he said), And urge the bold Ajaces to 
our aid; Their strength, united, best 
may help to bear The bloody labours of 
the doubtful war: Hither the Lycian 
princes bend their course, The best and 
bravest of the hostile force. But if 
too fiercely there the foes contend, 
Let Telamon, at least, our towers 
defend, And Teucer haste with his 
unerring bow To share the danger, and 
repel the foe."

 Swift, at the word, the herald speeds 
along The lofty ramparts, through the 
martial throng, And finds the heroes 
bathed in sweat and gore, Opposed in 
combat on the dusty shore. "Ye valiant 
leaders of our warlike bands! Your aid 
(said Thoos) Peteus' son demands; Your 
strength, united, best may help to bear 
The bloody labours of the doubtful war: 
Thither the Lycian princes bend their 
course, The best and bravest of the 
hostile force. But if too fiercely, 
here, the foes contend, At least, let 
Telamon those towers defend, And Teucer 
haste with his unerring bow To share 
the danger, and repel the foe."

 Straight to the fort great Ajax turn'd 
his care, And thus bespoke his brothers 
of the war: "Now, valiant Lycomede! 
exert your might, And, brave Oileus, 
prove your force in fight; To you I 
trust the fortune of the field, Till by 
this arm the foe shall be repell'd: 
That done, expect me to complete the 
day Then with his sevenfold shield he 
strode away. With equal steps bold 
Teucer press'd the shore, Whose fatal 
bow the strong Pandion bore.

 High on the walls appear'd the Lycian 
powers, Like some black tempest 
gathering round the towers: The Greeks, 
oppress'd, their utmost force unite, 
Prepared to labour in the unequal 
fight: The war renews, mix'd shouts and 
groans arise; Tumultuous clamour 
mounts, and thickens in the skies. 
Fierce Ajax first the advancing host 
invades, And sends the brave Epicles to 
the shades, Sarpedon's friend. Across 
the warrior's way, Rent from the walls, 
a rocky fragment lay; In modern ages 
not the strongest swain Could heave the 
unwieldy burden from the plain: He 
poised, and swung it round; then toss'd 
on high, It flew with force, and 
labour'd up the sky; Full on the 
Lycian's helmet thundering down, The 
ponderous ruin crush'd his batter'd 
crown. As skilful divers from some airy 
steep Headlong descend, and shoot into 
the deep, So falls Epicles; then in 
groans expires, And murmuring to the 
shades the soul retires.

 While to the ramparts daring Glaucus 
drew, From Teucer's hand a winged arrow 
flew; The bearded shaft the destined 
passage found, And on his naked arm 
inflicts a wound. The chief, who fear'd 
some foe's insulting boast Might stop 
the progress of his warlike host, 
Conceal'd the wound, and, leaping from 
his height Retired reluctant from the 
unfinish'd fight. Divine Sarpedon with 
regret beheld Disabled Glaucus slowly 
quit the field; His beating breast with 
generous ardour glows, He springs to 
fight, and flies upon the foes. Alcmaon 
first was doom'd his force to feel; 
Deep in his breast he plunged the 
pointed steel; Then from the yawning 
wound with fury tore The spear, pursued 
by gushing streams of gore: Down sinks 
the warrior with a thundering sound, 
His brazen armour rings against the 
ground.

 Swift to the battlement the victor 
flies, Tugs with full force, and every 
nerve applies: It shakes; the ponderous 
stones disjointed yield; The rolling 
ruins smoke along the field. A mighty 
breach appears; the walls lie bare; 
And, like a deluge, rushes in the war. 
At once bold Teucer draws the twanging 
bow, And Ajax sends his javelin at the 
foe; Fix'd in his belt the feather'd 
weapon stood, And through his buckler 
drove the trembling wood; But Jove was 
present in the dire debate, To shield 
his offspring, and avert his fate. The 
prince gave back, not meditating 
flight, But urging vengeance, and 
severer fight; Then raised with hope, 
and fired with glory's charms, His 
fainting squadrons to new fury warms. 
"O where, ye Lycians, is the strength 
you boast? Your former fame and ancient 
virtue lost! The breach lies open, but 
your chief in vain Attempts alone the 
guarded pass to gain: Unite, and soon 
that hostile fleet shall fall: The 
force of powerful union conquers all."

 This just rebuke inflamed the Lycian 
crew; They join, they thicken, and the 
assault renew: Unmoved the embodied 
Greeks their fury dare, And fix'd 
support the weight of all the war; Nor 
could the Greeks repel the Lycian 
powers, Nor the bold Lycians force the 
Grecian towers. As on the confines of 
adjoining grounds, Two stubborn swains 
with blows dispute their bounds; They 
tug, they sweat; but neither gain, nor 
yield, One foot, one inch, of the 
contended field; Thus obstinate to 
death, they fight, they fall; Nor these 
can keep, nor those can win the wall. 
Their manly breasts are pierced with 
many a wound, Loud strokes are heard, 
and rattling arms resound; The copious 
slaughter covers all the shore, And the 
high ramparts drip with human gore.

 As when two scales are charged with 
doubtful loads, From side to side the 
trembling balance nods, (While some 
laborious matron, just and poor, With 
nice exactness weighs her woolly 
store,) Till poised aloft, the resting 
beam suspends Each equal weight; nor 
this, nor that, descends:(227) So stood 
the war, till Hector's matchless might, 
With fates prevailing, turn'd the scale 
of fight. Fierce as a whirlwind up the 
walls he flies, And fires his host with 
loud repeated cries. "Advance, ye 
Trojans! lend your valiant hands, Haste 
to the fleet, and toss the blazing 
brands!" They hear, they run; and, 
gathering at his call, Raise scaling 
engines, and ascend the wall: Around 
the works a wood of glittering spears 
Shoots up, and all the rising host 
appears. A ponderous stone bold Hector 
heaved to throw, Pointed above, and 
rough and gross below: Not two strong 
men the enormous weight could raise, 
Such men as live in these degenerate 
days: Yet this, as easy as a swain 
could bear The snowy fleece, he toss'd, 
and shook in air; For Jove upheld, and 
lighten'd of its load The unwieldy 
rock, the labour of a god. Thus arm'd, 
before the folded gates he came, Of 
massy substance, and stupendous frame; 
With iron bars and brazen hinges 
strong, On lofty beams of solid timber 
hung: Then thundering through the 
planks with forceful sway, Drives the 
sharp rock; the solid beams give way, 
The folds are shatter'd; from the 
crackling door Leap the resounding 
bars, the flying hinges roar. Now 
rushing in, the furious chief appears, 
Gloomy as night! and shakes two shining 
spears:(228) A dreadful gleam from his 
bright armour came, And from his 
eye-balls flash'd the living flame. He 
moves a god, resistless in his course, 
And seems a match for more than mortal 
force. Then pouring after, through the 
gaping space, A tide of Trojans flows, 
and fills the place; The Greeks behold, 
they tremble, and they fly; The shore 
is heap'd with death, and tumult rends 
the sky. 

 GREEK ALTAR. 

 

BOOK XIII. 

ARGUMENT.

THE FOURTH BATTLE CONTINUED, IN WHICH 
NEPTUNE ASSISTS THE GREEKS: THE ACTS OF 
IDOMENEUS.

Neptune, concerned for the loss of the 
Grecians, upon seeing the fortification 
forced by Hector, (who had entered the 
gate near the station of the Ajaces,) 
assumes the shape of Calchas, and 
inspires those heroes to oppose him: 
then, in the form of one of the 
generals, encourages the other Greeks 
who had retired to their vessels. The 
Ajaces form their troops in a close 
phalanx, and put a stop to Hector and 
the Trojans. Several deeds of valour 
are performed; Meriones, losing his 
spear in the encounter, repairs to seek 
another at the tent of Idomeneus: this 
occasions a conversation between those 
two warriors, who return together to 
the battle. Idomeneus signalizes his 
courage above the rest; he kills 
Othryoneus, Asius, and Alcathous: 
Deiphobus and Ćneas march against him, 
and at length Idomeneus retires. 
Menelaus wounds Helenus, and kills 
Pisander. The Trojans are repulsed on 
the left wing; Hector still keeps his 
ground against the Ajaces, till, being 
galled by the Locrian slingers and 
archers, Polydamas advises to call a 
council of war: Hector approves of his 
advice, but goes first to rally the 
Trojans; upbraids Paris, rejoins 
Polydamas, meets Ajax again, and renews 
the attack.

The eight-and-twentieth day still 
continues. The scene is between the 
Grecian wall and the sea-shore.

 When now the Thunderer on the sea-beat 
coast Had fix'd great Hector and his 
conquering host, He left them to the 
fates, in bloody fray To toil and 
struggle through the well-fought day. 
Then turn'd to Thracia from the field 
of fight Those eyes that shed 
insufferable light, To where the 
Mysians prove their martial force, And 
hardy Thracians tame the savage horse; 
And where the far-famed Hippomolgian 
strays, Renown'd for justice and for 
length of days;(229) Thrice happy race! 
that, innocent of blood, From milk, 
innoxious, seek their simple food: Jove 
sees delighted; and avoids the scene Of 
guilty Troy, of arms, and dying men: No 
aid, he deems, to either host is given, 
While his high law suspends the powers 
of Heaven.

 Meantime the monarch of the watery 
main Observed the Thunderer, nor 
observed in vain. In Samothracia, on a 
mountain's brow, Whose waving woods 
o'erhung the deeps below, He sat; and 
round him cast his azure eyes Where 
Ida's misty tops confusedly rise; 
Below, fair Ilion's glittering spires 
were seen; The crowded ships and sable 
seas between. There, from the crystal 
chambers of the main Emerged, he sat, 
and mourn'd his Argives slain. At Jove 
incensed, with grief and fury stung, 
Prone down the rocky steep he rush'd 
along; Fierce as he pass'd, the lofty 
mountains nod, The forest shakes; earth 
trembled as he trod, And felt the 
footsteps of the immortal god. From 
realm to realm three ample strides he 
took, And, at the fourth, the distant 
Ćgae shook.

 Far in the bay his shining palace 
stands, Eternal frame! not raised by 
mortal hands: This having reach'd, his 
brass-hoof'd steeds he reins, Fleet as 
the winds, and deck'd with golden 
manes. Refulgent arms his mighty limbs 
infold, Immortal arms of adamant and 
gold. He mounts the car, the golden 
scourge applies, He sits superior, and 
the chariot flies: His whirling wheels 
the glassy surface sweep; The enormous 
monsters rolling o'er the deep Gambol 
around him on the watery way, And heavy 
whales in awkward measures play; The 
sea subsiding spreads a level plain, 
Exults, and owns the monarch of the 
main; The parting waves before his 
coursers fly; The wondering waters 
leave his axle dry.

 Deep in the liquid regions lies a 
cave, Between where Tenedos the surges 
lave, And rocky Imbrus breaks the 
rolling wave: There the great ruler of 
the azure round Stopp'd his swift 
chariot, and his steeds unbound, Fed 
with ambrosial herbage from his hand, 
And link'd their fetlocks with a golden 
band, Infrangible, immortal: there they 
stay: The father of the floods pursues 
his way: Where, like a tempest, 
darkening heaven around, Or fiery 
deluge that devours the ground, The 
impatient Trojans, in a gloomy throng, 
Embattled roll'd, as Hector rush'd 
along: To the loud tumult and the 
barbarous cry The heavens re-echo, and 
the shores reply: They vow destruction 
to the Grecian name, And in their hopes 
the fleets already flame.

 But Neptune, rising from the seas 
profound, The god whose earthquakes 
rock the solid ground, Now wears a 
mortal form; like Calchas seen, Such 
his loud voice, and such his manly 
mien; His shouts incessant every Greek 
inspire, But most the Ajaces, adding 
fire to fire. 

 NEPTUNE RISING FROM THE SEA. 

 "'Tis yours, O warriors, all our hopes 
to raise: Oh recollect your ancient 
worth and praise! 'Tis yours to save 
us, if you cease to fear; Flight, more 
than shameful, is destructive here. On 
other works though Troy with fury fall, 
And pour her armies o'er our batter'd 
wall: There Greece has strength: but 
this, this part o'erthrown, Her 
strength were vain; I dread for you 
alone: Here Hector rages like the force 
of fire, Vaunts of his gods, and calls 
high Jove his sire: If yet some 
heavenly power your breast excite, 
Breathe in your hearts, and string your 
arms to fight, Greece yet may live, her 
threaten'd fleet maintain: And Hector's 
force, and Jove's own aid, be vain."

 Then with his sceptre, that the deep 
controls, He touch'd the chiefs, and 
steel'd their manly souls: Strength, 
not their own, the touch divine 
imparts, Prompts their light limbs, and 
swells their daring hearts. Then, as a 
falcon from the rocky height, Her 
quarry seen, impetuous at the sight, 
Forth-springing instant, darts herself 
from high, Shoots on the wing, and 
skims along the sky: Such, and so 
swift, the power of ocean flew; The 
wide horizon shut him from their view.

 The inspiring god Oileus' active son 
Perceived the first, and thus to 
Telamon:

 "Some god, my friend, some god in 
human form Favouring descends, and 
wills to stand the storm. Not Calchas 
this, the venerable seer; Short as he 
turned, I saw the power appear: I 
mark'd his parting, and the steps he 
trod; His own bright evidence reveals a 
god. Even now some energy divine I 
share, And seem to walk on wings, and 
tread in air!"

 "With equal ardour (Telamon returns) 
My soul is kindled, and my bosom burns; 
New rising spirits all my force alarm, 
Lift each impatient limb, and brace my 
arm. This ready arm, unthinking, shakes 
the dart; The blood pours back, and 
fortifies my heart: Singly, methinks, 
yon towering chief I meet, And stretch 
the dreadful Hector at my feet."

 Full of the god that urged their 
burning breast, The heroes thus their 
mutual warmth express'd. Neptune 
meanwhile the routed Greeks inspired; 
Who, breathless, pale, with length of 
labours tired, Pant in the ships; while 
Troy to conquest calls, And swarms 
victorious o'er their yielding walls: 
Trembling before the impending storm 
they lie, While tears of rage stand 
burning in their eye. Greece sunk they 
thought, and this their fatal hour; But 
breathe new courage as they feel the 
power. Teucer and Leitus first his 
words excite; Then stern Peneleus rises 
to the fight; Thoas, Deipyrus, in arms 
renown'd, And Merion next, the 
impulsive fury found; Last Nestor's son 
the same bold ardour takes, While thus 
the god the martial fire awakes:

 "Oh lasting infamy, oh dire disgrace 
To chiefs of vigorous youth, and manly 
race! I trusted in the gods, and you, 
to see Brave Greece victorious, and her 
navy free: Ah, no--the glorious combat 
you disclaim, And one black day clouds 
all her former fame. Heavens! what a 
prodigy these eyes survey, Unseen, 
unthought, till this amazing day! Fly 
we at length from Troy's oft-conquer'd 
bands? And falls our fleet by such 
inglorious hands? A rout undisciplined, 
a straggling train, Not born to glories 
of the dusty plain; Like frighted fawns 
from hill to hill pursued, A prey to 
every savage of the wood: Shall these, 
so late who trembled at your name, 
Invade your camps, involve your ships 
in flame? A change so shameful, say, 
what cause has wrought? The soldiers' 
baseness, or the general's fault? 
Fools! will ye perish for your leader's 
vice; The purchase infamy, and life the 
price? 'Tis not your cause, Achilles' 
injured fame: Another's is the crime, 
but yours the shame. Grant that our 
chief offend through rage or lust, Must 
you be cowards, if your king's unjust? 
Prevent this evil, and your country 
save: Small thought retrieves the 
spirits of the brave. Think, and 
subdue! on dastards dead to fame I 
waste no anger, for they feel no shame: 
But you, the pride, the flower of all 
our host, My heart weeps blood to see 
your glory lost! Nor deem this day, 
this battle, all you lose; A day more 
black, a fate more vile, ensues. Let 
each reflect, who prizes fame or 
breath, On endless infamy, on instant 
death: For, lo! the fated time, the 
appointed shore: Hark! the gates burst, 
the brazen barriers roar! Impetuous 
Hector thunders at the wall; The hour, 
the spot, to conquer, or to fall."

 These words the Grecians' fainting 
hearts inspire, And listening armies 
catch the godlike fire. Fix'd at his 
post was each bold Ajax found, With 
well-ranged squadrons strongly circled 
round: So close their order, so 
disposed their fight, As Pallas' self 
might view with fix'd delight; Or had 
the god of war inclined his eyes, The 
god of war had own'd a just surprise. A 
chosen phalanx, firm, resolved as fate, 
Descending Hector and his battle wait. 
An iron scene gleams dreadful o'er the 
fields, Armour in armour lock'd, and 
shields in shields, Spears lean on 
spears, on targets targets throng, 
Helms stuck to helms, and man drove man 
along. The floating plumes unnumber'd 
wave above, As when an earthquake stirs 
the nodding grove; And levell'd at the 
skies with pointing rays, Their 
brandish'd lances at each motion blaze.

 Thus breathing death, in terrible 
array, The close compacted legions 
urged their way: Fierce they drove on, 
impatient to destroy; Troy charged the 
first, and Hector first of Troy. As 
from some mountain's craggy forehead 
torn, A rock's round fragment flies, 
with fury borne, (Which from the 
stubborn stone a torrent rends,) 
Precipitate the ponderous mass 
descends: From steep to steep the 
rolling ruin bounds; At every shock the 
crackling wood resounds; Still 
gathering force, it smokes; and urged 
amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders 
down, impetuous to the plain: There 
stops--so Hector. Their whole force he 
proved,(230) Resistless when he raged, 
and, when he stopp'd, unmoved.

 On him the war is bent, the darts are 
shed, And all their falchions wave 
around his head: Repulsed he stands, 
nor from his stand retires; But with 
repeated shouts his army fires. 
"Trojans! be firm; this arm shall make 
your way Through yon square body, and 
that black array: Stand, and my spear 
shall rout their scattering power, 
Strong as they seem, embattled like a 
tower; For he that Juno's heavenly 
bosom warms, The first of gods, this 
day inspires our arms."

 He said; and roused the soul in every 
breast: Urged with desire of fame, 
beyond the rest, Forth march'd 
Deiphobus; but, marching, held Before 
his wary steps his ample shield. Bold 
Merion aim'd a stroke (nor aim'd it 
wide); The glittering javelin pierced 
the tough bull-hide; But pierced not 
through: unfaithful to his hand, The 
point broke short, and sparkled in the 
sand. The Trojan warrior, touch'd with 
timely fear, On the raised orb to 
distance bore the spear. The Greek, 
retreating, mourn'd his frustrate blow, 
And cursed the treacherous lance that 
spared a foe; Then to the ships with 
surly speed he went, To seek a surer 
javelin in his tent.

 Meanwhile with rising rage the battle 
glows, The tumult thickens, and the 
clamour grows. By Teucer's arm the 
warlike Imbrius bleeds, The son of 
Mentor, rich in generous steeds. Ere 
yet to Troy the sons of Greece were 
led, In fair Pedaeus' verdant pastures 
bred, The youth had dwelt, remote from 
war's alarms, And blest in bright 
Medesicaste's arms: (This nymph, the 
fruit of Priam's ravish'd joy, Allied 
the warrior to the house of Troy:) To 
Troy, when glory call'd his arms, he 
came, And match'd the bravest of her 
chiefs in fame: With Priam's sons, a 
guardian of the throne, He lived, 
beloved and honour'd as his own. Him 
Teucer pierced between the throat and 
ear: He groans beneath the Telamonian 
spear. As from some far-seen mountain's 
airy crown, Subdued by steel, a tall 
ash tumbles down, And soils its verdant 
tresses on the ground; So falls the 
youth; his arms the fall resound. Then 
Teucer rushing to despoil the dead, 
From Hector's hand a shining javelin 
fled: He saw, and shunn'd the death; 
the forceful dart Sung on, and pierced 
Amphimachus's heart, Cteatus' son, of 
Neptune's forceful line; Vain was his 
courage, and his race divine! Prostrate 
he falls; his clanging arms resound, 
And his broad buckler thunders on the 
ground. To seize his beamy helm the 
victor flies, And just had fastened on 
the dazzling prize, When Ajax' manly 
arm a javelin flung; Full on the 
shield's round boss the weapon rung; He 
felt the shock, nor more was doom'd to 
feel, Secure in mail, and sheath'd in 
shining steel. Repulsed he yields; the 
victor Greeks obtain The spoils 
contested, and bear off the slain. 
Between the leaders of the Athenian 
line, (Stichius the brave, Menestheus 
the divine,) Deplored Amphimachus, sad 
object! lies; Imbrius remains the 
fierce Ajaces' prize. As two grim lions 
bear across the lawn, Snatch'd from 
devouring hounds, a slaughter'd fawn. 
In their fell jaws high-lifting through 
the wood, And sprinkling all the shrubs 
with drops of blood; So these, the 
chief: great Ajax from the dead Strips 
his bright arms; Oileus lops his head: 
Toss'd like a ball, and whirl'd in air 
away, At Hector's feet the gory visage 
lay.

 The god of ocean, fired with stern 
disdain, And pierced with sorrow for 
his grandson slain, Inspires the 
Grecian hearts, confirms their hands, 
And breathes destruction on the Trojan 
bands. Swift as a whirlwind rushing to 
the fleet, He finds the lance-famed 
Idomen of Crete, His pensive brow the 
generous care express'd With which a 
wounded soldier touch'd his breast, 
Whom in the chance of war a javelin 
tore, And his sad comrades from the 
battle bore; Him to the surgeons of the 
camp he sent: That office paid, he 
issued from his tent Fierce for the 
fight: to whom the god begun, In Thoas' 
voice, Andraemon's valiant son, Who 
ruled where Calydon's white rocks 
arise, And Pleuron's chalky cliffs 
emblaze the skies:

 "Where's now the imperious vaunt, the 
daring boast, Of Greece victorious, and 
proud Ilion lost?"

 To whom the king: "On Greece no blame 
be thrown; Arms are her trade, and war 
is all her own. Her hardy heroes from 
the well-fought plains Nor fear 
withholds, nor shameful sloth detains: 
'Tis heaven, alas! and Jove's 
all-powerful doom, That far, far 
distant from our native home Wills us 
to fall inglorious! Oh, my friend! Once 
foremost in the fight, still prone to 
lend Or arms or counsels, now perform 
thy best, And what thou canst not 
singly, urge the rest."

 Thus he: and thus the god whose force 
can make The solid globe's eternal 
basis shake: "Ah! never may he see his 
native land, But feed the vultures on 
this hateful strand, Who seeks ignobly 
in his ships to stay, Nor dares to 
combat on this signal day! For this, 
behold! in horrid arms I shine, And 
urge thy soul to rival acts with mine. 
Together let us battle on the plain; 
Two, not the worst; nor even this 
succour vain: Not vain the weakest, if 
their force unite; But ours, the 
bravest have confess'd in fight."

 This said, he rushes where the combat 
burns; Swift to his tent the Cretan 
king returns: From thence, two javelins 
glittering in his hand, And clad in 
arms that lighten'd all the strand, 
Fierce on the foe the impetuous hero 
drove, Like lightning bursting from the 
arm of Jove, Which to pale man the 
wrath of heaven declares, Or terrifies 
the offending world with wars; In 
streamy sparkles, kindling all the 
skies, From pole to pole the trail of 
glory flies: Thus his bright armour 
o'er the dazzled throng Gleam'd 
dreadful, as the monarch flash'd along.

 Him, near his tent, Meriones attends; 
Whom thus he questions: "Ever best of 
friends! O say, in every art of battle 
skill'd, What holds thy courage from so 
brave a field? On some important 
message art thou bound, Or bleeds my 
friend by some unhappy wound? 
Inglorious here, my soul abhors to 
stay, And glows with prospects of th' 
approaching day."

 "O prince! (Meriones replies) whose 
care Leads forth the embattled sons of 
Crete to war; This speaks my grief: 
this headless lance I wield; The rest 
lies rooted in a Trojan shield."

 To whom the Cretan: "Enter, and 
receive The wonted weapons; those my 
tent can give; Spears I have store, 
(and Trojan lances all,) That shed a 
lustre round the illumined wall, Though 
I, disdainful of the distant war, Nor 
trust the dart, nor aim the uncertain 
spear, Yet hand to hand I fight, and 
spoil the slain; And thence these 
trophies, and these arms I gain. Enter, 
and see on heaps the helmets roll'd, 
And high-hung spears, and shields that 
flame with gold."

 "Nor vain (said Merion) are our 
martial toils; We too can boast of no 
ignoble spoils: But those my ship 
contains; whence distant far, I fight 
conspicuous in the van of war, What 
need I more? If any Greek there be Who 
knows not Merion, I appeal to thee."

 To this, Idomeneus: "The fields of 
fight Have proved thy valour, and 
unconquer'd might: And were some ambush 
for the foes design'd, Even there thy 
courage would not lag behind: In that 
sharp service, singled from the rest, 
The fear of each, or valour, stands 
confess'd. No force, no firmness, the 
pale coward shows; He shifts his place: 
his colour comes and goes: A dropping 
sweat creeps cold on every part; 
Against his bosom beats his quivering 
heart; Terror and death in his wild 
eye-balls stare; With chattering teeth 
he stands, and stiffening hair, And 
looks a bloodless image of despair! Not 
so the brave--still dauntless, still 
the same, Unchanged his colour, and 
unmoved his frame: Composed his 
thought, determined is his eye, And 
fix'd his soul, to conquer or to die: 
If aught disturb the tenour of his 
breast, 'Tis but the wish to strike 
before the rest.

 "In such assays thy blameless worth is 
known, And every art of dangerous war 
thy own. By chance of fight whatever 
wounds you bore, Those wounds were 
glorious all, and all before; Such as 
may teach, 'twas still thy brave 
delight T'oppose thy bosom where thy 
foremost fight. But why, like infants, 
cold to honour's charms, Stand we to 
talk, when glory calls to arms? 
Go--from my conquer'd spears the 
choicest take, And to their owners send 
them nobly back."

 Swift at the word bold Merion snatch'd 
a spear And, breathing slaughter, 
follow'd to the war. So Mars armipotent 
invades the plain, (The wide destroyer 
of the race of man,) Terror, his 
best-beloved son, attends his course, 
Arm'd with stern boldness, and enormous 
force; The pride of haughty warriors to 
confound, And lay the strength of 
tyrants on the ground: From Thrace they 
fly, call'd to the dire alarms Of 
warring Phlegyans, and Ephyrian arms; 
Invoked by both, relentless they 
dispose, To these glad conquest, 
murderous rout to those. So march'd the 
leaders of the Cretan train, And their 
bright arms shot horror o'er the plain.

 Then first spake Merion: "Shall we 
join the right, Or combat in the centre 
of the fight? Or to the left our wonted 
succour lend? Hazard and fame all parts 
alike attend."

 "Not in the centre (Idomen replied:) 
Our ablest chieftains the main battle 
guide; Each godlike Ajax makes that 
post his care, And gallant Teucer deals 
destruction there, Skill'd or with 
shafts to gall the distant field, Or 
bear close battle on the sounding 
shield. These can the rage of haughty 
Hector tame: Safe in their arms, the 
navy fears no flame, Till Jove himself 
descends, his bolts to shed, And hurl 
the blazing ruin at our head. Great 
must he be, of more than human birth, 
Nor feed like mortals on the fruits of 
earth. Him neither rocks can crush, nor 
steel can wound, Whom Ajax fells not on 
the ensanguined ground. In standing 
fight he mates Achilles' force, 
Excell'd alone in swiftness in the 
course. Then to the left our ready arms 
apply, And live with glory, or with 
glory die."

 He said: and Merion to th' appointed 
place, Fierce as the god of battles, 
urged his pace. Soon as the foe the 
shining chiefs beheld Rush like a fiery 
torrent o'er the field, Their force 
embodied in a tide they pour; The 
rising combat sounds along the shore. 
As warring winds, in Sirius' sultry 
reign, From different quarters sweep 
the sandy plain; On every side the 
dusty whirlwinds rise, And the dry 
fields are lifted to the skies: Thus by 
despair, hope, rage, together driven, 
Met the black hosts, and, meeting, 
darken'd heaven. All dreadful glared 
the iron face of war, Bristled with 
upright spears, that flash'd afar; Dire 
was the gleam of breastplates, helms, 
and shields, And polish'd arms emblazed 
the flaming fields: Tremendous scene! 
that general horror gave, But touch'd 
with joy the bosoms of the brave.

 Saturn's great sons in fierce 
contention vied, And crowds of heroes 
in their anger died. The sire of earth 
and heaven, by Thetis won To crown with 
glory Peleus' godlike son, Will'd not 
destruction to the Grecian powers, But 
spared awhile the destined Trojan 
towers; While Neptune, rising from his 
azure main, Warr'd on the king of 
heaven with stern disdain, And breathed 
revenge, and fired the Grecian train. 
Gods of one source, of one ethereal 
race, Alike divine, and heaven their 
native place; But Jove the greater; 
first-born of the skies, And more than 
men, or gods, supremely wise. For this, 
of Jove's superior might afraid, 
Neptune in human form conceal'd his 
aid. These powers enfold the Greek and 
Trojan train In war and discord's 
adamantine chain, Indissolubly strong: 
the fatal tie Is stretch'd on both, and 
close compell'd they die.

 Dreadful in arms, and grown in combats 
grey, The bold Idomeneus controls the 
day. First by his hand Othryoneus was 
slain, Swell'd with false hopes, with 
mad ambition vain; Call'd by the voice 
of war to martial fame, From high 
Cabesus' distant walls he came; 
Cassandra's love he sought, with boasts 
of power, And promised conquest was the 
proffer'd dower. The king consented, by 
his vaunts abused; The king consented, 
but the fates refused. Proud of 
himself, and of the imagined bride, The 
field he measured with a larger stride. 
Him as he stalk'd, the Cretan javelin 
found; Vain was his breastplate to 
repel the wound: His dream of glory 
lost, he plunged to hell; His arms 
resounded as the boaster fell. The 
great Idomeneus bestrides the dead; 
"And thus (he cries) behold thy promise 
sped! Such is the help thy arms to 
Ilion bring, And such the contract of 
the Phrygian king! Our offers now, 
illustrious prince! receive; For such 
an aid what will not Argos give? To 
conquer Troy, with ours thy forces 
join, And count Atrides' fairest 
daughter thine. Meantime, on further 
methods to advise, Come, follow to the 
fleet thy new allies; There hear what 
Greece has on her part to say." He 
spoke, and dragg'd the gory corse away. 
This Asius view'd, unable to contain, 
Before his chariot warring on the 
plain: (His crowded coursers, to his 
squire consign'd, Impatient panted on 
his neck behind:) To vengeance rising 
with a sudden spring, He hoped the 
conquest of the Cretan king. The wary 
Cretan, as his foe drew near, Full on 
his throat discharged the forceful 
spear: Beneath the chin the point was 
seen to glide, And glitter'd, extant at 
the further side. As when the 
mountain-oak, or poplar tall, Or pine, 
fit mast for some great admiral, Groans 
to the oft-heaved axe, with many a 
wound, Then spreads a length of ruin 
o'er the ground: So sunk proud Asius in 
that dreadful day, And stretch'd before 
his much-loved coursers lay. He grinds 
the dust distain'd with streaming gore, 
And, fierce in death, lies foaming on 
the shore. Deprived of motion, stiff 
with stupid fear, Stands all aghast his 
trembling charioteer, Nor shuns the 
foe, nor turns the steeds away, But 
falls transfix'd, an unresisting prey: 
Pierced by Antilochus, he pants beneath 
The stately car, and labours out his 
breath. Thus Asius' steeds (their 
mighty master gone) Remain the prize of 
Nestor's youthful son.

 Stabb'd at the sight, Deiphobus drew 
nigh, And made, with force, the 
vengeful weapon fly. The Cretan saw; 
and, stooping, caused to glance From 
his slope shield the disappointed 
lance. Beneath the spacious targe, (a 
blazing round, Thick with bull-hides 
and brazen orbits bound, On his raised 
arm by two strong braces stay'd,) He 
lay collected in defensive shade. O'er 
his safe head the javelin idly sung, 
And on the tinkling verge more faintly 
rung. Even then the spear the vigorous 
arm confess'd, And pierced, obliquely, 
king Hypsenor's breast: Warm'd in his 
liver, to the ground it bore The chief, 
his people's guardian now no more!

 "Not unattended (the proud Trojan 
cries) Nor unrevenged, lamented Asius 
lies: For thee, through hell's black 
portals stand display'd, This mate 
shall joy thy melancholy shade."

 Heart-piercing anguish, at the haughty 
boast, Touch'd every Greek, but 
Nestor's son the most. Grieved as he 
was, his pious arms attend, And his 
broad buckler shields his slaughter'd 
friend: Till sad Mecistheus and Alastor 
bore His honour'd body to the tented 
shore.

 Nor yet from fight Idomeneus 
withdraws; Resolved to perish in his 
country's cause, Or find some foe, whom 
heaven and he shall doom To wail his 
fate in death's eternal gloom. He sees 
Alcathous in the front aspire: Great 
Ćsyetes was the hero's sire; His spouse 
Hippodame, divinely fair, Anchises' 
eldest hope, and darling care: Who 
charm'd her parents' and her husband's 
heart With beauty, sense, and every 
work of art: He once of Ilion's youth 
the loveliest boy, The fairest she of 
all the fair of Troy. By Neptune now 
the hapless hero dies, Who covers with 
a cloud those beauteous eyes, And 
fetters every limb: yet bent to meet 
His fate he stands; nor shuns the lance 
of Crete. Fix'd as some column, or 
deep-rooted oak, While the winds sleep; 
his breast received the stroke. Before 
the ponderous stroke his corslet 
yields, Long used to ward the death in 
fighting fields. The riven armour sends 
a jarring sound; His labouring heart 
heaves with so strong a bound, The long 
lance shakes, and vibrates in the 
wound; Fast flowing from its source, as 
prone he lay, Life's purple tide 
impetuous gush'd away.

 Then Idomen, insulting o'er the slain: 
"Behold, Deiphobus! nor vaunt in vain: 
See! on one Greek three Trojan ghosts 
attend; This, my third victim, to the 
shades I send. Approaching now thy 
boasted might approve, And try the 
prowess of the seed of Jove. From Jove, 
enamour'd of a mortal dame, Great 
Minos, guardian of his country, came: 
Deucalion, blameless prince, was Minos' 
heir; His first-born I, the third from 
Jupiter: O'er spacious Crete, and her 
bold sons, I reign, And thence my ships 
transport me through the main: Lord of 
a host, o'er all my host I shine, A 
scourge to thee, thy father, and thy 
line."

 The Trojan heard; uncertain or to 
meet, Alone, with venturous arms the 
king of Crete, Or seek auxiliar force; 
at length decreed To call some hero to 
partake the deed, Forthwith Ćneas rises 
to his thought: For him in Troy's 
remotest lines he sought, Where he, 
incensed at partial Priam, stands, And 
sees superior posts in meaner hands. To 
him, ambitious of so great an aid, The 
bold Deiphobus approach'd, and said:

 "Now, Trojan prince, employ thy pious 
arms, If e'er thy bosom felt fair 
honour's charms. Alcathous dies, thy 
brother and thy friend; Come, and the 
warrior's loved remains defend. Beneath 
his cares thy early youth was train'd, 
One table fed you, and one roof 
contain'd. This deed to fierce 
Idomeneus we owe; Haste, and revenge it 
on th' insulting foe."

 Ćneas heard, and for a space resign'd 
To tender pity all his manly mind; Then 
rising in his rage, he burns to fight: 
The Greek awaits him with collected 
might. As the fell boar, on some rough 
mountain's head, Arm'd with wild 
terrors, and to slaughter bred, When 
the loud rustics rise, and shout from 
far, Attends the tumult, and expects 
the war; O'er his bent back the bristly 
horrors rise; Fires stream in lightning 
from his sanguine eyes, His foaming 
tusks both dogs and men engage; But 
most his hunters rouse his mighty rage: 
So stood Idomeneus, his javelin shook, 
And met the Trojan with a lowering 
look. Antilochus, Deipyrus, were near, 
The youthful offspring of the god of 
war, Merion, and Aphareus, in field 
renown'd: To these the warrior sent his 
voice around. "Fellows in arms! your 
timely aid unite; Lo, great Ćneas 
rushes to the fight: Sprung from a god, 
and more than mortal bold; He fresh in 
youth, and I in arms grown old. Else 
should this hand, this hour decide the 
strife, The great dispute, of glory, or 
of life."

 He spoke, and all, as with one soul, 
obey'd; Their lifted bucklers cast a 
dreadful shade Around the chief. Ćneas 
too demands Th' assisting forces of his 
native bands; Paris, Deiphobus, Agenor, 
join; (Co-aids and captains of the 
Trojan line;) In order follow all th' 
embodied train, Like Ida's flocks 
proceeding o'er the plain; Before his 
fleecy care, erect and bold, Stalks the 
proud ram, the father of the bold. With 
joy the swain surveys them, as he leads 
To the cool fountains, through the 
well-known meads: So joys Ćneas, as his 
native band Moves on in rank, and 
stretches o'er the land.

 Round dread Alcathous now the battle 
rose; On every side the steely circle 
grows; Now batter'd breast-plates and 
hack'd helmets ring, And o'er their 
heads unheeded javelins sing. Above the 
rest, two towering chiefs appear, There 
great Idomeneus, Ćneas here. Like gods 
of war, dispensing fate, they stood, 
And burn'd to drench the ground with 
mutual blood. The Trojan weapon whizz'd 
along in air; The Cretan saw, and 
shunn'd the brazen spear: Sent from an 
arm so strong, the missive wood Stuck 
deep in earth, and quiver'd where it 
stood. But OEnomas received the 
Cretan's stroke; The forceful spear his 
hollow corslet broke, It ripp'd his 
belly with a ghastly wound, And roll'd 
the smoking entrails on the ground. 
Stretch'd on the plain, he sobs away 
his breath, And, furious, grasps the 
bloody dust in death. The victor from 
his breast the weapon tears; His spoils 
he could not, for the shower of spears. 
Though now unfit an active war to wage, 
Heavy with cumbrous arms, stiff with 
cold age, His listless limbs unable for 
the course, In standing fight he yet 
maintains his force; Till faint with 
labour, and by foes repell'd, His tired 
slow steps he drags from off the field. 
Deiphobus beheld him as he pass'd, And, 
fired with hate, a parting javelin 
cast: The javelin err'd, but held its 
course along, And pierced Ascalaphus, 
the brave and young: The son of Mars 
fell gasping on the ground, And gnash'd 
the dust, all bloody with his wound.

 Nor knew the furious father of his 
fall; High-throned amidst the great 
Olympian hall, On golden clouds th' 
immortal synod sate; Detain'd from 
bloody war by Jove and Fate.

 Now, where in dust the breathless hero 
lay, For slain Ascalaphus commenced the 
fray, Deiphobus to seize his helmet 
flies, And from his temples rends the 
glittering prize; Valiant as Mars, 
Meriones drew near, And on his loaded 
arm discharged his spear: He drops the 
weight, disabled with the pain; The 
hollow helmet rings against the plain. 
Swift as a vulture leaping on his prey, 
From his torn arm the Grecian rent away 
The reeking javelin, and rejoin'd his 
friends. His wounded brother good 
Polites tends; Around his waist his 
pious arms he threw, And from the rage 
of battle gently drew: Him his swift 
coursers, on his splendid car, Rapt 
from the lessening thunder of the war; 
To Troy they drove him, groaning from 
the shore, And sprinkling, as he 
pass'd, the sands with gore.

 Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the 
sanguine ground, Heaps fall on heaps, 
and heaven and earth resound. Bold 
Aphareus by great Ćneas bled; As toward 
the chief he turn'd his daring head, He 
pierced his throat; the bending head, 
depress'd Beneath his helmet, nods upon 
his breast; His shield reversed o'er 
the fallen warrior lies, And 
everlasting slumber seals his eyes. 
Antilochus, as Thoon turn'd him round, 
Transpierced his back with a dishonest 
wound: The hollow vein, that to the 
neck extends Along the chine, his eager 
javelin rends: Supine he falls, and to 
his social train Spreads his imploring 
arms, but spreads in vain. Th' exulting 
victor, leaping where he lay, From his 
broad shoulders tore the spoils away; 
His time observed; for closed by foes 
around, On all sides thick the peals of 
arms resound. His shield emboss'd the 
ringing storm sustains, But he 
impervious and untouch'd remains. 
(Great Neptune's care preserved from 
hostile rage This youth, the joy of 
Nestor's glorious age.) In arms 
intrepid, with the first he fought, 
Faced every foe, and every danger 
sought; His winged lance, resistless as 
the wind, Obeys each motion of the 
master's mind! Restless it flies, 
impatient to be free, And meditates the 
distant enemy. The son of Asius, 
Adamas, drew near, And struck his 
target with the brazen spear Fierce in 
his front: but Neptune wards the blow, 
And blunts the javelin of th' eluded 
foe: In the broad buckler half the 
weapon stood, Splinter'd on earth flew 
half the broken wood. Disarm'd, he 
mingled in the Trojan crew; But 
Merion's spear o'ertook him as he flew, 
Deep in the belly's rim an entrance 
found, Where sharp the pang, and mortal 
is the wound. Bending he fell, and 
doubled to the ground, Lay panting. 
Thus an ox in fetters tied, While 
death's strong pangs distend his 
labouring side, His bulk enormous on 
the field displays; His heaving heart 
beats thick as ebbing life decays. The 
spear the conqueror from his body drew, 
And death's dim shadows swarm before 
his view. Next brave Deipyrus in dust 
was laid: King Helenus waved high the 
Thracian blade, And smote his temples 
with an arm so strong, The helm fell 
off, and roll'd amid the throng: There 
for some luckier Greek it rests a 
prize; For dark in death the godlike 
owner lies! Raging with grief, great 
Menelaus burns, And fraught with 
vengeance, to the victor turns: That 
shook the ponderous lance, in act to 
throw; And this stood adverse with the 
bended bow: Full on his breast the 
Trojan arrow fell, But harmless bounded 
from the plated steel. As on some ample 
barn's well harden'd floor, (The winds 
collected at each open door,) While the 
broad fan with force is whirl'd around, 
Light leaps the golden grain, resulting 
from the ground: So from the steel that 
guards Atrides' heart, Repell'd to 
distance flies the bounding dart. 
Atrides, watchful of the unwary foe, 
Pierced with his lance the hand that 
grasp'd the bow. And nailed it to the 
yew: the wounded hand Trail'd the long 
lance that mark'd with blood the sand: 
But good Agenor gently from the wound 
The spear solicits, and the bandage 
bound; A sling's soft wool, snatch'd 
from a soldier's side, At once the tent 
and ligature supplied.

 Behold! Pisander, urged by fate's 
decree, Springs through the ranks to 
fall, and fall by thee, Great Menelaus! 
to enchance thy fame: High-towering in 
the front, the warrior came. First the 
sharp lance was by Atrides thrown; The 
lance far distant by the winds was 
blown. Nor pierced Pisander through 
Atrides' shield: Pisander's spear fell 
shiver'd on the field. Not so 
discouraged, to the future blind, Vain 
dreams of conquest swell his haughty 
mind; Dauntless he rushes where the 
Spartan lord Like lightning brandish'd 
his far beaming sword. His left arm 
high opposed the shining shield: His 
right beneath, the cover'd pole-axe 
held; (An olive's cloudy grain the 
handle made, Distinct with studs, and 
brazen was the blade;) This on the helm 
discharged a noble blow; The plume 
dropp'd nodding to the plain below, 
Shorn from the crest. Atrides waved his 
steel: Deep through his front the 
weighty falchion fell; The crashing 
bones before its force gave way; In 
dust and blood the groaning hero lay: 
Forced from their ghastly orbs, and 
spouting gore, The clotted eye-balls 
tumble on the shore. And fierce Atrides 
spurn'd him as he bled, Tore off his 
arms, and, loud-exulting, said:

 "Thus, Trojans, thus, at length be 
taught to fear; O race perfidious, who 
delight in war! Already noble deeds ye 
have perform'd; A princess raped 
transcends a navy storm'd: In such bold 
feats your impious might approve, 
Without th' assistance, or the fear of 
Jove. The violated rites, the ravish'd 
dame; Our heroes slaughter'd and our 
ships on flame, Crimes heap'd on 
crimes, shall bend your glory down, And 
whelm in ruins yon flagitious town. O 
thou, great father! lord of earth and 
skies, Above the thought of man, 
supremely wise! If from thy hand the 
fates of mortals flow, From whence this 
favour to an impious foe? A godless 
crew, abandon'd and unjust, Still 
breathing rapine, violence, and lust? 
The best of things, beyond their 
measure, cloy; Sleep's balmy blessing, 
love's endearing joy; The feast, the 
dance; whate'er mankind desire, Even 
the sweet charms of sacred numbers 
tire. But Troy for ever reaps a dire 
delight In thirst of slaughter, and in 
lust of fight."

 This said, he seized (while yet the 
carcase heaved) The bloody armour, 
which his train received: Then sudden 
mix'd among the warring crew, And the 
bold son of Pylaemenes slew. Harpalion 
had through Asia travell'd far, 
Following his martial father to the 
war: Through filial love he left his 
native shore, Never, ah, never to 
behold it more! His unsuccessful spear 
he chanced to fling Against the target 
of the Spartan king; Thus of his lance 
disarm'd, from death he flies, And 
turns around his apprehensive eyes. 
Him, through the hip transpiercing as 
he fled, The shaft of Merion mingled 
with the dead. Beneath the bone the 
glancing point descends, And, driving 
down, the swelling bladder rends: Sunk 
in his sad companions' arms he lay, And 
in short pantings sobb'd his soul away; 
(Like some vile worm extended on the 
ground;) While life's red torrent 
gush'd from out the wound.

 Him on his car the Paphlagonian train 
In slow procession bore from off the 
plain. The pensive father, father now 
no more! Attends the mournful pomp 
along the shore; And unavailing tears 
profusely shed; And, unrevenged, 
deplored his offspring dead.

 Paris from far the moving sight 
beheld, With pity soften'd and with 
fury swell'd: His honour'd host, a 
youth of matchless grace, And loved of 
all the Paphlagonian race! With his 
full strength he bent his angry bow, 
And wing'd the feather'd vengeance at 
the foe. A chief there was, the brave 
Euchenor named, For riches much, and 
more for virtue famed. Who held his 
seat in Corinth's stately town; 
Polydus' son, a seer of old renown. Oft 
had the father told his early doom, By 
arms abroad, or slow disease at home: 
He climb'd his vessel, prodigal of 
breath, And chose the certain glorious 
path to death. Beneath his ear the 
pointed arrow went; The soul came 
issuing at the narrow vent: His limbs, 
unnerved, drop useless on the ground, 
And everlasting darkness shades him 
round.

 Nor knew great Hector how his legions 
yield, (Wrapp'd in the cloud and tumult 
of the field:) Wide on the left the 
force of Greece commands, And conquest 
hovers o'er th' Achaian bands; With 
such a tide superior virtue sway'd, And 
he that shakes the solid earth gave 
aid. But in the centre Hector fix'd 
remain'd, Where first the gates were 
forced, and bulwarks gain'd; There, on 
the margin of the hoary deep, (Their 
naval station where the Ajaces keep. 
And where low walls confine the beating 
tides, Whose humble barrier scarce the 
foe divides; Where late in fight both 
foot and horse engaged, And all the 
thunder of the battle raged,) There 
join'd, the whole Boeotian strength 
remains, The proud Iaonians with their 
sweeping trains, Locrians and Phthians, 
and th' Epaean force; But join'd, repel 
not Hector's fiery course. The flower 
of Athens, Stichius, Phidas, led; Bias 
and great Menestheus at their head: 
Meges the strong the Epaean bands 
controll'd, And Dracius prudent, and 
Amphion bold: The Phthians, Medon, 
famed for martial might, And brave 
Podarces, active in the fight. This 
drew from Phylacus his noble line; 
Iphiclus' son: and that (Oileus) thine: 
(Young Ajax' brother, by a stolen 
embrace; He dwelt far distant from his 
native place, By his fierce step-dame 
from his father's reign Expell'd and 
exiled for her brother slain:) These 
rule the Phthians, and their arms 
employ, Mix'd with Boeotians, on the 
shores of Troy.

 Now side by side, with like unwearied 
care, Each Ajax laboured through the 
field of war: So when two lordly bulls, 
with equal toil, Force the bright 
ploughshare through the fallow soil, 
Join'd to one yoke, the stubborn earth 
they tear, And trace large furrows with 
the shining share; O'er their huge 
limbs the foam descends in snow, And 
streams of sweat down their sour 
foreheads flow. A train of heroes 
followed through the field, Who bore by 
turns great Ajax' sevenfold shield; 
Whene'er he breathed, remissive of his 
might, Tired with the incessant 
slaughters of the fight. No following 
troops his brave associate grace: In 
close engagement an unpractised race, 
The Locrian squadrons nor the javelin 
wield, Nor bear the helm, nor lift the 
moony shield; But skill'd from far the 
flying shaft to wing, Or whirl the 
sounding pebble from the sling, 
Dexterous with these they aim a certain 
wound, Or fell the distant warrior to 
the ground. Thus in the van the 
Telamonian train, Throng'd in bright 
arms, a pressing fight maintain: Far in 
the rear the Locrian archers lie, Whose 
stones and arrows intercept the sky, 
The mingled tempest on the foes they 
pour; Troy's scattering orders open to 
the shower.

 Now had the Greeks eternal fame 
acquired, And the gall'd Ilians to 
their walls retired; But sage 
Polydamas, discreetly brave, Address'd 
great Hector, and this counsel gave:

 "Though great in all, thou seem'st 
averse to lend Impartial audience to a 
faithful friend; To gods and men thy 
matchless worth is known, And every art 
of glorious war thy own; But in cool 
thought and counsel to excel, How 
widely differs this from warring well! 
Content with what the bounteous gods 
have given, Seek not alone to engross 
the gifts of Heaven. To some the powers 
of bloody war belong, To some sweet 
music and the charm of song; To few, 
and wondrous few, has Jove assign'd A 
wise, extensive, all-considering mind; 
Their guardians these, the nations 
round confess, And towns and empires 
for their safety bless. If Heaven have 
lodged this virtue in my breast, 
Attend, O Hector! what I judge the 
best, See, as thou mov'st, on dangers 
dangers spread, And war's whole fury 
burns around thy head. Behold! 
distress'd within yon hostile wall, How 
many Trojans yield, disperse, or fall! 
What troops, out-number'd, scarce the 
war maintain! And what brave heroes at 
the ships lie slain! Here cease thy 
fury: and, the chiefs and kings 
Convoked to council, weigh the sum of 
things. Whether (the gods succeeding 
our desires) To yon tall ships to bear 
the Trojan fires; Or quit the fleet, 
and pass unhurt away, Contented with 
the conquest of the day. I fear, I 
fear, lest Greece, not yet undone, Pay 
the large debt of last revolving sun; 
Achilles, great Achilles, yet remains 
On yonder decks, and yet o'erlooks the 
plains!"

 The counsel pleased; and Hector, with 
a bound, Leap'd from his chariot on the 
trembling ground; Swift as he leap'd 
his clanging arms resound. "To guard 
this post (he cried) thy art employ, 
And here detain the scatter'd youth of 
Troy; Where yonder heroes faint, I bend 
my way, And hasten back to end the 
doubtful day."

 This said, the towering chief prepares 
to go, Shakes his white plumes that to 
the breezes flow, And seems a moving 
mountain topp'd with snow. Through all 
his host, inspiring force, he flies, 
And bids anew the martial thunder rise. 
To Panthus' son, at Hector's high 
command Haste the bold leaders of the 
Trojan band: But round the battlements, 
and round the plain, For many a chief 
he look'd, but look'd in vain; 
Deiphobus, nor Helenus the seer, Nor 
Asius' son, nor Asius' self appear: For 
these were pierced with many a ghastly 
wound, Some cold in death, some 
groaning on the ground; Some low in 
dust, (a mournful object) lay; High on 
the wall some breathed their souls away.

 Far on the left, amid the throng he 
found (Cheering the troops, and dealing 
deaths around) The graceful Paris; 
whom, with fury moved, Opprobrious 
thus, th' impatient chief reproved:

 "Ill-fated Paris! slave to womankind, 
As smooth of face as fraudulent of 
mind! Where is Deiphobus, where Asius 
gone? The godlike father, and th' 
intrepid son? The force of Helenus, 
dispensing fate; And great Othryoneus, 
so fear'd of late? Black fate hang's 
o'er thee from th' avenging gods, 
Imperial Troy from her foundations 
nods; Whelm'd in thy country's ruin 
shalt thou fall, And one devouring 
vengeance swallow all."

 When Paris thus: "My brother and my 
friend, Thy warm impatience makes thy 
tongue offend, In other battles I 
deserved thy blame, Though then not 
deedless, nor unknown to fame: But 
since yon rampart by thy arms lay low, 
I scatter'd slaughter from my fatal 
bow. The chiefs you seek on yonder 
shore lie slain; Of all those heroes, 
two alone remain; Deiphobus, and 
Helenus the seer, Each now disabled by 
a hostile spear. Go then, successful, 
where thy soul inspires: This heart and 
hand shall second all thy fires: What 
with this arm I can, prepare to know, 
Till death for death be paid, and blow 
for blow. But 'tis not ours, with 
forces not our own To combat: strength 
is of the gods alone." These words the 
hero's angry mind assuage: Then fierce 
they mingle where the thickest rage. 
Around Polydamas, distain'd with blood, 
Cebrion, Phalces, stern Orthaeus stood, 
Palmus, with Polypoetes the divine, And 
two bold brothers of Hippotion's line 
(Who reach'd fair Ilion, from Ascania 
far, The former day; the next engaged 
in war). As when from gloomy clouds a 
whirlwind springs, That bears Jove's 
thunder on its dreadful wings, Wide 
o'er the blasted fields the tempest 
sweeps; Then, gather'd, settles on the 
hoary deeps; The afflicted deeps 
tumultuous mix and roar; The waves 
behind impel the waves before, Wide 
rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to 
the shore: Thus rank on rank, the thick 
battalions throng, Chief urged on 
chief, and man drove man along. Far 
o'er the plains, in dreadful order 
bright, The brazen arms reflect a beamy 
light: Full in the blazing van great 
Hector shined, Like Mars commission'd 
to confound mankind. Before him flaming 
his enormous shield, Like the broad 
sun, illumined all the field; His 
nodding helm emits a streamy ray; His 
piercing eyes through all the battle 
stray, And, while beneath his targe he 
flash'd along, Shot terrors round, that 
wither'd e'en the strong.

 Thus stalk'd he, dreadful; death was 
in his look: Whole nations fear'd; but 
not an Argive shook. The towering Ajax, 
with an ample stride, Advanced the 
first, and thus the chief defied:

 "Hector! come on; thy empty threats 
forbear; 'Tis not thy arm, 'tis 
thundering Jove we fear: The skill of 
war to us not idly given, Lo! Greece is 
humbled, not by Troy, but Heaven. Vain 
are the hopes that haughty mind 
imparts, To force our fleet: the Greeks 
have hands and hearts. Long ere in 
flames our lofty navy fall, Your 
boasted city, and your god-built wall, 
Shall sink beneath us, smoking on the 
ground; And spread a long unmeasured 
ruin round. The time shall come, when, 
chased along the plain, Even thou shalt 
call on Jove, and call in vain; Even 
thou shalt wish, to aid thy desperate 
course, The wings of falcons for thy 
flying horse; Shalt run, forgetful of a 
warrior's fame, While clouds of 
friendly dust conceal thy shame."

 As thus he spoke, behold, in open 
view, On sounding wings a dexter eagle 
flew. To Jove's glad omen all the 
Grecians rise, And hail, with shouts, 
his progress through the skies: 
Far-echoing clamours bound from side to 
side; They ceased; and thus the chief 
of Troy replied:

 "From whence this menace, this 
insulting strain? Enormous boaster! 
doom'd to vaunt in vain. So may the 
gods on Hector life bestow, (Not that 
short life which mortals lead below, 
But such as those of Jove's high 
lineage born, The blue-eyed maid, or he 
that gilds the morn,) As this decisive 
day shall end the fame Of Greece, and 
Argos be no more a name. And thou, 
imperious! if thy madness wait The 
lance of Hector, thou shalt meet thy 
fate: That giant-corse, extended on the 
shore, Shall largely feast the fowls 
with fat and gore."

 He said; and like a lion stalk'd 
along: With shouts incessant earth and 
ocean rung, Sent from his following 
host: the Grecian train With answering 
thunders fill'd the echoing plain; A 
shout that tore heaven's concave, and, 
above, Shook the fix'd splendours of 
the throne of Jove. 

 GREEK EARRINGS. 

 

BOOK XIV. 

ARGUMENT.(231)

JUNO DECEIVES JUPITER BY THE GIRDLE OF 
VENUS.

Nestor, sitting at the table with 
Machaon, is alarmed with the increasing 
clamour of war, and hastens to 
Agamemnon; on his way he meets that 
prince with Diomed and Ulysses, whom he 
informs of the extremity of the danger. 
Agamemnon proposes to make their escape 
by night, which Ulysses withstands; to 
which Diomed adds his advice, that, 
wounded as they were, they should go 
forth and encourage the army with their 
presence, which advice is pursued. 
Juno, seeing the partiality of Jupiter 
to the Trojans, forms a design to 
over-reach him: she sets off her charms 
with the utmost care, and (the more 
surely to enchant him) obtains the 
magic girdle of Venus. She then applies 
herself to the god of sleep, and, with 
some difficulty, persuades him to seal 
the eyes of Jupiter: this done, she 
goes to mount Ida, where the god, at 
first sight, is ravished with her 
beauty, sinks in her embraces, and is 
laid asleep. Neptune takes advantage of 
his slumber, and succours the Greeks: 
Hector is struck to the ground with a 
prodigious stone by Ajax, and carried 
off from the battle: several actions 
succeed, till the Trojans, much 
distressed, are obliged to give way: 
the lesser Ajax signalizes himself in a 
particular manner.

 But not the genial feast, nor flowing 
bowl, Could charm the cares of Nestor's 
watchful soul; His startled ears the 
increasing cries attend; Then thus, 
impatient, to his wounded friend:

 "What new alarm, divine Machaon, say, 
What mix'd events attend this mighty 
day? Hark! how the shouts divide, and 
how they meet, And now come full, and 
thicken to the fleet! Here with the 
cordial draught dispel thy care, Let 
Hecamede the strengthening bath 
prepare, Refresh thy wound, and cleanse 
the clotted gore; While I the 
adventures of the day explore."

 He said: and, seizing Thrasymedes' 
shield, (His valiant offspring,) 
hasten'd to the field; (That day the 
son his father's buckler bore;) Then 
snatch'd a lance, and issued from the 
door. Soon as the prospect open'd to 
his view, His wounded eyes the scene of 
sorrow knew; Dire disarray! the tumult 
of the fight, The wall in ruins, and 
the Greeks in flight. As when old 
ocean's silent surface sleeps, The 
waves just heaving on the purple deeps: 
While yet the expected tempest hangs on 
high, Weighs down the cloud, and 
blackens in the sky, The mass of waters 
will no wind obey; Jove sends one gust, 
and bids them roll away. While wavering 
counsels thus his mind engage, 
Fluctuates in doubtful thought the 
Pylian sage, To join the host, or to 
the general haste; Debating long, he 
fixes on the last: Yet, as he moves, 
the sight his bosom warms, The field 
rings dreadful with the clang of arms, 
The gleaming falchions flash, the 
javelins fly; Blows echo blows, and all 
or kill or die.

 Him, in his march, the wounded princes 
meet, By tardy steps ascending from the 
fleet: The king of men, Ulysses the 
divine, And who to Tydeus owes his 
noble line.(232) (Their ships at 
distance from the battle stand, In 
lines advanced along the shelving 
strand: Whose bay, the fleet unable to 
contain At length; beside the margin of 
the main, Rank above rank, the crowded 
ships they moor: Who landed first, lay 
highest on the shore.) Supported on the 
spears, they took their way, Unfit to 
fight, but anxious for the day. 
Nestor's approach alarm'd each Grecian 
breast, Whom thus the general of the 
host address'd:

 "O grace and glory of the Achaian 
name; What drives thee, Nestor, from 
the field of fame? Shall then proud 
Hector see his boast fulfill'd, Our 
fleets in ashes, and our heroes kill'd? 
Such was his threat, ah! now too soon 
made good, On many a Grecian bosom writ 
in blood. Is every heart inflamed with 
equal rage Against your king, nor will 
one chief engage? And have I lived to 
see with mournful eyes In every Greek a 
new Achilles rise?"

 Gerenian Nestor then: "So fate has 
will'd; And all-confirming time has 
fate fulfill'd. Not he that thunders 
from the aerial bower, Not Jove 
himself, upon the past has power. The 
wall, our late inviolable bound, And 
best defence, lies smoking on the 
ground: Even to the ships their 
conquering arms extend, And groans of 
slaughter'd Greeks to heaven ascend. On 
speedy measures then employ your 
thought In such distress! if counsel 
profit aught: Arms cannot much: though 
Mars our souls incite, These gaping 
wounds withhold us from the fight."

 To him the monarch: "That our army 
bends, That Troy triumphant our high 
fleet ascends, And that the rampart, 
late our surest trust And best defence, 
lies smoking in the dust; All this from 
Jove's afflictive hand we bear, Who, 
far from Argos, wills our ruin here. 
Past are the days when happier Greece 
was blest, And all his favour, all his 
aid confess'd; Now heaven averse, our 
hands from battle ties, And lifts the 
Trojan glory to the skies. Cease we at 
length to waste our blood in vain, And 
launch what ships lie nearest to the 
main; Leave these at anchor, till the 
coming night: Then, if impetuous Troy 
forbear the fight, Bring all to sea, 
and hoist each sail for flight. Better 
from evils, well foreseen, to run, Than 
perish in the danger we may shun."

 Thus he. The sage Ulysses thus 
replies, While anger flash'd from his 
disdainful eyes: "What shameful words 
(unkingly as thou art) Fall from that 
trembling tongue and timorous heart? Oh 
were thy sway the curse of meaner 
powers, And thou the shame of any host 
but ours! A host, by Jove endued with 
martial might, And taught to conquer, 
or to fall in fight: Adventurous 
combats and bold wars to wage, Employ'd 
our youth, and yet employs our age. And 
wilt thou thus desert the Trojan plain? 
And have whole streams of blood been 
spilt in vain? In such base sentence if 
thou couch thy fear, Speak it in 
whispers, lest a Greek should hear. 
Lives there a man so dead to fame, who 
dares To think such meanness, or the 
thought declares? And comes it even 
from him whose sovereign sway The 
banded legions of all Greece obey? Is 
this a general's voice that calls to 
flight, While war hangs doubtful, while 
his soldiers fight? What more could 
Troy? What yet their fate denies Thou 
givest the foe: all Greece becomes 
their prize. No more the troops (our 
hoisted sails in view, Themselves 
abandon'd) shall the fight pursue; But 
thy ships flying, with despair shall 
see; And owe destruction to a prince 
like thee."

 "Thy just reproofs (Atrides calm 
replies) Like arrows pierce me, for thy 
words are wise. Unwilling as I am to 
lose the host, I force not Greece to 
quit this hateful coast; Glad I submit, 
whoe'er, or young, or old, Aught, more 
conducive to our weal, unfold."

 Tydides cut him short, and thus began: 
"Such counsel if you seek, behold the 
man Who boldly gives it, and what he 
shall say, Young though he be, disdain 
not to obey: A youth, who from the 
mighty Tydeus springs, May speak to 
councils and assembled kings. Hear then 
in me the great OEnides' son, Whose 
honoured dust (his race of glory run) 
Lies whelm'd in ruins of the Theban 
wall; Brave in his life, and glorious 
in his fall. With three bold sons was 
generous Prothous bless'd, Who 
Pleuron's walls and Calydon possess'd; 
Melas and Agrius, but (who far 
surpass'd The rest in courage) OEneus 
was the last. From him, my sire. From 
Calydon expell'd, He pass'd to Argos, 
and in exile dwell'd; The monarch's 
daughter there (so Jove ordain'd) He 
won, and flourish'd where Adrastus 
reign'd; There, rich in fortune's 
gifts, his acres till'd, Beheld his 
vines their liquid harvest yield, And 
numerous flocks that whiten'd all the 
field. Such Tydeus was, the foremost 
once in fame! Nor lives in Greece a 
stranger to his name. Then, what for 
common good my thoughts inspire, 
Attend, and in the son respect the 
sire. Though sore of battle, though 
with wounds oppress'd, Let each go 
forth, and animate the rest, Advance 
the glory which he cannot share, Though 
not partaker, witness of the war. But 
lest new wounds on wounds o'erpower us 
quite, Beyond the missile javelin's 
sounding flight, Safe let us stand; 
and, from the tumult far, Inspire the 
ranks, and rule the distant war."

 He added not: the listening kings 
obey, Slow moving on; Atrides leads the 
way. The god of ocean (to inflame their 
rage) Appears a warrior furrowed o'er 
with age; Press'd in his own, the 
general's hand he took, And thus the 
venerable hero spoke:

 "Atrides! lo! with what disdainful eye 
Achilles sees his country's forces fly; 
Blind, impious man! whose anger is his 
guide, Who glories in unutterable 
pride. So may he perish, so may Jove 
disclaim The wretch relentless, and 
o'erwhelm with shame! But Heaven 
forsakes not thee: o'er yonder sands 
Soon shall thou view the scattered 
Trojan bands Fly diverse; while proud 
kings, and chiefs renown'd, Driven 
heaps on heaps, with clouds involved 
around Of rolling dust, their winged 
wheels employ To hide their ignominious 
heads in Troy."

 He spoke, then rush'd amid the warrior 
crew, And sent his voice before him as 
he flew, Loud, as the shout 
encountering armies yield When twice 
ten thousand shake the labouring field; 
Such was the voice, and such the 
thundering sound Of him whose trident 
rends the solid ground. Each Argive 
bosom beats to meet the fight, And 
grisly war appears a pleasing sight.

 Meantime Saturnia from Olympus' brow, 
High-throned in gold, beheld the fields 
below; With joy the glorious conflict 
she survey'd, Where her great brother 
gave the Grecians aid. But placed 
aloft, on Ida's shady height She sees 
her Jove, and trembles at the sight. 
Jove to deceive, what methods shall she 
try, What arts, to blind his 
all-beholding eye? At length she trusts 
her power; resolved to prove The old, 
yet still successful, cheat of love; 
Against his wisdom to oppose her 
charms, And lull the lord of thunders 
in her arms.

 Swift to her bright apartment she 
repairs, Sacred to dress and beauty's 
pleasing cares: With skill divine had 
Vulcan form'd the bower, Safe from 
access of each intruding power. Touch'd 
with her secret key, the doors unfold: 
Self-closed, behind her shut the valves 
of gold. Here first she bathes; and 
round her body pours Soft oils of 
fragrance, and ambrosial showers: The 
winds, perfumed, the balmy gale convey 
Through heaven, through earth, and all 
the aerial way: Spirit divine! whose 
exhalation greets The sense of gods 
with more than mortal sweets. Thus 
while she breathed of heaven, with 
decent pride Her artful hands the 
radiant tresses tied; Part on her head 
in shining ringlets roll'd, Part o'er 
her shoulders waved like melted gold. 
Around her next a heavenly mantle 
flow'd, That rich with Pallas' labour'd 
colours glow'd: Large clasps of gold 
the foldings gather'd round, A golden 
zone her swelling bosom bound. 
Far-beaming pendants tremble in her 
ear, Each gem illumined with a triple 
star. Then o'er her head she cast a 
veil more white Than new-fallen snow, 
and dazzling as the light. Last her 
fair feet celestial sandals grace. Thus 
issuing radiant with majestic pace, 
Forth from the dome the imperial 
goddess moves, And calls the mother of 
the smiles and loves.

 "How long (to Venus thus apart she 
cried) Shall human strife celestial 
minds divide? Ah yet, will Venus aid 
Saturnia's joy, And set aside the cause 
of Greece and Troy?"

 "Let heaven's dread empress (Cytheraea 
said) Speak her request, and deem her 
will obey'd."

 "Then grant me (said the queen) those 
conquering charms, That power, which 
mortals and immortals warms, That love, 
which melts mankind in fierce desires, 
And burns the sons of heaven with 
sacred fires!

 "For lo! I haste to those remote 
abodes, Where the great parents, 
(sacred source of gods!) Ocean and 
Tethys their old empire keep, On the 
last limits of the land and deep. In 
their kind arms my tender years were 
past; What time old Saturn, from 
Olympus cast, Of upper heaven to Jove 
resign'd the reign, Whelm'd under the 
huge mass of earth and main. For 
strife, I hear, has made the union 
cease, Which held so long that ancient 
pair in peace. What honour, and what 
love, shall I obtain, If I compose 
those fatal feuds again; Once more 
their minds in mutual ties engage, And, 
what my youth has owed, repay their 
age!"

 She said. With awe divine, the queen 
of love Obey'd the sister and the wife 
of Jove; And from her fragrant breast 
the zone embraced,(233) With various 
skill and high embroidery graced. In 
this was every art, and every charm, To 
win the wisest, and the coldest warm: 
Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay 
desire, The kind deceit, the 
still-reviving fire, Persuasive speech, 
and the more persuasive sighs, Silence 
that spoke, and eloquence of eyes. This 
on her hand the Cyprian Goddess laid: 
"Take this, and with it all thy wish;" 
she said. With smiles she took the 
charm; and smiling press'd The powerful 
cestus to her snowy breast.

 Then Venus to the courts of Jove 
withdrew; Whilst from Olympus pleased 
Saturnia flew. O'er high Pieria thence 
her course she bore, O'er fair 
Emathia's ever-pleasing shore, O'er 
Hemus' hills with snows eternal 
crown'd; Nor once her flying foot 
approach'd the ground. Then taking wing 
from Athos' lofty steep, She speeds to 
Lemnos o'er the rolling deep, And seeks 
the cave of Death's half-brother, 
Sleep.(234)

 "Sweet pleasing Sleep! (Saturnia thus 
began) Who spread'st thy empire o'er 
each god and man; If e'er obsequious to 
thy Juno's will, O power of slumbers! 
hear, and favour still. Shed thy soft 
dews on Jove's immortal eyes, While 
sunk in love's entrancing joys he lies. 
A splendid footstool, and a throne, 
that shine With gold unfading, Somnus, 
shall be thine; The work of Vulcan; to 
indulge thy ease, When wine and feasts 
thy golden humours please."

 "Imperial dame (the balmy power 
replies), Great Saturn's heir, and 
empress of the skies! O'er other gods I 
spread my easy chain; The sire of all, 
old Ocean, owns my reign. And his 
hush'd waves lie silent on the main. 
But how, unbidden, shall I dare to 
steep Jove's awful temples in the dew 
of sleep? Long since, too venturous, at 
thy bold command, On those eternal lids 
I laid my hand; What time, deserting 
Ilion's wasted plain, His conquering 
son, Alcides, plough'd the main. When 
lo! the deeps arise, the tempests roar, 
And drive the hero to the Coan shore: 
Great Jove, awaking, shook the blest 
abodes With rising wrath, and tumbled 
gods on gods; Me chief he sought, and 
from the realms on high Had hurl'd 
indignant to the nether sky, But gentle 
Night, to whom I fled for aid, (The 
friend of earth and heaven,) her wings 
display'd; Impower'd the wrath of gods 
and men to tame, Even Jove revered the 
venerable dame."

 "Vain are thy fears (the queen of 
heaven replies, And, speaking, rolls 
her large majestic eyes); Think'st thou 
that Troy has Jove's high favour won, 
Like great Alcides, his all-conquering 
son? Hear, and obey the mistress of the 
skies, Nor for the deed expect a vulgar 
prize; For know, thy loved-one shall be 
ever thine, The youngest Grace, 
Pasithae the divine."(235)

 "Swear then (he said) by those 
tremendous floods That roar through 
hell, and bind the invoking gods: Let 
the great parent earth one hand 
sustain, And stretch the other o'er the 
sacred main: Call the black Titans, 
that with Chronos dwell, To hear and 
witness from the depths of hell; That 
she, my loved-one, shall be ever mine, 
The youngest Grace, Pasithae the 
divine."

 The queen assents, and from the 
infernal bowers Invokes the sable 
subtartarean powers, And those who rule 
the inviolable floods, Whom mortals 
name the dread Titanian gods. 

 SLEEP ESCAPING FROM THE WRATH OF 
JUPITER. 

 Then swift as wind, o'er Lemnos' smoky 
isle They wing their way, and Imbrus' 
sea-beat soil; Through air, unseen, 
involved in darkness glide, And light 
on Lectos, on the point of Ide: (Mother 
of savages, whose echoing hills Are 
heard resounding with a hundred rills:) 
Fair Ida trembles underneath the god; 
Hush'd are her mountains, and her 
forests nod. There on a fir, whose 
spiry branches rise To join its summit 
to the neighbouring skies; Dark in 
embowering shade, conceal'd from sight, 
Sat Sleep, in likeness of the bird of 
night. (Chalcis his name by those of 
heavenly birth, But call'd Cymindis by 
the race of earth.)

 To Ida's top successful Juno flies; 
Great Jove surveys her with desiring 
eyes: The god, whose lightning sets the 
heavens on fire, Through all his bosom 
feels the fierce desire; Fierce as when 
first by stealth he seized her charms, 
Mix'd with her soul, and melted in her 
arms: Fix'd on her eyes he fed his 
eager look, Then press'd her hand, and 
thus with transport spoke:

 "Why comes my goddess from the 
ethereal sky, And not her steeds and 
flaming chariot nigh?"

 Then she--"I haste to those remote 
abodes Where the great parents of the 
deathless gods, The reverend Ocean and 
gray Tethys, reign, On the last limits 
of the land and main. I visit these, to 
whose indulgent cares I owe the nursing 
of my tender years: For strife, I hear, 
has made that union cease Which held so 
long that ancient pair in peace. The 
steeds, prepared my chariot to convey 
O'er earth and seas, and through the 
aerial way, Wait under Ide: of thy 
superior power To ask consent, I leave 
the Olympian bower; Nor seek, unknown 
to thee, the sacred cells Deep under 
seas, where hoary Ocean dwells."

 "For that (said Jove) suffice another 
day! But eager love denies the least 
delay. Let softer cares the present 
hour employ, And be these moments 
sacred all to joy. Ne'er did my soul so 
strong a passion prove, Or for an 
earthly, or a heavenly love: Not when I 
press'd Ixion's matchless dame, Whence 
rose Pirithous like the gods in fame: 
Not when fair Danae felt the shower of 
gold Stream into life, whence Perseus 
brave and bold. Not thus I burn'd for 
either Theban dame: (Bacchus from this, 
from that Alcides came:) Nor Phoenix' 
daughter, beautiful and young, Whence 
godlike Rhadamanth and Minos 
sprung.(236) Not thus I burn'd for fair 
Latona's face, Nor comelier Ceres' more 
majestic grace. Not thus even for 
thyself I felt desire, As now my veins 
receive the pleasing fire."

 He spoke; the goddess with the 
charming eyes Glows with celestial red, 
and thus replies: "Is this a scene for 
love? On Ida's height, Exposed to 
mortal and immortal sight! Our joys 
profaned by each familiar eye; The 
sport of heaven, and fable of the sky: 
How shall I e'er review the blest 
abodes, Or mix among the senate of the 
gods? Shall I not think, that, with 
disorder'd charms, All heaven beholds 
me recent from thy arms? With skill 
divine has Vulcan form'd thy bower, 
Sacred to love and to the genial hour; 
If such thy will, to that recess 
retire, In secret there indulge thy 
soft desire."

 She ceased; and, smiling with superior 
love, Thus answer'd mild the 
cloud-compelling Jove: "Nor god nor 
mortal shall our joys behold, Shaded 
with clouds, and circumfused in gold; 
Not even the sun, who darts through 
heaven his rays, And whose broad eye 
the extended earth surveys."

 Gazing he spoke, and, kindling at the 
view, His eager arms around the goddess 
threw. Glad Earth perceives, and from 
her bosom pours Unbidden herbs and 
voluntary flowers: Thick new-born 
violets a soft carpet spread, And 
clustering lotos swell'd the rising 
bed, And sudden hyacinths the turf 
bestrow,(237) And flamy crocus made the 
mountain glow There golden clouds 
conceal the heavenly pair, Steep'd in 
soft joys and circumfused with air; 
Celestial dews, descending o'er the 
ground, Perfume the mount, and breathe 
ambrosia round: At length, with love 
and sleep's soft power oppress'd, The 
panting thunderer nods, and sinks to 
rest.

 Now to the navy borne on silent wings, 
To Neptune's ear soft Sleep his message 
brings; Beside him sudden, unperceived, 
he stood, And thus with gentle words 
address'd the god:

 "Now, Neptune! now, the important hour 
employ, To check a while the haughty 
hopes of Troy: While Jove yet rests, 
while yet my vapours shed The golden 
vision round his sacred head; For 
Juno's love, and Somnus' pleasing ties, 
Have closed those awful and eternal 
eyes." Thus having said, the power of 
slumber flew, On human lids to drop the 
balmy dew. Neptune, with zeal 
increased, renews his care, And 
towering in the foremost ranks of war, 
Indignant thus--"Oh once of martial 
fame! O Greeks! if yet ye can deserve 
the name! This half-recover'd day shall 
Troy obtain? Shall Hector thunder at 
your ships again? Lo! still he vaunts, 
and threats the fleet with fires, While 
stern Achilles in his wrath retires. 
One hero's loss too tamely you deplore, 
Be still yourselves, and ye shall need 
no more. Oh yet, if glory any bosom 
warms, Brace on your firmest helms, and 
stand to arms: His strongest spear each 
valiant Grecian wield, Each valiant 
Grecian seize his broadest shield; Let 
to the weak the lighter arms belong, 
The ponderous targe be wielded by the 
strong. Thus arm'd, not Hector shall 
our presence stay; Myself, ye Greeks! 
myself will lead the way." 

 GREEK SHIELD. 

 The troops assent; their martial arms 
they change: The busy chiefs their 
banded legions range. The kings, though 
wounded, and oppress'd with pain, With 
helpful hands themselves assist the 
train. The strong and cumbrous arms the 
valiant wield, The weaker warrior takes 
a lighter shield. Thus sheath'd in 
shining brass, in bright array The 
legions march, and Neptune leads the 
way: His brandish'd falchion flames 
before their eyes, Like lightning 
flashing through the frighted skies. 
Clad in his might, the earth-shaking 
power appears; Pale mortals tremble, 
and confess their fears.

 Troy's great defender stands alone 
unawed, Arms his proud host, and dares 
oppose a god: And lo! the god, and 
wondrous man, appear: The sea's stern 
ruler there, and Hector here. The 
roaring main, at her great master's 
call, Rose in huge ranks, and form'd a 
watery wall Around the ships: seas 
hanging o'er the shores, Both armies 
join: earth thunders, ocean roars. Not 
half so loud the bellowing deeps 
resound, When stormy winds disclose the 
dark profound; Less loud the winds that 
from the Ćolian hall Roar through the 
woods, and make whole forests fall; 
Less loud the woods, when flames in 
torrents pour, Catch the dry mountain, 
and its shades devour; With such a rage 
the meeting hosts are driven, And such 
a clamour shakes the sounding heaven. 
The first bold javelin, urged by 
Hector's force, Direct at Ajax' bosom 
winged its course; But there no pass 
the crossing belts afford, (One braced 
his shield, and one sustain'd his 
sword.) Then back the disappointed 
Trojan drew, And cursed the lance that 
unavailing flew: But 'scaped not Ajax; 
his tempestuous hand A ponderous stone 
upheaving from the sand, (Where heaps 
laid loose beneath the warrior's feet, 
Or served to ballast, or to prop the 
fleet,) Toss'd round and round, the 
missive marble flings; On the razed 
shield the fallen ruin rings, Full on 
his breast and throat with force 
descends; Nor deaden'd there its giddy 
fury spends, But whirling on, with many 
a fiery round, Smokes in the dust, and 
ploughs into the ground. As when the 
bolt, red-hissing from above, Darts on 
the consecrated plant of Jove, The 
mountain-oak in flaming ruin lies, 
Black from the blow, and smokes of 
sulphur rise; Stiff with amaze the pale 
beholders stand, And own the terrors of 
the almighty hand! So lies great Hector 
prostrate on the shore; His slacken'd 
hand deserts the lance it bore; His 
following shield the fallen chief 
o'erspread; Beneath his helmet dropp'd 
his fainting head; His load of armour, 
sinking to the ground, Clanks on the 
field, a dead and hollow sound. Loud 
shouts of triumph fill the crowded 
plain; Greece sees, in hope, Troy's 
great defender slain: All spring to 
seize him; storms of arrows fly, And 
thicker javelins intercept the sky. In 
vain an iron tempest hisses round; He 
lies protected, and without a 
wound.(238) Polydamas, Agenor the 
divine, The pious warrior of Anchises' 
line, And each bold leader of the 
Lycian band, With covering shields (a 
friendly circle) stand, His mournful 
followers, with assistant care, The 
groaning hero to his chariot bear; His 
foaming coursers, swifter than the 
wind, Speed to the town, and leave the 
war behind.

 When now they touch'd the mead's 
enamell'd side, Where gentle Xanthus 
rolls his easy tide, With watery drops 
the chief they sprinkle round, Placed 
on the margin of the flowery ground. 
Raised on his knees, he now ejects the 
gore; Now faints anew, low-sinking on 
the shore; By fits he breathes, half 
views the fleeting skies, And seals 
again, by fits, his swimming eyes.

 Soon as the Greeks the chief's retreat 
beheld, With double fury each invades 
the field. Oilean Ajax first his 
javelin sped, Pierced by whose point 
the son of Enops bled; (Satnius the 
brave, whom beauteous Neis bore Amidst 
her flocks on Satnio's silver shore;) 
Struck through the belly's rim, the 
warrior lies Supine, and shades eternal 
veil his eyes. An arduous battle rose 
around the dead; By turns the Greeks, 
by turns the Trojans bled.

 Fired with revenge, Polydamas drew 
near, And at Prothoenor shook the 
trembling spear; The driving javelin 
through his shoulder thrust, He sinks 
to earth, and grasps the bloody dust. 
"Lo thus (the victor cries) we rule the 
field, And thus their arms the race of 
Panthus wield: From this unerring hand 
there flies no dart But bathes its 
point within a Grecian heart. Propp'd 
on that spear to which thou owest thy 
fall, Go, guide thy darksome steps to 
Pluto's dreary hall."

 He said, and sorrow touch'd each 
Argive breast: The soul of Ajax burn'd 
above the rest. As by his side the 
groaning warrior fell, At the fierce 
foe he launch'd his piercing steel; The 
foe, reclining, shunn'd the flying 
death; But fate, Archilochus, demands 
thy breath: Thy lofty birth no succour 
could impart, The wings of death 
o'ertook thee on the dart; Swift to 
perform heaven's fatal will, it fled 
Full on the juncture of the neck and 
head, And took the joint, and cut the 
nerves in twain: The dropping head 
first tumbled on the plain. So just the 
stroke, that yet the body stood Erect, 
then roll'd along the sands in blood.

 "Here, proud Polydamas, here turn thy 
eyes! (The towering Ajax loud-insulting 
cries:) Say, is this chief extended on 
the plain A worthy vengeance for 
Prothoenor slain? Mark well his port! 
his figure and his face Nor speak him 
vulgar, nor of vulgar race; Some lines, 
methinks, may make his lineage known, 
Antenor's brother, or perhaps his son."

 He spake, and smiled severe, for well 
he knew The bleeding youth: Troy 
sadden'd at the view. But furious 
Acamas avenged his cause; As Promachus 
his slaughtered brother draws, He 
pierced his heart--"Such fate attends 
you all, Proud Argives! destined by our 
arms to fall. Not Troy alone, but 
haughty Greece, shall share The toils, 
the sorrows, and the wounds of war. 
Behold your Promachus deprived of 
breath, A victim owed to my brave 
brother's death. Not unappeased he 
enters Pluto's gate, Who leaves a 
brother to revenge his fate."

 Heart-piercing anguish struck the 
Grecian host, But touch'd the breast of 
bold Peneleus most; At the proud 
boaster he directs his course; The 
boaster flies, and shuns superior 
force. But young Ilioneus received the 
spear; Ilioneus, his father's only 
care: (Phorbas the rich, of all the 
Trojan train Whom Hermes loved, and 
taught the arts of gain:) Full in his 
eye the weapon chanced to fall, And 
from the fibres scoop'd the rooted 
ball, Drove through the neck, and 
hurl'd him to the plain; He lifts his 
miserable arms in vain! Swift his broad 
falchion fierce Peneleus spread, And 
from the spouting shoulders struck his 
head; To earth at once the head and 
helmet fly; The lance, yet sticking 
through the bleeding eye, The victor 
seized; and, as aloft he shook The gory 
visage, thus insulting spoke:

 "Trojans! your great Ilioneus behold! 
Haste, to his father let the tale be 
told: Let his high roofs resound with 
frantic woe, Such as the house of 
Promachus must know; Let doleful 
tidings greet his mother's ear, Such as 
to Promachus' sad spouse we bear, When 
we victorious shall to Greece return, 
And the pale matron in our triumphs 
mourn."

 Dreadful he spoke, then toss'd the 
head on high; The Trojans hear, they 
tremble, and they fly: Aghast they gaze 
around the fleet and wall, And dread 
the ruin that impends on all.

 Daughters of Jove! that on Olympus 
shine, Ye all-beholding, all-recording 
nine! O say, when Neptune made proud 
Ilion yield, What chief, what hero 
first embrued the field? Of all the 
Grecians what immortal name, And whose 
bless'd trophies, will ye raise to fame?

 Thou first, great Ajax! on the 
unsanguined plain Laid Hyrtius, leader 
of the Mysian train. Phalces and 
Mermer, Nestor's son o'erthrew, Bold 
Merion, Morys and Hippotion slew. 
Strong Periphaetes and Prothoon bled, 
By Teucer's arrows mingled with the 
dead, Pierced in the flank by Menelaus' 
steel, His people's pastor, Hyperenor 
fell; Eternal darkness wrapp'd the 
warrior round, And the fierce soul came 
rushing through the wound. But 
stretch'd in heaps before Oileus' son, 
Fall mighty numbers, mighty numbers 
run; Ajax the less, of all the Grecian 
race Skill'd in pursuit, and swiftest 
in the chase. 

 BACCHUS. 

 

BOOK XV. 

ARGUMENT.

THE FIFTH BATTLE AT THE SHIPS; AND THE 
ACTS OF AJAX.

Jupiter, awaking, sees the Trojans 
repulsed from the trenches, Hector in a 
swoon, and Neptune at the head of the 
Greeks: he is highly incensed at the 
artifice of Juno, who appeases him by 
her submissions; she is then sent to 
Iris and Apollo. Juno, repairing to the 
assembly of the gods, attempts, with 
extraordinary address, to incense them 
against Jupiter; in particular she 
touches Mars with a violent resentment; 
he is ready to take arms, but is 
prevented by Minerva. Iris and Apollo 
obey the orders of Jupiter; Iris 
commands Neptune to leave the battle, 
to which, after much reluctance and 
passion, he consents. Apollo reinspires 
Hector with vigour, brings him back to 
the battle, marches before him with his 
aegis, and turns the fortune of the 
fight. He breaks down great part of the 
Grecian wall: the Trojans rush in, and 
attempt to fire the first line of the 
fleet, but are, as yet, repelled by the 
greater Ajax with a prodigious 
slaughter.

 Now in swift flight they pass the 
trench profound, And many a chief lay 
gasping on the ground: Then stopp'd and 
panted, where the chariots lie Fear on 
their cheek, and horror in their eye. 
Meanwhile, awaken'd from his dream of 
love, On Ida's summit sat imperial 
Jove: Round the wide fields he cast a 
careful view, There saw the Trojans 
fly, the Greeks pursue; These proud in 
arms, those scatter'd o'er the plain 
And, 'midst the war, the monarch of the 
main. Not far, great Hector on the dust 
he spies, (His sad associates round 
with weeping eyes,) Ejecting blood, and 
panting yet for breath, His senses 
wandering to the verge of death. The 
god beheld him with a pitying look, And 
thus, incensed, to fraudful Juno spoke:

 "O thou, still adverse to the eternal 
will, For ever studious in promoting 
ill! Thy arts have made the godlike 
Hector yield, And driven his conquering 
squadrons from the field. Canst thou, 
unhappy in thy wiles, withstand Our 
power immense, and brave the almighty 
hand? Hast thou forgot, when, bound and 
fix'd on high, From the vast concave of 
the spangled sky, I hung thee trembling 
in a golden chain, And all the raging 
gods opposed in vain? Headlong I hurl'd 
them from the Olympian hall, Stunn'd in 
the whirl, and breathless with the 
fall. For godlike Hercules these deeds 
were done, Nor seem'd the vengeance 
worthy such a son: When, by thy wiles 
induced, fierce Boreas toss'd The 
shipwreck'd hero on the Coan coast, Him 
through a thousand forms of death I 
bore, And sent to Argos, and his native 
shore. Hear this, remember, and our 
fury dread, Nor pull the unwilling 
vengeance on thy head; Lest arts and 
blandishments successless prove, Thy 
soft deceits, and well-dissembled love."

 The Thunderer spoke: imperial Juno 
mourn'd, And, trembling, these 
submissive words return'd:

 "By every oath that powers immortal 
ties, The foodful earth and 
all-infolding skies; By thy black 
waves, tremendous Styx! that flow 
Through the drear realms of gliding 
ghosts below; By the dread honours of 
thy sacred head, And that unbroken vow, 
our virgin bed! Not by my arts the 
ruler of the main Steeps Troy in blood, 
and ranges round the plain: By his own 
ardour, his own pity sway'd, To help 
his Greeks, he fought and disobey'd: 
Else had thy Juno better counsels 
given, And taught submission to the 
sire of heaven."

 "Think'st thou with me? fair empress 
of the skies! (The immortal father with 
a smile replies;) Then soon the haughty 
sea-god shall obey, Nor dare to act but 
when we point the way. If truth 
inspires thy tongue, proclaim our will 
To yon bright synod on the Olympian 
hill; Our high decree let various Iris 
know, And call the god that bears the 
silver bow. Let her descend, and from 
the embattled plain Command the sea-god 
to his watery reign: While Phoebus 
hastes great Hector to prepare To rise 
afresh, and once more wake the war: His 
labouring bosom re-inspires with 
breath, And calls his senses from the 
verge of death. Greece chased by Troy, 
even to Achilles' fleet, Shall fall by 
thousands at the hero's feet. He, not 
untouch'd with pity, to the plain Shall 
send Patroclus, but shall send in vain. 
What youths he slaughters under Ilion's 
walls! Even my loved son, divine 
Sarpedon, falls! Vanquish'd at last by 
Hector's lance he lies. Then, nor till 
then, shall great Achilles rise: And 
lo! that instant, godlike Hector dies. 
From that great hour the war's whole 
fortune turns, Pallas assists, and 
lofty Ilion burns. Not till that day 
shall Jove relax his rage, Nor one of 
all the heavenly host engage In aid of 
Greece. The promise of a god I gave, 
and seal'd it with the almighty nod, 
Achilles' glory to the stars to raise; 
Such was our word, and fate the word 
obeys."

 The trembling queen (the almighty 
order given) Swift from the Idaean 
summit shot to heaven. As some 
wayfaring man, who wanders o'er In 
thought a length of lands he trod 
before, Sends forth his active mind 
from place to place, Joins hill to 
dale, and measures space with space: So 
swift flew Juno to the bless'd abodes, 
If thought of man can match the speed 
of gods. There sat the powers in awful 
synod placed; They bow'd, and made 
obeisance as she pass'd Through all the 
brazen dome: with goblets crown'd(239) 
They hail her queen; the nectar streams 
around. Fair Themis first presents the 
golden bowl, And anxious asks what 
cares disturb her soul?

 To whom the white-arm'd goddess thus 
replies: "Enough thou know'st the 
tyrant of the skies, Severely bent his 
purpose to fulfil, Unmoved his mind, 
and unrestrain'd his will. Go thou, the 
feasts of heaven attend thy call; Bid 
the crown'd nectar circle round the 
hall: But Jove shall thunder through 
the ethereal dome Such stern decrees, 
such threaten'd woes to come, As soon 
shall freeze mankind with dire 
surprise, And damp the eternal banquets 
of the skies."

 The goddess said, and sullen took her 
place; Black horror sadden'd each 
celestial face. To see the gathering 
grudge in every breast, Smiles on her 
lips a spleenful joy express'd; While 
on her wrinkled front, and eyebrow 
bent, Sat stedfast care, and lowering 
discontent. Thus she proceeds--"Attend, 
ye powers above! But know, 'tis madness 
to contest with Jove: Supreme he sits; 
and sees, in pride of sway. Your vassal 
godheads grudgingly obey: Fierce in the 
majesty of power controls; Shakes all 
the thrones of heaven, and bends the 
poles. Submiss, immortals! all he 
wills, obey: And thou, great Mars, 
begin and show the way. Behold 
Ascalaphus! behold him die, But dare 
not murmur, dare not vent a sigh; Thy 
own loved boasted offspring lies 
o'erthrown, If that loved boasted 
offspring be thy own."

 Stern Mars, with anguish for his 
slaughter'd son, Smote his rebelling 
breast, and fierce begun: "Thus then, 
immortals! thus shall Mars obey; 
Forgive me, gods, and yield my 
vengeance way: Descending first to yon 
forbidden plain, The god of battles 
dares avenge the slain; Dares, though 
the thunder bursting o'er my head 
Should hurl me blazing on those heaps 
of dead."

 With that he gives command to Fear and 
Flight To join his rapid coursers for 
the fight: Then grim in arms, with 
hasty vengeance flies; Arms that 
reflect a radiance through the skies. 
And now had Jove, by bold rebellion 
driven, Discharged his wrath on half 
the host of heaven; But Pallas, 
springing through the bright abode, 
Starts from her azure throne to calm 
the god. Struck for the immortal race 
with timely fear, From frantic Mars she 
snatch'd the shield and spear; Then the 
huge helmet lifting from his head, Thus 
to the impetuous homicide she said:

 "By what wild passion, furious! art 
thou toss'd? Striv'st thou with Jove? 
thou art already lost. Shall not the 
Thunderer's dread command restrain, And 
was imperial Juno heard in vain? Back 
to the skies wouldst thou with shame be 
driven, And in thy guilt involve the 
host of heaven? Ilion and Greece no 
more should Jove engage, The skies 
would yield an ampler scene of rage; 
Guilty and guiltless find an equal fate 
And one vast ruin whelm the Olympian 
state. Cease then thy offspring's death 
unjust to call; Heroes as great have 
died, and yet shall fall. Why should 
heaven's law with foolish man comply 
Exempted from the race ordain'd to die?"

 This menace fix'd the warrior to his 
throne; Sullen he sat, and curb'd the 
rising groan. Then Juno call'd (Jove's 
orders to obey) The winged Iris, and 
the god of day. "Go wait the 
Thunderer's will (Saturnia cried) On 
yon tall summit of the fountful Ide: 
There in the father's awful presence 
stand, Receive, and execute his dread 
command."

 She said, and sat; the god that gilds 
the day, And various Iris, wing their 
airy way. Swift as the wind, to Ida's 
hills they came, (Fair nurse of 
fountains, and of savage game) There 
sat the eternal; he whose nod controls 
The trembling world, and shakes the 
steady poles. Veil'd in a mist of 
fragrance him they found, With clouds 
of gold and purple circled round. 
Well-pleased the Thunderer saw their 
earnest care, And prompt obedience to 
the queen of air; Then (while a smile 
serenes his awful brow) Commands the 
goddess of the showery bow:

 "Iris! descend, and what we here 
ordain, Report to yon mad tyrant of the 
main. Bid him from fight to his own 
deeps repair, Or breathe from slaughter 
in the fields of air. If he refuse, 
then let him timely weigh Our elder 
birthright, and superior sway. How 
shall his rashness stand the dire 
alarms, If heaven's omnipotence descend 
in arms? Strives he with me, by whom 
his power was given, And is there equal 
to the lord of heaven?"

 The all-mighty spoke; the goddess 
wing'd her flight To sacred Ilion from 
the Idaean height. Swift as the 
rattling hail, or fleecy snows, Drive 
through the skies, when Boreas fiercely 
blows; So from the clouds descending 
Iris falls, And to blue Neptune thus 
the goddess calls:

 "Attend the mandate of the sire above! 
In me behold the messenger of Jove: He 
bids thee from forbidden wars repair To 
thine own deeps, or to the fields of 
air. This if refused, he bids thee 
timely weigh His elder birthright, and 
superior sway. How shall thy rashness 
stand the dire alarms If heaven's 
omnipotence descend in arms? Striv'st 
thou with him by whom all power is 
given? And art thou equal to the lord 
of heaven?"

 "What means the haughty sovereign of 
the skies? (The king of ocean thus, 
incensed, replies;) Rule as he will his 
portion'd realms on high; No vassal 
god, nor of his train, am I. Three 
brother deities from Saturn came, And 
ancient Rhea, earth's immortal dame: 
Assign'd by lot, our triple rule we 
know; Infernal Pluto sways the shades 
below; O'er the wide clouds, and o'er 
the starry plain, Ethereal Jove extends 
his high domain; My court beneath the 
hoary waves I keep, And hush the 
roarings of the sacred deep; Olympus, 
and this earth, in common lie: What 
claim has here the tyrant of the sky? 
Far in the distant clouds let him 
control, And awe the younger brothers 
of the pole; There to his children his 
commands be given, The trembling, 
servile, second race of heaven."

 "And must I then (said she), O sire of 
floods! Bear this fierce answer to the 
king of gods? Correct it yet, and 
change thy rash intent; A noble mind 
disdains not to repent. To elder 
brothers guardian fiends are given, To 
scourge the wretch insulting them and 
heaven."

 "Great is the profit (thus the god 
rejoin'd) When ministers are blest with 
prudent mind: Warn'd by thy words, to 
powerful Jove I yield, And quit, though 
angry, the contended field: Not but his 
threats with justice I disclaim, The 
same our honours, and our birth the 
same. If yet, forgetful of his promise 
given To Hermes, Pallas, and the queen 
of heaven, To favour Ilion, that 
perfidious place, He breaks his faith 
with half the ethereal race; Give him 
to know, unless the Grecian train Lay 
yon proud structures level with the 
plain, Howe'er the offence by other 
gods be pass'd, The wrath of Neptune 
shall for ever last."

 Thus speaking, furious from the field 
he strode, And plunged into the bosom 
of the flood. The lord of thunders, 
from his lofty height Beheld, and thus 
bespoke the source of light:

 "Behold! the god whose liquid arms are 
hurl'd Around the globe, whose 
earthquakes rock the world, Desists at 
length his rebel-war to wage, Seeks his 
own seas, and trembles at our rage; 
Else had my wrath, heaven's thrones all 
shaking round, Burn'd to the bottom of 
his seas profound; And all the gods 
that round old Saturn dwell Had heard 
the thunders to the deeps of hell. Well 
was the crime, and well the vengeance 
spared; Even power immense had found 
such battle hard. Go thou, my son! the 
trembling Greeks alarm, Shake my broad 
aegis on thy active arm, Be godlike 
Hector thy peculiar care, Swell his 
bold heart, and urge his strength to 
war: Let Ilion conquer, till the 
Achaian train Fly to their ships and 
Hellespont again: Then Greece shall 
breathe from toils." The godhead said; 
His will divine the son of Jove obey'd. 
Not half so swift the sailing falcon 
flies, That drives a turtle through the 
liquid skies, As Phoebus, shooting from 
the Idaean brow, Glides down the 
mountain to the plain below. There 
Hector seated by the stream he sees, 
His sense returning with the coming 
breeze; Again his pulses beat, his 
spirits rise; Again his loved 
companions meet his eyes; Jove thinking 
of his pains, they pass'd away, To whom 
the god who gives the golden day:

 "Why sits great Hector from the field 
so far? What grief, what wound, 
withholds thee from the war?"

 The fainting hero, as the vision 
bright Stood shining o'er him, half 
unseal'd his sight:

 "What blest immortal, with commanding 
breath, Thus wakens Hector from the 
sleep of death? Has fame not told, how, 
while my trusty sword Bathed Greece in 
slaughter, and her battle gored, The 
mighty Ajax with a deadly blow Had 
almost sunk me to the shades below? 
Even yet, methinks, the gliding ghosts 
I spy, And hell's black horrors swim 
before my eye."

 To him Apollo: "Be no more dismay'd; 
See, and be strong! the Thunderer sends 
thee aid. Behold! thy Phoebus shall his 
arms employ, Phoebus, propitious still 
to thee and Troy. Inspire thy warriors 
then with manly force, And to the ships 
impel thy rapid horse: Even I will make 
thy fiery coursers way, And drive the 
Grecians headlong to the sea."

 Thus to bold Hector spoke the son of 
Jove, And breathed immortal ardour from 
above. As when the pamper'd steed, with 
reins unbound, Breaks from his stall, 
and pours along the ground; With ample 
strokes he rushes to the flood, To 
bathe his sides, and cool his fiery 
blood; His head, now freed, he tosses 
to the skies; His mane dishevell'd o'er 
his shoulders flies: He snuffs the 
females in the well-known plain, And 
springs, exulting, to his fields again: 
Urged by the voice divine, thus Hector 
flew, Full of the god; and all his 
hosts pursue. As when the force of men 
and dogs combined Invade the mountain 
goat, or branching hind; Far from the 
hunter's rage secure they lie Close in 
the rock, (not fated yet to die) When 
lo! a lion shoots across the way! They 
fly: at once the chasers and the prey. 
So Greece, that late in conquering 
troops pursued, And mark'd their 
progress through the ranks in blood, 
Soon as they see the furious chief 
appear, Forget to vanquish, and consent 
to fear.

 Thoas with grief observed his dreadful 
course, Thoas, the bravest of the 
Ćtolian force; Skill'd to direct the 
javelin's distant flight, And bold to 
combat in the standing fight, Not more 
in councils famed for solid sense, Than 
winning words and heavenly eloquence. 
"Gods! what portent (he cried) these 
eyes invades? Lo! Hector rises from the 
Stygian shades! We saw him, late, by 
thundering Ajax kill'd: What god 
restores him to the frighted field; And 
not content that half of Greece lie 
slain, Pours new destruction on her 
sons again? He comes not, Jove! without 
thy powerful will; Lo! still he lives, 
pursues, and conquers still! Yet hear 
my counsel, and his worst withstand: 
The Greeks' main body to the fleet 
command; But let the few whom brisker 
spirits warm, Stand the first onset, 
and provoke the storm. Thus point your 
arms; and when such foes appear, Fierce 
as he is, let Hector learn to fear."

 The warrior spoke; the listening 
Greeks obey, Thickening their ranks, 
and form a deep array.

 Each Ajax, Teucer, Merion gave 
command, The valiant leader of the 
Cretan band; And Mars-like Meges: these 
the chiefs excite, Approach the foe, 
and meet the coming fight. Behind, 
unnumber'd multitudes attend, To flank 
the navy, and the shores defend. Full 
on the front the pressing Trojans bear, 
And Hector first came towering to the 
war. Phoebus himself the rushing battle 
led; A veil of clouds involved his 
radiant head: High held before him, 
Jove's enormous shield Portentous 
shone, and shaded all the field; Vulcan 
to Jove the immortal gift consign'd, To 
scatter hosts and terrify mankind, The 
Greeks expect the shock, the clamours 
rise From different parts, and mingle 
in the skies. Dire was the hiss of 
darts, by heroes flung, And arrows 
leaping from the bow-string sung; These 
drink the life of generous warriors 
slain: Those guiltless fall, and thirst 
for blood in vain. As long as Phoebus 
bore unmoved the shield, Sat doubtful 
conquest hovering o'er the field; But 
when aloft he shakes it in the skies, 
Shouts in their ears, and lightens in 
their eyes, Deep horror seizes every 
Grecian breast, Their force is humbled, 
and their fear confess'd. So flies a 
herd of oxen, scatter'd wide, No swain 
to guard them, and no day to guide, 
When two fell lions from the mountain 
come, And spread the carnage through 
the shady gloom. Impending Phoebus 
pours around them fear, And Troy and 
Hector thunder in the rear. Heaps fall 
on heaps: the slaughter Hector leads, 
First great Arcesilas, then Stichius 
bleeds; One to the bold Boeotians ever 
dear, And one Menestheus' friend and 
famed compeer. Medon and Iasus, Ćneas 
sped; This sprang from Phelus, and the 
Athenians led; But hapless Medon from 
Oileus came; Him Ajax honour'd with a 
brother's name, Though born of lawless 
love: from home expell'd, A banish'd 
man, in Phylace he dwell'd, Press'd by 
the vengeance of an angry wife; Troy 
ends at last his labours and his life. 
Mecystes next Polydamas o'erthrew; And 
thee, brave Clonius, great Agenor slew. 
By Paris, Deiochus inglorious dies, 
Pierced through the shoulder as he 
basely flies. Polites' arm laid Echius 
on the plain; Stretch'd on one heap, 
the victors spoil the slain. The Greeks 
dismay'd, confused, disperse or fall, 
Some seek the trench, some skulk behind 
the wall. While these fly trembling, 
others pant for breath, And o'er the 
slaughter stalks gigantic death. On 
rush'd bold Hector, gloomy as the 
night; Forbids to plunder, animates the 
fight, Points to the fleet: "For, by 
the gods! who flies,(240) Who dares but 
linger, by this hand he dies; No 
weeping sister his cold eye shall 
close, No friendly hand his funeral 
pyre compose. Who stops to plunder at 
this signal hour, The birds shall tear 
him, and the dogs devour." Furious he 
said; the smarting scourge resounds; 
The coursers fly; the smoking chariot 
bounds; The hosts rush on; loud 
clamours shake the shore; The horses 
thunder, earth and ocean roar! Apollo, 
planted at the trench's bound, Push'd 
at the bank: down sank the enormous 
mound: Roll'd in the ditch the heapy 
ruin lay; A sudden road! a long and 
ample way. O'er the dread fosse (a late 
impervious space) Now steeds, and men, 
and cars tumultuous pass. The wondering 
crowds the downward level trod; Before 
them flamed the shield, and march'd the 
god. Then with his hand he shook the 
mighty wall; And lo! the turrets nod, 
the bulwarks fall: Easy as when ashore 
an infant stands, And draws imagined 
houses in the sands; The sportive 
wanton, pleased with some new play, 
Sweeps the slight works and fashion'd 
domes away: Thus vanish'd at thy touch, 
the towers and walls; The toil of 
thousands in a moment falls.

 The Grecians gaze around with wild 
despair, Confused, and weary all the 
powers with prayer: Exhort their men, 
with praises, threats, commands; And 
urge the gods, with voices, eyes, and 
hands. Experienced Nestor chief obtests 
the skies, And weeps his country with a 
father's eyes.

 "O Jove! if ever, on his native shore, 
One Greek enrich'd thy shrine with 
offer'd gore; If e'er, in hope our 
country to behold, We paid the fattest 
firstlings of the fold; If e'er thou 
sign'st our wishes with thy nod: 
Perform the promise of a gracious god! 
This day preserve our navies from the 
flame, And save the relics of the 
Grecian name."

 Thus prayed the sage: the eternal gave 
consent, And peals of thunder shook the 
firmament. Presumptuous Troy mistook 
the accepting sign, And catch'd new 
fury at the voice divine. As, when 
black tempests mix the seas and skies, 
The roaring deeps in watery mountains 
rise, Above the sides of some tall ship 
ascend, Its womb they deluge, and its 
ribs they rend: Thus loudly roaring, 
and o'erpowering all, Mount the thick 
Trojans up the Grecian wall; Legions on 
legions from each side arise: Thick 
sound the keels; the storm of arrows 
flies. Fierce on the ships above, the 
cars below, These wield the mace, and 
those the javelin throw.

 While thus the thunder of the battle 
raged, And labouring armies round the 
works engaged, Still in the tent 
Patroclus sat to tend The good 
Eurypylus, his wounded friend. He 
sprinkles healing balms, to anguish 
kind, And adds discourse, the medicine 
of the mind. But when he saw, ascending 
up the fleet, Victorious Troy; then, 
starting from his seat, With bitter 
groans his sorrows he express'd, He 
wrings his hands, he beats his manly 
breast. "Though yet thy state require 
redress (he cries) Depart I must: what 
horrors strike my eyes! Charged with 
Achilles' high command I go, A mournful 
witness of this scene of woe; I haste 
to urge him by his country's care To 
rise in arms, and shine again in war. 
Perhaps some favouring god his soul may 
bend; The voice is powerful of a 
faithful friend."

 He spoke; and, speaking, swifter than 
the wind Sprung from the tent, and left 
the war behind. The embodied Greeks the 
fierce attack sustain, But strive, 
though numerous, to repulse in vain: 
Nor could the Trojans, through that 
firm array, Force to the fleet and 
tents the impervious way. As when a 
shipwright, with Palladian art, Smooths 
the rough wood, and levels every part; 
With equal hand he guides his whole 
design, By the just rule, and the 
directing line: The martial leaders, 
with like skill and care, Preserved 
their line, and equal kept the war. 
Brave deeds of arms through all the 
ranks were tried, And every ship 
sustained an equal tide. At one proud 
bark, high-towering o'er the fleet, 
Ajax the great, and godlike Hector 
meet; For one bright prize the 
matchless chiefs contend, Nor this the 
ships can fire, nor that defend: One 
kept the shore, and one the vessel 
trod; That fix'd as fate, this acted by 
a god. The son of Clytius in his daring 
hand, The deck approaching, shakes a 
flaming brand; But, pierced by 
Telamon's huge lance, expires: 
Thundering he falls, and drops the 
extinguish'd fires. Great Hector view'd 
him with a sad survey, As stretch'd in 
dust before the stern he lay. "Oh! all 
of Trojan, all of Lycian race! Stand to 
your arms, maintain this arduous space: 
Lo! where the son of royal Clytius 
lies; Ah, save his arms, secure his 
obsequies!"

 This said, his eager javelin sought 
the foe: But Ajax shunn'd the meditated 
blow. Not vainly yet the forceful lance 
was thrown; It stretch'd in dust 
unhappy Lycophron: An exile long, 
sustain'd at Ajax' board, A faithful 
servant to a foreign lord; In peace, 
and war, for ever at his side, Near his 
loved master, as he lived, he died. 
From the high poop he tumbles on the 
sand, And lies a lifeless load along 
the land. With anguish Ajax views the 
piercing sight, And thus inflames his 
brother to the fight:

 "Teucer, behold! extended on the shore 
Our friend, our loved companion! now no 
more! Dear as a parent, with a parent's 
care To fight our wars he left his 
native air. This death deplored, to 
Hector's rage we owe; Revenge, revenge 
it on the cruel foe. Where are those 
darts on which the fates attend? And 
where the bow which Phoebus taught to 
bend?"

 Impatient Teucer, hastening to his 
aid, Before the chief his ample bow 
display'd; The well-stored quiver on 
his shoulders hung: Then hiss'd his 
arrow, and the bowstring sung. Clytus, 
Pisenor's son, renown'd in fame, (To 
thee, Polydamas! an honour'd name) 
Drove through the thickest of the 
embattled plains The startling steeds, 
and shook his eager reins. As all on 
glory ran his ardent mind, The pointed 
death arrests him from behind: Through 
his fair neck the thrilling arrow 
flies; In youth's first bloom 
reluctantly he dies. Hurl'd from the 
lofty seat, at distance far, The 
headlong coursers spurn his empty car; 
Till sad Polydamas the steeds 
restrain'd, And gave, Astynous, to thy 
careful hand; Then, fired to vengeance, 
rush'd amidst the foe: Rage edged his 
sword, and strengthen'd every blow.

 Once more bold Teucer, in his 
country's cause, At Hector's breast a 
chosen arrow draws: And had the weapon 
found the destined way, Thy fall, great 
Trojan! had renown'd that day. But 
Hector was not doom'd to perish then: 
The all-wise disposer of the fates of 
men (Imperial Jove) his present death 
withstands; Nor was such glory due to 
Teucer's hands. At its full stretch as 
the tough string he drew, Struck by an 
arm unseen, it burst in two; Down 
dropp'd the bow: the shaft with brazen 
head Fell innocent, and on the dust lay 
dead. The astonish'd archer to great 
Ajax cries; "Some god prevents our 
destined enterprise: Some god, 
propitious to the Trojan foe, Has, from 
my arm unfailing, struck the bow, And 
broke the nerve my hands had twined 
with art, Strong to impel the flight of 
many a dart."

 "Since heaven commands it (Ajax made 
reply) Dismiss the bow, and lay thy 
arrows by: Thy arms no less suffice the 
lance to wield, And quit the quiver for 
the ponderous shield. In the first 
ranks indulge thy thirst of fame, Thy 
brave example shall the rest inflame. 
Fierce as they are, by long successes 
vain; To force our fleet, or even a 
ship to gain, Asks toil, and sweat, and 
blood: their utmost might Shall find 
its match--No more: 'tis ours to fight."

 Then Teucer laid his faithless bow 
aside; The fourfold buckler o'er his 
shoulder tied; On his brave head a 
crested helm he placed, With nodding 
horse-hair formidably graced; A dart, 
whose point with brass refulgent 
shines, The warrior wields; and his 
great brother joins.

 This Hector saw, and thus express'd 
his joy: "Ye troops of Lycia, Dardanus, 
and Troy! Be mindful of yourselves, 
your ancient fame, And spread your 
glory with the navy's flame. Jove is 
with us; I saw his hand, but now, From 
the proud archer strike his vaunted 
bow: Indulgent Jove! how plain thy 
favours shine, When happy nations bear 
the marks divine! How easy then, to see 
the sinking state Of realms accursed, 
deserted, reprobate! Such is the fate 
of Greece, and such is ours: Behold, ye 
warriors, and exert your powers. Death 
is the worst; a fate which all must 
try; And for our country, 'tis a bliss 
to die. The gallant man, though slain 
in fight he be, Yet leaves his nation 
safe, his children free; Entails a debt 
on all the grateful state; His own 
brave friends shall glory in his fate; 
His wife live honour'd, all his race 
succeed, And late posterity enjoy the 
deed!"

 This roused the soul in every Trojan 
breast: The godlike Ajax next his 
Greeks address'd:

 "How long, ye warriors of the Argive 
race, (To generous Argos what a dire 
disgrace!) How long on these cursed 
confines will ye lie, Yet undetermined, 
or to live or die? What hopes remain, 
what methods to retire, If once your 
vessels catch the Trojan fire? Make how 
the flames approach, how near they 
fall, How Hector calls, and Troy obeys 
his call! Not to the dance that 
dreadful voice invites, It calls to 
death, and all the rage of fights. 'Tis 
now no time for wisdom or debates; To 
your own hands are trusted all your 
fates; And better far in one decisive 
strife, One day should end our labour 
or our life, Than keep this hard-got 
inch of barren sands, Still press'd, 
and press'd by such inglorious hands."

 The listening Grecians feel their 
leader's flame, And every kindling 
bosom pants for fame. Then mutual 
slaughters spread on either side; By 
Hector here the Phocian Schedius died; 
There, pierced by Ajax, sunk Laodamas, 
Chief of the foot, of old Antenor's 
race. Polydamas laid Otus on the sand, 
The fierce commander of the Epeian 
band. His lance bold Meges at the 
victor threw; The victor, stooping, 
from the death withdrew; (That valued 
life, O Phoebus! was thy care) But 
Croesmus' bosom took the flying spear: 
His corpse fell bleeding on the 
slippery shore; His radiant arms 
triumphant Meges bore. Dolops, the son 
of Lampus, rushes on, Sprung from the 
race of old Laomedon, And famed for 
prowess in a well-fought field, He 
pierced the centre of his sounding 
shield: But Meges, Phyleus' ample 
breastplate wore, (Well-known in fight 
on Selle's winding shore; For king 
Euphetes gave the golden mail, Compact, 
and firm with many a jointed scale) 
Which oft, in cities storm'd, and 
battles won, Had saved the father, and 
now saves the son. Full at the Trojan's 
head he urged his lance, Where the high 
plumes above the helmet dance, New 
ting'd with Tyrian dye: in dust below, 
Shorn from the crest, the purple 
honours glow. Meantime their fight the 
Spartan king survey'd, And stood by 
Meges' side a sudden aid. Through 
Dolops' shoulder urged his forceful 
dart, Which held its passage through 
the panting heart, And issued at his 
breast. With thundering sound The 
warrior falls, extended on the ground. 
In rush the conquering Greeks to spoil 
the slain: But Hector's voice excites 
his kindred train; The hero most, from 
Hicetaon sprung, Fierce Melanippus, 
gallant, brave, and young. He (ere to 
Troy the Grecians cross'd the main) Fed 
his large oxen on Percote's plain; But 
when oppress'd, his country claim'd his 
care, Return'd to Ilion, and excell'd 
in war; For this, in Priam's court, he 
held his place, Beloved no less than 
Priam's royal race. Him Hector singled, 
as his troops he led, And thus inflamed 
him, pointing to the dead.

 "Lo, Melanippus! lo, where Dolops 
lies; And is it thus our royal kinsman 
dies? O'ermatch'd he falls; to two at 
once a prey, And lo! they bear the 
bloody arms away! Come on--a distant 
war no longer wage, But hand to hand 
thy country's foes engage: Till Greece 
at once, and all her glory end; Or 
Ilion from her towery height descend, 
Heaved from the lowest stone; and bury 
all In one sad sepulchre, one common 
fall."

 Hector (this said) rush'd forward on 
the foes: With equal ardour Melanippus 
glows: Then Ajax thus--"O Greeks! 
respect your fame, Respect yourselves, 
and learn an honest shame: Let mutual 
reverence mutual warmth inspire, And 
catch from breast to breast the noble 
fire, On valour's side the odds of 
combat lie; The brave live glorious, or 
lamented die; The wretch that trembles 
in the field of fame, Meets death, and 
worse than death, eternal shame."

 His generous sense he not in vain 
imparts; It sunk, and rooted in the 
Grecian hearts: They join, they throng, 
they thicken at his call, And flank the 
navy with a brazen wall; Shields 
touching shields, in order blaze above, 
And stop the Trojans, though impell'd 
by Jove. The fiery Spartan first, with 
loud applause. Warms the bold son of 
Nestor in his cause. "Is there (he 
said) in arms a youth like you, So 
strong to fight, so active to pursue? 
Why stand you distant, nor attempt a 
deed? Lift the bold lance, and make 
some Trojan bleed."

 He said; and backward to the lines 
retired; Forth rush'd the youth with 
martial fury fired, Beyond the foremost 
ranks; his lance he threw, And round 
the black battalions cast his view. The 
troops of Troy recede with sudden fear, 
While the swift javelin hiss'd along in 
air. Advancing Melanippus met the dart 
With his bold breast, and felt it in 
his heart: Thundering he falls; his 
falling arms resound, And his broad 
buckler rings against the ground. The 
victor leaps upon his prostrate prize: 
Thus on a roe the well-breath'd beagle 
flies, And rends his side, 
fresh-bleeding with the dart The 
distant hunter sent into his heart. 
Observing Hector to the rescue flew; 
Bold as he was, Antilochus withdrew. So 
when a savage, ranging o'er the plain, 
Has torn the shepherd's dog, or 
shepherd's swain, While conscious of 
the deed, he glares around, And hears 
the gathering multitude resound, Timely 
he flies the yet-untasted food, And 
gains the friendly shelter of the wood: 
So fears the youth; all Troy with 
shouts pursue, While stones and darts 
in mingled tempest flew; But enter'd in 
the Grecian ranks, he turns His manly 
breast, and with new fury burns.

 Now on the fleet the tides of Trojans 
drove, Fierce to fulfil the stern 
decrees of Jove: The sire of gods, 
confirming Thetis' prayer, The Grecian 
ardour quench'd in deep despair; But 
lifts to glory Troy's prevailing bands, 
Swells all their hearts, and 
strengthens all their hands. On Ida's 
top he waits with longing eyes, To view 
the navy blazing to the skies; Then, 
nor till then, the scale of war shall 
turn, The Trojans fly, and conquer'd 
Ilion burn. These fates revolved in his 
almighty mind, He raises Hector to the 
work design'd, Bids him with more than 
mortal fury glow, And drives him, like 
a lightning, on the foe. So Mars, when 
human crimes for vengeance call, Shakes 
his huge javelin, and whole armies 
fall. Not with more rage a 
conflagration rolls, Wraps the vast 
mountains, and involves the poles. He 
foams with wrath; beneath his gloomy 
brow Like fiery meteors his red 
eye-balls glow: The radiant helmet on 
his temple burns, Waves when he nods, 
and lightens as he turns: For Jove his 
splendour round the chief had thrown, 
And cast the blaze of both the hosts on 
one. Unhappy glories! for his fate was 
near, Due to stern Pallas, and Pelides' 
spear: Yet Jove deferr'd the death he 
was to pay, And gave what fate allow'd, 
the honours of a day!

 Now all on fire for fame, his breast, 
his eyes Burn at each foe, and single 
every prize; Still at the closest 
ranks, the thickest fight, He points 
his ardour, and exerts his might. The 
Grecian phalanx, moveless as a tower, 
On all sides batter'd, yet resists his 
power: So some tall rock o'erhangs the 
hoary main,(241) By winds assail'd, by 
billows beat in vain, Unmoved it hears, 
above, the tempest blow, And sees the 
watery mountains break below. Girt in 
surrounding flames, he seems to fall 
Like fire from Jove, and bursts upon 
them all: Bursts as a wave that from 
the cloud impends, And, swell'd with 
tempests, on the ship descends; White 
are the decks with foam; the winds 
aloud Howl o'er the masts, and sing 
through every shroud: Pale, trembling, 
tired, the sailors freeze with fears; 
And instant death on every wave 
appears. So pale the Greeks the eyes of 
Hector meet, The chief so thunders, and 
so shakes the fleet.

 As when a lion, rushing from his den, 
Amidst the plain of some wide-water'd 
fen, (Where numerous oxen, as at ease 
they feed, At large expatiate o'er the 
ranker mead) Leaps on the herds before 
the herdsman's eyes; The trembling 
herdsman far to distance flies; Some 
lordly bull (the rest dispersed and 
fled) He singles out; arrests, and lays 
him dead. Thus from the rage of 
Jove-like Hector flew All Greece in 
heaps; but one he seized, and slew: 
Mycenian Periphes, a mighty name, In 
wisdom great, in arms well known to 
fame; The minister of stern Eurystheus' 
ire Against Alcides, Copreus was his 
sire: The son redeem'd the honours of 
the race, A son as generous as the sire 
was base; O'er all his country's youth 
conspicuous far In every virtue, or of 
peace or war: But doom'd to Hector's 
stronger force to yield! Against the 
margin of his ample shield He struck 
his hasty foot: his heels up-sprung; 
Supine he fell; his brazen helmet rung. 
On the fallen chief the invading Trojan 
press'd, And plunged the pointed 
javelin in his breast. His circling 
friends, who strove to guard too late 
The unhappy hero, fled, or shared his 
fate.

 Chased from the foremost line, the 
Grecian train Now man the next, 
receding toward the main: Wedged in one 
body at the tents they stand, Wall'd 
round with sterns, a gloomy, desperate 
band. Now manly shame forbids the 
inglorious flight; Now fear itself 
confines them to the fight: Man courage 
breathes in man; but Nestor most (The 
sage preserver of the Grecian host) 
Exhorts, adjures, to guard these utmost 
shores; And by their parents, by 
themselves implores.

 "Oh friends! be men: your generous 
breasts inflame With mutual honour, and 
with mutual shame! Think of your hopes, 
your fortunes; all the care Your wives, 
your infants, and your parents share: 
Think of each living father's reverend 
head; Think of each ancestor with glory 
dead; Absent, by me they speak, by me 
they sue, They ask their safety, and 
their fame, from you: The gods their 
fates on this one action lay, And all 
are lost, if you desert the day."

 He spoke, and round him breathed 
heroic fires; Minerva seconds what the 
sage inspires. The mist of darkness 
Jove around them threw She clear'd, 
restoring all the war to view; A sudden 
ray shot beaming o'er the plain, And 
show'd the shores, the navy, and the 
main: Hector they saw, and all who fly, 
or fight, The scene wide-opening to the 
blaze of light, First of the field 
great Ajax strikes their eyes, His port 
majestic, and his ample size: A 
ponderous mace with studs of iron 
crown'd, Full twenty cubits long, he 
swings around; Nor fights, like others, 
fix'd to certain stands But looks a 
moving tower above the bands; High on 
the decks with vast gigantic stride, 
The godlike hero stalks from side to 
side. So when a horseman from the 
watery mead (Skill'd in the manage of 
the bounding steed) Drives four fair 
coursers, practised to obey, To some 
great city through the public way; Safe 
in his art, as side by side they run, 
He shifts his seat, and vaults from one 
to one; And now to this, and now to 
that he flies; Admiring numbers follow 
with their eyes.

 From ship to ship thus Ajax swiftly 
flew, No less the wonder of the warring 
crew. As furious, Hector thunder'd 
threats aloud, And rush'd enraged 
before the Trojan crowd; Then swift 
invades the ships, whose beaky prores 
Lay rank'd contiguous on the bending 
shores; So the strong eagle from his 
airy height, Who marks the swans' or 
cranes' embodied flight, Stoops down 
impetuous, while they light for food, 
And, stooping, darkens with his wings 
the flood. Jove leads him on with his 
almighty hand, And breathes fierce 
spirits in his following band. The 
warring nations meet, the battle roars, 
Thick beats the combat on the sounding 
prores. Thou wouldst have thought, so 
furious was their fire, No force could 
tame them, and no toil could tire; As 
if new vigour from new fights they won, 
And the long battle was but then begun. 
Greece, yet unconquer'd, kept alive the 
war, Secure of death, confiding in 
despair: Troy in proud hopes already 
view'd the main Bright with the blaze, 
and red with heroes slain: Like 
strength is felt from hope, and from 
despair, And each contends, as his were 
all the war.

 "Twas thou, bold Hector! whose 
resistless hand First seized a ship on 
that contested strand; The same which 
dead Protesilaus bore,(242) The first 
that touch'd the unhappy Trojan shore: 
For this in arms the warring nations 
stood, And bathed their generous 
breasts with mutual blood. No room to 
poise the lance or bend the bow; But 
hand to hand, and man to man, they 
grow: Wounded, they wound; and seek 
each other's hearts With falchions, 
axes, swords, and shorten'd darts. The 
falchions ring, shields rattle, axes 
sound, Swords flash in air, or glitter 
on the ground; With streaming blood the 
slippery shores are dyed, And 
slaughter'd heroes swell the dreadful 
tide.

 Still raging, Hector with his ample 
hand Grasps the high stern, and gives 
this loud command: 

 AJAX DEFENDING THE GREEK SHIPS. 

 "Haste, bring the flames! that toil of 
ten long years Is finished; and the day 
desired appears! This happy day with 
acclamations greet, Bright with 
destruction of yon hostile fleet. The 
coward-counsels of a timorous throng Of 
reverend dotards check'd our glory 
long: Too long Jove lull'd us with 
lethargic charms, But now in peals of 
thunder calls to arms: In this great 
day he crowns our full desires, Wakes 
all our force, and seconds all our 
fires."

 He spoke--the warriors at his fierce 
command Pour a new deluge on the 
Grecian band. Even Ajax paused, (so 
thick the javelins fly,) Stepp'd back, 
and doubted or to live or die. Yet, 
where the oars are placed, he stands to 
wait What chief approaching dares 
attempt his fate: Even to the last his 
naval charge defends, Now shakes his 
spear, now lifts, and now protends; 
Even yet, the Greeks with piercing 
shouts inspires, Amidst attacks, and 
deaths, and darts, and fires.

 "O friends! O heroes! names for ever 
dear, Once sons of Mars, and 
thunderbolts of war! Ah! yet be mindful 
of your old renown, Your great 
forefathers' virtues and your own. What 
aids expect you in this utmost strait? 
What bulwarks rising between you and 
fate? No aids, no bulwarks your retreat 
attend, No friends to help, no city to 
defend. This spot is all you have, to 
lose or keep; There stand the Trojans, 
and here rolls the deep. 'Tis hostile 
ground you tread; your native lands 
Far, far from hence: your fates are in 
your hands."

 Raging he spoke; nor further wastes 
his breath, But turns his javelin to 
the work of death. Whate'er bold Trojan 
arm'd his daring hands, Against the 
sable ships, with flaming brands, So 
well the chief his naval weapon sped, 
The luckless warrior at his stern lay 
dead: Full twelve, the boldest, in a 
moment fell, Sent by great Ajax to the 
shades of hell. 

 CASTOR AND POLLUX. 

 

BOOK XVI. 

ARGUMENT

THE SIXTH BATTLE, THE ACTS AND DEATH OF 
PATROCLUS

Patroclus (in pursuance of the request 
of Nestor in the eleventh book) 
entreats Achilles to suffer him to go 
to the assistance of the Greeks with 
Achilles' troops and armour. He agrees 
to it, but at the same time charges him 
to content himself with rescuing the 
fleet, without further pursuit of the 
enemy. The armour, horses, soldiers, 
and officers are described. Achilles 
offers a libation for the success of 
his friend, after which Patroclus leads 
the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, 
at the sight of Patroclus in Achilles' 
armour, taking him for that hero, are 
cast into the uttermost consternation; 
he beats them off from the vessels, 
Hector himself flies, Sarpedon is 
killed, though Jupiter was averse to 
his fate. Several other particulars of 
the battle are described; in the heat 
of which, Patroclus, neglecting the 
orders of Achilles, pursues the foe to 
the walls of Troy, where Apollo 
repulses and disarms him, Euphorbus 
wounds him, and Hector kills him, which 
concludes the book.

 So warr'd both armies on the 
ensanguined shore, While the black 
vessels smoked with human gore. 
Meantime Patroclus to Achilles flies; 
The streaming tears fall copious from 
his eyes Not faster, trickling to the 
plains below, From the tall rock the 
sable waters flow. Divine Pelides, with 
compassion moved. Thus spoke, 
indulgent, to his best beloved:(243)

 "Patroclus, say, what grief thy bosom 
bears, That flows so fast in these 
unmanly tears? No girl, no infant whom 
the mother keeps From her loved breast, 
with fonder passion weeps; Not more the 
mother's soul, that infant warms, Clung 
to her knees, and reaching at her arms, 
Than thou hast mine! Oh tell me, to 
what end Thy melting sorrows thus 
pursue thy friend?

 "Griev'st thou for me, or for, my 
martial band? Or come sad tidings from 
our native land? Our fathers live (our 
first, most tender care), Thy good 
Menoetius breathes the vital air, And 
hoary Peleus yet extends his days; 
Pleased in their age to hear their 
children's praise. Or may some meaner 
cause thy pity claim? Perhaps yon 
relics of the Grecian name, Doom'd in 
their ships to sink by fire and sword, 
And pay the forfeit of their haughty 
lord? Whate'er the cause, reveal thy 
secret care, And speak those sorrows 
which a friend would share." A sigh 
that instant from his bosom broke, 
Another follow'd, and Patroclus spoke:

 "Let Greece at length with pity touch 
thy breast, Thyself a Greek; and, once, 
of Greeks the best! Lo! every chief 
that might her fate prevent, Lies 
pierced with wounds, and bleeding in 
his tent: Eurypylus, Tydides, Atreus' 
son, And wise Ulysses, at the navy 
groan, More for their country's wounds 
than for their own. Their pain soft 
arts of pharmacy can ease, Thy breast 
alone no lenitives appease. May never 
rage like thine my soul enslave, O 
great in vain! unprofitably brave! Thy 
country slighted in her last distress, 
What friend, what man, from thee shall 
hope redress? No--men unborn, and ages 
yet behind, Shall curse that fierce, 
that unforgiving mind.

 "O man unpitying! if of man thy race; 
But sure thou spring'st not from a soft 
embrace, Nor ever amorous hero caused 
thy birth, Nor ever tender goddess 
brought thee forth: Some rugged rock's 
hard entrails gave thee form, And 
raging seas produced thee in a storm, A 
soul well suiting that tempestuous 
kind, So rough thy manners, so untamed 
thy mind.

 "If some dire oracle thy breast alarm, 
If aught from Jove, or Thetis, stop thy 
arm, Some beam of comfort yet on Greece 
may shine, If I but lead the 
Myrmidonian line: Clad in thy dreadful 
arms if I appear, Proud Troy shall 
tremble, and desert the war; Without 
thy person Greece shall win the day, 
And thy mere image chase her foes away. 
Press'd by fresh forces, her 
o'erlabour'd train Shall quit the 
ships, and Greece respire again." Thus, 
blind to fate! with supplicating 
breath, Thou begg'st his arms, and in 
his arms thy death. Unfortunately good! 
a boding sigh Thy friend return'd; and 
with it, this reply: "Patroclus! thy 
Achilles knows no fears; Nor words from 
Jove nor oracles he hears; Nor aught a 
mother's caution can suggest; The 
tyrant's pride lies rooted in my 
breast. My wrongs, my wrongs, my 
constant thought engage, Those, my sole 
oracles, inspire my rage: I made him 
tyrant: gave him power to wrong Even 
my: I felt it; and shall feel it long. 
The maid, my black-eyed maid, he forced 
away, Due to the toils of many a 
well-fought day; Due to my conquest of 
her father's reign; Due to the votes of 
all the Grecian train. From me he 
forced her; me, the bold and brave, 
Disgraced, dishonour'd, like the 
meanest slave. But bear we this--the 
wrongs I grieve are past; 'Tis time our 
fury should relent at last: I fix'd its 
date; the day I wish'd appears: How 
Hector to my ships his battle bears, 
The flames my eyes, the shouts invade 
my ears. Go then, Patroclus! court fair 
honour's charms In Troy's famed fields, 
and in Achilles' arms: Lead forth my 
martial Myrmidons to fight, Go save the 
fleets, and conquer in my right. See 
the thin relics of their baffled band 
At the last edge of yon deserted land! 
Behold all Ilion on their ships 
descends; How the cloud blackens, how 
the storm impends! It was not thus, 
when, at my sight amazed, Troy saw and 
trembled, as this helmet blazed: Had 
not the injurious king our friendship 
lost, Yon ample trench had buried half 
her host. No camps, no bulwarks now the 
Trojans fear, Those are not dreadful, 
no Achilles there; No longer flames the 
lance of Tydeus' son; No more your 
general calls his heroes on: Hector, 
alone, I hear; his dreadful breath 
Commands your slaughter, or proclaims 
your death. Yet now, Patroclus, issue 
to the plain: Now save the ships, the 
rising fires restrain, And give the 
Greeks to visit Greece again. But heed 
my words, and mark a friend's command, 
Who trusts his fame and honours in thy 
hand, And from thy deeds expects the 
Achaian host Shall render back the 
beauteous maid he lost: Rage 
uncontroll'd through all the hostile 
crew, But touch not Hector, Hector is 
my due. Though Jove in thunder should 
command the war, Be just, consult my 
glory, and forbear. The fleet once 
saved, desist from further chase, Nor 
lead to Ilion's walls the Grecian race; 
Some adverse god thy rashness may 
destroy; Some god, like Phoebus, ever 
kind to Troy. Let Greece, redeem'd from 
this destructive strait, Do her own 
work; and leave the rest to fate. O! 
would to all the immortal powers above, 
Apollo, Pallas, and almighty Jove! That 
not one Trojan might be left alive, And 
not a Greek of all the race survive: 
Might only we the vast destruction 
shun, And only we destroy the accursed 
town!" Such conference held the chiefs; 
while on the strand Great Jove with 
conquest crown'd the Trojan band. Ajax 
no more the sounding storm sustain'd, 
So thick the darts an iron tempest 
rain'd: On his tired arm the weighty 
buckler hung; His hollow helm with 
falling javelins rung; His breath, in 
quick short pantings, comes and goes; 
And painful sweat from all his members 
flows. Spent and o'erpower'd, he barely 
breathes at most; Yet scarce an army 
stirs him from his post; Dangers on 
dangers all around him glow, And toil 
to toil, and woe succeeds to woe.

 Say, Muses, throned above the starry 
frame, How first the navy blazed with 
Trojan flame?

 Stern Hector waved his sword, and 
standing near, Where furious Ajax plied 
his ashen spear, Full on the lance a 
stroke so justly sped, That the broad 
falchion lopp'd its brazen head; His 
pointless spear the warrior shakes in 
vain; The brazen head falls sounding on 
the plain. Great Ajax saw, and own'd 
the hand divine; Confessing Jove, and 
trembling at the sign, Warn'd he 
retreats. Then swift from all sides 
pour The hissing brands; thick streams 
the fiery shower; O'er the high stern 
the curling volumes rise, And sheets of 
rolling smoke involve the skies.

 Divine Achilles view'd the rising 
flames, And smote his thigh, and thus 
aloud exclaims: "Arm, arm, Patroclus! 
Lo, the blaze aspires! The glowing 
ocean reddens with the fires. Arm, ere 
our vessels catch the spreading flame; 
Arm, ere the Grecians be no more a 
name; I haste to bring the 
troops."--The hero said; The friend 
with ardour and with joy obey'd.

 He cased his limbs in brass; and first 
around His manly legs, with silver 
buckles bound The clasping greaves; 
then to his breast applies The flaming 
cuirass of a thousand dyes; Emblazed 
with studs of gold his falchion shone 
In the rich belt, as in a starry zone: 
Achilles' shield his ample shoulders 
spread, Achilles' helmet nodded o'er 
his head: Adorn'd in all his terrible 
array, He flash'd around intolerable 
day. Alone untouch'd, Pelides' javelin 
stands, Not to be poised but by 
Pelides' hands: From Pelion's shady 
brow the plant entire Old Chiron rent, 
and shaped it for his sire; Whose son's 
great arm alone the weapon wields, The 
death of heroes, and the dread of 
fields. 

 Buckles. 

 The brave Automedon (an honour'd name, 
The second to his lord in love and 
fame, In peace his friend, and partner 
of the war) The winged coursers 
harness'd to the car; Xanthus and 
Balius, of immortal breed, Sprung from 
the wind, and like the wind in speed. 
Whom the wing'd harpy, swift Podarge, 
bore, By Zephyr pregnant on the breezy 
shore: Swift Pedasus was added to their 
side, (Once great Aetion's, now 
Achilles' pride) Who, like in strength, 
in swiftness, and in grace, A mortal 
courser match'd the immortal race.

 Achilles speeds from tent to tent, and 
warms His hardy Myrmidons to blood and 
arms. All breathing death, around the 
chief they stand, A grim, terrific, 
formidable band: Grim as voracious 
wolves, that seek the springs(244) When 
scalding thirst their burning bowels 
wrings; When some tall stag, 
fresh-slaughtered in the wood, Has 
drench'd their wide insatiate throats 
with blood, To the black fount they 
rush, a hideous throng, With paunch 
distended, and with lolling tongue, 
Fire fills their eye, their black jaws 
belch the gore, And gorged with 
slaughter still they thirst for more. 
Like furious, rush'd the Myrmidonian 
crew, Such their dread strength, and 
such their deathful view.

 High in the midst the great Achilles 
stands, Directs their order, and the 
war commands. He, loved of Jove, had 
launch'd for Ilion's shores Full fifty 
vessels, mann'd with fifty oars: Five 
chosen leaders the fierce bands obey, 
Himself supreme in valour, as in sway.

 First march'd Menestheus, of celestial 
birth, Derived from thee, whose waters 
wash the earth, Divine Sperchius! 
Jove-descended flood! A mortal mother 
mixing with a god. Such was Menestheus, 
but miscall'd by fame The son of Borus, 
that espoused the dame.

 Eudorus next; whom Polymele the gay, 
Famed in the graceful dance, produced 
to-day. Her, sly Cellenius loved: on 
her would gaze, As with swift step she 
form'd the running maze: To her high 
chamber from Diana's quire, The god 
pursued her, urged, and crown'd his 
fire. The son confess'd his father's 
heavenly race, And heir'd his mother's 
swiftness in the chase. Strong 
Echecleus, bless'd in all those charms 
That pleased a god, succeeded to her 
arms; Not conscious of those loves, 
long hid from fame, With gifts of price 
he sought and won the dame; Her secret 
offspring to her sire she bare; Her 
sire caress'd him with a parent's care.

 Pisander follow'd; matchless in his 
art To wing the spear, or aim the 
distant dart; No hand so sure of all 
the Emathian line, Or if a surer, great 
Patroclus! thine.

 The fourth by Phoenix' grave command 
was graced, Laerces' valiant offspring 
led the last.

 Soon as Achilles with superior care 
Had call'd the chiefs, and order'd all 
the war, This stern remembrance to his 
troops he gave: "Ye far-famed 
Myrmidons, ye fierce and brave! Think 
with what threats you dared the Trojan 
throng, Think what reproach these ears 
endured so long; 'Stern son of Peleus, 
(thus ye used to say, While restless, 
raging, in your ships you lay) Oh 
nursed with gall, unknowing how to 
yield; Whose rage defrauds us of so 
famed a field: If that dire fury must 
for ever burn, What make we here? 
Return, ye chiefs, return!' Such were 
your words--Now, warriors! grieve no 
more, Lo there the Trojans; bathe your 
swords in gore! This day shall give you 
all your soul demands, Glut all your 
hearts, and weary all your hands!" 

 DIANA. 

 Thus while he roused the fire in every 
breast, Close and more close the 
listening cohorts press'd; Ranks wedged 
in ranks; of arms a steely ring Still 
grows, and spreads, and thickens round 
the king. As when a circling wall the 
builder forms, Of strength defensive 
against wind and storms, Compacted 
stones the thickening work compose, And 
round him wide the rising structure 
grows: So helm to helm, and crest to 
crest they throng, Shield urged on 
shield, and man drove man along; Thick, 
undistinguish'd plumes, together 
join'd, Float in one sea, and wave 
before the wind.

 Far o'er the rest in glittering pomp 
appear, There bold Automedon, Patroclus 
here; Brothers in arms, with equal fury 
fired; Two friends, two bodies with one 
soul inspired.

 But mindful of the gods, Achilles went 
To the rich coffer in his shady tent; 
There lay on heaps his various garments 
roll'd, And costly furs, and carpets 
stiff with gold, (The presents of the 
silver-footed dame) From thence he took 
a bowl, of antique frame, Which never 
man had stained with ruddy wine, Nor 
raised in offerings to the power 
divine, But Peleus' son; and Peleus' 
son to none Had raised in offerings, 
but to Jove alone. This tinged with 
sulphur, sacred first to flame, He 
purged; and wash'd it in the running 
stream. Then cleansed his hands; and 
fixing for a space His eyes on heaven, 
his feet upon the place Of sacrifice, 
the purple draught he pour'd Forth in 
the midst; and thus the god implored:

 "O thou supreme! high-throned all 
height above! O great Pelasgic, 
Dodonaean Jove! Who 'midst surrounding 
frosts, and vapours chill, Presid'st on 
bleak Dodona's vocal hill: (Whose 
groves the Selli, race austere! 
surround, Their feet unwash'd, their 
slumbers on the ground; Who hear, from 
rustling oaks, thy dark decrees; And 
catch the fates, low-whispered in the 
breeze;) Hear, as of old! Thou gav'st, 
at Thetis' prayer, Glory to me, and to 
the Greeks despair. Lo, to the dangers 
of the fighting field The best, the 
dearest of my friends, I yield, Though 
still determined, to my ships confined; 
Patroclus gone, I stay but half behind. 
Oh! be his guard thy providential care, 
Confirm his heart, and string his arm 
to war: Press'd by his single force let 
Hector see His fame in arms not owing 
all to me. But when the fleets are 
saved from foes and fire, Let him with 
conquest and renown retire; Preserve 
his arms, preserve his social train, 
And safe return him to these eyes 
again!"

 Great Jove consents to half the 
chief's request, But heaven's eternal 
doom denies the rest; To free the fleet 
was granted to his prayer; His safe 
return, the winds dispersed in air. 
Back to his tent the stern Achilles 
flies, And waits the combat with 
impatient eyes.

 Meanwhile the troops beneath 
Patroclus' care, Invade the Trojans, 
and commence the war. As wasps, 
provoked by children in their play, 
Pour from their mansions by the broad 
highway, In swarms the guiltless 
traveller engage, Whet all their 
stings, and call forth all their rage: 
All rise in arms, and, with a general 
cry, Assert their waxen domes, and 
buzzing progeny. Thus from the tents 
the fervent legion swarms, So loud 
their clamours, and so keen their arms: 
Their rising rage Patroclus' breath 
inspires, Who thus inflames them with 
heroic fires:

 "O warriors, partners of Achilles' 
praise! Be mindful of your deeds in 
ancient days; Your godlike master let 
your acts proclaim, And add new glories 
to his mighty name. Think your Achilles 
sees you fight: be brave, And humble 
the proud monarch whom you save."

 Joyful they heard, and kindling as he 
spoke, Flew to the fleet, involved in 
fire and smoke. From shore to shore the 
doubling shouts resound, The hollow 
ships return a deeper sound. The war 
stood still, and all around them gazed, 
When great Achilles' shining armour 
blazed: Troy saw, and thought the dread 
Achilles nigh, At once they see, they 
tremble, and they fly.

 Then first thy spear, divine 
Patroclus! flew, Where the war raged, 
and where the tumult grew. Close to the 
stern of that famed ship which bore 
Unbless'd Protesilaus to Ilion's shore, 
The great Paeonian, bold Pyrechmes 
stood; (Who led his bands from Axius' 
winding flood;) His shoulder-blade 
receives the fatal wound; The groaning 
warrior pants upon the ground. His 
troops, that see their country's glory 
slain, Fly diverse, scatter'd o'er the 
distant plain. Patroclus' arm forbids 
the spreading fires, And from the 
half-burn'd ship proud Troy retires; 
Clear'd from the smoke the joyful navy 
lies; In heaps on heaps the foe 
tumultuous flies; Triumphant Greece her 
rescued decks ascends, And loud acclaim 
the starry region rends. So when thick 
clouds enwrap the mountain's head, O'er 
heaven's expanse like one black ceiling 
spread; Sudden the Thunderer, with a 
flashing ray, Bursts through the 
darkness, and lets down the day: The 
hills shine out, the rocks in prospect 
rise, And streams, and vales, and 
forests, strike the eyes; The smiling 
scene wide opens to the sight, And all 
the unmeasured ether flames with light.

 But Troy repulsed, and scatter'd o'er 
the plains, Forced from the navy, yet 
the fight maintains. Now every Greek 
some hostile hero slew, But still the 
foremost, bold Patroclus flew: As 
Areilycus had turn'd him round, Sharp 
in his thigh he felt the piercing 
wound; The brazen-pointed spear, with 
vigour thrown, The thigh transfix'd, 
and broke the brittle bone: Headlong he 
fell. Next, Thoas was thy chance; Thy 
breast, unarm'd, received the Spartan 
lance. Phylides' dart (as Amphidus drew 
nigh) His blow prevented, and 
transpierced his thigh, Tore all the 
brawn, and rent the nerves away; In 
darkness, and in death, the warrior lay.

 In equal arms two sons of Nestor 
stand, And two bold brothers of the 
Lycian band: By great Antilochus, 
Atymnius dies, Pierced in the flank, 
lamented youth! he lies, Kind Maris, 
bleeding in his brother's wound, 
Defends the breathless carcase on the 
ground; Furious he flies, his murderer 
to engage: But godlike Thrasimed 
prevents his rage, Between his arm and 
shoulder aims a blow; His arm falls 
spouting on the dust below: He sinks, 
with endless darkness cover'd o'er: And 
vents his soul, effused with gushing 
gore.

 Slain by two brothers, thus two 
brothers bleed, Sarpedon's friends, 
Amisodarus' seed; Amisodarus, who, by 
Furies led, The bane of men, abhorr'd 
Chimaera bred; Skill'd in the dart in 
vain, his sons expire, And pay the 
forfeit of their guilty sire.

 Stopp'd in the tumult Cleobulus lies, 
Beneath Oileus' arm, a living prize; A 
living prize not long the Trojan stood; 
The thirsty falchion drank his reeking 
blood: Plunged in his throat the 
smoking weapon lies; Black death, and 
fate unpitying, seal his eyes.

 Amid the ranks, with mutual thirst of 
fame, Lycon the brave, and fierce 
Peneleus came; In vain their javelins 
at each other flew, Now, met in arms, 
their eager swords they drew. On the 
plumed crest of his Boeotian foe The 
daring Lycon aim'd a noble blow; The 
sword broke short; but his, Peneleus 
sped Full on the juncture of the neck 
and head: The head, divided by a stroke 
so just, Hung by the skin; the body 
sunk to dust.

 O'ertaken Neamas by Merion bleeds, 
Pierced through the shoulder as he 
mounts his steeds; Back from the car he 
tumbles to the ground: His swimming 
eyes eternal shades surround.

 Next Erymas was doom'd his fate to 
feel, His open'd mouth received the 
Cretan steel: Beneath the brain the 
point a passage tore, Crash'd the thin 
bones, and drown'd the teeth in gore: 
His mouth, his eyes, his nostrils, pour 
a flood; He sobs his soul out in the 
gush of blood.

 As when the flocks neglected by the 
swain, Or kids, or lambs, lie scatter'd 
o'er the plain, A troop of wolves the 
unguarded charge survey, And rend the 
trembling, unresisting prey: Thus on 
the foe the Greeks impetuous came; Troy 
fled, unmindful of her former fame.

 But still at Hector godlike Ajax 
aim'd, Still, pointed at his breast, 
his javelin flamed. The Trojan chief, 
experienced in the field, O'er his 
broad shoulders spread the massy 
shield, Observed the storm of darts the 
Grecians pour, And on his buckler 
caught the ringing shower: He sees for 
Greece the scale of conquest rise, Yet 
stops, and turns, and saves his loved 
allies.

 As when the hand of Jove a tempest 
forms, And rolls the cloud to blacken 
heaven with storms, Dark o'er the 
fields the ascending vapour flies, And 
shades the sun, and blots the golden 
skies: So from the ships, along the 
dusky plain, Dire Flight and Terror 
drove the Trojan train. Even Hector 
fled; through heads of disarray The 
fiery coursers forced their lord away: 
While far behind his Trojans fall 
confused; Wedged in the trench, in one 
vast carnage bruised: Chariots on 
chariots roll: the clashing spokes 
Shock; while the madding steeds break 
short their yokes. In vain they labour 
up the steepy mound; Their charioteers 
lie foaming on the ground. Fierce on 
the rear, with shouts Patroclus flies; 
Tumultuous clamour fills the fields and 
skies; Thick drifts of dust involve 
their rapid flight; Clouds rise on 
clouds, and heaven is snatch'd from 
sight. The affrighted steeds their 
dying lords cast down, Scour o'er the 
fields, and stretch to reach the town. 
Loud o'er the rout was heard the 
victor's cry, Where the war bleeds, and 
where the thickest die, Where horse and 
arms, and chariots he o'erthrown, And 
bleeding heroes under axles groan. No 
stop, no check, the steeds of Peleus 
knew: From bank to bank the immortal 
coursers flew. High-bounding o'er the 
fosse, the whirling car Smokes through 
the ranks, o'ertakes the flying war, 
And thunders after Hector; Hector 
flies, Patroclus shakes his lance; but 
fate denies. Not with less noise, with 
less impetuous force, The tide of 
Trojans urge their desperate course, 
Than when in autumn Jove his fury 
pours, And earth is loaden with 
incessant showers; (When guilty mortals 
break the eternal laws, Or judges, 
bribed, betray the righteous cause;) 
From their deep beds he bids the rivers 
rise, And opens all the flood-gates of 
the skies: The impetuous torrents from 
their hills obey, Whole fields are 
drown'd, and mountains swept away; Loud 
roars the deluge till it meets the 
main; And trembling man sees all his 
labours vain!

 And now the chief (the foremost troops 
repell'd) Back to the ships his 
destined progress held, Bore down half 
Troy in his resistless way, And forced 
the routed ranks to stand the day. 
Between the space where silver Simois 
flows, Where lay the fleets, and where 
the rampires rose, All grim in dust and 
blood Patroclus stands, And turns the 
slaughter on the conquering bands. 
First Pronous died beneath his fiery 
dart, Which pierced below the shield 
his valiant heart. Thestor was next, 
who saw the chief appear, And fell the 
victim of his coward fear; Shrunk up he 
sat, with wild and haggard eye, Nor 
stood to combat, nor had force to fly; 
Patroclus mark'd him as he shunn'd the 
war, And with unmanly tremblings shook 
the car, And dropp'd the flowing reins. 
Him 'twixt the jaws, The javelin 
sticks, and from the chariot draws. As 
on a rock that overhangs the main, An 
angler, studious of the line and cane, 
Some mighty fish draws panting to the 
shore: Not with less ease the barbed 
javelin bore The gaping dastard; as the 
spear was shook, He fell, and life his 
heartless breast forsook.

 Next on Eryalus he flies; a stone, 
Large as a rock, was by his fury 
thrown: Full on his crown the ponderous 
fragment flew, And burst the helm, and 
cleft the head in two: Prone to the 
ground the breathless warrior fell, And 
death involved him with the shades of 
hell. Then low in dust Epaltes, Echius, 
lie; Ipheas, Evippus, Polymelus, die; 
Amphoterus and Erymas succeed; And last 
Tlepolemus and Pyres bleed. Where'er he 
moves, the growing slaughters spread In 
heaps on heaps a monument of dead.

 When now Sarpedon his brave friends 
beheld Grovelling in dust, and gasping 
on the field, With this reproach his 
flying host he warms: "Oh stain to 
honour! oh disgrace to arms! Forsake, 
inglorious, the contended plain; This 
hand unaided shall the war sustain: The 
task be mine this hero's strength to 
try, Who mows whole troops, and makes 
an army fly."

 He spake: and, speaking, leaps from 
off the car: Patroclus lights, and 
sternly waits the war. As when two 
vultures on the mountain's height Stoop 
with resounding pinions to the fight; 
They cuff, they tear, they raise a 
screaming cry; The desert echoes, and 
the rocks reply: The warriors thus 
opposed in arms, engage With equal 
clamours, and with equal rage.

 Jove view'd the combat: whose event 
foreseen, He thus bespoke his sister 
and his queen: "The hour draws on; the 
destinies ordain,(245) My godlike son 
shall press the Phrygian plain: Already 
on the verge of death he stands, His 
life is owed to fierce Patroclus' 
hands, What passions in a parent's 
breast debate! Say, shall I snatch him 
from impending fate, And send him safe 
to Lycia, distant far From all the 
dangers and the toils of war; Or to his 
doom my bravest offspring yield, And 
fatten, with celestial blood, the 
field?"

 Then thus the goddess with the radiant 
eyes: "What words are these, O 
sovereign of the skies! Short is the 
date prescribed to mortal man; Shall 
Jove for one extend the narrow span, 
Whose bounds were fix'd before his race 
began? How many sons of gods, 
foredoom'd to death, Before proud Ilion 
must resign their breath! Were thine 
exempt, debate would rise above, And 
murmuring powers condemn their partial 
Jove. Give the bold chief a glorious 
fate in fight; And when the ascending 
soul has wing'd her flight, Let Sleep 
and Death convey, by thy command, The 
breathless body to his native land. His 
friends and people, to his future 
praise, A marble tomb and pyramid shall 
raise, And lasting honours to his ashes 
give; His fame ('tis all the dead can 
have) shall live."

 She said: the cloud-compeller, 
overcome, Assents to fate, and ratifies 
the doom. Then touch'd with grief, the 
weeping heavens distill'd A shower of 
blood o'er all the fatal field: The 
god, his eyes averting from the plain, 
Laments his son, predestined to be 
slain, Far from the Lycian shores, his 
happy native reign. Now met in arms, 
the combatants appear; Each heaved the 
shield, and poised the lifted spear; 
From strong Patroclus' hand the javelin 
fled, And pass'd the groin of valiant 
Thrasymed; The nerves unbraced no more 
his bulk sustain, He falls, and falling 
bites the bloody plain. Two sounding 
darts the Lycian leader threw: The 
first aloof with erring fury flew, The 
next transpierced Achilles' mortal 
steed, The generous Pedasus of Theban 
breed: Fix'd in the shoulder's joint, 
he reel'd around, Roll'd in the bloody 
dust, and paw'd the slippery ground. 
His sudden fall the entangled harness 
broke; Each axle crackled, and the 
chariot shook: When bold Automedon, to 
disengage The starting coursers, and 
restrain their rage, Divides the traces 
with his sword, and freed The 
encumbered chariot from the dying 
steed: The rest move on, obedient to 
the rein: The car rolls slowly o'er the 
dusty plain.

 The towering chiefs to fiercer fight 
advance: And first Sarpedon whirl'd his 
weighty lance, Which o'er the warrior's 
shoulder took its course, And spent in 
empty air its dying force. Not so 
Patroclus' never-erring dart; Aim'd at 
his breast it pierced a mortal part, 
Where the strong fibres bind the solid 
heart. Then as the mountain oak, or 
poplar tall, Or pine (fit mast for some 
great admiral) Nods to the axe, till 
with a groaning sound It sinks, and 
spreads its honours on the ground, Thus 
fell the king; and laid on earth 
supine, Before his chariot stretch'd 
his form divine: He grasp'd the dust 
distain'd with streaming gore, And, 
pale in death, lay groaning on the 
shore. So lies a bull beneath the 
lion's paws, While the grim savage 
grinds with foamy jaws The trembling 
limbs, and sucks the smoking blood; 
Deep groans, and hollow roars, rebellow 
through the wood.

 Then to the leader of the Lycian band 
The dying chief address'd his last 
command; "Glaucus, be bold; thy task be 
first to dare The glorious dangers of 
destructive war, To lead my troops, to 
combat at their head, Incite the 
living, and supply the dead. Tell them, 
I charged them with my latest breath 
Not unrevenged to bear Sarpedon's 
death. What grief, what shame, must 
Glaucus undergo, If these spoil'd arms 
adorn a Grecian foe! Then as a friend, 
and as a warrior fight; Defend my body, 
conquer in my right: That, taught by 
great examples, all may try Like thee 
to vanquish, or like me to die." He 
ceased; the Fates suppress'd his 
labouring breath, And his eyes darken'd 
with the shades of death. The insulting 
victor with disdain bestrode The 
prostrate prince, and on his bosom 
trod; Then drew the weapon from his 
panting heart, The reeking fibres 
clinging to the dart; From the wide 
wound gush'd out a stream of blood, And 
the soul issued in the purple flood. 
His flying steeds the Myrmidons detain, 
Unguided now, their mighty master 
slain. All-impotent of aid, transfix'd 
with grief, Unhappy Glaucus heard the 
dying chief: His painful arm, yet 
useless with the smart Inflicted late 
by Teucer's deadly dart, Supported on 
his better hand he stay'd: To Phoebus 
then ('twas all he could) he pray'd:

 "All-seeing monarch! whether Lycia's 
coast, Or sacred Ilion, thy bright 
presence boast, Powerful alike to ease 
the wretch's smart; O hear me! god of 
every healing art! Lo! stiff with 
clotted blood, and pierced with pain, 
That thrills my arm, and shoots through 
every vein, I stand unable to sustain 
the spear, And sigh, at distance from 
the glorious war. Low in the dust is 
great Sarpedon laid, Nor Jove 
vouchsafed his hapless offspring aid; 
But thou, O god of health! thy succour 
lend, To guard the relics of my 
slaughter'd friend: For thou, though 
distant, canst restore my might, To 
head my Lycians, and support the fight."

 Apollo heard; and, suppliant as he 
stood, His heavenly hand restrain'd the 
flux of blood; He drew the dolours from 
the wounded part, And breathed a spirit 
in his rising heart. Renew'd by art 
divine, the hero stands, And owns the 
assistance of immortal hands. First to 
the fight his native troops he warms, 
Then loudly calls on Troy's vindictive 
arms; With ample strides he stalks from 
place to place; Now fires Agenor, now 
Polydamas: Ćneas next, and Hector he 
accosts; Inflaming thus the rage of all 
their hosts.

 "What thoughts, regardless chief! thy 
breast employ? Oh too forgetful of the 
friends of Troy! Those generous 
friends, who, from their country far, 
Breathe their brave souls out in 
another's war. See! where in dust the 
great Sarpedon lies, In action valiant, 
and in council wise, Who guarded right, 
and kept his people free; To all his 
Lycians lost, and lost to thee! 
Stretch'd by Patroclus' arm on yonder 
plains, O save from hostile rage his 
loved remains! Ah let not Greece his 
conquer'd trophies boast, Nor on his 
corse revenge her heroes lost!"

 He spoke: each leader in his grief 
partook: Troy, at the loss, through all 
her legions shook. Transfix'd with deep 
regret, they view o'erthrown At once 
his country's pillar, and their own; A 
chief, who led to Troy's beleaguer'd 
wall A host of heroes, and outshined 
them all. Fired, they rush on; first 
Hector seeks the foes, And with 
superior vengeance greatly glows.

 But o'er the dead the fierce Patroclus 
stands, And rousing Ajax, roused the 
listening bands:

 "Heroes, be men; be what you were 
before; Or weigh the great occasion, 
and be more. The chief who taught our 
lofty walls to yield, Lies pale in 
death, extended on the field. To guard 
his body Troy in numbers flies; Tis 
half the glory to maintain our prize. 
Haste, strip his arms, the slaughter 
round him spread, And send the living 
Lycians to the dead."

 The heroes kindle at his fierce 
command; The martial squadrons close on 
either hand: Here Troy and Lycia charge 
with loud alarms, Thessalia there, and 
Greece, oppose their arms. With horrid 
shouts they circle round the slain; The 
clash of armour rings o'er all the 
plain. Great Jove, to swell the horrors 
of the fight, O'er the fierce armies 
pours pernicious night, And round his 
son confounds the warring hosts, His 
fate ennobling with a crowd of ghosts.

 Now Greece gives way, and great 
Epigeus falls; Agacleus' son, from 
Budium's lofty walls; Who chased for 
murder thence a suppliant came To 
Peleus, and the silver-footed dame; Now 
sent to Troy, Achilles' arms to aid, He 
pays due vengeance to his kinsman's 
shade. Soon as his luckless hand had 
touch'd the dead, A rock's large 
fragment thunder'd on his head; Hurl'd 
by Hectorean force it cleft in twain 
His shatter'd helm, and stretch'd him 
o'er the slain.

 Fierce to the van of fight Patroclus 
came, And, like an eagle darting at his 
game, Sprung on the Trojan and the 
Lycian band. What grief thy heart, what 
fury urged thy hand, O generous Greek! 
when with full vigour thrown, At 
Sthenelaus flew the weighty stone, 
Which sunk him to the dead: when Troy, 
too near That arm, drew back; and 
Hector learn'd to fear. Far as an able 
hand a lance can throw, Or at the 
lists, or at the fighting foe; So far 
the Trojans from their lines retired; 
Till Glaucus, turning, all the rest 
inspired. Then Bathyclaeus fell beneath 
his rage, The only hope of Chalcon's 
trembling age; Wide o'er the land was 
stretch'd his large domain, With 
stately seats, and riches blest in 
vain: Him, bold with youth, and eager 
to pursue The flying Lycians, Glaucus 
met and slew; Pierced through the bosom 
with a sudden wound, He fell, and 
falling made the fields resound. The 
Achaians sorrow for their heroes slain; 
With conquering shouts the Trojans 
shake the plain, And crowd to spoil the 
dead: the Greeks oppose; An iron circle 
round the carcase grows.

 Then brave Laogonus resign'd his 
breath, Despatch'd by Merion to the 
shades of death: On Ida's holy hill he 
made abode, The priest of Jove, and 
honour'd like his god. Between the jaw 
and ear the javelin went; The soul, 
exhaling, issued at the vent. His spear 
Aeneas at the victor threw, Who 
stooping forward from the death 
withdrew; The lance hiss'd harmless 
o'er his covering shield, And trembling 
struck, and rooted in the field; There 
yet scarce spent, it quivers on the 
plain, Sent by the great Aeneas' arm in 
vain. "Swift as thou art (the raging 
hero cries) And skill'd in dancing to 
dispute the prize, My spear, the 
destined passage had it found, Had 
fix'd thy active vigour to the ground."

 "O valiant leader of the Dardan host! 
(Insulted Merion thus retorts the 
boast) Strong as you are, 'tis mortal 
force you trust, An arm as strong may 
stretch thee in the dust. And if to 
this my lance thy fate be given, Vain 
are thy vaunts; success is still from 
heaven: This, instant, sends thee down 
to Pluto's coast; Mine is the glory, 
his thy parting ghost."

 "O friend (Menoetius' son this answer 
gave) With words to combat, ill befits 
the brave; Not empty boasts the sons of 
Troy repel, Your swords must plunge 
them to the shades of hell. To speak, 
beseems the council; but to dare In 
glorious action, is the task of war."

 This said, Patroclus to the battle 
flies; Great Merion follows, and new 
shouts arise: Shields, helmets rattle, 
as the warriors close; And thick and 
heavy sounds the storm of blows. As 
through the shrilling vale, or mountain 
ground, The labours of the woodman's 
axe resound; Blows following blows are 
heard re-echoing wide, While crackling 
forests fall on every side: Thus echoed 
all the fields with loud alarms, So 
fell the warriors, and so rung their 
arms.

 Now great Sarpedon on the sandy shore, 
His heavenly form defaced with dust and 
gore, And stuck with darts by warring 
heroes shed, Lies undistinguish'd from 
the vulgar dead. His long-disputed 
corse the chiefs enclose, On every side 
the busy combat grows; Thick as beneath 
some shepherd's thatch'd abode (The 
pails high foaming with a milky flood) 
The buzzing flies, a persevering train, 
Incessant swarm, and chased return 
again.

 Jove view'd the combat with a stern 
survey, And eyes that flash'd 
intolerable day. Fix'd on the field his 
sight, his breast debates The vengeance 
due, and meditates the fates: Whether 
to urge their prompt effect, and call 
The force of Hector to Patroclus' fall, 
This instant see his short-lived 
trophies won, And stretch him 
breathless on his slaughter'd son; Or 
yet, with many a soul's untimely 
flight, Augment the fame and horror of 
the fight. To crown Achilles' valiant 
friend with praise At length he dooms; 
and, that his last of days Shall set in 
glory, bids him drive the foe; Nor 
unattended see the shades below. Then 
Hector's mind he fills with dire 
dismay; He mounts his car, and calls 
his hosts away; Sunk with Troy's heavy 
fates, he sees decline The scales of 
Jove, and pants with awe divine.

 Then, nor before, the hardy Lycians 
fled, And left their monarch with the 
common dead: Around, in heaps on heaps, 
a dreadful wall Of carnage rises, as 
the heroes fall. (So Jove decreed!) At 
length the Greeks obtain The prize 
contested, and despoil the slain. The 
radiant arms are by Patroclus borne; 
Patroclus' ships the glorious spoils 
adorn.

 Then thus to Phoebus, in the realms 
above, Spoke from his throne the 
cloud-compelling Jove: "Descend, my 
Phoebus! on the Phrygian plain, And 
from the fight convey Sarpedon slain; 
Then bathe his body in the crystal 
flood, With dust dishonour'd, and 
deform'd with blood; O'er all his limbs 
ambrosial odours shed, And with 
celestial robes adorn the dead. Those 
rites discharged, his sacred corse 
bequeath To the soft arms of silent 
Sleep and Death. They to his friends 
the immortal charge shall bear; His 
friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear: 
What honour mortals after death 
receive, Those unavailing honours we 
may give!" 

 SLEEP AND DEATH CONVEYING THE BODY OF 
SARPEDON TO LYCIA. 

 Apollo bows, and from mount Ida's 
height, Swift to the field precipitates 
his flight; Thence from the war the 
breathless hero bore, Veil'd in a 
cloud, to silver Simois' shore; There 
bathed his honourable wounds, and 
dress'd His manly members in the 
immortal vest; And with perfumes of 
sweet ambrosial dews Restores his 
freshness, and his form renews. Then 
Sleep and Death, two twins of winged 
race, Of matchless swiftness, but of 
silent pace, Received Sarpedon, at the 
god's command, And in a moment reach'd 
the Lycian land; The corse amidst his 
weeping friends they laid, Where 
endless honours wait the sacred shade.

 Meanwhile Patroclus pours along the 
plains, With foaming coursers, and with 
loosen'd reins. Fierce on the Trojan 
and the Lycian crew, Ah blind to fate! 
thy headlong fury flew Against what 
fate and powerful Jove ordain, Vain was 
thy friend's command, thy courage vain. 
For he, the god, whose counsels 
uncontroll'd Dismay the mighty, and 
confound the bold; The god who gives, 
resumes, and orders all, He urged thee 
on, and urged thee on to fall.

 Who first, brave hero! by that arm was 
slain, Who last beneath thy vengeance 
press'd the plain; When heaven itself 
thy fatal fury led, And call'd to fill 
the number of the dead? Adrestus first; 
Autonous then succeeds; Echeclus 
follows; next young Megas bleeds, 
Epistor, Melanippus, bite the ground; 
The slaughter, Elasus and Mulius 
crown'd: Then sunk Pylartes to eternal 
night; The rest, dispersing, trust 
their fates to flight.

 Now Troy had stoop'd beneath his 
matchless power, But flaming Phoebus 
kept the sacred tower Thrice at the 
battlements Patroclus strook;(246) His 
blazing aegis thrice Apollo shook; He 
tried the fourth; when, bursting from 
the cloud, A more than mortal voice was 
heard aloud.

 "Patroclus! cease; this 
heaven-defended wall Defies thy lance; 
not fated yet to fall; Thy friend, thy 
greater far, it shall withstand, Troy 
shall not stoop even to Achilles' hand."

 So spoke the god who darts celestial 
fires; The Greek obeys him, and with 
awe retires. While Hector, checking at 
the Scaean gates His panting coursers, 
in his breast debates, Or in the field 
his forces to employ, Or draw the 
troops within the walls of Troy. Thus 
while he thought, beside him Phoebus 
stood, In Asius' shape, who reigned by 
Sangar's flood; (Thy brother, Hecuba! 
from Dymas sprung, A valiant warrior, 
haughty, bold, and young;) Thus he 
accosts him. "What a shameful sight! 
God! is it Hector that forbears the 
fight? Were thine my vigour this 
successful spear Should soon convince 
thee of so false a fear. Turn thee, ah 
turn thee to the field of fame, And in 
Patroclus' blood efface thy shame. 
Perhaps Apollo shall thy arms succeed, 
And heaven ordains him by thy lance to 
bleed."

 So spoke the inspiring god; then took 
his flight, And plunged amidst the 
tumult of the fight. He bids Cebrion 
drive the rapid car; The lash resounds, 
the coursers rush to war. The god the 
Grecians' sinking souls depress'd, And 
pour'd swift spirits through each 
Trojan breast. Patroclus lights, 
impatient for the fight; A spear his 
left, a stone employs his right: With 
all his nerves he drives it at the foe. 
Pointed above, and rough and gross 
below: The falling ruin crush'd 
Cebrion's head, The lawless offspring 
of king Priam's bed; His front, brows, 
eyes, one undistinguish'd wound: The 
bursting balls drop sightless to the 
ground. The charioteer, while yet he 
held the rein, Struck from the car, 
falls headlong on the plain. To the 
dark shades the soul unwilling glides, 
While the proud victor thus his fall 
derides.

 "Good heaven! what active feats yon 
artist shows! What skilful divers are 
our Phrygian foes! Mark with what ease 
they sink into the sand! Pity that all 
their practice is by land!"

 Then rushing sudden on his prostrate 
prize, To spoil the carcase fierce 
Patroclus flies: Swift as a lion, 
terrible and bold, That sweeps the 
field, depopulates the fold; Pierced 
through the dauntless heart, then 
tumbles slain, And from his fatal 
courage finds his bane. At once bold 
Hector leaping from his car, Defends 
the body, and provokes the war. Thus 
for some slaughter'd hind, with equal 
rage, Two lordly rulers of the wood 
engage; Stung with fierce hunger, each 
the prey invades, And echoing roars 
rebellow through the shades. Stern 
Hector fastens on the warrior's head, 
And by the foot Patroclus drags the 
dead: While all around, confusion, 
rage, and fright, Mix the contending 
hosts in mortal fight. So pent by 
hills, the wild winds roar aloud In the 
deep bosom of some gloomy wood; Leaves, 
arms, and trees, aloft in air are 
blown, The broad oaks crackle, and the 
Sylvans groan; This way and that, the 
rattling thicket bends, And the whole 
forest in one crash descends. Not with 
less noise, with less tumultuous rage, 
In dreadful shock the mingled hosts 
engage. Darts shower'd on darts, now 
round the carcase ring; Now flights of 
arrows bounding from the string: Stones 
follow stones; some clatter on the 
fields, Some hard, and heavy, shake the 
sounding shields. But where the rising 
whirlwind clouds the plains, Sunk in 
soft dust the mighty chief remains, 
And, stretch'd in death, forgets the 
guiding reins!

 Now flaming from the zenith, Sol had 
driven His fervid orb through half the 
vault of heaven; While on each host 
with equal tempests fell The showering 
darts, and numbers sank to hell. But 
when his evening wheels o'erhung the 
main, Glad conquest rested on the 
Grecian train. Then from amidst the 
tumult and alarms, They draw the 
conquer'd corse and radiant arms. Then 
rash Patroclus with new fury glows, And 
breathing slaughter, pours amid the 
foes. Thrice on the press like Mars 
himself he flew, And thrice three 
heroes at each onset slew. There ends 
thy glory! there the Fates untwine The 
last, black remnant of so bright a 
line: Apollo dreadful stops thy middle 
way; Death calls, and heaven allows no 
longer day!

 For lo! the god in dusky clouds 
enshrined, Approaching dealt a 
staggering blow behind. The weighty 
shock his neck and shoulders feel; His 
eyes flash sparkles, his stunn'd senses 
reel In giddy darkness; far to distance 
flung, His bounding helmet on the 
champaign rung. Achilles' plume is 
stain'd with dust and gore; That plume 
which never stoop'd to earth before; 
Long used, untouch'd, in fighting 
fields to shine, And shade the temples 
of the mad divine. Jove dooms it now on 
Hector's helm to nod; Not long--for 
fate pursues him, and the god.

 His spear in shivers falls; his ample 
shield Drops from his arm: his baldric 
strows the field: The corslet his 
astonish'd breast forsakes: Loose is 
each joint; each nerve with horror 
shakes; Stupid he stares, and 
all-assistless stands: Such is the 
force of more than mortal hands!

 A Dardan youth there was, well known 
to fame, From Panthus sprung, Euphorbus 
was his name; Famed for the manage of 
the foaming horse, Skill'd in the dart, 
and matchless in the course: Full 
twenty knights he tumbled from the car, 
While yet he learn'd his rudiments of 
war. His venturous spear first drew the 
hero's gore; He struck, he wounded, but 
he durst no more. Nor, though disarm'd, 
Patroclus' fury stood: But swift 
withdrew the long-protended wood. And 
turn'd him short, and herded in the 
crowd. Thus, by an arm divine, and 
mortal spear, Wounded, at once, 
Patroclus yields to fear, Retires for 
succour to his social train, And flies 
the fate, which heaven decreed, in 
vain. Stern Hector, as the bleeding 
chief he views, Breaks through the 
ranks, and his retreat pursues: The 
lance arrests him with a mortal wound; 
He falls, earth thunders, and his arms 
resound. With him all Greece was sunk; 
that moment all Her yet-surviving 
heroes seem'd to fall. So, scorch'd 
with heat, along the desert score, The 
roaming lion meets a bristly boar, Fast 
by the spring; they both dispute the 
flood, With flaming eyes, and jaws 
besmear'd with blood; At length the 
sovereign savage wins the strife; And 
the torn boar resigns his thirst and 
life. Patroclus thus, so many chiefs 
o'erthrown, So many lives effused, 
expires his own. As dying now at 
Hector's feet he lies, He sternly views 
him, and triumphant cries:

 "Lie there, Patroclus! and with thee, 
the joy Thy pride once promised, of 
subverting Troy; The fancied scenes of 
Ilion wrapt in flames, And thy soft 
pleasures served with captive dames. 
Unthinking man! I fought those towers 
to free, And guard that beauteous race 
from lords like thee: But thou a prey 
to vultures shalt be made; Thy own 
Achilles cannot lend thee aid; Though 
much at parting that great chief might 
say, And much enjoin thee, this 
important day.

 'Return not, my brave friend (perhaps 
he said), Without the bloody arms of 
Hector dead.' He spoke, Patroclus 
march'd, and thus he sped."

 Supine, and wildly gazing on the 
skies, With faint, expiring breath, the 
chief replies:

 "Vain boaster! cease, and know the 
powers divine! Jove's and Apollo's is 
this deed, not thine; To heaven is owed 
whate'er your own you call, And heaven 
itself disarm'd me ere my fall. Had 
twenty mortals, each thy match in 
might, Opposed me fairly, they had sunk 
in fight: By fate and Phoebus was I 
first o'erthrown, Euphorbus next; the 
third mean part thy own. But thou, 
imperious! hear my latest breath; The 
gods inspire it, and it sounds thy 
death: Insulting man, thou shalt be 
soon as I; Black fate o'erhangs thee, 
and thy hour draws nigh; Even now on 
life's last verge I see thee stand, I 
see thee fall, and by Achilles' hand."

 He faints: the soul unwilling wings 
her way, (The beauteous body left a 
load of clay) Flits to the lone, 
uncomfortable coast; A naked, 
wandering, melancholy ghost!

 Then Hector pausing, as his eyes he 
fed On the pale carcase, thus address'd 
the dead:

 "From whence this boding speech, the 
stern decree Of death denounced, or why 
denounced to me? Why not as well 
Achilles' fate be given To Hector's 
lance? Who knows the will of heaven?"

 Pensive he said; then pressing as he 
lay His breathless bosom, tore the 
lance away; And upwards cast the corse: 
the reeking spear He shakes, and 
charges the bold charioteer. But swift 
Automedon with loosen'd reins Rapt in 
the chariot o'er the distant plains, 
Far from his rage the immortal coursers 
drove; The immortal coursers were the 
gift of Jove. 

 ĆSCULAPIUS. 

 

BOOK XVII. 

ARGUMENT.

THE SEVENTH BATTLE, FOR THE BODY OF 
PATROCLUS.--THE ACTS OF MENELAUS.

Menelaus, upon the death of Patroclus, 
defends his body from the enemy: 
Euphorbus, who attempts it, is slain. 
Hector advancing, Menelaus retires; but 
soon returns with Ajax, and drives him 
off. This, Glaucus objects to Hector as 
a flight, who thereupon puts on the 
armour he had won from Patroclus, and 
renews the battle. The Greeks give way, 
till Ajax rallies them: Aeneas sustains 
the Trojans. Aeneas and Hector Attempt 
the chariot of Achilles, which is borne 
off by Automedon. The horses of 
Achilles deplore the loss of Patroclus: 
Jupiter covers his body with a thick 
darkness: the noble prayer of Ajax on 
that occasion. Menelaus sends 
Antilochus to Achilles, with the news 
of Patroclus' death: then returns to 
the fight, where, though attacked with 
the utmost fury, he and Meriones, 
assisted by the Ajaces, bear off the 
body to the ships.

The time is the evening of the 
eight-and-twentieth day. The scene lies 
in the fields before Troy.

 On the cold earth divine Patroclus 
spread, Lies pierced with wounds among 
the vulgar dead. Great Menelaus, 
touch'd with generous woe, Springs to 
the front, and guards him from the foe. 
Thus round her new-fallen young the 
heifer moves, Fruit of her throes, and 
first-born of her loves; And anxious 
(helpless as he lies, and bare) Turns, 
and re-turns her, with a mother's care, 
Opposed to each that near the carcase 
came, His broad shield glimmers, and 
his lances flame.

 The son of Panthus, skill'd the dart 
to send, Eyes the dead hero, and 
insults the friend. "This hand, 
Atrides, laid Patroclus low; Warrior! 
desist, nor tempt an equal blow: To me 
the spoils my prowess won, resign: 
Depart with life, and leave the glory 
mine"

 The Trojan thus: the Spartan monarch 
burn'd With generous anguish, and in 
scorn return'd: "Laugh'st thou not, 
Jove! from thy superior throne, When 
mortals boast of prowess not their own? 
Not thus the lion glories in his might, 
Nor panther braves his spotted foe in 
fight, Nor thus the boar (those terrors 
of the plain;) Man only vaunts his 
force, and vaunts in vain. But far the 
vainest of the boastful kind, These 
sons of Panthus vent their haughty 
mind. Yet 'twas but late, beneath my 
conquering steel This boaster's 
brother, Hyperenor, fell; Against our 
arm which rashly he defied, Vain was 
his vigour, and as vain his pride. 
These eyes beheld him on the dust 
expire, No more to cheer his spouse, or 
glad his sire. Presumptuous youth! like 
his shall be thy doom, Go, wait thy 
brother to the Stygian gloom; Or, while 
thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate; 
Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too 
late."

 Unmoved, Euphorbus thus: "That action 
known, Come, for my brother's blood 
repay thy own. His weeping father 
claims thy destined head, And spouse, a 
widow in her bridal bed. On these thy 
conquer'd spoils I shall bestow, To 
soothe a consort's and a parent's woe. 
No longer then defer the glorious 
strife, Let heaven decide our fortune, 
fame, and life."

 Swift as the word the missile lance he 
flings; The well-aim'd weapon on the 
buckler rings, But blunted by the 
brass, innoxious falls. On Jove the 
father great Atrides calls, Nor flies 
the javelin from his arm in vain, It 
pierced his throat, and bent him to the 
plain; Wide through the neck appears 
the grisly wound, Prone sinks the 
warrior, and his arms resound. The 
shining circlets of his golden hair, 
Which even the Graces might be proud to 
wear, Instarr'd with gems and gold, 
bestrow the shore, With dust 
dishonour'd, and deform'd with gore.

 As the young olive, in some sylvan 
scene, Crown'd by fresh fountains with 
eternal green, Lifts the gay head, in 
snowy flowerets fair, And plays and 
dances to the gentle air; When lo! a 
whirlwind from high heaven invades The 
tender plant, and withers all its 
shades; It lies uprooted from its 
genial bed, A lovely ruin now defaced 
and dead: Thus young, thus beautiful, 
Euphorbus lay, While the fierce Spartan 
tore his arms away. Proud of his deed, 
and glorious in the prize, Affrighted 
Troy the towering victor flies: Flies, 
as before some mountain lion's ire The 
village curs and trembling swains 
retire, When o'er the slaughter'd bull 
they hear him roar, And see his jaws 
distil with smoking gore: All pale with 
fear, at distance scatter'd round, They 
shout incessant, and the vales resound.

 Meanwhile Apollo view'd with envious 
eyes, And urged great Hector to dispute 
the prize; (In Mentes' shape, beneath 
whose martial care The rough Ciconians 
learn'd the trade of war;)(247) 
"Forbear (he cried) with fruitless 
speed to chase Achilles' coursers, of 
ethereal race; They stoop not, these, 
to mortal man's command, Or stoop to 
none but great Achilles' hand. Too long 
amused with a pursuit so vain, Turn, 
and behold the brave Euphorbus slain; 
By Sparta slain! for ever now 
suppress'd The fire which burn'd in 
that undaunted breast!"

 Thus having spoke, Apollo wing'd his 
flight, And mix'd with mortals in the 
toils of fight: His words infix'd 
unutterable care Deep in great Hector's 
soul: through all the war He darts his 
anxious eye; and, instant, view'd The 
breathless hero in his blood imbued, 
(Forth welling from the wound, as prone 
he lay) And in the victor's hands the 
shining prey. Sheath'd in bright arms, 
through cleaving ranks he flies, And 
sends his voice in thunder to the 
skies: Fierce as a flood of flame by 
Vulcan sent, It flew, and fired the 
nations as it went. Atrides from the 
voice the storm divined, And thus 
explored his own unconquer'd mind:

 "Then shall I quit Patroclus on the 
plain, Slain in my cause, and for my 
honour slain! Desert the arms, the 
relics, of my friend? Or singly, Hector 
and his troops attend? Sure where such 
partial favour heaven bestow'd, To 
brave the hero were to brave the god: 
Forgive me, Greece, if once I quit the 
field; 'Tis not to Hector, but to 
heaven I yield. Yet, nor the god, nor 
heaven, should give me fear, Did but 
the voice of Ajax reach my ear: Still 
would we turn, still battle on the 
plains, And give Achilles all that yet 
remains Of his and our Patroclus--" 
This, no more The time allow'd: Troy 
thicken'd on the shore. A sable scene! 
The terrors Hector led. Slow he 
recedes, and sighing quits the dead.

 So from the fold the unwilling lion 
parts, Forced by loud clamours, and a 
storm of darts; He flies indeed, but 
threatens as he flies, With heart 
indignant and retorted eyes. Now 
enter'd in the Spartan ranks, he turn'd 
His manly breast, and with new fury 
burn'd; O'er all the black battalions 
sent his view, And through the cloud 
the godlike Ajax knew; Where labouring 
on the left the warrior stood, All grim 
in arms, and cover'd o'er with blood; 
There breathing courage, where the god 
of day Had sunk each heart with terror 
and dismay.

 To him the king: "Oh Ajax, oh my 
friend! Haste, and Patroclus' loved 
remains defend: The body to Achilles to 
restore Demands our care; alas, we can 
no more! For naked now, despoiled of 
arms, he lies; And Hector glories in 
the dazzling prize." He said, and 
touch'd his heart. The raging pair 
Pierced the thick battle, and provoke 
the war. Already had stern Hector 
seized his head, And doom'd to Trojan 
gods the unhappy dead; But soon as Ajax 
rear'd his tower-like shield, Sprung to 
his car, and measured back the field, 
His train to Troy the radiant armour 
bear, To stand a trophy of his fame in 
war.

 Meanwhile great Ajax (his broad shield 
display'd) Guards the dead hero with 
the dreadful shade; And now before, and 
now behind he stood: Thus in the centre 
of some gloomy wood, With many a step, 
the lioness surrounds Her tawny young, 
beset by men and hounds; Elate her 
heart, and rousing all her powers, Dark 
o'er the fiery balls each hanging 
eyebrow lours. Fast by his side the 
generous Spartan glows With great 
revenge, and feeds his inward woes.

 But Glaucus, leader of the Lycian 
aids, On Hector frowning, thus his 
flight upbraids:

 "Where now in Hector shall we Hector 
find? A manly form, without a manly 
mind. Is this, O chief! a hero's 
boasted fame? How vain, without the 
merit, is the name! Since battle is 
renounced, thy thoughts employ What 
other methods may preserve thy Troy: 
'Tis time to try if Ilion's state can 
stand By thee alone, nor ask a foreign 
hand: Mean, empty boast! but shall the 
Lycians stake Their lives for you? 
those Lycians you forsake? What from 
thy thankless arms can we expect? Thy 
friend Sarpedon proves thy base 
neglect; Say, shall our slaughter'd 
bodies guard your walls, While 
unreveng'd the great Sarpedon falls? 
Even where he died for Troy, you left 
him there, A feast for dogs, and all 
the fowls of air. On my command if any 
Lycian wait, Hence let him march, and 
give up Troy to fate. Did such a spirit 
as the gods impart Impel one Trojan 
hand or Trojan heart, (Such as should 
burn in every soul that draws The sword 
for glory, and his country's cause) 
Even yet our mutual arms we might 
employ, And drag yon carcase to the 
walls of Troy. Oh! were Patroclus ours, 
we might obtain Sarpedon's arms and 
honour'd corse again! Greece with 
Achilles' friend should be repaid, And 
thus due honours purchased to his 
shade. But words are vain--Let Ajax 
once appear, And Hector trembles and 
recedes with fear; Thou dar'st not meet 
the terrors of his eye; And lo! already 
thou prepar'st to fly."

 The Trojan chief with fix'd resentment 
eyed The Lycian leader, and sedate 
replied:

 "Say, is it just, my friend, that 
Hector's ear From such a warrior such a 
speech should hear? I deem'd thee once 
the wisest of thy kind, But ill this 
insult suits a prudent mind. I shun 
great Ajax? I desert my train? 'Tis 
mine to prove the rash assertion vain; 
I joy to mingle where the battle 
bleeds, And hear the thunder of the 
sounding steeds. But Jove's high will 
is ever uncontroll'd, The strong he 
withers, and confounds the bold; Now 
crowns with fame the mighty man, and 
now Strikes the fresh garland from the 
victor's brow! Come, through yon 
squadrons let us hew the way, And thou 
be witness, if I fear to-day; If yet a 
Greek the sight of Hector dread, Or yet 
their hero dare defend the dead."

 Then turning to the martial hosts, he 
cries: "Ye Trojans, Dardans, Lycians, 
and allies! Be men, my friends, in 
action as in name, And yet be mindful 
of your ancient fame. Hector in proud 
Achilles' arms shall shine, Torn from 
his friend, by right of conquest mine."

 He strode along the field, as thus he 
said: (The sable plumage nodded o'er 
his head:) Swift through the spacious 
plain he sent a look; One instant saw, 
one instant overtook The distant band, 
that on the sandy shore The radiant 
spoils to sacred Ilion bore. There his 
own mail unbraced the field bestrow'd; 
His train to Troy convey'd the massy 
load. Now blazing in the immortal arms 
he stands; The work and present of 
celestial hands; By aged Peleus to 
Achilles given, As first to Peleus by 
the court of heaven: His father's arms 
not long Achilles wears, Forbid by fate 
to reach his father's years.

 Him, proud in triumph, glittering from 
afar, The god whose thunder rends the 
troubled air Beheld with pity; as apart 
he sat, And, conscious, look'd through 
all the scene of fate. He shook the 
sacred honours of his head; Olympus 
trembled, and the godhead said; "Ah, 
wretched man! unmindful of thy end! A 
moment's glory; and what fates attend! 
In heavenly panoply divinely bright 
Thou stand'st, and armies tremble at 
thy sight, As at Achilles' self! 
beneath thy dart Lies slain the great 
Achilles' dearer part. Thou from the 
mighty dead those arms hast torn, Which 
once the greatest of mankind had worn. 
Yet live! I give thee one illustrious 
day, A blaze of glory ere thou fad'st 
away. For ah! no more Andromache shall 
come With joyful tears to welcome 
Hector home; No more officious, with 
endearing charms, From thy tired limbs 
unbrace Pelides' arms!"

 Then with his sable brow he gave the 
nod That seals his word; the sanction 
of the god. The stubborn arms (by 
Jove's command disposed) Conform'd 
spontaneous, and around him closed: 
Fill'd with the god, enlarged his 
members grew, Through all his veins a 
sudden vigour flew, The blood in 
brisker tides began to roll, And Mars 
himself came rushing on his soul. 
Exhorting loud through all the field he 
strode, And look'd, and moved, 
Achilles, or a god. Now Mesthles, 
Glaucus, Medon, he inspires, Now 
Phorcys, Chromius, and Hippothous 
fires; The great Thersilochus like fury 
found, Asteropaeus kindled at the 
sound, And Ennomus, in augury renown'd.

 "Hear, all ye hosts, and hear, 
unnumber'd bands Of neighbouring 
nations, or of distant lands! 'Twas not 
for state we summon'd you so far, To 
boast our numbers, and the pomp of war: 
Ye came to fight; a valiant foe to 
chase, To save our present, and our 
future race. Tor this, our wealth, our 
products, you enjoy, And glean the 
relics of exhausted Troy. Now then, to 
conquer or to die prepare; To die or 
conquer are the terms of war. Whatever 
hand shall win Patroclus slain, Whoe'er 
shall drag him to the Trojan train, 
With Hector's self shall equal honours 
claim; With Hector part the spoil, and 
share the fame."

 Fired by his words, the troops dismiss 
their fears, They join, they thicken, 
they protend their spears; Full on the 
Greeks they drive in firm array, And 
each from Ajax hopes the glorious prey: 
Vain hope! what numbers shall the field 
o'erspread, What victims perish round 
the mighty dead!

 Great Ajax mark'd the growing storm 
from far, And thus bespoke his brother 
of the war: "Our fatal day, alas! is 
come, my friend; And all our wars and 
glories at an end! 'Tis not this corse 
alone we guard in vain, Condemn'd to 
vultures on the Trojan plain; We too 
must yield: the same sad fate must fall 
On thee, on me, perhaps, my friend, on 
all. See what a tempest direful Hector 
spreads, And lo! it bursts, it thunders 
on our heads! Call on our Greeks, if 
any hear the call, The bravest Greeks: 
this hour demands them all."

 The warrior raised his voice, and wide 
around The field re-echoed the 
distressful sound. "O chiefs! O 
princes, to whose hand is given The 
rule of men; whose glory is from 
heaven! Whom with due honours both 
Atrides grace: Ye guides and guardians 
of our Argive race! All, whom this 
well-known voice shall reach from far, 
All, whom I see not through this cloud 
of war; Come all! let generous rage 
your arms employ, And save Patroclus 
from the dogs of Troy."

 Oilean Ajax first the voice obey'd, 
Swift was his pace, and ready was his 
aid: Next him Idomeneus, more slow with 
age, And Merion, burning with a hero's 
rage. The long-succeeding numbers who 
can name? But all were Greeks, and 
eager all for fame. Fierce to the 
charge great Hector led the throng; 
Whole Troy embodied rush'd with shouts 
along. Thus, when a mountain billow 
foams and raves, Where some swoln river 
disembogues his waves, Full in the 
mouth is stopp'd the rushing tide, The 
boiling ocean works from side to side, 
The river trembles to his utmost shore, 
And distant rocks re-bellow to the roar.

 Nor less resolved, the firm Achaian 
band With brazen shields in horrid 
circle stand. Jove, pouring darkness 
o'er the mingled fight, Conceals the 
warriors' shining helms in night: To 
him, the chief for whom the hosts 
contend Had lived not hateful, for he 
lived a friend: Dead he protects him 
with superior care. Nor dooms his 
carcase to the birds of air. 

 FIGHT FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS. 

 The first attack the Grecians scarce 
sustain, Repulsed, they yield; the 
Trojans seize the slain. Then fierce 
they rally, to revenge led on By the 
swift rage of Ajax Telamon. (Ajax to 
Peleus' son the second name, In 
graceful stature next, and next in 
fame) With headlong force the foremost 
ranks he tore; So through the thicket 
bursts the mountain boar, And rudely 
scatters, for a distance round, The 
frighted hunter and the baying hound. 
The son of Lethus, brave Pelasgus' 
heir, Hippothous, dragg'd the carcase 
through the war; The sinewy ankles 
bored, the feet he bound With thongs 
inserted through the double wound: 
Inevitable fate o'ertakes the deed; 
Doom'd by great Ajax' vengeful lance to 
bleed: It cleft the helmet's brazen 
cheeks in twain; The shatter'd crest 
and horse-hair strow the plain: With 
nerves relax'd he tumbles to the 
ground: The brain comes gushing through 
the ghastly wound: He drops Patroclus' 
foot, and o'er him spread, Now lies a 
sad companion of the dead: Far from 
Larissa lies, his native air, And ill 
requites his parents' tender care. 
Lamented youth! in life's first bloom 
he fell, Sent by great Ajax to the 
shades of hell.

 Once more at Ajax Hector's javelin 
flies; The Grecian marking, as it cut 
the skies, Shunn'd the descending 
death; which hissing on, Stretch'd in 
the dust the great Iphytus' son, 
Schedius the brave, of all the Phocian 
kind The boldest warrior and the 
noblest mind: In little Panope, for 
strength renown'd, He held his seat, 
and ruled the realms around. Plunged in 
his throat, the weapon drank his blood, 
And deep transpiercing through the 
shoulder stood; In clanging arms the 
hero fell and all The fields resounded 
with his weighty fall.

 Phorcys, as slain Hippothous he 
defends, The Telamonian lance his belly 
rends; The hollow armour burst before 
the stroke, And through the wound the 
rushing entrails broke: In strong 
convulsions panting on the sands He 
lies, and grasps the dust with dying 
hands.

 Struck at the sight, recede the Trojan 
train: The shouting Argives strip the 
heroes slain. And now had Troy, by 
Greece compell'd to yield, Fled to her 
ramparts, and resign'd the field; 
Greece, in her native fortitude elate, 
With Jove averse, had turn'd the scale 
of fate: But Phoebus urged Ćneas to the 
fight; He seem'd like aged Periphas to 
sight: (A herald in Anchises' love 
grown old, Revered for prudence, and 
with prudence bold.)

 Thus he--"What methods yet, O chief! 
remain, To save your Troy, though 
heaven its fall ordain? There have been 
heroes, who, by virtuous care, By 
valour, numbers, and by arts of war, 
Have forced the powers to spare a 
sinking state, And gain'd at length the 
glorious odds of fate: But you, when 
fortune smiles, when Jove declares His 
partial favour, and assists your wars, 
Your shameful efforts 'gainst 
yourselves employ, And force the 
unwilling god to ruin Troy."

 Ćneas through the form assumed 
descries The power conceal'd, and thus 
to Hector cries: "Oh lasting shame! to 
our own fears a prey, We seek our 
ramparts, and desert the day. A god, 
nor is he less, my bosom warms, And 
tells me, Jove asserts the Trojan arms."

 He spoke, and foremost to the combat 
flew: The bold example all his hosts 
pursue. Then, first, Leocritus beneath 
him bled, In vain beloved by valiant 
Lycomede; Who view'd his fall, and, 
grieving at the chance, Swift to 
revenge it sent his angry lance; The 
whirling lance, with vigorous force 
address'd, Descends, and pants in 
Apisaon's breast; From rich Paeonia's 
vales the warrior came, Next thee, 
Asteropeus! in place and fame. 
Asteropeus with grief beheld the slain, 
And rush'd to combat, but he rush'd in 
vain: Indissolubly firm, around the 
dead, Rank within rank, on buckler 
buckler spread, And hemm'd with 
bristled spears, the Grecians stood, A 
brazen bulwark, and an iron wood. Great 
Ajax eyes them with incessant care, And 
in an orb contracts the crowded war, 
Close in their ranks commands to fight 
or fall, And stands the centre and the 
soul of all: Fix'd on the spot they 
war, and wounded, wound A sanguine 
torrent steeps the reeking ground: On 
heaps the Greeks, on heaps the Trojans 
bled, And, thickening round them, rise 
the hills of dead.

 Greece, in close order, and collected 
might, Yet suffers least, and sways the 
wavering fight; Fierce as conflicting 
fires the combat burns, And now it 
rises, now it sinks by turns. In one 
thick darkness all the fight was lost; 
The sun, the moon, and all the ethereal 
host Seem'd as extinct: day ravish'd 
from their eyes, And all heaven's 
splendours blotted from the skies. Such 
o'er Patroclus' body hung the night, 
The rest in sunshine fought, and open 
light; Unclouded there, the aerial 
azure spread, No vapour rested on the 
mountain's head, The golden sun pour'd 
forth a stronger ray, And all the broad 
expansion flamed with day. Dispersed 
around the plain, by fits they fight, 
And here and there their scatter'd 
arrows light: But death and darkness 
o'er the carcase spread, There burn'd 
the war, and there the mighty bled.

 Meanwhile the sons of Nestor, in the 
rear, (Their fellows routed,) toss the 
distant spear, And skirmish wide: so 
Nestor gave command, When from the 
ships he sent the Pylian band. The 
youthful brothers thus for fame 
contend, Nor knew the fortune of 
Achilles' friend; In thought they 
view'd him still, with martial joy, 
Glorious in arms, and dealing death to 
Troy.

 But round the corse the heroes pant 
for breath, And thick and heavy grows 
the work of death: O'erlabour'd now, 
with dust, and sweat, and gore, Their 
knees, their legs, their feet, are 
covered o'er; Drops follow drops, the 
clouds on clouds arise, And carnage 
clogs their hands, and darkness fills 
their eyes. As when a slaughter'd 
bull's yet reeking hide, Strain'd with 
full force, and tugg'd from side to 
side, The brawny curriers stretch; and 
labour o'er The extended surface, drunk 
with fat and gore: So tugging round the 
corse both armies stood; The mangled 
body bathed in sweat and blood; While 
Greeks and Ilians equal strength 
employ, Now to the ships to force it, 
now to Troy. Not Pallas' self, her 
breast when fury warms, Nor he whose 
anger sets the world in arms, Could 
blame this scene; such rage, such 
horror reign'd; Such, Jove to honour 
the great dead ordain'd.

 Achilles in his ships at distance lay, 
Nor knew the fatal fortune of the day; 
He, yet unconscious of Patroclus' fall, 
In dust extended under Ilion's wall, 
Expects him glorious from the conquered 
plain, And for his wish'd return 
prepares in vain; Though well he knew, 
to make proud Ilion bend Was more than 
heaven had destined to his friend. 
Perhaps to him: this Thetis had 
reveal'd; The rest, in pity to her son, 
conceal'd.

 Still raged the conflict round the 
hero dead, And heaps on heaps by mutual 
wounds they bled. "Cursed be the man 
(even private Greeks would say) Who 
dares desert this well-disputed day! 
First may the cleaving earth before our 
eyes Gape wide, and drink our blood for 
sacrifice; First perish all, ere 
haughty Troy shall boast We lost 
Patroclus, and our glory lost!"

 Thus they: while with one voice the 
Trojans said, "Grant this day, Jove! or 
heap us on the dead!"

 Then clash their sounding arms; the 
clangours rise, And shake the brazen 
concave of the skies.

 Meantime, at distance from the scene 
of blood, The pensive steeds of great 
Achilles stood: Their godlike master 
slain before their eyes, They wept, and 
shared in human miseries.(248) In vain 
Automedon now shakes the rein, Now 
plies the lash, and soothes and threats 
in vain; Nor to the fight nor 
Hellespont they go, Restive they stood, 
and obstinate in woe: Still as a 
tombstone, never to be moved, On some 
good man or woman unreproved Lays its 
eternal weight; or fix'd, as stands A 
marble courser by the sculptor's hands, 
Placed on the hero's grave. Along their 
face The big round drops coursed down 
with silent pace, Conglobing on the 
dust. Their manes, that late Circled 
their arched necks, and waved in state, 
Trail'd on the dust beneath the yoke 
were spread, And prone to earth was 
hung their languid head: Nor Jove 
disdain'd to cast a pitying look, While 
thus relenting to the steeds he spoke:

 "Unhappy coursers of immortal strain, 
Exempt from age, and deathless, now in 
vain; Did we your race on mortal man 
bestow, Only, alas! to share in mortal 
woe? For ah! what is there of inferior 
birth, That breathes or creeps upon the 
dust of earth; What wretched creature 
of what wretched kind, Than man more 
weak, calamitous, and blind? A 
miserable race! but cease to mourn: For 
not by you shall Priam's son be borne 
High on the splendid car: one glorious 
prize He rashly boasts: the rest our 
will denies. Ourself will swiftness to 
your nerves impart, Ourself with rising 
spirits swell your heart. Automedon 
your rapid flight shall bear Safe to 
the navy through the storm of war. For 
yet 'tis given to Troy to ravage o'er 
The field, and spread her slaughters to 
the shore; The sun shall see her 
conquer, till his fall With sacred 
darkness shades the face of all."

 He said; and breathing in the immortal 
horse Excessive spirit, urged them to 
the course; From their high manes they 
shake the dust, and bear The kindling 
chariot through the parted war: So 
flies a vulture through the clamorous 
train Of geese, that scream, and 
scatter round the plain. From danger 
now with swiftest speed they flew, And 
now to conquest with like speed pursue; 
Sole in the seat the charioteer 
remains, Now plies the javelin, now 
directs the reins: Him brave Alcimedon 
beheld distress'd, Approach'd the 
chariot, and the chief address'd:

 "What god provokes thee rashly thus to 
dare, Alone, unaided, in the thickest 
war? Alas! thy friend is slain, and 
Hector wields Achilles' arms triumphant 
in the fields."

 "In happy time (the charioteer 
replies) The bold Alcimedon now greets 
my eyes; No Greek like him the heavenly 
steeds restrains, Or holds their fury 
in suspended reins: Patroclus, while he 
lived, their rage could tame, But now 
Patroclus is an empty name! To thee I 
yield the seat, to thee resign The 
ruling charge: the task of fight be 
mine."

 He said. Alcimedon, with active heat, 
Snatches the reins, and vaults into the 
seat. His friend descends. The chief of 
Troy descried, And call'd Ćneas 
fighting near his side.

 "Lo, to my sight, beyond our hope 
restored, Achilles' car, deserted of 
its lord! The glorious steeds our ready 
arms invite, Scarce their weak drivers 
guide them through the fight. Can such 
opponents stand when we assail? Unite 
thy force, my friend, and we prevail."

 The son of Venus to the counsel 
yields; Then o'er their backs they 
spread their solid shields: With brass 
refulgent the broad surface shined, And 
thick bull-hides the spacious concave 
lined. Them Chromius follows, Aretus 
succeeds; Each hopes the conquest of 
the lofty steeds: In vain, brave 
youths, with glorious hopes ye burn, In 
vain advance! not fated to return.

 Unmov'd, Automedon attends the fight, 
Implores the Eternal, and collects his 
might. Then turning to his friend, with 
dauntless mind: "Oh keep the foaming 
coursers close behind! Full on my 
shoulders let their nostrils blow, For 
hard the fight, determined is the foe; 
'Tis Hector comes: and when he seeks 
the prize, War knows no mean; he wins 
it or he dies."

 Then through the field he sends his 
voice aloud, And calls the Ajaces from 
the warring crowd, With great Atrides. 
"Hither turn, (he said,) Turn where 
distress demands immediate aid; The 
dead, encircled by his friends, forego, 
And save the living from a fiercer foe. 
Unhelp'd we stand, unequal to engage 
The force of Hector, and Ćneas' rage: 
Yet mighty as they are, my force to 
prove Is only mine: the event belongs 
to Jove."

 He spoke, and high the sounding 
javelin flung, Which pass'd the shield 
of Aretus the young: It pierced his 
belt, emboss'd with curious art, Then 
in the lower belly struck the dart. As 
when a ponderous axe, descending full, 
Cleaves the broad forehead of some 
brawny bull:(249) Struck 'twixt the 
horns, he springs with many a bound, 
Then tumbling rolls enormous on the 
ground: Thus fell the youth; the air 
his soul received, And the spear 
trembled as his entrails heaved.

 Now at Automedon the Trojan foe 
Discharged his lance; the meditated 
blow, Stooping, he shunn'd; the javelin 
idly fled, And hiss'd innoxious o'er 
the hero's head; Deep rooted in the 
ground, the forceful spear In long 
vibrations spent its fury there. With 
clashing falchions now the chiefs had 
closed, But each brave Ajax heard, and 
interposed; Nor longer Hector with his 
Trojans stood, But left their slain 
companion in his blood: His arms 
Automedon divests, and cries, "Accept, 
Patroclus, this mean sacrifice: Thus 
have I soothed my griefs, and thus have 
paid, Poor as it is, some offering to 
thy shade."

 So looks the lion o'er a mangled boar, 
All grim with rage, and horrible with 
gore; High on the chariot at one bound 
he sprung, And o'er his seat the bloody 
trophies hung.

 And now Minerva from the realms of air 
Descends impetuous, and renews the war; 
For, pleased at length the Grecian arms 
to aid, The lord of thunders sent the 
blue-eyed maid. As when high Jove 
denouncing future woe, O'er the dark 
clouds extends his purple bow, (In sign 
of tempests from the troubled air, Or 
from the rage of man, destructive war,) 
The drooping cattle dread the impending 
skies, And from his half-till'd field 
the labourer flies: In such a form the 
goddess round her drew A livid cloud, 
and to the battle flew. Assuming 
Phoenix' shape on earth she falls, And 
in his well-known voice to Sparta 
calls: "And lies Achilles' friend, 
beloved by all, A prey to dogs beneath 
the Trojan wall? What shame 'o Greece 
for future times to tell, To thee the 
greatest in whose cause he fell!" "O 
chief, O father! (Atreus' son replies) 
O full of days! by long experience 
wise! What more desires my soul, than 
here unmoved To guard the body of the 
man I loved? Ah, would Minerva send me 
strength to rear This wearied arm, and 
ward the storm of war! But Hector, like 
the rage of fire, we dread, And Jove's 
own glories blaze around his head!"

 Pleased to be first of all the powers 
address'd, She breathes new vigour in 
her hero's breast, And fills with keen 
revenge, with fell despite, Desire of 
blood, and rage, and lust of fight. So 
burns the vengeful hornet (soul all 
o'er), Repulsed in vain, and thirsty 
still of gore; (Bold son of air and 
heat) on angry wings Untamed, untired, 
he turns, attacks, and stings. Fired 
with like ardour fierce Atrides flew, 
And sent his soul with every lance he 
threw.

 There stood a Trojan, not unknown to 
fame, Aetion's son, and Podes was his 
name: With riches honour'd, and with 
courage bless'd, By Hector loved, his 
comrade, and his guest; Through his 
broad belt the spear a passage found, 
And, ponderous as he falls, his arms 
resound. Sudden at Hector's side Apollo 
stood, Like Phaenops, Asius' son, 
appear'd the god; (Asius the great, who 
held his wealthy reign In fair Abydos, 
by the rolling main.)

 "Oh prince! (he cried) Oh foremost 
once in fame! What Grecian now shall 
tremble at thy name? Dost thou at 
length to Menelaus yield, A chief once 
thought no terror of the field? Yet 
singly, now, the long-disputed prize He 
bears victorious, while our army flies: 
By the same arm illustrious Podes bled; 
The friend of Hector, unrevenged, is 
dead!" This heard, o'er Hector spreads 
a cloud of woe, Rage lifts his lance, 
and drives him on the foe.

 But now the Eternal shook his sable 
shield, That shaded Ide and all the 
subject field Beneath its ample verge. 
A rolling cloud Involved the mount; the 
thunder roar'd aloud; The affrighted 
hills from their foundations nod, And 
blaze beneath the lightnings of the 
god: At one regard of his all-seeing 
eye The vanquish'd triumph, and the 
victors fly.

 Then trembled Greece: the flight 
Peneleus led; For as the brave Boeotian 
turn'd his head To face the foe, 
Polydamas drew near, And razed his 
shoulder with a shorten'd spear: By 
Hector wounded, Leitus quits the plain, 
Pierced through the wrist; and raging 
with the pain, Grasps his once 
formidable lance in vain.

 As Hector follow'd, Idomen address'd 
The flaming javelin to his manly 
breast; The brittle point before his 
corslet yields; Exulting Troy with 
clamour fills the fields: High on his 
chariots the Cretan stood, The son of 
Priam whirl'd the massive wood. But 
erring from its aim, the impetuous 
spear Struck to the dust the squire and 
charioteer Of martial Merion: Coeranus 
his name, Who left fair Lyctus for the 
fields of fame. On foot bold Merion 
fought; and now laid low, Had graced 
the triumphs of his Trojan foe, But the 
brave squire the ready coursers 
brought, And with his life his master's 
safety bought. Between his cheek and 
ear the weapon went, The teeth it 
shatter'd, and the tongue it rent. 
Prone from the seat he tumbles to the 
plain; His dying hand forgets the 
falling rein: This Merion reaches, 
bending from the car, And urges to 
desert the hopeless war: Idomeneus 
consents; the lash applies; And the 
swift chariot to the navy flies.

 Not Ajax less the will of heaven 
descried, And conquest shifting to the 
Trojan side, Turn'd by the hand of 
Jove. Then thus begun, To Atreus's 
seed, the godlike Telamon:

 "Alas! who sees not Jove's almighty 
hand Transfers the glory to the Trojan 
band? Whether the weak or strong 
discharge the dart, He guides each 
arrow to a Grecian heart: Not so our 
spears; incessant though they rain, He 
suffers every lance to fall in vain. 
Deserted of the god, yet let us try 
What human strength and prudence can 
supply; If yet this honour'd corse, in 
triumph borne, May glad the fleets that 
hope not our return, Who tremble yet, 
scarce rescued from their fates, And 
still hear Hector thundering at their 
gates. Some hero too must be despatch'd 
to bear The mournful message to 
Pelides' ear; For sure he knows not, 
distant on the shore, His friend, his 
loved Patroclus, is no more. But such a 
chief I spy not through the host: The 
men, the steeds, the armies, all are 
lost In general darkness--Lord of earth 
and air! Oh king! Oh father! hear my 
humble prayer: Dispel this cloud, the 
light of heaven restore; Give me to 
see, and Ajax asks no more: If Greece 
must perish, we thy will obey, But let 
us perish in the face of day!"

 With tears the hero spoke, and at his 
prayer The god relenting clear'd the 
clouded air; Forth burst the sun with 
all-enlightening ray; The blaze of 
armour flash'd against the day. "Now, 
now, Atrides! cast around thy sight; If 
yet Antilochus survives the fight, Let 
him to great Achilles' ear convey The 
fatal news"--Atrides hastes away.

 So turns the lion from the nightly 
fold, Though high in courage, and with 
hunger bold, Long gall'd by herdsmen, 
and long vex'd by hounds, Stiff with 
fatigue, and fretted sore with wounds; 
The darts fly round him from a hundred 
hands, And the red terrors of the 
blazing brands: Till late, reluctant, 
at the dawn of day Sour he departs, and 
quits the untasted prey, So moved 
Atrides from his dangerous place With 
weary limbs, but with unwilling pace; 
The foe, he fear'd, might yet Patroclus 
gain, And much admonish'd, much adjured 
his train:

 "O guard these relics to your charge 
consign'd, And bear the merits of the 
dead in mind; How skill'd he was in 
each obliging art; The mildest manners, 
and the gentlest heart: He was, alas! 
but fate decreed his end, In death a 
hero, as in life a friend!"

 So parts the chief; from rank to rank 
he flew, And round on all sides sent 
his piercing view. As the bold bird, 
endued with sharpest eye Of all that 
wings the mid aerial sky, The sacred 
eagle, from his walks above Looks down, 
and sees the distant thicket move; Then 
stoops, and sousing on the quivering 
hare, Snatches his life amid the clouds 
of air. Not with less quickness, his 
exerted sight Pass'd this and that way, 
through the ranks of fight: Till on the 
left the chief he sought, he found, 
Cheering his men, and spreading deaths 
around:

 To him the king: "Beloved of Jove! 
draw near, For sadder tidings never 
touch'd thy ear; Thy eyes have 
witness'd what a fatal turn! How Ilion 
triumphs, and the Achaians mourn. This 
is not all: Patroclus, on the shore Now 
pale and dead, shall succour Greece no 
more. Fly to the fleet, this instant 
fly, and tell The sad Achilles, how his 
loved-one fell: He too may haste the 
naked corse to gain: The arms are 
Hector's, who despoil'd the slain."

 The youthful warrior heard with silent 
woe, From his fair eyes the tears began 
to flow: Big with the mighty grief, he 
strove to say What sorrow dictates, but 
no word found way. To brave Laodocus 
his arms he flung, Who, near him 
wheeling, drove his steeds along; Then 
ran the mournful message to impart, 
With tearful eyes, and with dejected 
heart.

 Swift fled the youth: nor Menelaus 
stands (Though sore distress'd) to aid 
the Pylian bands; But bids bold 
Thrasymede those troops sustain; 
Himself returns to his Patroclus slain. 
"Gone is Antilochus (the hero said); 
But hope not, warriors, for Achilles' 
aid: Though fierce his rage, unbounded 
be his woe, Unarm'd, he fights not with 
the Trojan foe. 'Tis in our hands alone 
our hopes remain, 'Tis our own vigour 
must the dead regain, And save 
ourselves, while with impetuous hate 
Troy pours along, and this way rolls 
our fate."

 "'Tis well (said Ajax), be it then thy 
care, With Merion's aid, the weighty 
corse to rear; Myself, and my bold 
brother will sustain The shock of 
Hector and his charging train: Nor fear 
we armies, fighting side by side; What 
Troy can dare, we have already tried, 
Have tried it, and have stood." The 
hero said. High from the ground the 
warriors heave the dead. A general 
clamour rises at the sight: Loud shout 
the Trojans, and renew the fight. Not 
fiercer rush along the gloomy wood, 
With rage insatiate, and with thirst of 
blood, Voracious hounds, that many a 
length before Their furious hunters, 
drive the wounded boar; But if the 
savage turns his glaring eye, They howl 
aloof, and round the forest fly. Thus 
on retreating Greece the Trojans pour, 
Wave their thick falchions, and their 
javelins shower: But Ajax turning, to 
their fears they yield, All pale they 
tremble and forsake the field.

 While thus aloft the hero's corse they 
bear, Behind them rages all the storm 
of war: Confusion, tumult, horror, o'er 
the throng Of men, steeds, chariots, 
urged the rout along: Less fierce the 
winds with rising flames conspire To 
whelm some city under waves of fire; 
Now sink in gloomy clouds the proud 
abodes, Now crack the blazing temples 
of the gods; The rumbling torrent 
through the ruin rolls, And sheets of 
smoke mount heavy to the poles. The 
heroes sweat beneath their honour'd 
load: As when two mules, along the 
rugged road, From the steep mountain 
with exerted strength Drag some vast 
beam, or mast's unwieldy length; Inly 
they groan, big drops of sweat distil, 
The enormous timber lumbering down the 
hill: So these--Behind, the bulk of 
Ajax stands, And breaks the torrent of 
the rushing bands. Thus when a river 
swell'd with sudden rains Spreads his 
broad waters o'er the level plains, 
Some interposing hill the stream 
divides. And breaks its force, and 
turns the winding tides. Still close 
they follow, close the rear engage; 
Aeneas storms, and Hector foams with 
rage: While Greece a heavy, thick 
retreat maintains, Wedged in one body, 
like a flight of cranes, That shriek 
incessant, while the falcon, hung High 
on poised pinions, threats their callow 
young. So from the Trojan chiefs the 
Grecians fly, Such the wild terror, and 
the mingled cry: Within, without the 
trench, and all the way, Strow'd in 
bright heaps, their arms and armour 
lay; Such horror Jove impress'd! yet 
still proceeds The work of death, and 
still the battle bleeds.