{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6130/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6130","id":"gutenberg_6130","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6130","summary":null,"tags":["Achilles (Mythological character) -- Poetry","Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Classical Antiquity","Classical literature","Epic poetry, Greek -- Translations into English","Trojan War -- Poetry"],"text":"The\nIliad of Homer\n\nTranslated by\nAlexander Pope,\n\nWith Notes and Introduction\nby the\nRev. Theodore Alois Buckley, M.A., F.S.A.\n\nand\nFlaxman\u2019s Designs.\n\n1899\n\n\nContents\n\n INTRODUCTION.\n POPE\u2019S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER\n\n THE ILIAD\n BOOK I.\n BOOK II.\n BOOK III.\n BOOK IV.\n BOOK V.\n BOOK VI.\n BOOK VII.\n BOOK VIII.\n BOOK IX.\n BOOK X.\n BOOK XI.\n BOOK XII.\n BOOK XIII.\n BOOK XIV.\n BOOK XV.\n BOOK XVI.\n BOOK XVII.\n BOOK XVIII.\n BOOK XIX.\n BOOK XX.\n BOOK XXI.\n BOOK XXII.\n BOOK XXIII.\n BOOK XXIV.\n\n CONCLUDING NOTE.\n\n\n\n\nIllustrations\n\n HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE\n MARS\n MINERVA REPRESSING THE FURY OF ACHILLES\n THE DEPARTURE OF BRISEIS FROM THE TENT OF ACHILLES\n THETIS CALLING BRIAREUS TO THE ASSISTANCE OF JUPITER\n THETIS ENTREATING JUPITER TO HONOUR ACHILLES\n VULCAN\n JUPITER\n THE APOTHEOSIS OF HOMER\n JUPITER SENDING THE EVIL DREAM TO AGAMEMNON\n NEPTUNE\n VENUS, DISGUISED, INVITING HELEN TO THE CHAMBER OF PARIS\n VENUS PRESENTING HELEN TO PARIS\n VENUS\n Map, titled \u201cGR\u00c6CI\u00c6 ANTIQU\u00c6\u201d\n THE COUNCIL OF THE GODS\n Map of the Plain of Troy\n VENUS, WOUNDED IN THE HAND, CONDUCTED BY IRIS TO MARS\n OTUS AND EPHIALTES HOLDING MARS CAPTIVE\n DIOMED CASTING HIS SPEAR AT MARS\n JUNO\n HECTOR CHIDING PARIS\n THE MEETING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE\n BOWS AND BOW CASE\n IRIS\n HECTOR AND AJAX SEPARATED BY THE HERALDS\n GREEK AMPHORA\u2014WINE VESSELS\n JUNO AND MINERVA GOING TO ASSIST THE GREEKS\n THE HOURS TAKING THE HORSES FROM JUNO\u2019S CAR\n THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES\n PLUTO\n THE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES\n GREEK GALLEY\n PROSERPINE\n ACHILLES\n DIOMED AND ULYSSES RETURNING WITH THE SPOILS OF RHESUS\n THE DESCENT OF DISCORD\n HERCULES\n POLYDAMAS ADVISING HECTOR\n GREEK ALTAR\n NEPTUNE RISING FROM THE SEA\n GREEK EARRINGS\n SLEEP ESCAPING FROM THE WRATH OF JUPITER\n GREEK SHIELD\n BACCHUS\n AJAX DEFENDING THE GREEK SHIPS\n CASTOR AND POLLUX\n Buckles\n DIANA\n SLEEP AND DEATH CONVEYING THE BODY OF SARPEDON TO LYCIA\n \u00c6SCULAPIUS\n FIGHT FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS\n VULCAN FROM AN ANTIQUE GEM\n THETIS ORDERING THE NEREIDS TO DESCEND INTO THE SEA\n JUNO COMMANDING THE SUN TO SET\n TRIPOD\n THETIS AND EURYNOME RECEIVING THE INFANT VULCAN\n VULCAN AND CHARIS RECEIVING THETIS\n THETIS BRINGING THE ARMOUR TO ACHILLES\n HERCULES\n THE GODS DESCENDING TO BATTLE\n CENTAUR\n ACHILLES CONTENDING WITH THE RIVERS\n THE BATH\n ANDROMACHE FAINTING ON THE WALL\n THE FUNERAL PILE OF PATROCLUS\n CERES\n HECTOR\u2019S BODY AT THE CAR OF ACHILLES\n THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS\n IRIS ADVISES PRIAM TO OBTAIN THE BODY OF HECTOR\n FUNERAL OF HECTOR\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nScepticism is as much the result of knowledge, as knowledge is of\nscepticism. To be content with what we at present know, is, for the\nmost part, to shut our ears against conviction; since, from the very\ngradual character of our education, we must continually forget, and\nemancipate ourselves from, knowledge previously acquired; we must set\naside old notions and embrace fresh ones; and, as we learn, we must be\ndaily unlearning something which it has cost us no small labour and\nanxiety to acquire.\n\nAnd this difficulty attaches itself more closely to an age in which\nprogress has gained a strong ascendency over prejudice, and in which\npersons and things are, day by day, finding their real level, in lieu\nof their conventional value. The same principles which have swept away\ntraditional abuses, and which are making rapid havoc among the revenues\nof sinecurists, and stripping the thin, tawdry veil from attractive\nsuperstitions, are working as actively in literature as in society. The\ncredulity of one writer, or the partiality of another, finds as\npowerful a touchstone and as wholesome a chastisement in the healthy\nscepticism of a temperate class of antagonists, as the dreams of\nconservatism, or the impostures of pluralist sinecures in the Church.\nHistory and tradition, whether of ancient or comparatively recent\ntimes, are subjected to very different handling from that which the\nindulgence or credulity of former ages could allow. Mere statements are\njealously watched, and the motives of the writer form as important an\ningredient in the analysis of his history, as the facts he records.\nProbability is a powerful and troublesome test; and it is by this\ntroublesome standard that a large portion of historical evidence is\nsifted. Consistency is no less pertinacious and exacting in its\ndemands. In brief, to write a history, we must know more than mere\nfacts. Human nature, viewed under an induction of extended experience,\nis the best help to the criticism of human history. Historical\ncharacters can only be estimated by the standard which human\nexperience, whether actual or traditionary, has furnished. To form\ncorrect views of individuals we must regard them as forming parts of a\ngreat whole\u2014we must measure them by their relation to the mass of\nbeings by whom they are surrounded, and, in contemplating the incidents\nin their lives or condition which tradition has handed down to us, we\nmust rather consider the general bearing of the whole narrative, than\nthe respective probability of its details.\n\nIt is unfortunate for us, that, of some of the greatest men, we know\nleast, and talk most. Homer, Socrates, and Shakespere[1] have, perhaps,\ncontributed more to the intellectual enlightenment of mankind than any\nother three writers who could be named, and yet the history of all\nthree has given rise to a boundless ocean of discussion, which has left\nus little save the option of choosing which theory or theories we will\nfollow. The personality of Shakespere is, perhaps, the only thing in\nwhich critics will allow us to believe without controversy; but upon\neverything else, even down to the authorship of plays, there is more or\nless of doubt and uncertainty. Of Socrates we know as little as the\ncontradictions of Plato and Xenophon will allow us to know. He was one\nof the _dramatis person\u00e6_ in two dramas as unlike in principles as in\nstyle. He appears as the enunciator of opinions as different in their\ntone as those of the writers who have handed them down. When we have\nread Plato _or_ Xenophon, we think we know something of Socrates; when\nwe have fairly read and examined both, we feel convinced that we are\nsomething worse than ignorant.\n\nIt has been an easy, and a popular expedient, of late years, to deny\nthe personal or real existence of men and things whose life and\ncondition were too much for our belief. This system\u2014which has often\ncomforted the religious sceptic, and substituted the consolations of\nStrauss for those of the New Testament\u2014has been of incalculable value\nto the historical theorists of the last and present centuries. To\nquestion the existence of Alexander the Great, would be a more\nexcusable act, than to believe in that of Romulus. To deny a fact\nrelated in Herodotus, because it is inconsistent with a theory\ndeveloped from an Assyrian inscription which no two scholars read in\nthe same way, is more pardonable, than to believe in the good-natured\nold king whom the elegant pen of Florian has idealized\u2014_Numa\nPompilius._\n\nScepticism has attained its culminating point with respect to Homer,\nand the state of our Homeric knowledge may be described as a free\npermission to believe any theory, provided we throw overboard all\nwritten tradition, concerning the author or authors of the Iliad and\nOdyssey. What few authorities exist on the subject, are summarily\ndismissed, although the arguments appear to run in a circle. \u201cThis\ncannot be true, because it is not true; and, that is not true, because\nit cannot be true.\u201d Such seems to be the style, in which testimony upon\ntestimony, statement upon statement, is consigned to denial and\noblivion.\n\nIt is, however, unfortunate that the professed biographies of Homer are\npartly forgeries, partly freaks of ingenuity and imagination, in which\ntruth is the requisite most wanting. Before taking a brief review of\nthe Homeric theory in its present conditions, some notice must be taken\nof the treatise on the Life of Homer which has been attributed to\nHerodotus.\n\nAccording to this document, the city of Cum\u00e6 in \u00c6olia, was, at an\nearly period, the seat of frequent immigrations from various parts of\nGreece. Among the immigrants was Menapolus, the son of Ithagenes.\nAlthough poor, he married, and the result of the union was a girl named\nCrithe\u00efs. The girl was left an orphan at an early age, under the\nguardianship of Cleanax, of Argos. It is to the indiscretion of this\nmaiden that we \u201care indebted for so much happiness.\u201d Homer was the\nfirst fruit of her juvenile frailty, and received the name of\nMelesigenes, from having been born near the river Meles, in B\u0153otia,\nwhither Crithe\u00efs had been transported in order to save her reputation.\n\n\u201cAt this time,\u201d continues our narrative, \u201cthere lived at Smyrna a man\nnamed Phemius, a teacher of literature and music, who, not being\nmarried, engaged Crithe\u00efs to manage his household, and spin the flax he\nreceived as the price of his scholastic labours. So satisfactory was\nher performance of this task, and so modest her conduct, that he made\nproposals of marriage, declaring himself, as a further inducement,\nwilling to adopt her son, who, he asserted, would become a clever man,\nif he were carefully brought up.\u201d\n\nThey were married; careful cultivation ripened the talents which nature\nhad bestowed, and Melesigenes soon surpassed his schoolfellows in every\nattainment, and, when older, rivalled his preceptor in wisdom. Phemius\ndied, leaving him sole heir to his property, and his mother soon\nfollowed. Melesigenes carried on his adopted father\u2019s school with great\nsuccess, exciting the admiration not only of the inhabitants of Smyrna,\nbut also of the strangers whom the trade carried on there, especially\nin the exportation of corn, attracted to that city. Among these\nvisitors, one Mentes, from Leucadia, the modern Santa Maura, who\nevinced a knowledge and intelligence rarely found in those times,\npersuaded Melesigenes to close his school, and accompany him on his\ntravels. He promised not only to pay his expenses, but to furnish him\nwith a further stipend, urging, that, \u201cWhile he was yet young, it was\nfitting that he should see with his own eyes the countries and cities\nwhich might hereafter be the subjects of his discourses.\u201d Melesigenes\nconsented, and set out with his patron, \u201cexamining all the curiosities\nof the countries they visited, and informing himself of everything by\ninterrogating those whom he met.\u201d We may also suppose, that he wrote\nmemoirs of all that he deemed worthy of preservation.[2] Having set\nsail from Tyrrhenia and Iberia, they reached Ithaca. Here Melesigenes,\nwho had already suffered in his eyes, became much worse, and Mentes,\nwho was about to leave for Leucadia, left him to the medical\nsuperintendence of a friend of his, named Mentor, the son of Alcinor.\nUnder his hospitable and intelligent host, Melesigenes rapidly became\nacquainted with the legends respecting Ulysses, which afterwards formed\nthe subject of the Odyssey. The inhabitants of Ithaca assert, that it\nwas here that Melesigenes became blind, but the Colophomans make their\ncity the seat of that misfortune. He then returned to Smyrna, where he\napplied himself to the study of poetry.[3]\n\nBut poverty soon drove him to Cum\u00e6. Having passed over the Herm\u00e6an\nplain, he arrived at Neon Teichos, the New Wall, a colony of Cum\u00e6.\nHere his misfortunes and poetical talent gained him the friendship of\none Tychias, an armourer. \u201cAnd up to my time,\u201d continued the author,\n\u201cthe inhabitants showed the place where he used to sit when giving a\nrecitation of his verses, and they greatly honoured the spot. Here also\na poplar grew, which they said had sprung up ever since Melesigenes\narrived\u201d.[4]\n\nBut poverty still drove him on, and he went by way of Larissa, as being\nthe most convenient road. Here, the Cumans say, he composed an epitaph\non Gordius, king of Phrygia, which has however, and with greater\nprobability, been attributed to Cleobulus of Lindus.[5]\n\nArrived at Cum\u00e6, he frequented the _converzationes_[6] of the old men,\nand delighted all by the charms of his poetry. Encouraged by this\nfavourable reception, he declared that, if they would allow him a\npublic maintenance, he would render their city most gloriously\nrenowned. They avowed their willingness to support him in the measure\nhe proposed, and procured him an audience in the council. Having made\nthe speech, with the purport of which our author has forgotten to\nacquaint us, he retired, and left them to debate respecting the answer\nto be given to his proposal.\n\nThe greater part of the assembly seemed favourable to the poet\u2019s\ndemand, but one man observed that \u201cif they were to feed _Homers_, they\nwould be encumbered with a multitude of useless people.\u201d \u201cFrom this\ncircumstance,\u201d says the writer, \u201cMelesigenes acquired the name of\nHomer, for the Cumans call blind men _Homers_.\u201d[7] With a love of\neconomy, which shows how similar the world has always been in its\ntreatment of literary men, the pension was denied, and the poet vented\nhis disappointment in a wish that Cum\u00e6a might never produce a poet\ncapable of giving it renown and glory.\n\nAt Phoc\u0153a, Homer was destined to experience another literary distress.\nOne Thestorides, who aimed at the reputation of poetical genius, kept\nHomer in his own house, and allowed him a pittance, on condition of the\nverses of the poet passing in his name. Having collected sufficient\npoetry to be profitable, Thestorides, like some would-be-literary\npublishers, neglected the man whose brains he had sucked, and left him.\nAt his departure, Homer is said to have observed: \u201cO Thestorides, of\nthe many things hidden from the knowledge of man, nothing is more\nunintelligible than the human heart.\u201d[8]\n\nHomer continued his career of difficulty and distress, until some Chian\nmerchants, struck by the similarity of the verses they heard him\nrecite, acquainted him with the fact that Thestorides was pursuing a\nprofitable livelihood by the recital of the very same poems. This at\nonce determined him to set out for Chios. No vessel happened then to be\nsetting sail thither, but he found one ready to start for Erythr\u00e6, a\ntown of Ionia, which faces that island, and he prevailed upon the\nseamen to allow him to accompany them. Having embarked, he invoked a\nfavourable wind, and prayed that he might be able to expose the\nimposture of Thestorides, who, by his breach of hospitality, had drawn\ndown the wrath of Jove the Hospitable.\n\nAt Erythr\u00e6, Homer fortunately met with a person who had known him in\nPhoc\u0153a, by whose assistance he at length, after some difficulty,\nreached the little hamlet of Pithys. Here he met with an adventure,\nwhich we will continue in the words of our author. \u201cHaving set out from\nPithys, Homer went on, attracted by the cries of some goats that were\npasturing. The dogs barked on his approach, and he cried out. Glaucus\n(for that was the name of the goat-herd) heard his voice, ran up\nquickly, called off his dogs, and drove them away from Homer. For some\ntime he stood wondering how a blind man should have reached such a\nplace alone, and what could be his design in coming. He then went up to\nhim, and inquired who he was, and how he had come to desolate places\nand untrodden spots, and of what he stood in need. Homer, by recounting\nto him the whole history of his misfortunes, moved him with compassion;\nand he took him, and led him to his cot, and having lit a fire, bade\nhim sup.[9]\n\n\u201cThe dogs, instead of eating, kept barking at the stranger, according\nto their usual habit. Whereupon Homer addressed Glaucus thus: O\nGlaucus, my friend, prythee attend to my behest. First give the dogs\ntheir supper at the doors of the hut: for so it is better, since,\nwhilst they watch, nor thief nor wild beast will approach the fold.\n\nGlaucus was pleased with the advice, and marvelled at its author.\nHaving finished supper, they banqueted[10] afresh on conversation,\nHomer narrating his wanderings, and telling of the cities he had\nvisited.\n\nAt length they retired to rest; but on the following morning, Glaucus\nresolved to go to his master, and acquaint him with his meeting with\nHomer. Having left the goats in charge of a fellow-servant, he left\nHomer at home, promising to return quickly. Having arrived at Bolissus,\na place near the farm, and finding his mate, he told him the whole\nstory respecting Homer and his journey. He paid little attention to\nwhat he said, and blamed Glaucus for his stupidity in taking in and\nfeeding maimed and enfeebled persons. However, he bade him bring the\nstranger to him.\n\nGlaucus told Homer what had taken place, and bade him follow him,\nassuring him that good fortune would be the result. Conversation soon\nshowed that the stranger was a man of much cleverness and general\nknowledge, and the Chian persuaded him to remain, and to undertake the\ncharge of his children.[11]\n\nBesides the satisfaction of driving the impostor Thestorides from the\nisland, Homer enjoyed considerable success as a teacher. In the town of\nChios he established a school where he taught the precepts of poetry.\n\u201cTo this day,\u201d says Chandler,[12] \u201cthe most curious remaining is that\nwhich has been named, without reason, the School of Homer. It is on the\ncoast, at some distance from the city, northward, and appears to have\nbeen an open temple of Cybele, formed on the top of a rock. The shape\nis oval, and in the centre is the image of the goddess, the head and an\narm wanting. She is represented, as usual, sitting. The chair has a\nlion carved on each side, and on the back. The area is bounded by a low\nrim, or seat, and about five yards over. The whole is hewn out of the\nmountain, is rude, indistinct, and probably of the most remote\nantiquity.\u201d\n\nSo successful was this school, that Homer realised a considerable\nfortune. He married, and had two daughters, one of whom died single,\nthe other married a Chian.\n\nThe following passage betrays the same tendency to connect the\npersonages of the poems with the history of the poet, which has already\nbeen mentioned:\u2014\n\n\u201cIn his poetical compositions Homer displays great gratitude towards\nMentor of Ithaca, in the Odyssey, whose name he has inserted in his\npoem as the companion of Ulysses,[13] in return for the care taken of\nhim when afflicted with blindness. He also testifies his gratitude to\nPhemius, who had given him both sustenance and instruction.\u201d\n\nHis celebrity continued to increase, and many persons advised him to\nvisit Greece, whither his reputation had now extended. Having, it is\nsaid, made some additions to his poems calculated to please the vanity\nof the Athenians, of whose city he had hitherto made no mention,[14] he\nsent out for Samos. Here being recognized by a Samian, who had met with\nhim in Chios, he was handsomely received, and invited to join in\ncelebrating the Apaturian festival. He recited some verses, which gave\ngreat satisfaction, and by singing the Eiresione at the New Moon\nfestivals, he earned a subsistence, visiting the houses of the rich,\nwith whose children he was very popular.\n\nIn the spring he sailed for Athens, and arrived at the island of Ios,\nnow Ino, where he fell extremely ill, and died. It is said that his\ndeath arose from vexation, at not having been able to unravel an enigma\nproposed by some fishermen\u2019s children.[15]\n\nSuch is, in brief, the substance of the earliest life of Homer we\npossess, and so broad are the evidences of its historical\nworthlessness, that it is scarcely necessary to point them out in\ndetail. Let us now consider some of the opinions to which a\npersevering, patient, and learned\u2014but by no means consistent\u2014series of\ninvestigations has led. In doing so, I profess to bring forward\nstatements, not to vouch for their reasonableness or probability.\n\n\u201cHomer appeared. The history of this poet and his works is lost in\ndoubtful obscurity, as is the history of many of the first minds who\nhave done honour to humanity, because they rose amidst darkness. The\nmajestic stream of his song, blessing and fertilizing, flows like the\nNile, through many lands and nations; and, like the sources of the\nNile, its fountains will ever remain concealed.\u201d\n\nSuch are the words in which one of the most judicious German critics\nhas eloquently described the uncertainty in which the whole of the\nHomeric question is involved. With no less truth and feeling he\nproceeds:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt seems here of chief importance to expect no more than the nature of\nthings makes possible. If the period of tradition in history is the\nregion of twilight, we should not expect in it perfect light. The\ncreations of genius always seem like miracles, because they are, for\nthe most part, created far out of the reach of observation. If we were\nin possession of all the historical testimonies, we never could wholly\nexplain the origin of the Iliad and the Odyssey; for their origin, in\nall essential points, must have remained the secret of the poet.\u201d[16]\n\nFrom this criticism, which shows as much insight into the depths of\nhuman nature as into the minute wire-drawings of scholastic\ninvestigation, let us pass on to the main question at issue. Was Homer\nan individual?[17] or were the Iliad and Odyssey the result of an\ningenious arrangement of fragments by earlier poets?\n\nWell has Landor remarked: \u201cSome tell us there were twenty Homers; some\ndeny that there was ever one. It were idle and foolish to shake the\ncontents of a vase, in order to let them settle at last. We are\nperpetually labouring to destroy our delights, our composure, our\ndevotion to superior power. Of all the animals on earth we least know\nwhat is good for us. My opinion is, that what is best for us is our\nadmiration of good. No man living venerates Homer more than I do.\u201d[18]\n\nBut, greatly as we admire the generous enthusiasm which rests contented\nwith the poetry on which its best impulses had been nurtured and\nfostered, without seeking to destroy the vividness of first impressions\nby minute analysis\u2014our editorial office compels us to give some\nattention to the doubts and difficulties with which the Homeric\nquestion is beset, and to entreat our reader, for a brief period, to\nprefer his judgment to his imagination, and to condescend to dry\ndetails.\n\nBefore, however, entering into particulars respecting the question of\nthis unity of the Homeric poems, (at least of the Iliad,) I must\nexpress my sympathy with the sentiments expressed in the following\nremarks:\u2014\n\n\u201cWe cannot but think the universal admiration of its unity by the\nbetter, the poetic age of Greece, almost conclusive testimony to its\noriginal composition. It was not till the age of the grammarians that\nits primitive integrity was called in question; nor is it injustice to\nassert, that the minute and analytical spirit of a grammarian is not\nthe best qualification for the profound feeling, the comprehensive\nconception of an harmonious whole. The most exquisite anatomist may be\nno judge of the symmetry of the human frame: and we would take the\nopinion of Chantrey or Westmacott on the proportions and general beauty\nof a form, rather than that of Mr. Brodie or Sir Astley Cooper.\n\n\u201cThere is some truth, though some malicious exaggeration, in the lines\nof Pope.\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018The critic eye\u2014that microscope of wit\nSees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit,\nHow parts relate to parts, or they to whole,\nThe body\u2019s harmony, the beaming soul,\nAre things which Kuster, Burmann, Wasse, shall see,\nWhen man\u2019s whole frame is obvious to a flea.\u2019\u201d[19]\n\n\nLong was the time which elapsed before any one dreamt of questioning\nthe unity of the authorship of the Homeric poems. The grave and\ncautious Thucydides quoted without hesitation the Hymn to Apollo,[20]\nthe authenticity of which has been already disclaimed by modern\ncritics. Longinus, in an oft quoted passage, merely expressed an\nopinion touching the comparative inferiority of the Odyssey to the\nIliad,[21] and, among a mass of ancient authors, whose very names[22]\nit would be tedious to detail, no suspicion of the personal\nnon-existence of Homer ever arose. So far, the voice of antiquity seems\nto be in favour of our early ideas on the subject; let us now see what\nare the discoveries to which more modern investigations lay claim.\n\nAt the end of the seventeenth century, doubts had begun to awaken on\nthe subject, and we find Bentley remarking that \u201cHomer wrote a sequel\nof songs and rhapsodies, to be sung by himself, for small comings and\ngood cheer, at festivals and other days of merriment. These loose songs\nwere not collected together, in the form of an epic poem, till about\nPeisistratus\u2019 time, about five hundred years after.\u201d[23]\n\nTwo French writers\u2014Hedelin and Perrault\u2014avowed a similar scepticism on\nthe subject; but it is in the \u201cScienza Nuova\u201d of Battista Vico, that we\nfirst meet with the germ of the theory, subsequently defended by Wolf\nwith so much learning and acuteness. Indeed, it is with the Wolfian\ntheory that we have chiefly to deal, and with the following bold\nhypothesis, which we will detail in the words of Grote:\u2014[24]\n\n\u201cHalf a century ago, the acute and valuable Prolegomena of F. A. Wolf,\nturning to account the Venetian Scholia, which had then been recently\npublished, first opened philosophical discussion as to the history of\nthe Homeric text. A considerable part of that dissertation (though by\nno means the whole) is employed in vindicating the position, previously\nannounced by Bentley, amongst others, that the separate constituent\nportions of the Iliad and Odyssey had not been cemented together into\nany compact body and unchangeable order, until the days of\nPeisistratus, in the sixth century before Christ. As a step towards\nthat conclusion, Wolf maintained that no written copies of either poem\ncould be shown to have existed during the earlier times, to which their\ncomposition is referred; and that without writing, neither the perfect\nsymmetry of so complicated a work could have been originally conceived\nby any poet, nor, if realized by him, transmitted with assurance to\nposterity. The absence of easy and convenient writing, such as must be\nindispensably supposed for long manuscripts, among the early Greeks,\nwas thus one of the points in Wolf\u2019s case against the primitive\nintegrity of the Iliad and Odyssey. By Nitzsch, and other leading\nopponents of Wolf, the connection of the one with the other seems to\nhave been accepted as he originally put it; and it has been considered\nincumbent on those who defended the ancient aggregate character of the\nIliad and Odyssey, to maintain that they were written poems from the\nbeginning.\n\n\u201cTo me it appears, that the architectonic functions ascribed by Wolf to\nPeisistratus and his associates, in reference to the Homeric poems, are\nnowise admissible. But much would undoubtedly be gained towards that\nview of the question, if it could be shown, that, in order to\ncontrovert it, we were driven to the necessity of admitting long\nwritten poems, in the ninth century before the Christian \u00e6ra. Few\nthings, in my opinion, can be more improbable; and Mr. Payne Knight,\nopposed as he is to the Wolfian hypothesis, admits this no less than\nWolf himself. The traces of writing in Greece, even in the seventh\ncentury before the Christian \u00e6ra, are exceedingly trifling. We have no\nremaining inscription earlier than the fortieth Olympiad, and the early\ninscriptions are rude and unskilfully executed; nor can we even assure\nourselves whether Archilochus, Simonid\u00eas of Amorgus, Kallinus,\nTyrt\u00e6us, Xanthus, and the other early elegiac and lyric poets,\ncommitted their compositions to writing, or at what time the practice\nof doing so became familiar. The first positive ground which authorizes\nus to presume the existence of a manuscript of Homer, is in the famous\nordinance of Sol\u00f4n, with regard to the rhapsodies at the Panathen\u00e6a:\nbut for what length of time previously manuscripts had existed, we are\nunable to say.\n\n\u201cThose who maintain the Homeric poems to have been written from the\nbeginning, rest their case, not upon positive proofs, nor yet upon the\nexisting habits of society with regard to poetry\u2014for they admit\ngenerally that the Iliad and Odyssey were not read, but recited and\nheard,\u2014but upon the supposed necessity that there must have been\nmanuscripts to ensure the preservation of the poems\u2014the unassisted\nmemory of reciters being neither sufficient nor trustworthy. But here\nwe only escape a smaller difficulty by running into a greater; for the\nexistence of trained bards, gifted with extraordinary memory,[25] is\nfar less astonishing than that of long manuscripts, in an age\nessentially non-reading and non-writing, and when even suitable\ninstruments and materials for the process are not obvious. Moreover,\nthere is a strong positive reason for believing that the bard was under\nno necessity of refreshing his memory by consulting a manuscript; for\nif such had been the fact, blindness would have been a disqualification\nfor the profession, which we know that it was not, as well from the\nexample of Demodokus, in the Odyssey, as from that of the blind bard of\nChios, in the Hymn to the Delian Apollo, whom Thucydides, as well as\nthe general tenor of Grecian legend, identifies with Homer himself. The\nauthor of that hymn, be he who he may, could never have described a\nblind man as attaining the utmost perfection in his art, if he had been\nconscious that the memory of the bard was only maintained by constant\nreference to the manuscript in his chest.\u201d\n\nThe loss of the digamma, that _crux_ of critics, that quicksand upon\nwhich even the acumen of Bentley was shipwrecked, seems to prove beyond\na doubt, that the pronunciation of the Greek language had undergone a\nconsiderable change. Now it is certainly difficult to suppose that the\nHomeric poems could have suffered by this change, had written copies\nbeen preserved. If Chaucer\u2019s poetry, for instance, had not been\nwritten, it could only have come down to us in a softened form, more\nlike the effeminate version of Dryden, than the rough, quaint, noble\noriginal.\n\n\u201cAt what period,\u201d continues Grote, \u201cthese poems, or indeed any other\nGreek poems, first began to be written, must be matter of conjecture,\nthough there is ground for assurance that it was before the time of\nSol\u00f4n. If, in the absence of evidence, we may venture upon naming any\nmore determinate period, the question at once suggests itself, What\nwere the purposes which, in that state of society, a manuscript at its\nfirst commencement must have been intended to answer? For whom was a\nwritten Iliad necessary? Not for the rhapsodes; for with them it was\nnot only planted in the memory, but also interwoven with the feelings,\nand conceived in conjunction with all those flexions and intonations of\nvoice, pauses, and other oral artifices which were required for\nemphatic delivery, and which the naked manuscript could never\nreproduce. Not for the general public\u2014they were accustomed to receive\nit with its rhapsodic delivery, and with its accompaniments of a solemn\nand crowded festival. The only persons for whom the written Iliad would\nbe suitable would be a select few; studious and curious men; a class of\nreaders capable of analyzing the complicated emotions which they had\nexperienced as hearers in the crowd, and who would, on perusing the\nwritten words, realize in their imaginations a sensible portion of the\nimpression communicated by the reciter. Incredible as the statement may\nseem in an age like the present, there is in all early societies, and\nthere was in early Greece, a time when no such reading class existed.\nIf we could discover at what time such a class first began to be\nformed, we should be able to make a guess at the time when the old epic\npoems were first committed to writing. Now the period which may with\nthe greatest probability be fixed upon as having first witnessed the\nformation even of the narrowest reading class in Greece, is the middle\nof the seventh century before the Christian \u00e6ra (B.C. 660 to B.C.\n630), the age of Terpander, Kallinus, Archilochus, Simonid\u00eas of\nAmorgus, &c. I ground this supposition on the change then operated in\nthe character and tendencies of Grecian poetry and music\u2014the elegiac\nand the iambic measures having been introduced as rivals to the\nprimitive hexameter, and poetical compositions having been transferred\nfrom the epical past to the affairs of present and real life. Such a\nchange was important at a time when poetry was the only known mode of\npublication (to use a modern phrase not altogether suitable, yet the\nnearest approaching to the sense). It argued a new way of looking at\nthe old epical treasures of the people as well as a thirst for new\npoetical effect; and the men who stood forward in it, may well be\nconsidered as desirous to study, and competent to criticize, from their\nown individual point of view, the written words of the Homeric\nrhapsodies, just as we are told that Kallinus both noticed and\neulogized the Theba\u00efs as the production of Homer. There seems,\ntherefore, ground for conjecturing that (for the use of this\nnewly-formed and important, but very narrow class), manuscripts of the\nHomeric poems and other old epics,\u2014the Theba\u00efs and the Cypria, as well\nas the Iliad and the Odyssey,\u2014began to be compiled towards the middle\nof the seventh century (B.C. 1); and the opening of Egypt to Grecian\ncommerce, which took place about the same period, would furnish\nincreased facilities for obtaining the requisite papyrus to write upon.\nA reading class, when once formed, would doubtless slowly increase, and\nthe number of manuscripts along with it; so that before the time of\nSol\u00f4n, fifty years afterwards, both readers and manuscripts, though\nstill comparatively few, might have attained a certain recognized\nauthority, and formed a tribunal of reference against the carelessness\nof individual rhapsodes.\u201d[26]\n\nBut even Peisistratus has not been suffered to remain in possession of\nthe credit, and we cannot help feeling the force of the following\nobservations\u2014\n\n\u201cThere are several incidental circumstances which, in our opinion,\nthrow some suspicion over the whole history of the Peisistratid\ncompilation, at least over the theory, that the Iliad was cast into its\npresent stately and harmonious form by the directions of the Athenian\nruler. If the great poets, who flourished at the bright period of\nGrecian song, of which, alas! we have inherited little more than the\nfame, and the faint echo, if Stesichorus, Anacreon, and Simonid\u00eas were\nemployed in the noble task of compiling the Iliad and Odyssey, so much\nmust have been done to arrange, to connect, to harmonize, that it is\nalmost incredible, that stronger marks of Athenian manufacture should\nnot remain. Whatever occasional anomalies may be detected, anomalies\nwhich no doubt arise out of our own ignorance of the language of the\nHomeric age, however the irregular use of the digamma may have\nperplexed our Bentleys, to whom the name of Helen is said to have\ncaused as much disquiet and distress as the fair one herself among the\nheroes of her age, however Mr. Knight may have failed in reducing the\nHomeric language to its primitive form; however, finally, the Attic\ndialect may not have assumed all its more marked and distinguishing\ncharacteristics\u2014still it is difficult to suppose that the language,\nparticularly in the joinings and transitions, and connecting parts,\nshould not more clearly betray the incongruity between the more ancient\nand modern forms of expression. It is not quite in character with such\na period to imitate an antique style, in order to piece out an\nimperfect poem in the character of the original, as Sir Walter Scott\nhas done in his continuation of Sir Tristram.\n\n\u201cIf, however, not even such faint and indistinct traces of Athenian\ncompilation are discoverable in the language of the poems, the total\nabsence of Athenian national feeling is perhaps no less worthy of\nobservation. In later, and it may fairly be suspected in earlier times,\nthe Athenians were more than ordinarily jealous of the fame of their\nancestors. But, amid all the traditions of the glories of early Greece\nembodied in the Iliad, the Athenians play a most subordinate and\ninsignificant part. Even the few passages which relate to their\nancestors, Mr. Knight suspects to be interpolations. It is possible,\nindeed, that in its leading outline, the Iliad may be true to historic\nfact, that in the great maritime expedition of western Greece against\nthe rival and half-kindred empire of the Laomedontiad\u00e6, the chieftain\nof Thessaly, from his valour and the number of his forces, may have\nbeen the most important ally of the Peloponnesian sovereign; the\npreeminent value of the ancient poetry on the Trojan war may thus have\nforced the national feeling of the Athenians to yield to their taste.\nThe songs which spoke of their own great ancestor were, no doubt, of\nfar inferior sublimity and popularity, or, at first sight, a Theseid\nwould have been much more likely to have emanated from an Athenian\nsynod of compilers of ancient song, than an Achilleid or an Olysseid.\nCould France have given birth to a Tasso, Tancred would have been the\nhero of the Jerusalem. If, however, the Homeric ballads, as they are\nsometimes called, which related the wrath of Achilles, with all its\ndireful consequences, were so far superior to the rest of the poetic\ncycle, as to admit no rivalry,\u2014it is still surprising, that throughout\nthe whole poem the callida junctura should never betray the workmanship\nof an Athenian hand, and that the national spirit of a race, who have\nat a later period not inaptly been compared to our self admiring\nneighbours, the French, should submit with lofty self denial to the\nalmost total exclusion of their own ancestors\u2014or, at least, to the\nquestionable dignity of only having produced a leader tolerably skilled\nin the military tactics of his age.\u201d[27]\n\nTo return to the Wolfian theory. While it is to be confessed, that\nWolf\u2019s objections to the primitive integrity of the Iliad and Odyssey\nhave never been wholly got over, we cannot help discovering that they\nhave failed to enlighten us as to any substantial point, and that the\ndifficulties with which the whole subject is beset, are rather\naugmented than otherwise, if we admit his hypothesis. Nor is\nLachmann\u2019s[28] modification of his theory any better. He divides the\nfirst twenty-two books of the Iliad into sixteen different songs, and\ntreats as ridiculous the belief that their amalgamation into one\nregular poem belongs to a period earlier than the age of Peisistratus.\nThis, as Grote observes, \u201cexplains the gaps and contradictions in the\nnarrative, but it explains nothing else.\u201d Moreover, we find no\ncontradictions warranting this belief, and the so-called sixteen poets\nconcur in getting rid of the following leading men in the first battle\nafter the secession of Achilles: Elphenor, chief of the Eub\u0153ans;\nTlepolemus, of the Rhodians; Pandarus, of the Lycians; Odius, of the\nHalizonians; Pirous and Acamas, of the Thracians. None of these heroes\nagain make their appearance, and we can but agree with Colonel Mure,\nthat \u201cit seems strange that any number of independent poets should have\nso harmoniously dispensed with the services of all six in the sequel.\u201d\nThe discrepancy, by which Pyl\u00e6menes, who is represented as dead in the\nfifth book, weeps at his son\u2019s funeral in the thirteenth, can only be\nregarded as the result of an interpolation.\n\nGrote, although not very distinct in stating his own opinions on the\nsubject, has done much to clearly show the incongruity of the Wolfian\ntheory, and of Lachmann\u2019s modifications with the character of\nPeisistratus. But he has also shown, and we think with equal success,\nthat the two questions relative to the primitive unity of these poems,\nor, supposing that impossible, the unison of these parts by\nPeisistratus, and not before his time, are essentially distinct. In\nshort, \u201ca man may believe the Iliad to have been put together out of\npre-existing songs, without recognising the age of Peisistratus as the\nperiod of its first compilation.\u201d The friends or literary _employ\u00eas_ of\nPeisistratus must have found an Iliad that was already ancient, and the\nsilence of the Alexandrine critics respecting the Peisistratic\n\u201crecension,\u201d goes far to prove, that, among the numerous manuscripts\nthey examined, this was either wanting, or thought unworthy of\nattention.\n\n\u201cMoreover,\u201d he continues, \u201cthe whole tenor of the poems themselves\nconfirms what is here remarked. There is nothing, either in the Iliad\nor Odyssey, which savours of modernism, applying that term to the age\nof Peisistratus\u2014nothing which brings to our view the alterations\nbrought about by two centuries, in the Greek language, the coined\nmoney, the habits of writing and reading, the despotisms and republican\ngovernments, the close military array, the improved construction of\nships, the Amphiktyonic convocations, the mutual frequentation of\nreligious festivals, the Oriental and Egyptian veins of religion, &c.,\nfamiliar to the latter epoch. These alterations Onomakritus, and the\nother literary friends of Peisistratus, could hardly have failed to\nnotice, even without design, had they then, for the first time,\nundertaken the task of piecing together many self existent epics into\none large aggregate. Everything in the two great Homeric poems, both in\nsubstance and in language, belongs to an age two or three centuries\nearlier than Peisistratus. Indeed, even the interpolations (or those\npassages which, on the best grounds, are pronounced to be such) betray\nno trace of the sixth century before Christ, and may well have been\nheard by Archilochus and Kallinus\u2014in some cases even by Arktinus and\nHesiod\u2014as genuine Homeric matter.[29] As far as the evidences on the\ncase, as well internal as external, enable us to judge, we seem\nwarranted in believing that the Iliad and Odyssey were recited\nsubstantially as they now stand (always allowing for partial\ndivergences of text and interpolations) in 776 B.C., our first\ntrustworthy mark of Grecian time; and this ancient date, let it be\nadded, as it is the best-authenticated fact, so it is also the most\nimportant attribute of the Homeric poems, considered in reference to\nGrecian history; for they thus afford us an insight into the\nanti-historical character of the Greeks, enabling us to trace the\nsubsequent forward march of the nation, and to seize instructive\ncontrasts between their former and their later condition.\u201d[30]\n\nOn the whole, I am inclined to believe, that the labours of\nPeisistratus were wholly of an editorial character, although, I must\nconfess, that I can lay down nothing respecting the extent of his\nlabours. At the same time, so far from believing that the composition\nor primary arrangement of these poems, in their present form, was the\nwork of Peisistratus, I am rather persuaded that the fine taste and\nelegant mind of that Athenian[31] would lead him to preserve an ancient\nand traditional order of the poems, rather than to patch and\nre-construct them according to a fanciful hypothesis. I will not repeat\nthe many discussions respecting whether the poems were written or not,\nor whether the art of writing was known in the time of their reputed\nauthor. Suffice it to say, that the more we read, the less satisfied we\nare upon either subject.\n\nI cannot, however, help thinking, that the story which attributes the\npreservation of these poems to Lycurgus, is little else than a version\nof the same story as that of Peisistratus, while its historical\nprobability must be measured by that of many others relating to the\nSpartan Confucius.\n\nI will conclude this sketch of the Homeric theories, with an attempt,\nmade by an ingenious friend, to unite them into something like\nconsistency. It is as follows:\u2014\n\n\u201cNo doubt the common soldiers of that age had, like the common sailors\nof some fifty years ago, some one qualified to \u2018discourse in excellent\nmusic\u2019 among them. Many of these, like those of the negroes in the\nUnited States, were extemporaneous, and allusive to events passing\naround them. But what was passing around them? The grand events of a\nspirit-stirring war; occurrences likely to impress themselves, as the\nmystical legends of former times had done, upon their memory; besides\nwhich, a retentive memory was deemed a virtue of the first water, and\nwas cultivated accordingly in those ancient times. Ballads at first,\nand down to the beginning of the war with Troy, were merely\nrecitations, with an intonation. Then followed a species of recitative,\nprobably with an intoned burden. Tune next followed, as it aided the\nmemory considerably.\n\n\u201cIt was at this period, about four hundred years after the war, that a\npoet flourished of the name of Melesigenes, or M\u0153onides, but most\nprobably the former. He saw that these ballads might be made of great\nutility to his purpose of writing a poem on the social position of\nHellas, and, as a collection, he published these lays, connecting them\nby a tale of his own. This poem now exists, under the title of the\n\u2018Odyssea.\u2019 The author, however, did not affix his own name to the poem,\nwhich, in fact, was, great part of it, remodelled from the archaic\ndialect of Crete, in which tongue the ballads were found by him. He\ntherefore called it the poem of Homeros, or the Collector; but this is\nrather a proof of his modesty and talent, than of his mere drudging\narrangement of other people\u2019s ideas; for, as Grote has finely observed,\narguing for the unity of authorship, \u2018a great poet might have re-cast\npre-existing separate songs into one comprehensive whole; but no mere\narrangers or compilers would be competent to do so.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhile employed on the wild legend of Odysseus, he met with a ballad,\nrecording the quarrel of Achilles and Agamemnon. His noble mind seized\nthe hint that there presented itself, and the Achille\u00efs[32] grew under\nhis hand. Unity of design, however, caused him to publish the poem\nunder the same pseudonyme as his former work: and the disjointed lays\nof the ancient bards were joined together, like those relating to the\nCid, into a chronicle history, named the Iliad. Melesigenes knew that\nthe poem was destined to be a lasting one, and so it has proved; but,\nfirst, the poems were destined to undergo many vicissitudes and\ncorruptions, by the people who took to singing them in the streets,\nassemblies, and agoras. However, Sol\u00f4n first, and then Peisistratus,\nand afterwards Aristoteles and others, revised the poems, and restored\nthe works of Melesigenes Homeros to their original integrity in a great\nmeasure.\u201d[33]\n\nHaving thus given some general notion of the strange theories which\nhave developed themselves respecting this most interesting subject, I\nmust still express my conviction as to the unity of the authorship of\nthe Homeric poems. To deny that many corruptions and interpolations\ndisfigure them, and that the intrusive hand of the poetasters may here\nand there have inflicted a wound more serious than the negligence of\nthe copyist, would be an absurd and captious assumption, but it is to a\nhigher criticism that we must appeal, if we would either understand or\nenjoy these poems. In maintaining the authenticity and personality of\ntheir one author, be he Homer or Melesigenes, _quocunque nomine vocari\neum jus fasque sit_, I feel conscious that, while the whole weight of\nhistorical evidence is against the hypothesis which would assign these\ngreat works to a plurality of authors, the most powerful internal\nevidence, and that which springs from the deepest and most immediate\nimpulse of the soul, also speaks eloquently to the contrary.\n\nThe minuti\u00e6 of verbal criticism I am far from seeking to despise.\nIndeed, considering the character of some of my own books, such an\nattempt would be gross inconsistency. But, while I appreciate its\nimportance in a philological view, I am inclined to set little store on\nits \u00e6sthetic value, especially in poetry. Three parts of the\nemendations made upon poets are mere alterations, some of which, had\nthey been suggested to the author by his M\u00e6cenas or Africanus, he\nwould probably have adopted. Moreover, those who are most exact in\nlaying down rules of verbal criticism and interpretation, are often\nleast competent to carry out their own precepts. Grammarians are not\npoets by profession, but may be so _per accidens_. I do not at this\nmoment remember two emendations on Homer, calculated to substantially\nimprove the poetry of a passage, although a mass of remarks, from\nHerodotus down to Loewe, have given us the history of a thousand minute\npoints, without which our Greek knowledge would be gloomy and jejune.\n\nBut it is not on words only that grammarians, mere grammarians, will\nexercise their elaborate and often tiresome ingenuity. Binding down an\nheroic or dramatic poet to the block upon which they have previously\ndissected his words and sentences, they proceed to use the axe and the\npruning knife by wholesale, and inconsistent in everything but their\nwish to make out a case of unlawful affiliation, they cut out book\nafter book, passage after passage, till the author is reduced to a\ncollection of fragments, or till those, who fancied they possessed the\nworks of some great man, find that they have been put off with a vile\ncounterfeit got up at second hand. If we compare the theories of\nKnight, Wolf, Lachmann, and others, we shall feel better satisfied of\nthe utter uncertainty of criticism than of the apocryphal position of\nHomer. One rejects what another considers the turning-point of his\ntheory. One cuts a supposed knot by expunging what another would\nexplain by omitting something else.\n\nNor is this morbid species of sagacity by any means to be looked upon\nas a literary novelty. Justus Lipsius, a scholar of no ordinary skill,\nseems to revel in the imaginary discovery, that the tragedies\nattributed to Seneca are by _four_ different authors.[34] Now, I will\nventure to assert, that these tragedies are so uniform, not only in\ntheir borrowed phraseology\u2014a phraseology with which writers like\nBoethius and Saxo Grammaticus were more charmed than ourselves\u2014in their\nfreedom from real poetry, and last, but not least, in an ultra-refined\nand consistent abandonment of good taste, that few writers of the\npresent day would question the capabilities of the same gentleman, be\nhe Seneca or not, to produce not only these, but a great many more\nequally bad. With equal sagacity, Father Hardouin astonished the world\nwith the startling announcement that the \u00c6neid of Virgil, and the\nsatires of Horace, were literary deceptions. Now, without wishing to\nsay one word of disrespect against the industry and learning\u2014nay, the\nrefined acuteness\u2014which scholars, like Wolf, have bestowed upon this\nsubject, I must express my fears, that many of our modern Homeric\ntheories will become matter for the surprise and entertainment, rather\nthan the instruction, of posterity. Nor can I help thinking, that the\nliterary history of more recent times will account for many points of\ndifficulty in the transmission of the Iliad and Odyssey to a period so\nremote from that of their first creation.\n\nI have already expressed my belief that the labours of Peisistratus\nwere of a purely editorial character; and there seems no more reason\nwhy corrupt and imperfect editions of Homer may not have been abroad in\nhis day, than that the poems of Valerius Flaccus and Tibullus should\nhave given so much trouble to Poggio, Scaliger, and others. But, after\nall, the main fault in all the Homeric theories is, that they demand\ntoo great a sacrifice of those feelings to which poetry most powerfully\nappeals, and which are its most fitting judges. The ingenuity which has\nsought to rob us of the name and existence of Homer, does too much\nviolence to that inward emotion, which makes our whole soul yearn with\nlove and admiration for the blind bard of Chios. To believe the author\nof the Iliad a mere compiler, is to degrade the powers of human\ninvention; to elevate analytical judgment at the expense of the most\nennobling impulses of the soul; and to forget the ocean in the\ncontemplation of a polypus. There is a catholicity, so to speak, in the\nvery name of Homer. Our faith in the author of the Iliad may be a\nmistaken one, but as yet nobody has taught us a better.\n\nWhile, however, I look upon the belief in Homer as one that has nature\nherself for its mainspring; while I can join with old Ennius in\nbelieving in Homer as the ghost, who, like some patron saint, hovers\nround the bed of the poet, and even bestows rare gifts from that wealth\nof imagination which a host of imitators could not exhaust,\u2014still I am\nfar from wishing to deny that the author of these great poems found a\nrich fund of tradition, a well-stocked mythical storehouse from whence\nhe might derive both subject and embellishment. But it is one thing to\n_use_ existing romances in the embellishment of a poem, another to\npatch up the poem itself from such materials. What consistency of style\nand execution can be hoped for from such an attempt? or, rather, what\nbad taste and tedium will not be the infallible result?\n\nA blending of popular legends, and a free use of the songs of other\nbards, are features perfectly consistent with poetical originality. In\nfact, the most original writer is still drawing upon outward\nimpressions\u2014nay, even his own thoughts are a kind of secondary agents\nwhich support and feed the impulses of imagination. But unless there be\nsome grand pervading principle\u2014some invisible, yet most distinctly\nstamped archetypus of the great whole, a poem like the Iliad can never\ncome to the birth. Traditions the most picturesque, episodes the most\npathetic, local associations teeming with the thoughts of gods and\ngreat men, may crowd in one mighty vision, or reveal themselves in more\nsubstantial forms to the mind of the poet; but, except the power to\ncreate a grand whole, to which these shall be but as details and\nembellishments, be present, we shall have nought but a scrap-book, a\nparterre filled with flowers and weeds strangling each other in their\nwild redundancy: we shall have a cento of rags and tatters, which will\nrequire little acuteness to detect.\n\nSensible as I am of the difficulty of disproving a negative, and aware\nas I must be of the weighty grounds there are for opposing my belief,\nit still seems to me that the Homeric question is one that is reserved\nfor a higher criticism than it has often obtained. We are not by nature\nintended to know all things; still less, to compass the powers by which\nthe greatest blessings of life have been placed at our disposal. Were\nfaith no virtue, then we might indeed wonder why God willed our\nignorance on any matter. But we are too well taught the contrary\nlesson; and it seems as though our faith should be especially tried\ntouching the men and the events which have wrought most influence upon\nthe condition of humanity. And there is a kind of sacredness attached\nto the memory of the great and the good, which seems to bid us repulse\nthe scepticism which would allegorize their existence into a pleasing\napologue, and measure the giants of intellect by an homeopathic\ndynameter.\n\nLong and habitual reading of Homer appears to familiarize our thoughts\neven to his incongruities; or rather, if we read in a right spirit and\nwith a heartfelt appreciation, we are too much dazzled, too deeply\nwrapped in admiration of the whole, to dwell upon the minute spots\nwhich mere analysis can discover. In reading an heroic poem we must\ntransform ourselves into heroes of the time being, we in imagination\nmust fight over the same battles, woo the same loves, burn with the\nsame sense of injury, as an Achilles or a Hector. And if we can but\nattain this degree of enthusiasm (and less enthusiasm will scarcely\nsuffice for the reading of Homer), we shall feel that the poems of\nHomer are not only the work of one writer, but of the greatest writer\nthat ever touched the hearts of men by the power of song.\n\nAnd it was this supposed unity of authorship which gave these poems\ntheir powerful influence over the minds of the men of old. Heeren, who\nis evidently little disposed in favour of modern theories, finely\nobserves:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt was Homer who formed the character of the Greek nation. No poet has\never, as a poet, exercised a similar influence over his countrymen.\nProphets, lawgivers, and sages have formed the character of other\nnations; it was reserved to a poet to form that of the Greeks. This is\na feature in their character which was not wholly erased even in the\nperiod of their degeneracy. When lawgivers and sages appeared in\nGreece, the work of the poet had already been accomplished; and they\npaid homage to his superior genius. He held up before his nation the\nmirror, in which they were to behold the world of gods and heroes no\nless than of feeble mortals, and to behold them reflected with purity\nand truth. His poems are founded on the first feeling of human nature;\non the love of children, wife, and country; on that passion which\noutweighs all others, the love of glory. His songs were poured forth\nfrom a breast which sympathized with all the feelings of man; and\ntherefore they enter, and will continue to enter, every breast which\ncherishes the same sympathies. If it is granted to his immortal spirit,\nfrom another heaven than any of which he dreamed on earth, to look down\non his race, to see the nations from the fields of Asia to the forests\nof Hercynia, performing pilgrimages to the fountain which his magic\nwand caused to flow; if it is permitted to him to view the vast\nassemblage of grand, of elevated, of glorious productions, which had\nbeen called into being by means of his songs; wherever his immortal\nspirit may reside, this alone would suffice to complete his\nhappiness.\u201d[35]\n\nCan we contemplate that ancient monument, on which the \u201cApotheosis of\nHomer\u201d[36] is depictured, and not feel how much of pleasing\nassociation, how much that appeals most forcibly and most distinctly to\nour minds, is lost by the admittance of any theory but our old\ntradition? The more we read, and the more we think\u2014think as becomes the\nreaders of Homer,\u2014the more rooted becomes the conviction that the\nFather of Poetry gave us this rich inheritance, whole and entire.\nWhatever were the means of its preservation, let us rather be thankful\nfor the treasury of taste and eloquence thus laid open to our use, than\nseek to make it a mere centre around which to drive a series of\ntheories, whose wildness is only equalled by their inconsistency with\neach other.\n\nAs the hymns, and some other poems usually ascribed to Homer, are not\nincluded in Pope\u2019s translation, I will content myself with a brief\naccount of the Battle of the Frogs and Mice, from the pen of a writer\nwho has done it full justice[37]:\u2014\n\n\u201cThis poem,\u201d says Coleridge, \u201cis a short mock-heroic of ancient date.\nThe text varies in different editions, and is obviously disturbed and\ncorrupt to a great degree; it is commonly said to have been a juvenile\nessay of Homer\u2019s genius; others have attributed it to the same Pigrees,\nmentioned above, and whose reputation for humour seems to have invited\nthe appropriation of any piece of ancient wit, the author of which was\nuncertain; so little did the Greeks, before the age of the Ptolemies,\nknow or care about that department of criticism employed in determining\nthe genuineness of ancient writings. As to this little poem being a\nyouthful profusion of Homer, it seems sufficient to say that from the\nbeginning to the end it is a plain and palpable parody, not only of the\ngeneral spirit, but of the numerous passages of the Iliad itself; and\neven, if no such intention to parody were discernible in it, the\nobjection would still remain, that to suppose a work of mere burlesque\nto be the primary effort of poetry in a simple age, seems to reverse\nthat order in the development of national taste, which the history of\nevery other people in Europe, and of many in Asia, has almost\nascertained to be a law of the human mind; it is in a state of society\nmuch more refined and permanent than that described in the Iliad, that\nany popularity would attend such a ridicule of war and the gods as is\ncontained in this poem; and the fact of there having existed three\nother poems of the same kind attributed, for aught we can see, with as\nmuch reason to Homer, is a strong inducement to believe that none of\nthem were of the Homeric age. Knight infers from the usage of the word\ndeltos, \u201cwriting tablet,\u201d instead of \u03b4\u03b9\u03c6\u03b8\u03ad\u03c1\u03b1, \u201cskin,\u201d which, according\nto Herod. 5, 58, was the material employed by the Asiatic Greeks for\nthat purpose, that this poem was another offspring of Attic ingenuity;\nand generally that the familiar mention of the cock (v. 191) is a\nstrong argument against so ancient a date for its composition.\u201d\n\nHaving thus given a brief account of the poems comprised in Pope\u2019s\ndesign, I will now proceed to make a few remarks on his translation,\nand on my own purpose in the present edition.\n\nPope was not a Grecian. His whole education had been irregular, and his\nearliest acquaintance with the poet was through the version of Ogilby.\nIt is not too much to say that his whole work bears the impress of a\ndisposition to be satisfied with the general sense, rather than to dive\ndeeply into the minute and delicate features of language. Hence his\nwhole work is to be looked upon rather as an elegant paraphrase than a\ntranslation. There are, to be sure, certain conventional anecdotes,\nwhich prove that Pope consulted various friends, whose classical\nattainments were sounder than his own, during the undertaking; but it\nis probable that these examinations were the result rather of the\ncontradictory versions already existing, than of a desire to make a\nperfect transcript of the original. And in those days, what is called\nliteral translation was less cultivated than at present. If something\nlike the general sense could be decorated with the easy gracefulness of\na practised poet; if the charms of metrical cadence and a pleasing\nfluency could be made consistent with a fair interpretation of the\npoet\u2019s meaning, his _words_ were less jealously sought for, and those\nwho could read so good a poem as Pope\u2019s Iliad had fair reason to be\nsatisfied.\n\nIt would be absurd, therefore, to test Pope\u2019s translation by our own\nadvancing knowledge of the original text. We must be content to look at\nit as a most delightful work in itself,\u2014a work which is as much a part\nof English literature as Homer himself is of Greek. We must not be torn\nfrom our kindly associations with the old Iliad, that once was our most\ncherished companion, or our most looked-for prize, merely because\nButtmann, Loewe, and Liddell have made us so much more accurate as to\n\u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03b9\u03ba\u03cd\u03c0\u03b5\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd being an adjective, and not a substantive. Far be it from\nus to defend the faults of Pope, especially when we think of Chapman\u2019s\nfine, bold, rough old English;\u2014far be it from us to hold up his\ntranslation as what a translation of Homer _might_ be. But we can still\ndismiss Pope\u2019s Iliad to the hands of our readers, with the\nconsciousness that they must have read a very great number of books\nbefore they have read its fellow.\n\nAs to the Notes accompanying the present volume, they are drawn up\nwithout pretension, and mainly with the view of helping the general\nreader. Having some little time since translated all the works of Homer\nfor another publisher, I might have brought a large amount of\naccumulated matter, sometimes of a critical character, to bear upon the\ntext. But Pope\u2019s version was no field for such a display; and my\npurpose was to touch briefly on antiquarian or mythological allusions,\nto notice occasionally _some_ departures from the original, and to give\na few parallel passages from our English Homer, Milton. In the latter\ntask I cannot pretend to novelty, but I trust that my other\nannotations, while utterly disclaiming high scholastic views, will be\nfound to convey as much as is wanted; at least, as far as the necessary\nlimits of these volumes could be expected to admit. To write a\ncommentary on Homer is not my present aim; but if I have made Pope\u2019s\ntranslation a little more entertaining and instructive to a mass of\nmiscellaneous readers, I shall consider my wishes satisfactorily\naccomplished.\n\nTHEODORE ALOIS BUCKLEY.\n\n\n_Christ Church_.\n\n\n\n\nPOPE\u2019S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER\n\n\nHomer is universally allowed to have had the greatest invention of any\nwriter whatever. The praise of judgment Virgil has justly contested\nwith him, and others may have their pretensions as to particular\nexcellences; but his invention remains yet unrivalled. Nor is it a\nwonder if he has ever been acknowledged the greatest of poets, who most\nexcelled in that which is the very foundation of poetry. It is the\ninvention that, in different degrees, distinguishes all great geniuses:\nthe utmost stretch of human study, learning, and industry, which\nmasters everything besides, can never attain to this. It furnishes art\nwith all her materials, and without it judgment itself can at best but\n\u201csteal wisely:\u201d for art is only like a prudent steward that lives on\nmanaging the riches of nature. Whatever praises may be given to works\nof judgment, there is not even a single beauty in them to which the\ninvention must not contribute: as in the most regular gardens, art can\nonly reduce beauties of nature to more regularity, and such a figure,\nwhich the common eye may better take in, and is, therefore, more\nentertained with. And, perhaps, the reason why common critics are\ninclined to prefer a judicious and methodical genius to a great and\nfruitful one, is, because they find it easier for themselves to pursue\ntheir observations through a uniform and bounded walk of art, than to\ncomprehend the vast and various extent of nature.\n\nOur author\u2019s work is a wild paradise, where, if we cannot see all the\nbeauties so distinctly as in an ordered garden, it is only because the\nnumber of them is infinitely greater. It is like a copious nursery,\nwhich contains the seeds and first productions of every kind, out of\nwhich those who followed him have but selected some particular plants,\neach according to his fancy, to cultivate and beautify. If some things\nare too luxuriant it is owing to the richness of the soil; and if\nothers are not arrived to perfection or maturity, it is only because\nthey are overrun and oppressed by those of a stronger nature.\n\nIt is to the strength of this amazing invention we are to attribute\nthat unequalled fire and rapture which is so forcible in Homer, that no\nman of a true poetical spirit is master of himself while he reads him.\nWhat he writes is of the most animated nature imaginable; every thing\nmoves, every thing lives, and is put in action. If a council be called,\nor a battle fought, you are not coldly informed of what was said or\ndone as from a third person; the reader is hurried out of himself by\nthe force of the poet\u2019s imagination, and turns in one place to a\nhearer, in another to a spectator. The course of his verses resembles\nthat of the army he describes,\n\n    \u039f\u1f35\u03b4\u2019 \u1f04\u1fe4 \u1f34\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd, \u1f61\u03c3\u03b5\u03af \u03c4\u03b5 \u03c0\u03c5\u03c1\u1f76 \u03c7\u03b8\u1f7c\u03bd \u03c0\u1f06\u03c3\u03b1 \u03bd\u03ad\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03c4\u03bf.\n\n\u201cThey pour along like a fire that sweeps the whole earth before it.\u201d It\nis, however, remarkable, that his fancy, which is everywhere vigorous,\nis not discovered immediately at the beginning of his poem in its\nfullest splendour: it grows in the progress both upon himself and\nothers, and becomes on fire, like a chariot-wheel, by its own rapidity.\nExact disposition, just thought, correct elocution, polished numbers,\nmay have been found in a thousand; but this poetic fire, this \u201cvivida\nvis animi,\u201d in a very few. Even in works where all those are imperfect\nor neglected, this can overpower criticism, and make us admire even\nwhile we disapprove. Nay, where this appears, though attended with\nabsurdities, it brightens all the rubbish about it, till we see nothing\nbut its own splendour. This fire is discerned in Virgil, but discerned\nas through a glass, reflected from Homer, more shining than fierce, but\neverywhere equal and constant: in Lucan and Statius it bursts out in\nsudden, short, and interrupted flashes: In Milton it glows like a\nfurnace kept up to an uncommon ardour by the force of art: in\nShakspeare it strikes before we are aware, like an accidental fire from\nheaven: but in Homer, and in him only, it burns everywhere clearly and\neverywhere irresistibly.\n\nI shall here endeavour to show how this vast invention exerts itself in\na manner superior to that of any poet through all the main constituent\nparts of his work: as it is the great and peculiar characteristic which\ndistinguishes him from all other authors.\n\nThis strong and ruling faculty was like a powerful star, which, in the\nviolence of its course, drew all things within its vortex. It seemed\nnot enough to have taken in the whole circle of arts, and the whole\ncompass of nature, to supply his maxims and reflections; all the inward\npassions and affections of mankind, to furnish his characters: and all\nthe outward forms and images of things for his descriptions: but\nwanting yet an ampler sphere to expatiate in, he opened a new and\nboundless walk for his imagination, and created a world for himself in\nthe invention of fable. That which Aristotle calls \u201cthe soul of\npoetry,\u201d was first breathed into it by Homer. I shall begin with\nconsidering him in his part, as it is naturally the first; and I speak\nof it both as it means the design of a poem, and as it is taken for\nfiction.\n\n\nFable may be divided into the probable, the allegorical, and the\nmarvellous. The probable fable is the recital of such actions as,\nthough they did not happen, yet might, in the common course of nature;\nor of such as, though they did, became fables by the additional\nepisodes and manner of telling them. Of this sort is the main story of\nan epic poem, \u201cThe return of Ulysses, the settlement of the Trojans in\nItaly,\u201d or the like. That of the Iliad is the \u201canger of Achilles,\u201d the\nmost short and single subject that ever was chosen by any poet. Yet\nthis he has supplied with a vaster variety of incidents and events, and\ncrowded with a greater number of councils, speeches, battles, and\nepisodes of all kinds, than are to be found even in those poems whose\nschemes are of the utmost latitude and irregularity. The action is\nhurried on with the most vehement spirit, and its whole duration\nemploys not so much as fifty days. Virgil, for want of so warm a\ngenius, aided himself by taking in a more extensive subject, as well as\na greater length of time, and contracting the design of both Homer\u2019s\npoems into one, which is yet but a fourth part as large as his. The\nother epic poets have used the same practice, but generally carried it\nso far as to superinduce a multiplicity of fables, destroy the unity of\naction, and lose their readers in an unreasonable length of time. Nor\nis it only in the main design that they have been unable to add to his\ninvention, but they have followed him in every episode and part of\nstory. If he has given a regular catalogue of an army, they all draw up\ntheir forces in the same order. If he has funeral games for Patroclus,\nVirgil has the same for Anchises, and Statius (rather than omit them)\ndestroys the unity of his actions for those of Archemorus. If Ulysses\nvisit the shades, the \u00c6neas of Virgil and Scipio of Silius are sent\nafter him. If he be detained from his return by the allurements of\nCalypso, so is \u00c6neas by Dido, and Rinaldo by Armida. If Achilles be\nabsent from the army on the score of a quarrel through half the poem,\nRinaldo must absent himself just as long on the like account. If he\ngives his hero a suit of celestial armour, Virgil and Tasso make the\nsame present to theirs. Virgil has not only observed this close\nimitation of Homer, but, where he had not led the way, supplied the\nwant from other Greek authors. Thus the story of Sinon, and the taking\nof Troy, was copied (says Macrobius) almost word for word from\nPisander, as the loves of Dido and \u00c6neas are taken from those of Medea\nand Jason in Apollonius, and several others in the same manner.\n\n\nTo proceed to the allegorical fable\u2014If we reflect upon those\ninnumerable knowledges, those secrets of nature and physical philosophy\nwhich Homer is generally supposed to have wrapped up in his allegories,\nwhat a new and ample scene of wonder may this consideration afford us!\nHow fertile will that imagination appear, which was able to clothe all\nthe properties of elements, the qualifications of the mind, the virtues\nand vices, in forms and persons, and to introduce them into actions\nagreeable to the nature of the things they shadowed! This is a field in\nwhich no succeeding poets could dispute with Homer, and whatever\ncommendations have been allowed them on this head, are by no means for\ntheir invention in having enlarged his circle, but for their judgment\nin having contracted it. For when the mode of learning changed in the\nfollowing ages, and science was delivered in a plainer manner, it then\nbecame as reasonable in the more modern poets to lay it aside, as it\nwas in Homer to make use of it. And perhaps it was no unhappy\ncircumstance for Virgil, that there was not in his time that demand\nupon him of so great an invention as might be capable of furnishing all\nthose allegorical parts of a poem.\n\n\nThe marvellous fable includes whatever is supernatural, and especially\nthe machines of the gods. If Homer was not the first who introduced the\ndeities (as Herodotus imagines) into the religion of Greece, he seems\nthe first who brought them into a system of machinery for poetry, and\nsuch a one as makes its greatest importance and dignity: for we find\nthose authors who have been offended at the literal notion of the gods,\nconstantly laying their accusation against Homer as the chief support\nof it. But whatever cause there might be to blame his machines in a\nphilosophical or religious view, they are so perfect in the poetic,\nthat mankind have been ever since contented to follow them: none have\nbeen able to enlarge the sphere of poetry beyond the limits he has set:\nevery attempt of this nature has proved unsuccessful; and after all the\nvarious changes of times and religions, his gods continue to this day\nthe gods of poetry.\n\n\nWe come now to the characters of his persons; and here we shall find no\nauthor has ever drawn so many, with so visible and surprising a\nvariety, or given us such lively and affecting impressions of them.\nEvery one has something so singularly his own, that no painter could\nhave distinguished them more by their features, than the poet has by\ntheir manners. Nothing can be more exact than the distinctions he has\nobserved in the different degrees of virtues and vices. The single\nquality of courage is wonderfully diversified in the several characters\nof the Iliad. That of Achilles is furious and intractable; that of\nDiomede forward, yet listening to advice, and subject to command; that\nof Ajax is heavy and self-confiding; of Hector, active and vigilant:\nthe courage of Agamemnon is inspirited by love of empire and ambition;\nthat of Menelaus mixed with softness and tenderness for his people: we\nfind in Idomeneus a plain direct soldier; in Sarpedon a gallant and\ngenerous one. Nor is this judicious and astonishing diversity to be\nfound only in the principal quality which constitutes the main of each\ncharacter, but even in the under parts of it, to which he takes care to\ngive a tincture of that principal one. For example: the main characters\nof Ulysses and Nestor consist in wisdom; and they are distinct in this,\nthat the wisdom of one is artificial and various, of the other natural,\nopen, and regular. But they have, besides, characters of courage; and\nthis quality also takes a different turn in each from the difference of\nhis prudence; for one in the war depends still upon caution, the other\nupon experience. It would be endless to produce instances of these\nkinds. The characters of Virgil are far from striking us in this open\nmanner; they lie, in a great degree, hidden and undistinguished; and,\nwhere they are marked most evidently affect us not in proportion to\nthose of Homer. His characters of valour are much alike; even that of\nTurnus seems no way peculiar, but, as it is, in a superior degree; and\nwe see nothing that differences the courage of Mnestheus from that of\nSergestus, Cloanthus, or the rest. In like manner it may be remarked of\nStatius\u2019s heroes, that an air of impetuosity runs through them all; the\nsame horrid and savage courage appears in his Capaneus, Tydeus,\nHippomedon, &c. They have a parity of character, which makes them seem\nbrothers of one family. I believe when the reader is led into this\ntract of reflection, if he will pursue it through the epic and tragic\nwriters, he will be convinced how infinitely superior, in this point,\nthe invention of Homer was to that of all others.\n\n\nThe speeches are to be considered as they flow from the characters;\nbeing perfect or defective as they agree or disagree with the manners,\nof those who utter them. As there is more variety of characters in the\nIliad, so there is of speeches, than in any other poem. \u201cEverything in\nit has manner\u201d (as Aristotle expresses it), that is, everything is\nacted or spoken. It is hardly credible, in a work of such length, how\nsmall a number of lines are employed in narration. In Virgil the\ndramatic part is less in proportion to the narrative, and the speeches\noften consist of general reflections or thoughts, which might be\nequally just in any person\u2019s mouth upon the same occasion. As many of\nhis persons have no apparent characters, so many of his speeches escape\nbeing applied and judged by the rule of propriety. We oftener think of\nthe author himself when we read Virgil, than when we are engaged in\nHomer, all which are the effects of a colder invention, that interests\nus less in the action described. Homer makes us hearers, and Virgil\nleaves us readers.\n\n\nIf, in the next place, we take a view of the sentiments, the same\npresiding faculty is eminent in the sublimity and spirit of his\nthoughts. Longinus has given his opinion, that it was in this part\nHomer principally excelled. What were alone sufficient to prove the\ngrandeur and excellence of his sentiments in general, is, that they\nhave so remarkable a parity with those of the Scripture. Duport, in his\nGnomologia Homerica, has collected innumerable instances of this sort.\nAnd it is with justice an excellent modern writer allows, that if\nVirgil has not so many thoughts that are low and vulgar, he has not so\nmany that are sublime and noble; and that the Roman author seldom rises\ninto very astonishing sentiments where he is not fired by the Iliad.\n\n\nIf we observe his descriptions, images, and similes, we shall find the\ninvention still predominant. To what else can we ascribe that vast\ncomprehension of images of every sort, where we see each circumstance\nof art, and individual of nature, summoned together by the extent and\nfecundity of his imagination to which all things, in their various\nviews presented themselves in an instant, and had their impressions\ntaken off to perfection at a heat? Nay, he not only gives us the full\nprospects of things, but several unexpected peculiarities and side\nviews, unobserved by any painter but Homer. Nothing is so surprising as\nthe descriptions of his battles, which take up no less than half the\nIliad, and are supplied with so vast a variety of incidents, that no\none bears a likeness to another; such different kinds of deaths, that\nno two heroes are wounded in the same manner, and such a profusion of\nnoble ideas, that every battle rises above the last in greatness,\nhorror, and confusion. It is certain there is not near that number of\nimages and descriptions in any epic poet, though every one has assisted\nhimself with a great quantity out of him; and it is evident of Virgil\nespecially, that he has scarce any comparisons which are not drawn from\nhis master.\n\n\nIf we descend from hence to the expression, we see the bright\nimagination of Homer shining out in the most enlivened forms of it. We\nacknowledge him the father of poetical diction; the first who taught\nthat \u201clanguage of the gods\u201d to men. His expression is like the\ncolouring of some great masters, which discovers itself to be laid on\nboldly, and executed with rapidity. It is, indeed, the strongest and\nmost glowing imaginable, and touched with the greatest spirit.\nAristotle had reason to say, he was the only poet who had found out\n\u201cliving words;\u201d there are in him more daring figures and metaphors than\nin any good author whatever. An arrow is \u201cimpatient\u201d to be on the wing,\na weapon \u201cthirsts\u201d to drink the blood of an enemy, and the like, yet\nhis expression is never too big for the sense, but justly great in\nproportion to it. It is the sentiment that swells and fills out the\ndiction, which rises with it, and forms itself about it, for in the\nsame degree that a thought is warmer, an expression will be brighter,\nas that is more strong, this will become more perspicuous; like glass\nin the furnace, which grows to a greater magnitude, and refines to a\ngreater clearness, only as the breath within is more powerful, and the\nheat more intense.\n\n\nTo throw his language more out of prose, Homer seems to have affected\nthe compound epithets. This was a sort of composition peculiarly proper\nto poetry, not only as it heightened the diction, but as it assisted\nand filled the numbers with greater sound and pomp, and likewise\nconduced in some measure to thicken the images. On this last\nconsideration I cannot but attribute these also to the fruitfulness of\nhis invention, since (as he has managed them) they are a sort of\nsupernumerary pictures of the persons or things to which they were\njoined. We see the motion of Hector\u2019s plumes in the epithet\n\u039a\u03bf\u03c1\u03c5\u03b8\u03b1\u03af\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2, the landscape of Mount Neritus in that of \u0395\u1f30\u03bd\u03bf\u03c3\u03af\u03c6\u03c5\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2,\nand so of others, which particular images could not have been insisted\nupon so long as to express them in a description (though but of a\nsingle line) without diverting the reader too much from the principal\naction or figure. As a metaphor is a short simile, one of these\nepithets is a short description.\n\n\nLastly, if we consider his versification, we shall be sensible what a\nshare of praise is due to his invention in that also. He was not\nsatisfied with his language as he found it settled in any one part of\nGreece, but searched through its different dialects with this\nparticular view, to beautify and perfect his numbers he considered\nthese as they had a greater mixture of vowels or consonants, and\naccordingly employed them as the verse required either a greater\nsmoothness or strength. What he most affected was the Ionic, which has\na peculiar sweetness, from its never using contractions, and from its\ncustom of resolving the diphthongs into two syllables, so as to make\nthe words open themselves with a more spreading and sonorous fluency.\nWith this he mingled the Attic contractions, the broader Doric, and the\nfeebler \u00c6olic, which often rejects its aspirate, or takes off its\naccent, and completed this variety by altering some letters with the\nlicence of poetry. Thus his measures, instead of being fetters to his\nsense, were always in readiness to run along with the warmth of his\nrapture, and even to give a further representation of his notions, in\nthe correspondence of their sounds to what they signified. Out of all\nthese he has derived that harmony which makes us confess he had not\nonly the richest head, but the finest ear in the world. This is so\ngreat a truth, that whoever will but consult the tune of his verses,\neven without understanding them (with the same sort of diligence as we\ndaily see practised in the case of Italian operas), will find more\nsweetness, variety, and majesty of sound, than in any other language of\npoetry. The beauty of his numbers is allowed by the critics to be\ncopied but faintly by Virgil himself, though they are so just as to\nascribe it to the nature of the Latin tongue: indeed the Greek has some\nadvantages both from the natural sound of its words, and the turn and\ncadence of its verse, which agree with the genius of no other language.\nVirgil was very sensible of this, and used the utmost diligence in\nworking up a more intractable language to whatsoever graces it was\ncapable of, and, in particular, never failed to bring the sound of his\nline to a beautiful agreement with its sense. If the Grecian poet has\nnot been so frequently celebrated on this account as the Roman, the\nonly reason is, that fewer critics have understood one language than\nthe other. Dionysius of Halicarnassus has pointed out many of our\nauthor\u2019s beauties in this kind, in his treatise of the Composition of\nWords. It suffices at present to observe of his numbers, that they flow\nwith so much ease, as to make one imagine Homer had no other care than\nto transcribe as fast as the Muses dictated, and, at the same time,\nwith so much force and inspiriting vigour, that they awaken and raise\nus like the sound of a trumpet. They roll along as a plentiful river,\nalways in motion, and always full; while we are borne away by a tide of\nverse, the most rapid, and yet the most smooth imaginable.\n\n\nThus on whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us\nis his invention. It is that which forms the character of each part of\nhis work; and accordingly we find it to have made his fable more\nextensive and copious than any other, his manners more lively and\nstrongly marked, his speeches more affecting and transported, his\nsentiments more warm and sublime, his images and descriptions more full\nand animated, his expression more raised and daring, and his numbers\nmore rapid and various. I hope, in what has been said of Virgil, with\nregard to any of these heads, I have no way derogated from his\ncharacter. Nothing is more absurd or endless, than the common method of\ncomparing eminent writers by an opposition of particular passages in\nthem, and forming a judgment from thence of their merit upon the whole.\nWe ought to have a certain knowledge of the principal character and\ndistinguishing excellence of each: it is in that we are to consider\nhim, and in proportion to his degree in that we are to admire him. No\nauthor or man ever excelled all the world in more than one faculty; and\nas Homer has done this in invention, Virgil has in judgment. Not that\nwe are to think that Homer wanted judgment, because Virgil had it in a\nmore eminent degree; or that Virgil wanted invention, because Homer\npossessed a larger share of it; each of these great authors had more of\nboth than perhaps any man besides, and are only said to have less in\ncomparison with one another. Homer was the greater genius, Virgil the\nbetter artist. In one we most admire the man, in the other the work.\nHomer hurries and transports us with a commanding impetuosity; Virgil\nleads us with an attractive majesty; Homer scatters with a generous\nprofusion; Virgil bestows with a careful magnificence; Homer, like the\nNile, pours out his riches with a boundless overflow; Virgil, like a\nriver in its banks, with a gentle and constant stream. When we behold\ntheir battles, methinks the two poets resemble the heroes they\ncelebrate. Homer, boundless and resistless as Achilles, bears all\nbefore him, and shines more and more as the tumult increases; Virgil,\ncalmly daring, like \u00c6neas, appears undisturbed in the midst of the\naction; disposes all about him, and conquers with tranquillity. And\nwhen we look upon their machines, Homer seems like his own Jupiter in\nhis terrors, shaking Olympus, scattering the lightnings, and firing the\nheavens: Virgil, like the same power in his benevolence, counselling\nwith the gods, laying plans for empires, and regularly ordering his\nwhole creation.\n\n\nBut after all, it is with great parts, as with great virtues, they\nnaturally border on some imperfection; and it is often hard to\ndistinguish exactly where the virtue ends, or the fault begins. As\nprudence may sometimes sink to suspicion, so may a great judgment\ndecline to coldness; and as magnanimity may run up to profusion or\nextravagance, so may a great invention to redundancy or wildness. If we\nlook upon Homer in this view, we shall perceive the chief objections\nagainst him to proceed from so noble a cause as the excess of this\nfaculty.\n\n\nAmong these we may reckon some of his marvellous fictions, upon which\nso much criticism has been spent, as surpassing all the bounds of\nprobability. Perhaps it may be with great and superior souls, as with\ngigantic bodies, which, exerting themselves with unusual strength,\nexceed what is commonly thought the due proportion of parts, to become\nmiracles in the whole; and, like the old heroes of that make, commit\nsomething near extravagance, amidst a series of glorious and inimitable\nperformances. Thus Homer has his \u201cspeaking horses;\u201d and Virgil his\n\u201cmyrtles distilling blood;\u201d where the latter has not so much as\ncontrived the easy intervention of a deity to save the probability.\n\n\nIt is owing to the same vast invention, that his similes have been\nthought too exuberant and full of circumstances. The force of this\nfaculty is seen in nothing more, than in its inability to confine\nitself to that single circumstance upon which the comparison is\ngrounded: it runs out into embellishments of additional images, which,\nhowever, are so managed as not to overpower the main one. His similes\nare like pictures, where the principal figure has not only its\nproportion given agreeable to the original, but is also set off with\noccasional ornaments and prospects. The same will account for his\nmanner of heaping a number of comparisons together in one breath, when\nhis fancy suggested to him at once so many various and correspondent\nimages. The reader will easily extend this observation to more\nobjections of the same kind.\n\n\nIf there are others which seem rather to charge him with a defect or\nnarrowness of genius, than an excess of it, those seeming defects will\nbe found upon examination to proceed wholly from the nature of the\ntimes he lived in. Such are his grosser representations of the gods;\nand the vicious and imperfect manners of his heroes; but I must here\nspeak a word of the latter, as it is a point generally carried into\nextremes, both by the censurers and defenders of Homer. It must be a\nstrange partiality to antiquity, to think with Madame Dacier,[38] \u201cthat\nthose times and manners are so much the more excellent, as they are\nmore contrary to ours.\u201d Who can be so prejudiced in their favour as to\nmagnify the felicity of those ages, when a spirit of revenge and\ncruelty, joined with the practice of rapine and robbery, reigned\nthrough the world: when no mercy was shown but for the sake of lucre;\nwhen the greatest princes were put to the sword, and their wives and\ndaughters made slaves and concubines? On the other side, I would not be\nso delicate as those modern critics, who are shocked at the servile\noffices and mean employments in which we sometimes see the heroes of\nHomer engaged. There is a pleasure in taking a view of that simplicity,\nin opposition to the luxury of succeeding ages: in beholding monarchs\nwithout their guards; princes tending their flocks, and princesses\ndrawing water from the springs. When we read Homer, we ought to reflect\nthat we are reading the most ancient author in the heathen world; and\nthose who consider him in this light, will double their pleasure in the\nperusal of him. Let them think they are growing acquainted with nations\nand people that are now no more; that they are stepping almost three\nthousand years back into the remotest antiquity, and entertaining\nthemselves with a clear and surprising vision of things nowhere else to\nbe found, the only true mirror of that ancient world. By this means\nalone their greatest obstacles will vanish; and what usually creates\ntheir dislike, will become a satisfaction.\n\nThis consideration may further serve to answer for the constant use of\nthe same epithets to his gods and heroes; such as the \u201cfar-darting\nPh\u0153bus,\u201d the \u201cblue-eyed Pallas,\u201d the \u201cswift-footed Achilles,\u201d &c.,\nwhich some have censured as impertinent, and tediously repeated. Those\nof the gods depended upon the powers and offices then believed to\nbelong to them; and had contracted a weight and veneration from the\nrites and solemn devotions in which they were used: they were a sort of\nattributes with which it was a matter of religion to salute them on all\noccasions, and which it was an irreverence to omit. As for the epithets\nof great men, Mons. Boileau is of opinion, that they were in the nature\nof surnames, and repeated as such; for the Greeks having no names\nderived from their fathers, were obliged to add some other distinction\nof each person; either naming his parents expressly, or his place of\nbirth, profession, or the like: as Alexander the son of Philip,\nHerodotus of Halicarnassus, Diogenes the Cynic, &c. Homer, therefore,\ncomplying with the custom of his country, used such distinctive\nadditions as better agreed with poetry. And, indeed, we have something\nparallel to these in modern times, such as the names of Harold\nHarefoot, Edmund Ironside, Edward Longshanks, Edward the Black Prince,\n&c. If yet this be thought to account better for the propriety than for\nthe repetition, I shall add a further conjecture. Hesiod, dividing the\nworld into its different ages, has placed a fourth age, between the\nbrazen and the iron one, of \u201cheroes distinct from other men; a divine\nrace who fought at Thebes and Troy, are called demi-gods, and live by\nthe care of Jupiter in the islands of the blessed.\u201d[39] Now among the\ndivine honours which were paid them, they might have this also in\ncommon with the gods, not to be mentioned without the solemnity of an\nepithet, and such as might be acceptable to them by celebrating their\nfamilies, actions or qualities.\n\nWhat other cavils have been raised against Homer, are such as hardly\ndeserve a reply, but will yet be taken notice of as they occur in the\ncourse of the work. Many have been occasioned by an injudicious\nendeavour to exalt Virgil; which is much the same, as if one should\nthink to raise the superstructure by undermining the foundation: one\nwould imagine, by the whole course of their parallels, that these\ncritics never so much as heard of Homer\u2019s having written first; a\nconsideration which whoever compares these two poets ought to have\nalways in his eye. Some accuse him for the same things which they\noverlook or praise in the other; as when they prefer the fable and\nmoral of the \u00c6neis to those of the Iliad, for the same reasons which\nmight set the Odyssey above the \u00c6neis; as that the hero is a wiser man,\nand the action of the one more beneficial to his country than that of\nthe other; or else they blame him for not doing what he never designed;\nas because Achilles is not as good and perfect a prince as \u00c6neas, when\nthe very moral of his poem required a contrary character: it is thus\nthat Rapin judges in his comparison of Homer and Virgil. Others select\nthose particular passages of Homer which are not so laboured as some\nthat Virgil drew out of them: this is the whole management of Scaliger\nin his Poetics. Others quarrel with what they take for low and mean\nexpressions, sometimes through a false delicacy and refinement, oftener\nfrom an ignorance of the graces of the original, and then triumph in\nthe awkwardness of their own translations: this is the conduct of\nPerrault in his Parallels. Lastly, there are others, who, pretending to\na fairer proceeding, distinguish between the personal merit of Homer,\nand that of his work; but when they come to assign the causes of the\ngreat reputation of the Iliad, they found it upon the ignorance of his\ntimes, and the prejudice of those that followed; and in pursuance of\nthis principle, they make those accidents (such as the contention of\nthe cities, &c.) to be the causes of his fame, which were in reality\nthe consequences of his merit. The same might as well be said of\nVirgil, or any great author whose general character will infallibly\nraise many casual additions to their reputation. This is the method of\nMons. de la Mott; who yet confesses upon the whole that in whatever age\nHomer had lived, he must have been the greatest poet of his nation, and\nthat he may be said in his sense to be the master even of those who\nsurpassed him.\n\nIn all these objections we see nothing that contradicts his title to\nthe honour of the chief invention: and as long as this (which is indeed\nthe characteristic of poetry itself) remains unequalled by his\nfollowers, he still continues superior to them. A cooler judgment may\ncommit fewer faults, and be more approved in the eyes of one sort of\ncritics: but that warmth of fancy will carry the loudest and most\nuniversal applauses which holds the heart of a reader under the\nstrongest enchantment. Homer not only appears the inventor of poetry,\nbut excels all the inventors of other arts, in this, that he has\nswallowed up the honour of those who succeeded him. What he has done\nadmitted no increase, it only left room for contraction or regulation.\nHe showed all the stretch of fancy at once; and if he has failed in\nsome of his flights, it was but because he attempted everything. A work\nof this kind seems like a mighty tree, which rises from the most\nvigorous seed, is improved with industry, flourishes, and produces the\nfinest fruit: nature and art conspire to raise it; pleasure and profit\njoin to make it valuable: and they who find the justest faults, have\nonly said that a few branches which run luxuriant through a richness of\nnature, might be lopped into form to give it a more regular appearance.\n\nHaving now spoken of the beauties and defects of the original, it\nremains to treat of the translation, with the same view to the chief\ncharacteristic. As far as that is seen in the main parts of the poem,\nsuch as the fable, manners, and sentiments, no translator can prejudice\nit but by wilful omissions or contractions. As it also breaks out in\nevery particular image, description, and simile, whoever lessens or too\nmuch softens those, takes off from this chief character. It is the\nfirst grand duty of an interpreter to give his author entire and\nunmaimed; and for the rest, the diction and versification only are his\nproper province, since these must be his own, but the others he is to\ntake as he finds them.\n\nIt should then be considered what methods may afford some equivalent in\nour language for the graces of these in the Greek. It is certain no\nliteral translation can be just to an excellent original in a superior\nlanguage: but it is a great mistake to imagine (as many have done) that\na rash paraphrase can make amends for this general defect; which is no\nless in danger to lose the spirit of an ancient, by deviating into the\nmodern manners of expression. If there be sometimes a darkness, there\nis often a light in antiquity, which nothing better preserves than a\nversion almost literal. I know no liberties one ought to take, but\nthose which are necessary to transfusing the spirit of the original,\nand supporting the poetical style of the translation: and I will\nventure to say, there have not been more men misled in former times by\na servile, dull adherence to the letter, than have been deluded in ours\nby a chimerical, insolent hope of raising and improving their author.\nIt is not to be doubted, that the fire of the poem is what a translator\nshould principally regard, as it is most likely to expire in his\nmanaging: however, it is his safest way to be content with preserving\nthis to his utmost in the whole, without endeavouring to be more than\nhe finds his author is, in any particular place. It is a great secret\nin writing, to know when to be plain, and when poetical and figurative;\nand it is what Homer will teach us, if we will but follow modestly in\nhis footsteps. Where his diction is bold and lofty, let us raise ours\nas high as we can; but where his is plain and humble, we ought not to\nbe deterred from imitating him by the fear of incurring the censure of\na mere English critic. Nothing that belongs to Homer seems to have been\nmore commonly mistaken than the just pitch of his style: some of his\ntranslators having swelled into fustian in a proud confidence of the\nsublime; others sunk into flatness, in a cold and timorous notion of\nsimplicity. Methinks I see these different followers of Homer, some\nsweating and straining after him by violent leaps and bounds (the\ncertain signs of false mettle), others slowly and servilely creeping in\nhis train, while the poet himself is all the time proceeding with an\nunaffected and equal majesty before them. However, of the two extremes\none could sooner pardon frenzy than frigidity; no author is to be\nenvied for such commendations, as he may gain by that character of\nstyle, which his friends must agree together to call simplicity, and\nthe rest of the world will call dulness. There is a graceful and\ndignified simplicity, as well as a bold and sordid one; which differ as\nmuch from each other as the air of a plain man from that of a sloven:\nit is one thing to be tricked up, and another not to be dressed at all.\nSimplicity is the mean between ostentation and rusticity.\n\nThis pure and noble simplicity is nowhere in such perfection as in the\nScripture and our author. One may affirm, with all respect to the\ninspired writings, that the Divine Spirit made use of no other words\nbut what were intelligible and common to men at that time, and in that\npart of the world; and, as Homer is the author nearest to those, his\nstyle must of course bear a greater resemblance to the sacred books\nthan that of any other writer. This consideration (together with what\nhas been observed of the parity of some of his thoughts) may, methinks,\ninduce a translator, on the one hand, to give in to several of those\ngeneral phrases and manners of expression, which have attained a\nveneration even in our language from being used in the Old Testament;\nas, on the other, to avoid those which have been appropriated to the\nDivinity, and in a manner consigned to mystery and religion.\n\nFor a further preservation of this air of simplicity, a particular care\nshould be taken to express with all plainness those moral sentences and\nproverbial speeches which are so numerous in this poet. They have\nsomething venerable, and as I may say, oracular, in that unadorned\ngravity and shortness with which they are delivered: a grace which\nwould be utterly lost by endeavouring to give them what we call a more\ningenious (that is, a more modern) turn in the paraphrase.\n\nPerhaps the mixture of some Gr\u00e6cisms and old words after the manner of\nMilton, if done without too much affectation, might not have an ill\neffect in a version of this particular work, which most of any other\nseems to require a venerable, antique cast. But certainly the use of\nmodern terms of war and government, such as \u201cplatoon, campaign, junto,\u201d\nor the like, (into which some of his translators have fallen) cannot be\nallowable; those only excepted without which it is impossible to treat\nthe subjects in any living language.\n\nThere are two peculiarities in Homer\u2019s diction, which are a sort of\nmarks or moles by which every common eye distinguishes him at first\nsight; those who are not his greatest admirers look upon them as\ndefects, and those who are, seemed pleased with them as beauties. I\nspeak of his compound epithets, and of his repetitions. Many of the\nformer cannot be done literally into English without destroying the\npurity of our language. I believe such should be retained as slide\neasily of themselves into an English compound, without violence to the\near or to the received rules of composition, as well as those which\nhave received a sanction from the authority of our best poets, and are\nbecome familiar through their use of them; such as \u201cthe\ncloud-compelling Jove,\u201d &c. As for the rest, whenever any can be as\nfully and significantly expressed in a single word as in a compounded\none, the course to be taken is obvious.\n\nSome that cannot be so turned, as to preserve their full image by one\nor two words, may have justice done them by circumlocution; as the\nepithet \u03b5\u1f30\u03bd\u03bf\u03c3\u03af\u03c6\u03c5\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 to a mountain, would appear little or ridiculous\ntranslated literally \u201cleaf-shaking,\u201d but affords a majestic idea in the\nperiphrasis: \u201cthe lofty mountain shakes his waving woods.\u201d Others that\nadmit of different significations, may receive an advantage from a\njudicious variation, according to the occasions on which they are\nintroduced. For example, the epithet of Apollo, \u1f11\u03ba\u03b7\u03b2\u03cc\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 or\n\u201cfar-shooting,\u201d is capable of two explications; one literal, in respect\nof the darts and bow, the ensigns of that god; the other allegorical,\nwith regard to the rays of the sun; therefore, in such places where\nApollo is represented as a god in person, I would use the former\ninterpretation; and where the effects of the sun are described, I would\nmake choice of the latter. Upon the whole, it will be necessary to\navoid that perpetual repetition of the same epithets which we find in\nHomer, and which, though it might be accommodated (as has been already\nshown) to the ear of those times, is by no means so to ours: but one\nmay wait for opportunities of placing them, where they derive an\nadditional beauty from the occasions on which they are employed; and in\ndoing this properly, a translator may at once show his fancy and his\njudgment.\n\nAs for Homer\u2019s repetitions, we may divide them into three sorts: of\nwhole narrations and speeches, of single sentences, and of one verse or\nhemistitch. I hope it is not impossible to have such a regard to these,\nas neither to lose so known a mark of the author on the one hand, nor\nto offend the reader too much on the other. The repetition is not\nungraceful in those speeches, where the dignity of the speaker renders\nit a sort of insolence to alter his words; as in the messages from gods\nto men, or from higher powers to inferiors in concerns of state, or\nwhere the ceremonial of religion seems to require it, in the solemn\nforms of prayers, oaths, or the like. In other cases, I believe the\nbest rule is, to be guided by the nearness, or distance, at which the\nrepetitions are placed in the original: when they follow too close, one\nmay vary the expression; but it is a question, whether a professed\ntranslator be authorized to omit any: if they be tedious, the author is\nto answer for it.\n\nIt only remains to speak of the versification. Homer (as has been said)\nis perpetually applying the sound to the sense, and varying it on every\nnew subject. This is indeed one of the most exquisite beauties of\npoetry, and attainable by very few: I only know of Homer eminent for it\nin the Greek, and Virgil in the Latin. I am sensible it is what may\nsometimes happen by chance, when a writer is warm, and fully possessed\nof his image: however, it may reasonably be believed they designed\nthis, in whose verse it so manifestly appears in a superior degree to\nall others. Few readers have the ear to be judges of it: but those who\nhave, will see I have endeavoured at this beauty.\n\nUpon the whole, I must confess myself utterly incapable of doing\njustice to Homer. I attempt him in no other hope but that which one may\nentertain without much vanity, of giving a more tolerable copy of him\nthan any entire translation in verse has yet done. We have only those\nof Chapman, Hobbes, and Ogilby. Chapman has taken the advantage of an\nimmeasurable length of verse, notwithstanding which, there is scarce\nany paraphrase more loose and rambling than his. He has frequent\ninterpolations of four or six lines; and I remember one in the\nthirteenth book of the Odyssey, ver. 312, where he has spun twenty\nverses out of two. He is often mistaken in so bold a manner, that one\nmight think he deviated on purpose, if he did not in other places of\nhis notes insist so much upon verbal trifles. He appears to have had a\nstrong affectation of extracting new meanings out of his author;\ninsomuch as to promise, in his rhyming preface, a poem of the mysteries\nhe had revealed in Homer; and perhaps he endeavoured to strain the\nobvious sense to this end. His expression is involved in fustian; a\nfault for which he was remarkable in his original writings, as in the\ntragedy of Bussy d\u2019Amboise, &c. In a word, the nature of the man may\naccount for his whole performance; for he appears, from his preface and\nremarks, to have been of an arrogant turn, and an enthusiast in poetry.\nHis own boast, of having finished half the Iliad in less than fifteen\nweeks, shows with what negligence his version was performed. But that\nwhich is to be allowed him, and which very much contributed to cover\nhis defects, is a daring fiery spirit that animates his translation,\nwhich is something like what one might imagine Homer himself would have\nwrit before he arrived at years of discretion.\n\nHobbes has given us a correct explanation of the sense in general; but\nfor particulars and circumstances he continually lops them, and often\nomits the most beautiful. As for its being esteemed a close\ntranslation, I doubt not many have been led into that error by the\nshortness of it, which proceeds not from his following the original\nline by line, but from the contractions above mentioned. He sometimes\nomits whole similes and sentences; and is now and then guilty of\nmistakes, into which no writer of his learning could have fallen, but\nthrough carelessness. His poetry, as well as Ogilby\u2019s, is too mean for\ncriticism.\n\nIt is a great loss to the poetical world that Mr. Dryden did not live\nto translate the Iliad. He has left us only the first book, and a small\npart of the sixth; in which if he has in some places not truly\ninterpreted the sense, or preserved the antiquities, it ought to be\nexcused on account of the haste he was obliged to write in. He seems to\nhave had too much regard to Chapman, whose words he sometimes copies,\nand has unhappily followed him in passages where he wanders from the\noriginal. However, had he translated the whole work, I would no more\nhave attempted Homer after him than Virgil: his version of whom\n(notwithstanding some human errors) is the most noble and spirited\ntranslation I know in any language. But the fate of great geniuses is\nlike that of great ministers: though they are confessedly the first in\nthe commonwealth of letters, they must be envied and calumniated only\nfor being at the head of it.\n\nThat which, in my opinion, ought to be the endeavour of any one who\ntranslates Homer, is above all things to keep alive that spirit and\nfire which makes his chief character: in particular places, where the\nsense can bear any doubt, to follow the strongest and most poetical, as\nmost agreeing with that character; to copy him in all the variations of\nhis style, and the different modulations of his numbers; to preserve,\nin the more active or descriptive parts, a warmth and elevation; in the\nmore sedate or narrative, a plainness and solemnity; in the speeches, a\nfulness and perspicuity; in the sentences, a shortness and gravity; not\nto neglect even the little figures and turns on the words, nor\nsometimes the very cast of the periods; neither to omit nor confound\nany rites or customs of antiquity: perhaps too he ought to include the\nwhole in a shorter compass than has hitherto been done by any\ntranslator who has tolerably preserved either the sense or poetry. What\nI would further recommend to him is, to study his author rather from\nhis own text, than from any commentaries, how learned soever, or\nwhatever figure they may make in the estimation of the world; to\nconsider him attentively in comparison with Virgil above all the\nancients, and with Milton above all the moderns. Next these, the\nArchbishop of Cambray\u2019s Telemachus may give him the truest idea of the\nspirit and turn of our author; and Bossu\u2019s admirable Treatise of the\nEpic Poem the justest notion of his design and conduct. But after all,\nwith whatever judgment and study a man may proceed, or with whatever\nhappiness he may perform such a work, he must hope to please but a few;\nthose only who have at once a taste of poetry, and competent learning.\nFor to satisfy such a want either, is not in the nature of this\nundertaking; since a mere modern wit can like nothing that is not\nmodern, and a pedant nothing that is not Greek.\n\nWhat I have done is submitted to the public; from whose opinions I am\nprepared to learn; though I fear no judges so little as our best poets,\nwho are most sensible of the weight of this task. As for the worst,\nwhatever they shall please to say, they may give me some concern as\nthey are unhappy men, but none as they are malignant writers. I was\nguided in this translation by judgments very different from theirs, and\nby persons for whom they can have no kindness, if an old observation be\ntrue, that the strongest antipathy in the world is that of fools to men\nof wit. Mr. Addison was the first whose advice determined me to\nundertake this task; who was pleased to write to me upon that occasion\nin such terms as I cannot repeat without vanity. I was obliged to Sir\nRichard Steele for a very early recommendation of my undertaking to the\npublic. Dr. Swift promoted my interest with that warmth with which he\nalways serves his friend. The humanity and frankness of Sir Samuel\nGarth are what I never knew wanting on any occasion. I must also\nacknowledge, with infinite pleasure, the many friendly offices, as well\nas sincere criticisms, of Mr. Congreve, who had led me the way in\ntranslating some parts of Homer. I must add the names of Mr. Rowe, and\nDr. Parnell, though I shall take a further opportunity of doing justice\nto the last, whose good nature (to give it a great panegyric), is no\nless extensive than his learning. The favour of these gentlemen is not\nentirely undeserved by one who bears them so true an affection. But\nwhat can I say of the honour so many of the great have done me; while\nthe first names of the age appear as my subscribers, and the most\ndistinguished patrons and ornaments of learning as my chief\nencouragers? Among these it is a particular pleasure to me to find,\nthat my highest obligations are to such who have done most honour to\nthe name of poet: that his grace the Duke of Buckingham was not\ndispleased I should undertake the author to whom he has given (in his\nexcellent Essay), so complete a praise:\n\n\u201cRead Homer once, and you can read no more;\nFor all books else appear so mean, so poor,\nVerse will seem prose: but still persist to read,\nAnd Homer will be all the books you need.\u201d\n\n\nThat the Earl of Halifax was one of the first to favour me; of whom it\nis hard to say whether the advancement of the polite arts is more owing\nto his generosity or his example: that such a genius as my Lord\nBolingbroke, not more distinguished in the great scenes of business,\nthan in all the useful and entertaining parts of learning, has not\nrefused to be the critic of these sheets, and the patron of their\nwriter: and that the noble author of the tragedy of \u201cHeroic Love\u201d has\ncontinued his partiality to me, from my writing pastorals to my\nattempting the Iliad. I cannot deny myself the pride of confessing,\nthat I have had the advantage not only of their advice for the conduct\nin general, but their correction of several particulars of this\ntranslation.\n\nI could say a great deal of the pleasure of being distinguished by the\nEarl of Carnarvon; but it is almost absurd to particularize any one\ngenerous action in a person whose whole life is a continued series of\nthem. Mr. Stanhope, the present secretary of state, will pardon my\ndesire of having it known that he was pleased to promote this affair.\nThe particular zeal of Mr. Harcourt (the son of the late Lord\nChancellor) gave me a proof how much I am honoured in a share of his\nfriendship. I must attribute to the same motive that of several others\nof my friends: to whom all acknowledgments are rendered unnecessary by\nthe privileges of a familiar correspondence; and I am satisfied I can\nno way better oblige men of their turn than by my silence.\n\nIn short, I have found more patrons than ever Homer wanted. He would\nhave thought himself happy to have met the same favour at Athens that\nhas been shown me by its learned rival, the University of Oxford. And I\ncan hardly envy him those pompous honours he received after death, when\nI reflect on the enjoyment of so many agreeable obligations, and easy\nfriendships, which make the satisfaction of life. This distinction is\nthe more to be acknowledged, as it is shown to one whose pen has never\ngratified the prejudices of particular parties, or the vanities of\nparticular men. Whatever the success may prove, I shall never repent of\nan undertaking in which I have experienced the candour and friendship\nof so many persons of merit; and in which I hope to pass some of those\nyears of youth that are generally lost in a circle of follies, after a\nmanner neither wholly unuseful to others, nor disagreeable to myself.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ILIAD.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\n\nARGUMENT.[40]\n\n\nTHE CONTENTION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.\n\n\nIn the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of the neighbouring\ntowns, and taken from thence two beautiful captives, Chryse\u00efs and\nBrise\u00efs, allotted the first to Agamemnon, and the last to Achilles.\nChryses, the father of Chryse\u00efs, and priest of Apollo, comes to the\nGrecian camp to ransom her; with which the action of the poem opens, in\nthe tenth year of the siege. The priest being refused, and insolently\ndismissed by Agamemnon, entreats for vengeance from his god; who\ninflicts a pestilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council, and\nencourages Chalcas to declare the cause of it; who attributes it to the\nrefusal of Chryse\u00efs. The king, being obliged to send back his captive,\nenters into a furious contest with Achilles, which Nestor pacifies;\nhowever, as he had the absolute command of the army, he seizes on\nBrise\u00efs in revenge. Achilles in discontent withdraws himself and his\nforces from the rest of the Greeks; and complaining to Thetis, she\nsupplicates Jupiter to render them sensible of the wrong done to her\nson, by giving victory to the Trojans. Jupiter, granting her suit,\nincenses Juno: between whom the debate runs high, till they are\nreconciled by the address of Vulcan.\n    The time of two-and-twenty days is taken up in this book: nine\n    during the plague, one in the council and quarrel of the princes,\n    and twelve for Jupiter\u2019s stay with the \u00c6thiopians, at whose return\n    Thetis prefers her petition. The scene lies in the Grecian camp,\n    then changes to Chrysa, and lastly to Olympus.\n\n\nAchilles\u2019 wrath, to Greece the direful spring\nOf woes unnumber\u2019d, heavenly goddess, sing!\nThat wrath which hurl\u2019d to Pluto\u2019s gloomy reign\nThe souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;\nWhose limbs unburied on the naked shore,\nDevouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.[41]\nSince great Achilles and Atrides strove,\nSuch was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove![42]\n\nDeclare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour[43]\nSprung the fierce strife, from what offended power\nLatona\u2019s son a dire contagion spread,[44]\nAnd heap\u2019d the camp with mountains of the dead;\nThe king of men his reverent priest defied,[45]\nAnd for the king\u2019s offence the people died.\n\nFor Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain\nHis captive daughter from the victor\u2019s chain.\nSuppliant the venerable father stands;\nApollo\u2019s awful ensigns grace his hands:\nBy these he begs; and lowly bending down,\nExtends the sceptre and the laurel crown.\nHe sued to all, but chief implored for grace\nThe brother-kings, of Atreus\u2019 royal race[46]\n\n\u201cYe kings and warriors! may your vows be crown\u2019d,\nAnd Troy\u2019s proud walls lie level with the ground.\nMay Jove restore you when your toils are o\u2019er\nSafe to the pleasures of your native shore.\nBut, oh! relieve a wretched parent\u2019s pain,\nAnd give Chryse\u00efs to these arms again;\nIf mercy fail, yet let my presents move,\nAnd dread avenging Ph\u0153bus, son of Jove.\u201d\n\nThe Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare,\nThe priest to reverence, and release the fair.\nNot so Atrides; he, with kingly pride,\nRepulsed the sacred sire, and thus replied:\n\u201cHence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains,\nNor ask, presumptuous, what the king detains:\n\nHence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod,\nNor trust too far those ensigns of thy god.\nMine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain;\nAnd prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain;\nTill time shall rifle every youthful grace,\nAnd age dismiss her from my cold embrace,\nIn daily labours of the loom employ\u2019d,\nOr doom\u2019d to deck the bed she once enjoy\u2019d.\nHence then; to Argos shall the maid retire,\nFar from her native soil and weeping sire.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE\n\n\nThe trembling priest along the shore return\u2019d,\nAnd in the anguish of a father mourn\u2019d.\nDisconsolate, not daring to complain,\nSilent he wander\u2019d by the sounding main;\nTill, safe at distance, to his god he prays,\nThe god who darts around the world his rays.\n\n\u201cO Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona\u2019s line,[47]\nThou guardian power of Cilla the divine,[48]\nThou source of light! whom Tenedos adores,\nAnd whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa\u2019s shores.\nIf e\u2019er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,[49]\nOr fed the flames with fat of oxen slain;\nGod of the silver bow! thy shafts employ,\nAvenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy.\u201d\n\nThus Chryses pray\u2019d:\u2014the favouring power attends,\nAnd from Olympus\u2019 lofty tops descends.\nBent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;[50]\nFierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound.\nBreathing revenge, a sudden night he spread,\nAnd gloomy darkness roll\u2019d about his head.\nThe fleet in view, he twang\u2019d his deadly bow,\nAnd hissing fly the feather\u2019d fates below.\nOn mules and dogs the infection first began;[51]\nAnd last, the vengeful arrows fix\u2019d in man.\nFor nine long nights, through all the dusky air,\nThe pyres, thick-flaming, shot a dismal glare.\nBut ere the tenth revolving day was run,\nInspired by Juno, Thetis\u2019 godlike son\nConvened to council all the Grecian train;\nFor much the goddess mourn\u2019d her heroes slain.[52]\nThe assembly seated, rising o\u2019er the rest,\nAchilles thus the king of men address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cWhy leave we not the fatal Trojan shore,\nAnd measure back the seas we cross\u2019d before?\nThe plague destroying whom the sword would spare,\n\u2019Tis time to save the few remains of war.\nBut let some prophet, or some sacred sage,\nExplore the cause of great Apollo\u2019s rage;\nOr learn the wasteful vengeance to remove\nBy mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove.[53]\nIf broken vows this heavy curse have laid,\nLet altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid.\nSo Heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore,\nAnd Ph\u0153bus dart his burning shafts no more.\u201d\n\nHe said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied;\nChalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide,\nThat sacred seer, whose comprehensive view,\nThe past, the present, and the future knew:\nUprising slow, the venerable sage\nThus spoke the prudence and the fears of age:\n\n\u201cBeloved of Jove, Achilles! would\u2019st thou know\nWhy angry Ph\u0153bus bends his fatal bow?\nFirst give thy faith, and plight a prince\u2019s word\nOf sure protection, by thy power and sword:\nFor I must speak what wisdom would conceal,\nAnd truths, invidious to the great, reveal,\nBold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise,\nInstruct a monarch where his error lies;\nFor though we deem the short-lived fury past,\n\u2019Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last.\u201d\nTo whom Pelides:\u2014\u201cFrom thy inmost soul\nSpeak what thou know\u2019st, and speak without control.\nE\u2019en by that god I swear who rules the day,\nTo whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey.\nAnd whose bless\u2019d oracles thy lips declare;\nLong as Achilles breathes this vital air,\nNo daring Greek, of all the numerous band,\nAgainst his priest shall lift an impious hand;\nNot e\u2019en the chief by whom our hosts are led,\nThe king of kings, shall touch that sacred head.\u201d\n\nEncouraged thus, the blameless man replies:\n\u201cNor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice,\nBut he, our chief, provoked the raging pest,\nApollo\u2019s vengeance for his injured priest.\nNor will the god\u2019s awaken\u2019d fury cease,\nBut plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase,\nTill the great king, without a ransom paid,\nTo her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid.[54]\nPerhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer,\nThe priest may pardon, and the god may spare.\u201d\n\nThe prophet spoke: when with a gloomy frown\nThe monarch started from his shining throne;\nBlack choler fill\u2019d his breast that boil\u2019d with ire,\nAnd from his eye-balls flash\u2019d the living fire:\n\u201cAugur accursed! denouncing mischief still,\nProphet of plagues, for ever boding ill!\nStill must that tongue some wounding message bring,\nAnd still thy priestly pride provoke thy king?\nFor this are Ph\u0153bus\u2019 oracles explored,\nTo teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord?\nFor this with falsehood is my honour stain\u2019d,\nIs heaven offended, and a priest profaned;\nBecause my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold,\nAnd heavenly charms prefer to proffer\u2019d gold?\nA maid, unmatch\u2019d in manners as in face,\nSkill\u2019d in each art, and crown\u2019d with every grace;\nNot half so dear were Clyt\u00e6mnestra\u2019s charms,\nWhen first her blooming beauties bless\u2019d my arms.\nYet, if the gods demand her, let her sail;\nOur cares are only for the public weal:\nLet me be deem\u2019d the hateful cause of all,\nAnd suffer, rather than my people fall.\nThe prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign,\nSo dearly valued, and so justly mine.\nBut since for common good I yield the fair,\nMy private loss let grateful Greece repair;\nNor unrewarded let your prince complain,\nThat he alone has fought and bled in vain.\u201d\n\u201cInsatiate king (Achilles thus replies),\nFond of the power, but fonder of the prize!\nWould\u2019st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield,\nThe due reward of many a well-fought field?\n\nThe spoils of cities razed and warriors slain,\nWe share with justice, as with toil we gain;\nBut to resume whate\u2019er thy avarice craves\n(That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.\nYet if our chief for plunder only fight,\nThe spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite,\nWhene\u2019er, by Jove\u2019s decree, our conquering powers\nShall humble to the dust her lofty towers.\u201d\n\nThen thus the king: \u201cShall I my prize resign\nWith tame content, and thou possess\u2019d of thine?\nGreat as thou art, and like a god in fight,\nThink not to rob me of a soldier\u2019s right.\nAt thy demand shall I restore the maid?\nFirst let the just equivalent be paid;\nSuch as a king might ask; and let it be\nA treasure worthy her, and worthy me.\nOr grant me this, or with a monarch\u2019s claim\nThis hand shall seize some other captive dame.\nThe mighty Ajax shall his prize resign;[55]\nUlysses\u2019 spoils, or even thy own, be mine.\nThe man who suffers, loudly may complain;\nAnd rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.\nBut this when time requires.\u2014It now remains\nWe launch a bark to plough the watery plains,\nAnd waft the sacrifice to Chrysa\u2019s shores,\nWith chosen pilots, and with labouring oars.\nSoon shall the fair the sable ship ascend,\nAnd some deputed prince the charge attend:\nThis Creta\u2019s king, or Ajax shall fulfil,\nOr wise Ulysses see perform\u2019d our will;\nOr, if our royal pleasure shall ordain,\nAchilles\u2019 self conduct her o\u2019er the main;\nLet fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage,\nThe god propitiate, and the pest assuage.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] MARS\n\n\nAt this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied:\n\u201cO tyrant, arm\u2019d with insolence and pride!\nInglorious slave to interest, ever join\u2019d\nWith fraud, unworthy of a royal mind!\nWhat generous Greek, obedient to thy word,\nShall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword?\nWhat cause have I to war at thy decree?\nThe distant Trojans never injured me;\nTo Phthia\u2019s realms no hostile troops they led:\nSafe in her vales my warlike coursers fed;\nFar hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main,\nAnd walls of rocks, secure my native reign,\nWhose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace,\nRich in her fruits, and in her martial race.\nHither we sail\u2019d, a voluntary throng,\nTo avenge a private, not a public wrong:\nWhat else to Troy the assembled nations draws,\nBut thine, ungrateful, and thy brother\u2019s cause?\nIs this the pay our blood and toils deserve;\nDisgraced and injured by the man we serve?\nAnd darest thou threat to snatch my prize away,\nDue to the deeds of many a dreadful day?\nA prize as small, O tyrant! match\u2019d with thine,\nAs thy own actions if compared to mine.\nThine in each conquest is the wealthy prey,\nThough mine the sweat and danger of the day.\nSome trivial present to my ships I bear:\nOr barren praises pay the wounds of war.\nBut know, proud monarch, I\u2019m thy slave no more;\nMy fleet shall waft me to Thessalia\u2019s shore:\nLeft by Achilles on the Trojan plain,\nWhat spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?\u201d\n\nTo this the king: \u201cFly, mighty warrior! fly;\nThy aid we need not, and thy threats defy.\nThere want not chiefs in such a cause to fight,\nAnd Jove himself shall guard a monarch\u2019s right.\nOf all the kings (the god\u2019s distinguish\u2019d care)\nTo power superior none such hatred bear:\nStrife and debate thy restless soul employ,\nAnd wars and horrors are thy savage joy,\nIf thou hast strength, \u2019twas Heaven that strength bestow\u2019d;\nFor know, vain man! thy valour is from God.\nHaste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away;\nRule thy own realms with arbitrary sway;\nI heed thee not, but prize at equal rate\nThy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate.\nGo, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons:\u2014but here[56]\n\u2019Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear.\nKnow, if the god the beauteous dame demand,\nMy bark shall waft her to her native land;\nBut then prepare, imperious prince! prepare,\nFierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair:\nEven in thy tent I\u2019ll seize the blooming prize,\nThy loved Brise\u00efs with the radiant eyes.\nHence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour\nThou stood\u2019st a rival of imperial power;\nAnd hence, to all our hosts it shall be known,\nThat kings are subject to the gods alone.\u201d\n\nAchilles heard, with grief and rage oppress\u2019d,\nHis heart swell\u2019d high, and labour\u2019d in his breast;\nDistracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled;\nNow fired by wrath, and now by reason cool\u2019d:\nThat prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword,\nForce through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord;\nThis whispers soft his vengeance to control,\nAnd calm the rising tempest of his soul.\nJust as in anguish of suspense he stay\u2019d,\nWhile half unsheathed appear\u2019d the glittering blade,[57]\nMinerva swift descended from above,\nSent by the sister and the wife of Jove\n(For both the princes claim\u2019d her equal care);\nBehind she stood, and by the golden hair\nAchilles seized; to him alone confess\u2019d;\nA sable cloud conceal\u2019d her from the rest.\nHe sees, and sudden to the goddess cries,\nKnown by the flames that sparkle from her eyes:\n\n\n[Illustration: ] MINERVA REPRESSING THE FURY OF ACHILLES\n\n\n\u201cDescends Minerva, in her guardian care,\nA heavenly witness of the wrongs I bear\nFrom Atreus\u2019 son?\u2014Then let those eyes that view\nThe daring crime, behold the vengeance too.\u201d\n\n\u201cForbear (the progeny of Jove replies)\nTo calm thy fury I forsake the skies:\nLet great Achilles, to the gods resign\u2019d,\nTo reason yield the empire o\u2019er his mind.\nBy awful Juno this command is given;\nThe king and you are both the care of heaven.\nThe force of keen reproaches let him feel;\nBut sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel.\nFor I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power)\nThy injured honour has its fated hour,\nWhen the proud monarch shall thy arms implore,\nAnd bribe thy friendship with a boundless store.\nThen let revenge no longer bear the sway;\nCommand thy passions, and the gods obey.\u201d\n\nTo her Pelides:\u2014\u201cWith regardful ear,\n\u2019Tis just, O goddess! I thy dictates hear.\nHard as it is, my vengeance I suppress:\nThose who revere the gods the gods will bless.\u201d\nHe said, observant of the blue-eyed maid;\nThen in the sheath return\u2019d the shining blade.\nThe goddess swift to high Olympus flies,\nAnd joins the sacred senate of the skies.\n\nNor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook,\nWhich thus redoubling on Atrides broke:\n\u201cO monster! mix\u2019d of insolence and fear,\nThou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer!\nWhen wert thou known in ambush\u2019d fights to dare,\nOr nobly face the horrid front of war?\n\u2019Tis ours, the chance of fighting fields to try;\nThine to look on, and bid the valiant die:\nSo much \u2019tis safer through the camp to go,\nAnd rob a subject, than despoil a foe.\nScourge of thy people, violent and base!\nSent in Jove\u2019s anger on a slavish race;\nWho, lost to sense of generous freedom past,\nAre tamed to wrongs;\u2014or this had been thy last.\nNow by this sacred sceptre hear me swear,\nWhich never more shall leaves or blossoms bear,\nWhich sever\u2019d from the trunk (as I from thee)\nOn the bare mountains left its parent tree;\nThis sceptre, form\u2019d by temper\u2019d steel to prove\nAn ensign of the delegates of Jove,\nFrom whom the power of laws and justice springs\n(Tremendous oath! inviolate to kings);\nBy this I swear:\u2014when bleeding Greece again\nShall call Achilles, she shall call in vain.\nWhen, flush\u2019d with slaughter, Hector comes to spread\nThe purpled shore with mountains of the dead,\nThen shalt thou mourn the affront thy madness gave,\nForced to deplore when impotent to save:\nThen rage in bitterness of soul to know\nThis act has made the bravest Greek thy foe.\u201d\n\nHe spoke; and furious hurl\u2019d against the ground\nHis sceptre starr\u2019d with golden studs around:\nThen sternly silent sat. With like disdain\nThe raging king return\u2019d his frowns again.\n\nTo calm their passion with the words of age,\nSlow from his seat arose the Pylian sage,\nExperienced Nestor, in persuasion skill\u2019d;\nWords, sweet as honey, from his lips distill\u2019d:[58]\nTwo generations now had pass\u2019d away,\nWise by his rules, and happy by his sway;\nTwo ages o\u2019er his native realm he reign\u2019d,\nAnd now the example of the third remain\u2019d.\nAll view\u2019d with awe the venerable man;\nWho thus with mild benevolence began:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy\nTo Troy\u2019s proud monarch, and the friends of Troy!\nThat adverse gods commit to stern debate\nThe best, the bravest, of the Grecian state.\nYoung as ye are, this youthful heat restrain,\nNor think your Nestor\u2019s years and wisdom vain.\nA godlike race of heroes once I knew,\nSuch as no more these aged eyes shall view!\nLives there a chief to match Pirithous\u2019 fame,\nDryas the bold, or Ceneus\u2019 deathless name;\nTheseus, endued with more than mortal might,\nOr Polyphemus, like the gods in fight?\nWith these of old, to toils of battle bred,\nIn early youth my hardy days I led;\nFired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds,\nAnd smit with love of honourable deeds,\nStrongest of men, they pierced the mountain boar,\nRanged the wild deserts red with monsters\u2019 gore,\nAnd from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore:\nYet these with soft persuasive arts I sway\u2019d;\nWhen Nestor spoke, they listen\u2019d and obey\u2019d.\nIf in my youth, even these esteem\u2019d me wise;\nDo you, young warriors, hear my age advise.\nAtrides, seize not on the beauteous slave;\nThat prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave:\nNor thou, Achilles, treat our prince with pride;\nLet kings be just, and sovereign power preside.\nThee, the first honours of the war adorn,\nLike gods in strength, and of a goddess born;\nHim, awful majesty exalts above\nThe powers of earth, and sceptred sons of Jove.\nLet both unite with well-consenting mind,\nSo shall authority with strength be join\u2019d.\nLeave me, O king! to calm Achilles\u2019 rage;\nRule thou thyself, as more advanced in age.\nForbid it, gods! Achilles should be lost,\nThe pride of Greece, and bulwark of our host.\u201d\n\nThis said, he ceased. The king of men replies:\n\u201cThy years are awful, and thy words are wise.\nBut that imperious, that unconquer\u2019d soul,\nNo laws can limit, no respect control.\nBefore his pride must his superiors fall;\nHis word the law, and he the lord of all?\nHim must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself obey?\nWhat king can bear a rival in his sway?\nGrant that the gods his matchless force have given;\nHas foul reproach a privilege from heaven?\u201d\n\nHere on the monarch\u2019s speech Achilles broke,\nAnd furious, thus, and interrupting spoke:\n\u201cTyrant, I well deserved thy galling chain,\nTo live thy slave, and still to serve in vain,\nShould I submit to each unjust decree:\u2014\nCommand thy vassals, but command not me.\nSeize on Brise\u00efs, whom the Grecians doom\u2019d\nMy prize of war, yet tamely see resumed;\nAnd seize secure; no more Achilles draws\nHis conquering sword in any woman\u2019s cause.\nThe gods command me to forgive the past:\nBut let this first invasion be the last:\nFor know, thy blood, when next thou darest invade,\nShall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade.\u201d\n\nAt this they ceased: the stern debate expired:\nThe chiefs in sullen majesty retired.\n\nAchilles with Patroclus took his way\nWhere near his tents his hollow vessels lay.\nMeantime Atrides launch\u2019d with numerous oars\nA well-rigg\u2019d ship for Chrysa\u2019s sacred shores:\nHigh on the deck was fair Chryse\u00efs placed,\nAnd sage Ulysses with the conduct graced:\nSafe in her sides the hecatomb they stow\u2019d,\nThen swiftly sailing, cut the liquid road.\n\nThe host to expiate next the king prepares,\nWith pure lustrations, and with solemn prayers.\nWash\u2019d by the briny wave, the pious train[59]\nAre cleansed; and cast the ablutions in the main.\nAlong the shore whole hecatombs were laid,\nAnd bulls and goats to Ph\u0153bus\u2019 altars paid;\nThe sable fumes in curling spires arise,\nAnd waft their grateful odours to the skies.\n\nThe army thus in sacred rites engaged,\nAtrides still with deep resentment raged.\nTo wait his will two sacred heralds stood,\nTalthybius and Eurybates the good.\n\u201cHaste to the fierce Achilles\u2019 tent (he cries),\nThence bear Brise\u00efs as our royal prize:\nSubmit he must; or if they will not part,\nOurself in arms shall tear her from his heart.\u201d\n\nThe unwilling heralds act their lord\u2019s commands;\nPensive they walk along the barren sands:\nArrived, the hero in his tent they find,\nWith gloomy aspect on his arm reclined.\nAt awful distance long they silent stand,\nLoth to advance, and speak their hard command;\nDecent confusion! This the godlike man\nPerceived, and thus with accent mild began:\n\n\u201cWith leave and honour enter our abodes,\nYe sacred ministers of men and gods![60]\nI know your message; by constraint you came;\nNot you, but your imperious lord I blame.\nPatroclus, haste, the fair Brise\u00efs bring;\nConduct my captive to the haughty king.\nBut witness, heralds, and proclaim my vow,\nWitness to gods above, and men below!\nBut first, and loudest, to your prince declare\n(That lawless tyrant whose commands you bear),\nUnmoved as death Achilles shall remain,\nThough prostrate Greece shall bleed at every vein:\nThe raging chief in frantic passion lost,\nBlind to himself, and useless to his host,\nUnskill\u2019d to judge the future by the past,\nIn blood and slaughter shall repent at last.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE DEPARTURE OF BRISEIS FROM THE TENT OF ACHILLES\n\n\nPatroclus now the unwilling beauty brought;\nShe, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought,\nPass\u2019d silent, as the heralds held her hand,\nAnd oft look\u2019d back, slow-moving o\u2019er the strand.\nNot so his loss the fierce Achilles bore;\nBut sad, retiring to the sounding shore,\nO\u2019er the wild margin of the deep he hung,\nThat kindred deep from whence his mother sprung:[61]\nThere bathed in tears of anger and disdain,\nThus loud lamented to the stormy main:\n\n\u201cO parent goddess! since in early bloom\nThy son must fall, by too severe a doom;\nSure to so short a race of glory born,\nGreat Jove in justice should this span adorn:\nHonour and fame at least the thunderer owed;\nAnd ill he pays the promise of a god,\nIf yon proud monarch thus thy son defies,\nObscures my glories, and resumes my prize.\u201d\n\nFar from the deep recesses of the main,\nWhere aged Ocean holds his watery reign,\nThe goddess-mother heard. The waves divide;\nAnd like a mist she rose above the tide;\nBeheld him mourning on the naked shores,\nAnd thus the sorrows of his soul explores.\n\u201cWhy grieves my son? Thy anguish let me share;\nReveal the cause, and trust a parent\u2019s care.\u201d\n\nHe deeply sighing said: \u201cTo tell my woe\nIs but to mention what too well you know.\nFrom Theb\u00e9, sacred to Apollo\u2019s name[62]\n(A\u00ebtion\u2019s realm), our conquering army came,\nWith treasure loaded and triumphant spoils,\nWhose just division crown\u2019d the soldier\u2019s toils;\nBut bright Chryse\u00efs, heavenly prize! was led,\nBy vote selected, to the general\u2019s bed.\nThe priest of Ph\u0153bus sought by gifts to gain\nHis beauteous daughter from the victor\u2019s chain;\nThe fleet he reach\u2019d, and, lowly bending down,\nHeld forth the sceptre and the laurel crown,\nIntreating all; but chief implored for grace\nThe brother-kings of Atreus\u2019 royal race:\nThe generous Greeks their joint consent declare,\nThe priest to reverence, and release the fair;\nNot so Atrides: he, with wonted pride,\nThe sire insulted, and his gifts denied:\nThe insulted sire (his god\u2019s peculiar care)\nTo Ph\u0153bus pray\u2019d, and Ph\u0153bus heard the prayer:\nA dreadful plague ensues: the avenging darts\nIncessant fly, and pierce the Grecian hearts.\nA prophet then, inspired by heaven, arose,\nAnd points the crime, and thence derives the woes:\nMyself the first the assembled chiefs incline\nTo avert the vengeance of the power divine;\nThen rising in his wrath, the monarch storm\u2019d;\nIncensed he threaten\u2019d, and his threats perform\u2019d:\nThe fair Chryse\u00efs to her sire was sent,\nWith offer\u2019d gifts to make the god relent;\nBut now he seized Brise\u00efs\u2019 heavenly charms,\nAnd of my valour\u2019s prize defrauds my arms,\nDefrauds the votes of all the Grecian train;[63]\nAnd service, faith, and justice, plead in vain.\nBut, goddess! thou thy suppliant son attend.\nTo high Olympus\u2019 shining court ascend,\nUrge all the ties to former service owed,\nAnd sue for vengeance to the thundering god.\nOft hast thou triumph\u2019d in the glorious boast,\nThat thou stood\u2019st forth of all the ethereal host,\nWhen bold rebellion shook the realms above,\nThe undaunted guard of cloud-compelling Jove:\nWhen the bright partner of his awful reign,\nThe warlike maid, and monarch of the main,\nThe traitor-gods, by mad ambition driven,\nDurst threat with chains the omnipotence of Heaven.\nThen, call\u2019d by thee, the monster Titan came\n(Whom gods Briareus, men \u00c6geon name),\nThrough wondering skies enormous stalk\u2019d along;\nNot he that shakes the solid earth so strong:\nWith giant-pride at Jove\u2019s high throne he stands,\nAnd brandish\u2019d round him all his hundred hands:\nThe affrighted gods confess\u2019d their awful lord,\nThey dropp\u2019d the fetters, trembled, and adored.[64]\nThis, goddess, this to his remembrance call,\nEmbrace his knees, at his tribunal fall;\nConjure him far to drive the Grecian train,\nTo hurl them headlong to their fleet and main,\nTo heap the shores with copious death, and bring\nThe Greeks to know the curse of such a king.\nLet Agamemnon lift his haughty head\nO\u2019er all his wide dominion of the dead,\nAnd mourn in blood that e\u2019er he durst disgrace\nThe boldest warrior of the Grecian race.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THETIS CALLING BRIAREUS TO THE ASSISTANCE OF JUPITER\n\n\n\u201cUnhappy son! (fair Thetis thus replies,\nWhile tears celestial trickle from her eyes)\nWhy have I borne thee with a mother\u2019s throes,\nTo Fates averse, and nursed for future woes?[65]\nSo short a space the light of heaven to view!\nSo short a space! and fill\u2019d with sorrow too!\nO might a parent\u2019s careful wish prevail,\nFar, far from Ilion should thy vessels sail,\nAnd thou, from camps remote, the danger shun\nWhich now, alas! too nearly threats my son.\nYet (what I can) to move thy suit I\u2019ll go\nTo great Olympus crown\u2019d with fleecy snow.\nMeantime, secure within thy ships, from far\nBehold the field, not mingle in the war.\nThe sire of gods and all the ethereal train,\nOn the warm limits of the farthest main,\nNow mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace\nThe feasts of \u00c6thiopia\u2019s blameless race,[66]\nTwelve days the powers indulge the genial rite,\nReturning with the twelfth revolving light.\nThen will I mount the brazen dome, and move\nThe high tribunal of immortal Jove.\u201d\n\nThe goddess spoke: the rolling waves unclose;\nThen down the steep she plunged from whence she rose,\nAnd left him sorrowing on the lonely coast,\nIn wild resentment for the fair he lost.\n\nIn Chrysa\u2019s port now sage Ulysses rode;\nBeneath the deck the destined victims stow\u2019d:\nThe sails they furl\u2019d, they lash the mast aside,\nAnd dropp\u2019d their anchors, and the pinnace tied.\nNext on the shore their hecatomb they land;\nChryse\u00efs last descending on the strand.\nHer, thus returning from the furrow\u2019d main,\nUlysses led to Ph\u0153bus\u2019 sacred fane;\nWhere at his solemn altar, as the maid\nHe gave to Chryses, thus the hero said:\n\n\u201cHail, reverend priest! to Ph\u0153bus\u2019 awful dome\nA suppliant I from great Atrides come:\nUnransom\u2019d, here receive the spotless fair;\nAccept the hecatomb the Greeks prepare;\nAnd may thy god who scatters darts around,\nAtoned by sacrifice, desist to wound.\u201d[67]\n\nAt this, the sire embraced the maid again,\nSo sadly lost, so lately sought in vain.\nThen near the altar of the darting king,\nDisposed in rank their hecatomb they bring;\nWith water purify their hands, and take\nThe sacred offering of the salted cake;\nWhile thus with arms devoutly raised in air,\nAnd solemn voice, the priest directs his prayer:\n\n\u201cGod of the silver bow, thy ear incline,\nWhose power incircles Cilla the divine;\nWhose sacred eye thy Tenedos surveys,\nAnd gilds fair Chrysa with distinguish\u2019d rays!\nIf, fired to vengeance at thy priest\u2019s request,\nThy direful darts inflict the raging pest:\nOnce more attend! avert the wasteful woe,\nAnd smile propitious, and unbend thy bow.\u201d\n\nSo Chryses pray\u2019d. Apollo heard his prayer:\nAnd now the Greeks their hecatomb prepare;\nBetween their horns the salted barley threw,\nAnd, with their heads to heaven, the victims slew:[68]\nThe limbs they sever from the inclosing hide;\nThe thighs, selected to the gods, divide:\nOn these, in double cauls involved with art,\nThe choicest morsels lay from every part.\nThe priest himself before his altar stands,\nAnd burns the offering with his holy hands.\nPours the black wine, and sees the flames aspire;\nThe youth with instruments surround the fire:\nThe thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress\u2019d,\nThe assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest:\nThen spread the tables, the repast prepare;\nEach takes his seat, and each receives his share.\nWhen now the rage of hunger was repress\u2019d,\nWith pure libations they conclude the feast;\nThe youths with wine the copious goblets crown\u2019d,[69]\nAnd, pleased, dispense the flowing bowls around\nWith hymns divine the joyous banquet ends,\nThe p\u00e6ans lengthen\u2019d till the sun descends:\nThe Greeks, restored, the grateful notes prolong;\nApollo listens, and approves the song.\n\n\u2019Twas night; the chiefs beside their vessel lie,\nTill rosy morn had purpled o\u2019er the sky:\nThen launch, and hoist the mast: indulgent gales,\nSupplied by Ph\u0153bus, fill the swelling sails;\nThe milk-white canvas bellying as they blow,\nThe parted ocean foams and roars below:\nAbove the bounding billows swift they flew,\nTill now the Grecian camp appear\u2019d in view.\nFar on the beach they haul their bark to land,\n(The crooked keel divides the yellow sand,)\nThen part, where stretch\u2019d along the winding bay,\nThe ships and tents in mingled prospect lay.\n\nBut raging still, amidst his navy sat\nThe stern Achilles, stedfast in his hate;\nNor mix\u2019d in combat, nor in council join\u2019d;\nBut wasting cares lay heavy on his mind:\nIn his black thoughts revenge and slaughter roll,\nAnd scenes of blood rise dreadful in his soul.\n\nTwelve days were past, and now the dawning light\nThe gods had summon\u2019d to the Olympian height:\nJove, first ascending from the watery bowers,\nLeads the long order of ethereal powers.\nWhen, like the morning-mist in early day,\nRose from the flood the daughter of the sea:\nAnd to the seats divine her flight address\u2019d.\nThere, far apart, and high above the rest,\nThe thunderer sat; where old Olympus shrouds\nHis hundred heads in heaven, and props the clouds.\nSuppliant the goddess stood: one hand she placed\nBeneath his beard, and one his knees embraced.\n\u201cIf e\u2019er, O father of the gods! (she said)\nMy words could please thee, or my actions aid,\nSome marks of honour on my son bestow,\nAnd pay in glory what in life you owe.\nFame is at least by heavenly promise due\nTo life so short, and now dishonour\u2019d too.\nAvenge this wrong, O ever just and wise!\nLet Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise;\nTill the proud king and all the Achaian race\nShall heap with honours him they now disgrace.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THETIS ENTREATING JUPITER TO HONOUR ACHILLES\n\n\nThus Thetis spoke; but Jove in silence held\nThe sacred counsels of his breast conceal\u2019d.\nNot so repulsed, the goddess closer press\u2019d,\nStill grasp\u2019d his knees, and urged the dear request.\n\u201cO sire of gods and men! thy suppliant hear;\nRefuse, or grant; for what has Jove to fear?\nOr oh! declare, of all the powers above,\nIs wretched Thetis least the care of Jove?\u201d\n\nShe said; and, sighing, thus the god replies,\nWho rolls the thunder o\u2019er the vaulted skies:\n\n\u201cWhat hast thou ask\u2019d? ah, why should Jove engage\nIn foreign contests and domestic rage,\nThe gods\u2019 complaints, and Juno\u2019s fierce alarms,\nWhile I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms?\nGo, lest the haughty partner of my sway\nWith jealous eyes thy close access survey;\nBut part in peace, secure thy prayer is sped:\nWitness the sacred honours of our head,\nThe nod that ratifies the will divine,\nThe faithful, fix\u2019d, irrevocable sign;\nThis seals thy suit, and this fulfils thy vows\u2014\u201d\nHe spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,[70]\nShakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,\nThe stamp of fate and sanction of the god:\nHigh heaven with trembling the dread signal took,\nAnd all Olympus to the centre shook.[71]\n\nSwift to the seas profound the goddess flies,\nJove to his starry mansions in the skies.\nThe shining synod of the immortals wait\nThe coming god, and from their thrones of state\nArising silent, wrapp\u2019d in holy fear,\nBefore the majesty of heaven appear.\nTrembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne,\nAll, but the god\u2019s imperious queen alone:\nLate had she view\u2019d the silver-footed dame,\nAnd all her passions kindled into flame.\n\u201cSay, artful manager of heaven (she cries),\nWho now partakes the secrets of the skies?\nThy Juno knows not the decrees of fate,\nIn vain the partner of imperial state.\nWhat favourite goddess then those cares divides,\nWhich Jove in prudence from his consort hides?\u201d\n\nTo this the thunderer: \u201cSeek not thou to find\nThe sacred counsels of almighty mind:\nInvolved in darkness lies the great decree,\nNor can the depths of fate be pierced by thee.\nWhat fits thy knowledge, thou the first shalt know;\nThe first of gods above, and men below;\nBut thou, nor they, shall search the thoughts that roll\nDeep in the close recesses of my soul.\u201d\n\nFull on the sire the goddess of the skies\nRoll\u2019d the large orbs of her majestic eyes,\nAnd thus return\u2019d:\u2014\u201cAustere Saturnius, say,\nFrom whence this wrath, or who controls thy sway?\nThy boundless will, for me, remains in force,\nAnd all thy counsels take the destined course.\nBut \u2019tis for Greece I fear: for late was seen,\nIn close consult, the silver-footed queen.\nJove to his Thetis nothing could deny,\nNor was the signal vain that shook the sky.\nWhat fatal favour has the goddess won,\nTo grace her fierce, inexorable son?\nPerhaps in Grecian blood to drench the plain,\nAnd glut his vengeance with my people slain.\u201d\n\nThen thus the god: \u201cO restless fate of pride,\nThat strives to learn what heaven resolves to hide;\nVain is the search, presumptuous and abhorr\u2019d,\nAnxious to thee, and odious to thy lord.\nLet this suffice: the immutable decree\nNo force can shake: what is, that ought to be.\nGoddess, submit; nor dare our will withstand,\nBut dread the power of this avenging hand:\nThe united strength of all the gods above\nIn vain resists the omnipotence of Jove.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] VULCAN\n\n\nThe thunderer spoke, nor durst the queen reply;\nA reverent horror silenced all the sky.\nThe feast disturb\u2019d, with sorrow Vulcan saw\nHis mother menaced, and the gods in awe;\nPeace at his heart, and pleasure his design,\nThus interposed the architect divine:\n\u201cThe wretched quarrels of the mortal state\nAre far unworthy, gods! of your debate:\nLet men their days in senseless strife employ,\nWe, in eternal peace and constant joy.\nThou, goddess-mother, with our sire comply,\nNor break the sacred union of the sky:\nLest, roused to rage, he shake the bless\u2019d abodes,\nLaunch the red lightning, and dethrone the gods.\nIf you submit, the thunderer stands appeased;\nThe gracious power is willing to be pleased.\u201d\n\nThus Vulcan spoke: and rising with a bound,\nThe double bowl with sparkling nectar crown\u2019d,[72]\nWhich held to Juno in a cheerful way,\n\u201cGoddess (he cried), be patient and obey.\nDear as you are, if Jove his arm extend,\nI can but grieve, unable to defend.\nWhat god so daring in your aid to move,\nOr lift his hand against the force of Jove?\nOnce in your cause I felt his matchless might,\nHurl\u2019d headlong down from the ethereal height;[73]\nToss\u2019d all the day in rapid circles round,\nNor till the sun descended touch\u2019d the ground.\nBreathless I fell, in giddy motion lost;\nThe Sinthians raised me on the Lemnian coast;[74]\n\nHe said, and to her hands the goblet heaved,\nWhich, with a smile, the white-arm\u2019d queen received\nThen, to the rest he fill\u2019d; and in his turn,\nEach to his lips applied the nectar\u2019d urn,\nVulcan with awkward grace his office plies,\nAnd unextinguish\u2019d laughter shakes the skies.\n\nThus the blest gods the genial day prolong,\nIn feasts ambrosial, and celestial song.[75]\nApollo tuned the lyre; the Muses round\nWith voice alternate aid the silver sound.\nMeantime the radiant sun to mortal sight\nDescending swift, roll\u2019d down the rapid light:\nThen to their starry domes the gods depart,\nThe shining monuments of Vulcan\u2019s art:\nJove on his couch reclined his awful head,\nAnd Juno slumber\u2019d on the golden bed.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] JUPITER\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE APOTHEOSIS OF HOMER\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE TRIAL OF THE ARMY, AND CATALOGUE OF THE FORCES.\n\n\nJupiter, in pursuance of the request of Thetis, sends a deceitful\nvision to Agamemnon, persuading him to lead the army to battle, in\norder to make the Greeks sensible of their want of Achilles. The\ngeneral, who is deluded with the hopes of taking Troy without his\nassistance, but fears the army was discouraged by his absence, and the\nlate plague, as well as by the length of time, contrives to make trial\nof their disposition by a stratagem. He first communicates his design\nto the princes in council, that he would propose a return to the\nsoldiers, and that they should put a stop to them if the proposal was\nembraced. Then he assembles the whole host, and upon moving for a\nreturn to Greece, they unanimously agree to it, and run to prepare the\nships. They are detained by the management of Ulysses, who chastises\nthe insolence of Thersites. The assembly is recalled, several speeches\nmade on the occasion, and at length the advice of Nestor followed,\nwhich was to make a general muster of the troops, and to divide them\ninto their several nations, before they proceeded to battle. This gives\noccasion to the poet to enumerate all the forces of the Greeks and\nTrojans, and in a large catalogue.\n    The time employed in this book consists not entirely of one day.\n    The scene lies in the Grecian camp, and upon the sea-shore; towards\n    the end it removes to Troy.\n\n\nNow pleasing sleep had seal\u2019d each mortal eye,\nStretch\u2019d in the tents the Grecian leaders lie:\nThe immortals slumber\u2019d on their thrones above;\nAll, but the ever-wakeful eyes of Jove.[76]\nTo honour Thetis\u2019 son he bends his care,\nAnd plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war:\nThen bids an empty phantom rise to sight,\nAnd thus commands the vision of the night.\n\n\u201cFly hence, deluding Dream! and light as air,[77]\nTo Agamemnon\u2019s ample tent repair.\nBid him in arms draw forth the embattled train,\nLead all his Grecians to the dusty plain.\nDeclare, e\u2019en now \u2019tis given him to destroy\nThe lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.\nFor now no more the gods with fate contend,\nAt Juno\u2019s suit the heavenly factions end.\nDestruction hangs o\u2019er yon devoted wall,\nAnd nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.\u201d\n\nSwift as the word the vain illusion fled,\nDescends, and hovers o\u2019er Atrides\u2019 head;\nClothed in the figure of the Pylian sage,\nRenown\u2019d for wisdom, and revered for age:\nAround his temples spreads his golden wing,\nAnd thus the flattering dream deceives the king.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] JUPITER SENDING THE EVIL DREAM TO AGAMEMNON\n\n\n\u201cCanst thou, with all a monarch\u2019s cares oppress\u2019d,\nO Atreus\u2019 son! canst thou indulge thy rest?[78]\nIll fits a chief who mighty nations guides,\nDirects in council, and in war presides,\nTo whom its safety a whole people owes,\nTo waste long nights in indolent repose.[79]\nMonarch, awake! \u2019tis Jove\u2019s command I bear;\nThou, and thy glory, claim his heavenly care.\nIn just array draw forth the embattled train,\nLead all thy Grecians to the dusty plain;\nE\u2019en now, O king! \u2019tis given thee to destroy\nThe lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.\nFor now no more the gods with fate contend,\nAt Juno\u2019s suit the heavenly factions end.\nDestruction hangs o\u2019er yon devoted wall,\nAnd nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.\nAwake, but waking this advice approve,\nAnd trust the vision that descends from Jove.\u201d\n\nThe phantom said; then vanish\u2019d from his sight,\nResolves to air, and mixes with the night.\nA thousand schemes the monarch\u2019s mind employ;\nElate in thought he sacks untaken Troy:\nVain as he was, and to the future blind,\nNor saw what Jove and secret fate design\u2019d,\nWhat mighty toils to either host remain,\nWhat scenes of grief, and numbers of the slain!\nEager he rises, and in fancy hears\nThe voice celestial murmuring in his ears.\nFirst on his limbs a slender vest he drew,\nAround him next the regal mantle threw,\nThe embroider\u2019d sandals on his feet were tied;\nThe starry falchion glitter\u2019d at his side;\nAnd last, his arm the massy sceptre loads,\nUnstain\u2019d, immortal, and the gift of gods.\n\nNow rosy Morn ascends the court of Jove,\nLifts up her light, and opens day above.\nThe king despatch\u2019d his heralds with commands\nTo range the camp and summon all the bands:\nThe gathering hosts the monarch\u2019s word obey;\nWhile to the fleet Atrides bends his way.\nIn his black ship the Pylian prince he found;\nThere calls a senate of the peers around:\nThe assembly placed, the king of men express\u2019d\nThe counsels labouring in his artful breast.\n\n\u201cFriends and confederates! with attentive ear\nReceive my words, and credit what you hear.\nLate as I slumber\u2019d in the shades of night,\nA dream divine appear\u2019d before my sight;\nWhose visionary form like Nestor came,\nThe same in habit, and in mien the same.[80]\nThe heavenly phantom hover\u2019d o\u2019er my head,\n\u2018And, dost thou sleep, O Atreus\u2019 son? (he said)\nIll fits a chief who mighty nations guides,\nDirects in council, and in war presides;\nTo whom its safety a whole people owes,\nTo waste long nights in indolent repose.\nMonarch, awake! \u2019tis Jove\u2019s command I bear,\nThou and thy glory claim his heavenly care.\nIn just array draw forth the embattled train,\nAnd lead the Grecians to the dusty plain;\nE\u2019en now, O king! \u2019tis given thee to destroy\nThe lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.\nFor now no more the gods with fate contend,\nAt Juno\u2019s suit the heavenly factions end.\nDestruction hangs o\u2019er yon devoted wall,\nAnd nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.\n\nThis hear observant, and the gods obey!\u2019\nThe vision spoke, and pass\u2019d in air away.\nNow, valiant chiefs! since heaven itself alarms,\nUnite, and rouse the sons of Greece to arms.\nBut first, with caution, try what yet they dare,\nWorn with nine years of unsuccessful war.\nTo move the troops to measure back the main,\nBe mine; and yours the province to detain.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and sat: when Nestor, rising said,\n(Nestor, whom Pylos\u2019 sandy realms obey\u2019d,)\n\u201cPrinces of Greece, your faithful ears incline,\nNor doubt the vision of the powers divine;\nSent by great Jove to him who rules the host,\nForbid it, heaven! this warning should be lost!\nThen let us haste, obey the god\u2019s alarms,\nAnd join to rouse the sons of Greece to arms.\u201d\n\nThus spoke the sage: the kings without delay\nDissolve the council, and their chief obey:\nThe sceptred rulers lead; the following host,\nPour\u2019d forth by thousands, darkens all the coast.\nAs from some rocky cleft the shepherd sees\nClustering in heaps on heaps the driving bees,\nRolling and blackening, swarms succeeding swarms,\nWith deeper murmurs and more hoarse alarms;\nDusky they spread, a close embodied crowd,\nAnd o\u2019er the vale descends the living cloud.[81]\nSo, from the tents and ships, a lengthen\u2019d train\nSpreads all the beach, and wide o\u2019ershades the plain:\nAlong the region runs a deafening sound;\nBeneath their footsteps groans the trembling ground.\nFame flies before the messenger of Jove,\nAnd shining soars, and claps her wings above.\nNine sacred heralds now, proclaiming loud[82]\nThe monarch\u2019s will, suspend the listening crowd.\nSoon as the throngs in order ranged appear,\nAnd fainter murmurs died upon the ear,\nThe king of kings his awful figure raised:\nHigh in his hand the golden sceptre blazed;\nThe golden sceptre, of celestial flame,\nBy Vulcan form\u2019d, from Jove to Hermes came.\nTo Pelops he the immortal gift resign\u2019d;\nThe immortal gift great Pelops left behind,\nIn Atreus\u2019 hand, which not with Atreus ends,\nTo rich Thyestes next the prize descends;\nAnd now the mark of Agamemnon\u2019s reign,\nSubjects all Argos, and controls the main.[83]\n\nOn this bright sceptre now the king reclined,\nAnd artful thus pronounced the speech design\u2019d:\n\u201cYe sons of Mars, partake your leader\u2019s care,\nHeroes of Greece, and brothers of the war!\nOf partial Jove with justice I complain,\nAnd heavenly oracles believed in vain\nA safe return was promised to our toils,\nRenown\u2019d, triumphant, and enrich\u2019d with spoils.\nNow shameful flight alone can save the host,\nOur blood, our treasure, and our glory lost.\nSo Jove decrees, resistless lord of all!\nAt whose command whole empires rise or fall:\nHe shakes the feeble props of human trust,\nAnd towns and armies humbles to the dust.\nWhat shame to Greece a fruitful war to wage,\nOh, lasting shame in every future age!\nOnce great in arms, the common scorn we grow,\nRepulsed and baffled by a feeble foe.\nSo small their number, that if wars were ceased,\nAnd Greece triumphant held a general feast,\nAll rank\u2019d by tens, whole decades when they dine\nMust want a Trojan slave to pour the wine.[84]\nBut other forces have our hopes o\u2019erthrown,\nAnd Troy prevails by armies not her own.\nNow nine long years of mighty Jove are run,\nSince first the labours of this war begun:\nOur cordage torn, decay\u2019d our vessels lie,\nAnd scarce insure the wretched power to fly.\nHaste, then, for ever leave the Trojan wall!\nOur weeping wives, our tender children call:\nLove, duty, safety, summon us away,\n\u2019Tis nature\u2019s voice, and nature we obey.\nOur shatter\u2019d barks may yet transport us o\u2019er,\nSafe and inglorious, to our native shore.\nFly, Grecians, fly, your sails and oars employ,\nAnd dream no more of heaven-defended Troy.\u201d\n\nHis deep design unknown, the hosts approve\nAtrides\u2019 speech. The mighty numbers move.\nSo roll the billows to the Icarian shore,\nFrom east and south when winds begin to roar,\nBurst their dark mansions in the clouds, and sweep\nThe whitening surface of the ruffled deep.\nAnd as on corn when western gusts descend,[85]\nBefore the blast the lofty harvests bend:\nThus o\u2019er the field the moving host appears,\nWith nodding plumes and groves of waving spears.\nThe gathering murmur spreads, their trampling feet\nBeat the loose sands, and thicken to the fleet;\nWith long-resounding cries they urge the train\nTo fit the ships, and launch into the main.\nThey toil, they sweat, thick clouds of dust arise,\nThe doubling clamours echo to the skies.\nE\u2019en then the Greeks had left the hostile plain,\nAnd fate decreed the fall of Troy in vain;\nBut Jove\u2019s imperial queen their flight survey\u2019d,\nAnd sighing thus bespoke the blue-eyed maid:\n\n\u201cShall then the Grecians fly! O dire disgrace!\nAnd leave unpunish\u2019d this perfidious race?\nShall Troy, shall Priam, and the adulterous spouse,\nIn peace enjoy the fruits of broken vows?\nAnd bravest chiefs, in Helen\u2019s quarrel slain,\nLie unrevenged on yon detested plain?\nNo: let my Greeks, unmoved by vain alarms,\nOnce more refulgent shine in brazen arms.\nHaste, goddess, haste! the flying host detain,\nNor let one sail be hoisted on the main.\u201d\n\nPallas obeys, and from Olympus\u2019 height\nSwift to the ships precipitates her flight.\nUlysses, first in public cares, she found,\nFor prudent counsel like the gods renown\u2019d:\nOppress\u2019d with generous grief the hero stood,\nNor drew his sable vessels to the flood.\n\u201cAnd is it thus, divine Laertes\u2019 son,\nThus fly the Greeks (the martial maid begun),\nThus to their country bear their own disgrace,\nAnd fame eternal leave to Priam\u2019s race?\nShall beauteous Helen still remain unfreed,\nStill unrevenged, a thousand heroes bleed!\nHaste, generous Ithacus! prevent the shame,\nRecall your armies, and your chiefs reclaim.\nYour own resistless eloquence employ,\nAnd to the immortals trust the fall of Troy.\u201d\n\nThe voice divine confess\u2019d the warlike maid,\nUlysses heard, nor uninspired obey\u2019d:\nThen meeting first Atrides, from his hand\nReceived the imperial sceptre of command.\nThus graced, attention and respect to gain,\nHe runs, he flies through all the Grecian train;\nEach prince of name, or chief in arms approved,\nHe fired with praise, or with persuasion moved.\n\n\u201cWarriors like you, with strength and wisdom bless\u2019d,\nBy brave examples should confirm the rest.\nThe monarch\u2019s will not yet reveal\u2019d appears;\nHe tries our courage, but resents our fears.\nThe unwary Greeks his fury may provoke;\nNot thus the king in secret council spoke.\nJove loves our chief, from Jove his honour springs,\nBeware! for dreadful is the wrath of kings.\u201d\n\nBut if a clamorous vile plebeian rose,\nHim with reproof he check\u2019d or tamed with blows.\n\u201cBe still, thou slave, and to thy betters yield;\nUnknown alike in council and in field!\nYe gods, what dastards would our host command!\nSwept to the war, the lumber of a land.\nBe silent, wretch, and think not here allow\u2019d\nThat worst of tyrants, an usurping crowd.\nTo one sole monarch Jove commits the sway;\nHis are the laws, and him let all obey.\u201d[86]\n\nWith words like these the troops Ulysses ruled,\nThe loudest silenced, and the fiercest cool\u2019d.\nBack to the assembly roll the thronging train,\nDesert the ships, and pour upon the plain.\nMurmuring they move, as when old ocean roars,\nAnd heaves huge surges to the trembling shores;\nThe groaning banks are burst with bellowing sound,\nThe rocks remurmur and the deeps rebound.\nAt length the tumult sinks, the noises cease,\nAnd a still silence lulls the camp to peace.\nThersites only clamour\u2019d in the throng,\nLoquacious, loud, and turbulent of tongue:\nAwed by no shame, by no respect controll\u2019d,\nIn scandal busy, in reproaches bold:\nWith witty malice studious to defame,\nScorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim:\u2014\nBut chief he gloried with licentious style\nTo lash the great, and monarchs to revile.\nHis figure such as might his soul proclaim;\nOne eye was blinking, and one leg was lame:\nHis mountain shoulders half his breast o\u2019erspread,\nThin hairs bestrew\u2019d his long misshapen head.\nSpleen to mankind his envious heart possess\u2019d,\nAnd much he hated all, but most the best:\nUlysses or Achilles still his theme;\nBut royal scandal his delight supreme,\nLong had he lived the scorn of every Greek,\nVex\u2019d when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak.\nSharp was his voice; which in the shrillest tone,\nThus with injurious taunts attack\u2019d the throne.\n\n\u201cAmidst the glories of so bright a reign,\nWhat moves the great Atrides to complain?\n\u2019Tis thine whate\u2019er the warrior\u2019s breast inflames,\nThe golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames.\nWith all the wealth our wars and blood bestow,\nThy tents are crowded and thy chests o\u2019erflow.\nThus at full ease in heaps of riches roll\u2019d,\nWhat grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold?\nSay, shall we march with our unconquer\u2019d powers\n(The Greeks and I) to Ilion\u2019s hostile towers,\nAnd bring the race of royal bastards here,\nFor Troy to ransom at a price too dear?\nBut safer plunder thy own host supplies;\nSay, wouldst thou seize some valiant leader\u2019s prize?\nOr, if thy heart to generous love be led,\nSome captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed?\nWhate\u2019er our master craves submit we must,\nPlagued with his pride, or punish\u2019d for his lust.\nOh women of Achaia; men no more!\nHence let us fly, and let him waste his store\nIn loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore.\nWe may be wanted on some busy day,\nWhen Hector comes: so great Achilles may:\nFrom him he forced the prize we jointly gave,\nFrom him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave:\nAnd durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong,\nThis mighty tyrant were no tyrant long.\u201d\n\nFierce from his seat at this Ulysses springs,[87]\nIn generous vengeance of the king of kings.\nWith indignation sparkling in his eyes,\nHe views the wretch, and sternly thus replies:\n\n\u201cPeace, factious monster, born to vex the state,\nWith wrangling talents form\u2019d for foul debate:\nCurb that impetuous tongue, nor rashly vain,\nAnd singly mad, asperse the sovereign reign.\nHave we not known thee, slave! of all our host,\nThe man who acts the least, upbraids the most?\nThink not the Greeks to shameful flight to bring,\nNor let those lips profane the name of king.\nFor our return we trust the heavenly powers;\nBe that their care; to fight like men be ours.\nBut grant the host with wealth the general load,\nExcept detraction, what hast thou bestow\u2019d?\nSuppose some hero should his spoils resign,\nArt thou that hero, could those spoils be thine?\nGods! let me perish on this hateful shore,\nAnd let these eyes behold my son no more;\nIf, on thy next offence, this hand forbear\nTo strip those arms thou ill deserv\u2019st to wear,\nExpel the council where our princes meet,\nAnd send thee scourged and howling through the fleet.\u201d\n\nHe said, and cowering as the dastard bends,\nThe weighty sceptre on his back descends.[88]\nOn the round bunch the bloody tumours rise:\nThe tears spring starting from his haggard eyes;\nTrembling he sat, and shrunk in abject fears,\nFrom his vile visage wiped the scalding tears;\nWhile to his neighbour each express\u2019d his thought:\n\n\u201cYe gods! what wonders has Ulysses wrought!\nWhat fruits his conduct and his courage yield!\nGreat in the council, glorious in the field.\nGenerous he rises in the crown\u2019s defence,\nTo curb the factious tongue of insolence,\nSuch just examples on offenders shown,\nSedition silence, and assert the throne.\u201d\n\n\u2019Twas thus the general voice the hero praised,\nWho, rising, high the imperial sceptre raised:\nThe blue-eyed Pallas, his celestial friend,\n(In form a herald,) bade the crowds attend.\nThe expecting crowds in still attention hung,\nTo hear the wisdom of his heavenly tongue.\nThen deeply thoughtful, pausing ere he spoke,\nHis silence thus the prudent hero broke:\n\n\u201cUnhappy monarch! whom the Grecian race\nWith shame deserting, heap with vile disgrace.\nNot such at Argos was their generous vow:\nOnce all their voice, but ah! forgotten now:\nNe\u2019er to return, was then the common cry,\nTill Troy\u2019s proud structures should in ashes lie.\nBehold them weeping for their native shore;\nWhat could their wives or helpless children more?\nWhat heart but melts to leave the tender train,\nAnd, one short month, endure the wintry main?\nFew leagues removed, we wish our peaceful seat,\nWhen the ship tosses, and the tempests beat:\nThen well may this long stay provoke their tears,\nThe tedious length of nine revolving years.\nNot for their grief the Grecian host I blame;\nBut vanquish\u2019d! baffled! oh, eternal shame!\nExpect the time to Troy\u2019s destruction given.\nAnd try the faith of Chalcas and of heaven.\nWhat pass\u2019d at Aulis, Greece can witness bear,[89]\nAnd all who live to breathe this Phrygian air.\nBeside a fountain\u2019s sacred brink we raised\nOur verdant altars, and the victims blazed:\n\u2019Twas where the plane-tree spread its shades around,\nThe altars heaved; and from the crumbling ground\nA mighty dragon shot, of dire portent;\nFrom Jove himself the dreadful sign was sent.\nStraight to the tree his sanguine spires he roll\u2019d,\nAnd curl\u2019d around in many a winding fold;\nThe topmost branch a mother-bird possess\u2019d;\nEight callow infants fill\u2019d the mossy nest;\nHerself the ninth; the serpent, as he hung,\nStretch\u2019d his black jaws and crush\u2019d the crying young;\nWhile hovering near, with miserable moan,\nThe drooping mother wail\u2019d her children gone.\nThe mother last, as round the nest she flew,\nSeized by the beating wing, the monster slew;\nNor long survived: to marble turn\u2019d, he stands\nA lasting prodigy on Aulis\u2019 sands.\nSuch was the will of Jove; and hence we dare\nTrust in his omen, and support the war.\nFor while around we gazed with wondering eyes,\nAnd trembling sought the powers with sacrifice,\nFull of his god, the reverend Chalcas cried,[90]\n\u2018Ye Grecian warriors! lay your fears aside.\nThis wondrous signal Jove himself displays,\nOf long, long labours, but eternal praise.\nAs many birds as by the snake were slain,\nSo many years the toils of Greece remain;\nBut wait the tenth, for Ilion\u2019s fall decreed:\u2019\nThus spoke the prophet, thus the Fates succeed.\nObey, ye Grecians! with submission wait,\nNor let your flight avert the Trojan fate.\u201d\nHe said: the shores with loud applauses sound,\nThe hollow ships each deafening shout rebound.\nThen Nestor thus\u2014\u201cThese vain debates forbear,\nYe talk like children, not like heroes dare.\nWhere now are all your high resolves at last?\nYour leagues concluded, your engagements past?\nVow\u2019d with libations and with victims then,\nNow vanish\u2019d like their smoke: the faith of men!\nWhile useless words consume the unactive hours,\nNo wonder Troy so long resists our powers.\nRise, great Atrides! and with courage sway;\nWe march to war, if thou direct the way.\nBut leave the few that dare resist thy laws,\nThe mean deserters of the Grecian cause,\nTo grudge the conquests mighty Jove prepares,\nAnd view with envy our successful wars.\nOn that great day, when first the martial train,\nBig with the fate of Ilion, plough\u2019d the main,\nJove, on the right, a prosperous signal sent,\nAnd thunder rolling shook the firmament.\nEncouraged hence, maintain the glorious strife,\nTill every soldier grasp a Phrygian wife,\nTill Helen\u2019s woes at full revenged appear,\nAnd Troy\u2019s proud matrons render tear for tear.\nBefore that day, if any Greek invite\nHis country\u2019s troops to base, inglorious flight,\nStand forth that Greek! and hoist his sail to fly,\nAnd die the dastard first, who dreads to die.\nBut now, O monarch! all thy chiefs advise:[91]\nNor what they offer, thou thyself despise.\nAmong those counsels, let not mine be vain;\nIn tribes and nations to divide thy train:\nHis separate troops let every leader call,\nEach strengthen each, and all encourage all.\nWhat chief, or soldier, of the numerous band,\nOr bravely fights, or ill obeys command,\nWhen thus distinct they war, shall soon be known\nAnd what the cause of Ilion not o\u2019erthrown;\nIf fate resists, or if our arms are slow,\nIf gods above prevent, or men below.\u201d\n\nTo him the king: \u201cHow much thy years excel\nIn arts of counsel, and in speaking well!\nO would the gods, in love to Greece, decree\nBut ten such sages as they grant in thee;\nSuch wisdom soon should Priam\u2019s force destroy,\nAnd soon should fall the haughty towers of Troy!\nBut Jove forbids, who plunges those he hates\nIn fierce contention and in vain debates:\nNow great Achilles from our aid withdraws,\nBy me provoked; a captive maid the cause:\nIf e\u2019er as friends we join, the Trojan wall\nMust shake, and heavy will the vengeance fall!\nBut now, ye warriors, take a short repast;\nAnd, well refresh\u2019d, to bloody conflict haste.\nHis sharpen\u2019d spear let every Grecian wield,\nAnd every Grecian fix his brazen shield,\nLet all excite the fiery steeds of war,\nAnd all for combat fit the rattling car.\nThis day, this dreadful day, let each contend;\nNo rest, no respite, till the shades descend;\nTill darkness, or till death, shall cover all:\nLet the war bleed, and let the mighty fall;\nTill bathed in sweat be every manly breast,\nWith the huge shield each brawny arm depress\u2019d,\nEach aching nerve refuse the lance to throw,\nAnd each spent courser at the chariot blow.\nWho dares, inglorious, in his ships to stay,\nWho dares to tremble on this signal day;\nThat wretch, too mean to fall by martial power,\nThe birds shall mangle, and the dogs devour.\u201d\n\nThe monarch spoke; and straight a murmur rose,\nLoud as the surges when the tempest blows,\nThat dash\u2019d on broken rocks tumultuous roar,\nAnd foam and thunder on the stony shore.\nStraight to the tents the troops dispersing bend,\nThe fires are kindled, and the smokes ascend;\nWith hasty feasts they sacrifice, and pray,\nTo avert the dangers of the doubtful day.\nA steer of five years\u2019 age, large limb\u2019d, and fed,[92]\nTo Jove\u2019s high altars Agamemnon led:\nThere bade the noblest of the Grecian peers;\nAnd Nestor first, as most advanced in years.\nNext came Idomeneus,[93] and Tydeus\u2019 son,[94]\nAjax the less, and Ajax Telamon;[95]\nThen wise Ulysses in his rank was placed;\nAnd Menelaus came, unbid, the last.[96]\nThe chiefs surround the destined beast, and take\nThe sacred offering of the salted cake:\nWhen thus the king prefers his solemn prayer;\n\u201cO thou! whose thunder rends the clouded air,\nWho in the heaven of heavens hast fixed thy throne,\nSupreme of gods! unbounded, and alone!\nHear! and before the burning sun descends,\nBefore the night her gloomy veil extends,\nLow in the dust be laid yon hostile spires,\nBe Priam\u2019s palace sunk in Grecian fires.\nIn Hector\u2019s breast be plunged this shining sword,\nAnd slaughter\u2019d heroes groan around their lord!\u201d\n\nThus prayed the chief: his unavailing prayer\nGreat Jove refused, and toss\u2019d in empty air:\nThe God averse, while yet the fumes arose,\nPrepared new toils, and doubled woes on woes.\nTheir prayers perform\u2019d the chiefs the rite pursue,\nThe barley sprinkled, and the victim slew.\nThe limbs they sever from the inclosing hide,\nThe thighs, selected to the gods, divide.\nOn these, in double cauls involved with art,\nThe choicest morsels lie from every part,\nFrom the cleft wood the crackling flames aspire\nWhile the fat victims feed the sacred fire.\nThe thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress\u2019d\nThe assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest;\nThen spread the tables, the repast prepare,\nEach takes his seat, and each receives his share.\nSoon as the rage of hunger was suppress\u2019d,\nThe generous Nestor thus the prince address\u2019d.\n\n\u201cNow bid thy heralds sound the loud alarms,\nAnd call the squadrons sheathed in brazen arms;\nNow seize the occasion, now the troops survey,\nAnd lead to war when heaven directs the way.\u201d\n\nHe said; the monarch issued his commands;\nStraight the loud heralds call the gathering bands;\nThe chiefs inclose their king; the hosts divide,\nIn tribes and nations rank\u2019d on either side.\nHigh in the midst the blue-eyed virgin flies;\nFrom rank to rank she darts her ardent eyes;\nThe dreadful \u00e6gis, Jove\u2019s immortal shield,\nBlazed on her arm, and lighten\u2019d all the field:\nRound the vast orb a hundred serpents roll\u2019d,\nForm\u2019d the bright fringe, and seem\u2019d to burn in gold,\nWith this each Grecian\u2019s manly breast she warms,\nSwells their bold hearts, and strings their nervous arms,\nNo more they sigh, inglorious, to return,\nBut breathe revenge, and for the combat burn.\n\nAs on some mountain, through the lofty grove,\nThe crackling flames ascend, and blaze above;\nThe fires expanding, as the winds arise,\nShoot their long beams, and kindle half the skies:\nSo from the polish\u2019d arms, and brazen shields,\nA gleamy splendour flash\u2019d along the fields.\nNot less their number than the embodied cranes,\nOr milk-white swans in Asius\u2019 watery plains.\nThat, o\u2019er the windings of Cayster\u2019s springs,[97]\nStretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings,\nNow tower aloft, and course in airy rounds,\nNow light with noise; with noise the field resounds.\nThus numerous and confused, extending wide,\nThe legions crowd Scamander\u2019s flowery side;[98]\nWith rushing troops the plains are cover\u2019d o\u2019er,\nAnd thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore.\nAlong the river\u2019s level meads they stand,\nThick as in spring the flowers adorn the land,\nOr leaves the trees; or thick as insects play,\nThe wandering nation of a summer\u2019s day:\nThat, drawn by milky steams, at evening hours,\nIn gather\u2019d swarms surround the rural bowers;\nFrom pail to pail with busy murmur run\nThe gilded legions, glittering in the sun.\nSo throng\u2019d, so close, the Grecian squadrons stood\nIn radiant arms, and thirst for Trojan blood.\nEach leader now his scatter\u2019d force conjoins\nIn close array, and forms the deepening lines.\nNot with more ease the skilful shepherd-swain\nCollects his flocks from thousands on the plain.\nThe king of kings, majestically tall,\nTowers o\u2019er his armies, and outshines them all;\nLike some proud bull, that round the pastures leads\nHis subject herds, the monarch of the meads,\nGreat as the gods, the exalted chief was seen,\nHis strength like Neptune, and like Mars his mien;[99]\nJove o\u2019er his eyes celestial glories spread,\nAnd dawning conquest played around his head.\n\nSay, virgins, seated round the throne divine,\nAll-knowing goddesses! immortal nine![100]\nSince earth\u2019s wide regions, heaven\u2019s umneasur\u2019d height,\nAnd hell\u2019s abyss, hide nothing from your sight,\n(We, wretched mortals! lost in doubts below,\nBut guess by rumour, and but boast we know,)\nO say what heroes, fired by thirst of fame,\nOr urged by wrongs, to Troy\u2019s destruction came.\nTo count them all, demands a thousand tongues,\nA throat of brass, and adamantine lungs.\nDaughters of Jove, assist! inspired by you\nThe mighty labour dauntless I pursue;\nWhat crowded armies, from what climes they bring,\nTheir names, their numbers, and their chiefs I sing.\n\nTHE CATALOGUE OF THE SHIPS.[101]\n\n\n[Illustration: ] NEPTUNE\n\n\nThe hardy warriors whom B\u0153otia bred,\nPenelius, Leitus, Protho\u00ebnor, led:\nWith these Arcesilaus and Clonius stand,\nEqual in arms, and equal in command.\nThese head the troops that rocky Aulis yields,\nAnd Eteon\u2019s hills, and Hyrie\u2019s watery fields,\nAnd Schoenos, Scholos, Gr\u00e6a near the main,\nAnd Mycalessia\u2019s ample piny plain;\nThose who in Peteon or Ilesion dwell,\nOr Harma where Apollo\u2019s prophet fell;\nHeleon and Hyl\u00e8, which the springs o\u2019erflow;\nAnd Medeon lofty, and Ocalea low;\nOr in the meads of Haliartus stray,\nOr Thespia sacred to the god of day:\nOnchestus, Neptune\u2019s celebrated groves;\nCop\u00e6, and Thisb\u00e8, famed for silver doves;\nFor flocks Erythr\u00e6, Glissa for the vine;\nPlatea green, and Nysa the divine;\nAnd they whom Theb\u00e9\u2019s well-built walls inclose,\nWhere Myd\u00e8, Eutresis, Coron\u00e8, rose;\nAnd Arn\u00e8 rich, with purple harvests crown\u2019d;\nAnd Anthedon, B\u0153otia\u2019s utmost bound.\nFull fifty ships they send, and each conveys\nTwice sixty warriors through the foaming seas.[102]\n\nTo these succeed Aspledon\u2019s martial train,\nWho plough the spacious Orchomenian plain.\nTwo valiant brothers rule the undaunted throng,\nI\u00e4lmen and Ascalaphus the strong:\nSons of Astyoch\u00e8, the heavenly fair,\nWhose virgin charms subdued the god of war:\n(In Actor\u2019s court as she retired to rest,\nThe strength of Mars the blushing maid compress\u2019d)\nTheir troops in thirty sable vessels sweep,\nWith equal oars, the hoarse-resounding deep.\n\nThe Phocians next in forty barks repair;\nEpistrophus and Schedius head the war:\nFrom those rich regions where Cephisus leads\nHis silver current through the flowery meads;\nFrom Panop\u00eba, Chrysa the divine,\nWhere Anemoria\u2019s stately turrets shine,\nWhere Pytho, Daulis, Cyparissus stood,\nAnd fair Lil\u00e6 views the rising flood.\nThese, ranged in order on the floating tide,\nClose, on the left, the bold B\u0153otians\u2019 side.\n\nFierce Ajax led the Locrian squadrons on,\nAjax the less, O\u00efleus\u2019 valiant son;\nSkill\u2019d to direct the flying dart aright;\nSwift in pursuit, and active in the fight.\nHim, as their chief, the chosen troops attend,\nWhich Bessa, Thronus, and rich Cynos send;\nOpus, Calliarus, and Scarphe\u2019s bands;\nAnd those who dwell where pleasing Augia stands,\nAnd where Bo\u00e4grius floats the lowly lands,\nOr in fair Tarphe\u2019s sylvan seats reside:\nIn forty vessels cut the yielding tide.\n\nEub\u0153a next her martial sons prepares,\nAnd sends the brave Abantes to the wars:\nBreathing revenge, in arms they take their way\nFrom Chalcis\u2019 walls, and strong Eretria;\nThe Isteian fields for generous vines renown\u2019d,\nThe fair Caristos, and the Styrian ground;\nWhere Dios from her towers o\u2019erlooks the plain,\nAnd high Cerinthus views the neighbouring main.\nDown their broad shoulders falls a length of hair;\nTheir hands dismiss not the long lance in air;\nBut with protended spears in fighting fields\nPierce the tough corslets and the brazen shields.\nTwice twenty ships transport the warlike bands,\nWhich bold Elphenor, fierce in arms, commands.\n\nFull fifty more from Athens stem the main,\nLed by Menestheus through the liquid plain.\n(Athens the fair, where great Erectheus sway\u2019d,\nThat owed his nurture to the blue-eyed maid,\nBut from the teeming furrow took his birth,\nThe mighty offspring of the foodful earth.\nHim Pallas placed amidst her wealthy fane,\nAdored with sacrifice and oxen slain;\nWhere, as the years revolve, her altars blaze,\nAnd all the tribes resound the goddess\u2019 praise.)\nNo chief like thee, Menestheus! Greece could yield,\nTo marshal armies in the dusty field,\nThe extended wings of battle to display,\nOr close the embodied host in firm array.\nNestor alone, improved by length of days,\nFor martial conduct bore an equal praise.\n\nWith these appear the Salaminian bands,\nWhom the gigantic Telamon commands;\nIn twelve black ships to Troy they steer their course,\nAnd with the great Athenians join their force.\n\nNext move to war the generous Argive train,\nFrom high Tr\u0153zen\u00e8, and Maseta\u2019s plain,\nAnd fair \u00c6gina circled by the main:\nWhom strong Tyrinthe\u2019s lofty walls surround,\nAnd Epidaure with viny harvests crown\u2019d:\nAnd where fair Asinen and Hermoin show\nTheir cliffs above, and ample bay below.\nThese by the brave Euryalus were led,\nGreat Sthenelus, and greater Diomed;\nBut chief Tydides bore the sovereign sway:\nIn fourscore barks they plough the watery way.\n\nThe proud Mycen\u00e8 arms her martial powers,\nCleon\u00e8, Corinth, with imperial towers,[103]\nFair Ar\u00e6thyrea, Ornia\u2019s fruitful plain,\nAnd \u00c6gion, and Adrastus\u2019 ancient reign;\nAnd those who dwell along the sandy shore,\nAnd where Pellen\u00e8 yields her fleecy store,\nWhere Helic\u00e8 and Hyperesia lie,\nAnd Gono\u00ebssa\u2019s spires salute the sky.\nGreat Agamemnon rules the numerous band,\nA hundred vessels in long order stand,\nAnd crowded nations wait his dread command.\nHigh on the deck the king of men appears,\nAnd his refulgent arms in triumph wears;\nProud of his host, unrivall\u2019d in his reign,\nIn silent pomp he moves along the main.\n\nHis brother follows, and to vengeance warms\nThe hardy Spartans, exercised in arms:\nPhares and Brysia\u2019s valiant troops, and those\nWhom Laced\u00e6mon\u2019s lofty hills inclose;\nOr Mess\u00e9\u2019s towers for silver doves renown\u2019d,\nAmycl\u00e6, La\u00e4s, Augia\u2019s happy ground,\nAnd those whom \u0152tylos\u2019 low walls contain,\nAnd Helos, on the margin of the main.\nThese, o\u2019er the bending ocean, Helen\u2019s cause,\nIn sixty ships with Menelaus draws:\nEager and loud from man to man he flies,\nRevenge and fury flaming in his eyes;\nWhile vainly fond, in fancy oft he hears\nThe fair one\u2019s grief, and sees her falling tears.\n\nIn ninety sail, from Pylos\u2019 sandy coast,\nNestor the sage conducts his chosen host:\nFrom Amphigenia\u2019s ever-fruitful land,\nWhere \u00c6py high, and little Pteleon stand;\nWhere beauteous Arene her structures shows,\nAnd Thryon\u2019s walls Alpheus\u2019 streams inclose:\nAnd Dorion, famed for Thamyris\u2019 disgrace,\nSuperior once of all the tuneful race,\nTill, vain of mortals\u2019 empty praise, he strove\nTo match the seed of cloud-compelling Jove!\nToo daring bard! whose unsuccessful pride\nThe immortal Muses in their art defied.\nThe avenging Muses of the light of day\nDeprived his eyes, and snatch\u2019d his voice away;\nNo more his heavenly voice was heard to sing,\nHis hand no more awaked the silver string.\n\nWhere under high Cyllen\u00e8, crown\u2019d with wood,\nThe shaded tomb of old \u00c6pytus stood;\nFrom Rip\u00e8, Stratie, Tegea\u2019s bordering towns,\nThe Phenean fields, and Orchomenian downs,\nWhere the fat herds in plenteous pasture rove;\nAnd Stymphelus with her surrounding grove;\nParrhasia, on her snowy cliffs reclined,\nAnd high Enisp\u00e8 shook by wintry wind,\nAnd fair Mantinea\u2019s ever-pleasing site;\nIn sixty sail the Arcadian bands unite.\nBold Agapenor, glorious at their head,\n(Anc\u00e6us\u2019 son) the mighty squadron led.\nTheir ships, supplied by Agamemnon\u2019s care,\nThrough roaring seas the wondering warriors bear;\nThe first to battle on the appointed plain,\nBut new to all the dangers of the main.\n\nThose, where fair Elis and Buprasium join;\nWhom Hyrmin, here, and Myrsinus confine,\nAnd bounded there, where o\u2019er the valleys rose\nThe Olenian rock; and where Alisium flows;\nBeneath four chiefs (a numerous army) came:\nThe strength and glory of the Epean name.\nIn separate squadrons these their train divide,\nEach leads ten vessels through the yielding tide.\nOne was Amphimachus, and Thalpius one;\n(Eurytus\u2019 this, and that Te\u00e4tus\u2019 son;)\nDiores sprung from Amarynceus\u2019 line;\nAnd great Polyxenus, of force divine.\n\nBut those who view fair Elis o\u2019er the seas\nFrom the blest islands of the Echinades,\nIn forty vessels under Meges move,\nBegot by Phyleus, the beloved of Jove:\nTo strong Dulichium from his sire he fled,\nAnd thence to Troy his hardy warriors led.\n\nUlysses follow\u2019d through the watery road,\nA chief, in wisdom equal to a god.\nWith those whom Cephalenia\u2019s line inclosed,\nOr till their fields along the coast opposed;\nOr where fair Ithaca o\u2019erlooks the floods,\nWhere high Neritos shakes his waving woods,\nWhere \u00c6gilipa\u2019s rugged sides are seen,\nCrocylia rocky, and Zacynthus green.\nThese in twelve galleys with vermilion prores,\nBeneath his conduct sought the Phrygian shores.\n\nThoas came next, Andr\u00e6mon\u2019s valiant son,\nFrom Pleuron\u2019s walls, and chalky Calydon,\nAnd rough Pylene, and the Olenian steep,\nAnd Chalcis, beaten by the rolling deep.\nHe led the warriors from the \u00c6tolian shore,\nFor now the sons of \u0152neus were no more!\nThe glories of the mighty race were fled!\n\u0152neus himself, and Meleager dead!\nTo Thoas\u2019 care now trust the martial train,\nHis forty vessels follow through the main.\n\nNext, eighty barks the Cretan king commands,\nOf Gnossus, Lyctus, and Gortyna\u2019s bands;\nAnd those who dwell where Rhytion\u2019s domes arise,\nOr white Lycastus glitters to the skies,\nOr where by Ph\u00e6stus silver Jardan runs;\nCrete\u2019s hundred cities pour forth all her sons.\nThese march\u2019d, Idomeneus, beneath thy care,\nAnd Merion, dreadful as the god of war.\n\nTlepolemus, the son of Hercules,\nLed nine swift vessels through the foamy seas,\nFrom Rhodes, with everlasting sunshine bright,\nJalyssus, Lindus, and Camirus white.\nHis captive mother fierce Alcides bore\nFrom Ephyr\u2019s walls and Sell\u00e8\u2019s winding shore,\nWhere mighty towns in ruins spread the plain,\nAnd saw their blooming warriors early slain.\nThe hero, when to manly years he grew,\nAlcides\u2019 uncle, old Licymnius, slew;\nFor this, constrain\u2019d to quit his native place,\nAnd shun the vengeance of the Herculean race,\nA fleet he built, and with a numerous train\nOf willing exiles wander\u2019d o\u2019er the main;\nWhere, many seas and many sufferings past,\nOn happy Rhodes the chief arrived at last:\nThere in three tribes divides his native band,\nAnd rules them peaceful in a foreign land;\nIncreased and prosper\u2019d in their new abodes\nBy mighty Jove, the sire of men and gods;\nWith joy they saw the growing empire rise,\nAnd showers of wealth descending from the skies.\n\nThree ships with Nireus sought the Trojan shore,\nNireus, whom Ag\u00e4le to Charopus bore,\nNireus, in faultless shape and blooming grace,\nThe loveliest youth of all the Grecian race;[104]\nPelides only match\u2019d his early charms;\nBut few his troops, and small his strength in arms.\n\nNext thirty galleys cleave the liquid plain,\nOf those Calydn\u00e6\u2019s sea-girt isles contain;\nWith them the youth of Nisyrus repair,\nCasus the strong, and Crapathus the fair;\nCos, where Eurypylus possess\u2019d the sway,\nTill great Alcides made the realms obey:\nThese Antiphus and bold Phidippus bring,\nSprung from the god by Thessalus the king.\n\nNow, Muse, recount Pelasgic Argos\u2019 powers,\nFrom Alos, Alop\u00e9, and Trechin\u2019s towers:\nFrom Phthia\u2019s spacious vales; and Hella, bless\u2019d\nWith female beauty far beyond the rest.\nFull fifty ships beneath Achilles\u2019 care,\nThe Achaians, Myrmidons, Hellenians bear;\nThessalians all, though various in their name;\nThe same their nation, and their chief the same.\nBut now inglorious, stretch\u2019d along the shore,\nThey hear the brazen voice of war no more;\nNo more the foe they face in dire array:\nClose in his fleet the angry leader lay;\nSince fair Brise\u00efs from his arms was torn,\nThe noblest spoil from sack\u2019d Lyrnessus borne,\nThen, when the chief the Theban walls o\u2019erthrew,\nAnd the bold sons of great Evenus slew.\nThere mourn\u2019d Achilles, plunged in depth of care,\nBut soon to rise in slaughter, blood, and war.\n\nTo these the youth of Phylac\u00e8 succeed,\nItona, famous for her fleecy breed,\nAnd grassy Pteleon deck\u2019d with cheerful greens,\nThe bowers of Ceres, and the sylvan scenes.\nSweet Pyrrhasus, with blooming flowerets crown\u2019d,\nAnd Antron\u2019s watery dens, and cavern\u2019d ground.\nThese own\u2019d, as chief, Protesilas the brave,\nWho now lay silent in the gloomy grave:\nThe first who boldly touch\u2019d the Trojan shore,\nAnd dyed a Phrygian lance with Grecian gore;\nThere lies, far distant from his native plain;\nUnfinish\u2019d his proud palaces remain,\nAnd his sad consort beats her breast in vain.\nHis troops in forty ships Podarces led,\nIphiclus\u2019 son, and brother to the dead;\nNor he unworthy to command the host;\nYet still they mourn\u2019d their ancient leader lost.\n\nThe men who Glaphyra\u2019s fair soil partake,\nWhere hills incircle B\u0153be\u2019s lowly lake,\nWhere Ph\u00e6re hears the neighbouring waters fall,\nOr proud I\u00f6lcus lifts her airy wall,\nIn ten black ships embark\u2019d for Ilion\u2019s shore,\nWith bold Eumelus, whom Alcest\u00e8 bore:\nAll Pelias\u2019 race Alcest\u00e8 far outshined,\nThe grace and glory of the beauteous kind,\n\nThe troops Methon\u00e8 or Thaumacia yields,\nOlizon\u2019s rocks, or Melib\u0153a\u2019s fields,\nWith Philoctetes sail\u2019d whose matchless art\nFrom the tough bow directs the feather\u2019d dart.\nSeven were his ships; each vessel fifty row,\nSkill\u2019d in his science of the dart and bow.\nBut he lay raging on the Lemnian ground,\nA poisonous hydra gave the burning wound;\nThere groan\u2019d the chief in agonizing pain,\nWhom Greece at length shall wish, nor wish in vain.\nHis forces Medon led from Lemnos\u2019 shore,\nO\u00efleus\u2019 son, whom beauteous Rhena bore.\n\nThe \u0152chalian race, in those high towers contain\u2019d\nWhere once Eurytus in proud triumph reign\u2019d,\nOr where her humbler turrets Tricca rears,\nOr where Ithome, rough with rocks, appears,\nIn thirty sail the sparkling waves divide,\nWhich Podalirius and Machaon guide.\nTo these his skill their parent-god imparts,\nDivine professors of the healing arts.\n\nThe bold Ormenian and Asterian bands\nIn forty barks Eurypylus commands.\nWhere Titan hides his hoary head in snow,\nAnd where Hyperia\u2019s silver fountains flow.\nThy troops, Argissa, Polyp\u0153tes leads,\nAnd Eleon, shelter\u2019d by Olympus\u2019 shades,\nGyrton\u00e8\u2019s warriors; and where Orth\u00e8 lies,\nAnd Olo\u00f6sson\u2019s chalky cliffs arise.\nSprung from Pirithous of immortal race,\nThe fruit of fair Hippodame\u2019s embrace,\n(That day, when hurl\u2019d from Pelion\u2019s cloudy head,\nTo distant dens the shaggy Centaurs fled)\nWith Polyp\u0153tes join\u2019d in equal sway\nLeonteus leads, and forty ships obey.\n\nIn twenty sail the bold Perrh\u00e6bians came\nFrom Cyphus, Guneus was their leader\u2019s name.\nWith these the Enians join\u2019d, and those who freeze\nWhere cold Dodona lifts her holy trees;\nOr where the pleasing Titaresius glides,\nAnd into Peneus rolls his easy tides;\nYet o\u2019er the silvery surface pure they flow,\nThe sacred stream unmix\u2019d with streams below,\nSacred and awful! from the dark abodes\nStyx pours them forth, the dreadful oath of gods!\n\nLast, under Prothous the Magnesians stood,\n(Prothous the swift, of old Tenthredon\u2019s blood;)\nWho dwell where Pelion, crown\u2019d with piny boughs,\nObscures the glade, and nods his shaggy brows;\nOr where through flowery Tempe Peneus stray\u2019d:\n(The region stretch\u2019d beneath his mighty shade:)\nIn forty sable barks they stemm\u2019d the main;\nSuch were the chiefs, and such the Grecian train.\n\nSay next, O Muse! of all Achaia breeds,\nWho bravest fought, or rein\u2019d the noblest steeds?\nEumelus\u2019 mares were foremost in the chase,\nAs eagles fleet, and of Pheretian race;\nBred where Pieria\u2019s fruitful fountains flow,\nAnd train\u2019d by him who bears the silver bow.\nFierce in the fight their nostrils breathed a flame,\nTheir height, their colour, and their age the same;\nO\u2019er fields of death they whirl the rapid car,\nAnd break the ranks, and thunder through the war.\nAjax in arms the first renown acquired,\nWhile stern Achilles in his wrath retired:\n(His was the strength that mortal might exceeds,\nAnd his the unrivall\u2019d race of heavenly steeds:)\nBut Thetis\u2019 son now shines in arms no more;\nHis troops, neglected on the sandy shore.\nIn empty air their sportive javelins throw,\nOr whirl the disk, or bend an idle bow:\nUnstain\u2019d with blood his cover\u2019d chariots stand;\nThe immortal coursers graze along the strand;\nBut the brave chiefs the inglorious life deplored,\nAnd, wandering o\u2019er the camp, required their lord.\n\nNow, like a deluge, covering all around,\nThe shining armies sweep along the ground;\nSwift as a flood of fire, when storms arise,\nFloats the wild field, and blazes to the skies.\nEarth groan\u2019d beneath them; as when angry Jove\nHurls down the forky lightning from above,\nOn Arim\u00e9 when he the thunder throws,\nAnd fires Typh\u0153us with redoubled blows,\nWhere Typhon, press\u2019d beneath the burning load,\nStill feels the fury of the avenging god.\n\nBut various Iris, Jove\u2019s commands to bear,\nSpeeds on the wings of winds through liquid air;\nIn Priam\u2019s porch the Trojan chiefs she found,\nThe old consulting, and the youths around.\nPolites\u2019 shape, the monarch\u2019s son, she chose,\nWho from \u00c6setes\u2019 tomb observed the foes,[105]\nHigh on the mound; from whence in prospect lay\nThe fields, the tents, the navy, and the bay.\nIn this dissembled form, she hastes to bring\nThe unwelcome message to the Phrygian king.\n\n\u201cCease to consult, the time for action calls;\nWar, horrid war, approaches to your walls!\nAssembled armies oft have I beheld;\nBut ne\u2019er till now such numbers charged a field:\nThick as autumnal leaves or driving sand,\nThe moving squadrons blacken all the strand.\nThou, godlike Hector! all thy force employ,\nAssemble all the united bands of Troy;\nIn just array let every leader call\nThe foreign troops: this day demands them all!\u201d\n\nThe voice divine the mighty chief alarms;\nThe council breaks, the warriors rush to arms.\nThe gates unfolding pour forth all their train,\nNations on nations fill the dusky plain,\nMen, steeds, and chariots, shake the trembling ground:\nThe tumult thickens, and the skies resound.\n\nAmidst the plain, in sight of Ilion, stands\nA rising mount, the work of human hands;\n(This for Myrinne\u2019s tomb the immortals know,\nThough call\u2019d Bate\u00efa in the world below;)\nBeneath their chiefs in martial order here,\nThe auxiliar troops and Trojan hosts appear.\n\nThe godlike Hector, high above the rest,\nShakes his huge spear, and nods his plumy crest:\nIn throngs around his native bands repair,\nAnd groves of lances glitter in the air.\n\nDivine \u00c6neas brings the Dardan race,\nAnchises\u2019 son, by Venus\u2019 stolen embrace,\nBorn in the shades of Ida\u2019s secret grove;\n(A mortal mixing with the queen of love;)\nArchilochus and Acamas divide\nThe warrior\u2019s toils, and combat by his side.\n\nWho fair Zeleia\u2019s wealthy valleys till,[106]\nFast by the foot of Ida\u2019s sacred hill,\nOr drink, \u00c6sepus, of thy sable flood,\nWere led by Pandarus, of royal blood;\nTo whom his art Apollo deign\u2019d to show,\nGraced with the presents of his shafts and bow.\n\nFrom rich Ap\u00e6sus and Adrestia\u2019s towers,\nHigh Teree\u2019s summits, and Pityea\u2019s bowers;\nFrom these the congregated troops obey\nYoung Amphius and Adrastus\u2019 equal sway;\nOld Merops\u2019 sons; whom, skill\u2019d in fates to come,\nThe sire forewarn\u2019d, and prophesied their doom:\nFate urged them on! the sire forewarn\u2019d in vain,\nThey rush\u2019d to war, and perish\u2019d on the plain.\n\nFrom Practius\u2019 stream, Percot\u00e8\u2019s pasture lands,\nAnd Sestos and Abydos\u2019 neighbouring strands,\nFrom great Arisba\u2019s walls and Sell\u00e8\u2019s coast,\nAsius Hyrtacides conducts his host:\nHigh on his car he shakes the flowing reins,\nHis fiery coursers thunder o\u2019er the plains.\n\nThe fierce Pelasgi next, in war renown\u2019d,\nMarch from Larissa\u2019s ever-fertile ground:\nIn equal arms their brother leaders shine,\nHippothous bold, and Pyleus the divine.\n\nNext Acamas and Pyrous lead their hosts,\nIn dread array, from Thracia\u2019s wintry coasts;\nRound the bleak realms where Hellespontus roars,\nAnd Boreas beats the hoarse-resounding shores.\n\nWith great Euphemus the Ciconians move,\nSprung from Tr\u0153zenian Ce\u00fcs, loved by Jove.\n\nPyr\u00e6chmes the P\u00e6onian troops attend,\nSkill\u2019d in the fight their crooked bows to bend;\nFrom Axius\u2019 ample bed he leads them on,\nAxius, that laves the distant Amydon,\nAxius, that swells with all his neighbouring rills,\nAnd wide around the floating region fills.\n\nThe Paphlagonians Pyl\u00e6menes rules,\nWhere rich Henetia breeds her savage mules,\nWhere Erythinus\u2019 rising cliffs are seen,\nThy groves of box, Cytorus! ever green,\nAnd where \u00c6gialus and Cromna lie,\nAnd lofty Sesamus invades the sky,\nAnd where Parthenius, roll\u2019d through banks of flowers,\nReflects her bordering palaces and bowers.\n\nHere march\u2019d in arms the Halizonian band,\nWhom Odius and Epistrophus command,\nFrom those far regions where the sun refines\nThe ripening silver in Alybean mines.\n\nThere mighty Chromis led the Mysian train,\nAnd augur Ennomus, inspired in vain;\nFor stern Achilles lopp\u2019d his sacred head,\nRoll\u2019d down Scamander with the vulgar dead.\n\nPhorcys and brave Ascanius here unite\nThe Ascanian Phrygians, eager for the fight.\n\nOf those who round M\u00e6onia\u2019s realms reside,\nOr whom the vales in shades of Tmolus hide,\nMestles and Antiphus the charge partake,\nBorn on the banks of Gyges\u2019 silent lake.\nThere, from the fields where wild M\u00e6ander flows,\nHigh Mycale, and Latmos\u2019 shady brows,\nAnd proud Miletus, came the Carian throngs,\nWith mingled clamours and with barbarous tongues.[107]\nAmphimachus and Naustes guide the train,\nNaustes the bold, Amphimachus the vain,\nWho, trick\u2019d with gold, and glittering on his car,\nRode like a woman to the field of war.\nFool that he was! by fierce Achilles slain,\nThe river swept him to the briny main:\nThere whelm\u2019d with waves the gaudy warrior lies\nThe valiant victor seized the golden prize.\n\nThe forces last in fair array succeed,\nWhich blameless Glaucus and Sarpedon lead\nThe warlike bands that distant Lycia yields,\nWhere gulfy Xanthus foams along the fields.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE DUEL OF MENELAUS AND PARIS.\n\n\nThe armies being ready to engage, a single combat is agreed upon\nbetween Menelaus and Paris (by the intervention of Hector) for the\ndetermination of the war. Iris is sent to call Helen to behold the\nfight. She leads her to the walls of Troy, where Priam sat with his\ncounsellers observing the Grecian leaders on the plain below, to whom\nHelen gives an account of the chief of them. The kings on either part\ntake the solemn oath for the conditions of the combat. The duel ensues;\nwherein Paris being overcome, he is snatched away in a cloud by Venus,\nand transported to his apartment. She then calls Helen from the walls,\nand brings the lovers together. Agamemnon, on the part of the Grecians,\ndemands the restoration of Helen, and the performance of the articles.\n    The three-and-twentieth day still continues throughout this book.\n    The scene is sometimes in the fields before Troy, and sometimes in\n    Troy itself.\n\n\nThus by their leaders\u2019 care each martial band\nMoves into ranks, and stretches o\u2019er the land.\nWith shouts the Trojans, rushing from afar,\nProclaim their motions, and provoke the war.\nSo when inclement winters vex the plain\nWith piercing frosts, or thick-descending rain,\nTo warmer seas the cranes embodied fly,[108]\nWith noise, and order, through the midway sky;\nTo pigmy nations wounds and death they bring,\nAnd all the war descends upon the wing,\nBut silent, breathing rage, resolved and skill\u2019d[109]\nBy mutual aids to fix a doubtful field,\nSwift march the Greeks: the rapid dust around\nDarkening arises from the labour\u2019d ground.\nThus from his flaggy wings when Notus sheds\nA night of vapours round the mountain heads,\nSwift-gliding mists the dusky fields invade,\nTo thieves more grateful than the midnight shade;\nWhile scarce the swains their feeding flocks survey,\nLost and confused amidst the thicken\u2019d day:\nSo wrapp\u2019d in gathering dust, the Grecian train,\nA moving cloud, swept on, and hid the plain.\n\nNow front to front the hostile armies stand,\nEager of fight, and only wait command;\nWhen, to the van, before the sons of fame\nWhom Troy sent forth, the beauteous Paris came:\nIn form a god! the panther\u2019s speckled hide\nFlow\u2019d o\u2019er his armour with an easy pride:\nHis bended bow across his shoulders flung,\nHis sword beside him negligently hung;\nTwo pointed spears he shook with gallant grace,\nAnd dared the bravest of the Grecian race.\n\nAs thus, with glorious air and proud disdain,\nHe boldly stalk\u2019d, the foremost on the plain,\nHim Menelaus, loved of Mars, espies,\nWith heart elated, and with joyful eyes:\nSo joys a lion, if the branching deer,\nOr mountain goat, his bulky prize, appear;\nEager he seizes and devours the slain,\nPress\u2019d by bold youths and baying dogs in vain.\nThus fond of vengeance, with a furious bound,\nIn clanging arms he leaps upon the ground\nFrom his high chariot: him, approaching near,\nThe beauteous champion views with marks of fear,\nSmit with a conscious sense, retires behind,\nAnd shuns the fate he well deserved to find.\nAs when some shepherd, from the rustling trees[110]\nShot forth to view, a scaly serpent sees,\nTrembling and pale, he starts with wild affright\nAnd all confused precipitates his flight:\nSo from the king the shining warrior flies,\nAnd plunged amid the thickest Trojans lies.\n\nAs godlike Hector sees the prince retreat,\nHe thus upbraids him with a generous heat:\n\u201cUnhappy Paris![111] but to women brave!\nSo fairly form\u2019d, and only to deceive!\nOh, hadst thou died when first thou saw\u2019st the light,\nOr died at least before thy nuptial rite!\nA better fate than vainly thus to boast,\nAnd fly, the scandal of thy Trojan host.\nGods! how the scornful Greeks exult to see\nTheir fears of danger undeceived in thee!\nThy figure promised with a martial air,\nBut ill thy soul supplies a form so fair.\nIn former days, in all thy gallant pride,\nWhen thy tall ships triumphant stemm\u2019d the tide,\nWhen Greece beheld thy painted canvas flow,\nAnd crowds stood wondering at the passing show,\nSay, was it thus, with such a baffled mien,\nYou met the approaches of the Spartan queen,\nThus from her realm convey\u2019d the beauteous prize,\nAnd both her warlike lords outshined in Helen\u2019s eyes?\nThis deed, thy foes\u2019 delight, thy own disgrace,\nThy father\u2019s grief, and ruin of thy race;\nThis deed recalls thee to the proffer\u2019d fight;\nOr hast thou injured whom thou dar\u2019st not right?\nSoon to thy cost the field would make thee know\nThou keep\u2019st the consort of a braver foe.\nThy graceful form instilling soft desire,\nThy curling tresses, and thy silver lyre,\nBeauty and youth; in vain to these you trust,\nWhen youth and beauty shall be laid in dust:\nTroy yet may wake, and one avenging blow\nCrush the dire author of his country\u2019s woe.\u201d\n\nHis silence here, with blushes, Paris breaks:\n\u201c\u2019Tis just, my brother, what your anger speaks:\nBut who like thee can boast a soul sedate,\nSo firmly proof to all the shocks of fate?\nThy force, like steel, a temper\u2019d hardness shows,\nStill edged to wound, and still untired with blows,\nLike steel, uplifted by some strenuous swain,\nWith falling woods to strew the wasted plain.\nThy gifts I praise; nor thou despise the charms\nWith which a lover golden Venus arms;\nSoft moving speech, and pleasing outward show,\nNo wish can gain them, but the gods bestow.\nYet, would\u2019st thou have the proffer\u2019d combat stand,\nThe Greeks and Trojans seat on either hand;\nThen let a midway space our hosts divide,\nAnd, on that stage of war, the cause be tried:\nBy Paris there the Spartan king be fought,\nFor beauteous Helen and the wealth she brought;\nAnd who his rival can in arms subdue,\nHis be the fair, and his the treasure too.\nThus with a lasting league your toils may cease,\nAnd Troy possess her fertile fields in peace;\nThus may the Greeks review their native shore,\nMuch famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.\u201d\n\nHe said. The challenge Hector heard with joy,\nThen with his spear restrain\u2019d the youth of Troy,\nHeld by the midst, athwart; and near the foe\nAdvanced with steps majestically slow:\nWhile round his dauntless head the Grecians pour\nTheir stones and arrows in a mingled shower.\n\nThen thus the monarch, great Atrides, cried:\n\u201cForbear, ye warriors! lay the darts aside:\nA parley Hector asks, a message bears;\nWe know him by the various plume he wears.\u201d\nAwed by his high command the Greeks attend,\nThe tumult silence, and the fight suspend.\n\nWhile from the centre Hector rolls his eyes\nOn either host, and thus to both applies:\n\u201cHear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands,\nWhat Paris, author of the war, demands.\nYour shining swords within the sheath restrain,\nAnd pitch your lances in the yielding plain.\nHere in the midst, in either army\u2019s sight,\nHe dares the Spartan king to single fight;\nAnd wills that Helen and the ravish\u2019d spoil,\nThat caused the contest, shall reward the toil.\nLet these the brave triumphant victor grace,\nAnd different nations part in leagues of peace.\u201d\n\nHe spoke: in still suspense on either side\nEach army stood: the Spartan chief replied:\n\n\u201cMe too, ye warriors, hear, whose fatal right\nA world engages in the toils of fight.\nTo me the labour of the field resign;\nMe Paris injured; all the war be mine.\nFall he that must, beneath his rival\u2019s arms;\nAnd live the rest, secure of future harms.\nTwo lambs, devoted by your country\u2019s rite,\nTo earth a sable, to the sun a white,\nPrepare, ye Trojans! while a third we bring\nSelect to Jove, the inviolable king.\nLet reverend Priam in the truce engage,\nAnd add the sanction of considerate age;\nHis sons are faithless, headlong in debate,\nAnd youth itself an empty wavering state;\nCool age advances, venerably wise,\nTurns on all hands its deep-discerning eyes;\nSees what befell, and what may yet befall,\nConcludes from both, and best provides for all.\n\nThe nations hear with rising hopes possess\u2019d,\nAnd peaceful prospects dawn in every breast.\nWithin the lines they drew their steeds around,\nAnd from their chariots issued on the ground;\nNext, all unbuckling the rich mail they wore,\nLaid their bright arms along the sable shore.\nOn either side the meeting hosts are seen\nWith lances fix\u2019d, and close the space between.\nTwo heralds now, despatch\u2019d to Troy, invite\nThe Phrygian monarch to the peaceful rite.\n\nTalthybius hastens to the fleet, to bring\nThe lamb for Jove, the inviolable king.\n\nMeantime to beauteous Helen, from the skies\nThe various goddess of the rainbow flies:\n(Like fair Laodice in form and face,\nThe loveliest nymph of Priam\u2019s royal race:)\nHer in the palace, at her loom she found;\nThe golden web her own sad story crown\u2019d,\nThe Trojan wars she weaved (herself the prize)\nAnd the dire triumphs of her fatal eyes.\nTo whom the goddess of the painted bow:\n\u201cApproach, and view the wondrous scene below![112]\nEach hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight,\nSo dreadful late, and furious for the fight,\nNow rest their spears, or lean upon their shields;\nCeased is the war, and silent all the fields.\nParis alone and Sparta\u2019s king advance,\nIn single fight to toss the beamy lance;\nEach met in arms, the fate of combat tries,\nThy love the motive, and thy charms the prize.\u201d\n\nThis said, the many-coloured maid inspires\nHer husband\u2019s love, and wakes her former fires;\nHer country, parents, all that once were dear,\nRush to her thought, and force a tender tear,\nO\u2019er her fair face a snowy veil she threw,\nAnd, softly sighing, from the loom withdrew.\nHer handmaids, Clymene and \u00c6thra, wait\nHer silent footsteps to the Sc\u00e6an gate.\n\nThere sat the seniors of the Trojan race:\n(Old Priam\u2019s chiefs, and most in Priam\u2019s grace,)\nThe king the first; Thym\u0153tes at his side;\nLampus and Clytius, long in council tried;\nPanthus, and Hicetaon, once the strong;\nAnd next, the wisest of the reverend throng,\nAntenor grave, and sage Ucalegon,\nLean\u2019d on the walls and bask\u2019d before the sun:\nChiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage,\nBut wise through time, and narrative with age,\nIn summer days, like grasshoppers rejoice,\nA bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.\nThese, when the Spartan queen approach\u2019d the tower,\nIn secret own\u2019d resistless beauty\u2019s power:\nThey cried, \u201cNo wonder[113] such celestial charms\nFor nine long years have set the world in arms;\nWhat winning graces! what majestic mien!\nShe moves a goddess, and she looks a queen!\nYet hence, O Heaven, convey that fatal face,\nAnd from destruction save the Trojan race.\u201d\n\nThe good old Priam welcomed her, and cried,\n\u201cApproach, my child, and grace thy father\u2019s side.\nSee on the plain thy Grecian spouse appears,\nThe friends and kindred of thy former years.\nNo crime of thine our present sufferings draws,\nNot thou, but Heaven\u2019s disposing will, the cause\nThe gods these armies and this force employ,\nThe hostile gods conspire the fate of Troy.\nBut lift thy eyes, and say, what Greek is he\n(Far as from hence these aged orbs can see)\nAround whose brow such martial graces shine,\nSo tall, so awful, and almost divine!\nThough some of larger stature tread the green,\nNone match his grandeur and exalted mien:\nHe seems a monarch, and his country\u2019s pride.\u201d\nThus ceased the king, and thus the fair replied:\n\n\u201cBefore thy presence, father, I appear,\nWith conscious shame and reverential fear.\nAh! had I died, ere to these walls I fled,\nFalse to my country, and my nuptial bed;\nMy brothers, friends, and daughter left behind,\nFalse to them all, to Paris only kind!\nFor this I mourn, till grief or dire disease\nShall waste the form whose fault it was to please!\nThe king of kings, Atrides, you survey,\nGreat in the war, and great in arts of sway:\nMy brother once, before my days of shame!\nAnd oh! that still he bore a brother\u2019s name!\u201d\n\nWith wonder Priam view\u2019d the godlike man,\nExtoll\u2019d the happy prince, and thus began:\n\u201cO bless\u2019d Atrides! born to prosperous fate,\nSuccessful monarch of a mighty state!\nHow vast thy empire! Of your matchless train\nWhat numbers lost, what numbers yet remain!\nIn Phrygia once were gallant armies known,\nIn ancient time, when Otreus fill\u2019d the throne,\nWhen godlike Mygdon led their troops of horse,\nAnd I, to join them, raised the Trojan force:\nAgainst the manlike Amazons we stood,[114]\nAnd Sangar\u2019s stream ran purple with their blood.\nBut far inferior those, in martial grace,\nAnd strength of numbers, to this Grecian race.\u201d\n\nThis said, once more he view\u2019d the warrior train;\n\u201cWhat\u2019s he, whose arms lie scatter\u2019d on the plain?\nBroad is his breast, his shoulders larger spread,\nThough great Atrides overtops his head.\nNor yet appear his care and conduct small;\nFrom rank to rank he moves, and orders all.\nThe stately ram thus measures o\u2019er the ground,\nAnd, master of the flock, surveys them round.\u201d\n\nThen Helen thus: \u201cWhom your discerning eyes\nHave singled out, is Ithacus the wise;\nA barren island boasts his glorious birth;\nHis fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth.\u201d\n\nAntenor took the word, and thus began:[115]\n\u201cMyself, O king! have seen that wondrous man\nWhen, trusting Jove and hospitable laws,\nTo Troy he came, to plead the Grecian cause;\n(Great Menelaus urged the same request;)\nMy house was honour\u2019d with each royal guest:\nI knew their persons, and admired their parts,\nBoth brave in arms, and both approved in arts.\nErect, the Spartan most engaged our view;\nUlysses seated, greater reverence drew.\nWhen Atreus\u2019 son harangued the listening train,\nJust was his sense, and his expression plain,\nHis words succinct, yet full, without a fault;\nHe spoke no more than just the thing he ought.\nBut when Ulysses rose, in thought profound,[116]\nHis modest eyes he fix\u2019d upon the ground;\nAs one unskill\u2019d or dumb, he seem\u2019d to stand,\nNor raised his head, nor stretch\u2019d his sceptred hand;\nBut, when he speaks, what elocution flows!\nSoft as the fleeces of descending snows,[117]\nThe copious accents fall, with easy art;\nMelting they fall, and sink into the heart!\nWondering we hear, and fix\u2019d in deep surprise,\nOur ears refute the censure of our eyes.\u201d\n\nThe king then ask\u2019d (as yet the camp he view\u2019d)\n\u201cWhat chief is that, with giant strength endued,\nWhose brawny shoulders, and whose swelling chest,\nAnd lofty stature, far exceed the rest?\n\u201cAjax the great, (the beauteous queen replied,)\nHimself a host: the Grecian strength and pride.\nSee! bold Idomeneus superior towers\nAmid yon circle of his Cretan powers,\nGreat as a god! I saw him once before,\nWith Menelaus on the Spartan shore.\nThe rest I know, and could in order name;\nAll valiant chiefs, and men of mighty fame.\nYet two are wanting of the numerous train,\nWhom long my eyes have sought, but sought in vain:\nCastor and Pollux, first in martial force,\nOne bold on foot, and one renown\u2019d for horse.\nMy brothers these; the same our native shore,\nOne house contain\u2019d us, as one mother bore.\nPerhaps the chiefs, from warlike toils at ease,\nFor distant Troy refused to sail the seas;\nPerhaps their swords some nobler quarrel draws,\nAshamed to combat in their sister\u2019s cause.\u201d\n\nSo spoke the fair, nor knew her brothers\u2019 doom;[118]\nWrapt in the cold embraces of the tomb;\nAdorn\u2019d with honours in their native shore,\nSilent they slept, and heard of wars no more.\n\nMeantime the heralds, through the crowded town,\nBring the rich wine and destined victims down.\nId\u00e6us\u2019 arms the golden goblets press\u2019d,[119]\nWho thus the venerable king address\u2019d:\n\u201cArise, O father of the Trojan state!\nThe nations call, thy joyful people wait\nTo seal the truce, and end the dire debate.\nParis, thy son, and Sparta\u2019s king advance,\nIn measured lists to toss the weighty lance;\nAnd who his rival shall in arms subdue,\nHis be the dame, and his the treasure too.\nThus with a lasting league our toils may cease,\nAnd Troy possess her fertile fields in peace:\nSo shall the Greeks review their native shore,\nMuch famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.\u201d\n\nWith grief he heard, and bade the chiefs prepare\nTo join his milk-white coursers to the car;\nHe mounts the seat, Antenor at his side;\nThe gentle steeds through Sc\u00e6a\u2019s gates they guide:[120]\nNext from the car descending on the plain,\nAmid the Grecian host and Trojan train,\nSlow they proceed: the sage Ulysses then\nArose, and with him rose the king of men.\nOn either side a sacred herald stands,\nThe wine they mix, and on each monarch\u2019s hands\nPour the full urn; then draws the Grecian lord\nHis cutlass sheathed beside his ponderous sword;\nFrom the sign\u2019d victims crops the curling hair;[121]\nThe heralds part it, and the princes share;\nThen loudly thus before the attentive bands\nHe calls the gods, and spreads his lifted hands:\n\n\u201cO first and greatest power! whom all obey,\nWho high on Ida\u2019s holy mountain sway,\nEternal Jove! and you bright orb that roll\nFrom east to west, and view from pole to pole!\nThou mother Earth! and all ye living floods!\nInfernal furies, and Tartarean gods,\nWho rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare\nFor perjured kings, and all who falsely swear!\nHear, and be witness. If, by Paris slain,\nGreat Menelaus press the fatal plain;\nThe dame and treasures let the Trojan keep,\nAnd Greece returning plough the watery deep.\nIf by my brother\u2019s lance the Trojan bleed,\nBe his the wealth and beauteous dame decreed:\nThe appointed fine let Ilion justly pay,\nAnd every age record the signal day.\nThis if the Phrygians shall refuse to yield,\nArms must revenge, and Mars decide the field.\u201d\n\nWith that the chief the tender victims slew,\nAnd in the dust their bleeding bodies threw;\nThe vital spirit issued at the wound,\nAnd left the members quivering on the ground.\nFrom the same urn they drink the mingled wine,\nAnd add libations to the powers divine.\nWhile thus their prayers united mount the sky,\n\u201cHear, mighty Jove! and hear, ye gods on high!\nAnd may their blood, who first the league confound,\nShed like this wine, disdain the thirsty ground;\nMay all their consorts serve promiscuous lust,\nAnd all their lust be scatter\u2019d as the dust!\u201d\nThus either host their imprecations join\u2019d,\nWhich Jove refused, and mingled with the wind.\n\nThe rites now finish\u2019d, reverend Priam rose,\nAnd thus express\u2019d a heart o\u2019ercharged with woes:\n\u201cYe Greeks and Trojans, let the chiefs engage,\nBut spare the weakness of my feeble age:\nIn yonder walls that object let me shun,\nNor view the danger of so dear a son.\nWhose arms shall conquer and what prince shall fall,\nHeaven only knows; for heaven disposes all.\u201d\n\nThis said, the hoary king no longer stay\u2019d,\nBut on his car the slaughter\u2019d victims laid:\nThen seized the reins his gentle steeds to guide,\nAnd drove to Troy, Antenor at his side.\n\nBold Hector and Ulysses now dispose\nThe lists of combat, and the ground inclose:\nNext to decide, by sacred lots prepare,\nWho first shall launch his pointed spear in air.\nThe people pray with elevated hands,\nAnd words like these are heard through all the bands:\n\u201cImmortal Jove, high Heaven\u2019s superior lord,\nOn lofty Ida\u2019s holy mount adored!\nWhoe\u2019er involved us in this dire debate,\nO give that author of the war to fate\nAnd shades eternal! let division cease,\nAnd joyful nations join in leagues of peace.\u201d\n\nWith eyes averted Hector hastes to turn\nThe lots of fight and shakes the brazen urn.\nThen, Paris, thine leap\u2019d forth; by fatal chance\nOrdain\u2019d the first to whirl the weighty lance.\nBoth armies sat the combat to survey.\nBeside each chief his azure armour lay,\nAnd round the lists the generous coursers neigh.\nThe beauteous warrior now arrays for fight,\nIn gilded arms magnificently bright:\nThe purple cuishes clasp his thighs around,\nWith flowers adorn\u2019d, with silver buckles bound:\nLycaon\u2019s corslet his fair body dress\u2019d,\nBraced in and fitted to his softer breast;\nA radiant baldric, o\u2019er his shoulder tied,\nSustain\u2019d the sword that glitter\u2019d at his side:\nHis youthful face a polish\u2019d helm o\u2019erspread;\nThe waving horse-hair nodded on his head:\nHis figured shield, a shining orb, he takes,\nAnd in his hand a pointed javelin shakes.\nWith equal speed and fired by equal charms,\nThe Spartan hero sheathes his limbs in arms.\n\nNow round the lists the admiring armies stand,\nWith javelins fix\u2019d, the Greek and Trojan band.\nAmidst the dreadful vale, the chiefs advance,\nAll pale with rage, and shake the threatening lance.\nThe Trojan first his shining javelin threw;\nFull on Atrides\u2019 ringing shield it flew,\nNor pierced the brazen orb, but with a bound[122]\nLeap\u2019d from the buckler, blunted, on the ground.\nAtrides then his massy lance prepares,\nIn act to throw, but first prefers his prayers:\n\n\u201cGive me, great Jove! to punish lawless lust,\nAnd lay the Trojan gasping in the dust:\nDestroy the aggressor, aid my righteous cause,\nAvenge the breach of hospitable laws!\nLet this example future times reclaim,\nAnd guard from wrong fair friendship\u2019s holy name,\u201d\nHe said, and poised in air the javelin sent,\nThrough Paris\u2019 shield the forceful weapon went,\nHis corslet pierces, and his garment rends,\nAnd glancing downward, near his flank descends.\nThe wary Trojan, bending from the blow,\nEludes the death, and disappoints his foe:\nBut fierce Atrides waved his sword, and strook\nFull on his casque: the crested helmet shook;\nThe brittle steel, unfaithful to his hand,\nBroke short: the fragments glitter\u2019d on the sand.\nThe raging warrior to the spacious skies\nRaised his upbraiding voice and angry eyes:\n\u201cThen is it vain in Jove himself to trust?\nAnd is it thus the gods assist the just?\nWhen crimes provoke us, Heaven success denies;\nThe dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies.\u201d\nFurious he said, and towards the Grecian crew\n(Seized by the crest) the unhappy warrior drew;\nStruggling he followed, while the embroider\u2019d thong\nThat tied his helmet, dragg\u2019d the chief along.\nThen had his ruin crown\u2019d Atrides\u2019 joy,\nBut Venus trembled for the prince of Troy:\nUnseen she came, and burst the golden band;\nAnd left an empty helmet in his hand.\nThe casque, enraged, amidst the Greeks he threw;\nThe Greeks with smiles the polish\u2019d trophy view.\nThen, as once more he lifts the deadly dart,\nIn thirst of vengeance, at his rival\u2019s heart;\nThe queen of love her favour\u2019d champion shrouds\n(For gods can all things) in a veil of clouds.\nRaised from the field the panting youth she led,\nAnd gently laid him on the bridal bed,\nWith pleasing sweets his fainting sense renews,\nAnd all the dome perfumes with heavenly dews.\nMeantime the brightest of the female kind,\nThe matchless Helen, o\u2019er the walls reclined;\nTo her, beset with Trojan beauties, came,\nIn borrow\u2019d form, the laughter-loving dame.\n(She seem\u2019d an ancient maid, well-skill\u2019d to cull\nThe snowy fleece, and wind the twisted wool.)\nThe goddess softly shook her silken vest,\nThat shed perfumes, and whispering thus address\u2019d:\n\n\n[Illustration: ] VENUS, DISGUISED, INVITING HELEN TO THE CHAMBER OF\nPARIS\n\n\n\u201cHaste, happy nymph! for thee thy Paris calls,\nSafe from the fight, in yonder lofty walls,\nFair as a god; with odours round him spread,\nHe lies, and waits thee on the well-known bed;\nNot like a warrior parted from the foe,\nBut some gay dancer in the public show.\u201d\n\nShe spoke, and Helen\u2019s secret soul was moved;\nShe scorn\u2019d the champion, but the man she loved.\nFair Venus\u2019 neck, her eyes that sparkled fire,\nAnd breast, reveal\u2019d the queen of soft desire.[123]\nStruck with her presence, straight the lively red\nForsook her cheek; and trembling, thus she said:\n\u201cThen is it still thy pleasure to deceive?\nAnd woman\u2019s frailty always to believe!\nSay, to new nations must I cross the main,\nOr carry wars to some soft Asian plain?\nFor whom must Helen break her second vow?\nWhat other Paris is thy darling now?\nLeft to Atrides, (victor in the strife,)\nAn odious conquest and a captive wife,\nHence let me sail; and if thy Paris bear\nMy absence ill, let Venus ease his care.\nA handmaid goddess at his side to wait,\nRenounce the glories of thy heavenly state,\nBe fix\u2019d for ever to the Trojan shore,\nHis spouse, or slave; and mount the skies no more.\nFor me, to lawless love no longer led,\nI scorn the coward, and detest his bed;\nElse should I merit everlasting shame,\nAnd keen reproach, from every Phrygian dame:\nIll suits it now the joys of love to know,\nToo deep my anguish, and too wild my woe.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] VENUS PRESENTING HELEN TO PARIS\n\n\nThen thus incensed, the Paphian queen replies:\n\u201cObey the power from whom thy glories rise:\nShould Venus leave thee, every charm must fly,\nFade from thy cheek, and languish in thy eye.\nCease to provoke me, lest I make thee more\nThe world\u2019s aversion, than their love before;\nNow the bright prize for which mankind engage,\nThan, the sad victim, of the public rage.\u201d\n\nAt this, the fairest of her sex obey\u2019d,\nAnd veil\u2019d her blushes in a silken shade;\nUnseen, and silent, from the train she moves,\nLed by the goddess of the Smiles and Loves.\nArrived, and enter\u2019d at the palace gate,\nThe maids officious round their mistress wait;\nThen, all dispersing, various tasks attend;\nThe queen and goddess to the prince ascend.\nFull in her Paris\u2019 sight, the queen of love\nHad placed the beauteous progeny of Jove;\nWhere, as he view\u2019d her charms, she turn\u2019d away\nHer glowing eyes, and thus began to say:\n\n\u201cIs this the chief, who, lost to sense of shame,\nLate fled the field, and yet survives his fame?\nO hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword\nOf that brave man whom once I call\u2019d my lord!\nThe boaster Paris oft desired the day\nWith Sparta\u2019s king to meet in single fray:\nGo now, once more thy rival\u2019s rage excite,\nProvoke Atrides, and renew the fight:\nYet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill\u2019d\nShouldst fall an easy conquest on the field.\u201d\n\nThe prince replies: \u201cAh cease, divinely fair,\nNor add reproaches to the wounds I bear;\nThis day the foe prevail\u2019d by Pallas\u2019 power:\nWe yet may vanquish in a happier hour:\nThere want not gods to favour us above;\nBut let the business of our life be love:\nThese softer moments let delights employ,\nAnd kind embraces snatch the hasty joy.\nNot thus I loved thee, when from Sparta\u2019s shore\nMy forced, my willing heavenly prize I bore,\nWhen first entranced in Cranae\u2019s isle I lay,[124]\nMix\u2019d with thy soul, and all dissolved away!\u201d\nThus having spoke, the enamour\u2019d Phrygian boy\nRush\u2019d to the bed, impatient for the joy.\nHim Helen follow\u2019d slow with bashful charms,\nAnd clasp\u2019d the blooming hero in her arms.\n\nWhile these to love\u2019s delicious rapture yield,\nThe stern Atrides rages round the field:\nSo some fell lion whom the woods obey,\nRoars through the desert, and demands his prey.\nParis he seeks, impatient to destroy,\nBut seeks in vain along the troops of Troy;\nEven those had yielded to a foe so brave\nThe recreant warrior, hateful as the grave.\nThen speaking thus, the king of kings arose,\n\u201cYe Trojans, Dardans, all our generous foes!\nHear and attest! from Heaven with conquest crown\u2019d,\nOur brother\u2019s arms the just success have found:\nBe therefore now the Spartan wealth restor\u2019d,\nLet Argive Helen own her lawful lord;\nThe appointed fine let Ilion justly pay,\nAnd age to age record this signal day.\u201d\n\nHe ceased; his army\u2019s loud applauses rise,\nAnd the long shout runs echoing through the skies.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] VENUS\n\n[Illustration: ] Map, titled \u201cGR\u00c6CI\u00c6 ANTIQU\u00c6\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE BREACH OF THE TRUCE, AND THE FIRST BATTLE.\n\n\nThe gods deliberate in council concerning the Trojan war: they agree\nupon the continuation of it, and Jupiter sends down Minerva to break\nthe truce. She persuades Pandarus to aim an arrow at Menelaus, who is\nwounded, but cured by Machaon. In the meantime some of the Trojan\ntroops attack the Greeks. Agamemnon is distinguished in all the parts\nof a good general; he reviews the troops, and exhorts the leaders, some\nby praises and others by reproof. Nestor is particularly celebrated for\nhis military discipline. The battle joins, and great numbers are slain\non both sides.\n    The same day continues through this as through the last book (as it\n    does also through the two following, and almost to the end of the\n    seventh book). The scene is wholly in the field before Troy.\n\n\nAnd now Olympus\u2019 shining gates unfold;\nThe gods, with Jove, assume their thrones of gold:\nImmortal Hebe, fresh with bloom divine,\nThe golden goblet crowns with purple wine:\nWhile the full bowls flow round, the powers employ\nTheir careful eyes on long-contended Troy.\n\nWhen Jove, disposed to tempt Saturnia\u2019s spleen,\nThus waked the fury of his partial queen,\n\u201cTwo powers divine the son of Atreus aid,\nImperial Juno, and the martial maid;[125]\nBut high in heaven they sit, and gaze from far,\nThe tame spectators of his deeds of war.\nNot thus fair Venus helps her favour\u2019d knight,\nThe queen of pleasures shares the toils of fight,\nEach danger wards, and constant in her care,\nSaves in the moment of the last despair.\nHer act has rescued Paris\u2019 forfeit life,\nThough great Atrides gain\u2019d the glorious strife.\nThen say, ye powers! what signal issue waits\nTo crown this deed, and finish all the fates!\nShall Heaven by peace the bleeding kingdoms spare,\nOr rouse the furies, and awake the war?\nYet, would the gods for human good provide,\nAtrides soon might gain his beauteous bride,\nStill Priam\u2019s walls in peaceful honours grow,\nAnd through his gates the crowding nations flow.\u201d\n\nThus while he spoke, the queen of heaven, enraged,\nAnd queen of war, in close consult engaged:\nApart they sit, their deep designs employ,\nAnd meditate the future woes of Troy.\nThough secret anger swell\u2019d Minerva\u2019s breast,\nThe prudent goddess yet her wrath suppress\u2019d;\nBut Juno, impotent of passion, broke\nHer sullen silence, and with fury spoke:\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE COUNCIL OF THE GODS\n\n\n\u201cShall then, O tyrant of the ethereal reign!\nMy schemes, my labours, and my hopes be vain?\nHave I, for this, shook Ilion with alarms,\nAssembled nations, set two worlds in arms?\nTo spread the war, I flew from shore to shore;\nThe immortal coursers scarce the labour bore.\nAt length ripe vengeance o\u2019er their heads impends,\nBut Jove himself the faithless race defends.\nLoth as thou art to punish lawless lust,\nNot all the gods are partial and unjust.\u201d\n\nThe sire whose thunder shakes the cloudy skies,\nSighs from his inmost soul, and thus replies:\n\u201cOh lasting rancour! oh insatiate hate\nTo Phrygia\u2019s monarch, and the Phrygian state!\nWhat high offence has fired the wife of Jove?\nCan wretched mortals harm the powers above,\nThat Troy, and Troy\u2019s whole race thou wouldst confound,\nAnd yon fair structures level with the ground!\nHaste, leave the skies, fulfil thy stern desire,\nBurst all her gates, and wrap her walls in fire!\nLet Priam bleed! if yet you thirst for more,\nBleed all his sons, and Ilion float with gore:\nTo boundless vengeance the wide realm be given,\nTill vast destruction glut the queen of heaven!\nSo let it be, and Jove his peace enjoy,[126]\nWhen heaven no longer hears the name of Troy.\nBut should this arm prepare to wreak our hate\nOn thy loved realms, whose guilt demands their fate;\nPresume not thou the lifted bolt to stay,\nRemember Troy, and give the vengeance way.\nFor know, of all the numerous towns that rise\nBeneath the rolling sun and starry skies,\nWhich gods have raised, or earth-born men enjoy,\nNone stands so dear to Jove as sacred Troy.\nNo mortals merit more distinguish\u2019d grace\nThan godlike Priam, or than Priam\u2019s race.\nStill to our name their hecatombs expire,\nAnd altars blaze with unextinguish\u2019d fire.\u201d\n\nAt this the goddess rolled her radiant eyes,\nThen on the Thunderer fix\u2019d them, and replies:\n\u201cThree towns are Juno\u2019s on the Grecian plains,\nMore dear than all the extended earth contains,\nMycen\u00e6, Argos, and the Spartan wall;[127]\n\nThese thou mayst raze, nor I forbid their fall:\n\u2019Tis not in me the vengeance to remove;\nThe crime\u2019s sufficient that they share my love.\nOf power superior why should I complain?\nResent I may, but must resent in vain.\nYet some distinction Juno might require,\nSprung with thyself from one celestial sire,\nA goddess born, to share the realms above,\nAnd styled the consort of the thundering Jove;\nNor thou a wife and sister\u2019s right deny;[128]\nLet both consent, and both by terms comply;\nSo shall the gods our joint decrees obey,\nAnd heaven shall act as we direct the way.\nSee ready Pallas waits thy high commands\nTo raise in arms the Greek and Phrygian bands;\nTheir sudden friendship by her arts may cease,\nAnd the proud Trojans first infringe the peace.\u201d\n\nThe sire of men and monarch of the sky\nThe advice approved, and bade Minerva fly,\nDissolve the league, and all her arts employ\nTo make the breach the faithless act of Troy.\nFired with the charge, she headlong urged her flight,\nAnd shot like lightning from Olympus\u2019 height.\nAs the red comet, from Saturnius sent\nTo fright the nations with a dire portent,\n(A fatal sign to armies on the plain,\nOr trembling sailors on the wintry main,)\nWith sweeping glories glides along in air,\nAnd shakes the sparkles from its blazing hair:[129]\nBetween both armies thus, in open sight\nShot the bright goddess in a trail of light,\nWith eyes erect the gazing hosts admire\nThe power descending, and the heavens on fire!\n\u201cThe gods (they cried), the gods this signal sent,\nAnd fate now labours with some vast event:\nJove seals the league, or bloodier scenes prepares;\nJove, the great arbiter of peace and wars.\u201d\n\nThey said, while Pallas through the Trojan throng,\n(In shape a mortal,) pass\u2019d disguised along.\nLike bold Laodocus, her course she bent,\nWho from Antenor traced his high descent.\nAmidst the ranks Lycaon\u2019s son she found,\nThe warlike Pandarus, for strength renown\u2019d;\nWhose squadrons, led from black \u00c6sepus\u2019 flood,[130]\nWith flaming shields in martial circle stood.\nTo him the goddess: \u201cPhrygian! canst thou hear\nA well-timed counsel with a willing ear?\nWhat praise were thine, couldst thou direct thy dart,\nAmidst his triumph, to the Spartan\u2019s heart?\nWhat gifts from Troy, from Paris wouldst thou gain,\nThy country\u2019s foe, the Grecian glory slain?\nThen seize the occasion, dare the mighty deed,\nAim at his breast, and may that aim succeed!\nBut first, to speed the shaft, address thy vow\nTo Lycian Ph\u0153bus with the silver bow,\nAnd swear the firstlings of thy flock to pay,\nOn Zelia\u2019s altars, to the god of day.\u201d[131]\n\nHe heard, and madly at the motion pleased,\nHis polish\u2019d bow with hasty rashness seized.\n\u2019Twas form\u2019d of horn, and smooth\u2019d with artful toil:\nA mountain goat resign\u2019d the shining spoil.\nWho pierced long since beneath his arrows bled;\nThe stately quarry on the cliffs lay dead,\nAnd sixteen palms his brow\u2019s large honours spread:\nThe workmen join\u2019d, and shaped the bended horns,\nAnd beaten gold each taper point adorns.\nThis, by the Greeks unseen, the warrior bends,\nScreen\u2019d by the shields of his surrounding friends:\nThere meditates the mark; and couching low,\nFits the sharp arrow to the well-strung bow.\nOne from a hundred feather\u2019d deaths he chose,\nFated to wound, and cause of future woes;\nThen offers vows with hecatombs to crown\nApollo\u2019s altars in his native town.\n\nNow with full force the yielding horn he bends,\nDrawn to an arch, and joins the doubling ends;\nClose to his breast he strains the nerve below,\nTill the barb\u2019d points approach the circling bow;\nThe impatient weapon whizzes on the wing;\nSounds the tough horn, and twangs the quivering string.\n\nBut thee, Atrides! in that dangerous hour\nThe gods forget not, nor thy guardian power,\nPallas assists, and (weakened in its force)\nDiverts the weapon from its destined course:\nSo from her babe, when slumber seals his eye,\nThe watchful mother wafts the envenom\u2019d fly.\nJust where his belt with golden buckles join\u2019d,\nWhere linen folds the double corslet lined,\nShe turn\u2019d the shaft, which, hissing from above,\nPass\u2019d the broad belt, and through the corslet drove;\nThe folds it pierced, the plaited linen tore,\nAnd razed the skin, and drew the purple gore.\nAs when some stately trappings are decreed\nTo grace a monarch on his bounding steed,\nA nymph in Caria or M\u00e6onia bred,\nStains the pure ivory with a lively red;\nWith equal lustre various colours vie,\nThe shining whiteness, and the Tyrian dye:\nSo great Atrides! show\u2019d thy sacred blood,\nAs down thy snowy thigh distill\u2019d the streaming flood.\nWith horror seized, the king of men descried\nThe shaft infix\u2019d, and saw the gushing tide:\nNor less the Spartan fear\u2019d, before he found\nThe shining barb appear above the wound,\nThen, with a sigh, that heaved his manly breast,\nThe royal brother thus his grief express\u2019d,\nAnd grasp\u2019d his hand; while all the Greeks around\nWith answering sighs return\u2019d the plaintive sound.\n\n\u201cOh, dear as life! did I for this agree\nThe solemn truce, a fatal truce to thee!\nWert thou exposed to all the hostile train,\nTo fight for Greece, and conquer, to be slain!\nThe race of Trojans in thy ruin join,\nAnd faith is scorn\u2019d by all the perjured line.\nNot thus our vows, confirm\u2019d with wine and gore,\nThose hands we plighted, and those oaths we swore,\nShall all be vain: when Heaven\u2019s revenge is slow,\nJove but prepares to strike the fiercer blow.\nThe day shall come, that great avenging day,\nWhen Troy\u2019s proud glories in the dust shall lay,\nWhen Priam\u2019s powers and Priam\u2019s self shall fall,\nAnd one prodigious ruin swallow all.\nI see the god, already, from the pole\nBare his red arm, and bid the thunder roll;\nI see the Eternal all his fury shed,\nAnd shake his \u00e6gis o\u2019er their guilty head.\nSuch mighty woes on perjured princes wait;\nBut thou, alas! deserv\u2019st a happier fate.\nStill must I mourn the period of thy days,\nAnd only mourn, without my share of praise?\nDeprived of thee, the heartless Greeks no more\nShall dream of conquests on the hostile shore;\nTroy seized of Helen, and our glory lost,\nThy bones shall moulder on a foreign coast;\nWhile some proud Trojan thus insulting cries,\n(And spurns the dust where Menelaus lies,)\n\u2018Such are the trophies Greece from Ilion brings,\nAnd such the conquest of her king of kings!\nLo his proud vessels scatter\u2019d o\u2019er the main,\nAnd unrevenged, his mighty brother slain.\u2019\nOh! ere that dire disgrace shall blast my fame,\nO\u2019erwhelm me, earth! and hide a monarch\u2019s shame.\u201d\n\nHe said: a leader\u2019s and a brother\u2019s fears\nPossess his soul, which thus the Spartan cheers:\n\u201cLet not thy words the warmth of Greece abate;\nThe feeble dart is guiltless of my fate:\nStiff with the rich embroider\u2019d work around,\nMy varied belt repell\u2019d the flying wound.\u201d\n\nTo whom the king: \u201cMy brother and my friend,\nThus, always thus, may Heaven thy life defend!\nNow seek some skilful hand, whose powerful art\nMay stanch the effusion, and extract the dart.\nHerald, be swift, and bid Machaon bring\nHis speedy succour to the Spartan king;\nPierced with a winged shaft (the deed of Troy),\nThe Grecian\u2019s sorrow, and the Dardan\u2019s joy.\u201d\n\nWith hasty zeal the swift Talthybius flies;\nThrough the thick files he darts his searching eyes,\nAnd finds Machaon, where sublime he stands[132]\nIn arms incircled with his native bands.\nThen thus: \u201cMachaon, to the king repair,\nHis wounded brother claims thy timely care;\nPierced by some Lycian or Dardanian bow,\nA grief to us, a triumph to the foe.\u201d\n\nThe heavy tidings grieved the godlike man:\nSwift to his succour through the ranks he ran.\nThe dauntless king yet standing firm he found,\nAnd all the chiefs in deep concern around.\nWhere to the steely point the reed was join\u2019d,\nThe shaft he drew, but left the head behind.\nStraight the broad belt with gay embroidery graced,\nHe loosed; the corslet from his breast unbraced;\nThen suck\u2019d the blood, and sovereign balm infused,[133]\nWhich Chiron gave, and \u00c6sculapius used.\n\nWhile round the prince the Greeks employ their care,\nThe Trojans rush tumultuous to the war;\nOnce more they glitter in refulgent arms,\nOnce more the fields are fill\u2019d with dire alarms.\nNor had you seen the king of men appear\nConfused, unactive, or surprised with fear;\nBut fond of glory, with severe delight,\nHis beating bosom claim\u2019d the rising fight.\nNo longer with his warlike steeds he stay\u2019d,\nOr press\u2019d the car with polish\u2019d brass inlaid\nBut left Eurymedon the reins to guide;\nThe fiery coursers snorted at his side.\nOn foot through all the martial ranks he moves\nAnd these encourages, and those reproves.\n\u201cBrave men!\u201d he cries, (to such who boldly dare\nUrge their swift steeds to face the coming war),\n\u201cYour ancient valour on the foes approve;\nJove is with Greece, and let us trust in Jove.\n\u2019Tis not for us, but guilty Troy, to dread,\nWhose crimes sit heavy on her perjured head;\nHer sons and matrons Greece shall lead in chains,\nAnd her dead warriors strew the mournful plains.\u201d\n\nThus with new ardour he the brave inspires;\nOr thus the fearful with reproaches fires:\n\u201cShame to your country, scandal of your kind;\nBorn to the fate ye well deserve to find!\nWhy stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain,\nPrepared for flight, but doom\u2019d to fly in vain?\nConfused and panting thus, the hunted deer\nFalls as he flies, a victim to his fear.\nStill must ye wait the foes, and still retire,\nTill yon tall vessels blaze with Trojan fire?\nOr trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chase,\nTo save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?\u201d\n\nThis said, he stalk\u2019d with ample strides along,\nTo Crete\u2019s brave monarch and his martial throng;\nHigh at their head he saw the chief appear,\nAnd bold Meriones excite the rear.\nAt this the king his generous joy express\u2019d,\nAnd clasp\u2019d the warrior to his armed breast.\n\u201cDivine Idomeneus! what thanks we owe\nTo worth like thine! what praise shall we bestow?\nTo thee the foremost honours are decreed,\nFirst in the fight and every graceful deed.\nFor this, in banquets, when the generous bowls\nRestore our blood, and raise the warriors\u2019 souls,\nThough all the rest with stated rules we bound,\nUnmix\u2019d, unmeasured, are thy goblets crown\u2019d.\nBe still thyself, in arms a mighty name;\nMaintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame.\u201d\nTo whom the Cretan thus his speech address\u2019d:\n\u201cSecure of me, O king! exhort the rest.\nFix\u2019d to thy side, in every toil I share,\nThy firm associate in the day of war.\nBut let the signal be this moment given;\nTo mix in fight is all I ask of Heaven.\nThe field shall prove how perjuries succeed,\nAnd chains or death avenge the impious deed.\u201d\n\nCharm\u2019d with this heat, the king his course pursues,\nAnd next the troops of either Ajax views:\nIn one firm orb the bands were ranged around,\nA cloud of heroes blacken\u2019d all the ground.\nThus from the lofty promontory\u2019s brow\nA swain surveys the gathering storm below;\nSlow from the main the heavy vapours rise,\nSpread in dim streams, and sail along the skies,\nTill black as night the swelling tempest shows,\nThe cloud condensing as the west-wind blows:\nHe dreads the impending storm, and drives his flock\nTo the close covert of an arching rock.\n\nSuch, and so thick, the embattled squadrons stood,\nWith spears erect, a moving iron wood:\nA shady light was shot from glimmering shields,\nAnd their brown arms obscured the dusky fields.\n\n\u201cO heroes! worthy such a dauntless train,\nWhose godlike virtue we but urge in vain,\n(Exclaim\u2019d the king), who raise your eager bands\nWith great examples, more than loud commands.\nAh! would the gods but breathe in all the rest\nSuch souls as burn in your exalted breast,\nSoon should our arms with just success be crown\u2019d,\nAnd Troy\u2019s proud walls lie smoking on the ground.\u201d\n\nThen to the next the general bends his course;\n(His heart exults, and glories in his force);\nThere reverend Nestor ranks his Pylian bands,\nAnd with inspiring eloquence commands;\nWith strictest order sets his train in arms,\nThe chiefs advises, and the soldiers warms.\nAlastor, Chromius, Haemon, round him wait,\nBias the good, and Pelagon the great.\nThe horse and chariots to the front assign\u2019d,\nThe foot (the strength of war) he ranged behind;\nThe middle space suspected troops supply,\nInclosed by both, nor left the power to fly;\nHe gives command to \u201ccurb the fiery steed,\nNor cause confusion, nor the ranks exceed:\nBefore the rest let none too rashly ride;\nNo strength nor skill, but just in time, be tried:\nThe charge once made, no warrior turn the rein,\nBut fight, or fall; a firm embodied train.\nHe whom the fortune of the field shall cast\nFrom forth his chariot, mount the next in haste;\nNor seek unpractised to direct the car,\nContent with javelins to provoke the war.\nOur great forefathers held this prudent course,\nThus ruled their ardour, thus preserved their force;\nBy laws like these immortal conquests made,\nAnd earth\u2019s proud tyrants low in ashes laid.\u201d\n\nSo spoke the master of the martial art,\nAnd touch\u2019d with transport great Atrides\u2019 heart.\n\u201cOh! hadst thou strength to match thy brave desires,\nAnd nerves to second what thy soul inspires!\nBut wasting years, that wither human race,\nExhaust thy spirits, and thy arms unbrace.\nWhat once thou wert, oh ever mightst thou be!\nAnd age the lot of any chief but thee.\u201d\n\nThus to the experienced prince Atrides cried;\nHe shook his hoary locks, and thus replied:\n\u201cWell might I wish, could mortal wish renew[134]\nThat strength which once in boiling youth I knew;\nSuch as I was, when Ereuthalion, slain\nBeneath this arm, fell prostrate on the plain.\nBut heaven its gifts not all at once bestows,\nThese years with wisdom crowns, with action those:\nThe field of combat fits the young and bold,\nThe solemn council best becomes the old:\nTo you the glorious conflict I resign,\nLet sage advice, the palm of age, be mine.\u201d\n\nHe said. With joy the monarch march\u2019d before,\nAnd found Menestheus on the dusty shore,\nWith whom the firm Athenian phalanx stands;\nAnd next Ulysses, with his subject bands.\nRemote their forces lay, nor knew so far\nThe peace infringed, nor heard the sounds of war;\nThe tumult late begun, they stood intent\nTo watch the motion, dubious of the event.\nThe king, who saw their squadrons yet unmoved,\nWith hasty ardour thus the chiefs reproved:\n\n\u201cCan Peleus\u2019 son forget a warrior\u2019s part.\nAnd fears Ulysses, skill\u2019d in every art?\nWhy stand you distant, and the rest expect\nTo mix in combat which yourselves neglect?\nFrom you \u2019twas hoped among the first to dare\nThe shock of armies, and commence the war;\nFor this your names are call\u2019d before the rest,\nTo share the pleasures of the genial feast:\nAnd can you, chiefs! without a blush survey\nWhole troops before you labouring in the fray?\nSay, is it thus those honours you requite?\nThe first in banquets, but the last in fight.\u201d\n\nUlysses heard: the hero\u2019s warmth o\u2019erspread\nHis cheek with blushes: and severe, he said:\n\u201cTake back the unjust reproach! Behold we stand\nSheathed in bright arms, and but expect command.\nIf glorious deeds afford thy soul delight,\nBehold me plunging in the thickest fight.\nThen give thy warrior-chief a warrior\u2019s due,\nWho dares to act whate\u2019er thou dar\u2019st to view.\u201d\nStruck with his generous wrath, the king replies:\n\n\u201cO great in action, and in council wise!\nWith ours, thy care and ardour are the same,\nNor need I to commend, nor aught to blame.\nSage as thou art, and learn\u2019d in human kind,\nForgive the transport of a martial mind.\nHaste to the fight, secure of just amends;\nThe gods that make, shall keep the worthy, friends.\u201d\n\nHe said, and pass\u2019d where great Tydides lay,\nHis steeds and chariots wedged in firm array;\n(The warlike Sthenelus attends his side;)[135]\nTo whom with stern reproach the monarch cried:\n\u201cO son of Tydeus! (he, whose strength could tame\nThe bounding steed, in arms a mighty name)\nCanst thou, remote, the mingling hosts descry,\nWith hands unactive, and a careless eye?\nNot thus thy sire the fierce encounter fear\u2019d;\nStill first in front the matchless prince appear\u2019d:\nWhat glorious toils, what wonders they recite,\nWho view\u2019d him labouring through the ranks of fight?\nI saw him once, when gathering martial powers,\nA peaceful guest, he sought Mycen\u00e6\u2019s towers;\nArmies he ask\u2019d, and armies had been given,\nNot we denied, but Jove forbade from heaven;\nWhile dreadful comets glaring from afar,\nForewarn\u2019d the horrors of the Theban war.[136]\nNext, sent by Greece from where Asopus flows,\nA fearless envoy, he approach\u2019d the foes;\nThebes\u2019 hostile walls unguarded and alone,\nDauntless he enters, and demands the throne.\nThe tyrant feasting with his chiefs he found,\nAnd dared to combat all those chiefs around:\nDared, and subdued before their haughty lord;\nFor Pallas strung his arm and edged his sword.\nStung with the shame, within the winding way,\nTo bar his passage fifty warriors lay;\nTwo heroes led the secret squadron on,\nMason the fierce, and hardy Lycophon;\nThose fifty slaughter\u2019d in the gloomy vale.\nHe spared but one to bear the dreadful tale,\nSuch Tydeus was, and such his martial fire;\nGods! how the son degenerates from the sire!\u201d\n\nNo words the godlike Diomed return\u2019d,\nBut heard respectful, and in secret burn\u2019d:\nNot so fierce Capaneus\u2019 undaunted son;\nStern as his sire, the boaster thus begun:\n\n\u201cWhat needs, O monarch! this invidious praise,\nOurselves to lessen, while our sire you raise?\nDare to be just, Atrides! and confess\nOur value equal, though our fury less.\nWith fewer troops we storm\u2019d the Theban wall,\nAnd happier saw the sevenfold city fall,[137]\nIn impious acts the guilty father died;\nThe sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side.\nFar more than heirs of all our parents\u2019 fame,\nOur glories darken their diminish\u2019d name.\u201d\n\nTo him Tydides thus: \u201cMy friend, forbear;\nSuppress thy passion, and the king revere:\nHis high concern may well excuse this rage,\nWhose cause we follow, and whose war we wage:\nHis the first praise, were Ilion\u2019s towers o\u2019erthrown,\nAnd, if we fail, the chief disgrace his own.\nLet him the Greeks to hardy toils excite,\n\u2019Tis ours to labour in the glorious fight.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground\nSprung from his car: his ringing arms resound.\nDire was the clang, and dreadful from afar,\nOf arm\u2019d Tydides rushing to the war.\nAs when the winds, ascending by degrees,[138]\nFirst move the whitening surface of the seas,\nThe billows float in order to the shore,\nThe wave behind rolls on the wave before;\nTill, with the growing storm, the deeps arise,\nFoam o\u2019er the rocks, and thunder to the skies.\nSo to the fight the thick battalions throng,\nShields urged on shields, and men drove men along\nSedate and silent move the numerous bands;\nNo sound, no whisper, but the chief\u2019s commands,\nThose only heard; with awe the rest obey,\nAs if some god had snatch\u2019d their voice away.\nNot so the Trojans; from their host ascends\nA general shout that all the region rends.\nAs when the fleecy flocks unnumber\u2019d stand\nIn wealthy folds, and wait the milker\u2019s hand,\nThe hollow vales incessant bleating fills,\nThe lambs reply from all the neighbouring hills:\nSuch clamours rose from various nations round,\nMix\u2019d was the murmur, and confused the sound.\nEach host now joins, and each a god inspires,\nThese Mars incites, and those Minerva fires,\nPale flight around, and dreadful terror reign;\nAnd discord raging bathes the purple plain;\nDiscord! dire sister of the slaughtering power,\nSmall at her birth, but rising every hour,\nWhile scarce the skies her horrid head can bound,\nShe stalks on earth, and shakes the world around;[139]\nThe nations bleed, where\u2019er her steps she turns,\nThe groan still deepens, and the combat burns.\n\nNow shield with shield, with helmet helmet closed,\nTo armour armour, lance to lance opposed,\nHost against host with shadowy squadrons drew,\nThe sounding darts in iron tempests flew,\nVictors and vanquish\u2019d join\u2019d promiscuous cries,\nAnd shrilling shouts and dying groans arise;\nWith streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed,\nAnd slaughter\u2019d heroes swell the dreadful tide.\n\nAs torrents roll, increased by numerous rills,\nWith rage impetuous, down their echoing hills\nRush to the vales, and pour\u2019d along the plain,\nRoar through a thousand channels to the main:\nThe distant shepherd trembling hears the sound;\nSo mix both hosts, and so their cries rebound.\n\nThe bold Antilochus the slaughter led,\nThe first who struck a valiant Trojan dead:\nAt great Echepolus the lance arrives,\nRazed his high crest, and through his helmet drives;\nWarm\u2019d in the brain the brazen weapon lies,\nAnd shades eternal settle o\u2019er his eyes.\nSo sinks a tower, that long assaults had stood\nOf force and fire, its walls besmear\u2019d with blood.\nHim, the bold leader of the Abantian throng,[140]\nSeized to despoil, and dragg\u2019d the corpse along:\nBut while he strove to tug the inserted dart,\nAgenor\u2019s javelin reach\u2019d the hero\u2019s heart.\nHis flank, unguarded by his ample shield,\nAdmits the lance: he falls, and spurns the field;\nThe nerves, unbraced, support his limbs no more;\nThe soul comes floating in a tide of gore.\nTrojans and Greeks now gather round the slain;\nThe war renews, the warriors bleed again:\nAs o\u2019er their prey rapacious wolves engage,\nMan dies on man, and all is blood and rage.\n\nIn blooming youth fair Simoisius fell,\nSent by great Ajax to the shades of hell;\nFair Simoisius, whom his mother bore\nAmid the flocks on silver Simois\u2019 shore:\nThe nymph descending from the hills of Ide,\nTo seek her parents on his flowery side,\nBrought forth the babe, their common care and joy,\nAnd thence from Simois named the lovely boy.\nShort was his date! by dreadful Ajax slain,\nHe falls, and renders all their cares in vain!\nSo falls a poplar, that in watery ground\nRaised high the head, with stately branches crown\u2019d,\n(Fell\u2019d by some artist with his shining steel,\nTo shape the circle of the bending wheel,)\nCut down it lies, tall, smooth, and largely spread,\nWith all its beauteous honours on its head\nThere, left a subject to the wind and rain,\nAnd scorch\u2019d by suns, it withers on the plain\nThus pierced by Ajax, Simoisius lies\nStretch\u2019d on the shore, and thus neglected dies.\n\nAt Ajax, Antiphus his javelin threw;\nThe pointed lance with erring fury flew,\nAnd Leucus, loved by wise Ulysses, slew.\nHe drops the corpse of Simoisius slain,\nAnd sinks a breathless carcase on the plain.\nThis saw Ulysses, and with grief enraged,\nStrode where the foremost of the foes engaged;\nArm\u2019d with his spear, he meditates the wound,\nIn act to throw; but cautious look\u2019d around,\nStruck at his sight the Trojans backward drew,\nAnd trembling heard the javelin as it flew.\nA chief stood nigh, who from Abydos came,\nOld Priam\u2019s son, Democoon was his name.\nThe weapon entered close above his ear,\nCold through his temples glides the whizzing spear;[141]\nWith piercing shrieks the youth resigns his breath,\nHis eye-balls darken with the shades of death;\nPonderous he falls; his clanging arms resound,\nAnd his broad buckler rings against the ground.\n\nSeized with affright the boldest foes appear;\nE\u2019en godlike Hector seems himself to fear;\nSlow he gave way, the rest tumultuous fled;\nThe Greeks with shouts press on, and spoil the dead:\nBut Ph\u0153bus now from Ilion\u2019s towering height\nShines forth reveal\u2019d, and animates the fight.\n\u201cTrojans, be bold, and force with force oppose;\nYour foaming steeds urge headlong on the foes!\nNor are their bodies rocks, nor ribb\u2019d with steel;\nYour weapons enter, and your strokes they feel.\nHave ye forgot what seem\u2019d your dread before?\nThe great, the fierce Achilles fights no more.\u201d\n\nApollo thus from Ilion\u2019s lofty towers,\nArray\u2019d in terrors, roused the Trojan powers:\nWhile war\u2019s fierce goddess fires the Grecian foe,\nAnd shouts and thunders in the fields below.\nThen great Diores fell, by doom divine,\nIn vain his valour and illustrious line.\nA broken rock the force of Pyrus threw,\n(Who from cold \u00c6nus led the Thracian crew,)[142]\nFull on his ankle dropp\u2019d the ponderous stone,\nBurst the strong nerves, and crash\u2019d the solid bone.\nSupine he tumbles on the crimson sands,\nBefore his helpless friends, and native bands,\nAnd spreads for aid his unavailing hands.\nThe foe rush\u2019d furious as he pants for breath,\nAnd through his navel drove the pointed death:\nHis gushing entrails smoked upon the ground,\nAnd the warm life came issuing from the wound.\n\nHis lance bold Thoas at the conqueror sent,\nDeep in his breast above the pap it went,\nAmid the lungs was fix\u2019d the winged wood,\nAnd quivering in his heaving bosom stood:\nTill from the dying chief, approaching near,\nThe \u00c6tolian warrior tugg\u2019d his weighty spear:\nThen sudden waved his flaming falchion round,\nAnd gash\u2019d his belly with a ghastly wound;\nThe corpse now breathless on the bloody plain,\nTo spoil his arms the victor strove in vain;\nThe Thracian bands against the victor press\u2019d,\nA grove of lances glitter\u2019d at his breast.\nStern Thoas, glaring with revengeful eyes,\nIn sullen fury slowly quits the prize.\n\nThus fell two heroes; one the pride of Thrace,\nAnd one the leader of the Epeian race;\nDeath\u2019s sable shade at once o\u2019ercast their eyes,\nIn dust the vanquish\u2019d and the victor lies.\nWith copious slaughter all the fields are red,\nAnd heap\u2019d with growing mountains of the dead.\n\nHad some brave chief this martial scene beheld,\nBy Pallas guarded through the dreadful field;\nMight darts be bid to turn their points away,\nAnd swords around him innocently play;\nThe war\u2019s whole art with wonder had he seen,\nAnd counted heroes where he counted men.\n\nSo fought each host, with thirst of glory fired,\nAnd crowds on crowds triumphantly expired.\n\n[Illustration: ] Map of the Plain of Troy\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE ACTS OF DIOMED.\n\n\nDiomed, assisted by Pallas, performs wonders in this day\u2019s battle.\nPandarus wounds him with an arrow, but the goddess cures him, enables\nhim to discern gods from mortals, and prohibits him from contending\nwith any of the former, excepting Venus. \u00c6neas joins Pandarus to oppose\nhim; Pandarus is killed, and \u00c6neas in great danger but for the\nassistance of Venus; who, as she is removing her son from the fight, is\nwounded on the hand by Diomed. Apollo seconds her in his rescue, and at\nlength carries off \u00c6neas to Troy, where he is healed in the temple of\nPergamus. Mars rallies the Trojans, and assists Hector to make a stand.\nIn the meantime \u00c6neas is restored to the field, and they overthrow\nseveral of the Greeks; among the rest Tlepolemus is slain by Sarpedon.\nJuno and Minerva descend to resist Mars; the latter incites Diomed to\ngo against that god; he wounds him, and sends him groaning to heaven.\n    The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the same\n    as in the former.\n\n\nBut Pallas now Tydides\u2019 soul inspires,[143]\nFills with her force, and warms with all her fires,\nAbove the Greeks his deathless fame to raise,\nAnd crown her hero with distinguish\u2019d praise.\nHigh on his helm celestial lightnings play,\nHis beamy shield emits a living ray;\nThe unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies,\nLike the red star that fires the autumnal skies,\nWhen fresh he rears his radiant orb to sight,\nAnd, bathed in ocean, shoots a keener light.\nSuch glories Pallas on the chief bestow\u2019d,\nSuch, from his arms, the fierce effulgence flow\u2019d:\nOnward she drives him, furious to engage,\nWhere the fight burns, and where the thickest rage.\n\nThe sons of Dares first the combat sought,\nA wealthy priest, but rich without a fault;\nIn Vulcan\u2019s fane the father\u2019s days were led,\nThe sons to toils of glorious battle bred;\nThese singled from their troops the fight maintain,\nThese, from their steeds, Tydides on the plain.\nFierce for renown the brother-chiefs draw near,\nAnd first bold Phegeus cast his sounding spear,\nWhich o\u2019er the warrior\u2019s shoulder took its course,\nAnd spent in empty air its erring force.\nNot so, Tydides, flew thy lance in vain,\nBut pierced his breast, and stretch\u2019d him on the plain.\nSeized with unusual fear, Id\u00e6us fled,\nLeft the rich chariot, and his brother dead.\nAnd had not Vulcan lent celestial aid,\nHe too had sunk to death\u2019s eternal shade;\nBut in a smoky cloud the god of fire\nPreserved the son, in pity to the sire.\nThe steeds and chariot, to the navy led,\nIncreased the spoils of gallant Diomed.\n\nStruck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew,\nOr slain, or fled, the sons of Dares view;\nWhen by the blood-stain\u2019d hand Minerva press\u2019d\nThe god of battles, and this speech address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cStern power of war! by whom the mighty fall,\nWho bathe in blood, and shake the lofty wall!\nLet the brave chiefs their glorious toils divide;\nAnd whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide:\nWhile we from interdicted fields retire,\nNor tempt the wrath of heaven\u2019s avenging sire.\u201d\n\nHer words allay the impetuous warrior\u2019s heat,\nThe god of arms and martial maid retreat;\nRemoved from fight, on Xanthus\u2019 flowery bounds\nThey sat, and listen\u2019d to the dying sounds.\n\nMeantime, the Greeks the Trojan race pursue,\nAnd some bold chieftain every leader slew:\nFirst Odius falls, and bites the bloody sand,\nHis death ennobled by Atrides\u2019 hand:\n\nAs he to flight his wheeling car address\u2019d,\nThe speedy javelin drove from back to breast.\nIn dust the mighty Halizonian lay,\nHis arms resound, the spirit wings its way.\n\nThy fate was next, O Ph\u00e6stus! doom\u2019d to feel\nThe great Idomeneus\u2019 protended steel;\nWhom Borus sent (his son and only joy)\nFrom fruitful Tarne to the fields of Troy.\nThe Cretan javelin reach\u2019d him from afar,\nAnd pierced his shoulder as he mounts his car;\nBack from the car he tumbles to the ground,\nAnd everlasting shades his eyes surround.\n\nThen died Scamandrius, expert in the chase,\nIn woods and wilds to wound the savage race;\nDiana taught him all her sylvan arts,\nTo bend the bow, and aim unerring darts:\nBut vainly here Diana\u2019s arts he tries,\nThe fatal lance arrests him as he flies;\nFrom Menelaus\u2019 arm the weapon sent,\nThrough his broad back and heaving bosom went:\nDown sinks the warrior with a thundering sound,\nHis brazen armour rings against the ground.\n\nNext artful Phereclus untimely fell;\nBold Merion sent him to the realms of hell.\nThy father\u2019s skill, O Phereclus! was thine,\nThe graceful fabric and the fair design;\nFor loved by Pallas, Pallas did impart\nTo him the shipwright\u2019s and the builder\u2019s art.\nBeneath his hand the fleet of Paris rose,\nThe fatal cause of all his country\u2019s woes;\nBut he, the mystic will of heaven unknown,\nNor saw his country\u2019s peril, nor his own.\nThe hapless artist, while confused he fled,\nThe spear of Merion mingled with the dead.\nThrough his right hip, with forceful fury cast,\nBetween the bladder and the bone it pass\u2019d;\nProne on his knees he falls with fruitless cries,\nAnd death in lasting slumber seals his eyes.\n\nFrom Meges\u2019 force the swift Pedaeus fled,\nAntenor\u2019s offspring from a foreign bed,\nWhose generous spouse, Theanor, heavenly fair,\nNursed the young stranger with a mother\u2019s care.\nHow vain those cares! when Meges in the rear\nFull in his nape infix\u2019d the fatal spear;\nSwift through his crackling jaws the weapon glides,\nAnd the cold tongue and grinning teeth divides.\n\nThen died Hypsenor, generous and divine,\nSprung from the brave Dolopion\u2019s mighty line,\nWho near adored Scamander made abode,\nPriest of the stream, and honoured as a god.\nOn him, amidst the flying numbers found,\nEurypylus inflicts a deadly wound;\nOn his broad shoulders fell the forceful brand,\nThence glancing downwards, lopp\u2019d his holy hand,\nWhich stain\u2019d with sacred blood the blushing sand.\nDown sunk the priest: the purple hand of death\nClosed his dim eye, and fate suppress\u2019d his breath.\n\nThus toil\u2019d the chiefs, in different parts engaged.\nIn every quarter fierce Tydides raged;\nAmid the Greek, amid the Trojan train,\nRapt through the ranks he thunders o\u2019er the plain;\nNow here, now there, he darts from place to place,\nPours on the rear, or lightens in their face.\nThus from high hills the torrents swift and strong\nDeluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along,\nThrough ruin\u2019d moles the rushing wave resounds,\nO\u2019erwhelm\u2019s the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds;\nThe yellow harvests of the ripen\u2019d year,\nAnd flatted vineyards, one sad waste appear![144]\nWhile Jove descends in sluicy sheets of rain,\nAnd all the labours of mankind are vain.\n\nSo raged Tydides, boundless in his ire,\nDrove armies back, and made all Troy retire.\nWith grief the leader of the Lycian band\nSaw the wide waste of his destructive hand:\nHis bended bow against the chief he drew;\nSwift to the mark the thirsty arrow flew,\nWhose forky point the hollow breastplate tore,\nDeep in his shoulder pierced, and drank the gore:\nThe rushing stream his brazen armour dyed,\nWhile the proud archer thus exulting cried:\n\n\u201cHither, ye Trojans, hither drive your steeds!\nLo! by our hand the bravest Grecian bleeds,\nNot long the deathful dart he can sustain;\nOr Ph\u0153bus urged me to these fields in vain.\u201d\nSo spoke he, boastful: but the winged dart\nStopp\u2019d short of life, and mock\u2019d the shooter\u2019s art.\nThe wounded chief, behind his car retired,\nThe helping hand of Sthenelus required;\nSwift from his seat he leap\u2019d upon the ground,\nAnd tugg\u2019d the weapon from the gushing wound;\nWhen thus the king his guardian power address\u2019d,\nThe purple current wandering o\u2019er his vest:\n\n\u201cO progeny of Jove! unconquer\u2019d maid!\nIf e\u2019er my godlike sire deserved thy aid,\nIf e\u2019er I felt thee in the fighting field;\nNow, goddess, now, thy sacred succour yield.\nO give my lance to reach the Trojan knight,\nWhose arrow wounds the chief thou guard\u2019st in fight;\nAnd lay the boaster grovelling on the shore,\nThat vaunts these eyes shall view the light no more.\u201d\n\nThus pray\u2019d Tydides, and Minerva heard,\nHis nerves confirm\u2019d, his languid spirits cheer\u2019d;\nHe feels each limb with wonted vigour light;\nHis beating bosom claim\u2019d the promised fight.\n\u201cBe bold, (she cried), in every combat shine,\nWar be thy province, thy protection mine;\nRush to the fight, and every foe control;\nWake each paternal virtue in thy soul:\nStrength swells thy boiling breast, infused by me,\nAnd all thy godlike father breathes in thee;\nYet more, from mortal mists I purge thy eyes,[145]\nAnd set to view the warring deities.\nThese see thou shun, through all the embattled plain;\nNor rashly strive where human force is vain.\nIf Venus mingle in the martial band,\nHer shalt thou wound: so Pallas gives command.\u201d\n\nWith that, the blue-eyed virgin wing\u2019d her flight;\nThe hero rush\u2019d impetuous to the fight;\nWith tenfold ardour now invades the plain,\nWild with delay, and more enraged by pain.\nAs on the fleecy flocks when hunger calls,\nAmidst the field a brindled lion falls;\nIf chance some shepherd with a distant dart\nThe savage wound, he rouses at the smart,\nHe foams, he roars; the shepherd dares not stay,\nBut trembling leaves the scattering flocks a prey;\nHeaps fall on heaps; he bathes with blood the ground,\nThen leaps victorious o\u2019er the lofty mound.\nNot with less fury stern Tydides flew;\nAnd two brave leaders at an instant slew;\nAstynous breathless fell, and by his side,\nHis people\u2019s pastor, good Hypenor, died;\nAstynous\u2019 breast the deadly lance receives,\nHypenor\u2019s shoulder his broad falchion cleaves.\nThose slain he left, and sprung with noble rage\nAbas and Polyidus to engage;\nSons of Eurydamus, who, wise and old,\nCould fate foresee, and mystic dreams unfold;\nThe youths return\u2019d not from the doubtful plain,\nAnd the sad father tried his arts in vain;\nNo mystic dream could make their fates appear,\nThough now determined by Tydides\u2019 spear.\n\nYoung Xanthus next, and Thoon felt his rage;\nThe joy and hope of Phaenops\u2019 feeble age:\nVast was his wealth, and these the only heirs\nOf all his labours and a life of cares.\nCold death o\u2019ertakes them in their blooming years,\nAnd leaves the father unavailing tears:\nTo strangers now descends his heapy store,\nThe race forgotten, and the name no more.\n\nTwo sons of Priam in one chariot ride,\nGlittering in arms, and combat side by side.\nAs when the lordly lion seeks his food\nWhere grazing heifers range the lonely wood,\nHe leaps amidst them with a furious bound,\nBends their strong necks, and tears them to the ground:\nSo from their seats the brother chiefs are torn,\nTheir steeds and chariot to the navy borne.\n\nWith deep concern divine \u00c6neas view\u2019d\nThe foe prevailing, and his friends pursued;\nThrough the thick storm of singing spears he flies,\nExploring Pandarus with careful eyes.\nAt length he found Lycaon\u2019s mighty son;\nTo whom the chief of Venus\u2019 race begun:\n\n\u201cWhere, Pandarus, are all thy honours now,\nThy winged arrows and unerring bow,\nThy matchless skill, thy yet unrivall\u2019d fame,\nAnd boasted glory of the Lycian name?\nO pierce that mortal! if we mortal call\nThat wondrous force by which whole armies fall;\nOr god incensed, who quits the distant skies\nTo punish Troy for slighted sacrifice;\n(Which, oh avert from our unhappy state!\nFor what so dreadful as celestial hate)?\nWhoe\u2019er he be, propitiate Jove with prayer;\nIf man, destroy; if god, entreat to spare.\u201d\n\nTo him the Lycian: \u201cWhom your eyes behold,\nIf right I judge, is Diomed the bold:\nSuch coursers whirl him o\u2019er the dusty field,\nSo towers his helmet, and so flames his shield.\nIf \u2019tis a god, he wears that chief\u2019s disguise:\nOr if that chief, some guardian of the skies,\nInvolved in clouds, protects him in the fray,\nAnd turns unseen the frustrate dart away.\nI wing\u2019d an arrow, which not idly fell,\nThe stroke had fix\u2019d him to the gates of hell;\nAnd, but some god, some angry god withstands,\nHis fate was due to these unerring hands.\nSkill\u2019d in the bow, on foot I sought the war,\nNor join\u2019d swift horses to the rapid car.\nTen polish\u2019d chariots I possess\u2019d at home,\nAnd still they grace Lycaon\u2019s princely dome:\nThere veil\u2019d in spacious coverlets they stand;\nAnd twice ten coursers wait their lord\u2019s command.\nThe good old warrior bade me trust to these,\nWhen first for Troy I sail\u2019d the sacred seas;\nIn fields, aloft, the whirling car to guide,\nAnd through the ranks of death triumphant ride.\nBut vain with youth, and yet to thrift inclined,\nI heard his counsels with unheedful mind,\nAnd thought the steeds (your large supplies unknown)\nMight fail of forage in the straiten\u2019d town;\nSo took my bow and pointed darts in hand\nAnd left the chariots in my native land.\n\n\u201cToo late, O friend! my rashness I deplore;\nThese shafts, once fatal, carry death no more.\nTydeus\u2019 and Atreus\u2019 sons their points have found,\nAnd undissembled gore pursued the wound.\nIn vain they bleed: this unavailing bow\nServes, not to slaughter, but provoke the foe.\nIn evil hour these bended horns I strung,\nAnd seized the quiver where it idly hung.\nCursed be the fate that sent me to the field\nWithout a warrior\u2019s arms, the spear and shield!\nIf e\u2019er with life I quit the Trojan plain,\nIf e\u2019er I see my spouse and sire again,\nThis bow, unfaithful to my glorious aims,\nBroke by my hand, shall feed the blazing flames.\u201d\n\nTo whom the leader of the Dardan race:\n\u201cBe calm, nor Ph\u0153bus\u2019 honour\u2019d gift disgrace.\nThe distant dart be praised, though here we need\nThe rushing chariot and the bounding steed.\nAgainst yon hero let us bend our course,\nAnd, hand to hand, encounter force with force.\nNow mount my seat, and from the chariot\u2019s height\nObserve my father\u2019s steeds, renown\u2019d in fight;\nPractised alike to turn, to stop, to chase,\nTo dare the shock, or urge the rapid race;\nSecure with these, through fighting fields we go;\nOr safe to Troy, if Jove assist the foe.\nHaste, seize the whip, and snatch the guiding rein;\nThe warrior\u2019s fury let this arm sustain;\nOr, if to combat thy bold heart incline,\nTake thou the spear, the chariot\u2019s care be mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cO prince! (Lycaon\u2019s valiant son replied)\nAs thine the steeds, be thine the task to guide.\nThe horses, practised to their lord\u2019s command,\nShall bear the rein, and answer to thy hand;\nBut, if, unhappy, we desert the fight,\nThy voice alone can animate their flight;\nElse shall our fates be number\u2019d with the dead,\nAnd these, the victor\u2019s prize, in triumph led.\nThine be the guidance, then: with spear and shield\nMyself will charge this terror of the field.\u201d\n\nAnd now both heroes mount the glittering car;\nThe bounding coursers rush amidst the war;\nTheir fierce approach bold Sthenelus espied,\nWho thus, alarm\u2019d, to great Tydides cried:\n\n\u201cO friend! two chiefs of force immense I see,\nDreadful they come, and bend their rage on thee:\nLo the brave heir of old Lycaon\u2019s line,\nAnd great \u00c6neas, sprung from race divine!\nEnough is given to fame. Ascend thy car!\nAnd save a life, the bulwark of our war.\u201d\n\nAt this the hero cast a gloomy look,\nFix\u2019d on the chief with scorn; and thus he spoke:\n\n\u201cMe dost thou bid to shun the coming fight?\nMe wouldst thou move to base, inglorious flight?\nKnow, \u2019tis not honest in my soul to fear,\nNor was Tydides born to tremble here.\nI hate the cumbrous chariot\u2019s slow advance,\nAnd the long distance of the flying lance;\nBut while my nerves are strong, my force entire,\nThus front the foe, and emulate my sire.\nNor shall yon steeds, that fierce to fight convey\nThose threatening heroes, bear them both away;\nOne chief at least beneath this arm shall die;\nSo Pallas tells me, and forbids to fly.\nBut if she dooms, and if no god withstand,\nThat both shall fall by one victorious hand,\nThen heed my words: my horses here detain,\nFix\u2019d to the chariot by the straiten\u2019d rein;\nSwift to \u00c6neas\u2019 empty seat proceed,\nAnd seize the coursers of ethereal breed;\nThe race of those, which once the thundering god[146]\nFor ravish\u2019d Ganymede on Tros bestow\u2019d,\nThe best that e\u2019er on earth\u2019s broad surface run,\nBeneath the rising or the setting sun.\nHence great Anchises stole a breed unknown,\nBy mortal mares, from fierce Laomedon:\nFour of this race his ample stalls contain,\nAnd two transport \u00c6neas o\u2019er the plain.\nThese, were the rich immortal prize our own,\nThrough the wide world should make our glory known.\u201d\n\nThus while they spoke, the foe came furious on,\nAnd stern Lycaon\u2019s warlike race begun:\n\n\u201cPrince, thou art met. Though late in vain assail\u2019d,\nThe spear may enter where the arrow fail\u2019d.\u201d\n\nHe said, then shook the ponderous lance, and flung;\nOn his broad shield the sounding weapon rung,\nPierced the tough orb, and in his cuirass hung,\n\u201cHe bleeds! the pride of Greece! (the boaster cries,)\nOur triumph now, the mighty warrior lies!\u201d\n\u201cMistaken vaunter! (Diomed replied;)\nThy dart has erred, and now my spear be tried;\nYe \u2019scape not both; one, headlong from his car,\nWith hostile blood shall glut the god of war.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and rising hurl\u2019d his forceful dart,\nWhich, driven by Pallas, pierced a vital part;\nFull in his face it enter\u2019d, and betwixt\nThe nose and eye-ball the proud Lycian fix\u2019d;\nCrash\u2019d all his jaws, and cleft the tongue within,\nTill the bright point look\u2019d out beneath the chin.\nHeadlong he falls, his helmet knocks the ground:\nEarth groans beneath him, and his arms resound;\nThe starting coursers tremble with affright;\nThe soul indignant seeks the realms of night.\n\nTo guard his slaughter\u2019d friend, \u00c6neas flies,\nHis spear extending where the carcase lies;\nWatchful he wheels, protects it every way,\nAs the grim lion stalks around his prey.\nO\u2019er the fall\u2019n trunk his ample shield display\u2019d,\nHe hides the hero with his mighty shade,\nAnd threats aloud! the Greeks with longing eyes\nBehold at distance, but forbear the prize.\nThen fierce Tydides stoops; and from the fields\nHeaved with vast force, a rocky fragment wields.\nNot two strong men the enormous weight could raise,\nSuch men as live in these degenerate days:[147]\nHe swung it round; and, gathering strength to throw,\nDischarged the ponderous ruin at the foe.\nWhere to the hip the inserted thigh unites,\nFull on the bone the pointed marble lights;\nThrough both the tendons broke the rugged stone,\nAnd stripp\u2019d the skin, and crack\u2019d the solid bone.\nSunk on his knees, and staggering with his pains,\nHis falling bulk his bended arm sustains;\nLost in a dizzy mist the warrior lies;\nA sudden cloud comes swimming o\u2019er his eyes.\nThere the brave chief, who mighty numbers sway\u2019d,\nOppress\u2019d had sunk to death\u2019s eternal shade,\nBut heavenly Venus, mindful of the love\nShe bore Anchises in the Idaean grove,\nHis danger views with anguish and despair,\nAnd guards her offspring with a mother\u2019s care.\nAbout her much-loved son her arms she throws,\nHer arms whose whiteness match the falling snows.\nScreen\u2019d from the foe behind her shining veil,\nThe swords wave harmless, and the javelins fail;\nSafe through the rushing horse, and feather\u2019d flight\nOf sounding shafts, she bears him from the fight.\n\nNor Sthenelus, with unassisting hands,\nRemain\u2019d unheedful of his lord\u2019s commands:\nHis panting steeds, removed from out the war,\nHe fix\u2019d with straiten\u2019d traces to the car,\nNext, rushing to the Dardan spoil, detains\nThe heavenly coursers with the flowing manes:\nThese in proud triumph to the fleet convey\u2019d,\nNo longer now a Trojan lord obey\u2019d.\nThat charge to bold Deipylus he gave,\n(Whom most he loved, as brave men love the brave,)\nThen mounting on his car, resumed the rein,\nAnd follow\u2019d where Tydides swept the plain.\n\nMeanwhile (his conquest ravished from his eyes)\nThe raging chief in chase of Venus flies:\nNo goddess she, commission\u2019d to the field,\nLike Pallas dreadful with her sable shield,\nOr fierce Bellona thundering at the wall,\nWhile flames ascend, and mighty ruins fall;\nHe knew soft combats suit the tender dame,\nNew to the field, and still a foe to fame.\nThrough breaking ranks his furious course he bends,\nAnd at the goddess his broad lance extends;\nThrough her bright veil the daring weapon drove,\nThe ambrosial veil which all the Graces wove;\nHer snowy hand the razing steel profaned,\nAnd the transparent skin with crimson stain\u2019d,\nFrom the clear vein a stream immortal flow\u2019d,\nSuch stream as issues from a wounded god;[148]\nPure emanation! uncorrupted flood!\nUnlike our gross, diseased, terrestrial blood:\n(For not the bread of man their life sustains,\nNor wine\u2019s inflaming juice supplies their veins:)\nWith tender shrieks the goddess fill\u2019d the place,\nAnd dropp\u2019d her offspring from her weak embrace.\nHim Ph\u0153bus took: he casts a cloud around\nThe fainting chief, and wards the mortal wound.\n\nThen with a voice that shook the vaulted skies,\nThe king insults the goddess as she flies:\n\u201cIll with Jove\u2019s daughter bloody fights agree,\nThe field of combat is no scene for thee:\nGo, let thy own soft sex employ thy care,\nGo, lull the coward, or delude the fair.\nTaught by this stroke renounce the war\u2019s alarms,\nAnd learn to tremble at the name of arms.\u201d\n\nTydides thus. The goddess, seized with dread,\nConfused, distracted, from the conflict fled.\nTo aid her, swift the winged Iris flew,\nWrapt in a mist above the warring crew.\nThe queen of love with faded charms she found.\nPale was her cheek, and livid look\u2019d the wound.\nTo Mars, who sat remote, they bent their way:\nFar, on the left, with clouds involved he lay;\nBeside him stood his lance, distain\u2019d with gore,\nAnd, rein\u2019d with gold, his foaming steeds before.\nLow at his knee, she begg\u2019d with streaming eyes\nHer brother\u2019s car, to mount the distant skies,\nAnd show\u2019d the wound by fierce Tydides given,\nA mortal man, who dares encounter heaven.\nStern Mars attentive hears the queen complain,\nAnd to her hand commits the golden rein;\nShe mounts the seat, oppress\u2019d with silent woe,\nDriven by the goddess of the painted bow.\nThe lash resounds, the rapid chariot flies,\nAnd in a moment scales the lofty skies:\nThey stopp\u2019d the car, and there the coursers stood,\nFed by fair Iris with ambrosial food;\nBefore her mother, love\u2019s bright queen appears,\nO\u2019erwhelmed with anguish, and dissolved in tears:\nShe raised her in her arms, beheld her bleed,\nAnd ask\u2019d what god had wrought this guilty deed?\n\n\n[Illustration: ] VENUS, WOUNDED IN THE HAND, CONDUCTED BY IRIS TO MARS\n\n\nThen she: \u201cThis insult from no god I found,\nAn impious mortal gave the daring wound!\nBehold the deed of haughty Diomed!\n\u2019Twas in the son\u2019s defence the mother bled.\nThe war with Troy no more the Grecians wage;\nBut with the gods (the immortal gods) engage.\u201d\n\nDione then: \u201cThy wrongs with patience bear,\nAnd share those griefs inferior powers must share:\nUnnumber\u2019d woes mankind from us sustain,\nAnd men with woes afflict the gods again.\nThe mighty Mars in mortal fetters bound,[149]\nAnd lodged in brazen dungeons underground,\nFull thirteen moons imprison\u2019d roar\u2019d in vain;\nOtus and Ephialtes held the chain:\nPerhaps had perish\u2019d had not Hermes\u2019 care\nRestored the groaning god to upper air.\nGreat Juno\u2019s self has borne her weight of pain,\nThe imperial partner of the heavenly reign;\nAmphitryon\u2019s son infix\u2019d the deadly dart,[150]\nAnd fill\u2019d with anguish her immortal heart.\nE\u2019en hell\u2019s grim king Alcides\u2019 power confess\u2019d,\nThe shaft found entrance in his iron breast;\nTo Jove\u2019s high palace for a cure he fled,\nPierced in his own dominions of the dead;\nWhere Paeon, sprinkling heavenly balm around,\nAssuaged the glowing pangs, and closed the wound.\nRash, impious man! to stain the bless\u2019d abodes,\nAnd drench his arrows in the blood of gods!\n\n\n[Illustration: ] OTUS AND EPHIALTES HOLDING MARS CAPTIVE\n\n\n\u201cBut thou (though Pallas urged thy frantic deed),\nWhose spear ill-fated makes a goddess bleed,\nKnow thou, whoe\u2019er with heavenly power contends,\nShort is his date, and soon his glory ends;\nFrom fields of death when late he shall retire,\nNo infant on his knees shall call him sire.\nStrong as thou art, some god may yet be found,\nTo stretch thee pale and gasping on the ground;\nThy distant wife, \u00c6gial\u00e9 the fair,[151]\nStarting from sleep with a distracted air,\nShall rouse thy slaves, and her lost lord deplore,\nThe brave, the great, the glorious now no more!\u201d\n\nThis said, she wiped from Venus\u2019 wounded palm\nThe sacred ichor, and infused the balm.\nJuno and Pallas with a smile survey\u2019d,\nAnd thus to Jove began the blue-eyed maid:\n\n\u201cPermit thy daughter, gracious Jove! to tell\nHow this mischance the Cyprian queen befell,\nAs late she tried with passion to inflame\nThe tender bosom of a Grecian dame;\nAllured the fair, with moving thoughts of joy,\nTo quit her country for some youth of Troy;\nThe clasping zone, with golden buckles bound,\nRazed her soft hand with this lamented wound.\u201d\n\nThe sire of gods and men superior smiled,\nAnd, calling Venus, thus address\u2019d his child:\n\u201cNot these, O daughter are thy proper cares,\nThee milder arts befit, and softer wars;\nSweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms;\nTo Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms.\u201d\n\nThus they in heaven: while on the plain below\nThe fierce Tydides charged his Dardan foe,\nFlush\u2019d with celestial blood pursued his way,\nAnd fearless dared the threatening god of day;\nAlready in his hopes he saw him kill\u2019d,\nThough screen\u2019d behind Apollo\u2019s mighty shield.\nThrice rushing furious, at the chief he strook;\nHis blazing buckler thrice Apollo shook:\nHe tried the fourth: when, breaking from the cloud,\nA more than mortal voice was heard aloud.\n\n\u201cO son of Tydeus, cease! be wise and see\nHow vast the difference of the gods and thee;\nDistance immense! between the powers that shine\nAbove, eternal, deathless, and divine,\nAnd mortal man! a wretch of humble birth,\nA short-lived reptile in the dust of earth.\u201d\n\nSo spoke the god who darts celestial fires:\nHe dreads his fury, and some steps retires.\nThen Ph\u0153bus bore the chief of Venus\u2019 race\nTo Troy\u2019s high fane, and to his holy place;\nLatona there and Phoebe heal\u2019d the wound,\nWith vigour arm\u2019d him, and with glory crown\u2019d.\nThis done, the patron of the silver bow\nA phantom raised, the same in shape and show\nWith great \u00c6neas; such the form he bore,\nAnd such in fight the radiant arms he wore.\nAround the spectre bloody wars are waged,\nAnd Greece and Troy with clashing shields engaged.\nMeantime on Ilion\u2019s tower Apollo stood,\nAnd calling Mars, thus urged the raging god:\n\n\u201cStern power of arms, by whom the mighty fall;\nWho bathest in blood, and shakest the embattled wall,\nRise in thy wrath! to hell\u2019s abhorr\u2019d abodes\nDespatch yon Greek, and vindicate the gods.\nFirst rosy Venus felt his brutal rage;\nMe next he charged, and dares all heaven engage:\nThe wretch would brave high heaven\u2019s immortal sire,\nHis triple thunder, and his bolts of fire.\u201d\n\nThe god of battle issues on the plain,\nStirs all the ranks, and fires the Trojan train;\nIn form like Acamas, the Thracian guide,\nEnraged to Troy\u2019s retiring chiefs he cried:\n\n\u201cHow long, ye sons of Priam! will ye fly,\nAnd unrevenged see Priam\u2019s people die?\nStill unresisted shall the foe destroy,\nAnd stretch the slaughter to the gates of Troy?\nLo, brave \u00c6neas sinks beneath his wound,\nNot godlike Hector more in arms renown\u2019d:\nHaste all, and take the generous warrior\u2019s part.\nHe said;\u2014new courage swell\u2019d each hero\u2019s heart.\nSarpedon first his ardent soul express\u2019d,\nAnd, turn\u2019d to Hector, these bold words address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cSay, chief, is all thy ancient valour lost?\nWhere are thy threats, and where thy glorious boast,\nThat propp\u2019d alone by Priam\u2019s race should stand\nTroy\u2019s sacred walls, nor need a foreign hand?\nNow, now thy country calls her wonted friends,\nAnd the proud vaunt in just derision ends.\nRemote they stand while alien troops engage,\nLike trembling hounds before the lion\u2019s rage.\nFar distant hence I held my wide command,\nWhere foaming Xanthus laves the Lycian land;\nWith ample wealth (the wish of mortals) bless\u2019d,\nA beauteous wife, and infant at her breast;\nWith those I left whatever dear could be:\nGreece, if she conquers, nothing wins from me;\nYet first in fight my Lycian bands I cheer,\nAnd long to meet this mighty man ye fear;\nWhile Hector idle stands, nor bids the brave\nTheir wives, their infants, and their altars save.\nHaste, warrior, haste! preserve thy threaten\u2019d state,\nOr one vast burst of all-involving fate\nFull o\u2019er your towers shall fall, and sweep away\nSons, sires, and wives, an undistinguish\u2019d prey.\nRouse all thy Trojans, urge thy aids to fight;\nThese claim thy thoughts by day, thy watch by night;\nWith force incessant the brave Greeks oppose;\nSuch cares thy friends deserve, and such thy foes.\u201d\n\nStung to the heart the generous Hector hears,\nBut just reproof with decent silence bears.\nFrom his proud car the prince impetuous springs,\nOn earth he leaps, his brazen armour rings.\nTwo shining spears are brandish\u2019d in his hands;\nThus arm\u2019d, he animates his drooping bands,\nRevives their ardour, turns their steps from flight,\nAnd wakes anew the dying flames of fight.\nThey turn, they stand; the Greeks their fury dare,\nCondense their powers, and wait the growing war.\n\nAs when, on Ceres\u2019 sacred floor, the swain\nSpreads the wide fan to clear the golden grain,\nAnd the light chaff, before the breezes borne,\nAscends in clouds from off the heapy corn;\nThe grey dust, rising with collected winds,\nDrives o\u2019er the barn, and whitens all the hinds:\nSo white with dust the Grecian host appears,\nFrom trampling steeds, and thundering charioteers.\nThe dusky clouds from labour\u2019d earth arise,\nAnd roll in smoking volumes to the skies.\nMars hovers o\u2019er them with his sable shield,\nAnd adds new horrors to the darken\u2019d field:\nPleased with his charge, and ardent to fulfil,\nIn Troy\u2019s defence, Apollo\u2019s heavenly will:\nSoon as from fight the blue-eyed maid retires,\nEach Trojan bosom with new warmth he fires.\nAnd now the god, from forth his sacred fane,\nProduced \u00c6neas to the shouting train;\nAlive, unharm\u2019d, with all his peers around,\nErect he stood, and vigorous from his wound:\nInquiries none they made; the dreadful day\nNo pause of words admits, no dull delay;\nFierce Discord storms, Apollo loud exclaims,\nFame calls, Mars thunders, and the field\u2019s in flames.\n\nStern Diomed with either Ajax stood,\nAnd great Ulysses, bathed in hostile blood.\nEmbodied close, the labouring Grecian train\nThe fiercest shock of charging hosts sustain.\nUnmoved and silent, the whole war they wait\nSerenely dreadful, and as fix\u2019d as fate.\nSo when the embattled clouds in dark array,\nAlong the skies their gloomy lines display;\nWhen now the North his boisterous rage has spent,\nAnd peaceful sleeps the liquid element:\nThe low-hung vapours, motionless and still,\nRest on the summits of the shaded hill;\nTill the mass scatters as the winds arise,\nDispersed and broken through the ruffled skies.\n\nNor was the general wanting to his train;\nFrom troop to troop he toils through all the plain,\n\u201cYe Greeks, be men! the charge of battle bear;\nYour brave associates and yourselves revere!\nLet glorious acts more glorious acts inspire,\nAnd catch from breast to breast the noble fire!\nOn valour\u2019s side the odds of combat lie,\nThe brave live glorious, or lamented die;\nThe wretch who trembles in the field of fame,\nMeets death, and worse than death, eternal shame!\u201d\n\nThese words he seconds with his flying lance,\nTo meet whose point was strong Deicoon\u2019s chance:\n\u00c6neas\u2019 friend, and in his native place\nHonour\u2019d and loved like Priam\u2019s royal race:\nLong had he fought the foremost in the field,\nBut now the monarch\u2019s lance transpierced his shield:\nHis shield too weak the furious dart to stay,\nThrough his broad belt the weapon forced its way:\nThe grisly wound dismiss\u2019d his soul to hell,\nHis arms around him rattled as he fell.\n\nThen fierce \u00c6neas, brandishing his blade,\nIn dust Orsilochus and Crethon laid,\nWhose sire Diocleus, wealthy, brave and great,\nIn well-built Pher\u00e6 held his lofty seat:[152]\nSprung from Alpheus\u2019 plenteous stream, that yields\nIncrease of harvests to the Pylian fields.\nHe got Orsilochus, Diocleus he,\nAnd these descended in the third degree.\nToo early expert in the martial toil,\nIn sable ships they left their native soil,\nTo avenge Atrides: now, untimely slain,\nThey fell with glory on the Phrygian plain.\nSo two young mountain lions, nursed with blood\nIn deep recesses of the gloomy wood,\nRush fearless to the plains, and uncontroll\u2019d\nDepopulate the stalls and waste the fold:\nTill pierced at distance from their native den,\nO\u2019erpowered they fall beneath the force of men.\nProstrate on earth their beauteous bodies lay,\nLike mountain firs, as tall and straight as they.\nGreat Menelaus views with pitying eyes,\nLifts his bright lance, and at the victor flies;\nMars urged him on; yet, ruthless in his hate,\nThe god but urged him to provoke his fate.\nHe thus advancing, Nestor\u2019s valiant son\nShakes for his danger, and neglects his own;\nStruck with the thought, should Helen\u2019s lord be slain,\nAnd all his country\u2019s glorious labours vain.\nAlready met, the threatening heroes stand;\nThe spears already tremble in their hand:\nIn rush\u2019d Antilochus, his aid to bring,\nAnd fall or conquer by the Spartan king.\nThese seen, the Dardan backward turn\u2019d his course,\nBrave as he was, and shunn\u2019d unequal force.\nThe breathless bodies to the Greeks they drew,\nThen mix in combat, and their toils renew.\n\nFirst, Pyl\u00e6menes, great in battle, bled,\nWho sheathed in brass the Paphlagonians led.\nAtrides mark\u2019d him where sublime he stood;\nFix\u2019d in his throat the javelin drank his blood.\nThe faithful Mydon, as he turn\u2019d from fight\nHis flying coursers, sunk to endless night;\nA broken rock by Nestor\u2019s son was thrown:\nHis bended arm received the falling stone;\nFrom his numb\u2019d hand the ivory-studded reins,\nDropp\u2019d in the dust, are trail\u2019d along the plains:\nMeanwhile his temples feel a deadly wound;\nHe groans in death, and ponderous sinks to ground:\nDeep drove his helmet in the sands, and there\nThe head stood fix\u2019d, the quivering legs in air,\nTill trampled flat beneath the coursers\u2019 feet:\nThe youthful victor mounts his empty seat,\nAnd bears the prize in triumph to the fleet.\n\nGreat Hector saw, and, raging at the view,\nPours on the Greeks: the Trojan troops pursue:\nHe fires his host with animating cries,\nAnd brings along the furies of the skies,\nMars, stern destroyer! and Bellona dread,\nFlame in the front, and thunder at their head:\nThis swells the tumult and the rage of fight;\nThat shakes a spear that casts a dreadful light.\nWhere Hector march\u2019d, the god of battles shined,\nNow storm\u2019d before him, and now raged behind.\n\nTydides paused amidst his full career;\nThen first the hero\u2019s manly breast knew fear.\nAs when some simple swain his cot forsakes,\nAnd wide through fens an unknown journey takes:\nIf chance a swelling brook his passage stay,\nAnd foam impervious \u2019cross the wanderer\u2019s way,\nConfused he stops, a length of country pass\u2019d,\nEyes the rough waves, and tired, returns at last.\nAmazed no less the great Tydides stands:\nHe stay\u2019d, and turning thus address\u2019d his bands:\n\n\u201cNo wonder, Greeks! that all to Hector yield;\nSecure of favouring gods, he takes the field;\nHis strokes they second, and avert our spears.\nBehold where Mars in mortal arms appears!\nRetire then, warriors, but sedate and slow;\nRetire, but with your faces to the foe.\nTrust not too much your unavailing might;\n\u2019Tis not with Troy, but with the gods ye fight.\u201d\n\nNow near the Greeks the black battalions drew;\nAnd first two leaders valiant Hector slew:\nHis force Anchialus and Mnesthes found,\nIn every art of glorious war renown\u2019d;\nIn the same car the chiefs to combat ride,\nAnd fought united, and united died.\nStruck at the sight, the mighty Ajax glows\nWith thirst of vengeance, and assaults the foes.\nHis massy spear with matchless fury sent,\nThrough Amphius\u2019 belt and heaving belly went;\nAmphius Ap\u00e6sus\u2019 happy soil possess\u2019d,\nWith herds abounding, and with treasure bless\u2019d;\nBut fate resistless from his country led\nThe chief, to perish at his people\u2019s head.\nShook with his fall his brazen armour rung,\nAnd fierce, to seize it, conquering Ajax sprung;\nAround his head an iron tempest rain\u2019d;\nA wood of spears his ample shield sustain\u2019d:\nBeneath one foot the yet warm corpse he press\u2019d,\nAnd drew his javelin from the bleeding breast:\nHe could no more; the showering darts denied\nTo spoil his glittering arms, and plumy pride.\nNow foes on foes came pouring on the fields,\nWith bristling lances, and compacted shields;\nTill in the steely circle straiten\u2019d round,\nForced he gives way, and sternly quits the ground.\n\nWhile thus they strive, Tlepolemus the great,[153]\nUrged by the force of unresisted fate,\nBurns with desire Sarpedon\u2019s strength to prove;\nAlcides\u2019 offspring meets the son of Jove.\nSheathed in bright arms each adverse chief came on.\nJove\u2019s great descendant, and his greater son.\nPrepared for combat, ere the lance he toss\u2019d,\nThe daring Rhodian vents his haughty boast:\n\n\u201cWhat brings this Lycian counsellor so far,\nTo tremble at our arms, not mix in war!\nKnow thy vain self, nor let their flattery move,\nWho style thee son of cloud-compelling Jove.\nHow far unlike those chiefs of race divine,\nHow vast the difference of their deeds and thine!\nJove got such heroes as my sire, whose soul\nNo fear could daunt, nor earth nor hell control.\nTroy felt his arm, and yon proud ramparts stand\nRaised on the ruins of his vengeful hand:\nWith six small ships, and but a slender train,\nHe left the town a wide-deserted plain.\nBut what art thou, who deedless look\u2019st around,\nWhile unrevenged thy Lycians bite the ground!\nSmall aid to Troy thy feeble force can be;\nBut wert thou greater, thou must yield to me.\nPierced by my spear, to endless darkness go!\nI make this present to the shades below.\u201d\n\nThe son of Hercules, the Rhodian guide,\nThus haughty spoke. The Lycian king replied:\n\n\u201cThy sire, O prince! o\u2019erturn\u2019d the Trojan state,\nWhose perjured monarch well deserved his fate;\nThose heavenly steeds the hero sought so far,\nFalse he detain\u2019d, the just reward of war.\nNor so content, the generous chief defied,\nWith base reproaches and unmanly pride.\nBut you, unworthy the high race you boast,\nShall raise my glory when thy own is lost:\nNow meet thy fate, and by Sarpedon slain,\nAdd one more ghost to Pluto\u2019s gloomy reign.\u201d\n\nHe said: both javelins at an instant flew;\nBoth struck, both wounded, but Sarpedon\u2019s slew:\nFull in the boaster\u2019s neck the weapon stood,\nTransfix\u2019d his throat, and drank the vital blood;\nThe soul disdainful seeks the caves of night,\nAnd his seal\u2019d eyes for ever lose the light.\n\nYet not in vain, Tlepolemus, was thrown\nThy angry lance; which piercing to the bone\nSarpedon\u2019s thigh, had robb\u2019d the chief of breath;\nBut Jove was present, and forbade the death.\nBorne from the conflict by his Lycian throng,\nThe wounded hero dragg\u2019d the lance along.\n(His friends, each busied in his several part,\nThrough haste, or danger, had not drawn the dart.)\nThe Greeks with slain Tlepolemus retired;\nWhose fall Ulysses view\u2019d, with fury fired;\nDoubtful if Jove\u2019s great son he should pursue,\nOr pour his vengeance on the Lycian crew.\nBut heaven and fate the first design withstand,\nNor this great death must grace Ulysses\u2019 hand.\nMinerva drives him on the Lycian train;\nAlastor, Cronius, Halius, strew\u2019d the plain,\nAlcander, Prytanis, No\u00ebmon fell:[154]\nAnd numbers more his sword had sent to hell,\nBut Hector saw; and, furious at the sight,\nRush\u2019d terrible amidst the ranks of fight.\nWith joy Sarpedon view\u2019d the wish\u2019d relief,\nAnd, faint, lamenting, thus implored the chief:\n\n\u201cO suffer not the foe to bear away\nMy helpless corpse, an unassisted prey;\nIf I, unbless\u2019d, must see my son no more,\nMy much-loved consort, and my native shore,\nYet let me die in Ilion\u2019s sacred wall;\nTroy, in whose cause I fell, shall mourn my fall.\u201d\n\nHe said, nor Hector to the chief replies,\nBut shakes his plume, and fierce to combat flies;\nSwift as a whirlwind, drives the scattering foes;\nAnd dyes the ground with purple as he goes.\n\nBeneath a beech, Jove\u2019s consecrated shade,\nHis mournful friends divine Sarpedon laid:\nBrave Pelagon, his favourite chief, was nigh,\nWho wrench\u2019d the javelin from his sinewy thigh.\nThe fainting soul stood ready wing\u2019d for flight,\nAnd o\u2019er his eye-balls swam the shades of night;\nBut Boreas rising fresh, with gentle breath,\nRecall\u2019d his spirit from the gates of death.\n\nThe generous Greeks recede with tardy pace,\nThough Mars and Hector thunder in their face;\nNone turn their backs to mean ignoble flight,\nSlow they retreat, and even retreating fight.\nWho first, who last, by Mars\u2019 and Hector\u2019s hand,\nStretch\u2019d in their blood, lay gasping on the sand?\nTenthras the great, Orestes the renown\u2019d\nFor managed steeds, and Trechus press\u2019d the ground;\nNext \u0152nomaus and OEnops\u2019 offspring died;\nOresbius last fell groaning at their side:\nOresbius, in his painted mitre gay,\nIn fat B\u0153otia held his wealthy sway,\nWhere lakes surround low Hyl\u00e8\u2019s watery plain;\nA prince and people studious of their gain.\n\nThe carnage Juno from the skies survey\u2019d,\nAnd touch\u2019d with grief bespoke the blue-eyed maid:\n\u201cOh, sight accursed! Shall faithless Troy prevail,\nAnd shall our promise to our people fail?\nHow vain the word to Menelaus given\nBy Jove\u2019s great daughter and the queen of heaven,\nBeneath his arms that Priam\u2019s towers should fall,\nIf warring gods for ever guard the wall!\nMars, red with slaughter, aids our hated foes:\nHaste, let us arm, and force with force oppose!\u201d\n\nShe spoke; Minerva burns to meet the war:\nAnd now heaven\u2019s empress calls her blazing car.\nAt her command rush forth the steeds divine;\nRich with immortal gold their trappings shine.\nBright Hebe waits; by Hebe, ever young,\nThe whirling wheels are to the chariot hung.\nOn the bright axle turns the bidden wheel\nOf sounding brass; the polished axle steel.\nEight brazen spokes in radiant order flame;\nThe circles gold, of uncorrupted frame,\nSuch as the heavens produce: and round the gold\nTwo brazen rings of work divine were roll\u2019d.\nThe bossy naves of sold silver shone;\nBraces of gold suspend the moving throne:\nThe car, behind, an arching figure bore;\nThe bending concave form\u2019d an arch before.\nSilver the beam, the extended yoke was gold,\nAnd golden reins the immortal coursers hold.\nHerself, impatient, to the ready car,\nThe coursers joins, and breathes revenge and war.\n\nPallas disrobes; her radiant veil untied,\nWith flowers adorn\u2019d, with art diversified,\n(The laboured veil her heavenly fingers wove,)\nFlows on the pavement of the court of Jove.\nNow heaven\u2019s dread arms her mighty limbs invest,\nJove\u2019s cuirass blazes on her ample breast;\nDeck\u2019d in sad triumph for the mournful field,\nO\u2019er her broad shoulders hangs his horrid shield,\nDire, black, tremendous! Round the margin roll\u2019d,\nA fringe of serpents hissing guards the gold:\nHere all the terrors of grim War appear,\nHere rages Force, here tremble Flight and Fear,\nHere storm\u2019d Contention, and here Fury frown\u2019d,\nAnd the dire orb portentous Gorgon crown\u2019d.\nThe massy golden helm she next assumes,\nThat dreadful nods with four o\u2019ershading plumes;\nSo vast, the broad circumference contains\nA hundred armies on a hundred plains.\nThe goddess thus the imperial car ascends;\nShook by her arm the mighty javelin bends,\nPonderous and huge; that when her fury burns,\nProud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o\u2019erturns.\n\nSwift at the scourge the ethereal coursers fly,\nWhile the smooth chariot cuts the liquid sky.\nHeaven\u2019s gates spontaneous open to the powers,[155]\nHeaven\u2019s golden gates, kept by the winged Hours;[156]\nCommission\u2019d in alternate watch they stand,\nThe sun\u2019s bright portals and the skies command,\nInvolve in clouds the eternal gates of day,\nOr the dark barrier roll with ease away.\nThe sounding hinges ring, on either side\nThe gloomy volumes, pierced with light, divide.\nThe chariot mounts, where deep in ambient skies,\nConfused, Olympus\u2019 hundred heads arise;\nWhere far apart the Thunderer fills his throne,\nO\u2019er all the gods superior and alone.\nThere with her snowy hand the queen restrains\nThe fiery steeds, and thus to Jove complains:\n\n\u201cO sire! can no resentment touch thy soul?\nCan Mars rebel, and does no thunder roll?\nWhat lawless rage on yon forbidden plain,\nWhat rash destruction! and what heroes slain!\nVenus, and Ph\u0153bus with the dreadful bow,\nSmile on the slaughter, and enjoy my woe.\nMad, furious power! whose unrelenting mind\nNo god can govern, and no justice bind.\nSay, mighty father! shall we scourge this pride,\nAnd drive from fight the impetuous homicide?\u201d\n\nTo whom assenting, thus the Thunderer said:\n\u201cGo! and the great Minerva be thy aid.\nTo tame the monster-god Minerva knows,\nAnd oft afflicts his brutal breast with woes.\u201d\n\nHe said; Saturnia, ardent to obey,\nLash\u2019d her white steeds along the aerial way.\nSwift down the steep of heaven the chariot rolls,\nBetween the expanded earth and starry poles.\nFar as a shepherd, from some point on high,[157]\nO\u2019er the wide main extends his boundless eye,\nThrough such a space of air, with thundering sound,\nAt every leap the immortal coursers bound\nTroy now they reach\u2019d and touch\u2019d those banks divine,\nWhere silver Simois and Scamander join.\nThere Juno stopp\u2019d, and (her fair steeds unloosed)\nOf air condensed a vapour circumfused:\nFor these, impregnate with celestial dew,\nOn Simois\u2019 brink ambrosial herbage grew.\nThence to relieve the fainting Argive throng,\nSmooth as the sailing doves they glide along.\n\nThe best and bravest of the Grecian band\n(A warlike circle) round Tydides stand.\nSuch was their look as lions bathed in blood,\nOr foaming boars, the terror of the wood.\nHeaven\u2019s empress mingles with the mortal crowd,\nAnd shouts, in Stentor\u2019s sounding voice, aloud;\nStentor the strong, endued with brazen lungs,[158]\nWhose throats surpass\u2019d the force of fifty tongues.\n\n\u201cInglorious Argives! to your race a shame,\nAnd only men in figure and in name!\nOnce from the walls your timorous foes engaged,\nWhile fierce in war divine Achilles raged;\nNow issuing fearless they possess the plain,\nNow win the shores, and scarce the seas remain.\u201d\n\nHer speech new fury to their hearts convey\u2019d;\nWhile near Tydides stood the Athenian maid;\nThe king beside his panting steeds she found,\nO\u2019erspent with toil reposing on the ground;\nTo cool his glowing wound he sat apart,\n(The wound inflicted by the Lycian dart.)\nLarge drops of sweat from all his limbs descend,\nBeneath his ponderous shield his sinews bend,\nWhose ample belt, that o\u2019er his shoulder lay,\nHe eased; and wash\u2019d the clotted gore away.\nThe goddess leaning o\u2019er the bending yoke,\nBeside his coursers, thus her silence broke:\n\n\u201cDegenerate prince! and not of Tydeus\u2019 kind,\nWhose little body lodged a mighty mind;\nForemost he press\u2019d in glorious toils to share,\nAnd scarce refrain\u2019d when I forbade the war.\nAlone, unguarded, once he dared to go,\nAnd feast, incircled by the Theban foe;\nThere braved, and vanquish\u2019d, many a hardy knight;\nSuch nerves I gave him, and such force in fight.\nThou too no less hast been my constant care;\nThy hands I arm\u2019d, and sent thee forth to war:\nBut thee or fear deters, or sloth detains;\nNo drop of all thy father warms thy veins.\u201d\n\nThe chief thus answered mild: \u201cImmortal maid!\nI own thy presence, and confess thy aid.\nNot fear, thou know\u2019st, withholds me from the plains,\nNor sloth hath seized me, but thy word restrains:\nFrom warring gods thou bad\u2019st me turn my spear,\nAnd Venus only found resistance here.\nHence, goddess! heedful of thy high commands,\nLoth I gave way, and warn\u2019d our Argive bands:\nFor Mars, the homicide, these eyes beheld,\nWith slaughter red, and raging round the field.\u201d\n\nThen thus Minerva:\u2014\u201cBrave Tydides, hear!\nNot Mars himself, nor aught immortal, fear.\nFull on the god impel thy foaming horse:\nPallas commands, and Pallas lends thee force.\nRash, furious, blind, from these to those he flies,\nAnd every side of wavering combat tries;\nLarge promise makes, and breaks the promise made:\nNow gives the Grecians, now the Trojans aid.\u201d[159]\n\nShe said, and to the steeds approaching near,\nDrew from his seat the martial charioteer.\nThe vigorous power the trembling car ascends,\nFierce for revenge; and Diomed attends:\nThe groaning axle bent beneath the load;\nSo great a hero, and so great a god.\nShe snatch\u2019d the reins, she lash\u2019d with all her force,\nAnd full on Mars impelled the foaming horse:\nBut first, to hide her heavenly visage, spread\nBlack Orcus\u2019 helmet o\u2019er her radiant head.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] DIOMED CASTING HIS SPEAR AT MARS\n\n\nJust then gigantic Periphas lay slain,\nThe strongest warrior of the \u00c6tolian train;\nThe god, who slew him, leaves his prostrate prize\nStretch\u2019d where he fell, and at Tydides flies.\nNow rushing fierce, in equal arms appear\nThe daring Greek, the dreadful god of war!\nFull at the chief, above his courser\u2019s head,\nFrom Mars\u2019s arm the enormous weapon fled:\nPallas opposed her hand, and caused to glance\nFar from the car the strong immortal lance.\nThen threw the force of Tydeus\u2019 warlike son;\nThe javelin hiss\u2019d; the goddess urged it on:\nWhere the broad cincture girt his armour round,\nIt pierced the god: his groin received the wound.\nFrom the rent skin the warrior tugs again\nThe smoking steel. Mars bellows with the pain:\nLoud as the roar encountering armies yield,\nWhen shouting millions shake the thundering field.\nBoth armies start, and trembling gaze around;\nAnd earth and heaven re-bellow to the sound.\nAs vapours blown by Auster\u2019s sultry breath,\nPregnant with plagues, and shedding seeds of death,\nBeneath the rage of burning Sirius rise,\nChoke the parch\u2019d earth, and blacken all the skies;\nIn such a cloud the god from combat driven,\nHigh o\u2019er the dusky whirlwind scales the heaven.\nWild with his pain, he sought the bright abodes,\nThere sullen sat beneath the sire of gods,\nShow\u2019d the celestial blood, and with a groan\nThus pour\u2019d his plaints before the immortal throne:\n\n\u201cCan Jove, supine, flagitious facts survey,\nAnd brook the furies of this daring day?\nFor mortal men celestial powers engage,\nAnd gods on gods exert eternal rage:\nFrom thee, O father! all these ills we bear,\nAnd thy fell daughter with the shield and spear;\nThou gavest that fury to the realms of light,\nPernicious, wild, regardless of the right.\nAll heaven beside reveres thy sovereign sway,\nThy voice we hear, and thy behests obey:\n\u2019Tis hers to offend, and even offending share\nThy breast, thy counsels, thy distinguish\u2019d care:\nSo boundless she, and thou so partial grown,\nWell may we deem the wondrous birth thy own.\nNow frantic Diomed, at her command,\nAgainst the immortals lifts his raging hand:\nThe heavenly Venus first his fury found,\nMe next encountering, me he dared to wound;\nVanquish\u2019d I fled; even I, the god of fight,\nFrom mortal madness scarce was saved by flight.\nElse hadst thou seen me sink on yonder plain,\nHeap\u2019d round, and heaving under loads of slain!\nOr pierced with Grecian darts, for ages lie,\nCondemn\u2019d to pain, though fated not to die.\u201d\n\nHim thus upbraiding, with a wrathful look\nThe lord of thunders view\u2019d, and stern bespoke:\n\u201cTo me, perfidious! this lamenting strain?\nOf lawless force shall lawless Mars complain?\nOf all the gods who tread the spangled skies,\nThou most unjust, most odious in our eyes!\nInhuman discord is thy dire delight,\nThe waste of slaughter, and the rage of fight.\nNo bounds, no law, thy fiery temper quells,\nAnd all thy mother in thy soul rebels.\nIn vain our threats, in vain our power we use;\nShe gives the example, and her son pursues.\nYet long the inflicted pangs thou shall not mourn,\nSprung since thou art from Jove, and heavenly-born.\nElse, singed with lightning, hadst thou hence been thrown,\nWhere chain\u2019d on burning rocks the Titans groan.\u201d\n\nThus he who shakes Olympus with his nod;\nThen gave to P\u00e6on\u2019s care the bleeding god.[160]\nWith gentle hand the balm he pour\u2019d around,\nAnd heal\u2019d the immortal flesh, and closed the wound.\nAs when the fig\u2019s press\u2019d juice, infused in cream,\nTo curds coagulates the liquid stream,\nSudden the fluids fix the parts combined;\nSuch, and so soon, the ethereal texture join\u2019d.\nCleansed from the dust and gore, fair Hebe dress\u2019d\nHis mighty limbs in an immortal vest.\nGlorious he sat, in majesty restored,\nFast by the throne of heaven\u2019s superior lord.\nJuno and Pallas mount the bless\u2019d abodes,\nTheir task perform\u2019d, and mix among the gods.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] JUNO\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE EPISODES OF GLAUCUS AND DIOMED, AND OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.\n\n\nThe gods having left the field, the Grecians prevail. Helenus, the\nchief augur of Troy, commands Hector to return to the city, in order to\nappoint a solemn procession of the queen and the Trojan matrons to the\ntemple of Minerva, to entreat her to remove Diomed from the fight. The\nbattle relaxing during the absence of Hector, Glaucus and Diomed have\nan interview between the two armies; where, coming to the knowledge, of\nthe friendship and hospitality passed between their ancestors, they\nmake exchange of their arms. Hector, having performed the orders of\nHelenus, prevails upon Paris to return to the battle, and, taking a\ntender leave of his wife Andromache, hastens again to the field.\n    The scene is first in the field of battle, between the rivers\n    Simois and Scamander, and then changes to Troy.\n\n\nNow heaven forsakes the fight: the immortals yield\nTo human force and human skill the field:\nDark showers of javelins fly from foes to foes;\nNow here, now there, the tide of combat flows;\nWhile Troy\u2019s famed streams, that bound the deathful plain\nOn either side, run purple to the main.\n\nGreat Ajax first to conquest led the way,\nBroke the thick ranks, and turn\u2019d the doubtful day.\nThe Thracian Acamas his falchion found,\nAnd hew\u2019d the enormous giant to the ground;\nHis thundering arm a deadly stroke impress\u2019d\nWhere the black horse-hair nodded o\u2019er his crest;\nFix\u2019d in his front the brazen weapon lies,\nAnd seals in endless shades his swimming eyes.\nNext Teuthras\u2019 son distain\u2019d the sands with blood,\nAxylus, hospitable, rich, and good:\nIn fair Arisbe\u2019s walls (his native place)[161]\nHe held his seat! a friend to human race.\nFast by the road, his ever-open door\nObliged the wealthy, and relieved the poor.\nTo stern Tydides now he falls a prey,\nNo friend to guard him in the dreadful day!\nBreathless the good man fell, and by his side\nHis faithful servant, old Calesius died.\n\nBy great Euryalus was Dresus slain,\nAnd next he laid Opheltius on the plain.\nTwo twins were near, bold, beautiful, and young,\nFrom a fair naiad and Bucolion sprung:\n(Laomedon\u2019s white flocks Bucolion fed,\nThat monarch\u2019s first-born by a foreign bed;\nIn secret woods he won the naiad\u2019s grace,\nAnd two fair infants crown\u2019d his strong embrace:)\nHere dead they lay in all their youthful charms;\nThe ruthless victor stripp\u2019d their shining arms.\n\nAstyalus by Polyp\u0153tes fell;\nUlysses\u2019 spear Pidytes sent to hell;\nBy Teucer\u2019s shaft brave Aretaon bled,\nAnd Nestor\u2019s son laid stern Ablerus dead;\nGreat Agamemnon, leader of the brave,\nThe mortal wound of rich Elatus gave,\nWho held in Pedasus his proud abode,[162]\nAnd till\u2019d the banks where silver Satnio flow\u2019d.\nMelanthius by Eurypylus was slain;\nAnd Phylacus from Leitus flies in vain.\n\nUnbless\u2019d Adrastus next at mercy lies\nBeneath the Spartan spear, a living prize.\nScared with the din and tumult of the fight,\nHis headlong steeds, precipitate in flight,\nRush\u2019d on a tamarisk\u2019s strong trunk, and broke\nThe shatter\u2019d chariot from the crooked yoke;\nWide o\u2019er the field, resistless as the wind,\nFor Troy they fly, and leave their lord behind.\nProne on his face he sinks beside the wheel:\nAtrides o\u2019er him shakes his vengeful steel;\nThe fallen chief in suppliant posture press\u2019d\nThe victor\u2019s knees, and thus his prayer address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cO spare my youth, and for the life I owe\nLarge gifts of price my father shall bestow.\nWhen fame shall tell, that, not in battle slain,\nThy hollow ships his captive son detain:\nRich heaps of brass shall in thy tent be told,[163]\nAnd steel well-temper\u2019d, and persuasive gold.\u201d\n\nHe said: compassion touch\u2019d the hero\u2019s heart\nHe stood, suspended with the lifted dart:\nAs pity pleaded for his vanquish\u2019d prize,\nStern Agamemnon swift to vengeance flies,\nAnd, furious, thus: \u201cOh impotent of mind![164]\nShall these, shall these Atrides\u2019 mercy find?\nWell hast thou known proud Troy\u2019s perfidious land,\nAnd well her natives merit at thy hand!\nNot one of all the race, nor sex, nor age,\nShall save a Trojan from our boundless rage:\nIlion shall perish whole, and bury all;\nHer babes, her infants at the breast, shall fall;[165]\nA dreadful lesson of exampled fate,\nTo warn the nations, and to curb the great!\u201d\n\nThe monarch spoke; the words, with warmth address\u2019d,\nTo rigid justice steel\u2019d his brother\u2019s breast.\nFierce from his knees the hapless chief he thrust;\nThe monarch\u2019s javelin stretch\u2019d him in the dust,\nThen pressing with his foot his panting heart,\nForth from the slain he tugg\u2019d the reeking dart.\nOld Nestor saw, and roused the warrior\u2019s rage;\n\u201cThus, heroes! thus the vigorous combat wage;\nNo son of Mars descend, for servile gains,\nTo touch the booty, while a foe remains.\nBehold yon glittering host, your future spoil!\nFirst gain the conquest, then reward the toil.\u201d\n\nAnd now had Greece eternal fame acquired,\nAnd frighted Troy within her walls, retired,\nHad not sage Helenus her state redress\u2019d,\nTaught by the gods that moved his sacred breast.\nWhere Hector stood, with great \u00c6neas join\u2019d,\nThe seer reveal\u2019d the counsels of his mind:\n\n\u201cYe generous chiefs! on whom the immortals lay\nThe cares and glories of this doubtful day;\nOn whom your aids, your country\u2019s hopes depend;\nWise to consult, and active to defend!\nHere, at our gates, your brave efforts unite,\nTurn back the routed, and forbid the flight,\nEre yet their wives\u2019 soft arms the cowards gain,\nThe sport and insult of the hostile train.\nWhen your commands have hearten\u2019d every band,\nOurselves, here fix\u2019d, will make the dangerous stand;\nPress\u2019d as we are, and sore of former fight,\nThese straits demand our last remains of might.\nMeanwhile thou, Hector, to the town retire,\nAnd teach our mother what the gods require:\nDirect the queen to lead the assembled train\nOf Troy\u2019s chief matrons to Minerva\u2019s fane;[166]\nUnbar the sacred gates, and seek the power,\nWith offer\u2019d vows, in Ilion\u2019s topmost tower.\nThe largest mantle her rich wardrobes hold,\nMost prized for art, and labour\u2019d o\u2019er with gold,\nBefore the goddess\u2019 honour\u2019d knees be spread,\nAnd twelve young heifers to her altars led:\nIf so the power, atoned by fervent prayer,\nOur wives, our infants, and our city spare,\nAnd far avert Tydides\u2019 wasteful ire,\nThat mows whole troops, and makes all Troy retire;\nNot thus Achilles taught our hosts to dread,\nSprung though he was from more than mortal bed;\nNot thus resistless ruled the stream of fight,\nIn rage unbounded, and unmatch\u2019d in might.\u201d\n\nHector obedient heard: and, with a bound,\nLeap\u2019d from his trembling chariot to the ground;\nThrough all his host inspiring force he flies,\nAnd bids the thunder of the battle rise.\nWith rage recruited the bold Trojans glow,\nAnd turn the tide of conflict on the foe:\nFierce in the front he shakes two dazzling spears;\nAll Greece recedes, and \u2019midst her triumphs fears;\nSome god, they thought, who ruled the fate of wars,\nShot down avenging from the vault of stars.\n\nThen thus aloud: \u201cYe dauntless Dardans, hear!\nAnd you whom distant nations send to war!\nBe mindful of the strength your fathers bore;\nBe still yourselves, and Hector asks no more.\nOne hour demands me in the Trojan wall,\nTo bid our altars flame, and victims fall:\nNor shall, I trust, the matrons\u2019 holy train,\nAnd reverend elders, seek the gods in vain.\u201d\n\nThis said, with ample strides the hero pass\u2019d;\nThe shield\u2019s large orb behind his shoulder cast,\nHis neck o\u2019ershading, to his ankle hung;\nAnd as he march\u2019d the brazen buckler rung.\n\nNow paused the battle (godlike Hector gone),[167]\nWhere daring Glaucus and great Tydeus\u2019 son\nBetween both armies met: the chiefs from far\nObserved each other, and had mark\u2019d for war.\nNear as they drew, Tydides thus began:\n\n\u201cWhat art thou, boldest of the race of man?\nOur eyes till now that aspect ne\u2019er beheld,\nWhere fame is reap\u2019d amid the embattled field;\nYet far before the troops thou dar\u2019st appear,\nAnd meet a lance the fiercest heroes fear.\nUnhappy they, and born of luckless sires,\nWho tempt our fury when Minerva fires!\nBut if from heaven, celestial, thou descend,\nKnow with immortals we no more contend.\nNot long Lycurgus view\u2019d the golden light,\nThat daring man who mix\u2019d with gods in fight.\nBacchus, and Bacchus\u2019 votaries, he drove,\nWith brandish\u2019d steel, from Nyssa\u2019s sacred grove:\nTheir consecrated spears lay scatter\u2019d round,\nWith curling vines and twisted ivy bound;\nWhile Bacchus headlong sought the briny flood,\nAnd Thetis\u2019 arms received the trembling god.\nNor fail\u2019d the crime the immortals\u2019 wrath to move;\n(The immortals bless\u2019d with endless ease above;)\nDeprived of sight by their avenging doom,\nCheerless he breathed, and wander\u2019d in the gloom,\nThen sunk unpitied to the dire abodes,\nA wretch accursed, and hated by the gods!\nI brave not heaven: but if the fruits of earth\nSustain thy life, and human be thy birth,\nBold as thou art, too prodigal of breath,\nApproach, and enter the dark gates of death.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, or from whence I am, or who my sire,\n(Replied the chief,) can Tydeus\u2019 son inquire?\nLike leaves on trees the race of man is found,\nNow green in youth, now withering on the ground;\nAnother race the following spring supplies;\nThey fall successive, and successive rise:\nSo generations in their course decay;\nSo flourish these, when those are pass\u2019d away.\nBut if thou still persist to search my birth,\nThen hear a tale that fills the spacious earth.\n\n\u201cA city stands on Argos\u2019 utmost bound,\n(Argos the fair, for warlike steeds renown\u2019d,)\n\u00c6olian Sisyphus, with wisdom bless\u2019d,\nIn ancient time the happy wall possess\u2019d,\nThen call\u2019d Ephyre: Glaucus was his son;\nGreat Glaucus, father of Bellerophon,\nWho o\u2019er the sons of men in beauty shined,\nLoved for that valour which preserves mankind.\nThen mighty Praetus Argos\u2019 sceptre sway\u2019d,\nWhose hard commands Bellerophon obey\u2019d.\nWith direful jealousy the monarch raged,\nAnd the brave prince in numerous toils engaged.\nFor him Antaea burn\u2019d with lawless flame,\nAnd strove to tempt him from the paths of fame:\nIn vain she tempted the relentless youth,\nEndued with wisdom, sacred fear, and truth.\nFired at his scorn the queen to Praetus fled,\nAnd begg\u2019d revenge for her insulted bed:\nIncensed he heard, resolving on his fate;\nBut hospitable laws restrain\u2019d his hate:\nTo Lycia the devoted youth he sent,\nWith tablets seal\u2019d, that told his dire intent.[168]\nNow bless\u2019d by every power who guards the good,\nThe chief arrived at Xanthus\u2019 silver flood:\nThere Lycia\u2019s monarch paid him honours due,\nNine days he feasted, and nine bulls he slew.\nBut when the tenth bright morning orient glow\u2019d,\nThe faithful youth his monarch\u2019s mandate show\u2019d:\nThe fatal tablets, till that instant seal\u2019d,\nThe deathful secret to the king reveal\u2019d.\nFirst, dire Chimaera\u2019s conquest was enjoin\u2019d;\nA mingled monster of no mortal kind!\nBehind, a dragon\u2019s fiery tail was spread;\nA goat\u2019s rough body bore a lion\u2019s head;\nHer pitchy nostrils flaky flames expire;\nHer gaping throat emits infernal fire.\n\n\u201cThis pest he slaughter\u2019d, (for he read the skies,\nAnd trusted heaven\u2019s informing prodigies,)\nThen met in arms the Solym\u00e6an crew,[169]\n(Fiercest of men,) and those the warrior slew;\nNext the bold Amazons\u2019 whole force defied;\nAnd conquer\u2019d still, for heaven was on his side.\n\n\u201cNor ended here his toils: his Lycian foes,\nAt his return, a treacherous ambush rose,\nWith levell\u2019d spears along the winding shore:\nThere fell they breathless, and return\u2019d no more.\n\n\u201cAt length the monarch, with repentant grief,\nConfess\u2019d the gods, and god-descended chief;\nHis daughter gave, the stranger to detain,\nWith half the honours of his ample reign:\nThe Lycians grant a chosen space of ground,\nWith woods, with vineyards, and with harvests crown\u2019d.\nThere long the chief his happy lot possess\u2019d,\nWith two brave sons and one fair daughter bless\u2019d;\n(Fair e\u2019en in heavenly eyes: her fruitful love\nCrown\u2019d with Sarpedon\u2019s birth the embrace of Jove;)\nBut when at last, distracted in his mind,\nForsook by heaven, forsaking humankind,\nWide o\u2019er the Aleian field he chose to stray,\nA long, forlorn, uncomfortable way![170]\nWoes heap\u2019d on woes consumed his wasted heart:\nHis beauteous daughter fell by Phoebe\u2019s dart;\nHis eldest born by raging Mars was slain,\nIn combat on the Solymaean plain.\nHippolochus survived: from him I came,\nThe honour\u2019d author of my birth and name;\nBy his decree I sought the Trojan town;\nBy his instructions learn to win renown,\nTo stand the first in worth as in command,\nTo add new honours to my native land,\nBefore my eyes my mighty sires to place,\nAnd emulate the glories of our race.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and transport fill\u2019d Tydides\u2019 heart;\nIn earth the generous warrior fix\u2019d his dart,\nThen friendly, thus the Lycian prince address\u2019d:\n\u201cWelcome, my brave hereditary guest!\nThus ever let us meet, with kind embrace,\nNor stain the sacred friendship of our race.\nKnow, chief, our grandsires have been guests of old;\n\u0152neus the strong, Bellerophon the bold:\nOur ancient seat his honour\u2019d presence graced,\nWhere twenty days in genial rites he pass\u2019d.\nThe parting heroes mutual presents left;\nA golden goblet was thy grandsire\u2019s gift;\n\u0152neus a belt of matchless work bestowed,\nThat rich with Tyrian dye refulgent glow\u2019d.\n(This from his pledge I learn\u2019d, which, safely stored\nAmong my treasures, still adorns my board:\nFor Tydeus left me young, when Thebe\u2019s wall\nBeheld the sons of Greece untimely fall.)\nMindful of this, in friendship let us join;\nIf heaven our steps to foreign lands incline,\nMy guest in Argos thou, and I in Lycia thine.\nEnough of Trojans to this lance shall yield,\nIn the full harvest of yon ample field;\nEnough of Greeks shall dye thy spear with gore;\nBut thou and Diomed be foes no more.\nNow change we arms, and prove to either host\nWe guard the friendship of the line we boast.\u201d\n\nThus having said, the gallant chiefs alight,\nTheir hands they join, their mutual faith they plight;\nBrave Glaucus then each narrow thought resign\u2019d,\n(Jove warm\u2019d his bosom, and enlarged his mind,)\nFor Diomed\u2019s brass arms, of mean device,\nFor which nine oxen paid, (a vulgar price,)\nHe gave his own, of gold divinely wrought,[171]\nA hundred beeves the shining purchase bought.\n\nMeantime the guardian of the Trojan state,\nGreat Hector, enter\u2019d at the Sc\u00e6an gate.[172]\nBeneath the beech-tree\u2019s consecrated shades,\nThe Trojan matrons and the Trojan maids\nAround him flock\u2019d, all press\u2019d with pious care\nFor husbands, brothers, sons, engaged in war.\nHe bids the train in long procession go,\nAnd seek the gods, to avert the impending woe.\nAnd now to Priam\u2019s stately courts he came,\nRais\u2019d on arch\u2019d columns of stupendous frame;\nO\u2019er these a range of marble structure runs,\nThe rich pavilions of his fifty sons,\nIn fifty chambers lodged: and rooms of state,[173]\nOpposed to those, where Priam\u2019s daughters sate.\nTwelve domes for them and their loved spouses shone,\nOf equal beauty, and of polish\u2019d stone.\nHither great Hector pass\u2019d, nor pass\u2019d unseen\nOf royal Hecuba, his mother-queen.\n(With her Laodice, whose beauteous face\nSurpass\u2019d the nymphs of Troy\u2019s illustrious race.)\nLong in a strict embrace she held her son,\nAnd press\u2019d his hand, and tender thus begun:\n\n\u201cO Hector! say, what great occasion calls\nMy son from fight, when Greece surrounds our walls;\nCom\u2019st thou to supplicate the almighty power\nWith lifted hands, from Ilion\u2019s lofty tower?\nStay, till I bring the cup with Bacchus crown\u2019d,\nIn Jove\u2019s high name, to sprinkle on the ground,\nAnd pay due vows to all the gods around.\nThen with a plenteous draught refresh thy soul,\nAnd draw new spirits from the generous bowl;\nSpent as thou art with long laborious fight,\nThe brave defender of thy country\u2019s right.\u201d\n\n\u201cFar hence be Bacchus\u2019 gifts; (the chief rejoin\u2019d;)\nInflaming wine, pernicious to mankind,\nUnnerves the limbs, and dulls the noble mind.\nLet chiefs abstain, and spare the sacred juice\nTo sprinkle to the gods, its better use.\nBy me that holy office were profaned;\nIll fits it me, with human gore distain\u2019d,\nTo the pure skies these horrid hands to raise,\nOr offer heaven\u2019s great Sire polluted praise.\nYou, with your matrons, go! a spotless train,\nAnd burn rich odours in Minerva\u2019s fane.\nThe largest mantle your full wardrobes hold,\nMost prized for art, and labour\u2019d o\u2019er with gold,\nBefore the goddess\u2019 honour\u2019d knees be spread,\nAnd twelve young heifers to her altar led.\nSo may the power, atoned by fervent prayer,\nOur wives, our infants, and our city spare;\nAnd far avert Tydides\u2019 wasteful ire,\nWho mows whole troops, and makes all Troy retire.\nBe this, O mother, your religious care:\nI go to rouse soft Paris to the war;\nIf yet not lost to all the sense of shame,\nThe recreant warrior hear the voice of fame.\nOh, would kind earth the hateful wretch embrace,\nThat pest of Troy, that ruin of our race![174]\nDeep to the dark abyss might he descend,\nTroy yet should flourish, and my sorrows end.\u201d\n\nThis heard, she gave command: and summon\u2019d came\nEach noble matron and illustrious dame.\nThe Phrygian queen to her rich wardrobe went,\nWhere treasured odours breathed a costly scent.\nThere lay the vestures of no vulgar art,\nSidonian maids embroider\u2019d every part,\nWhom from soft Sidon youthful Paris bore,\nWith Helen touching on the Tyrian shore.\nHere, as the queen revolved with careful eyes\nThe various textures and the various dyes,\nShe chose a veil that shone superior far,\nAnd glow\u2019d refulgent as the morning star.\nHerself with this the long procession leads;\nThe train majestically slow proceeds.\nSoon as to Ilion\u2019s topmost tower they come,\nAnd awful reach the high Palladian dome,\nAntenor\u2019s consort, fair Theano, waits\nAs Pallas\u2019 priestess, and unbars the gates.\nWith hands uplifted and imploring eyes,\nThey fill the dome with supplicating cries.\nThe priestess then the shining veil displays,\nPlaced on Minerva\u2019s knees, and thus she prays:\n\n\u201cOh awful goddess! ever-dreadful maid,\nTroy\u2019s strong defence, unconquer\u2019d Pallas, aid!\nBreak thou Tydides\u2019 spear, and let him fall\nProne on the dust before the Trojan wall!\nSo twelve young heifers, guiltless of the yoke,\nShall fill thy temple with a grateful smoke.\nBut thou, atoned by penitence and prayer,\nOurselves, our infants, and our city spare!\u201d\nSo pray\u2019d the priestess in her holy fane;\nSo vow\u2019d the matrons, but they vow\u2019d in vain.\n\nWhile these appear before the power with prayers,\nHector to Paris\u2019 lofty dome repairs.[175]\nHimself the mansion raised, from every part\nAssembling architects of matchless art.\nNear Priam\u2019s court and Hector\u2019s palace stands\nThe pompous structure, and the town commands.\nA spear the hero bore of wondrous strength,\nOf full ten cubits was the lance\u2019s length,\nThe steely point with golden ringlets join\u2019d,\nBefore him brandish\u2019d, at each motion shined\nThus entering, in the glittering rooms he found\nHis brother-chief, whose useless arms lay round,\nHis eyes delighting with their splendid show,\nBrightening the shield, and polishing the bow.\nBeside him Helen with her virgins stands,\nGuides their rich labours, and instructs their hands.\n\nHim thus inactive, with an ardent look\nThe prince beheld, and high-resenting spoke.\n\u201cThy hate to Troy, is this the time to show?\n(O wretch ill-fated, and thy country\u2019s foe!)\nParis and Greece against us both conspire,\nThy close resentment, and their vengeful ire.\nFor thee great Ilion\u2019s guardian heroes fall,\nTill heaps of dead alone defend her wall,\nFor thee the soldier bleeds, the matron mourns,\nAnd wasteful war in all its fury burns.\nUngrateful man! deserves not this thy care,\nOur troops to hearten, and our toils to share?\nRise, or behold the conquering flames ascend,\nAnd all the Phrygian glories at an end.\u201d\n\n\u201cBrother, \u2019tis just, (replied the beauteous youth,)\nThy free remonstrance proves thy worth and truth:\nYet charge my absence less, O generous chief!\nOn hate to Troy, than conscious shame and grief:\nHere, hid from human eyes, thy brother sate,\nAnd mourn\u2019d, in secret, his and Ilion\u2019s fate.\n\u2019Tis now enough; now glory spreads her charms,\nAnd beauteous Helen calls her chief to arms.\nConquest to-day my happier sword may bless,\n\u2019Tis man\u2019s to fight, but heaven\u2019s to give success.\nBut while I arm, contain thy ardent mind;\nOr go, and Paris shall not lag behind.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] HECTOR CHIDING PARIS\n\n\nHe said, nor answer\u2019d Priam\u2019s warlike son;\nWhen Helen thus with lowly grace begun:\n\n\u201cOh, generous brother! (if the guilty dame\nThat caused these woes deserve a sister\u2019s name!)\nWould heaven, ere all these dreadful deeds were done,\nThe day that show\u2019d me to the golden sun\nHad seen my death! why did not whirlwinds bear\nThe fatal infant to the fowls of air?\nWhy sunk I not beneath the whelming tide,\nAnd midst the roarings of the waters died?\nHeaven fill\u2019d up all my ills, and I accursed\nBore all, and Paris of those ills the worst.\nHelen at least a braver spouse might claim,\nWarm\u2019d with some virtue, some regard of fame!\nNow tired with toils, thy fainting limbs recline,\nWith toils, sustain\u2019d for Paris\u2019 sake and mine\nThe gods have link\u2019d our miserable doom,\nOur present woe, and infamy to come:\nWide shall it spread, and last through ages long,\nExample sad! and theme of future song.\u201d\n\nThe chief replied: \u201cThis time forbids to rest;\nThe Trojan bands, by hostile fury press\u2019d,\nDemand their Hector, and his arm require;\nThe combat urges, and my soul\u2019s on fire.\nUrge thou thy knight to march where glory calls,\nAnd timely join me, ere I leave the walls.\nEre yet I mingle in the direful fray,\nMy wife, my infant, claim a moment\u2019s stay;\nThis day (perhaps the last that sees me here)\nDemands a parting word, a tender tear:\nThis day, some god who hates our Trojan land\nMay vanquish Hector by a Grecian hand.\u201d\n\nHe said, and pass\u2019d with sad presaging heart\nTo seek his spouse, his soul\u2019s far dearer part;\nAt home he sought her, but he sought in vain;\nShe, with one maid of all her menial train,\nHad hence retired; and with her second joy,\nThe young Astyanax, the hope of Troy,\nPensive she stood on Ilion\u2019s towery height,\nBeheld the war, and sicken\u2019d at the sight;\nThere her sad eyes in vain her lord explore,\nOr weep the wounds her bleeding country bore.\n\nBut he who found not whom his soul desired,\nWhose virtue charm\u2019d him as her beauty fired,\nStood in the gates, and ask\u2019d \u201cwhat way she bent\nHer parting step? If to the fane she went,\nWhere late the mourning matrons made resort;\nOr sought her sisters in the Trojan court?\u201d\n\u201cNot to the court, (replied the attendant train,)\nNor mix\u2019d with matrons to Minerva\u2019s fane:\nTo Ilion\u2019s steepy tower she bent her way,\nTo mark the fortunes of the doubtful day.\nTroy fled, she heard, before the Grecian sword;\nShe heard, and trembled for her absent lord:\nDistracted with surprise, she seem\u2019d to fly,\nFear on her cheek, and sorrow in her eye.\nThe nurse attended with her infant boy,\nThe young Astyanax, the hope of Troy.\u201d\n\nHector this heard, return\u2019d without delay;\nSwift through the town he trod his former way,\nThrough streets of palaces, and walks of state;\nAnd met the mourner at the Sc\u00e6an gate.\nWith haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair.\nHis blameless wife, A\u00ebtion\u2019s wealthy heir\n(Cilician Thebe great A\u00ebtion sway\u2019d,\nAnd Hippoplacus\u2019 wide extended shade):\nThe nurse stood near, in whose embraces press\u2019d,\nHis only hope hung smiling at her breast,\nWhom each soft charm and early grace adorn,\nFair as the new-born star that gilds the morn.\nTo this loved infant Hector gave the name\nScamandrius, from Scamander\u2019s honour\u2019d stream;\nAstyanax the Trojans call\u2019d the boy,\nFrom his great father, the defence of Troy.\nSilent the warrior smiled, and pleased resign\u2019d\nTo tender passions all his mighty mind;\nHis beauteous princess cast a mournful look,\nHung on his hand, and then dejected spoke;\nHer bosom laboured with a boding sigh,\nAnd the big tear stood trembling in her eye.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE MEETING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE\n\n\n\u201cToo daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run?\nAh, too forgetful of thy wife and son!\nAnd think\u2019st thou not how wretched we shall be,\nA widow I, a helpless orphan he?\nFor sure such courage length of life denies,\nAnd thou must fall, thy virtue\u2019s sacrifice.\nGreece in her single heroes strove in vain;\nNow hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain.\nO grant me, gods, ere Hector meets his doom,\nAll I can ask of heaven, an early tomb!\nSo shall my days in one sad tenor run,\nAnd end with sorrows as they first begun.\nNo parent now remains my griefs to share,\nNo father\u2019s aid, no mother\u2019s tender care.\nThe fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire,\nLaid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire!\nHis fate compassion in the victor bred;\nStern as he was, he yet revered the dead,\nHis radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil,\nAnd laid him decent on the funeral pile;\nThen raised a mountain where his bones were burn\u2019d,\nThe mountain-nymphs the rural tomb adorn\u2019d,\nJove\u2019s sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow\nA barren shade, and in his honour grow.\n\n\u201cBy the same arm my seven brave brothers fell;\nIn one sad day beheld the gates of hell;\nWhile the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed,\nAmid their fields the hapless heroes bled!\nMy mother lived to wear the victor\u2019s bands,\nThe queen of Hippoplacia\u2019s sylvan lands:\nRedeem\u2019d too late, she scarce beheld again\nHer pleasing empire and her native plain,\nWhen ah! oppress\u2019d by life-consuming woe,\nShe fell a victim to Diana\u2019s bow.\n\n\u201cYet while my Hector still survives, I see\nMy father, mother, brethren, all, in thee:\nAlas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all\nOnce more will perish, if my Hector fall,\nThy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share:\nOh, prove a husband\u2019s and a father\u2019s care!\nThat quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,\nWhere yon wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy;\nThou, from this tower defend the important post;\nThere Agamemnon points his dreadful host,\nThat pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,\nAnd there the vengeful Spartan fires his train.\nThrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given,\nOr led by hopes, or dictated from heaven.\nLet others in the field their arms employ,\nBut stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.\u201d\n\nThe chief replied: \u201cThat post shall be my care,\nNot that alone, but all the works of war.\nHow would the sons of Troy, in arms renown\u2019d,\nAnd Troy\u2019s proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground\nAttaint the lustre of my former name,\nShould Hector basely quit the field of fame?\nMy early youth was bred to martial pains,\nMy soul impels me to the embattled plains!\nLet me be foremost to defend the throne,\nAnd guard my father\u2019s glories, and my own.\n\n\u201cYet come it will, the day decreed by fates!\n(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!)\nThe day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,\nAnd see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.\nAnd yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,\nMy mother\u2019s death, the ruin of my kind,\nNot Priam\u2019s hoary hairs defiled with gore,\nNot all my brothers gasping on the shore;\nAs thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread:\nI see thee trembling, weeping, captive led!\nIn Argive looms our battles to design,\nAnd woes, of which so large a part was thine!\nTo bear the victor\u2019s hard commands, or bring\nThe weight of waters from Hyperia\u2019s spring.\nThere while you groan beneath the load of life,\nThey cry, \u2018Behold the mighty Hector\u2019s wife!\u2019\nSome haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,\nImbitters all thy woes, by naming me.\nThe thoughts of glory past, and present shame,\nA thousand griefs shall waken at the name!\nMay I lie cold before that dreadful day,\nPress\u2019d with a load of monumental clay!\nThy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep,\nShall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.\u201d\n\nThus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy\nStretch\u2019d his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.\nThe babe clung crying to his nurse\u2019s breast,\nScared at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest.\nWith secret pleasure each fond parent smiled,\nAnd Hector hasted to relieve his child,\nThe glittering terrors from his brows unbound,\nAnd placed the beaming helmet on the ground;\nThen kiss\u2019d the child, and, lifting high in air,\nThus to the gods preferr\u2019d a father\u2019s prayer:\n\n\u201cO thou! whose glory fills the ethereal throne,\nAnd all ye deathless powers! protect my son!\nGrant him, like me, to purchase just renown,\nTo guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,\nAgainst his country\u2019s foes the war to wage,\nAnd rise the Hector of the future age!\nSo when triumphant from successful toils\nOf heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,\nWhole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim,\nAnd say, \u2018This chief transcends his father\u2019s fame:\u2019\nWhile pleased amidst the general shouts of Troy,\nHis mother\u2019s conscious heart o\u2019erflows with joy.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,\nRestored the pleasing burden to her arms;\nSoft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,\nHush\u2019d to repose, and with a smile survey\u2019d.\nThe troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear,\nShe mingled with a smile a tender tear.\nThe soften\u2019d chief with kind compassion view\u2019d,\nAnd dried the falling drops, and thus pursued:\n\n\u201cAndromache! my soul\u2019s far better part,\nWhy with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?\nNo hostile hand can antedate my doom,\nTill fate condemns me to the silent tomb.\nFix\u2019d is the term to all the race of earth;\nAnd such the hard condition of our birth:\nNo force can then resist, no flight can save,\nAll sink alike, the fearful and the brave.\nNo more\u2014but hasten to thy tasks at home,\nThere guide the spindle, and direct the loom:\nMe glory summons to the martial scene,\nThe field of combat is the sphere for men.\nWhere heroes war, the foremost place I claim,\nThe first in danger as the first in fame.\u201d\n\nThus having said, the glorious chief resumes\nHis towery helmet, black with shading plumes.\nHis princess parts with a prophetic sigh,\nUnwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye\nThat stream\u2019d at every look; then, moving slow,\nSought her own palace, and indulged her woe.\nThere, while her tears deplored the godlike man,\nThrough all her train the soft infection ran;\nThe pious maids their mingled sorrows shed,\nAnd mourn the living Hector, as the dead.\n\nBut now, no longer deaf to honour\u2019s call,\nForth issues Paris from the palace wall.\nIn brazen arms that cast a gleamy ray,\nSwift through the town the warrior bends his way.\nThe wanton courser thus with reins unbound[176]\nBreaks from his stall, and beats the trembling ground;\nPamper\u2019d and proud, he seeks the wonted tides,\nAnd laves, in height of blood his shining sides;\nHis head now freed, he tosses to the skies;\nHis mane dishevell\u2019d o\u2019er his shoulders flies;\nHe snuffs the females in the distant plain,\nAnd springs, exulting, to his fields again.\nWith equal triumph, sprightly, bold, and gay,\nIn arms refulgent as the god of day,\nThe son of Priam, glorying in his might,\nRush\u2019d forth with Hector to the fields of fight.\n\nAnd now, the warriors passing on the way,\nThe graceful Paris first excused his stay.\nTo whom the noble Hector thus replied:\n\u201cO chief! in blood, and now in arms, allied!\nThy power in war with justice none contest;\nKnown is thy courage, and thy strength confess\u2019d.\nWhat pity sloth should seize a soul so brave,\nOr godlike Paris live a woman\u2019s slave!\nMy heart weeps blood at what the Trojans say,\nAnd hopes thy deeds shall wipe the stain away.\nHaste then, in all their glorious labours share,\nFor much they suffer, for thy sake, in war.\nThese ills shall cease, whene\u2019er by Jove\u2019s decree\nWe crown the bowl to heaven and liberty:\nWhile the proud foe his frustrate triumphs mourns,\nAnd Greece indignant through her seas returns.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] BOWS AND BOW CASE\n\n\n[Illustration: ] IRIS\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VII.\n\n\nARGUMENT\n\n\nTHE SINGLE COMBAT OF HECTOR AND AJAX.\n\n\nThe battle renewing with double ardour upon the return of Hector,\nMinerva is under apprehensions for the Greeks. Apollo, seeing her\ndescend from Olympus, joins her near the Sc\u00e6an gate. They agree to put\noff the general engagement for that day, and incite Hector to challenge\nthe Greeks to a single combat. Nine of the princes accepting the\nchallenge, the lot is cast and falls upon Ajax. These heroes, after\nseveral attacks, are parted by the night. The Trojans calling a\ncouncil, Antenor purposes the delivery of Helen to the Greeks, to which\nParis will not consent, but offers to restore them her riches. Priam\nsends a herald to make this offer, and to demand a truce for burning\nthe dead, the last of which only is agreed to by Agamemnon. When the\nfunerals are performed, the Greeks, pursuant to the advice of Nestor,\nerect a fortification to protect their fleet and camp, flanked with\ntowers, and defended by a ditch and palisades. Neptune testifies his\njealousy at this work, but is pacified by a promise from Jupiter. Both\narmies pass the night in feasting but Jupiter disheartens the Trojans\nwith thunder, and other signs of his wrath.\n    The three and twentieth day ends with the duel of Hector and Ajax,\n    the next day the truce is agreed; another is taken up in the\n    funeral rites of the slain and one more in building the\n    fortification before the ships. So that somewhat about three days\n    is employed in this book. The scene lies wholly in the field.\n\n\nSo spoke the guardian of the Trojan state,\nThen rush\u2019d impetuous through the Sc\u00e6an gate.\nHim Paris follow\u2019d to the dire alarms;\nBoth breathing slaughter, both resolved in arms.\nAs when to sailors labouring through the main,\nThat long have heaved the weary oar in vain,\nJove bids at length the expected gales arise;\nThe gales blow grateful, and the vessel flies.\nSo welcome these to Troy\u2019s desiring train,\nThe bands are cheer\u2019d, the war awakes again.\n\nBold Paris first the work of death begun\nOn great Menestheus, Areithous\u2019 son,\nSprung from the fair Philomeda\u2019s embrace,\nThe pleasing Arn\u00e8 was his native place.\nThen sunk Eioneus to the shades below,\nBeneath his steely casque[177] he felt the blow\nFull on his neck, from Hector\u2019s weighty hand;\nAnd roll\u2019d, with limbs relax\u2019d, along the land.\nBy Glaucus\u2019 spear the bold Iphinous bleeds,\nFix\u2019d in the shoulder as he mounts his steeds;\nHeadlong he tumbles: his slack nerves unbound,\nDrop the cold useless members on the ground.\n\nWhen now Minerva saw her Argives slain,\nFrom vast Olympus to the gleaming plain\nFierce she descends: Apollo marked her flight,\nNor shot less swift from Ilion\u2019s towery height.\nRadiant they met, beneath the beechen shade;\nWhen thus Apollo to the blue-eyed maid:\n\n\u201cWhat cause, O daughter of Almighty Jove!\nThus wings thy progress from the realms above?\nOnce more impetuous dost thou bend thy way,\nTo give to Greece the long divided day?\nToo much has Troy already felt thy hate,\nNow breathe thy rage, and hush the stern debate;\nThis day, the business of the field suspend;\nWar soon shall kindle, and great Ilion bend;\nSince vengeful goddesses confederate join\nTo raze her walls, though built by hands divine.\u201d\n\nTo whom the progeny of Jove replies:\n\u201cI left, for this, the council of the skies:\nBut who shall bid conflicting hosts forbear,\nWhat art shall calm the furious sons of war?\u201d\nTo her the god: \u201cGreat Hector\u2019s soul incite\nTo dare the boldest Greek to single fight,\nTill Greece, provoked, from all her numbers show\nA warrior worthy to be Hector\u2019s foe.\u201d\n\nAt this agreed, the heavenly powers withdrew;\nSage Helenus their secret counsels knew;\nHector, inspired, he sought: to him address\u2019d,\nThus told the dictates of his sacred breast:\n\u201cO son of Priam! let thy faithful ear\nReceive my words: thy friend and brother hear!\nGo forth persuasive, and a while engage\nThe warring nations to suspend their rage;\nThen dare the boldest of the hostile train\nTo mortal combat on the listed plain.\nFor not this day shall end thy glorious date;\nThe gods have spoke it, and their voice is fate.\u201d\n\nHe said: the warrior heard the word with joy;\nThen with his spear restrain\u2019d the youth of Troy,\nHeld by the midst athwart. On either hand\nThe squadrons part; the expecting Trojans stand;\nGreat Agamemnon bids the Greeks forbear:\nThey breathe, and hush the tumult of the war.\nThe Athenian maid,[178] and glorious god of day,\nWith silent joy the settling hosts survey:\nIn form of vultures, on the beech\u2019s height\nThey sit conceal\u2019d, and wait the future fight.\n\nThe thronging troops obscure the dusky fields,\nHorrid with bristling spears, and gleaming shields.\nAs when a general darkness veils the main,\n(Soft Zephyr curling the wide wat\u2019ry plain,)\nThe waves scarce heave, the face of ocean sleeps,\nAnd a still horror saddens all the deeps;\nThus in thick orders settling wide around,\nAt length composed they sit, and shade the ground.\nGreat Hector first amidst both armies broke\nThe solemn silence, and their powers bespoke:\n\n\u201cHear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands,\nWhat my soul prompts, and what some god commands.\nGreat Jove, averse our warfare to compose,\nO\u2019erwhelms the nations with new toils and woes;\nWar with a fiercer tide once more returns,\nTill Ilion falls, or till yon navy burns.\nYou then, O princes of the Greeks! appear;\n\u2019Tis Hector speaks, and calls the gods to hear:\nFrom all your troops select the boldest knight,\nAnd him, the boldest, Hector dares to fight.\nHere if I fall, by chance of battle slain,\nBe his my spoil, and his these arms remain;\nBut let my body, to my friends return\u2019d,\nBy Trojan hands and Trojan flames be burn\u2019d.\nAnd if Apollo, in whose aid I trust,\nShall stretch your daring champion in the dust;\nIf mine the glory to despoil the foe;\nOn Ph\u0153bus\u2019 temple I\u2019ll his arms bestow:\nThe breathless carcase to your navy sent,\nGreece on the shore shall raise a monument;\nWhich when some future mariner surveys,\nWash\u2019d by broad Hellespont\u2019s resounding seas,\nThus shall he say, \u2018A valiant Greek lies there,\nBy Hector slain, the mighty man of war,\u2019\nThe stone shall tell your vanquish\u2019d hero\u2019s name\nAnd distant ages learn the victor\u2019s fame.\u201d\n\nThis fierce defiance Greece astonish\u2019d heard,\nBlush\u2019d to refuse, and to accept it fear\u2019d.\nStern Menelaus first the silence broke,\nAnd, inly groaning, thus opprobrious spoke:\n\n\u201cWomen of Greece! O scandal of your race,\nWhose coward souls your manly form disgrace,\nHow great the shame, when every age shall know\nThat not a Grecian met this noble foe!\nGo then! resolve to earth, from whence ye grew,\nA heartless, spiritless, inglorious crew!\nBe what ye seem, unanimated clay,\nMyself will dare the danger of the day;\n\u2019Tis man\u2019s bold task the generous strife to try,\nBut in the hands of God is victory.\u201d\n\nThese words scarce spoke, with generous ardour press\u2019d,\nHis manly limbs in azure arms he dress\u2019d.\nThat day, Atrides! a superior hand\nHad stretch\u2019d thee breathless on the hostile strand;\nBut all at once, thy fury to compose,\nThe kings of Greece, an awful band, arose;\nEven he their chief, great Agamemnon, press\u2019d\nThy daring hand, and this advice address\u2019d:\n\u201cWhither, O Menelaus! wouldst thou run,\nAnd tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun?\nGrieved though thou art, forbear the rash design;\nGreat Hector\u2019s arm is mightier far than thine:\nEven fierce Achilles learn\u2019d its force to fear,\nAnd trembling met this dreadful son of war.\nSit thou secure, amidst thy social band;\nGreece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand.\nThe mightiest warrior of the Achaian name,\nThough bold and burning with desire of fame,\nContent the doubtful honour might forego,\nSo great the danger, and so brave the foe.\u201d\n\nHe said, and turn\u2019d his brother\u2019s vengeful mind;\nHe stoop\u2019d to reason, and his rage resign\u2019d,\nNo longer bent to rush on certain harms;\nHis joyful friends unbrace his azure arms.\n\nHe from whose lips divine persuasion flows,\nGrave Nestor, then, in graceful act arose;\nThus to the kings he spoke: \u201cWhat grief, what shame\nAttend on Greece, and all the Grecian name!\nHow shall, alas! her hoary heroes mourn\nTheir sons degenerate, and their race a scorn!\nWhat tears shall down thy silvery beard be roll\u2019d,\nO Peleus, old in arms, in wisdom old!\nOnce with what joy the generous prince would hear\nOf every chief who fought this glorious war,\nParticipate their fame, and pleased inquire\nEach name, each action, and each hero\u2019s sire!\nGods! should he see our warriors trembling stand,\nAnd trembling all before one hostile hand;\nHow would he lift his aged arms on high,\nLament inglorious Greece, and beg to die!\nOh! would to all the immortal powers above,\nMinerva, Ph\u0153bus, and almighty Jove!\nYears might again roll back, my youth renew,\nAnd give this arm the spring which once it knew\nWhen fierce in war, where Jardan\u2019s waters fall,\nI led my troops to Phea\u2019s trembling wall,\nAnd with the Arcadian spears my prowess tried,\nWhere Celadon rolls down his rapid tide.[179]\nThere Ereuthalion braved us in the field,\nProud Areithous\u2019 dreadful arms to wield;\nGreat Areithous, known from shore to shore\nBy the huge, knotted, iron mace he bore;\nNo lance he shook, nor bent the twanging bow,\nBut broke, with this, the battle of the foe.\nHim not by manly force Lycurgus slew,\nWhose guileful javelin from the thicket flew,\nDeep in a winding way his breast assailed,\nNor aught the warrior\u2019s thundering mace avail\u2019d.\nSupine he fell: those arms which Mars before\nHad given the vanquish\u2019d, now the victor bore:\nBut when old age had dimm\u2019d Lycurgus\u2019 eyes,\nTo Ereuthalion he consign\u2019d the prize.\nFurious with this he crush\u2019d our levell\u2019d bands,\nAnd dared the trial of the strongest hands;\nNor could the strongest hands his fury stay:\nAll saw, and fear\u2019d, his huge tempestuous sway\nTill I, the youngest of the host, appear\u2019d,\nAnd, youngest, met whom all our army fear\u2019d.\nI fought the chief: my arms Minerva crown\u2019d:\nProne fell the giant o\u2019er a length of ground.\nWhat then I was, O were your Nestor now!\nNot Hector\u2019s self should want an equal foe.\nBut, warriors, you that youthful vigour boast,\nThe flower of Greece, the examples of our host,\nSprung from such fathers, who such numbers sway,\nCan you stand trembling, and desert the day?\u201d\n\nHis warm reproofs the listening kings inflame;\nAnd nine, the noblest of the Grecian name,\nUp-started fierce: but far before the rest\nThe king of men advanced his dauntless breast:\nThen bold Tydides, great in arms, appear\u2019d;\nAnd next his bulk gigantic Ajax rear\u2019d;\nO\u00efleus follow\u2019d; Idomen was there,[180]\nAnd Merion, dreadful as the god of war:\nWith these Eurypylus and Thoas stand,\nAnd wise Ulysses closed the daring band.\nAll these, alike inspired with noble rage,\nDemand the fight. To whom the Pylian sage:\n\n\u201cLest thirst of glory your brave souls divide,\nWhat chief shall combat, let the gods decide.\nWhom heaven shall choose, be his the chance to raise\nHis country\u2019s fame, his own immortal praise.\u201d\n\nThe lots produced, each hero signs his own:\nThen in the general\u2019s helm the fates are thrown,[181]\nThe people pray, with lifted eyes and hands,\nAnd vows like these ascend from all the bands:\n\u201cGrant, thou Almighty! in whose hand is fate,\nA worthy champion for the Grecian state:\nThis task let Ajax or Tydides prove,\nOr he, the king of kings, beloved by Jove.\u201d\nOld Nestor shook the casque. By heaven inspired,\nLeap\u2019d forth the lot, of every Greek desired.\nThis from the right to left the herald bears,\nHeld out in order to the Grecian peers;\nEach to his rival yields the mark unknown,\nTill godlike Ajax finds the lot his own;\nSurveys the inscription with rejoicing eyes,\nThen casts before him, and with transport cries:\n\n\u201cWarriors! I claim the lot, and arm with joy;\nBe mine the conquest of this chief of Troy.\nNow while my brightest arms my limbs invest,\nTo Saturn\u2019s son be all your vows address\u2019d:\nBut pray in secret, lest the foes should hear,\nAnd deem your prayers the mean effect of fear.\nSaid I in secret? No, your vows declare\nIn such a voice as fills the earth and air,\nLives there a chief whom Ajax ought to dread?\nAjax, in all the toils of battle bred!\nFrom warlike Salamis I drew my birth,\nAnd, born to combats, fear no force on earth.\u201d\n\nHe said. The troops with elevated eyes,\nImplore the god whose thunder rends the skies:\n\u201cO father of mankind, superior lord!\nOn lofty Ida\u2019s holy hill adored:\nWho in the highest heaven hast fix\u2019d thy throne,\nSupreme of gods! unbounded and alone:\nGrant thou, that Telamon may bear away\nThe praise and conquest of this doubtful day;\nOr, if illustrious Hector be thy care,\nThat both may claim it, and that both may share.\u201d\n\nNow Ajax braced his dazzling armour on;\nSheathed in bright steel the giant-warrior shone:\nHe moves to combat with majestic pace;\nSo stalks in arms the grisly god of Thrace,[182]\nWhen Jove to punish faithless men prepares,\nAnd gives whole nations to the waste of wars,\nThus march\u2019d the chief, tremendous as a god;\nGrimly he smiled; earth trembled as he strode:[183]\nHis massy javelin quivering in his hand,\nHe stood, the bulwark of the Grecian band.\nThrough every Argive heart new transport ran;\nAll Troy stood trembling at the mighty man:\nEven Hector paused; and with new doubt oppress\u2019d,\nFelt his great heart suspended in his breast:\n\u2019Twas vain to seek retreat, and vain to fear;\nHimself had challenged, and the foe drew near.\n\nStern Telamon behind his ample shield,\nAs from a brazen tower, o\u2019erlook\u2019d the field.\nHuge was its orb, with seven thick folds o\u2019ercast,\nOf tough bull-hides; of solid brass the last,\n(The work of Tychius, who in Hyl\u00e8 dwell\u2019d\nAnd in all arts of armoury excell\u2019d,)\nThis Ajax bore before his manly breast,\nAnd, threatening, thus his adverse chief address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cHector! approach my arm, and singly know\nWhat strength thou hast, and what the Grecian foe.\nAchilles shuns the fight; yet some there are,\nNot void of soul, and not unskill\u2019d in war:\nLet him, unactive on the sea-beat shore,\nIndulge his wrath, and aid our arms no more;\nWhole troops of heroes Greece has yet to boast,\nAnd sends thee one, a sample of her host,\nSuch as I am, I come to prove thy might;\nNo more\u2014be sudden, and begin the fight.\u201d\n\n\u201cO son of Telamon, thy country\u2019s pride!\n(To Ajax thus the Trojan prince replied)\nMe, as a boy, or woman, wouldst thou fright,\nNew to the field, and trembling at the fight?\nThou meet\u2019st a chief deserving of thy arms,\nTo combat born, and bred amidst alarms:\nI know to shift my ground, remount the car,\nTurn, charge, and answer every call of war;\nTo right, to left, the dexterous lance I wield,\nAnd bear thick battle on my sounding shield;\nBut open be our fight, and bold each blow;\nI steal no conquest from a noble foe.\u201d\n\nHe said, and rising, high above the field\nWhirl\u2019d the long lance against the sevenfold shield.\nFull on the brass descending from above\nThrough six bull-hides the furious weapon drove,\nTill in the seventh it fix\u2019d. Then Ajax threw;\nThrough Hector\u2019s shield the forceful javelin flew,\nHis corslet enters, and his garment rends,\nAnd glancing downwards, near his flank descends.\nThe wary Trojan shrinks, and bending low\nBeneath his buckler, disappoints the blow.\nFrom their bored shields the chiefs their javelins drew,\nThen close impetuous, and the charge renew;\nFierce as the mountain-lions bathed in blood,\nOr foaming boars, the terror of the wood.\nAt Ajax, Hector his long lance extends;\nThe blunted point against the buckler bends;\nBut Ajax, watchful as his foe drew near,\nDrove through the Trojan targe the knotty spear;\nIt reach\u2019d his neck, with matchless strength impell\u2019d!\nSpouts the black gore, and dims his shining shield.\nYet ceased not Hector thus; but stooping down,\nIn his strong hand up-heaved a flinty stone,\nBlack, craggy, vast: to this his force he bends;\nFull on the brazen boss the stone descends;\nThe hollow brass resounded with the shock:\nThen Ajax seized the fragment of a rock,\nApplied each nerve, and swinging round on high,\nWith force tempestuous, let the ruin fly;\nThe huge stone thundering through his buckler broke:\nHis slacken\u2019d knees received the numbing stroke;\nGreat Hector falls extended on the field,\nHis bulk supporting on the shatter\u2019d shield:\nNor wanted heavenly aid: Apollo\u2019s might\nConfirm\u2019d his sinews, and restored to fight.\nAnd now both heroes their broad falchions drew\nIn flaming circles round their heads they flew;\nBut then by heralds\u2019 voice the word was given.\nThe sacred ministers of earth and heaven:\nDivine Talthybius, whom the Greeks employ,\nAnd sage Id\u00e6us on the part of Troy,\nBetween the swords their peaceful sceptres rear\u2019d;\nAnd first Id\u00e6us\u2019 awful voice was heard:\n\n\n[Illustration: ] HECTOR AND AJAX SEPARATED BY THE HERALDS\n\n\n\u201cForbear, my sons! your further force to prove,\nBoth dear to men, and both beloved of Jove.\nTo either host your matchless worth is known,\nEach sounds your praise, and war is all your own.\nBut now the Night extends her awful shade;\nThe goddess parts you; be the night obey\u2019d.\u201d[184]\n\nTo whom great Ajax his high soul express\u2019d:\n\u201cO sage! to Hector be these words address\u2019d.\nLet him, who first provoked our chiefs to fight,\nLet him demand the sanction of the night;\nIf first he ask\u2019d it, I content obey,\nAnd cease the strife when Hector shows the way.\u201d\n\n\u201cO first of Greeks! (his noble foe rejoin\u2019d)\nWhom heaven adorns, superior to thy kind,\nWith strength of body, and with worth of mind!\nNow martial law commands us to forbear;\nHereafter we shall meet in glorious war,\nSome future day shall lengthen out the strife,\nAnd let the gods decide of death or life!\nSince, then, the night extends her gloomy shade,\nAnd heaven enjoins it, be the night obey\u2019d.\nReturn, brave Ajax, to thy Grecian friends,\nAnd joy the nations whom thy arm defends;\nAs I shall glad each chief, and Trojan wife,\nWho wearies heaven with vows for Hector\u2019s life.\nBut let us, on this memorable day,\nExchange some gift: that Greece and Troy may say,\n\u2018Not hate, but glory, made these chiefs contend;\nAnd each brave foe was in his soul a friend.\u2019\u201d\n\nWith that, a sword with stars of silver graced,\nThe baldric studded, and the sheath enchased,\nHe gave the Greek. The generous Greek bestow\u2019d\nA radiant belt that rich with purple glow\u2019d.\nThen with majestic grace they quit the plain;\nThis seeks the Grecian, that the Phrygian train.\n\nThe Trojan bands returning Hector wait,\nAnd hail with joy the Champion of their state;\nEscaped great Ajax, they survey him round,\nAlive, unarm\u2019d, and vigorous from his wound;\nTo Troy\u2019s high gates the godlike man they bear\nTheir present triumph, as their late despair.\n\nBut Ajax, glorying in his hardy deed,\nThe well-arm\u2019d Greeks to Agamemnon lead.\nA steer for sacrifice the king design\u2019d,\nOf full five years, and of the nobler kind.\nThe victim falls; they strip the smoking hide,\nThe beast they quarter, and the joints divide;\nThen spread the tables, the repast prepare,\nEach takes his seat, and each receives his share.\nThe king himself (an honorary sign)\nBefore great Ajax placed the mighty chine.[185]\nWhen now the rage of hunger was removed,\nNestor, in each persuasive art approved,\nThe sage whose counsels long had sway\u2019d the rest,\nIn words like these his prudent thought express\u2019d:\n\n\u201cHow dear, O kings! this fatal day has cost,\nWhat Greeks are perish\u2019d! what a people lost!\nWhat tides of blood have drench\u2019d Scamander\u2019s shore!\nWhat crowds of heroes sunk to rise no more!\nThen hear me, chief! nor let the morrow\u2019s light\nAwake thy squadrons to new toils of fight:\nSome space at least permit the war to breathe,\nWhile we to flames our slaughter\u2019d friends bequeath,\nFrom the red field their scatter\u2019d bodies bear,\nAnd nigh the fleet a funeral structure rear;\nSo decent urns their snowy bones may keep,\nAnd pious children o\u2019er their ashes weep.\nHere, where on one promiscuous pile they blazed,\nHigh o\u2019er them all a general tomb be raised;\nNext, to secure our camp and naval powers,\nRaise an embattled wall, with lofty towers;\nFrom space to space be ample gates around,\nFor passing chariots; and a trench profound.\nSo Greece to combat shall in safety go,\nNor fear the fierce incursions of the foe.\u201d\n\u2019Twas thus the sage his wholesome counsel moved;\nThe sceptred kings of Greece his words approved.\n\nMeanwhile, convened at Priam\u2019s palace-gate,\nThe Trojan peers in nightly council sate;\nA senate void of order, as of choice:\nTheir hearts were fearful, and confused their voice.\nAntenor, rising, thus demands their ear:\n\u201cYe Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliars, hear!\n\u2019Tis heaven the counsel of my breast inspires,\nAnd I but move what every god requires:\nLet Sparta\u2019s treasures be this hour restored,\nAnd Argive Helen own her ancient lord.\nThe ties of faith, the sworn alliance, broke,\nOur impious battles the just gods provoke.\nAs this advice ye practise, or reject,\nSo hope success, or dread the dire effect.\u201d\n\nThe senior spoke and sate. To whom replied\nThe graceful husband of the Spartan bride:\n\u201cCold counsels, Trojan, may become thy years\nBut sound ungrateful in a warrior\u2019s ears:\nOld man, if void of fallacy or art,\nThy words express the purpose of thy heart,\nThou, in thy time, more sound advice hast given;\nBut wisdom has its date, assign\u2019d by heaven.\nThen hear me, princes of the Trojan name!\nTheir treasures I\u2019ll restore, but not the dame;\nMy treasures too, for peace, I will resign;\nBut be this bright possession ever mine.\u201d\n\n\u2019Twas then, the growing discord to compose,\nSlow from his seat the reverend Priam rose:\nHis godlike aspect deep attention drew:\nHe paused, and these pacific words ensue:\n\n\u201cYe Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliar bands!\nNow take refreshment as the hour demands;\nGuard well the walls, relieve the watch of night.\nTill the new sun restores the cheerful light.\nThen shall our herald, to the Atrides sent,\nBefore their ships proclaim my son\u2019s intent.\nNext let a truce be ask\u2019d, that Troy may burn\nHer slaughter\u2019d heroes, and their bones inurn;\nThat done, once more the fate of war be tried,\nAnd whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!\u201d\n\nThe monarch spoke: the warriors snatch\u2019d with haste\n(Each at his post in arms) a short repast.\nSoon as the rosy morn had waked the day,\nTo the black ships Id\u00e6us bent his way;\nThere, to the sons of Mars, in council found,\nHe raised his voice: the host stood listening round.\n\n\u201cYe sons of Atreus, and ye Greeks, give ear!\nThe words of Troy, and Troy\u2019s great monarch, hear.\nPleased may ye hear (so heaven succeed my prayers)\nWhat Paris, author of the war, declares.\nThe spoils and treasures he to Ilion bore\n(Oh had he perish\u2019d ere they touch\u2019d our shore!)\nHe proffers injured Greece: with large increase\nOf added Trojan wealth to buy the peace.\nBut to restore the beauteous bride again,\nThis Greece demands, and Troy requests in vain.\nNext, O ye chiefs! we ask a truce to burn\nOur slaughter\u2019d heroes, and their bones inurn.\nThat done, once more the fate of war be tried,\nAnd whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!\u201d\n\nThe Greeks gave ear, but none the silence broke;\nAt length Tydides rose, and rising spoke:\n\u201cOh, take not, friends! defrauded of your fame,\nTheir proffer\u2019d wealth, nor even the Spartan dame.\nLet conquest make them ours: fate shakes their wall,\nAnd Troy already totters to her fall.\u201d\n\nThe admiring chiefs, and all the Grecian name,\nWith general shouts return\u2019d him loud acclaim.\nThen thus the king of kings rejects the peace:\n\u201cHerald! in him thou hear\u2019st the voice of Greece\nFor what remains; let funeral flames be fed\nWith heroes\u2019 corps: I war not with the dead:\nGo search your slaughtered chiefs on yonder plain,\nAnd gratify the manes of the slain.\nBe witness, Jove, whose thunder rolls on high!\u201d\nHe said, and rear\u2019d his sceptre to the sky.\n\nTo sacred Troy, where all her princes lay\nTo wait the event, the herald bent his way.\nHe came, and standing in the midst, explain\u2019d\nThe peace rejected, but the truce obtain\u2019d.\nStraight to their several cares the Trojans move,\nSome search the plains, some fell the sounding grove:\nNor less the Greeks, descending on the shore,\nHew\u2019d the green forests, and the bodies bore.\nAnd now from forth the chambers of the main,\nTo shed his sacred light on earth again,\nArose the golden chariot of the day,\nAnd tipp\u2019d the mountains with a purple ray.\nIn mingled throngs the Greek and Trojan train\nThrough heaps of carnage search\u2019d the mournful plain.\nScarce could the friend his slaughter\u2019d friend explore,\nWith dust dishonour\u2019d, and deformed with gore.\nThe wounds they wash\u2019d, their pious tears they shed,\nAnd, laid along their cars, deplored the dead.\nSage Priam check\u2019d their grief: with silent haste\nThe bodies decent on the piles were placed:\nWith melting hearts the cold remains they burn\u2019d,\nAnd, sadly slow, to sacred Troy return\u2019d.\nNor less the Greeks their pious sorrows shed,\nAnd decent on the pile dispose the dead;\nThe cold remains consume with equal care;\nAnd slowly, sadly, to their fleet repair.\nNow, ere the morn had streak\u2019d with reddening light\nThe doubtful confines of the day and night,\nAbout the dying flames the Greeks appear\u2019d,\nAnd round the pile a general tomb they rear\u2019d.\nThen, to secure the camp and naval powers,\nThey raised embattled walls with lofty towers:[186]\nFrom space to space were ample gates around,\nFor passing chariots, and a trench profound\nOf large extent; and deep in earth below,\nStrong piles infix\u2019d stood adverse to the foe.\n\nSo toil\u2019d the Greeks: meanwhile the gods above,\nIn shining circle round their father Jove,\nAmazed beheld the wondrous works of man:\nThen he, whose trident shakes the earth, began:\n\n\u201cWhat mortals henceforth shall our power adore,\nOur fanes frequent, our oracles implore,\nIf the proud Grecians thus successful boast\nTheir rising bulwarks on the sea-beat coast?\nSee the long walls extending to the main,\nNo god consulted, and no victim slain!\nTheir fame shall fill the world\u2019s remotest ends,\nWide as the morn her golden beam extends;\nWhile old Laomedon\u2019s divine abodes,\nThose radiant structures raised by labouring gods,\nShall, razed and lost, in long oblivion sleep.\u201d\nThus spoke the hoary monarch of the deep.\n\nThe almighty Thunderer with a frown replies,\nThat clouds the world, and blackens half the skies:\n\u201cStrong god of ocean! thou, whose rage can make\nThe solid earth\u2019s eternal basis shake!\nWhat cause of fear from mortal works could move[187]\nThe meanest subject of our realms above?\nWhere\u2019er the sun\u2019s refulgent rays are cast,\nThy power is honour\u2019d, and thy fame shall last.\nBut yon proud work no future age shall view,\nNo trace remain where once the glory grew.\nThe sapp\u2019d foundations by thy force shall fall,\nAnd, whelm\u2019d beneath the waves, drop the huge wall:\nVast drifts of sand shall change the former shore:\nThe ruin vanish\u2019d, and the name no more.\u201d\n\nThus they in heaven: while, o\u2019er the Grecian train,\nThe rolling sun descending to the main\nBeheld the finish\u2019d work. Their bulls they slew;\nBack from the tents the savoury vapour flew.\nAnd now the fleet, arrived from Lemnos\u2019 strands,\nWith Bacchus\u2019 blessings cheered the generous bands.\nOf fragrant wines the rich Eunaeus sent\nA thousant measures to the royal tent.\n(Eunaeus, whom Hypsipyle of yore\nTo Jason, shepherd of his people, bore,)\nThe rest they purchased at their proper cost,\nAnd well the plenteous freight supplied the host:\nEach, in exchange, proportion\u2019d treasures gave;[188]\nSome, brass or iron; some, an ox, or slave.\nAll night they feast, the Greek and Trojan powers:\nThose on the fields, and these within their towers.\nBut Jove averse the signs of wrath display\u2019d,\nAnd shot red lightnings through the gloomy shade:\nHumbled they stood; pale horror seized on all,\nWhile the deep thunder shook the aerial hall.\nEach pour\u2019d to Jove before the bowl was crown\u2019d;\nAnd large libations drench\u2019d the thirsty ground:\nThen late, refresh\u2019d with sleep from toils of fight,\nEnjoy\u2019d the balmy blessings of the night.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] GREEK AMPHORA\u2014WINE VESSELS\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VIII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE SECOND BATTLE, AND THE DISTRESS OF THE GREEKS.\n\n\nJupiter assembles a council of the deities, and threatens them with the\npains of Tartarus if they assist either side: Minerva only obtains of\nhim that she may direct the Greeks by her counsels. The armies join\nbattle: Jupiter on Mount Ida weighs in his balances the fates of both,\nand affrights the Greeks with his thunders and lightnings. Nestor alone\ncontinues in the field in great danger: Diomed relieves him; whose\nexploits, and those of Hector, are excellently described. Juno\nendeavours to animate Neptune to the assistance of the Greeks, but in\nvain. The acts of Teucer, who is at length wounded by Hector, and\ncarried off. Juno and Minerva prepare to aid the Grecians, but are\nrestrained by Iris, sent from Jupiter. The night puts an end to the\nbattle. Hector continues in the field, (the Greeks being driven to\ntheir fortifications before the ships,) and gives orders to keep the\nwatch all night in the camp, to prevent the enemy from re-embarking and\nescaping by flight. They kindle fires through all the fields, and pass\nthe night under arms.\n    The time of seven and twenty days is employed from the opening of\n    the poem to the end of this book. The scene here (except of the\n    celestial machines) lies in the field towards the seashore.\n\n\nAurora now, fair daughter of the dawn,\nSprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn;\nWhen Jove convened the senate of the skies,\nWhere high Olympus\u2019 cloudy tops arise,\nThe sire of gods his awful silence broke;\nThe heavens attentive trembled as he spoke:[189]\n\n\u201cCelestial states! immortal gods! give ear,\nHear our decree, and reverence what ye hear;\nThe fix\u2019d decree which not all heaven can move;\nThou, fate! fulfil it! and, ye powers, approve!\nWhat god but enters yon forbidden field,\nWho yields assistance, or but wills to yield,\nBack to the skies with shame he shall be driven,\nGash\u2019d with dishonest wounds, the scorn of heaven;\nOr far, oh far, from steep Olympus thrown,\nLow in the dark Tartarean gulf shall groan,\nWith burning chains fix\u2019d to the brazen floors,\nAnd lock\u2019d by hell\u2019s inexorable doors;\nAs deep beneath the infernal centre hurl\u2019d,[190]\nAs from that centre to the ethereal world.\nLet him who tempts me, dread those dire abodes:\nAnd know, the Almighty is the god of gods.\nLeague all your forces, then, ye powers above,\nJoin all, and try the omnipotence of Jove.\nLet down our golden everlasting chain[191]\nWhose strong embrace holds heaven, and earth, and main\nStrive all, of mortal and immortal birth,\nTo drag, by this, the Thunderer down to earth:\nYe strive in vain! if I but stretch this hand,\nI heave the gods, the ocean, and the land;\nI fix the chain to great Olympus\u2019 height,\nAnd the vast world hangs trembling in my sight!\nFor such I reign, unbounded and above;\nAnd such are men, and gods, compared to Jove.\u201d\n\nThe all-mighty spoke, nor durst the powers reply:\nA reverend horror silenced all the sky;\nTrembling they stood before their sovereign\u2019s look;\nAt length his best-beloved, the power of wisdom, spoke:\n\n\u201cO first and greatest! God, by gods adored\nWe own thy might, our father and our lord!\nBut, ah! permit to pity human state:\nIf not to help, at least lament their fate.\nFrom fields forbidden we submiss refrain,\nWith arms unaiding mourn our Argives slain;\nYet grant my counsels still their breasts may move,\nOr all must perish in the wrath of Jove.\u201d\n\nThe cloud-compelling god her suit approved,\nAnd smiled superior on his best beloved;\nThen call\u2019d his coursers, and his chariot took;\nThe stedfast firmament beneath them shook:\nRapt by the ethereal steeds the chariot roll\u2019d;\nBrass were their hoofs, their curling manes of gold:\nOf heaven\u2019s undrossy gold the gods array,\nRefulgent, flash\u2019d intolerable day.\nHigh on the throne he shines: his coursers fly\nBetween the extended earth and starry sky.\nBut when to Ida\u2019s topmost height he came,\n(Fair nurse of fountains, and of savage game,)\nWhere o\u2019er her pointed summits proudly raised,\nHis fane breathed odours, and his altar blazed:\nThere, from his radiant car, the sacred sire\nOf gods and men released the steeds of fire:\nBlue ambient mists the immortal steeds embraced;\nHigh on the cloudy point his seat he placed;\nThence his broad eye the subject world surveys,\nThe town, and tents, and navigable seas.\n\nNow had the Grecians snatch\u2019d a short repast,\nAnd buckled on their shining arms with haste.\nTroy roused as soon; for on this dreadful day\nThe fate of fathers, wives, and infants lay.\nThe gates unfolding pour forth all their train;\nSquadrons on squadrons cloud the dusky plain:\nMen, steeds, and chariots shake the trembling ground,\nThe tumult thickens, and the skies resound;\nAnd now with shouts the shocking armies closed,\nTo lances lances, shields to shields opposed,\nHost against host with shadowy legends drew,\nThe sounding darts in iron tempests flew;\nVictors and vanquish\u2019d join promiscuous cries,\nTriumphant shouts and dying groans arise;\nWith streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed,\nAnd slaughter\u2019d heroes swell the dreadful tide.\nLong as the morning beams, increasing bright,\nO\u2019er heaven\u2019s clear azure spread the sacred light,\nCommutual death the fate of war confounds,\nEach adverse battle gored with equal wounds.\nBut when the sun the height of heaven ascends,\nThe sire of gods his golden scales suspends,[192]\nWith equal hand: in these explored the fate\nOf Greece and Troy, and poised the mighty weight:\nPress\u2019d with its load, the Grecian balance lies\nLow sunk on earth, the Trojan strikes the skies.\nThen Jove from Ida\u2019s top his horrors spreads;\nThe clouds burst dreadful o\u2019er the Grecian heads;\nThick lightnings flash; the muttering thunder rolls;\nTheir strength he withers, and unmans their souls.\nBefore his wrath the trembling hosts retire;\nThe gods in terrors, and the skies on fire.\nNor great Idomeneus that sight could bear,\nNor each stern Ajax, thunderbolts of war:\nNor he, the king of war, the alarm sustain\u2019d\nNestor alone, amidst the storm remain\u2019d.\nUnwilling he remain\u2019d, for Paris\u2019 dart\nHad pierced his courser in a mortal part;\nFix\u2019d in the forehead, where the springing mane\nCurl\u2019d o\u2019er the brow, it stung him to the brain;\nMad with his anguish, he begins to rear,\nPaw with his hoofs aloft, and lash the air.\nScarce had his falchion cut the reins, and freed\nThe encumber\u2019d chariot from the dying steed,\nWhen dreadful Hector, thundering through the war,\nPour\u2019d to the tumult on his whirling car.\nThat day had stretch\u2019d beneath his matchless hand\nThe hoary monarch of the Pylian band,\nBut Diomed beheld; from forth the crowd\nHe rush\u2019d, and on Ulysses call\u2019d aloud:\n\n\u201cWhither, oh whither does Ulysses run?\nOh, flight unworthy great Laertes\u2019 son!\nMix\u2019d with the vulgar shall thy fate be found,\nPierced in the back, a vile, dishonest wound?\nOh turn and save from Hector\u2019s direful rage\nThe glory of the Greeks, the Pylian sage.\u201d\nHis fruitless words are lost unheard in air,\nUlysses seeks the ships, and shelters there.\nBut bold Tydides to the rescue goes,\nA single warrior midst a host of foes;\nBefore the coursers with a sudden spring\nHe leap\u2019d, and anxious thus bespoke the king:\n\n\u201cGreat perils, father! wait the unequal fight;\nThese younger champions will oppress thy might.\nThy veins no more with ancient vigour glow,\nWeak is thy servant, and thy coursers slow.\nThen haste, ascend my seat, and from the car\nObserve the steeds of Tros, renown\u2019d in war.\nPractised alike to turn, to stop, to chase,\nTo dare the fight, or urge the rapid race:\nThese late obey\u2019d \u00c6neas\u2019 guiding rein;\nLeave thou thy chariot to our faithful train;\nWith these against yon Trojans will we go,\nNor shall great Hector want an equal foe;\nFierce as he is, even he may learn to fear\nThe thirsty fury of my flying spear.\u201d\n\nThus said the chief; and Nestor, skill\u2019d in war,\nApproves his counsel, and ascends the car:\nThe steeds he left, their trusty servants hold;\nEurymedon, and Sthenelus the bold:\nThe reverend charioteer directs the course,\nAnd strains his aged arm to lash the horse.\nHector they face; unknowing how to fear,\nFierce he drove on; Tydides whirl\u2019d his spear.\nThe spear with erring haste mistook its way,\nBut plunged in Eniopeus\u2019 bosom lay.\nHis opening hand in death forsakes the rein;\nThe steeds fly back: he falls, and spurns the plain.\nGreat Hector sorrows for his servant kill\u2019d,\nYet unrevenged permits to press the field;\nTill, to supply his place and rule the car,\nRose Archeptolemus, the fierce in war.\nAnd now had death and horror cover\u2019d all;[193]\nLike timorous flocks the Trojans in their wall\nInclosed had bled: but Jove with awful sound\nRoll\u2019d the big thunder o\u2019er the vast profound:\nFull in Tydides\u2019 face the lightning flew;\nThe ground before him flamed with sulphur blue;\nThe quivering steeds fell prostrate at the sight;\nAnd Nestor\u2019s trembling hand confess\u2019d his fright:\nHe dropp\u2019d the reins: and, shook with sacred dread,\nThus, turning, warn\u2019d the intrepid Diomed:\n\n\u201cO chief! too daring in thy friend\u2019s defence\nRetire advised, and urge the chariot hence.\nThis day, averse, the sovereign of the skies\nAssists great Hector, and our palm denies.\nSome other sun may see the happier hour,\nWhen Greece shall conquer by his heavenly power.\n\u2019Tis not in man his fix\u2019d decree to move:\nThe great will glory to submit to Jove.\u201d\n\n\u201cO reverend prince! (Tydides thus replies)\nThy years are awful, and thy words are wise.\nBut ah, what grief! should haughty Hector boast\nI fled inglorious to the guarded coast.\nBefore that dire disgrace shall blast my fame,\nO\u2019erwhelm me, earth; and hide a warrior\u2019s shame!\u201d\nTo whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied:[194]\n\u201cGods! can thy courage fear the Phrygian\u2019s pride?\nHector may vaunt, but who shall heed the boast?\nNot those who felt thy arm, the Dardan host,\nNor Troy, yet bleeding in her heroes lost;\nNot even a Phrygian dame, who dreads the sword\nThat laid in dust her loved, lamented lord.\u201d\nHe said, and, hasty, o\u2019er the gasping throng\nDrives the swift steeds: the chariot smokes along;\nThe shouts of Trojans thicken in the wind;\nThe storm of hissing javelins pours behind.\nThen with a voice that shakes the solid skies,\nPleased, Hector braves the warrior as he flies.\n\u201cGo, mighty hero! graced above the rest\nIn seats of council and the sumptuous feast:\nNow hope no more those honours from thy train;\nGo less than woman, in the form of man!\nTo scale our walls, to wrap our towers in flames,\nTo lead in exile the fair Phrygian dames,\nThy once proud hopes, presumptuous prince! are fled;\nThis arm shall reach thy heart, and stretch thee dead.\u201d\n\nNow fears dissuade him, and now hopes invite.\nTo stop his coursers, and to stand the fight;\nThrice turn\u2019d the chief, and thrice imperial Jove\nOn Ida\u2019s summits thunder\u2019d from above.\nGreat Hector heard; he saw the flashing light,\n(The sign of conquest,) and thus urged the fight:\n\n\u201cHear, every Trojan, Lycian, Dardan band,\nAll famed in war, and dreadful hand to hand.\nBe mindful of the wreaths your arms have won,\nYour great forefathers\u2019 glories, and your own.\nHeard ye the voice of Jove? Success and fame\nAwait on Troy, on Greece eternal shame.\nIn vain they skulk behind their boasted wall,\nWeak bulwarks; destined by this arm to fall.\nHigh o\u2019er their slighted trench our steeds shall bound,\nAnd pass victorious o\u2019er the levell\u2019d mound.\nSoon as before yon hollow ships we stand,\nFight each with flames, and toss the blazing brand;\nTill, their proud navy wrapt in smoke and fires,\nAll Greece, encompass\u2019d, in one blaze expires.\u201d\n\nFurious he said; then bending o\u2019er the yoke,\nEncouraged his proud steeds, while thus he spoke:\n\n\u201cNow, Xanthus, \u00c6thon, Lampus, urge the chase,\nAnd thou, Podargus! prove thy generous race;\nBe fleet, be fearless, this important day,\nAnd all your master\u2019s well-spent care repay.\nFor this, high-fed, in plenteous stalls ye stand,\nServed with pure wheat, and by a princess\u2019 hand;\nFor this my spouse, of great A\u00ebtion\u2019s line,\nSo oft has steep\u2019d the strengthening grain in wine.\nNow swift pursue, now thunder uncontroll\u2019d:\nGive me to seize rich Nestor\u2019s shield of gold;\nFrom Tydeus\u2019 shoulders strip the costly load,\nVulcanian arms, the labour of a god:\nThese if we gain, then victory, ye powers!\nThis night, this glorious night, the fleet is ours!\u201d\n\nThat heard, deep anguish stung Saturnia\u2019s soul;\nShe shook her throne, that shook the starry pole:\nAnd thus to Neptune: \u201cThou, whose force can make\nThe stedfast earth from her foundations shake,\nSeest thou the Greeks by fates unjust oppress\u2019d,\nNor swells thy heart in that immortal breast?\nYet \u00c6gae, Helic\u00e8, thy power obey,[195]\nAnd gifts unceasing on thine altars lay.\nWould all the deities of Greece combine,\nIn vain the gloomy Thunderer might repine:\nSole should he sit, with scarce a god to friend,\nAnd see his Trojans to the shades descend:\nSuch be the scene from his Idaean bower;\nUngrateful prospect to the sullen power!\u201d\n\nNeptune with wrath rejects the rash design:\n\u201cWhat rage, what madness, furious queen! is thine?\nI war not with the highest. All above\nSubmit and tremble at the hand of Jove.\u201d\n\nNow godlike Hector, to whose matchless might\nJove gave the glory of the destined fight,\nSquadrons on squadrons drives, and fills the fields\nWith close-ranged chariots, and with thicken\u2019d shields.\nWhere the deep trench in length extended lay,\nCompacted troops stand wedged in firm array,\nA dreadful front! they shake the brands, and threat\nWith long-destroying flames the hostile fleet.\nThe king of men, by Juno\u2019s self inspired,\nToil\u2019d through the tents, and all his army fired.\nSwift as he moved, he lifted in his hand\nHis purple robe, bright ensign of command.\nHigh on the midmost bark the king appear\u2019d:\nThere, from Ulysses\u2019 deck, his voice was heard:\nTo Ajax and Achilles reach\u2019d the sound,\nWhose distant ships the guarded navy bound.\n\u201cO Argives! shame of human race! (he cried:\nThe hollow vessels to his voice replied,)\nWhere now are all your glorious boasts of yore,\nYour hasty triumphs on the Lemnian shore?\nEach fearless hero dares a hundred foes,\nWhile the feast lasts, and while the goblet flows;\nBut who to meet one martial man is found,\nWhen the fight rages, and the flames surround?\nO mighty Jove! O sire of the distress\u2019d!\nWas ever king like me, like me oppress\u2019d?\nWith power immense, with justice arm\u2019d in vain;\nMy glory ravish\u2019d, and my people slain!\nTo thee my vows were breathed from every shore;\nWhat altar smoked not with our victims\u2019 gore?\nWith fat of bulls I fed the constant flame,\nAnd ask\u2019d destruction to the Trojan name.\nNow, gracious god! far humbler our demand;\nGive these at least to \u2019scape from Hector\u2019s hand,\nAnd save the relics of the Grecian land!\u201d\n\nThus pray\u2019d the king, and heaven\u2019s great father heard\nHis vows, in bitterness of soul preferr\u2019d:\nThe wrath appeased, by happy signs declares,\nAnd gives the people to their monarch\u2019s prayers.\nHis eagle, sacred bird of heaven! he sent,\nA fawn his talons truss\u2019d, (divine portent!)\nHigh o\u2019er the wondering hosts he soar\u2019d above,\nWho paid their vows to Panomphaean Jove;\nThen let the prey before his altar fall;\nThe Greeks beheld, and transport seized on all:\nEncouraged by the sign, the troops revive,\nAnd fierce on Troy with doubled fury drive.\nTydides first, of all the Grecian force,\nO\u2019er the broad ditch impell\u2019d his foaming horse,\nPierced the deep ranks, their strongest battle tore,\nAnd dyed his javelin red with Trojan gore.\nYoung Agelaus (Phradmon was his sire)\nWith flying coursers shunn\u2019d his dreadful ire;\nStruck through the back, the Phrygian fell oppress\u2019d;\nThe dart drove on, and issued at his breast:\nHeadlong he quits the car: his arms resound;\nHis ponderous buckler thunders on the ground.\nForth rush a tide of Greeks, the passage freed;\nThe Atridae first, the Ajaces next succeed:\nMeriones, like Mars in arms renown\u2019d,\nAnd godlike Idomen, now passed the mound;\nEvaemon\u2019s son next issues to the foe,\nAnd last young Teucer with his bended bow.\nSecure behind the Telamonian shield\nThe skilful archer wide survey\u2019d the field,\nWith every shaft some hostile victim slew,\nThen close beneath the sevenfold orb withdrew:\nThe conscious infant so, when fear alarms,\nRetires for safety to the mother\u2019s arms.\nThus Ajax guards his brother in the field,\nMoves as he moves, and turns the shining shield.\nWho first by Teucer\u2019s mortal arrows bled?\nOrsilochus; then fell Ormenus dead:\nThe godlike Lycophon next press\u2019d the plain,\nWith Chromius, Daetor, Ophelestes slain:\nBold Hamopaon breathless sunk to ground;\nThe bloody pile great Melanippus crown\u2019d.\nHeaps fell on heaps, sad trophies of his art,\nA Trojan ghost attending every dart.\nGreat Agamemnon views with joyful eye\nThe ranks grow thinner as his arrows fly:\n\u201cO youth forever dear! (the monarch cried)\nThus, always thus, thy early worth be tried;\nThy brave example shall retrieve our host,\nThy country\u2019s saviour, and thy father\u2019s boast!\nSprung from an alien\u2019s bed thy sire to grace,\nThe vigorous offspring of a stolen embrace:\nProud of his boy, he own\u2019d the generous flame,\nAnd the brave son repays his cares with fame.\nNow hear a monarch\u2019s vow: If heaven\u2019s high powers\nGive me to raze Troy\u2019s long-defended towers;\nWhatever treasures Greece for me design,\nThe next rich honorary gift be thine:\nSome golden tripod, or distinguished car,\nWith coursers dreadful in the ranks of war:\nOr some fair captive, whom thy eyes approve,\nShall recompense the warrior\u2019s toils with love.\u201d\n\nTo this the chief: \u201cWith praise the rest inspire,\nNor urge a soul already fill\u2019d with fire.\nWhat strength I have, be now in battle tried,\nTill every shaft in Phrygian blood be dyed.\nSince rallying from our wall we forced the foe,\nStill aim\u2019d at Hector have I bent my bow:\nEight forky arrows from this hand have fled,\nAnd eight bold heroes by their points lie dead:\nBut sure some god denies me to destroy\nThis fury of the field, this dog of Troy.\u201d\n\nHe said, and twang\u2019d the string. The weapon flies\nAt Hector\u2019s breast, and sings along the skies:\nHe miss\u2019d the mark; but pierced Gorgythio\u2019s heart,\nAnd drench\u2019d in royal blood the thirsty dart.\n(Fair Castianira, nymph of form divine,\nThis offspring added to king Priam\u2019s line.)\nAs full-blown poppies, overcharged with rain,[196]\nDecline the head, and drooping kiss the plain;\nSo sinks the youth: his beauteous head, depress\u2019d\nBeneath his helmet, drops upon his breast.\nAnother shaft the raging archer drew,\nThat other shaft with erring fury flew,\n(From Hector, Ph\u0153bus turn\u2019d the flying wound,)\nYet fell not dry or guiltless to the ground:\nThy breast, brave Archeptolemus! it tore,\nAnd dipp\u2019d its feathers in no vulgar gore.\nHeadlong he falls: his sudden fall alarms\nThe steeds, that startle at his sounding arms.\nHector with grief his charioteer beheld\nAll pale and breathless on the sanguine field:\nThen bids Cebriones direct the rein,\nQuits his bright car, and issues on the plain.\nDreadful he shouts: from earth a stone he took,\nAnd rush\u2019d on Teucer with the lifted rock.\nThe youth already strain\u2019d the forceful yew;\nThe shaft already to his shoulder drew;\nThe feather in his hand, just wing\u2019d for flight,\nTouch\u2019d where the neck and hollow chest unite;\nThere, where the juncture knits the channel bone,\nThe furious chief discharged the craggy stone:\nThe bow-string burst beneath the ponderous blow,\nAnd his numb\u2019d hand dismiss\u2019d his useless bow.\nHe fell: but Ajax his broad shield display\u2019d,\nAnd screen\u2019d his brother with the mighty shade;\nTill great Alaster, and Mecistheus, bore\nThe batter\u2019d archer groaning to the shore.\n\nTroy yet found grace before the Olympian sire,\nHe arm\u2019d their hands, and fill\u2019d their breasts with fire.\nThe Greeks repulsed, retreat behind their wall,\nOr in the trench on heaps confusedly fall.\nFirst of the foe, great Hector march\u2019d along,\nWith terror clothed, and more than mortal strong.\nAs the bold hound, that gives the lion chase,\nWith beating bosom, and with eager pace,\nHangs on his haunch, or fastens on his heels,\nGuards as he turns, and circles as he wheels;\nThus oft the Grecians turn\u2019d, but still they flew;\nThus following, Hector still the hindmost slew.\nWhen flying they had pass\u2019d the trench profound,\nAnd many a chief lay gasping on the ground;\nBefore the ships a desperate stand they made,\nAnd fired the troops, and called the gods to aid.\nFierce on his rattling chariot Hector came:\nHis eyes like Gorgon shot a sanguine flame\nThat wither\u2019d all their host: like Mars he stood:\nDire as the monster, dreadful as the god!\nTheir strong distress the wife of Jove survey\u2019d;\nThen pensive thus, to war\u2019s triumphant maid:\n\n\u201cO daughter of that god, whose arm can wield\nThe avenging bolt, and shake the sable shield!\nNow, in this moment of her last despair,\nShall wretched Greece no more confess our care,\nCondemn\u2019d to suffer the full force of fate,\nAnd drain the dregs of heaven\u2019s relentless hate?\nGods! shall one raging hand thus level all?\nWhat numbers fell! what numbers yet shall fall!\nWhat power divine shall Hector\u2019s wrath assuage?\nStill swells the slaughter, and still grows the rage!\u201d\n\nSo spake the imperial regent of the skies;\nTo whom the goddess with the azure eyes:\n\n\u201cLong since had Hector stain\u2019d these fields with gore,\nStretch\u2019d by some Argive on his native shore:\nBut he above, the sire of heaven, withstands,\nMocks our attempts, and slights our just demands;\nThe stubborn god, inflexible and hard,\nForgets my service and deserved reward:\nSaved I, for this, his favourite son distress\u2019d,\nBy stern Eurystheus with long labours press\u2019d?\nHe begg\u2019d, with tears he begg\u2019d, in deep dismay;\nI shot from heaven, and gave his arm the day.\nOh had my wisdom known this dire event,\nWhen to grim Pluto\u2019s gloomy gates he went;\nThe triple dog had never felt his chain,\nNor Styx been cross\u2019d, nor hell explored in vain.\nAverse to me of all his heaven of gods,\nAt Thetis\u2019 suit the partial Thunderer nods;\nTo grace her gloomy, fierce, resenting son,\nMy hopes are frustrate, and my Greeks undone.\nSome future day, perhaps, he may be moved\nTo call his blue-eyed maid his best beloved.\nHaste, launch thy chariot, through yon ranks to ride;\nMyself will arm, and thunder at thy side.\nThen, goddess! say, shall Hector glory then?\n(That terror of the Greeks, that man of men)\nWhen Juno\u2019s self, and Pallas shall appear,\nAll dreadful in the crimson walks of war!\nWhat mighty Trojan then, on yonder shore,\nExpiring, pale, and terrible no more,\nShall feast the fowls, and glut the dogs with gore?\u201d\n\nShe ceased, and Juno rein\u2019d the steeds with care:\n(Heaven\u2019s awful empress, Saturn\u2019s other heir:)\nPallas, meanwhile, her various veil unbound,\nWith flowers adorn\u2019d, with art immortal crown\u2019d;\nThe radiant robe her sacred fingers wove\nFloats in rich waves, and spreads the court of Jove.\nHer father\u2019s arms her mighty limbs invest,\nHis cuirass blazes on her ample breast.\nThe vigorous power the trembling car ascends:\nShook by her arm, the massy javelin bends:\nHuge, ponderous, strong! that when her fury burns\nProud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o\u2019erturns.\n\nSaturnia lends the lash; the coursers fly;\nSmooth glides the chariot through the liquid sky.\nHeaven\u2019s gates spontaneous open to the powers,\nHeaven\u2019s golden gates, kept by the winged Hours.\nCommission\u2019d in alternate watch they stand,\nThe sun\u2019s bright portals and the skies command;\nClose, or unfold, the eternal gates of day\nBar heaven with clouds, or roll those clouds away.\nThe sounding hinges ring, the clouds divide.\nProne down the steep of heaven their course they guide.\nBut Jove, incensed, from Ida\u2019s top survey\u2019d,\nAnd thus enjoin\u2019d the many-colour\u2019d maid.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] JUNO AND MINERVA GOING TO ASSIST THE GREEKS\n\n\n\u201cThaumantia! mount the winds, and stop their car;\nAgainst the highest who shall wage the war?\nIf furious yet they dare the vain debate,\nThus have I spoke, and what I speak is fate:\nTheir coursers crush\u2019d beneath the wheels shall lie,\nTheir car in fragments, scatter\u2019d o\u2019er the sky:\nMy lightning these rebellious shall confound,\nAnd hurl them flaming, headlong, to the ground,\nCondemn\u2019d for ten revolving years to weep\nThe wounds impress\u2019d by burning thunder deep.\nSo shall Minerva learn to fear our ire,\nNor dare to combat hers and nature\u2019s sire.\nFor Juno, headstrong and imperious still,\nShe claims some title to transgress our will.\u201d\n\nSwift as the wind, the various-colour\u2019d maid\nFrom Ida\u2019s top her golden wings display\u2019d;\nTo great Olympus\u2019 shining gate she flies,\nThere meets the chariot rushing down the skies,\nRestrains their progress from the bright abodes,\nAnd speaks the mandate of the sire of gods.\n\n\u201cWhat frenzy goddesses! what rage can move\nCelestial minds to tempt the wrath of Jove?\nDesist, obedient to his high command:\nThis is his word; and know his word shall stand:\nHis lightning your rebellion shall confound,\nAnd hurl ye headlong, flaming, to the ground;\nYour horses crush\u2019d beneath the wheels shall lie,\nYour car in fragments scatter\u2019d o\u2019er the sky;\nYourselves condemn\u2019d ten rolling years to weep\nThe wounds impress\u2019d by burning thunder deep.\nSo shall Minerva learn to fear his ire,\nNor dare to combat hers and nature\u2019s sire.\nFor Juno, headstrong and imperious still,\nShe claims some title to transgress his will:\nBut thee, what desperate insolence has driven\nTo lift thy lance against the king of heaven?\u201d\n\nThen, mounting on the pinions of the wind,\nShe flew; and Juno thus her rage resign\u2019d:\n\n\u201cO daughter of that god, whose arm can wield\nThe avenging bolt, and shake the saber shield!\nNo more let beings of superior birth\nContend with Jove for this low race of earth;\nTriumphant now, now miserably slain,\nThey breathe or perish as the fates ordain:\nBut Jove\u2019s high counsels full effect shall find;\nAnd, ever constant, ever rule mankind.\u201d\n\nShe spoke, and backward turn\u2019d her steeds of light,\nAdorn\u2019d with manes of gold, and heavenly bright.\nThe Hours unloosed them, panting as they stood,\nAnd heap\u2019d their mangers with ambrosial food.\nThere tied, they rest in high celestial stalls;\nThe chariot propp\u2019d against the crystal walls,\nThe pensive goddesses, abash\u2019d, controll\u2019d,\nMix with the gods, and fill their seats of gold.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE HOURS TAKING THE HORSES FROM JUNO\u2019S CAR\n\n\nAnd now the Thunderer meditates his flight\nFrom Ida\u2019s summits to the Olympian height.\nSwifter than thought, the wheels instinctive fly,\nFlame through the vast of air, and reach the sky.\n\u2019Twas Neptune\u2019s charge his coursers to unbrace,\nAnd fix the car on its immortal base;\nThere stood the chariot, beaming forth its rays,\nTill with a snowy veil he screen\u2019d the blaze.\nHe, whose all-conscious eyes the world behold,\nThe eternal Thunderer sat, enthroned in gold.\nHigh heaven the footstool of his feet he makes,\nAnd wide beneath him all Olympus shakes.\nTrembling afar the offending powers appear\u2019d,\nConfused and silent, for his frown they fear\u2019d.\nHe saw their soul, and thus his word imparts:\n\u201cPallas and Juno! say, why heave your hearts?\nSoon was your battle o\u2019er: proud Troy retired\nBefore your face, and in your wrath expired.\nBut know, whoe\u2019er almighty power withstand!\nUnmatch\u2019d our force, unconquer\u2019d is our hand:\nWho shall the sovereign of the skies control?\nNot all the gods that crown the starry pole.\nYour hearts shall tremble, if our arms we take,\nAnd each immortal nerve with horror shake.\nFor thus I speak, and what I speak shall stand;\nWhat power soe\u2019er provokes our lifted hand,\nOn this our hill no more shall hold his place;\nCut off, and exiled from the ethereal race.\u201d\n\nJuno and Pallas grieving hear the doom,\nBut feast their souls on Ilion\u2019s woes to come.\nThough secret anger swell\u2019d Minerva\u2019s breast,\nThe prudent goddess yet her wrath repress\u2019d;\nBut Juno, impotent of rage, replies:\n\u201cWhat hast thou said, O tyrant of the skies!\nStrength and omnipotence invest thy throne;\n\u2019Tis thine to punish; ours to grieve alone.\nFor Greece we grieve, abandon\u2019d by her fate\nTo drink the dregs of thy unmeasured hate.\nFrom fields forbidden we submiss refrain,\nWith arms unaiding see our Argives slain;\nYet grant our counsels still their breasts may move,\nLest all should perish in the rage of Jove.\u201d\n\nThe goddess thus; and thus the god replies,\nWho swells the clouds, and blackens all the skies:\n\n\u201cThe morning sun, awaked by loud alarms,\nShall see the almighty Thunderer in arms.\nWhat heaps of Argives then shall load the plain,\nThose radiant eyes shall view, and view in vain.\nNor shall great Hector cease the rage of fight,\nThe navy flaming, and thy Greeks in flight,\nEven till the day when certain fates ordain\nThat stern Achilles (his Patroclus slain)\nShall rise in vengeance, and lay waste the plain.\nFor such is fate, nor canst thou turn its course\nWith all thy rage, with all thy rebel force.\nFly, if thy wilt, to earth\u2019s remotest bound,\nWhere on her utmost verge the seas resound;\nWhere cursed Iapetus and Saturn dwell,\nFast by the brink, within the streams of hell;\nNo sun e\u2019er gilds the gloomy horrors there;\nNo cheerful gales refresh the lazy air:\nThere arm once more the bold Titanian band;\nAnd arm in vain; for what I will, shall stand.\u201d\n\nNow deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light,\nAnd drew behind the cloudy veil of night:\nThe conquering Trojans mourn his beams decay\u2019d;\nThe Greeks rejoicing bless the friendly shade.\n\nThe victors keep the field; and Hector calls\nA martial council near the navy walls;\nThese to Scamander\u2019s bank apart he led,\nWhere thinly scatter\u2019d lay the heaps of dead.\nThe assembled chiefs, descending on the ground,\nAttend his order, and their prince surround.\nA massy spear he bore of mighty strength,\nOf full ten cubits was the lance\u2019s length;\nThe point was brass, refulgent to behold,\nFix\u2019d to the wood with circling rings of gold:\nThe noble Hector on his lance reclined,\nAnd, bending forward, thus reveal\u2019d his mind:\n\n\u201cYe valiant Trojans, with attention hear!\nYe Dardan bands, and generous aids, give ear!\nThis day, we hoped, would wrap in conquering flame\nGreece with her ships, and crown our toils with fame.\nBut darkness now, to save the cowards, falls,\nAnd guards them trembling in their wooden walls.\nObey the night, and use her peaceful hours\nOur steeds to forage, and refresh our powers.\nStraight from the town be sheep and oxen sought,\nAnd strengthening bread and generous wine be brought.\nWide o\u2019er the field, high blazing to the sky,\nLet numerous fires the absent sun supply,\nThe flaming piles with plenteous fuel raise,\nTill the bright morn her purple beam displays;\nLest, in the silence and the shades of night,\nGreece on her sable ships attempt her flight.\nNot unmolested let the wretches gain\nTheir lofty decks, or safely cleave the main;\nSome hostile wound let every dart bestow,\nSome lasting token of the Phrygian foe,\nWounds, that long hence may ask their spouses\u2019 care.\nAnd warn their children from a Trojan war.\nNow through the circuit of our Ilion wall,\nLet sacred heralds sound the solemn call;\nTo bid the sires with hoary honours crown\u2019d,\nAnd beardless youths, our battlements surround.\nFirm be the guard, while distant lie our powers,\nAnd let the matrons hang with lights the towers;\nLest, under covert of the midnight shade,\nThe insidious foe the naked town invade.\nSuffice, to-night, these orders to obey;\nA nobler charge shall rouse the dawning day.\nThe gods, I trust, shall give to Hector\u2019s hand\nFrom these detested foes to free the land,\nWho plough\u2019d, with fates averse, the watery way:\nFor Trojan vultures a predestined prey.\nOur common safety must be now the care;\nBut soon as morning paints the fields of air,\nSheathed in bright arms let every troop engage,\nAnd the fired fleet behold the battle rage.\nThen, then shall Hector and Tydides prove\nWhose fates are heaviest in the scales of Jove.\nTo-morrow\u2019s light (O haste the glorious morn!)\nShall see his bloody spoils in triumph borne,\nWith this keen javelin shall his breast be gored,\nAnd prostrate heroes bleed around their lord.\nCertain as this, oh! might my days endure,\nFrom age inglorious, and black death secure;\nSo might my life and glory know no bound,\nLike Pallas worshipp\u2019d, like the sun renown\u2019d!\nAs the next dawn, the last they shall enjoy,\nShall crush the Greeks, and end the woes of Troy.\u201d\n\nThe leader spoke. From all his host around\nShouts of applause along the shores resound.\nEach from the yoke the smoking steeds untied,\nAnd fix\u2019d their headstalls to his chariot-side.\nFat sheep and oxen from the town are led,\nWith generous wine, and all-sustaining bread,\nFull hecatombs lay burning on the shore:\nThe winds to heaven the curling vapours bore.\nUngrateful offering to the immortal powers![197]\nWhose wrath hung heavy o\u2019er the Trojan towers:\nNor Priam nor his sons obtain\u2019d their grace;\nProud Troy they hated, and her guilty race.\n\nThe troops exulting sat in order round,\nAnd beaming fires illumined all the ground.\nAs when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,[198]\nO\u2019er heaven\u2019s pure azure spreads her sacred light,\nWhen not a breath disturbs the deep serene,\nAnd not a cloud o\u2019ercasts the solemn scene,\nAround her throne the vivid planets roll,\nAnd stars unnumber\u2019d gild the glowing pole,\nO\u2019er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,\nAnd tip with silver every mountain\u2019s head:\nThen shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,\nA flood of glory bursts from all the skies:\nThe conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,\nEye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.\nSo many flames before proud Ilion blaze,\nAnd lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays.\nThe long reflections of the distant fires\nGleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires.\nA thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,\nAnd shoot a shady lustre o\u2019er the field.\nFull fifty guards each flaming pile attend,\nWhose umber\u2019d arms, by fits, thick flashes send,\nLoud neigh the coursers o\u2019er their heaps of corn,\nAnd ardent warriors wait the rising morn.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IX.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES.\n\n\nAgamemnon, after the last day\u2019s defeat, proposes to the Greeks to quit\nthe siege, and return to their country. Diomed opposes this, and Nestor\nseconds him, praising his wisdom and resolution. He orders the guard to\nbe strengthened, and a council summoned to deliberate what measures are\nto be followed in this emergency. Agamemnon pursues this advice, and\nNestor further prevails upon him to send ambassadors to Achilles, in\norder to move him to a reconciliation. Ulysses and Ajax are made choice\nof, who are accompanied by old Ph\u0153nix. They make, each of them, very\nmoving and pressing speeches, but are rejected with roughness by\nAchilles, who notwithstanding retains Ph\u0153nix in his tent. The\nambassadors return unsuccessfully to the camp, and the troops betake\nthemselves to sleep.\n    This book, and the next following, take up the space of one night,\n    which is the twenty-seventh from the beginning of the poem. The\n    scene lies on the sea-shore, the station of the Grecian ships.\n\n\nThus joyful Troy maintain\u2019d the watch of night;\nWhile fear, pale comrade of inglorious flight,[199]\nAnd heaven-bred horror, on the Grecian part,\nSat on each face, and sadden\u2019d every heart.\nAs from its cloudy dungeon issuing forth,\nA double tempest of the west and north\nSwells o\u2019er the sea, from Thracia\u2019s frozen shore,\nHeaps waves on waves, and bids the \u00c6gean roar:\nThis way and that the boiling deeps are toss\u2019d:\nSuch various passions urged the troubled host,\nGreat Agamemnon grieved above the rest;\nSuperior sorrows swell\u2019d his royal breast;\nHimself his orders to the heralds bears,\nTo bid to council all the Grecian peers,\nBut bid in whispers: these surround their chief,\nIn solemn sadness and majestic grief.\nThe king amidst the mournful circle rose:\nDown his wan cheek a briny torrent flows.\nSo silent fountains, from a rock\u2019s tall head,\nIn sable streams soft-trickling waters shed.\nWith more than vulgar grief he stood oppress\u2019d;\nWords, mix\u2019d with sighs, thus bursting from his breast:\n\n\u201cYe sons of Greece! partake your leader\u2019s care;\nFellows in arms and princes of the war!\nOf partial Jove too justly we complain,\nAnd heavenly oracles believed in vain.\nA safe return was promised to our toils,\nWith conquest honour\u2019d and enrich\u2019d with spoils:\nNow shameful flight alone can save the host;\nOur wealth, our people, and our glory lost.\nSo Jove decrees, almighty lord of all!\nJove, at whose nod whole empires rise or fall,\nWho shakes the feeble props of human trust,\nAnd towers and armies humbles to the dust.\nHaste then, for ever quit these fatal fields,\nHaste to the joys our native country yields;\nSpread all your canvas, all your oars employ,\nNor hope the fall of heaven-defended Troy.\u201d\n\nHe said: deep silence held the Grecian band;\nSilent, unmov\u2019d in dire dismay they stand;\nA pensive scene! till Tydeus\u2019 warlike son\nRoll\u2019d on the king his eyes, and thus begun:\n\u201cWhen kings advise us to renounce our fame,\nFirst let him speak who first has suffer\u2019d shame.\nIf I oppose thee, prince! thy wrath withhold,\nThe laws of council bid my tongue be bold.\nThou first, and thou alone, in fields of fight,\nDurst brand my courage, and defame my might:\nNor from a friend the unkind reproach appear\u2019d,\nThe Greeks stood witness, all our army heard.\nThe gods, O chief! from whom our honours spring,\nThe gods have made thee but by halves a king:\nThey gave thee sceptres, and a wide command;\nThey gave dominion o\u2019er the seas and land;\nThe noblest power that might the world control\nThey gave thee not\u2014a brave and virtuous soul.\nIs this a general\u2019s voice, that would suggest\nFears like his own to every Grecian breast?\nConfiding in our want of worth, he stands;\nAnd if we fly, \u2019tis what our king commands.\nGo thou, inglorious! from the embattled plain;\nShips thou hast store, and nearest to the main;\nA noble care the Grecians shall employ,\nTo combat, conquer, and extirpate Troy.\nHere Greece shall stay; or, if all Greece retire,\nMyself shall stay, till Troy or I expire;\nMyself, and Sthenelus, will fight for fame;\nGod bade us fight, and \u2019twas with God we came.\u201d\n\nHe ceased; the Greeks loud acclamations raise,\nAnd voice to voice resounds Tydides\u2019 praise.\nWise Nestor then his reverend figure rear\u2019d;\nHe spoke: the host in still attention heard:[200]\n\n\u201cO truly great! in whom the gods have join\u2019d\nSuch strength of body with such force of mind:\nIn conduct, as in courage, you excel,\nStill first to act what you advise so well.\nThese wholesome counsels which thy wisdom moves,\nApplauding Greece with common voice approves.\nKings thou canst blame; a bold but prudent youth:\nAnd blame even kings with praise, because with truth.\nAnd yet those years that since thy birth have run\nWould hardly style thee Nestor\u2019s youngest son.\nThen let me add what yet remains behind,\nA thought unfinish\u2019d in that generous mind;\nAge bids me speak! nor shall the advice I bring\nDistaste the people, or offend the king:\n\n\u201cCursed is the man, and void of law and right,\nUnworthy property, unworthy light,\nUnfit for public rule, or private care,\nThat wretch, that monster, who delights in war;\nWhose lust is murder, and whose horrid joy,\nTo tear his country, and his kind destroy!\nThis night, refresh and fortify thy train;\nBetween the trench and wall let guards remain:\nBe that the duty of the young and bold;\nBut thou, O king, to council call the old;\nGreat is thy sway, and weighty are thy cares;\nThy high commands must spirit all our wars.\nWith Thracian wines recruit thy honour\u2019d guests,\nFor happy counsels flow from sober feasts.\nWise, weighty counsels aid a state distress\u2019d,\nAnd such a monarch as can choose the best.\nSee what a blaze from hostile tents aspires,\nHow near our fleet approach the Trojan fires!\nWho can, unmoved, behold the dreadful light?\nWhat eye beholds them, and can close to-night?\nThis dreadful interval determines all;\nTo-morrow, Troy must flame, or Greece must fall.\u201d\n\nThus spoke the hoary sage: the rest obey;\nSwift through the gates the guards direct their way.\nHis son was first to pass the lofty mound,\nThe generous Thrasymed, in arms renown\u2019d:\nNext him, Ascalaphus, I\u00e4lmen, stood,\nThe double offspring of the warrior-god:\nDeipyrus, Aphareus, Merion join,\nAnd Lycomed of Creon\u2019s noble line.\nSeven were the leaders of the nightly bands,\nAnd each bold chief a hundred spears commands.\nThe fires they light, to short repasts they fall,\nSome line the trench, and others man the wall.\n\nThe king of men, on public counsels bent,\nConvened the princes in his ample tent,\nEach seized a portion of the kingly feast,\nBut stay\u2019d his hand when thirst and hunger ceased.\nThen Nestor spoke, for wisdom long approved,\nAnd slowly rising, thus the council moved.\n\n\u201cMonarch of nations! whose superior sway\nAssembled states, and lords of earth obey,\nThe laws and sceptres to thy hand are given,\nAnd millions own the care of thee and Heaven.\nO king! the counsels of my age attend;\nWith thee my cares begin, with thee must end.\nThee, prince! it fits alike to speak and hear,\nPronounce with judgment, with regard give ear,\nTo see no wholesome motion be withstood,\nAnd ratify the best for public good.\nNor, though a meaner give advice, repine,\nBut follow it, and make the wisdom thine.\nHear then a thought, not now conceived in haste,\nAt once my present judgment and my past.\nWhen from Pelides\u2019 tent you forced the maid,\nI first opposed, and faithful, durst dissuade;\nBut bold of soul, when headlong fury fired,\nYou wronged the man, by men and gods admired:\nNow seek some means his fatal wrath to end,\nWith prayers to move him, or with gifts to bend.\u201d\n\nTo whom the king. \u201cWith justice hast thou shown\nA prince\u2019s faults, and I with reason own.\nThat happy man, whom Jove still honours most,\nIs more than armies, and himself a host.\nBless\u2019d in his love, this wondrous hero stands;\nHeaven fights his war, and humbles all our bands.\nFain would my heart, which err\u2019d through frantic rage,\nThe wrathful chief and angry gods assuage.\nIf gifts immense his mighty soul can bow,[201]\nHear, all ye Greeks, and witness what I vow.\nTen weighty talents of the purest gold,\nAnd twice ten vases of refulgent mould:\nSeven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame\nYet knows no office, nor has felt the flame;\nTwelve steeds unmatch\u2019d in fleetness and in force,\nAnd still victorious in the dusty course;\n(Rich were the man whose ample stores exceed\nThe prizes purchased by their winged speed;)\nSeven lovely captives of the Lesbian line,\nSkill\u2019d in each art, unmatch\u2019d in form divine,\nThe same I chose for more than vulgar charms,\nWhen Lesbos sank beneath the hero\u2019s arms:\nAll these, to buy his friendship, shall be paid,\nAnd join\u2019d with these the long-contested maid;\nWith all her charms, Brise\u00efs I resign,\nAnd solemn swear those charms were never mine;\nUntouch\u2019d she stay\u2019d, uninjured she removes,\nPure from my arms, and guiltless of my loves,[202]\nThese instant shall be his; and if the powers\nGive to our arms proud Ilion\u2019s hostile towers,\nThen shall he store (when Greece the spoil divides)\nWith gold and brass his loaded navy\u2019s sides:\nBesides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race\nWith copious love shall crown his warm embrace,\nSuch as himself will choose; who yield to none,\nOr yield to Helen\u2019s heavenly charms alone.\nYet hear me further: when our wars are o\u2019er,\nIf safe we land on Argos\u2019 fruitful shore,\nThere shall he live my son, our honours share,\nAnd with Orestes\u2019 self divide my care.\nYet more\u2014three daughters in my court are bred,\nAnd each well worthy of a royal bed;\nLaodice and Iphigenia fair,[203]\nAnd bright Chrysothemis with golden hair;\nHer let him choose whom most his eyes approve,\nI ask no presents, no reward for love:\nMyself will give the dower; so vast a store\nAs never father gave a child before.\nSeven ample cities shall confess his sway,\nHim Enope, and Pher\u00e6 him obey,\nCardamyle with ample turrets crown\u2019d,\nAnd sacred Pedasus for vines renown\u2019d;\n\u00c6pea fair, the pastures Hira yields,\nAnd rich Antheia with her flowery fields:[204]\nThe whole extent to Pylos\u2019 sandy plain,\nAlong the verdant margin of the main.\nThere heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil;\nBold are the men, and generous is the soil;\nThere shall he reign, with power and justice crown\u2019d,\nAnd rule the tributary realms around.\nAll this I give, his vengeance to control,\nAnd sure all this may move his mighty soul.\nPluto, the grisly god, who never spares,\nWho feels no mercy, and who hears no prayers,\nLives dark and dreadful in deep hell\u2019s abodes,\nAnd mortals hate him, as the worst of gods.\nGreat though he be, it fits him to obey,\nSince more than his my years, and more my sway.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] PLUTO\n\n\nThe monarch thus. The reverend Nestor then:\n\u201cGreat Agamemnon! glorious king of men!\nSuch are thy offers as a prince may take,\nAnd such as fits a generous king to make.\nLet chosen delegates this hour be sent\n(Myself will name them) to Pelides\u2019 tent.\nLet Ph\u0153nix lead, revered for hoary age,\nGreat Ajax next, and Ithacus the sage.\nYet more to sanctify the word you send,\nLet Hodius and Eurybates attend.\nNow pray to Jove to grant what Greece demands;\nPray in deep silence,[205] and with purest hands.\u201d[206]\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES\n\n\nHe said; and all approved. The heralds bring\nThe cleansing water from the living spring.\nThe youth with wine the sacred goblets crown\u2019d,\nAnd large libations drench\u2019d the sands around.\nThe rite perform\u2019d, the chiefs their thirst allay,\nThen from the royal tent they take their way;\nWise Nestor turns on each his careful eye,\nForbids to offend, instructs them to apply;\nMuch he advised them all, Ulysses most,\nTo deprecate the chief, and save the host.\nThrough the still night they march, and hear the roar\nOf murmuring billows on the sounding shore.\nTo Neptune, ruler of the seas profound,\nWhose liquid arms the mighty globe surround,\nThey pour forth vows, their embassy to bless,\nAnd calm the rage of stern \u00c6acides.\nAnd now, arrived, where on the sandy bay\nThe Myrmidonian tents and vessels lay;\nAmused at ease, the godlike man they found,\nPleased with the solemn harp\u2019s harmonious sound.\n(The well wrought harp from conquered Thebae came;\nOf polish\u2019d silver was its costly frame.)\nWith this he soothes his angry soul, and sings\nThe immortal deeds of heroes and of kings.\nPatroclus only of the royal train,\nPlaced in his tent, attends the lofty strain:\nFull opposite he sat, and listen\u2019d long,\nIn silence waiting till he ceased the song.\nUnseen the Grecian embassy proceeds\nTo his high tent; the great Ulysses leads.\nAchilles starting, as the chiefs he spied,\nLeap\u2019d from his seat, and laid the harp aside.\nWith like surprise arose Menoetius\u2019 son:\nPelides grasp\u2019d their hands, and thus begun:\n\n\u201cPrinces, all hail! whatever brought you here.\nOr strong necessity, or urgent fear;\nWelcome, though Greeks! for not as foes ye came;\nTo me more dear than all that bear the name.\u201d\n\nWith that, the chiefs beneath his roof he led,\nAnd placed in seats with purple carpets spread.\nThen thus\u2014\u201cPatroclus, crown a larger bowl,\nMix purer wine, and open every soul.\nOf all the warriors yonder host can send,\nThy friend most honours these, and these thy friend.\u201d\n\nHe said: Patroclus o\u2019er the blazing fire\nHeaps in a brazen vase three chines entire:\nThe brazen vase Automedon sustains,\nWhich flesh of porker, sheep, and goat contains.\nAchilles at the genial feast presides,\nThe parts transfixes, and with skill divides.\nMeanwhile Patroclus sweats, the fire to raise;\nThe tent is brighten\u2019d with the rising blaze:\nThen, when the languid flames at length subside,\nHe strows a bed of glowing embers wide,\nAbove the coals the smoking fragments turns\nAnd sprinkles sacred salt from lifted urns;\nWith bread the glittering canisters they load,\nWhich round the board Menoetius\u2019 son bestow\u2019d;\nHimself, opposed to Ulysses full in sight,\nEach portion parts, and orders every rite.\nThe first fat offering to the immortals due,\nAmidst the greedy flames Patroclus threw;\nThen each, indulging in the social feast,\nHis thirst and hunger soberly repress\u2019d.\nThat done, to Ph\u0153nix Ajax gave the sign:\nNot unperceived; Ulysses crown\u2019d with wine\nThe foaming bowl, and instant thus began,\nHis speech addressing to the godlike man.\n\n\u201cHealth to Achilles! happy are thy guests!\nNot those more honour\u2019d whom Atrides feasts:\nThough generous plenty crown thy loaded boards,\nThat, Agamemnon\u2019s regal tent affords;\nBut greater cares sit heavy on our souls,\nNor eased by banquets or by flowing bowls.\nWhat scenes of slaughter in yon fields appear!\nThe dead we mourn, and for the living fear;\nGreece on the brink of fate all doubtful stands,\nAnd owns no help but from thy saving hands:\nTroy and her aids for ready vengeance call;\nTheir threatening tents already shade our wall:\nHear how with shouts their conquest they proclaim,\nAnd point at every ship their vengeful flame!\nFor them the father of the gods declares,\nTheirs are his omens, and his thunder theirs.\nSee, full of Jove, avenging Hector rise!\nSee! heaven and earth the raging chief defies;\nWhat fury in his breast, what lightning in his eyes!\nHe waits but for the morn, to sink in flame\nThe ships, the Greeks, and all the Grecian name.\nHeavens! how my country\u2019s woes distract my mind,\nLest Fate accomplish all his rage design\u2019d!\nAnd must we, gods! our heads inglorious lay\nIn Trojan dust, and this the fatal day?\nReturn, Achilles: oh return, though late,\nTo save thy Greeks, and stop the course of Fate;\nIf in that heart or grief or courage lies,\nRise to redeem; ah, yet to conquer, rise!\nThe day may come, when, all our warriors slain,\nThat heart shall melt, that courage rise in vain:\nRegard in time, O prince divinely brave!\nThose wholesome counsels which thy father gave.\nWhen Peleus in his aged arms embraced\nHis parting son, these accents were his last:\n\n\u201c\u2018My child! with strength, with glory, and success,\nThy arms may Juno and Minerva bless!\nTrust that to Heaven: but thou, thy cares engage\nTo calm thy passions, and subdue thy rage:\nFrom gentler manners let thy glory grow,\nAnd shun contention, the sure source of woe;\nThat young and old may in thy praise combine,\nThe virtues of humanity be thine\u2014\u2019\nThis now-despised advice thy father gave;\nAh! check thy anger; and be truly brave.\nIf thou wilt yield to great Atrides\u2019 prayers,\nGifts worthy thee his royal hand prepares;\nIf not\u2014but hear me, while I number o\u2019er\nThe proffer\u2019d presents, an exhaustless store.\nTen weighty talents of the purest gold,\nAnd twice ten vases of refulgent mould;\nSeven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame\nYet knows no office, nor has felt the flame;\nTwelve steeds unmatched in fleetness and in force,\nAnd still victorious in the dusty course;\n(Rich were the man, whose ample stores exceed\nThe prizes purchased by their winged speed;)\nSeven lovely captives of the Lesbian line,\nSkill\u2019d in each art, unmatch\u2019d in form divine,\nThe same he chose for more than vulgar charms,\nWhen Lesbos sank beneath thy conquering arms.\nAll these, to buy thy friendship shall be paid,\nAnd, join\u2019d with these, the long-contested maid;\nWith all her charms, Brise\u00efs he\u2019ll resign,\nAnd solemn swear those charms were only thine;\nUntouch\u2019d she stay\u2019d, uninjured she removes,\nPure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves.\nThese instant shall be thine; and if the powers\nGive to our arms proud Ilion\u2019s hostile towers,\nThen shalt thou store (when Greece the spoil divides)\nWith gold and brass thy loaded navy\u2019s sides.\nBesides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race\nWith copious love shall crown thy warm embrace;\nSuch as thyself shall chose; who yield to none,\nOr yield to Helen\u2019s heavenly charms alone.\nYet hear me further: when our wars are o\u2019er,\nIf safe we land on Argos\u2019 fruitful shore,\nThere shalt thou live his son, his honour share,\nAnd with Orestes\u2019 self divide his care.\nYet more\u2014three daughters in his court are bred,\nAnd each well worthy of a royal bed:\nLaodice and Iphigenia fair,\nAnd bright Chrysothemis with golden hair:\nHer shalt thou wed whom most thy eyes approve;\nHe asks no presents, no reward for love:\nHimself will give the dower; so vast a store\nAs never father gave a child before.\nSeven ample cities shall confess thy sway,\nThe Enope and Pher\u00e6 thee obey,\nCardamyle with ample turrets crown\u2019d,\nAnd sacred Pedasus, for vines renown\u2019d:\n\u00c6pea fair, the pastures Hira yields,\nAnd rich Antheia with her flowery fields;\nThe whole extent to Pylos\u2019 sandy plain,\nAlong the verdant margin of the main.\nThere heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil;\nBold are the men, and generous is the soil.\nThere shalt thou reign, with power and justice crown\u2019d,\nAnd rule the tributary realms around.\nSuch are the proffers which this day we bring,\nSuch the repentance of a suppliant king.\nBut if all this, relentless, thou disdain,\nIf honour and if interest plead in vain,\nYet some redress to suppliant Greece afford,\nAnd be, amongst her guardian gods, adored.\nIf no regard thy suffering country claim,\nHear thy own glory, and the voice of fame:\nFor now that chief, whose unresisted ire\nMade nations tremble, and whole hosts retire,\nProud Hector, now, the unequal fight demands,\nAnd only triumphs to deserve thy hands.\u201d\n\nThen thus the goddess-born: \u201cUlysses, hear\nA faithful speech, that knows nor art nor fear;\nWhat in my secret soul is understood,\nMy tongue shall utter, and my deeds make good.\nLet Greece then know, my purpose I retain:\nNor with new treaties vex my peace in vain.\nWho dares think one thing, and another tell,\nMy heart detests him as the gates of hell.\n\n\u201cThen thus in short my fix\u2019d resolves attend,\nWhich nor Atrides nor his Greeks can bend;\nLong toils, long perils in their cause I bore,\nBut now the unfruitful glories charm no more.\nFight or not fight, a like reward we claim,\nThe wretch and hero find their prize the same.\nAlike regretted in the dust he lies,\nWho yields ignobly, or who bravely dies.\nOf all my dangers, all my glorious pains,\nA life of labours, lo! what fruit remains?\nAs the bold bird her helpless young attends,\nFrom danger guards them, and from want defends;\nIn search of prey she wings the spacious air,\nAnd with the untasted food supplies her care:\nFor thankless Greece such hardships have I braved,\nHer wives, her infants, by my labours saved;\nLong sleepless nights in heavy arms I stood,\nAnd sweat laborious days in dust and blood.\nI sack\u2019d twelve ample cities on the main,[207]\nAnd twelve lay smoking on the Trojan plain:\nThen at Atrides\u2019 haughty feet were laid\nThe wealth I gathered, and the spoils I made.\nYour mighty monarch these in peace possess\u2019d;\nSome few my soldiers had, himself the rest.\nSome present, too, to every prince was paid;\nAnd every prince enjoys the gift he made:\nI only must refund, of all his train;\nSee what pre-eminence our merits gain!\nMy spoil alone his greedy soul delights:\nMy spouse alone must bless his lustful nights:\nThe woman, let him (as he may) enjoy;\nBut what\u2019s the quarrel, then, of Greece to Troy?\nWhat to these shores the assembled nations draws,\nWhat calls for vengeance but a woman\u2019s cause?\nAre fair endowments and a beauteous face\nBeloved by none but those of Atreus\u2019 race?\nThe wife whom choice and passion doth approve,\nSure every wise and worthy man will love.\nNor did my fair one less distinction claim;\nSlave as she was, my soul adored the dame.\nWrong\u2019d in my love, all proffers I disdain;\nDeceived for once, I trust not kings again.\nYe have my answer\u2014what remains to do,\nYour king, Ulysses, may consult with you.\nWhat needs he the defence this arm can make?\nHas he not walls no human force can shake?\nHas he not fenced his guarded navy round\nWith piles, with ramparts, and a trench profound?\nAnd will not these (the wonders he has done)\nRepel the rage of Priam\u2019s single son?\nThere was a time (\u2019twas when for Greece I fought)\nWhen Hector\u2019s prowess no such wonders wrought;\nHe kept the verge of Troy, nor dared to wait\nAchilles\u2019 fury at the Sc\u00e6an gate;\nHe tried it once, and scarce was saved by fate.\nBut now those ancient enmities are o\u2019er;\nTo-morrow we the favouring gods implore;\nThen shall you see our parting vessels crown\u2019d,\nAnd hear with oars the Hellespont resound.\nThe third day hence shall Pythia greet our sails,[208]\nIf mighty Neptune send propitious gales;\nPythia to her Achilles shall restore\nThe wealth he left for this detested shore:\nThither the spoils of this long war shall pass,\nThe ruddy gold, the steel, and shining brass:\nMy beauteous captives thither I\u2019ll convey,\nAnd all that rests of my unravish\u2019d prey.\nOne only valued gift your tyrant gave,\nAnd that resumed\u2014the fair Lyrnessian slave.\nThen tell him: loud, that all the Greeks may hear,\nAnd learn to scorn the wretch they basely fear;\n(For arm\u2019d in impudence, mankind he braves,\nAnd meditates new cheats on all his slaves;\nThough shameless as he is, to face these eyes\nIs what he dares not: if he dares he dies;)\nTell him, all terms, all commerce I decline,\nNor share his council, nor his battle join;\nFor once deceiv\u2019d, was his; but twice were mine,\nNo\u2014let the stupid prince, whom Jove deprives\nOf sense and justice, run where frenzy drives;\nHis gifts are hateful: kings of such a kind\nStand but as slaves before a noble mind,\nNot though he proffer\u2019d all himself possess\u2019d,\nAnd all his rapine could from others wrest:\nNot all the golden tides of wealth that crown\nThe many-peopled Orchomenian town;[209]\nNot all proud Thebes\u2019 unrivall\u2019d walls contain,\nThe world\u2019s great empress on the Egyptian plain\n(That spreads her conquests o\u2019er a thousand states,\nAnd pours her heroes through a hundred gates,\nTwo hundred horsemen and two hundred cars\nFrom each wide portal issuing to the wars);[210]\nThough bribes were heap\u2019d on bribes, in number more\nThan dust in fields, or sands along the shore;\nShould all these offers for my friendship call,\n\u2019Tis he that offers, and I scorn them all.\nAtrides\u2019 daughter never shall be led\n(An ill-match\u2019d consort) to Achilles\u2019 bed;\nLike golden Venus though she charm\u2019d the heart,\nAnd vied with Pallas in the works of art;\nSome greater Greek let those high nuptials grace,\nI hate alliance with a tyrant\u2019s race.\nIf heaven restore me to my realms with life,\nThe reverend Peleus shall elect my wife;\nThessalian nymphs there are of form divine,\nAnd kings that sue to mix their blood with mine.\nBless\u2019d in kind love, my years shall glide away,\nContent with just hereditary sway;\nThere, deaf for ever to the martial strife,\nEnjoy the dear prerogative of life.\nLife is not to be bought with heaps of gold.\nNot all Apollo\u2019s Pythian treasures hold,\nOr Troy once held, in peace and pride of sway,\nCan bribe the poor possession of a day!\nLost herds and treasures we by arms regain,\nAnd steeds unrivall\u2019d on the dusty plain:\nBut from our lips the vital spirit fled,\nReturns no more to wake the silent dead.\nMy fates long since by Thetis were disclosed,\nAnd each alternate, life or fame, proposed;\nHere, if I stay, before the Trojan town,\nShort is my date, but deathless my renown:\nIf I return, I quit immortal praise\nFor years on years, and long-extended days.\nConvinced, though late, I find my fond mistake,\nAnd warn the Greeks the wiser choice to make;\nTo quit these shores, their native seats enjoy,\nNor hope the fall of heaven-defended Troy.\nJove\u2019s arm display\u2019d asserts her from the skies!\nHer hearts are strengthen\u2019d, and her glories rise.\nGo then to Greece, report our fix\u2019d design;\nBid all your counsels, all your armies join,\nLet all your forces, all your arts conspire,\nTo save the ships, the troops, the chiefs, from fire.\nOne stratagem has fail\u2019d, and others will:\nYe find, Achilles is unconquer\u2019d still.\nGo then\u2014digest my message as ye may\u2014\nBut here this night let reverend Ph\u0153nix stay:\nHis tedious toils and hoary hairs demand\nA peaceful death in Pythia\u2019s friendly land.\nBut whether he remain or sail with me,\nHis age be sacred, and his will be free.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] GREEK GALLEY\n\n\nThe son of Peleus ceased: the chiefs around\nIn silence wrapt, in consternation drown\u2019d,\nAttend the stern reply. Then Ph\u0153nix rose;\n(Down his white beard a stream of sorrow flows;)\nAnd while the fate of suffering Greece he mourn\u2019d,\nWith accent weak these tender words return\u2019d.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] PROSERPINE\n\n\n\u201cDivine Achilles! wilt thou then retire,\nAnd leave our hosts in blood, our fleets on fire?\nIf wrath so dreadful fill thy ruthless mind,\nHow shall thy friend, thy Ph\u0153nix, stay behind?\nThe royal Peleus, when from Pythia\u2019s coast\nHe sent thee early to the Achaian host;\nThy youth as then in sage debates unskill\u2019d,\nAnd new to perils of the direful field:\nHe bade me teach thee all the ways of war,\nTo shine in councils, and in camps to dare.\nNever, ah, never let me leave thy side!\nNo time shall part us, and no fate divide,\nNot though the god, that breathed my life, restore\nThe bloom I boasted, and the port I bore,\nWhen Greece of old beheld my youthful flames\n(Delightful Greece, the land of lovely dames),\nMy father faithless to my mother\u2019s arms,\nOld as he was, adored a stranger\u2019s charms.\nI tried what youth could do (at her desire)\nTo win the damsel, and prevent my sire.\nMy sire with curses loads my hated head,\nAnd cries, \u2018Ye furies! barren be his bed.\u2019\nInfernal Jove, the vengeful fiends below,\nAnd ruthless Proserpine, confirm\u2019d his vow.\nDespair and grief distract my labouring mind!\nGods! what a crime my impious heart design\u2019d!\nI thought (but some kind god that thought suppress\u2019d)\nTo plunge the poniard in my father\u2019s breast;\nThen meditate my flight: my friends in vain\nWith prayers entreat me, and with force detain.\nOn fat of rams, black bulls, and brawny swine,\nThey daily feast, with draughts of fragrant wine;\nStrong guards they placed, and watch\u2019d nine nights entire;\nThe roofs and porches flamed with constant fire.\nThe tenth, I forced the gates, unseen of all:\nAnd, favour\u2019d by the night, o\u2019erleap\u2019d the wall,\nMy travels thence through spacious Greece extend;\nIn Phthia\u2019s court at last my labours end.\nYour sire received me, as his son caress\u2019d,\nWith gifts enrich\u2019d, and with possessions bless\u2019d.\nThe strong Dolopians thenceforth own\u2019d my reign,\nAnd all the coast that runs along the main.\nBy love to thee his bounties I repaid,\nAnd early wisdom to thy soul convey\u2019d:\nGreat as thou art, my lessons made thee brave:\nA child I took thee, but a hero gave.\nThy infant breast a like affection show\u2019d;\nStill in my arms (an ever-pleasing load)\nOr at my knee, by Ph\u0153nix wouldst thou stand;\nNo food was grateful but from Ph\u0153nix\u2019 hand.[211]\nI pass my watchings o\u2019er thy helpless years,\nThe tender labours, the compliant cares,\nThe gods (I thought) reversed their hard decree,\nAnd Ph\u0153nix felt a father\u2019s joys in thee:\nThy growing virtues justified my cares,\nAnd promised comfort to my silver hairs.\nNow be thy rage, thy fatal rage, resign\u2019d;\nA cruel heart ill suits a manly mind:\nThe gods (the only great, and only wise)\nAre moved by offerings, vows, and sacrifice;\nOffending man their high compassion wins,\nAnd daily prayers atone for daily sins.\nPrayers are Jove\u2019s daughters, of celestial race,\nLame are their feet, and wrinkled is their face;\nWith humble mien, and with dejected eyes,\nConstant they follow, where injustice flies.\nInjustice swift, erect, and unconfined,\nSweeps the wide earth, and tramples o\u2019er mankind,\nWhile Prayers, to heal her wrongs, move slow behind.\nWho hears these daughters of almighty Jove,\nFor him they mediate to the throne above:\nWhen man rejects the humble suit they make,\nThe sire revenges for the daughters\u2019 sake;\nFrom Jove commission\u2019d, fierce injustice then\nDescends to punish unrelenting men.\nO let not headlong passion bear the sway\nThese reconciling goddesses obey:\nDue honours to the seed of Jove belong,\nDue honours calm the fierce, and bend the strong.\nWere these not paid thee by the terms we bring,\nWere rage still harbour\u2019d in the haughty king;\nNor Greece nor all her fortunes should engage\nThy friend to plead against so just a rage.\nBut since what honour asks the general sends,\nAnd sends by those whom most thy heart commends;\nThe best and noblest of the Grecian train;\nPermit not these to sue, and sue in vain!\nLet me (my son) an ancient fact unfold,\nA great example drawn from times of old;\nHear what our fathers were, and what their praise,\nWho conquer\u2019d their revenge in former days.\n\n\u201cWhere Calydon on rocky mountains stands[212]\nOnce fought the \u00c6tolian and Curetian bands;\nTo guard it those; to conquer, these advance;\nAnd mutual deaths were dealt with mutual chance.\nThe silver Cynthia bade contention rise,\nIn vengeance of neglected sacrifice;\nOn \u0152neus fields she sent a monstrous boar,\nThat levell\u2019d harvests, and whole forests tore:\nThis beast (when many a chief his tusks had slain)\nGreat Meleager stretch\u2019d along the plain,\nThen, for his spoils, a new debate arose,\nThe neighbour nations thence commencing foes.\nStrong as they were, the bold Curetes fail\u2019d,\nWhile Meleager\u2019s thundering arm prevail\u2019d:\nTill rage at length inflamed his lofty breast\n(For rage invades the wisest and the best).\n\n\u201cCursed by Althaea, to his wrath he yields,\nAnd in his wife\u2019s embrace forgets the fields.\n(She from Marpessa sprung, divinely fair,\nAnd matchless Idas, more than man in war:\nThe god of day adored the mother\u2019s charms;\nAgainst the god the father bent his arms:\nThe afflicted pair, their sorrows to proclaim,\nFrom Cleopatra changed their daughter\u2019s name,\nAnd call\u2019d Alcyone; a name to show\nThe father\u2019s grief, the mourning mother\u2019s woe.)\nTo her the chief retired from stern debate,\nBut found no peace from fierce Althaea\u2019s hate:\nAlthaea\u2019s hate the unhappy warrior drew,\nWhose luckless hand his royal uncle slew;\nShe beat the ground, and call\u2019d the powers beneath\nOn her own son to wreak her brother\u2019s death;\nHell heard her curses from the realms profound,\nAnd the red fiends that walk the nightly round.\nIn vain \u00c6tolia her deliverer waits,\nWar shakes her walls, and thunders at her gates.\nShe sent ambassadors, a chosen band,\nPriests of the gods, and elders of the land;\nBesought the chief to save the sinking state:\nTheir prayers were urgent, and their proffers great:\n(Full fifty acres of the richest ground,\nHalf pasture green, and half with vineyards crown\u2019d:)\nHis suppliant father, aged \u0152neus, came;\nHis sisters follow\u2019d; even the vengeful dame,\nAlthaea, sues; his friends before him fall:\nHe stands relentless, and rejects them all.\nMeanwhile the victor\u2019s shouts ascend the skies;\nThe walls are scaled; the rolling flames arise;\nAt length his wife (a form divine) appears,\nWith piercing cries, and supplicating tears;\nShe paints the horrors of a conquer\u2019d town,\nThe heroes slain, the palaces o\u2019erthrown,\nThe matrons ravish\u2019d, the whole race enslaved:\nThe warrior heard, he vanquish\u2019d, and he saved.\nThe \u00c6tolians, long disdain\u2019d, now took their turn,\nAnd left the chief their broken faith to mourn.\nLearn hence, betimes to curb pernicious ire,\nNor stay till yonder fleets ascend in fire;\nAccept the presents; draw thy conquering sword;\nAnd be amongst our guardian gods adored.\u201d\n\nThus he: the stern Achilles thus replied:\n\u201cMy second father, and my reverend guide:\nThy friend, believe me, no such gifts demands,\nAnd asks no honours from a mortal\u2019s hands;\nJove honours me, and favours my designs;\nHis pleasure guides me, and his will confines;\nAnd here I stay (if such his high behest)\nWhile life\u2019s warm spirit beats within my breast.\nYet hear one word, and lodge it in thy heart:\nNo more molest me on Atrides\u2019 part:\nIs it for him these tears are taught to flow,\nFor him these sorrows? for my mortal foe?\nA generous friendship no cold medium knows,\nBurns with one love, with one resentment glows;\nOne should our interests and our passions be;\nMy friend must hate the man that injures me.\nDo this, my Ph\u0153nix, \u2019tis a generous part;\nAnd share my realms, my honours, and my heart.\nLet these return: our voyage, or our stay,\nRest undetermined till the dawning day.\u201d\n\nHe ceased; then order\u2019d for the sage\u2019s bed\nA warmer couch with numerous carpets spread.\nWith that, stern Ajax his long silence broke,\nAnd thus, impatient, to Ulysses spoke:\n\n\u201cHence let us go\u2014why waste we time in vain?\nSee what effect our low submissions gain!\nLiked or not liked, his words we must relate,\nThe Greeks expect them, and our heroes wait.\nProud as he is, that iron heart retains\nIts stubborn purpose, and his friends disdains.\nStern and unpitying! if a brother bleed,\nOn just atonement, we remit the deed;\nA sire the slaughter of his son forgives;\nThe price of blood discharged, the murderer lives:\nThe haughtiest hearts at length their rage resign,\nAnd gifts can conquer every soul but thine.[213]\nThe gods that unrelenting breast have steel\u2019d,\nAnd cursed thee with a mind that cannot yield.\nOne woman-slave was ravish\u2019d from thy arms:\nLo, seven are offer\u2019d, and of equal charms.\nThen hear, Achilles! be of better mind;\nRevere thy roof, and to thy guests be kind;\nAnd know the men of all the Grecian host,\nWho honour worth, and prize thy valour most.\u201d\n\n\u201cO soul of battles, and thy people\u2019s guide!\n(To Ajax thus the first of Greeks replied)\nWell hast thou spoke; but at the tyrant\u2019s name\nMy rage rekindles, and my soul\u2019s on flame:\n\u2019Tis just resentment, and becomes the brave:\nDisgraced, dishonour\u2019d, like the vilest slave!\nReturn, then, heroes! and our answer bear,\nThe glorious combat is no more my care;\nNot till, amidst yon sinking navy slain,\nThe blood of Greeks shall dye the sable main;\nNot till the flames, by Hector\u2019s fury thrown,\nConsume your vessels, and approach my own;\nJust there, the impetuous homicide shall stand,\nThere cease his battle, and there feel our hand.\u201d\n\nThis said, each prince a double goblet crown\u2019d,\nAnd cast a large libation on the ground;\nThen to their vessels, through the gloomy shades,\nThe chiefs return; divine Ulysses leads.\nMeantime Achilles\u2019 slaves prepared a bed,\nWith fleeces, carpets, and soft linen spread:\nThere, till the sacred morn restored the day,\nIn slumber sweet the reverend Ph\u0153nix lay.\nBut in his inner tent, an ampler space,\nAchilles slept; and in his warm embrace\nFair Diomede of the Lesbian race.\nLast, for Patroclus was the couch prepared,\nWhose nightly joys the beauteous Iphis shared;\nAchilles to his friend consign\u2019d her charms\nWhen Scyros fell before his conquering arms.\n\nAnd now the elected chiefs whom Greece had sent,\nPass\u2019d through the hosts, and reach\u2019d the royal tent.\nThen rising all, with goblets in their hands,\nThe peers and leaders of the Achaian bands\nHail\u2019d their return: Atrides first begun:\n\n\u201cSay what success? divine Laertes\u2019 son!\nAchilles\u2019 high resolves declare to all:\nReturns the chief, or must our navy fall?\u201d\n\n\u201cGreat king of nations! (Ithacus replied)\nFix\u2019d is his wrath, unconquer\u2019d is his pride;\nHe slights thy friendship, thy proposals scorns,\nAnd, thus implored, with fiercer fury burns.\nTo save our army, and our fleets to free,\nIs not his care; but left to Greece and thee.\nYour eyes shall view, when morning paints the sky,\nBeneath his oars the whitening billows fly;\nUs too he bids our oars and sails employ,\nNor hope the fall of heaven-protected Troy;\nFor Jove o\u2019ershades her with his arm divine,\nInspires her war, and bids her glory shine.\nSuch was his word: what further he declared,\nThese sacred heralds and great Ajax heard.\nBut Ph\u0153nix in his tent the chief retains,\nSafe to transport him to his native plains\nWhen morning dawns; if other he decree,\nHis age is sacred, and his choice is free.\u201d\n\nUlysses ceased: the great Achaian host,\nWith sorrow seized, in consternation lost,\nAttend the stern reply. Tydides broke\nThe general silence, and undaunted spoke.\n\u201cWhy should we gifts to proud Achilles send,\nOr strive with prayers his haughty soul to bend?\nHis country\u2019s woes he glories to deride,\nAnd prayers will burst that swelling heart with pride.\nBe the fierce impulse of his rage obey\u2019d,\nOur battles let him or desert or aid;\nThen let him arm when Jove or he think fit:\nThat, to his madness, or to Heaven commit:\nWhat for ourselves we can, is always ours;\nThis night, let due repast refresh our powers;\n(For strength consists in spirits and in blood,\nAnd those are owed to generous wine and food;)\nBut when the rosy messenger of day\nStrikes the blue mountains with her golden ray,\nRanged at the ships, let all our squadrons shine\nIn flaming arms, a long-extended line:\nIn the dread front let great Atrides stand,\nThe first in danger, as in high command.\u201d\n\nShouts of acclaim the listening heroes raise,\nThen each to Heaven the due libations pays;\nTill sleep, descending o\u2019er the tents, bestows\nThe grateful blessings of desired repose.[214]\n\n\n[Illustration: ] ACHILLES\n\n\n\n\nBOOK X.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE NIGHT-ADVENTURE OF DIOMED AND ULYSSES.\n\n\nUpon the refusal of Achilles to return to the army, the distress of\nAgamemnon is described in the most lively manner. He takes no rest that\nnight, but passes through the camp, awaking the leaders, and contriving\nall possible methods for the public safety. Menelaus, Nestor, Ulysses,\nand Diomed are employed in raising the rest of the captains. They call\na council of war, and determine to send scouts into the enemies\u2019 camp,\nto learn their posture, and discover their intentions. Diomed\nundertakes this hazardous enterprise, and makes choice of Ulysses for\nhis companion. In their passage they surprise Dolon, whom Hector had\nsent on a like design to the camp of the Grecians. From him they are\ninformed of the situation of the Trojan and auxiliary forces, and\nparticularly of Rhesus, and the Thracians who were lately arrived. They\npass on with success; kill Rhesus, with several of his officers, and\nseize the famous horses of that prince, with which they return in\ntriumph to the camp.\n    The same night continues; the scene lies in the two camps.\n\n\nAll night the chiefs before their vessels lay,\nAnd lost in sleep the labours of the day:\nAll but the king: with various thoughts oppress\u2019d,[215]\nHis country\u2019s cares lay rolling in his breast.\nAs when by lightnings Jove\u2019s ethereal power\nForetels the rattling hail, or weighty shower,\nOr sends soft snows to whiten all the shore,\nOr bids the brazen throat of war to roar;\nBy fits one flash succeeds as one expires,\nAnd heaven flames thick with momentary fires:\nSo bursting frequent from Atrides\u2019 breast,\nSighs following sighs his inward fears confess\u2019d.\nNow o\u2019er the fields, dejected, he surveys\nFrom thousand Trojan fires the mounting blaze;\nHears in the passing wind their music blow,\nAnd marks distinct the voices of the foe.\nNow looking backwards to the fleet and coast,\nAnxious he sorrows for the endangered host.\nHe rends his hair, in sacrifice to Jove,\nAnd sues to him that ever lives above:\nInly he groans; while glory and despair\nDivide his heart, and wage a double war.\n\nA thousand cares his labouring breast revolves;\nTo seek sage Nestor now the chief resolves,\nWith him, in wholesome counsels, to debate\nWhat yet remains to save the afflicted state.\nHe rose, and first he cast his mantle round,\nNext on his feet the shining sandals bound;\nA lion\u2019s yellow spoils his back conceal\u2019d;\nHis warlike hand a pointed javelin held.\nMeanwhile his brother, press\u2019d with equal woes,\nAlike denied the gifts of soft repose,\nLaments for Greece, that in his cause before\nSo much had suffer\u2019d and must suffer more.\nA leopard\u2019s spotted hide his shoulders spread:\nA brazen helmet glitter\u2019d on his head:\nThus (with a javelin in his hand) he went\nTo wake Atrides in the royal tent.\nAlready waked, Atrides he descried,\nHis armour buckling at his vessel\u2019s side.\nJoyful they met; the Spartan thus begun:\n\u201cWhy puts my brother his bright armour on?\nSends he some spy, amidst these silent hours,\nTo try yon camp, and watch the Trojan powers?\nBut say, what hero shall sustain that task?\nSuch bold exploits uncommon courage ask;\nGuideless, alone, through night\u2019s dark shade to go,\nAnd midst a hostile camp explore the foe.\u201d\n\nTo whom the king: \u201cIn such distress we stand,\nNo vulgar counsel our affairs demand;\nGreece to preserve, is now no easy part,\nBut asks high wisdom, deep design, and art.\nFor Jove, averse, our humble prayer denies,\nAnd bows his head to Hector\u2019s sacrifice.\nWhat eye has witness\u2019d, or what ear believed,\nIn one great day, by one great arm achieved,\nSuch wondrous deeds as Hector\u2019s hand has done,\nAnd we beheld, the last revolving sun?\nWhat honours the beloved of Jove adorn!\nSprung from no god, and of no goddess born;\nYet such his acts, as Greeks unborn shall tell,\nAnd curse the battle where their fathers fell.\n\n\u201cNow speed thy hasty course along the fleet,\nThere call great Ajax, and the prince of Crete;\nOurself to hoary Nestor will repair;\nTo keep the guards on duty be his care,\n(For Nestor\u2019s influence best that quarter guides,\nWhose son with Merion, o\u2019er the watch presides.\u201d)\nTo whom the Spartan: \u201cThese thy orders borne,\nSay, shall I stay, or with despatch return?\u201d\n\u201cThere shall thou stay, (the king of men replied,)\nElse may we miss to meet, without a guide,\nThe paths so many, and the camp so wide.\nStill, with your voice the slothful soldiers raise,\nUrge by their fathers\u2019 fame their future praise.\nForget we now our state and lofty birth;\nNot titles here, but works, must prove our worth.\nTo labour is the lot of man below;\nAnd when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.\u201d\n\nThis said, each parted to his several cares:\nThe king to Nestor\u2019s sable ship repairs;\nThe sage protector of the Greeks he found\nStretch\u2019d in his bed with all his arms around;\nThe various-colour\u2019d scarf, the shield he rears,\nThe shining helmet, and the pointed spears;\nThe dreadful weapons of the warrior\u2019s rage,\nThat, old in arms, disdain\u2019d the peace of age.\nThen, leaning on his hand his watchful head,\nThe hoary monarch raised his eyes and said:\n\n\u201cWhat art thou, speak, that on designs unknown,\nWhile others sleep, thus range the camp alone;\nSeek\u2019st thou some friend or nightly sentinel?\nStand off, approach not, but thy purpose tell.\u201d\n\n\u201cO son of Neleus, (thus the king rejoin\u2019d,)\nPride of the Greeks, and glory of thy kind!\nLo, here the wretched Agamemnon stands,\nThe unhappy general of the Grecian bands,\nWhom Jove decrees with daily cares to bend,\nAnd woes, that only with his life shall end!\nScarce can my knees these trembling limbs sustain,\nAnd scarce my heart support its load of pain.\nNo taste of sleep these heavy eyes have known,\nConfused, and sad, I wander thus alone,\nWith fears distracted, with no fix\u2019d design;\nAnd all my people\u2019s miseries are mine.\nIf aught of use thy waking thoughts suggest,\n(Since cares, like mine, deprive thy soul of rest,)\nImpart thy counsel, and assist thy friend;\nNow let us jointly to the trench descend,\nAt every gate the fainting guard excite,\nTired with the toils of day and watch of night;\nElse may the sudden foe our works invade,\nSo near, and favour\u2019d by the gloomy shade.\u201d\n\nTo him thus Nestor: \u201cTrust the powers above,\nNor think proud Hector\u2019s hopes confirm\u2019d by Jove:\nHow ill agree the views of vain mankind,\nAnd the wise counsels of the eternal mind!\nAudacious Hector, if the gods ordain\nThat great Achilles rise and rage again,\nWhat toils attend thee, and what woes remain!\nLo, faithful Nestor thy command obeys;\nThe care is next our other chiefs to raise:\nUlysses, Diomed, we chiefly need;\nMeges for strength, O\u00efleus famed for speed.\nSome other be despatch\u2019d of nimbler feet,\nTo those tall ships, remotest of the fleet,\nWhere lie great Ajax and the king of Crete.[216]\nTo rouse the Spartan I myself decree;\nDear as he is to us, and dear to thee,\nYet must I tax his sloth, that claims no share\nWith his great brother in his martial care:\nHim it behoved to every chief to sue,\nPreventing every part perform\u2019d by you;\nFor strong necessity our toils demands,\nClaims all our hearts, and urges all our hands.\u201d\n\nTo whom the king: \u201cWith reverence we allow\nThy just rebukes, yet learn to spare them now:\nMy generous brother is of gentle kind,\nHe seems remiss, but bears a valiant mind;\nThrough too much deference to our sovereign sway,\nContent to follow when we lead the way:\nBut now, our ills industrious to prevent,\nLong ere the rest he rose, and sought my tent.\nThe chiefs you named, already at his call,\nPrepare to meet us near the navy-wall;\nAssembling there, between the trench and gates,\nNear the night-guards, our chosen council waits.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen none (said Nestor) shall his rule withstand,\nFor great examples justify command.\u201d\nWith that, the venerable warrior rose;\nThe shining greaves his manly legs enclose;\nHis purple mantle golden buckles join\u2019d,\nWarm with the softest wool, and doubly lined.\nThen rushing from his tent, he snatch\u2019d in haste\nHis steely lance, that lighten\u2019d as he pass\u2019d.\nThe camp he traversed through the sleeping crowd,\nStopp\u2019d at Ulysses\u2019 tent, and call\u2019d aloud.\nUlysses, sudden as the voice was sent,\nAwakes, starts up, and issues from his tent.\n\u201cWhat new distress, what sudden cause of fright,\nThus leads you wandering in the silent night?\u201d\n\u201cO prudent chief! (the Pylian sage replied)\nWise as thou art, be now thy wisdom tried:\nWhatever means of safety can be sought,\nWhatever counsels can inspire our thought,\nWhatever methods, or to fly or fight;\nAll, all depend on this important night!\u201d\nHe heard, return\u2019d, and took his painted shield;\nThen join\u2019d the chiefs, and follow\u2019d through the field.\nWithout his tent, bold Diomed they found,\nAll sheathed in arms, his brave companions round:\nEach sunk in sleep, extended on the field,\nHis head reclining on his bossy shield.\nA wood of spears stood by, that, fix\u2019d upright,\nShot from their flashing points a quivering light.\nA bull\u2019s black hide composed the hero\u2019s bed;\nA splendid carpet roll\u2019d beneath his head.\nThen, with his foot, old Nestor gently shakes\nThe slumbering chief, and in these words awakes:\n\n\u201cRise, son of Tydeus! to the brave and strong\nRest seems inglorious, and the night too long.\nBut sleep\u2019st thou now, when from yon hill the foe\nHangs o\u2019er the fleet, and shades our walls below?\u201d\n\nAt this, soft slumber from his eyelids fled;\nThe warrior saw the hoary chief, and said:\n\u201cWondrous old man! whose soul no respite knows,\nThough years and honours bid thee seek repose,\nLet younger Greeks our sleeping warriors wake;\nIll fits thy age these toils to undertake.\u201d\n\u201cMy friend, (he answered,) generous is thy care;\nThese toils, my subjects and my sons might bear;\nTheir loyal thoughts and pious love conspire\nTo ease a sovereign and relieve a sire:\nBut now the last despair surrounds our host;\nNo hour must pass, no moment must be lost;\nEach single Greek, in this conclusive strife,\nStands on the sharpest edge of death or life:\nYet, if my years thy kind regard engage,\nEmploy thy youth as I employ my age;\nSucceed to these my cares, and rouse the rest;\nHe serves me most, who serves his country best.\u201d\n\nThis said, the hero o\u2019er his shoulders flung\nA lion\u2019s spoils, that to his ankles hung;\nThen seized his ponderous lance, and strode along.\nMeges the bold, with Ajax famed for speed,\nThe warrior roused, and to the entrenchments lead.\n\nAnd now the chiefs approach the nightly guard;\nA wakeful squadron, each in arms prepared:\nThe unwearied watch their listening leaders keep,\nAnd, couching close, repel invading sleep.\nSo faithful dogs their fleecy charge maintain,\nWith toil protected from the prowling train;\nWhen the gaunt lioness, with hunger bold,\nSprings from the mountains toward the guarded fold:\nThrough breaking woods her rustling course they hear;\nLoud, and more loud, the clamours strike their ear\nOf hounds and men: they start, they gaze around,\nWatch every side, and turn to every sound.\nThus watch\u2019d the Grecians, cautious of surprise,\nEach voice, each motion, drew their ears and eyes:\nEach step of passing feet increased the affright;\nAnd hostile Troy was ever full in sight.\nNestor with joy the wakeful band survey\u2019d,\nAnd thus accosted through the gloomy shade.\n\u201c\u2019Tis well, my sons! your nightly cares employ;\nElse must our host become the scorn of Troy.\nWatch thus, and Greece shall live.\u201d The hero said;\nThen o\u2019er the trench the following chieftains led.\nHis son, and godlike Merion, march\u2019d behind\n(For these the princes to their council join\u2019d).\nThe trenches pass\u2019d, the assembled kings around\nIn silent state the consistory crown\u2019d.\nA place there was, yet undefiled with gore,\nThe spot where Hector stopp\u2019d his rage before;\nWhen night descending, from his vengeful hand\nReprieved the relics of the Grecian band:\n(The plain beside with mangled corps was spread,\nAnd all his progress mark\u2019d by heaps of dead:)\nThere sat the mournful kings: when Neleus\u2019 son,\nThe council opening, in these words begun:\n\n\u201cIs there (said he) a chief so greatly brave,\nHis life to hazard, and his country save?\nLives there a man, who singly dares to go\nTo yonder camp, or seize some straggling foe?\nOr favour\u2019d by the night approach so near,\nTheir speech, their counsels, and designs to hear?\nIf to besiege our navies they prepare,\nOr Troy once more must be the seat of war?\nThis could he learn, and to our peers recite,\nAnd pass unharm\u2019d the dangers of the night;\nWhat fame were his through all succeeding days,\nWhile Ph\u0153bus shines, or men have tongues to praise!\nWhat gifts his grateful country would bestow!\nWhat must not Greece to her deliverer owe?\nA sable ewe each leader should provide,\nWith each a sable lambkin by her side;\nAt every rite his share should be increased,\nAnd his the foremost honours of the feast.\u201d\n\nFear held them mute: alone, untaught to fear,\nTydides spoke\u2014\u201cThe man you seek is here.\nThrough yon black camps to bend my dangerous way,\nSome god within commands, and I obey.\nBut let some other chosen warrior join,\nTo raise my hopes, and second my design.\nBy mutual confidence and mutual aid,\nGreat deeds are done, and great discoveries made;\nThe wise new prudence from the wise acquire,\nAnd one brave hero fans another\u2019s fire.\u201d\n\nContending leaders at the word arose;\nEach generous breast with emulation glows;\nSo brave a task each Ajax strove to share,\nBold Merion strove, and Nestor\u2019s valiant heir;\nThe Spartan wish\u2019d the second place to gain,\nAnd great Ulysses wish\u2019d, nor wish\u2019d in vain.\nThen thus the king of men the contest ends:\n\u201cThou first of warriors, and thou best of friends,\nUndaunted Diomed! what chief to join\nIn this great enterprise, is only thine.\nJust be thy choice, without affection made;\nTo birth, or office, no respect be paid;\nLet worth determine here.\u201d The monarch spake,\nAnd inly trembled for his brother\u2019s sake.\n\n\u201cThen thus (the godlike Diomed rejoin\u2019d)\nMy choice declares the impulse of my mind.\nHow can I doubt, while great Ulysses stands\nTo lend his counsels and assist our hands?\nA chief, whose safety is Minerva\u2019s care;\nSo famed, so dreadful, in the works of war:\nBless\u2019d in his conduct, I no aid require;\nWisdom like his might pass through flames of fire.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt fits thee not, before these chiefs of fame,\n(Replied the sage,) to praise me, or to blame:\nPraise from a friend, or censure from a foe,\nAre lost on hearers that our merits know.\nBut let us haste\u2014Night rolls the hours away,\nThe reddening orient shows the coming day,\nThe stars shine fainter on the ethereal plains,\nAnd of night\u2019s empire but a third remains.\u201d\n\nThus having spoke, with generous ardour press\u2019d,\nIn arms terrific their huge limbs they dress\u2019d.\nA two-edged falchion Thrasymed the brave,\nAnd ample buckler, to Tydides gave:\nThen in a leathern helm he cased his head,\nShort of its crest, and with no plume o\u2019erspread:\n(Such as by youths unused to arms are worn:)\nNo spoils enrich it, and no studs adorn.\nNext him Ulysses took a shining sword,\nA bow and quiver, with bright arrows stored:\nA well-proved casque, with leather braces bound,\n(Thy gift, Meriones,) his temples crown\u2019d;\nSoft wool within; without, in order spread,[217]\nA boar\u2019s white teeth grinn\u2019d horrid o\u2019er his head.\nThis from Amyntor, rich Ormenus\u2019 son,\nAutolycus by fraudful rapine won,\nAnd gave Amphidamas; from him the prize\nMolus received, the pledge of social ties;\nThe helmet next by Merion was possess\u2019d,\nAnd now Ulysses\u2019 thoughtful temples press\u2019d.\nThus sheathed in arms, the council they forsake,\nAnd dark through paths oblique their progress take.\nJust then, in sign she favour\u2019d their intent,\nA long-wing\u2019d heron great Minerva sent:\nThis, though surrounding shades obscured their view,\nBy the shrill clang and whistling wings they knew.\nAs from the right she soar\u2019d, Ulysses pray\u2019d,\nHail\u2019d the glad omen, and address\u2019d the maid:\n\n\u201cO daughter of that god whose arm can wield\nThe avenging bolt, and shake the saber shield!\nO thou! for ever present in my way,\nWho all my motions, all my toils survey!\nSafe may we pass beneath the gloomy shade,\nSafe by thy succour to our ships convey\u2019d,\nAnd let some deed this signal night adorn,\nTo claim the tears of Trojans yet unborn.\u201d\n\nThen godlike Diomed preferr\u2019d his prayer:\n\u201cDaughter of Jove, unconquer\u2019d Pallas! hear.\nGreat queen of arms, whose favour Tydeus won,\nAs thou defend\u2019st the sire, defend the son.\nWhen on \u00c6sopus\u2019 banks the banded powers\nOf Greece he left, and sought the Theban towers,\nPeace was his charge; received with peaceful show,\nHe went a legate, but return\u2019d a foe:\nThen help\u2019d by thee, and cover\u2019d by thy shield,\nHe fought with numbers, and made numbers yield.\nSo now be present, O celestial maid!\nSo still continue to the race thine aid!\nA youthful steer shall fall beneath the stroke,\nUntamed, unconscious of the galling yoke,\nWith ample forehead, and with spreading horns,\nWhose taper tops refulgent gold adorns.\u201d\nThe heroes pray\u2019d, and Pallas from the skies\nAccords their vow, succeeds their enterprise.\nNow, like two lions panting for the prey,\nWith dreadful thoughts they trace the dreary way,\nThrough the black horrors of the ensanguined plain,\nThrough dust, through blood, o\u2019er arms, and hills of slain.\n\nNor less bold Hector, and the sons of Troy,\nOn high designs the wakeful hours employ;\nThe assembled peers their lofty chief enclosed;\nWho thus the counsels of his breast proposed:\n\n\u201cWhat glorious man, for high attempts prepared,\nDares greatly venture for a rich reward?\nOf yonder fleet a bold discovery make,\nWhat watch they keep, and what resolves they take?\nIf now subdued they meditate their flight,\nAnd, spent with toil, neglect the watch of night?\nHis be the chariot that shall please him most,\nOf all the plunder of the vanquish\u2019d host;\nHis the fair steeds that all the rest excel,\nAnd his the glory to have served so well.\u201d\n\nA youth there was among the tribes of Troy,\nDolon his name, Eumedes\u2019 only boy,\n(Five girls beside the reverend herald told.)\nRich was the son in brass, and rich in gold;\nNot bless\u2019d by nature with the charms of face,\nBut swift of foot, and matchless in the race.\n\u201cHector! (he said) my courage bids me meet\nThis high achievement, and explore the fleet:\nBut first exalt thy sceptre to the skies,\nAnd swear to grant me the demanded prize;\nThe immortal coursers, and the glittering car,\nThat bear Pelides through the ranks of war.\nEncouraged thus, no idle scout I go,\nFulfil thy wish, their whole intention know,\nEven to the royal tent pursue my way,\nAnd all their counsels, all their aims betray.\u201d\n\nThe chief then heaved the golden sceptre high,\nAttesting thus the monarch of the sky:\n\u201cBe witness thou! immortal lord of all!\nWhose thunder shakes the dark aerial hall:\nBy none but Dolon shall this prize be borne,\nAnd him alone the immortal steeds adorn.\u201d\n\nThus Hector swore: the gods were call\u2019d in vain,\nBut the rash youth prepares to scour the plain:\nAcross his back the bended bow he flung,\nA wolf\u2019s grey hide around his shoulders hung,\nA ferret\u2019s downy fur his helmet lined,\nAnd in his hand a pointed javelin shined.\nThen (never to return) he sought the shore,\nAnd trod the path his feet must tread no more.\nScarce had he pass\u2019d the steeds and Trojan throng,\n(Still bending forward as he coursed along,)\nWhen, on the hollow way, the approaching tread\nUlysses mark\u2019d, and thus to Diomed;\n\n\u201cO friend! I hear some step of hostile feet,\nMoving this way, or hastening to the fleet;\nSome spy, perhaps, to lurk beside the main;\nOr nightly pillager that strips the slain.\nYet let him pass, and win a little space;\nThen rush behind him, and prevent his pace.\nBut if too swift of foot he flies before,\nConfine his course along the fleet and shore,\nBetwixt the camp and him our spears employ,\nAnd intercept his hoped return to Troy.\u201d\n\nWith that they stepp\u2019d aside, and stoop\u2019d their head,\n(As Dolon pass\u2019d,) behind a heap of dead:\nAlong the path the spy unwary flew;\nSoft, at just distance, both the chiefs pursue.\nSo distant they, and such the space between,\nAs when two teams of mules divide the green,\n(To whom the hind like shares of land allows,)\nWhen now new furrows part the approaching ploughs.\nNow Dolon, listening, heard them as they pass\u2019d;\nHector (he thought) had sent, and check\u2019d his haste,\nTill scarce at distance of a javelin\u2019s throw,\nNo voice succeeding, he perceived the foe.\nAs when two skilful hounds the leveret wind;\nOr chase through woods obscure the trembling hind;\nNow lost, now seen, they intercept his way,\nAnd from the herd still turn the flying prey:\nSo fast, and with such fears, the Trojan flew;\nSo close, so constant, the bold Greeks pursue.\nNow almost on the fleet the dastard falls,\nAnd mingles with the guards that watch the walls;\nWhen brave Tydides stopp\u2019d; a gen\u2019rous thought\n(Inspired by Pallas) in his bosom wrought,\nLest on the foe some forward Greek advance,\nAnd snatch the glory from his lifted lance.\nThen thus aloud: \u201cWhoe\u2019er thou art, remain;\nThis javelin else shall fix thee to the plain.\u201d\nHe said, and high in air the weapon cast,\nWhich wilful err\u2019d, and o\u2019er his shoulder pass\u2019d;\nThen fix\u2019d in earth. Against the trembling wood\nThe wretch stood propp\u2019d, and quiver\u2019d as he stood;\nA sudden palsy seized his turning head;\nHis loose teeth chatter\u2019d, and his colour fled;\nThe panting warriors seize him as he stands,\nAnd with unmanly tears his life demands.\n\n\u201cO spare my youth, and for the breath I owe,\nLarge gifts of price my father shall bestow:\nVast heaps of brass shall in your ships be told,\nAnd steel well-temper\u2019d and refulgent gold.\u201d\n\nTo whom Ulysses made this wise reply:\n\u201cWhoe\u2019er thou art, be bold, nor fear to die.\nWhat moves thee, say, when sleep has closed the sight,\nTo roam the silent fields in dead of night?\nCam\u2019st thou the secrets of our camp to find,\nBy Hector prompted, or thy daring mind?\nOr art some wretch by hopes of plunder led,\nThrough heaps of carnage, to despoil the dead?\u201d\n\nThen thus pale Dolon, with a fearful look:\n(Still, as he spoke, his limbs with horror shook:)\n\u201cHither I came, by Hector\u2019s words deceived;\nMuch did he promise, rashly I believed:\nNo less a bribe than great Achilles\u2019 car,\nAnd those swift steeds that sweep the ranks of war,\nUrged me, unwilling, this attempt to make;\nTo learn what counsels, what resolves you take:\nIf now subdued, you fix your hopes on flight,\nAnd, tired with toils, neglect the watch of night.\u201d\n\n\u201cBold was thy aim, and glorious was the prize,\n(Ulysses, with a scornful smile, replies,)\nFar other rulers those proud steeds demand,\nAnd scorn the guidance of a vulgar hand;\nEven great Achilles scarce their rage can tame,\nAchilles sprung from an immortal dame.\nBut say, be faithful, and the truth recite!\nWhere lies encamp\u2019d the Trojan chief to-night?\nWhere stand his coursers? in what quarter sleep\nTheir other princes? tell what watch they keep:\nSay, since this conquest, what their counsels are;\nOr here to combat, from their city far,\nOr back to Ilion\u2019s walls transfer the war?\u201d\n\nUlysses thus, and thus Eumedes\u2019 son:\n\u201cWhat Dolon knows, his faithful tongue shall own.\nHector, the peers assembling in his tent,\nA council holds at Ilus\u2019 monument.\nNo certain guards the nightly watch partake;\nWhere\u2019er yon fires ascend, the Trojans wake:\nAnxious for Troy, the guard the natives keep;\nSafe in their cares, the auxiliar forces sleep,\nWhose wives and infants, from the danger far,\nDischarge their souls of half the fears of war.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen sleep those aids among the Trojan train,\n(Inquired the chief,) or scattered o\u2019er the plain?\u201d\nTo whom the spy: \u201cTheir powers they thus dispose\nThe Paeons, dreadful with their bended bows,\nThe Carians, Caucons, the Pelasgian host,\nAnd Leleges, encamp along the coast.\nNot distant far, lie higher on the land\nThe Lycian, Mysian, and M\u00e6onian band,\nAnd Phrygia\u2019s horse, by Thymbras\u2019 ancient wall;\nThe Thracians utmost, and apart from all.\nThese Troy but lately to her succour won,\nLed on by Rhesus, great Eioneus\u2019 son:\nI saw his coursers in proud triumph go,\nSwift as the wind, and white as winter-snow;\nRich silver plates his shining car infold;\nHis solid arms, refulgent, flame with gold;\nNo mortal shoulders suit the glorious load,\nCelestial panoply, to grace a god!\nLet me, unhappy, to your fleet be borne,\nOr leave me here, a captive\u2019s fate to mourn,\nIn cruel chains, till your return reveal\nThe truth or falsehood of the news I tell.\u201d\n\nTo this Tydides, with a gloomy frown:\n\u201cThink not to live, though all the truth be shown:\nShall we dismiss thee, in some future strife\nTo risk more bravely thy now forfeit life?\nOr that again our camps thou may\u2019st explore?\nNo\u2014once a traitor, thou betray\u2019st no more.\u201d\n\nSternly he spoke, and as the wretch prepared\nWith humble blandishment to stroke his beard,\nLike lightning swift the wrathful falchion flew,\nDivides the neck, and cuts the nerves in two;\nOne instant snatch\u2019d his trembling soul to hell,\nThe head, yet speaking, mutter\u2019d as it fell.\nThe furry helmet from his brow they tear,\nThe wolf\u2019s grey hide, the unbended bow and spear;\nThese great Ulysses lifting to the skies,\nTo favouring Pallas dedicates the prize:\n\n\u201cGreat queen of arms, receive this hostile spoil,\nAnd let the Thracian steeds reward our toil;\nThee, first of all the heavenly host, we praise;\nO speed our labours, and direct our ways!\u201d\nThis said, the spoils, with dropping gore defaced,\nHigh on a spreading tamarisk he placed;\nThen heap\u2019d with reeds and gathered boughs the plain,\nTo guide their footsteps to the place again.\n\nThrough the still night they cross the devious fields,\nSlippery with blood, o\u2019er arms and heaps of shields,\nArriving where the Thracian squadrons lay,\nAnd eased in sleep the labours of the day.\nRanged in three lines they view the prostrate band:\nThe horses yoked beside each warrior stand.\nTheir arms in order on the ground reclined,\nThrough the brown shade the fulgid weapons shined:\nAmidst lay Rhesus, stretch\u2019d in sleep profound,\nAnd the white steeds behind his chariot bound.\nThe welcome sight Ulysses first descries,\nAnd points to Diomed the tempting prize.\n\u201cThe man, the coursers, and the car behold!\nDescribed by Dolon, with the arms of gold.\nNow, brave Tydides! now thy courage try,\nApproach the chariot, and the steeds untie;\nOr if thy soul aspire to fiercer deeds,\nUrge thou the slaughter, while I seize the steeds.\u201d\n\nPallas (this said) her hero\u2019s bosom warms,\nBreathed in his heart, and strung his nervous arms;\nWhere\u2019er he pass\u2019d, a purple stream pursued\nHis thirsty falchion, fat with hostile blood,\nBathed all his footsteps, dyed the fields with gore,\nAnd a low groan remurmur\u2019d through the shore.\nSo the grim lion, from his nightly den,\nO\u2019erleaps the fences, and invades the pen,\nOn sheep or goats, resistless in his way,\nHe falls, and foaming rends the guardless prey;\nNor stopp\u2019d the fury of his vengeful hand,\nTill twelve lay breathless of the Thracian band.\nUlysses following, as his partner slew,\nBack by the foot each slaughter\u2019d warrior drew;\nThe milk-white coursers studious to convey\nSafe to the ships, he wisely cleared the way:\nLest the fierce steeds, not yet to battles bred,\nShould start, and tremble at the heaps of dead.\nNow twelve despatch\u2019d, the monarch last they found;\nTydides\u2019 falchion fix\u2019d him to the ground.\nJust then a deathful dream Minerva sent,\nA warlike form appear\u2019d before his tent,\nWhose visionary steel his bosom tore:\nSo dream\u2019d the monarch, and awaked no more.[218]\n\nUlysses now the snowy steeds detains,\nAnd leads them, fasten\u2019d by the silver reins;\nThese, with his bow unbent, he lash\u2019d along;\n(The scourge forgot, on Rhesus\u2019 chariot hung;)\nThen gave his friend the signal to retire;\nBut him, new dangers, new achievements fire;\nDoubtful he stood, or with his reeking blade\nTo send more heroes to the infernal shade,\nDrag off the car where Rhesus\u2019 armour lay,\nOr heave with manly force, and lift away.\nWhile unresolved the son of Tydeus stands,\nPallas appears, and thus her chief commands:\n\n\u201cEnough, my son; from further slaughter cease,\nRegard thy safety, and depart in peace;\nHaste to the ships, the gotten spoils enjoy,\nNor tempt too far the hostile gods of Troy.\u201d\n\nThe voice divine confess\u2019d the martial maid;\nIn haste he mounted, and her word obey\u2019d;\nThe coursers fly before Ulysses\u2019 bow,\nSwift as the wind, and white as winter-snow.\n\nNot unobserved they pass\u2019d: the god of light\nHad watch\u2019d his Troy, and mark\u2019d Minerva\u2019s flight,\nSaw Tydeus\u2019 son with heavenly succour bless\u2019d,\nAnd vengeful anger fill\u2019d his sacred breast.\nSwift to the Trojan camp descends the power,\nAnd wakes Hippocoon in the morning-hour;\n(On Rhesus\u2019 side accustom\u2019d to attend,\nA faithful kinsman, and instructive friend;)\nHe rose, and saw the field deform\u2019d with blood,\nAn empty space where late the coursers stood,\nThe yet-warm Thracians panting on the coast;\nFor each he wept, but for his Rhesus most:\nNow while on Rhesus\u2019 name he calls in vain,\nThe gathering tumult spreads o\u2019er all the plain;\nOn heaps the Trojans rush, with wild affright,\nAnd wondering view the slaughters of the night.\n\nMeanwhile the chiefs, arriving at the shade\nWhere late the spoils of Hector\u2019s spy were laid,\nUlysses stopp\u2019d; to him Tydides bore\nThe trophy, dropping yet with Dolon\u2019s gore:\nThen mounts again; again their nimbler feet\nThe coursers ply, and thunder towards the fleet.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] DIOMED AND ULYSSES RETURNING WITH THE SPOILS OF RHESUS\n\n\nOld Nestor first perceived the approaching sound,\nBespeaking thus the Grecian peers around:\n\u201cMethinks the noise of trampling steeds I hear,\nThickening this way, and gathering on my ear;\nPerhaps some horses of the Trojan breed\n(So may, ye gods! my pious hopes succeed)\nThe great Tydides and Ulysses bear,\nReturn\u2019d triumphant with this prize of war.\nYet much I fear (ah, may that fear be vain!)\nThe chiefs outnumber\u2019d by the Trojan train;\nPerhaps, even now pursued, they seek the shore;\nOr, oh! perhaps those heroes are no more.\u201d\n\nScarce had he spoke, when, lo! the chiefs appear,\nAnd spring to earth; the Greeks dismiss their fear:\nWith words of friendship and extended hands\nThey greet the kings; and Nestor first demands:\n\n\u201cSay thou, whose praises all our host proclaim,\nThou living glory of the Grecian name!\nSay whence these coursers? by what chance bestow\u2019d,\nThe spoil of foes, or present of a god?\nNot those fair steeds, so radiant and so gay,\nThat draw the burning chariot of the day.\nOld as I am, to age I scorn to yield,\nAnd daily mingle in the martial field;\nBut sure till now no coursers struck my sight\nLike these, conspicuous through the ranks of fight.\nSome god, I deem, conferred the glorious prize,\nBless\u2019d as ye are, and favourites of the skies;\nThe care of him who bids the thunder roar,\nAnd her, whose fury bathes the world with gore.\u201d\n\n\u201cFather! not so, (sage Ithacus rejoin\u2019d,)\nThe gifts of heaven are of a nobler kind.\nOf Thracian lineage are the steeds ye view,\nWhose hostile king the brave Tydides slew;\nSleeping he died, with all his guards around,\nAnd twelve beside lay gasping on the ground.\nThese other spoils from conquer\u2019d Dolon came,\nA wretch, whose swiftness was his only fame;\nBy Hector sent our forces to explore,\nHe now lies headless on the sandy shore.\u201d\n\nThen o\u2019er the trench the bounding coursers flew;\nThe joyful Greeks with loud acclaim pursue.\nStraight to Tydides\u2019 high pavilion borne,\nThe matchless steeds his ample stalls adorn:\nThe neighing coursers their new fellows greet,\nAnd the full racks are heap\u2019d with generous wheat.\nBut Dolon\u2019s armour, to his ships convey\u2019d,\nHigh on the painted stern Ulysses laid,\nA trophy destin\u2019d to the blue-eyed maid.\n\nNow from nocturnal sweat and sanguine stain\nThey cleanse their bodies in the neighb\u2019ring main:\nThen in the polished bath, refresh\u2019d from toil,\nTheir joints they supple with dissolving oil,\nIn due repast indulge the genial hour,\nAnd first to Pallas the libations pour:\nThey sit, rejoicing in her aid divine,\nAnd the crown\u2019d goblet foams with floods of wine.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XI.\n\n\nARGUMENT\n\n\nTHE THIRD BATTLE, AND THE ACTS OF AGAMEMNON.\n\n\nAgamemnon, having armed himself, leads the Grecians to battle; Hector\nprepares the Trojans to receive them, while Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva\ngive the signals of war. Agamemnon bears all before him and Hector is\ncommanded by Jupiter (who sends Iris for that purpose) to decline the\nengagement, till the king shall be wounded and retire from the field.\nHe then makes a great slaughter of the enemy. Ulysses and Diomed put a\nstop to him for a time but the latter, being wounded by Paris, is\nobliged to desert his companion, who is encompassed by the Trojans,\nwounded, and in the utmost danger, till Menelaus and Ajax rescue him.\nHector comes against Ajax, but that hero alone opposes multitudes, and\nrallies the Greeks. In the meantime Machaon, in the other wing of the\narmy, is pierced with an arrow by Paris, and carried from the fight in\nNestor\u2019s chariot. Achilles (who overlooked the action from his ship)\nsent Patroclus to inquire which of the Greeks was wounded in that\nmanner; Nestor entertains him in his tent with an account of the\naccidents of the day, and a long recital of some former wars which he\nremembered, tending to put Patroclus upon persuading Achilles to fight\nfor his countrymen, or at least to permit him to do it, clad in\nAchilles\u2019 armour. Patroclus, on his return, meets Eurypylus also\nwounded, and assists him in that distress.\n    This book opens with the eight-and-twentieth day of the poem, and\n    the same day, with its various actions and adventures is extended\n    through the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth,\n    seventeenth, and part of the eighteenth books. The scene lies in\n    the field near the monument of Ilus.\n\n\nThe saffron morn, with early blushes spread,[219]\nNow rose refulgent from Tithonus\u2019 bed;\nWith new-born day to gladden mortal sight,\nAnd gild the courts of heaven with sacred light:\nWhen baleful Eris, sent by Jove\u2019s command,\nThe torch of discord blazing in her hand,\nThrough the red skies her bloody sign extends,\nAnd, wrapt in tempests, o\u2019er the fleet descends.\nHigh on Ulysses\u2019 bark her horrid stand\nShe took, and thunder\u2019d through the seas and land.\n\nEven Ajax and Achilles heard the sound,\nWhose ships, remote, the guarded navy bound,\nThence the black fury through the Grecian throng\nWith horror sounds the loud Orthian song:\nThe navy shakes, and at the dire alarms\nEach bosom boils, each warrior starts to arms.\nNo more they sigh, inglorious to return,\nBut breathe revenge, and for the combat burn.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE DESCENT OF DISCORD\n\n\nThe king of men his hardy host inspires\nWith loud command, with great example fires!\nHimself first rose, himself before the rest\nHis mighty limbs in radiant armour dress\u2019d,\nAnd first he cased his manly legs around\nIn shining greaves with silver buckles bound;\nThe beaming cuirass next adorn\u2019d his breast,\nThe same which once king Cinyras possess\u2019d:\n(The fame of Greece and her assembled host\nHad reach\u2019d that monarch on the Cyprian coast;\n\u2019Twas then, the friendship of the chief to gain,\nThis glorious gift he sent, nor sent in vain:)\nTen rows of azure steel the work infold,\nTwice ten of tin, and twelve of ductile gold;\nThree glittering dragons to the gorget rise,\nWhose imitated scales against the skies\nReflected various light, and arching bow\u2019d,\nLike colour\u2019d rainbows o\u2019er a showery cloud\n(Jove\u2019s wondrous bow, of three celestial dies,\nPlaced as a sign to man amidst the skies).\nA radiant baldric, o\u2019er his shoulder tied,\nSustain\u2019d the sword that glitter\u2019d at his side:\nGold was the hilt, a silver sheath encased\nThe shining blade, and golden hangers graced.\nHis buckler\u2019s mighty orb was next display\u2019d,\nThat round the warrior cast a dreadful shade;\nTen zones of brass its ample brim surround,\nAnd twice ten bosses the bright convex crown\u2019d:\nTremendous Gorgon frown\u2019d upon its field,\nAnd circling terrors fill\u2019d the expressive shield:\nWithin its concave hung a silver thong,\nOn which a mimic serpent creeps along,\nHis azure length in easy waves extends,\nTill in three heads the embroider\u2019d monster ends.\nLast o\u2019er his brows his fourfold helm he placed,\nWith nodding horse-hair formidably graced;\nAnd in his hands two steely javelins wields,\nThat blaze to heaven, and lighten all the fields.\n\nThat instant Juno, and the martial maid,\nIn happy thunders promised Greece their aid;\nHigh o\u2019er the chief they clash\u2019d their arms in air,\nAnd, leaning from the clouds, expect the war.\n\nClose to the limits of the trench and mound,\nThe fiery coursers to their chariots bound\nThe squires restrain\u2019d: the foot, with those who wield\nThe lighter arms, rush forward to the field.\nTo second these, in close array combined,\nThe squadrons spread their sable wings behind.\nNow shouts and tumults wake the tardy sun,\nAs with the light the warriors\u2019 toils begun.\nEven Jove, whose thunder spoke his wrath, distill\u2019d\nRed drops of blood o\u2019er all the fatal field;[220]\nThe woes of men unwilling to survey,\nAnd all the slaughters that must stain the day.\n\nNear Ilus\u2019 tomb, in order ranged around,\nThe Trojan lines possess\u2019d the rising ground:\nThere wise Polydamas and Hector stood;\n\u00c6neas, honour\u2019d as a guardian god;\nBold Polybus, Agenor the divine;\nThe brother-warriors of Antenor\u2019s line:\nWith youthful Acamas, whose beauteous face\nAnd fair proportion match\u2019d the ethereal race.\nGreat Hector, cover\u2019d with his spacious shield,\nPlies all the troops, and orders all the field.\nAs the red star now shows his sanguine fires\nThrough the dark clouds, and now in night retires,\nThus through the ranks appear\u2019d the godlike man,\nPlunged in the rear, or blazing in the van;\nWhile streamy sparkles, restless as he flies,\nFlash from his arms, as lightning from the skies.\nAs sweating reapers in some wealthy field,\nRanged in two bands, their crooked weapons wield,\nBear down the furrows, till their labours meet;\nThick fall the heapy harvests at their feet:\nSo Greece and Troy the field of war divide,\nAnd falling ranks are strow\u2019d on every side.\nNone stoop\u2019d a thought to base inglorious flight;[221]\nBut horse to horse, and man to man they fight,\nNot rabid wolves more fierce contest their prey;\nEach wounds, each bleeds, but none resign the day.\nDiscord with joy the scene of death descries,\nAnd drinks large slaughter at her sanguine eyes:\nDiscord alone, of all the immortal train,\nSwells the red horrors of this direful plain:\nThe gods in peace their golden mansions fill,\nRanged in bright order on the Olympian hill:\nBut general murmurs told their griefs above,\nAnd each accused the partial will of Jove.\nMeanwhile apart, superior, and alone,\nThe eternal Monarch, on his awful throne,\nWrapt in the blaze of boundless glory sate;\nAnd fix\u2019d, fulfill\u2019d the just decrees of fate.\nOn earth he turn\u2019d his all-considering eyes,\nAnd mark\u2019d the spot where Ilion\u2019s towers arise;\nThe sea with ships, the fields with armies spread,\nThe victor\u2019s rage, the dying, and the dead.\n\nThus while the morning-beams, increasing bright,\nO\u2019er heaven\u2019s pure azure spread the glowing light,\nCommutual death the fate of war confounds,\nEach adverse battle gored with equal wounds.\nBut now (what time in some sequester\u2019d vale\nThe weary woodman spreads his sparing meal,\nWhen his tired arms refuse the axe to rear,\nAnd claim a respite from the sylvan war;\nBut not till half the prostrate forests lay\nStretch\u2019d in long ruin, and exposed to day)\nThen, nor till then, the Greeks\u2019 impulsive might\nPierced the black phalanx, and let in the light.\nGreat Agamemnon then the slaughter led,\nAnd slew Bienor at his people\u2019s head:\nWhose squire O\u00efleus, with a sudden spring,\nLeap\u2019d from the chariot to revenge his king;\nBut in his front he felt the fatal wound,\nWhich pierced his brain, and stretch\u2019d him on the ground.\nAtrides spoil\u2019d, and left them on the plain:\nVain was their youth, their glittering armour vain:\nNow soil\u2019d with dust, and naked to the sky,\nTheir snowy limbs and beauteous bodies lie.\n\nTwo sons of Priam next to battle move,\nThe product, one of marriage, one of love:[222]\nIn the same car the brother-warriors ride;\nThis took the charge to combat, that to guide:\nFar other task, than when they wont to keep,\nOn Ida\u2019s tops, their father\u2019s fleecy sheep.\nThese on the mountains once Achilles found,\nAnd captive led, with pliant osiers bound;\nThen to their sire for ample sums restored;\nBut now to perish by Atrides\u2019 sword:\nPierced in the breast the base-born Isus bleeds:\nCleft through the head his brother\u2019s fate succeeds,\nSwift to the spoil the hasty victor falls,\nAnd, stript, their features to his mind recalls.\nThe Trojans see the youths untimely die,\nBut helpless tremble for themselves, and fly.\nSo when a lion ranging o\u2019er the lawns,\nFinds, on some grassy lair, the couching fawns,\nTheir bones he cracks, their reeking vitals draws,\nAnd grinds the quivering flesh with bloody jaws;\nThe frighted hind beholds, and dares not stay,\nBut swift through rustling thickets bursts her way;\nAll drown\u2019d in sweat, the panting mother flies,\nAnd the big tears roll trickling from her eyes.\n\nAmidst the tumult of the routed train,\nThe sons of false Antimachus were slain;\nHe who for bribes his faithless counsels sold,\nAnd voted Helen\u2019s stay for Paris\u2019 gold.\nAtrides mark\u2019d, as these their safety sought,\nAnd slew the children for the father\u2019s fault;\nTheir headstrong horse unable to restrain,\nThey shook with fear, and dropp\u2019d the silken rein;\nThen in the chariot on their knees they fall,\nAnd thus with lifted hands for mercy call:\n\n\u201cO spare our youth, and for the life we owe,\nAntimachus shall copious gifts bestow:\nSoon as he hears, that, not in battle slain,\nThe Grecian ships his captive sons detain,\nLarge heaps of brass in ransom shall be told,\nAnd steel well-tempered, and persuasive gold.\u201d\n\nThese words, attended with the flood of tears,\nThe youths address\u2019d to unrelenting ears:\nThe vengeful monarch gave this stern reply:\n\u201cIf from Antimachus ye spring, ye die;\nThe daring wretch who once in council stood\nTo shed Ulysses\u2019 and my brother\u2019s blood,\nFor proffer\u2019d peace! and sues his seed for grace?\nNo, die, and pay the forfeit of your race.\u201d\n\nThis said, Pisander from the car he cast,\nAnd pierced his breast: supine he breathed his last.\nHis brother leap\u2019d to earth; but, as he lay,\nThe trenchant falchion lopp\u2019d his hands away;\nHis sever\u2019d head was toss\u2019d among the throng,\nAnd, rolling, drew a bloody train along.\nThen, where the thickest fought, the victor flew;\nThe king\u2019s example all his Greeks pursue.\nNow by the foot the flying foot were slain,\nHorse trod by horse, lay foaming on the plain.\nFrom the dry fields thick clouds of dust arise,\nShade the black host, and intercept the skies.\nThe brass-hoof\u2019d steeds tumultuous plunge and bound,\nAnd the thick thunder beats the labouring ground,\nStill slaughtering on, the king of men proceeds;\nThe distanced army wonders at his deeds,\nAs when the winds with raging flames conspire,\nAnd o\u2019er the forests roll the flood of fire,\nIn blazing heaps the grove\u2019s old honours fall,\nAnd one refulgent ruin levels all:\nBefore Atrides\u2019 rage so sinks the foe,\nWhole squadrons vanish, and proud heads lie low.\nThe steeds fly trembling from his waving sword,\nAnd many a car, now lighted of its lord,\nWide o\u2019er the field with guideless fury rolls,\nBreaking their ranks, and crushing out their souls;\nWhile his keen falchion drinks the warriors\u2019 lives;\nMore grateful, now, to vultures than their wives!\n\nPerhaps great Hector then had found his fate,\nBut Jove and destiny prolong\u2019d his date.\nSafe from the darts, the care of heaven he stood,\nAmidst alarms, and death, and dust, and blood.\n\nNow past the tomb where ancient Ilus lay,\nThrough the mid field the routed urge their way:\nWhere the wild figs the adjoining summit crown,\nThe path they take, and speed to reach the town.\nAs swift, Atrides with loud shouts pursued,\nHot with his toil, and bathed in hostile blood.\nNow near the beech-tree, and the Sc\u00e6an gates,\nThe hero halts, and his associates waits.\nMeanwhile on every side around the plain,\nDispersed, disorder\u2019d, fly the Trojan train.\nSo flies a herd of beeves, that hear dismay\u2019d\nThe lion\u2019s roaring through the midnight shade;\nOn heaps they tumble with successless haste;\nThe savage seizes, draws, and rends the last.\nNot with less fury stern Atrides flew,\nStill press\u2019d the rout, and still the hindmost slew;\nHurl\u2019d from their cars the bravest chiefs are kill\u2019d,\nAnd rage, and death, and carnage load the field.\n\nNow storms the victor at the Trojan wall;\nSurveys the towers, and meditates their fall.\nBut Jove descending shook the Idaean hills,\nAnd down their summits pour\u2019d a hundred rills:\nThe unkindled lightning in his hand he took,\nAnd thus the many-coloured maid bespoke:\n\n\u201cIris, with haste thy golden wings display,\nTo godlike Hector this our word convey\u2014\nWhile Agamemnon wastes the ranks around,\nFights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground,\nBid him give way; but issue forth commands,\nAnd trust the war to less important hands:\nBut when, or wounded by the spear or dart,\nThat chief shall mount his chariot, and depart,\nThen Jove shall string his arm, and fire his breast,\nThen to her ships shall flying Greece be press\u2019d,\nTill to the main the burning sun descend,\nAnd sacred night her awful shade extend.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and Iris at his word obey\u2019d;\nOn wings of winds descends the various maid.\nThe chief she found amidst the ranks of war,\nClose to the bulwarks, on his glittering car.\nThe goddess then: \u201cO son of Priam, hear!\nFrom Jove I come, and his high mandate bear.\nWhile Agamemnon wastes the ranks around,\nFights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground,\nAbstain from fight; yet issue forth commands,\nAnd trust the war to less important hands:\nBut when, or wounded by the spear or dart,\nThe chief shall mount his chariot, and depart,\nThen Jove shall string thy arm, and fire thy breast,\nThen to her ships shall flying Greece be press\u2019d,\nTill to the main the burning sun descend,\nAnd sacred night her awful shade extend.\u201d\n\nShe said, and vanish\u2019d. Hector, with a bound,\nSprings from his chariot on the trembling ground,\nIn clanging arms: he grasps in either hand\nA pointed lance, and speeds from band to band;\nRevives their ardour, turns their steps from flight,\nAnd wakes anew the dying flames of fight.\nThey stand to arms: the Greeks their onset dare,\nCondense their powers, and wait the coming war.\nNew force, new spirit, to each breast returns;\nThe fight renew\u2019d with fiercer fury burns:\nThe king leads on: all fix on him their eye,\nAnd learn from him to conquer, or to die.\n\nYe sacred nine! celestial Muses! tell,\nWho faced him first, and by his prowess fell?\nThe great Iphidamas, the bold and young,\nFrom sage Antenor and Theano sprung;\nWhom from his youth his grandsire Cisseus bred,\nAnd nursed in Thrace where snowy flocks are fed.\nScarce did the down his rosy cheeks invest,\nAnd early honour warm his generous breast,\nWhen the kind sire consign\u2019d his daughter\u2019s charms\n(Theano\u2019s sister) to his youthful arms.\nBut call\u2019d by glory to the wars of Troy,\nHe leaves untasted the first fruits of joy;\nFrom his loved bride departs with melting eyes,\nAnd swift to aid his dearer country flies.\nWith twelve black ships he reach\u2019d Percope\u2019s strand,\nThence took the long laborious march by land.\nNow fierce for fame, before the ranks he springs,\nTowering in arms, and braves the king of kings.\nAtrides first discharged the missive spear;\nThe Trojan stoop\u2019d, the javelin pass\u2019d in air.\nThen near the corslet, at the monarch\u2019s heart,\nWith all his strength, the youth directs his dart:\nBut the broad belt, with plates of silver bound,\nThe point rebated, and repell\u2019d the wound.\nEncumber\u2019d with the dart, Atrides stands,\nTill, grasp\u2019d with force, he wrench\u2019d it from his hands;\nAt once his weighty sword discharged a wound\nFull on his neck, that fell\u2019d him to the ground.\nStretch\u2019d in the dust the unhappy warrior lies,\nAnd sleep eternal seals his swimming eyes.\nOh worthy better fate! oh early slain!\nThy country\u2019s friend; and virtuous, though in vain!\nNo more the youth shall join his consort\u2019s side,\nAt once a virgin, and at once a bride!\nNo more with presents her embraces meet,\nOr lay the spoils of conquest at her feet,\nOn whom his passion, lavish of his store,\nBestow\u2019d so much, and vainly promised more!\nUnwept, uncover\u2019d, on the plain he lay,\nWhile the proud victor bore his arms away.\n\nCoon, Antenor\u2019s eldest hope, was nigh:\nTears, at the sight, came starting from his eye,\nWhile pierced with grief the much-loved youth he view\u2019d,\nAnd the pale features now deform\u2019d with blood.\nThen, with his spear, unseen, his time he took,\nAim\u2019d at the king, and near his elbow strook.\nThe thrilling steel transpierced the brawny part,\nAnd through his arm stood forth the barbed dart.\nSurprised the monarch feels, yet void of fear\nOn Coon rushes with his lifted spear:\nHis brother\u2019s corpse the pious Trojan draws,\nAnd calls his country to assert his cause;\nDefends him breathless on the sanguine field,\nAnd o\u2019er the body spreads his ample shield.\nAtrides, marking an unguarded part,\nTransfix\u2019d the warrior with his brazen dart;\nProne on his brother\u2019s bleeding breast he lay,\nThe monarch\u2019s falchion lopp\u2019d his head away:\nThe social shades the same dark journey go,\nAnd join each other in the realms below.\n\nThe vengeful victor rages round the fields,\nWith every weapon art or fury yields:\nBy the long lance, the sword, or ponderous stone,\nWhole ranks are broken, and whole troops o\u2019erthrown.\nThis, while yet warm distill\u2019d the purple flood;\nBut when the wound grew stiff with clotted blood,\nThen grinding tortures his strong bosom rend,\nLess keen those darts the fierce Ilythiae send:\n(The powers that cause the teeming matron\u2019s throes,\nSad mothers of unutterable woes!)\nStung with the smart, all-panting with the pain,\nHe mounts the car, and gives his squire the rein;\nThen with a voice which fury made more strong,\nAnd pain augmented, thus exhorts the throng:\n\n\u201cO friends! O Greeks! assert your honours won;\nProceed, and finish what this arm begun:\nLo! angry Jove forbids your chief to stay,\nAnd envies half the glories of the day.\u201d\n\nHe said: the driver whirls his lengthful thong;\nThe horses fly; the chariot smokes along.\nClouds from their nostrils the fierce coursers blow,\nAnd from their sides the foam descends in snow;\nShot through the battle in a moment\u2019s space,\nThe wounded monarch at his tent they place.\n\nNo sooner Hector saw the king retired,\nBut thus his Trojans and his aids he fired:\n\u201cHear, all ye Dardan, all ye Lycian race!\nFamed in close fight, and dreadful face to face:\nNow call to mind your ancient trophies won,\nYour great forefathers\u2019 virtues, and your own.\nBehold, the general flies! deserts his powers!\nLo, Jove himself declares the conquest ours!\nNow on yon ranks impel your foaming steeds;\nAnd, sure of glory, dare immortal deeds.\u201d\n\nWith words like these the fiery chief alarms\nHis fainting host, and every bosom warms.\nAs the bold hunter cheers his hounds to tear\nThe brindled lion, or the tusky bear:\nWith voice and hand provokes their doubting heart,\nAnd springs the foremost with his lifted dart:\nSo godlike Hector prompts his troops to dare;\nNor prompts alone, but leads himself the war.\nOn the black body of the foe he pours;\nAs from the cloud\u2019s deep bosom, swell\u2019d with showers,\nA sudden storm the purple ocean sweeps,\nDrives the wild waves, and tosses all the deeps.\nSay, Muse! when Jove the Trojan\u2019s glory crown\u2019d,\nBeneath his arm what heroes bit the ground?\nAssaeus, Dolops, and Autonous died,\nOpites next was added to their side;\nThen brave Hipponous, famed in many a fight,\nOpheltius, Orus, sunk to endless night;\n\u00c6symnus, Agelaus; all chiefs of name;\nThe rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame.\nAs when a western whirlwind, charged with storms,\nDispels the gather\u2019d clouds that Notus forms:\nThe gust continued, violent and strong,\nRolls sable clouds in heaps on heaps along;\nNow to the skies the foaming billows rears,\nNow breaks the surge, and wide the bottom bares:\nThus, raging Hector, with resistless hands,\nO\u2019erturns, confounds, and scatters all their bands.\nNow the last ruin the whole host appals;\nNow Greece had trembled in her wooden walls;\nBut wise Ulysses call\u2019d Tydides forth,\nHis soul rekindled, and awaked his worth.\n\u201cAnd stand we deedless, O eternal shame!\nTill Hector\u2019s arm involve the ships in flame?\nHaste, let us join, and combat side by side.\u201d\nThe warrior thus, and thus the friend replied:\n\n\u201cNo martial toil I shun, no danger fear;\nLet Hector come; I wait his fury here.\nBut Jove with conquest crowns the Trojan train:\nAnd, Jove our foe, all human force is vain.\u201d\n\nHe sigh\u2019d; but, sighing, raised his vengeful steel,\nAnd from his car the proud Thymbraeus fell:\nMolion, the charioteer, pursued his lord,\nHis death ennobled by Ulysses\u2019 sword.\nThere slain, they left them in eternal night,\nThen plunged amidst the thickest ranks of fight.\nSo two wild boars outstrip the following hounds,\nThen swift revert, and wounds return for wounds.\nStern Hector\u2019s conquests in the middle plain\nStood check\u2019d awhile, and Greece respired again.\n\nThe sons of Merops shone amidst the war;\nTowering they rode in one refulgent car:\nIn deep prophetic arts their father skill\u2019d,\nHad warn\u2019d his children from the Trojan field.\nFate urged them on: the father warn\u2019d in vain;\nThey rush\u2019d to fight, and perish\u2019d on the plain;\nTheir breasts no more the vital spirit warms;\nThe stern Tydides strips their shining arms.\nHypirochus by great Ulysses dies,\nAnd rich Hippodamus becomes his prize.\nGreat Jove from Ide with slaughter fills his sight,\nAnd level hangs the doubtful scale of fight.\nBy Tydeus\u2019 lance Agastrophus was slain,\nThe far-famed hero of P\u00e6onian strain;\nWing\u2019d with his fears, on foot he strove to fly,\nHis steeds too distant, and the foe too nigh:\nThrough broken orders, swifter than the wind,\nHe fled, but flying left his life behind.\nThis Hector sees, as his experienced eyes\nTraverse the files, and to the rescue flies;\nShouts, as he pass\u2019d, the crystal regions rend,\nAnd moving armies on his march attend.\nGreat Diomed himself was seized with fear,\nAnd thus bespoke his brother of the war:\n\n\u201cMark how this way yon bending squadrons yield!\nThe storm rolls on, and Hector rules the field:\nHere stand his utmost force.\u201d\u2014The warrior said;\nSwift at the word his ponderous javelin fled;\nNor miss\u2019d its aim, but where the plumage danced\nRazed the smooth cone, and thence obliquely glanced.\nSafe in his helm (the gift of Ph\u0153bus\u2019 hands)\nWithout a wound the Trojan hero stands;\nBut yet so stunn\u2019d, that, staggering on the plain.\nHis arm and knee his sinking bulk sustain;\nO\u2019er his dim sight the misty vapours rise,\nAnd a short darkness shades his swimming eyes.\nTydides followed to regain his lance;\nWhile Hector rose, recover\u2019d from the trance,\nRemounts his car, and herds amidst the crowd:\nThe Greek pursues him, and exults aloud:\n\u201cOnce more thank Ph\u0153bus for thy forfeit breath,\nOr thank that swiftness which outstrips the death.\nWell by Apollo are thy prayers repaid,\nAnd oft that partial power has lent his aid.\nThou shall not long the death deserved withstand,\nIf any god assist Tydides\u2019 hand.\nFly then, inglorious! but thy flight, this day,\nWhole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay,\u201d\n\nHim, while he triumph\u2019d, Paris eyed from far,\n(The spouse of Helen, the fair cause of war;)\nAround the fields his feather\u2019d shafts he sent,\nFrom ancient Ilus\u2019 ruin\u2019d monument:\nBehind the column placed, he bent his bow,\nAnd wing\u2019d an arrow at the unwary foe;\nJust as he stoop\u2019d, Agastrophus\u2019s crest\nTo seize, and drew the corslet from his breast,\nThe bowstring twang\u2019d; nor flew the shaft in vain,\nBut pierced his foot, and nail\u2019d it to the plain.\nThe laughing Trojan, with a joyful spring.\nLeaps from his ambush, and insults the king.\n\n\u201cHe bleeds! (he cries) some god has sped my dart!\nWould the same god had fix\u2019d it in his heart!\nSo Troy, relieved from that wide-wasting hand,\nShould breathe from slaughter and in combat stand:\nWhose sons now tremble at his darted spear,\nAs scatter\u2019d lambs the rushing lion fear.\u201d\n\nHe dauntless thus: \u201cThou conqueror of the fair,\nThou woman-warrior with the curling hair;\nVain archer! trusting to the distant dart,\nUnskill\u2019d in arms to act a manly part!\nThou hast but done what boys or women can;\nSuch hands may wound, but not incense a man.\nNor boast the scratch thy feeble arrow gave,\nA coward\u2019s weapon never hurts the brave.\nNot so this dart, which thou may\u2019st one day feel;\nFate wings its flight, and death is on the steel:\nWhere this but lights, some noble life expires;\nIts touch makes orphans, bathes the cheeks of sires,\nSteeps earth in purple, gluts the birds of air,\nAnd leaves such objects as distract the fair.\u201d\nUlysses hastens with a trembling heart,\nBefore him steps, and bending draws the dart:\nForth flows the blood; an eager pang succeeds;\nTydides mounts, and to the navy speeds.\n\nNow on the field Ulysses stands alone,\nThe Greeks all fled, the Trojans pouring on;\nBut stands collected in himself, and whole,\nAnd questions thus his own unconquer\u2019d soul:\n\n\u201cWhat further subterfuge, what hopes remain?\nWhat shame, inglorious if I quit the plain?\nWhat danger, singly if I stand the ground,\nMy friends all scatter\u2019d, all the foes around?\nYet wherefore doubtful? let this truth suffice,\nThe brave meets danger, and the coward flies.\nTo die or conquer, proves a hero\u2019s heart;\nAnd, knowing this, I know a soldier\u2019s part.\u201d\n\nSuch thoughts revolving in his careful breast,\nNear, and more near, the shady cohorts press\u2019d;\nThese, in the warrior, their own fate enclose;\nAnd round him deep the steely circle grows.\nSo fares a boar whom all the troop surrounds\nOf shouting huntsmen and of clamorous hounds;\nHe grinds his ivory tusks; he foams with ire;\nHis sanguine eye-balls glare with living fire;\nBy these, by those, on every part is plied;\nAnd the red slaughter spreads on every side.\nPierced through the shoulder, first Deiopis fell;\nNext Ennomus and Thoon sank to hell;\nChersidamas, beneath the navel thrust,\nFalls prone to earth, and grasps the bloody dust.\nCharops, the son of Hippasus, was near;\nUlysses reach\u2019d him with the fatal spear;\nBut to his aid his brother Socus flies,\nSocus the brave, the generous, and the wise.\nNear as he drew, the warrior thus began:\n\n\u201cO great Ulysses! much-enduring man!\nNot deeper skill\u2019d in every martial sleight,\nThan worn to toils, and active in the fight!\nThis day two brothers shall thy conquest grace,\nAnd end at once the great Hippasian race,\nOr thou beneath this lance must press the field.\u201d\nHe said, and forceful pierced his spacious shield:\nThrough the strong brass the ringing javelin thrown,\nPlough\u2019d half his side, and bared it to the bone.\nBy Pallas\u2019 care, the spear, though deep infix\u2019d,\nStopp\u2019d short of life, nor with his entrails mix\u2019d.\n\nThe wound not mortal wise Ulysses knew,\nThen furious thus (but first some steps withdrew):\n\u201cUnhappy man! whose death our hands shall grace,\nFate calls thee hence and finish\u2019d is thy race.\nNor longer check my conquests on the foe;\nBut, pierced by this, to endless darkness go,\nAnd add one spectre to the realms below!\u201d\n\nHe spoke, while Socus, seized with sudden fright,\nTrembling gave way, and turn\u2019d his back to flight;\nBetween his shoulders pierced the following dart,\nAnd held its passage through the panting heart:\nWide in his breast appear\u2019d the grisly wound;\nHe falls; his armour rings against the ground.\nThen thus Ulysses, gazing on the slain:\n\u201cFamed son of Hippasus! there press the plain;\nThere ends thy narrow span assign\u2019d by fate,\nHeaven owes Ulysses yet a longer date.\nAh, wretch! no father shall thy corpse compose;\nThy dying eyes no tender mother close;\nBut hungry birds shall tear those balls away,\nAnd hovering vultures scream around their prey.\nMe Greece shall honour, when I meet my doom,\nWith solemn funerals and a lasting tomb.\u201d\n\nThen raging with intolerable smart,\nHe writhes his body, and extracts the dart.\nThe dart a tide of spouting gore pursued,\nAnd gladden\u2019d Troy with sight of hostile blood.\nNow troops on troops the fainting chief invade,\nForced he recedes, and loudly calls for aid.\nThrice to its pitch his lofty voice he rears;\nThe well-known voice thrice Menelaus hears:\nAlarm\u2019d, to Ajax Telamon he cried,\nWho shares his labours, and defends his side:\n\u201cO friend! Ulysses\u2019 shouts invade my ear;\nDistressed he seems, and no assistance near;\nStrong as he is, yet one opposed to all,\nOppress\u2019d by multitudes, the best may fall.\nGreece robb\u2019d of him must bid her host despair,\nAnd feel a loss not ages can repair.\u201d\n\nThen, where the cry directs, his course he bends;\nGreat Ajax, like the god of war, attends,\nThe prudent chief in sore distress they found,\nWith bands of furious Trojans compass\u2019d round.[223]\nAs when some huntsman, with a flying spear,\nFrom the blind thicket wounds a stately deer;\nDown his cleft side, while fresh the blood distils,\nHe bounds aloft, and scuds from hills to hills,\nTill life\u2019s warm vapour issuing through the wound,\nWild mountain-wolves the fainting beast surround:\nJust as their jaws his prostrate limbs invade,\nThe lion rushes through the woodland shade,\nThe wolves, though hungry, scour dispersed away;\nThe lordly savage vindicates his prey.\nUlysses thus, unconquer\u2019d by his pains,\nA single warrior half a host sustains:\nBut soon as Ajax leaves his tower-like shield,\nThe scattered crowds fly frighted o\u2019er the field;\nAtrides\u2019 arm the sinking hero stays,\nAnd, saved from numbers, to his car conveys.\n\nVictorious Ajax plies the routed crew;\nAnd first Doryclus, Priam\u2019s son, he slew,\nOn strong Pandocus next inflicts a wound,\nAnd lays Lysander bleeding on the ground.\nAs when a torrent, swell\u2019d with wintry rains,\nPours from the mountains o\u2019er the deluged plains,\nAnd pines and oaks, from their foundations torn,\nA country\u2019s ruins! to the seas are borne:\nFierce Ajax thus o\u2019erwhelms the yielding throng;\nMen, steeds, and chariots, roll in heaps along.\n\nBut Hector, from this scene of slaughter far,\nRaged on the left, and ruled the tide of war:\nLoud groans proclaim his progress through the plain,\nAnd deep Scamander swells with heaps of slain.\nThere Nestor and Idomeneus oppose\nThe warrior\u2019s fury; there the battle glows;\nThere fierce on foot, or from the chariot\u2019s height,\nHis sword deforms the beauteous ranks of fight.\nThe spouse of Helen, dealing darts around,\nHad pierced Machaon with a distant wound:\nIn his right shoulder the broad shaft appear\u2019d,\nAnd trembling Greece for her physician fear\u2019d.\nTo Nestor then Idomeneus begun:\n\u201cGlory of Greece, old Neleus\u2019 valiant son!\nAscend thy chariot, haste with speed away,\nAnd great Machaon to the ships convey;\nA wise physician skill\u2019d our wounds to heal,\nIs more than armies to the public weal.\u201d\nOld Nestor mounts the seat; beside him rode\nThe wounded offspring of the healing god.\nHe lends the lash; the steeds with sounding feet\nShake the dry field, and thunder toward the fleet.\n\nBut now Cebriones, from Hector\u2019s car,\nSurvey\u2019d the various fortune of the war:\n\u201cWhile here (he cried) the flying Greeks are slain,\nTrojans on Trojans yonder load the plain.\nBefore great Ajax see the mingled throng\nOf men and chariots driven in heaps along!\nI know him well, distinguish\u2019d o\u2019er the field\nBy the broad glittering of the sevenfold shield.\nThither, O Hector, thither urge thy steeds,\nThere danger calls, and there the combat bleeds;\nThere horse and foot in mingled deaths unite,\nAnd groans of slaughter mix with shouts of fight.\u201d\n\nThus having spoke, the driver\u2019s lash resounds;\nSwift through the ranks the rapid chariot bounds;\nStung by the stroke, the coursers scour the fields,\nO\u2019er heaps of carcases, and hills of shields.\nThe horses\u2019 hoofs are bathed in heroes\u2019 gore,\nAnd, dashing, purple all the car before;\nThe groaning axle sable drops distils,\nAnd mangled carnage clogs the rapid wheels.\nHere Hector, plunging through the thickest fight,\nBroke the dark phalanx, and let in the light:\n(By the long lance, the sword, or ponderous stone,\nThe ranks he scatter\u2019d and the troops o\u2019erthrown:)\nAjax he shuns, through all the dire debate,\nAnd fears that arm whose force he felt so late.\nBut partial Jove, espousing Hector\u2019s part,\nShot heaven-bred horror through the Grecian\u2019s heart;\nConfused, unnerved in Hector\u2019s presence grown,\nAmazed he stood, with terrors not his own.\nO\u2019er his broad back his moony shield he threw,\nAnd, glaring round, by tardy steps withdrew.\nThus the grim lion his retreat maintains,\nBeset with watchful dogs, and shouting swains;\nRepulsed by numbers from the nightly stalls,\nThough rage impels him, and though hunger calls,\nLong stands the showering darts, and missile fires;\nThen sourly slow the indignant beast retires:\nSo turn\u2019d stern Ajax, by whole hosts repell\u2019d,\nWhile his swoln heart at every step rebell\u2019d.\n\nAs the slow beast, with heavy strength endued,\nIn some wide field by troops of boys pursued,\nThough round his sides a wooden tempest rain,\nCrops the tall harvest, and lays waste the plain;\nThick on his hide the hollow blows resound,\nThe patient animal maintains his ground,\nScarce from the field with all their efforts chased,\nAnd stirs but slowly when he stirs at last:\nOn Ajax thus a weight of Trojans hung,\nThe strokes redoubled on his buckler rung;\nConfiding now in bulky strength he stands,\nNow turns, and backward bears the yielding bands;\nNow stiff recedes, yet hardly seems to fly,\nAnd threats his followers with retorted eye.\nFix\u2019d as the bar between two warring powers,\nWhile hissing darts descend in iron showers:\nIn his broad buckler many a weapon stood,\nIts surface bristled with a quivering wood;\nAnd many a javelin, guiltless on the plain,\nMarks the dry dust, and thirsts for blood in vain.\nBut bold Eurypylus his aid imparts,\nAnd dauntless springs beneath a cloud of darts;\nWhose eager javelin launch\u2019d against the foe,\nGreat Apisaon felt the fatal blow;\nFrom his torn liver the red current flow\u2019d,\nAnd his slack knees desert their dying load.\nThe victor rushing to despoil the dead,\nFrom Paris\u2019 bow a vengeful arrow fled;\nFix\u2019d in his nervous thigh the weapon stood,\nFix\u2019d was the point, but broken was the wood.\nBack to the lines the wounded Greek retired,\nYet thus retreating, his associates fired:\n\n\u201cWhat god, O Grecians! has your hearts dismay\u2019d?\nOh, turn to arms; \u2019tis Ajax claims your aid.\nThis hour he stands the mark of hostile rage,\nAnd this the last brave battle he shall wage:\nHaste, join your forces; from the gloomy grave\nThe warrior rescue, and your country save.\u201d\nThus urged the chief: a generous troop appears,\nWho spread their bucklers, and advance their spears,\nTo guard their wounded friend: while thus they stand\nWith pious care, great Ajax joins the band:\nEach takes new courage at the hero\u2019s sight;\nThe hero rallies, and renews the fight.\n\nThus raged both armies like conflicting fires,\nWhile Nestor\u2019s chariot far from fight retires:\nHis coursers steep\u2019d in sweat, and stain\u2019d with gore,\nThe Greeks\u2019 preserver, great Machaon, bore.\nThat hour Achilles, from the topmost height\nOf his proud fleet, o\u2019erlook\u2019d the fields of fight;\nHis feasted eyes beheld around the plain\nThe Grecian rout, the slaying, and the slain.\nHis friend Machaon singled from the rest,\nA transient pity touch\u2019d his vengeful breast.\nStraight to Menoetius\u2019 much-loved son he sent:\nGraceful as Mars, Patroclus quits his tent;\nIn evil hour! Then fate decreed his doom,\nAnd fix\u2019d the date of all his woes to come.\n\n\u201cWhy calls my friend? thy loved injunctions lay;\nWhate\u2019er thy will, Patroclus shall obey.\u201d\n\n\u201cO first of friends! (Pelides thus replied)\nStill at my heart, and ever at my side!\nThe time is come, when yon despairing host\nShall learn the value of the man they lost:\nNow at my knees the Greeks shall pour their moan,\nAnd proud Atrides tremble on his throne.\nGo now to Nestor, and from him be taught\nWhat wounded warrior late his chariot brought:\nFor, seen at distance, and but seen behind,\nHis form recall\u2019d Machaon to my mind;\nNor could I, through yon cloud, discern his face,\nThe coursers pass\u2019d me with so swift a pace.\u201d\n\nThe hero said. His friend obey\u2019d with haste,\nThrough intermingled ships and tents he pass\u2019d;\nThe chiefs descending from their car he found:\nThe panting steeds Eurymedon unbound.\nThe warriors standing on the breezy shore,\nTo dry their sweat, and wash away the gore,\nHere paused a moment, while the gentle gale\nConvey\u2019d that freshness the cool seas exhale;\nThen to consult on farther methods went,\nAnd took their seats beneath the shady tent.\nThe draught prescribed, fair Hecamede prepares,\nArsinous\u2019 daughter, graced with golden hairs:\n(Whom to his aged arms, a royal slave,\nGreece, as the prize of Nestor\u2019s wisdom gave:)\nA table first with azure feet she placed;\nWhose ample orb a brazen charger graced;\nHoney new-press\u2019d, the sacred flour of wheat,\nAnd wholesome garlic, crown\u2019d the savoury treat,\nNext her white hand an antique goblet brings,\nA goblet sacred to the Pylian kings\nFrom eldest times: emboss\u2019d with studs of gold,\nTwo feet support it, and four handles hold;\nOn each bright handle, bending o\u2019er the brink,\nIn sculptured gold, two turtles seem to drink:\nA massy weight, yet heaved with ease by him,\nWhen the brisk nectar overlook\u2019d the brim.\nTemper\u2019d in this, the nymph of form divine\nPours a large portion of the Pramnian wine;\nWith goat\u2019s-milk cheese a flavourous taste bestows,\nAnd last with flour the smiling surface strows:\nThis for the wounded prince the dame prepares:\nThe cordial beverage reverend Nestor shares:\nSalubrious draughts the warriors\u2019 thirst allay,\nAnd pleasing conference beguiles the day.\n\nMeantime Patroclus, by Achilles sent,\nUnheard approached, and stood before the tent.\nOld Nestor, rising then, the hero led\nTo his high seat: the chief refused and said:\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis now no season for these kind delays;\nThe great Achilles with impatience stays.\nTo great Achilles this respect I owe;\nWho asks, what hero, wounded by the foe,\nWas borne from combat by thy foaming steeds?\nWith grief I see the great Machaon bleeds.\nThis to report, my hasty course I bend;\nThou know\u2019st the fiery temper of my friend.\u201d\n\u201cCan then the sons of Greece (the sage rejoin\u2019d)\nExcite compassion in Achilles\u2019 mind?\nSeeks he the sorrows of our host to know?\nThis is not half the story of our woe.\nTell him, not great Machaon bleeds alone,\nOur bravest heroes in the navy groan,\nUlysses, Agamemnon, Diomed,\nAnd stern Eurypylus, already bleed.\nBut, ah! what flattering hopes I entertain!\nAchilles heeds not, but derides our pain:\nEven till the flames consume our fleet he stays,\nAnd waits the rising of the fatal blaze.\nChief after chief the raging foe destroys;\nCalm he looks on, and every death enjoys.\nNow the slow course of all-impairing time\nUnstrings my nerves, and ends my manly prime;\nOh! had I still that strength my youth possess\u2019d,\nWhen this bold arm the Epeian powers oppress\u2019d,\nThe bulls of Elis in glad triumph led,\nAnd stretch\u2019d the great Itymonaeus dead!\nThen from my fury fled the trembling swains,\nAnd ours was all the plunder of the plains:\nFifty white flocks, full fifty herds of swine,\nAs many goats, as many lowing kine:\nAnd thrice the number of unrivall\u2019d steeds,\nAll teeming females, and of generous breeds.\nThese, as my first essay of arms, I won;\nOld Neleus gloried in his conquering son.\nThus Elis forced, her long arrears restored,\nAnd shares were parted to each Pylian lord.\nThe state of Pyle was sunk to last despair,\nWhen the proud Elians first commenced the war:\nFor Neleus\u2019 sons Alcides\u2019 rage had slain;\nOf twelve bold brothers, I alone remain!\nOppress\u2019d, we arm\u2019d; and now this conquest gain\u2019d,\nMy sire three hundred chosen sheep obtain\u2019d.\n(That large reprisal he might justly claim,\nFor prize defrauded, and insulted fame,\nWhen Elis\u2019 monarch, at the public course,\nDetain\u2019d his chariot, and victorious horse.)\nThe rest the people shared; myself survey\u2019d\nThe just partition, and due victims paid.\nThree days were past, when Elis rose to war,\nWith many a courser, and with many a car;\nThe sons of Actor at their army\u2019s head\n(Young as they were) the vengeful squadrons led.\nHigh on the rock fair Thryoessa stands,\nOur utmost frontier on the Pylian lands:\nNot far the streams of famed Alphaeus flow:\nThe stream they pass\u2019d, and pitch\u2019d their tents below.\nPallas, descending in the shades of night,\nAlarms the Pylians and commands the fight.\nEach burns for fame, and swells with martial pride,\nMyself the foremost; but my sire denied;\nFear\u2019d for my youth, exposed to stern alarms;\nAnd stopp\u2019d my chariot, and detain\u2019d my arms.\nMy sire denied in vain: on foot I fled\nAmidst our chariots; for the goddess led.\n\n\u201cAlong fair Arene\u2019s delightful plain\nSoft Minyas rolls his waters to the main:\nThere, horse and foot, the Pylian troops unite,\nAnd sheathed in arms, expect the dawning light.\nThence, ere the sun advanced his noon-day flame,\nTo great Alphaeus\u2019 sacred source we came.\nThere first to Jove our solemn rites were paid;\nAn untamed heifer pleased the blue-eyed maid;\nA bull, Alphaeus; and a bull was slain\nTo the blue monarch of the watery main.\nIn arms we slept, beside the winding flood,\nWhile round the town the fierce Epeians stood.\nSoon as the sun, with all-revealing ray,\nFlamed in the front of Heaven, and gave the day.\nBright scenes of arms, and works of war appear;\nThe nations meet; there Pylos, Elis here.\nThe first who fell, beneath my javelin bled;\nKing Augias\u2019 son, and spouse of Agamede:\n(She that all simples\u2019 healing virtues knew,\nAnd every herb that drinks the morning dew:)\nI seized his car, the van of battle led;\nThe Epeians saw, they trembled, and they fled.\nThe foe dispersed, their bravest warrior kill\u2019d,\nFierce as the whirlwind now I swept the field:\nFull fifty captive chariots graced my train;\nTwo chiefs from each fell breathless to the plain.\nThen Actor\u2019s sons had died, but Neptune shrouds\nThe youthful heroes in a veil of clouds.\nO\u2019er heapy shields, and o\u2019er the prostrate throng,\nCollecting spoils, and slaughtering all along,\nThrough wide Buprasian fields we forced the foes,\nWhere o\u2019er the vales the Olenian rocks arose;\nTill Pallas stopp\u2019d us where Alisium flows.\nEven there the hindmost of the rear I slay,\nAnd the same arm that led concludes the day;\nThen back to Pyle triumphant take my way.\nThere to high Jove were public thanks assign\u2019d,\nAs first of gods; to Nestor, of mankind.\nSuch then I was, impell\u2019d by youthful blood;\nSo proved my valour for my country\u2019s good.\n\n\u201cAchilles with unactive fury glows,\nAnd gives to passion what to Greece he owes.\nHow shall he grieve, when to the eternal shade\nHer hosts shall sink, nor his the power to aid!\nO friend! my memory recalls the day,\nWhen, gathering aids along the Grecian sea,\nI, and Ulysses, touch\u2019d at Phthia\u2019s port,\nAnd entered Peleus\u2019 hospitable court.\nA bull to Jove he slew in sacrifice,\nAnd pour\u2019d libations on the flaming thighs.\nThyself, Achilles, and thy reverend sire\nMenoetius, turn\u2019d the fragments on the fire.\nAchilles sees us, to the feast invites;\nSocial we sit, and share the genial rites.\nWe then explained the cause on which we came,\nUrged you to arms, and found you fierce for fame.\nYour ancient fathers generous precepts gave;\nPeleus said only this:\u2014\u2018My son! be brave.\u2019\nMenoetius thus: \u2018Though great Achilles shine\nIn strength superior, and of race divine,\nYet cooler thoughts thy elder years attend;\nLet thy just counsels aid, and rule thy friend.\u2019\nThus spoke your father at Thessalia\u2019s court:\nWords now forgot, though now of vast import.\nAh! try the utmost that a friend can say:\nSuch gentle force the fiercest minds obey;\nSome favouring god Achilles\u2019 heart may move;\nThough deaf to glory, he may yield to love.\nIf some dire oracle his breast alarm,\nIf aught from Heaven withhold his saving arm,\nSome beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine,\nIf thou but lead the Myrmidonian line;\nClad in Achilles\u2019 arms, if thou appear,\nProud Troy may tremble, and desist from war;\nPress\u2019d by fresh forces, her o\u2019er-labour\u2019d train\nShall seek their walls, and Greece respire again.\u201d\n\nThis touch\u2019d his generous heart, and from the tent\nAlong the shore with hasty strides he went;\nSoon as he came, where, on the crowded strand,\nThe public mart and courts of justice stand,\nWhere the tall fleet of great Ulysses lies,\nAnd altars to the guardian gods arise;\nThere, sad, he met the brave Euaemon\u2019s son,\nLarge painful drops from all his members run;\nAn arrow\u2019s head yet rooted in his wound,\nThe sable blood in circles mark\u2019d the ground.\nAs faintly reeling he confess\u2019d the smart,\nWeak was his pace, but dauntless was his heart.\nDivine compassion touch\u2019d Patroclus\u2019 breast,\nWho, sighing, thus his bleeding friend address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cAh, hapless leaders of the Grecian host!\nThus must ye perish on a barbarous coast?\nIs this your fate, to glut the dogs with gore,\nFar from your friends, and from your native shore?\nSay, great Eurypylus! shall Greece yet stand?\nResists she yet the raging Hector\u2019s hand?\nOr are her heroes doom\u2019d to die with shame,\nAnd this the period of our wars and fame?\u201d\n\nEurypylus replies: \u201cNo more, my friend;\nGreece is no more! this day her glories end;\nEven to the ships victorious Troy pursues,\nHer force increasing as her toil renews.\nThose chiefs, that used her utmost rage to meet,\nLie pierced with wounds, and bleeding in the fleet.\nBut, thou, Patroclus! act a friendly part,\nLead to my ships, and draw this deadly dart;\nWith lukewarm water wash the gore away;\nWith healing balms the raging smart allay,\nSuch as sage Chiron, sire of pharmacy,\nOnce taught Achilles, and Achilles thee.\nOf two famed surgeons, Podalirius stands\nThis hour surrounded by the Trojan bands;\nAnd great Machaon, wounded in his tent,\nNow wants that succour which so oft he lent.\u201d\n\nTo him the chief: \u201cWhat then remains to do?\nThe event of things the gods alone can view.\nCharged by Achilles\u2019 great command I fly,\nAnd bear with haste the Pylian king\u2019s reply:\nBut thy distress this instant claims relief.\u201d\nHe said, and in his arms upheld the chief.\nThe slaves their master\u2019s slow approach survey\u2019d,\nAnd hides of oxen on the floor display\u2019d:\nThere stretch\u2019d at length the wounded hero lay;\nPatroclus cut the forky steel away:\nThen in his hands a bitter root he bruised;\nThe wound he wash\u2019d, the styptic juice infused.\nThe closing flesh that instant ceased to glow,\nThe wound to torture, and the blood to flow.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] HERCULES\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE BATTLE AT THE GRECIAN WALL.\n\n\nThe Greeks having retired into their intrenchments, Hector attempts to\nforce them; but it proving impossible to pass the ditch, Polydamas\nadvises to quit their chariots, and manage the attack on foot. The\nTrojans follow his counsel; and having divided their army into five\nbodies of foot, begin the assault. But upon the signal of an eagle with\na serpent in his talons, which appeared on the left hand of the\nTrojans, Polydamas endeavours to withdraw them again. This Hector\nopposes, and continues the attack; in which, after many actions,\nSarpedon makes the first breach in the wall. Hector also, casting a\nstone of vast size, forces open one of the gates, and enters at the\nhead of his troops, who victoriously pursue the Grecians even to their\nships.\n\n\nWhile thus the hero\u2019s pious cares attend\nThe cure and safety of his wounded friend,\nTrojans and Greeks with clashing shields engage,\nAnd mutual deaths are dealt with mutual rage.\nNor long the trench or lofty walls oppose;\nWith gods averse the ill-fated works arose;\nTheir powers neglected, and no victim slain,\nThe walls were raised, the trenches sunk in vain.\n\nWithout the gods, how short a period stands\nThe proudest monument of mortal hands!\nThis stood while Hector and Achilles raged,\nWhile sacred Troy the warring hosts engaged;\nBut when her sons were slain, her city burn\u2019d,\nAnd what survived of Greece to Greece return\u2019d;\nThen Neptune and Apollo shook the shore,\nThen Ida\u2019s summits pour\u2019d their watery store;\nRhesus and Rhodius then unite their rills,\nCaresus roaring down the stony hills,\n\u00c6sepus, Granicus, with mingled force,\nAnd Xanthus foaming from his fruitful source;\nAnd gulfy Simois, rolling to the main[224]\nHelmets, and shields, and godlike heroes slain:\nThese, turn\u2019d by Ph\u0153bus from their wonted ways,\nDeluged the rampire nine continual days;\nThe weight of waters saps the yielding wall,\nAnd to the sea the floating bulwarks fall.\nIncessant cataracts the Thunderer pours,\nAnd half the skies descend in sluicy showers.\nThe god of ocean, marching stern before,\nWith his huge trident wounds the trembling shore,\nVast stones and piles from their foundation heaves,\nAnd whelms the smoky ruin in the waves.\nNow smooth\u2019d with sand, and levell\u2019d by the flood,\nNo fragment tells where once the wonder stood;\nIn their old bounds the rivers roll again,\nShine \u2019twixt the hills, or wander o\u2019er the plain.[225]\n\nBut this the gods in later times perform;\nAs yet the bulwark stood, and braved the storm;\nThe strokes yet echoed of contending powers;\nWar thunder\u2019d at the gates, and blood distain\u2019d the towers.\nSmote by the arm of Jove with dire dismay,\nClose by their hollow ships the Grecians lay:\nHector\u2019s approach in every wind they hear,\nAnd Hector\u2019s fury every moment fear.\nHe, like a whirlwind, toss\u2019d the scattering throng,\nMingled the troops, and drove the field along.\nSo \u2019midst the dogs and hunters\u2019 daring bands,\nFierce of his might, a boar or lion stands;\nArm\u2019d foes around a dreadful circle form,\nAnd hissing javelins rain an iron storm:\nHis powers untamed, their bold assault defy,\nAnd where he turns the rout disperse or die:\nHe foams, he glares, he bounds against them all,\nAnd if he falls, his courage makes him fall.\nWith equal rage encompass\u2019d Hector glows;\nExhorts his armies, and the trenches shows.\nThe panting steeds impatient fury breathe,\nAnd snort and tremble at the gulf beneath;\nJust at the brink they neigh, and paw the ground,\nAnd the turf trembles, and the skies resound.\nEager they view\u2019d the prospect dark and deep,\nVast was the leap, and headlong hung the steep;\nThe bottom bare, (a formidable show!)\nAnd bristled thick with sharpen\u2019d stakes below.\nThe foot alone this strong defence could force,\nAnd try the pass impervious to the horse.\nThis saw Polydamas; who, wisely brave,\nRestrain\u2019d great Hector, and this counsel gave:\n\n\u201cO thou, bold leader of the Trojan bands!\nAnd you, confederate chiefs from foreign lands!\nWhat entrance here can cumbrous chariots find,\nThe stakes beneath, the Grecian walls behind?\nNo pass through those, without a thousand wounds,\nNo space for combat in yon narrow bounds.\nProud of the favours mighty Jove has shown,\nOn certain dangers we too rashly run:\nIf \u2019tis his will our haughty foes to tame,\nOh may this instant end the Grecian name!\nHere, far from Argos, let their heroes fall,\nAnd one great day destroy and bury all!\nBut should they turn, and here oppress our train,\nWhat hopes, what methods of retreat remain?\nWedged in the trench, by our own troops confused,\nIn one promiscuous carnage crush\u2019d and bruised,\nAll Troy must perish, if their arms prevail,\nNor shall a Trojan live to tell the tale.\nHear then, ye warriors! and obey with speed;\nBack from the trenches let your steeds be led;\nThen all alighting, wedged in firm array,\nProceed on foot, and Hector lead the way.\nSo Greece shall stoop before our conquering power,\nAnd this (if Jove consent) her fatal hour.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] POLYDAMAS ADVISING HECTOR\n\n\nThis counsel pleased: the godlike Hector sprung\nSwift from his seat; his clanging armour rung.\nThe chief\u2019s example follow\u2019d by his train,\nEach quits his car, and issues on the plain,\nBy orders strict the charioteers enjoin\u2019d\nCompel the coursers to their ranks behind.\nThe forces part in five distinguish\u2019d bands,\nAnd all obey their several chiefs\u2019 commands.\nThe best and bravest in the first conspire,\nPant for the fight, and threat the fleet with fire:\nGreat Hector glorious in the van of these,\nPolydamas, and brave Cebriones.\nBefore the next the graceful Paris shines,\nAnd bold Alcathous, and Agenor joins.\nThe sons of Priam with the third appear,\nDeiphobus, and Helenas the seer;\nIn arms with these the mighty Asius stood,\nWho drew from Hyrtacus his noble blood,\nAnd whom Arisba\u2019s yellow coursers bore,\nThe coursers fed on Sell\u00e8\u2019s winding shore.\nAntenor\u2019s sons the fourth battalion guide,\nAnd great \u00c6neas, born on fountful Ide.\nDivine Sarpedon the last band obey\u2019d,\nWhom Glaucus and Asteropaeus aid.\nNext him, the bravest, at their army\u2019s head,\nBut he more brave than all the hosts he led.\n\nNow with compacted shields in close array,\nThe moving legions speed their headlong way:\nAlready in their hopes they fire the fleet,\nAnd see the Grecians gasping at their feet.\n\nWhile every Trojan thus, and every aid,\nThe advice of wise Polydamas obey\u2019d,\nAsius alone, confiding in his car,\nHis vaunted coursers urged to meet the war.\nUnhappy hero! and advised in vain;\nThose wheels returning ne\u2019er shall mark the plain;\nNo more those coursers with triumphant joy\nRestore their master to the gates of Troy!\nBlack death attends behind the Grecian wall,\nAnd great Idomeneus shall boast thy fall!\nFierce to the left he drives, where from the plain\nThe flying Grecians strove their ships to gain;\nSwift through the wall their horse and chariots pass\u2019d,\nThe gates half-open\u2019d to receive the last.\nThither, exulting in his force, he flies:\nHis following host with clamours rend the skies:\nTo plunge the Grecians headlong in the main,\nSuch their proud hopes; but all their hopes were vain!\n\nTo guard the gates, two mighty chiefs attend,\nWho from the Lapiths\u2019 warlike race descend;\nThis Polyp\u0153tes, great Perithous\u2019 heir,\nAnd that Leonteus, like the god of war.\nAs two tall oaks, before the wall they rise;\nTheir roots in earth, their heads amidst the skies:\nWhose spreading arms with leafy honours crown\u2019d,\nForbid the tempest, and protect the ground;\nHigh on the hills appears their stately form,\nAnd their deep roots for ever brave the storm.\nSo graceful these, and so the shock they stand\nOf raging Asius, and his furious band.\nOrestes, Acamas, in front appear,\nAnd \u0152nomaus and Thoon close the rear:\nIn vain their clamours shake the ambient fields,\nIn vain around them beat their hollow shields;\nThe fearless brothers on the Grecians call,\nTo guard their navies, and defend the wall.\nEven when they saw Troy\u2019s sable troops impend,\nAnd Greece tumultuous from her towers descend,\nForth from the portals rush\u2019d the intrepid pair,\nOpposed their breasts, and stood themselves the war.\nSo two wild boars spring furious from their den,\nRoused with the cries of dogs and voice of men;\nOn every side the crackling trees they tear,\nAnd root the shrubs, and lay the forest bare;\nThey gnash their tusks, with fire their eye-balls roll,\nTill some wide wound lets out their mighty soul.\nAround their heads the whistling javelins sung,\nWith sounding strokes their brazen targets rung;\nFierce was the fight, while yet the Grecian powers\nMaintain\u2019d the walls, and mann\u2019d the lofty towers:\nTo save their fleet their last efforts they try,\nAnd stones and darts in mingled tempests fly.\n\nAs when sharp Boreas blows abroad, and brings\nThe dreary winter on his frozen wings;\nBeneath the low-hung clouds the sheets of snow\nDescend, and whiten all the fields below:\nSo fast the darts on either army pour,\nSo down the rampires rolls the rocky shower:\nHeavy, and thick, resound the batter\u2019d shields,\nAnd the deaf echo rattles round the fields.\n\nWith shame repulsed, with grief and fury driven,\nThe frantic Asius thus accuses Heaven:\n\u201cIn powers immortal who shall now believe?\nCan those too flatter, and can Jove deceive?\nWhat man could doubt but Troy\u2019s victorious power\nShould humble Greece, and this her fatal hour?\nBut like when wasps from hollow crannies drive,\nTo guard the entrance of their common hive,\nDarkening the rock, while with unwearied wings\nThey strike the assailants, and infix their stings;\nA race determined, that to death contend:\nSo fierce these Greeks their last retreats defend.\nGods! shall two warriors only guard their gates,\nRepel an army, and defraud the fates?\u201d\n\nThese empty accents mingled with the wind,\nNor moved great Jove\u2019s unalterable mind;\nTo godlike Hector and his matchless might\nWas owed the glory of the destined fight.\nLike deeds of arms through all the forts were tried,\nAnd all the gates sustain\u2019d an equal tide;\nThrough the long walls the stony showers were heard,\nThe blaze of flames, the flash of arms appear\u2019d.\nThe spirit of a god my breast inspire,\nTo raise each act to life, and sing with fire!\nWhile Greece unconquer\u2019d kept alive the war,\nSecure of death, confiding in despair;\nAnd all her guardian gods, in deep dismay,\nWith unassisting arms deplored the day.\n\nEven yet the dauntless Lapithae maintain\nThe dreadful pass, and round them heap the slain.\nFirst Damasus, by Polyp\u0153tes\u2019 steel,\nPierced through his helmet\u2019s brazen visor, fell;\nThe weapon drank the mingled brains and gore!\nThe warrior sinks, tremendous now no more!\nNext Ormenus and Pylon yield their breath:\nNor less Leonteus strews the field with death;\nFirst through the belt Hippomachus he gored,\nThen sudden waved his unresisted sword:\nAntiphates, as through the ranks he broke,\nThe falchion struck, and fate pursued the stroke:\nIamenus, Orestes, Menon, bled;\nAnd round him rose a monument of dead.\nMeantime, the bravest of the Trojan crew,\nBold Hector and Polydamas, pursue;\nFierce with impatience on the works to fall,\nAnd wrap in rolling flames the fleet and wall.\nThese on the farther bank now stood and gazed,\nBy Heaven alarm\u2019d, by prodigies amazed:\nA signal omen stopp\u2019d the passing host,\nTheir martial fury in their wonder lost.\nJove\u2019s bird on sounding pinions beat the skies;\nA bleeding serpent of enormous size,\nHis talons truss\u2019d; alive, and curling round,\nHe stung the bird, whose throat received the wound:\nMad with the smart, he drops the fatal prey,\nIn airy circles wings his painful way,\nFloats on the winds, and rends the heaven with cries:\nAmidst the host the fallen serpent lies.\nThey, pale with terror, mark its spires unroll\u2019d,\nAnd Jove\u2019s portent with beating hearts behold.\nThen first Polydamas the silence broke,\nLong weigh\u2019d the signal, and to Hector spoke:\n\n\u201cHow oft, my brother, thy reproach I bear,\nFor words well meant, and sentiments sincere?\nTrue to those counsels which I judge the best,\nI tell the faithful dictates of my breast.\nTo speak his thoughts is every freeman\u2019s right,\nIn peace, in war, in council, and in fight;\nAnd all I move, deferring to thy sway,\nBut tends to raise that power which I obey.\nThen hear my words, nor may my words be vain!\nSeek not this day the Grecian ships to gain;\nFor sure, to warn us, Jove his omen sent,\nAnd thus my mind explains its clear event:\nThe victor eagle, whose sinister flight\nRetards our host, and fills our hearts with fright,\nDismiss\u2019d his conquest in the middle skies,\nAllow\u2019d to seize, but not possess the prize;\nThus, though we gird with fires the Grecian fleet,\nThough these proud bulwalks tumble at our feet,\nToils unforeseen, and fiercer, are decreed;\nMore woes shall follow, and more heroes bleed.\nSo bodes my soul, and bids me thus advise;\nFor thus a skilful seer would read the skies.\u201d\n\nTo him then Hector with disdain return\u2019d:\n(Fierce as he spoke, his eyes with fury burn\u2019d:)\n\u201cAre these the faithful counsels of thy tongue?\nThy will is partial, not thy reason wrong:\nOr if the purpose of thy heart thou vent,\nSure heaven resumes the little sense it lent.\nWhat coward counsels would thy madness move\nAgainst the word, the will reveal\u2019d of Jove?\nThe leading sign, the irrevocable nod,\nAnd happy thunders of the favouring god,\nThese shall I slight, and guide my wavering mind\nBy wandering birds that flit with every wind?\nYe vagrants of the sky! your wings extend,\nOr where the suns arise, or where descend;\nTo right, to left, unheeded take your way,\nWhile I the dictates of high heaven obey.\nWithout a sign his sword the brave man draws,\nAnd asks no omen but his country\u2019s cause.\nBut why should\u2019st thou suspect the war\u2019s success?\nNone fears it more, as none promotes it less:\nThough all our chiefs amidst yon ships expire,\nTrust thy own cowardice to escape their fire.\nTroy and her sons may find a general grave,\nBut thou canst live, for thou canst be a slave.\nYet should the fears that wary mind suggests\nSpread their cold poison through our soldiers\u2019 breasts,\nMy javelin can revenge so base a part,\nAnd free the soul that quivers in thy heart.\u201d\n\nFurious he spoke, and, rushing to the wall,\nCalls on his host; his host obey the call;\nWith ardour follow where their leader flies:\nRedoubling clamours thunder in the skies.\nJove breathes a whirlwind from the hills of Ide,\nAnd drifts of dust the clouded navy hide;\nHe fills the Greeks with terror and dismay,\nAnd gives great Hector the predestined day.\nStrong in themselves, but stronger in his aid,\nClose to the works their rigid siege they laid.\nIn vain the mounds and massy beams defend,\nWhile these they undermine, and those they rend;\nUpheaved the piles that prop the solid wall;\nAnd heaps on heaps the smoky ruins fall.\nGreece on her ramparts stands the fierce alarms;\nThe crowded bulwarks blaze with waving arms,\nShield touching shield, a long refulgent row;\nWhence hissing darts, incessant, rain below.\nThe bold Ajaces fly from tower to tower,\nAnd rouse, with flame divine, the Grecian power.\nThe generous impulse every Greek obeys;\nThreats urge the fearful; and the valiant, praise.\n\n\u201cFellows in arms! whose deeds are known to fame,\nAnd you, whose ardour hopes an equal name!\nSince not alike endued with force or art;\nBehold a day when each may act his part!\nA day to fire the brave, and warm the cold,\nTo gain new glories, or augment the old.\nUrge those who stand, and those who faint, excite;\nDrown Hector\u2019s vaunts in loud exhorts of fight;\nConquest, not safety, fill the thoughts of all;\nSeek not your fleet, but sally from the wall;\nSo Jove once more may drive their routed train,\nAnd Troy lie trembling in her walls again.\u201d\n\nTheir ardour kindles all the Grecian powers;\nAnd now the stones descend in heavier showers.\nAs when high Jove his sharp artillery forms,\nAnd opes his cloudy magazine of storms;\nIn winter\u2019s bleak uncomfortable reign,\nA snowy inundation hides the plain;\nHe stills the winds, and bids the skies to sleep;\nThen pours the silent tempest thick and deep;\nAnd first the mountain-tops are cover\u2019d o\u2019er,\nThen the green fields, and then the sandy shore;\nBent with the weight, the nodding woods are seen,\nAnd one bright waste hides all the works of men:\nThe circling seas, alone absorbing all,\nDrink the dissolving fleeces as they fall:\nSo from each side increased the stony rain,\nAnd the white ruin rises o\u2019er the plain.\n\nThus godlike Hector and his troops contend\nTo force the ramparts, and the gates to rend:\nNor Troy could conquer, nor the Greeks would yield,\nTill great Sarpedon tower\u2019d amid the field;\nFor mighty Jove inspired with martial flame\nHis matchless son, and urged him on to fame.\nIn arms he shines, conspicuous from afar,\nAnd bears aloft his ample shield in air;\nWithin whose orb the thick bull-hides were roll\u2019d,\nPonderous with brass, and bound with ductile gold:\nAnd while two pointed javelins arm his hands,\nMajestic moves along, and leads his Lycian bands.\n\nSo press\u2019d with hunger, from the mountain\u2019s brow\nDescends a lion on the flocks below;\nSo stalks the lordly savage o\u2019er the plain,\nIn sullen majesty, and stern disdain:\nIn vain loud mastiffs bay him from afar,\nAnd shepherds gall him with an iron war;\nRegardless, furious, he pursues his way;\nHe foams, he roars, he rends the panting prey.\n\nResolved alike, divine Sarpedon glows\nWith generous rage that drives him on the foes.\nHe views the towers, and meditates their fall,\nTo sure destruction dooms the aspiring wall;\nThen casting on his friend an ardent look,\nFired with the thirst of glory, thus he spoke:\n\n\u201cWhy boast we, Glaucus! our extended reign,[226]\nWhere Xanthus\u2019 streams enrich the Lycian plain,\nOur numerous herds that range the fruitful field,\nAnd hills where vines their purple harvest yield,\nOur foaming bowls with purer nectar crown\u2019d,\nOur feasts enhanced with music\u2019s sprightly sound?\nWhy on those shores are we with joy survey\u2019d,\nAdmired as heroes, and as gods obey\u2019d,\nUnless great acts superior merit prove,\nAnd vindicate the bounteous powers above?\n\u2019Tis ours, the dignity they give to grace;\nThe first in valour, as the first in place;\nThat when with wondering eyes our martial bands\nBehold our deeds transcending our commands,\nSuch, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state,\nWhom those that envy dare not imitate!\nCould all our care elude the gloomy grave,\nWhich claims no less the fearful and the brave,\nFor lust of fame I should not vainly dare\nIn fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war.\nBut since, alas! ignoble age must come,\nDisease, and death\u2019s inexorable doom,\nThe life, which others pay, let us bestow,\nAnd give to fame what we to nature owe;\nBrave though we fall, and honour\u2019d if we live,\nOr let us glory gain, or glory give!\u201d\n\nHe said; his words the listening chief inspire\nWith equal warmth, and rouse the warrior\u2019s fire;\nThe troops pursue their leaders with delight,\nRush to the foe, and claim the promised fight.\nMenestheus from on high the storm beheld\nThreatening the fort, and blackening in the field:\nAround the walls he gazed, to view from far\nWhat aid appear\u2019d to avert the approaching war,\nAnd saw where Teucer with the Ajaces stood,\nOf fight insatiate, prodigal of blood.\nIn vain he calls; the din of helms and shields\nRings to the skies, and echoes through the fields,\nThe brazen hinges fly, the walls resound,\nHeaven trembles, roar the mountains, thunders all the ground.\nThen thus to Thoos: \u201cHence with speed (he said),\nAnd urge the bold Ajaces to our aid;\nTheir strength, united, best may help to bear\nThe bloody labours of the doubtful war:\nHither the Lycian princes bend their course,\nThe best and bravest of the hostile force.\nBut if too fiercely there the foes contend,\nLet Telamon, at least, our towers defend,\nAnd Teucer haste with his unerring bow\nTo share the danger, and repel the foe.\u201d\n\nSwift, at the word, the herald speeds along\nThe lofty ramparts, through the martial throng,\nAnd finds the heroes bathed in sweat and gore,\nOpposed in combat on the dusty shore.\n\u201cYe valiant leaders of our warlike bands!\nYour aid (said Thoos) Peteus\u2019 son demands;\nYour strength, united, best may help to bear\nThe bloody labours of the doubtful war:\nThither the Lycian princes bend their course,\nThe best and bravest of the hostile force.\nBut if too fiercely, here, the foes contend,\nAt least, let Telamon those towers defend,\nAnd Teucer haste with his unerring bow\nTo share the danger, and repel the foe.\u201d\n\nStraight to the fort great Ajax turn\u2019d his care,\nAnd thus bespoke his brothers of the war:\n\u201cNow, valiant Lycomede! exert your might,\nAnd, brave O\u00efleus, prove your force in fight;\nTo you I trust the fortune of the field,\nTill by this arm the foe shall be repell\u2019d:\nThat done, expect me to complete the day.\nThen with his sevenfold shield he strode away.\u201d\nWith equal steps bold Teucer press\u2019d the shore,\nWhose fatal bow the strong Pandion bore.\n\nHigh on the walls appear\u2019d the Lycian powers,\nLike some black tempest gathering round the towers:\nThe Greeks, oppress\u2019d, their utmost force unite,\nPrepared to labour in the unequal fight:\nThe war renews, mix\u2019d shouts and groans arise;\nTumultuous clamour mounts, and thickens in the skies.\nFierce Ajax first the advancing host invades,\nAnd sends the brave Epicles to the shades,\nSarpedon\u2019s friend. Across the warrior\u2019s way,\nRent from the walls, a rocky fragment lay;\nIn modern ages not the strongest swain\nCould heave the unwieldy burden from the plain:\nHe poised, and swung it round; then toss\u2019d on high,\nIt flew with force, and labour\u2019d up the sky;\nFull on the Lycian\u2019s helmet thundering down,\nThe ponderous ruin crush\u2019d his batter\u2019d crown.\nAs skilful divers from some airy steep\nHeadlong descend, and shoot into the deep,\nSo falls Epicles; then in groans expires,\nAnd murmuring to the shades the soul retires.\n\nWhile to the ramparts daring Glaucus drew,\nFrom Teucer\u2019s hand a winged arrow flew;\nThe bearded shaft the destined passage found,\nAnd on his naked arm inflicts a wound.\nThe chief, who fear\u2019d some foe\u2019s insulting boast\nMight stop the progress of his warlike host,\nConceal\u2019d the wound, and, leaping from his height\nRetired reluctant from the unfinish\u2019d fight.\nDivine Sarpedon with regret beheld\nDisabled Glaucus slowly quit the field;\nHis beating breast with generous ardour glows,\nHe springs to fight, and flies upon the foes.\nAlcmaon first was doom\u2019d his force to feel;\nDeep in his breast he plunged the pointed steel;\nThen from the yawning wound with fury tore\nThe spear, pursued by gushing streams of gore:\nDown sinks the warrior with a thundering sound,\nHis brazen armour rings against the ground.\n\nSwift to the battlement the victor flies,\nTugs with full force, and every nerve applies:\nIt shakes; the ponderous stones disjointed yield;\nThe rolling ruins smoke along the field.\nA mighty breach appears; the walls lie bare;\nAnd, like a deluge, rushes in the war.\nAt once bold Teucer draws the twanging bow,\nAnd Ajax sends his javelin at the foe;\nFix\u2019d in his belt the feather\u2019d weapon stood,\nAnd through his buckler drove the trembling wood;\nBut Jove was present in the dire debate,\nTo shield his offspring, and avert his fate.\nThe prince gave back, not meditating flight,\nBut urging vengeance, and severer fight;\nThen raised with hope, and fired with glory\u2019s charms,\nHis fainting squadrons to new fury warms.\n\u201cO where, ye Lycians, is the strength you boast?\nYour former fame and ancient virtue lost!\nThe breach lies open, but your chief in vain\nAttempts alone the guarded pass to gain:\nUnite, and soon that hostile fleet shall fall:\nThe force of powerful union conquers all.\u201d\n\nThis just rebuke inflamed the Lycian crew;\nThey join, they thicken, and the assault renew:\nUnmoved the embodied Greeks their fury dare,\nAnd fix\u2019d support the weight of all the war;\nNor could the Greeks repel the Lycian powers,\nNor the bold Lycians force the Grecian towers.\nAs on the confines of adjoining grounds,\nTwo stubborn swains with blows dispute their bounds;\nThey tug, they sweat; but neither gain, nor yield,\nOne foot, one inch, of the contended field;\nThus obstinate to death, they fight, they fall;\nNor these can keep, nor those can win the wall.\nTheir manly breasts are pierced with many a wound,\nLoud strokes are heard, and rattling arms resound;\nThe copious slaughter covers all the shore,\nAnd the high ramparts drip with human gore.\n\nAs when two scales are charged with doubtful loads,\nFrom side to side the trembling balance nods,\n(While some laborious matron, just and poor,\nWith nice exactness weighs her woolly store,)\nTill poised aloft, the resting beam suspends\nEach equal weight; nor this, nor that, descends:[227]\nSo stood the war, till Hector\u2019s matchless might,\nWith fates prevailing, turn\u2019d the scale of fight.\nFierce as a whirlwind up the walls he flies,\nAnd fires his host with loud repeated cries.\n\u201cAdvance, ye Trojans! lend your valiant hands,\nHaste to the fleet, and toss the blazing brands!\u201d\nThey hear, they run; and, gathering at his call,\nRaise scaling engines, and ascend the wall:\nAround the works a wood of glittering spears\nShoots up, and all the rising host appears.\nA ponderous stone bold Hector heaved to throw,\nPointed above, and rough and gross below:\nNot two strong men the enormous weight could raise,\nSuch men as live in these degenerate days:\nYet this, as easy as a swain could bear\nThe snowy fleece, he toss\u2019d, and shook in air;\nFor Jove upheld, and lighten\u2019d of its load\nThe unwieldy rock, the labour of a god.\nThus arm\u2019d, before the folded gates he came,\nOf massy substance, and stupendous frame;\nWith iron bars and brazen hinges strong,\nOn lofty beams of solid timber hung:\nThen thundering through the planks with forceful sway,\nDrives the sharp rock; the solid beams give way,\nThe folds are shatter\u2019d; from the crackling door\nLeap the resounding bars, the flying hinges roar.\nNow rushing in, the furious chief appears,\nGloomy as night![228] and shakes two shining spears:\nA dreadful gleam from his bright armour came,\nAnd from his eye-balls flash\u2019d the living flame.\nHe moves a god, resistless in his course,\nAnd seems a match for more than mortal force.\nThen pouring after, through the gaping space,\nA tide of Trojans flows, and fills the place;\nThe Greeks behold, they tremble, and they fly;\nThe shore is heap\u2019d with death, and tumult rends the sky.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] GREEK ALTAR\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XIII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE FOURTH BATTLE CONTINUED, IN WHICH NEPTUNE ASSISTS THE GREEKS: THE\nACTS OF IDOMENEUS.\n\n\nNeptune, concerned for the loss of the Grecians, upon seeing the\nfortification forced by Hector, (who had entered the gate near the\nstation of the Ajaces,) assumes the shape of Calchas, and inspires\nthose heroes to oppose him: then, in the form of one of the generals,\nencourages the other Greeks who had retired to their vessels. The\nAjaces form their troops in a close phalanx, and put a stop to Hector\nand the Trojans. Several deeds of valour are performed; Meriones,\nlosing his spear in the encounter, repairs to seek another at the tent\nof Idomeneus: this occasions a conversation between those two warriors,\nwho return together to the battle. Idomeneus signalizes his courage\nabove the rest; he kills Othryoneus, Asius, and Alcathous: Deiphobus\nand \u00c6neas march against him, and at length Idomeneus retires. Menelaus\nwounds Helenus, and kills Pisander. The Trojans are repulsed on the\nleft wing; Hector still keeps his ground against the Ajaces, till,\nbeing galled by the Locrian slingers and archers, Polydamas advises to\ncall a council of war: Hector approves of his advice, but goes first to\nrally the Trojans; upbraids Paris, rejoins Polydamas, meets Ajax again,\nand renews the attack.\n    The eight-and-twentieth day still continues. The scene is between\n    the Grecian wall and the sea-shore.\n\n\nWhen now the Thunderer on the sea-beat coast\nHad fix\u2019d great Hector and his conquering host,\nHe left them to the fates, in bloody fray\nTo toil and struggle through the well-fought day.\nThen turn\u2019d to Thracia from the field of fight\nThose eyes that shed insufferable light,\nTo where the Mysians prove their martial force,\nAnd hardy Thracians tame the savage horse;\nAnd where the far-famed Hippomolgian strays,\nRenown\u2019d for justice and for length of days;[229]\nThrice happy race! that, innocent of blood,\nFrom milk, innoxious, seek their simple food:\nJove sees delighted; and avoids the scene\nOf guilty Troy, of arms, and dying men:\nNo aid, he deems, to either host is given,\nWhile his high law suspends the powers of Heaven.\n\nMeantime the monarch of the watery main\nObserved the Thunderer, nor observed in vain.\nIn Samothracia, on a mountain\u2019s brow,\nWhose waving woods o\u2019erhung the deeps below,\nHe sat; and round him cast his azure eyes\nWhere Ida\u2019s misty tops confusedly rise;\nBelow, fair Ilion\u2019s glittering spires were seen;\nThe crowded ships and sable seas between.\nThere, from the crystal chambers of the main\nEmerged, he sat, and mourn\u2019d his Argives slain.\nAt Jove incensed, with grief and fury stung,\nProne down the rocky steep he rush\u2019d along;\nFierce as he pass\u2019d, the lofty mountains nod,\nThe forest shakes; earth trembled as he trod,\nAnd felt the footsteps of the immortal god.\nFrom realm to realm three ample strides he took,\nAnd, at the fourth, the distant \u00c6gae shook.\n\nFar in the bay his shining palace stands,\nEternal frame! not raised by mortal hands:\nThis having reach\u2019d, his brass-hoof\u2019d steeds he reins,\nFleet as the winds, and deck\u2019d with golden manes.\nRefulgent arms his mighty limbs infold,\nImmortal arms of adamant and gold.\nHe mounts the car, the golden scourge applies,\nHe sits superior, and the chariot flies:\nHis whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep;\nThe enormous monsters rolling o\u2019er the deep\nGambol around him on the watery way,\nAnd heavy whales in awkward measures play;\nThe sea subsiding spreads a level plain,\nExults, and owns the monarch of the main;\nThe parting waves before his coursers fly;\nThe wondering waters leave his axle dry.\n\nDeep in the liquid regions lies a cave,\nBetween where Tenedos the surges lave,\nAnd rocky Imbrus breaks the rolling wave:\nThere the great ruler of the azure round\nStopp\u2019d his swift chariot, and his steeds unbound,\nFed with ambrosial herbage from his hand,\nAnd link\u2019d their fetlocks with a golden band,\nInfrangible, immortal: there they stay:\nThe father of the floods pursues his way:\nWhere, like a tempest, darkening heaven around,\nOr fiery deluge that devours the ground,\nThe impatient Trojans, in a gloomy throng,\nEmbattled roll\u2019d, as Hector rush\u2019d along:\nTo the loud tumult and the barbarous cry\nThe heavens re-echo, and the shores reply:\nThey vow destruction to the Grecian name,\nAnd in their hopes the fleets already flame.\n\nBut Neptune, rising from the seas profound,\nThe god whose earthquakes rock the solid ground,\nNow wears a mortal form; like Calchas seen,\nSuch his loud voice, and such his manly mien;\nHis shouts incessant every Greek inspire,\nBut most the Ajaces, adding fire to fire.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] NEPTUNE RISING FROM THE SEA\n\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis yours, O warriors, all our hopes to raise:\nOh recollect your ancient worth and praise!\n\u2019Tis yours to save us, if you cease to fear;\nFlight, more than shameful, is destructive here.\nOn other works though Troy with fury fall,\nAnd pour her armies o\u2019er our batter\u2019d wall:\nThere Greece has strength: but this, this part o\u2019erthrown,\nHer strength were vain; I dread for you alone:\nHere Hector rages like the force of fire,\nVaunts of his gods, and calls high Jove his sire:\nIf yet some heavenly power your breast excite,\nBreathe in your hearts, and string your arms to fight,\nGreece yet may live, her threaten\u2019d fleet maintain:\nAnd Hector\u2019s force, and Jove\u2019s own aid, be vain.\u201d\n\nThen with his sceptre, that the deep controls,\nHe touch\u2019d the chiefs, and steel\u2019d their manly souls:\nStrength, not their own, the touch divine imparts,\nPrompts their light limbs, and swells their daring hearts.\nThen, as a falcon from the rocky height,\nHer quarry seen, impetuous at the sight,\nForth-springing instant, darts herself from high,\nShoots on the wing, and skims along the sky:\nSuch, and so swift, the power of ocean flew;\nThe wide horizon shut him from their view.\n\nThe inspiring god O\u00efleus\u2019 active son\nPerceived the first, and thus to Telamon:\n\n\u201cSome god, my friend, some god in human form\nFavouring descends, and wills to stand the storm.\nNot Calchas this, the venerable seer;\nShort as he turned, I saw the power appear:\nI mark\u2019d his parting, and the steps he trod;\nHis own bright evidence reveals a god.\nEven now some energy divine I share,\nAnd seem to walk on wings, and tread in air!\u201d\n\n\u201cWith equal ardour (Telamon returns)\nMy soul is kindled, and my bosom burns;\nNew rising spirits all my force alarm,\nLift each impatient limb, and brace my arm.\nThis ready arm, unthinking, shakes the dart;\nThe blood pours back, and fortifies my heart:\nSingly, methinks, yon towering chief I meet,\nAnd stretch the dreadful Hector at my feet.\u201d\n\nFull of the god that urged their burning breast,\nThe heroes thus their mutual warmth express\u2019d.\nNeptune meanwhile the routed Greeks inspired;\nWho, breathless, pale, with length of labours tired,\nPant in the ships; while Troy to conquest calls,\nAnd swarms victorious o\u2019er their yielding walls:\nTrembling before the impending storm they lie,\nWhile tears of rage stand burning in their eye.\nGreece sunk they thought, and this their fatal hour;\nBut breathe new courage as they feel the power.\nTeucer and Leitus first his words excite;\nThen stern Peneleus rises to the fight;\nThoas, Deipyrus, in arms renown\u2019d,\nAnd Merion next, the impulsive fury found;\nLast Nestor\u2019s son the same bold ardour takes,\nWhile thus the god the martial fire awakes:\n\n\u201cOh lasting infamy, oh dire disgrace\nTo chiefs of vigorous youth, and manly race!\nI trusted in the gods, and you, to see\nBrave Greece victorious, and her navy free:\nAh, no\u2014the glorious combat you disclaim,\nAnd one black day clouds all her former fame.\nHeavens! what a prodigy these eyes survey,\nUnseen, unthought, till this amazing day!\nFly we at length from Troy\u2019s oft-conquer\u2019d bands?\nAnd falls our fleet by such inglorious hands?\nA rout undisciplined, a straggling train,\nNot born to glories of the dusty plain;\nLike frighted fawns from hill to hill pursued,\nA prey to every savage of the wood:\nShall these, so late who trembled at your name,\nInvade your camps, involve your ships in flame?\nA change so shameful, say, what cause has wrought?\nThe soldiers\u2019 baseness, or the general\u2019s fault?\nFools! will ye perish for your leader\u2019s vice;\nThe purchase infamy, and life the price?\n\u2019Tis not your cause, Achilles\u2019 injured fame:\nAnother\u2019s is the crime, but yours the shame.\nGrant that our chief offend through rage or lust,\nMust you be cowards, if your king\u2019s unjust?\nPrevent this evil, and your country save:\nSmall thought retrieves the spirits of the brave.\nThink, and subdue! on dastards dead to fame\nI waste no anger, for they feel no shame:\nBut you, the pride, the flower of all our host,\nMy heart weeps blood to see your glory lost!\nNor deem this day, this battle, all you lose;\nA day more black, a fate more vile, ensues.\nLet each reflect, who prizes fame or breath,\nOn endless infamy, on instant death:\nFor, lo! the fated time, the appointed shore:\nHark! the gates burst, the brazen barriers roar!\nImpetuous Hector thunders at the wall;\nThe hour, the spot, to conquer, or to fall.\u201d\n\nThese words the Grecians\u2019 fainting hearts inspire,\nAnd listening armies catch the godlike fire.\nFix\u2019d at his post was each bold Ajax found,\nWith well-ranged squadrons strongly circled round:\nSo close their order, so disposed their fight,\nAs Pallas\u2019 self might view with fix\u2019d delight;\nOr had the god of war inclined his eyes,\nThe god of war had own\u2019d a just surprise.\nA chosen phalanx, firm, resolved as fate,\nDescending Hector and his battle wait.\nAn iron scene gleams dreadful o\u2019er the fields,\nArmour in armour lock\u2019d, and shields in shields,\nSpears lean on spears, on targets targets throng,\nHelms stuck to helms, and man drove man along.\nThe floating plumes unnumber\u2019d wave above,\nAs when an earthquake stirs the nodding grove;\nAnd levell\u2019d at the skies with pointing rays,\nTheir brandish\u2019d lances at each motion blaze.\n\nThus breathing death, in terrible array,\nThe close compacted legions urged their way:\nFierce they drove on, impatient to destroy;\nTroy charged the first, and Hector first of Troy.\nAs from some mountain\u2019s craggy forehead torn,\nA rock\u2019s round fragment flies, with fury borne,\n(Which from the stubborn stone a torrent rends,)\nPrecipitate the ponderous mass descends:\nFrom steep to steep the rolling ruin bounds;\nAt every shock the crackling wood resounds;\nStill gathering force, it smokes; and urged amain,\nWhirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain:\nThere stops\u2014so Hector. Their whole force he proved,[230]\nResistless when he raged, and, when he stopp\u2019d, unmoved.\n\nOn him the war is bent, the darts are shed,\nAnd all their falchions wave around his head:\nRepulsed he stands, nor from his stand retires;\nBut with repeated shouts his army fires.\n\u201cTrojans! be firm; this arm shall make your way\nThrough yon square body, and that black array:\nStand, and my spear shall rout their scattering power,\nStrong as they seem, embattled like a tower;\nFor he that Juno\u2019s heavenly bosom warms,\nThe first of gods, this day inspires our arms.\u201d\n\nHe said; and roused the soul in every breast:\nUrged with desire of fame, beyond the rest,\nForth march\u2019d Deiphobus; but, marching, held\nBefore his wary steps his ample shield.\nBold Merion aim\u2019d a stroke (nor aim\u2019d it wide);\nThe glittering javelin pierced the tough bull-hide;\nBut pierced not through: unfaithful to his hand,\nThe point broke short, and sparkled in the sand.\nThe Trojan warrior, touch\u2019d with timely fear,\nOn the raised orb to distance bore the spear.\nThe Greek, retreating, mourn\u2019d his frustrate blow,\nAnd cursed the treacherous lance that spared a foe;\nThen to the ships with surly speed he went,\nTo seek a surer javelin in his tent.\n\nMeanwhile with rising rage the battle glows,\nThe tumult thickens, and the clamour grows.\nBy Teucer\u2019s arm the warlike Imbrius bleeds,\nThe son of Mentor, rich in generous steeds.\nEre yet to Troy the sons of Greece were led,\nIn fair Pedaeus\u2019 verdant pastures bred,\nThe youth had dwelt, remote from war\u2019s alarms,\nAnd blest in bright Medesicaste\u2019s arms:\n(This nymph, the fruit of Priam\u2019s ravish\u2019d joy,\nAllied the warrior to the house of Troy:)\nTo Troy, when glory call\u2019d his arms, he came,\nAnd match\u2019d the bravest of her chiefs in fame:\nWith Priam\u2019s sons, a guardian of the throne,\nHe lived, beloved and honour\u2019d as his own.\nHim Teucer pierced between the throat and ear:\nHe groans beneath the Telamonian spear.\nAs from some far-seen mountain\u2019s airy crown,\nSubdued by steel, a tall ash tumbles down,\nAnd soils its verdant tresses on the ground;\nSo falls the youth; his arms the fall resound.\nThen Teucer rushing to despoil the dead,\nFrom Hector\u2019s hand a shining javelin fled:\nHe saw, and shunn\u2019d the death; the forceful dart\nSung on, and pierced Amphimachus\u2019s heart,\nCteatus\u2019 son, of Neptune\u2019s forceful line;\nVain was his courage, and his race divine!\nProstrate he falls; his clanging arms resound,\nAnd his broad buckler thunders on the ground.\nTo seize his beamy helm the victor flies,\nAnd just had fastened on the dazzling prize,\nWhen Ajax\u2019 manly arm a javelin flung;\nFull on the shield\u2019s round boss the weapon rung;\nHe felt the shock, nor more was doom\u2019d to feel,\nSecure in mail, and sheath\u2019d in shining steel.\nRepulsed he yields; the victor Greeks obtain\nThe spoils contested, and bear off the slain.\nBetween the leaders of the Athenian line,\n(Stichius the brave, Menestheus the divine,)\nDeplored Amphimachus, sad object! lies;\nImbrius remains the fierce Ajaces\u2019 prize.\nAs two grim lions bear across the lawn,\nSnatch\u2019d from devouring hounds, a slaughter\u2019d fawn.\nIn their fell jaws high-lifting through the wood,\nAnd sprinkling all the shrubs with drops of blood;\nSo these, the chief: great Ajax from the dead\nStrips his bright arms; O\u00efleus lops his head:\nToss\u2019d like a ball, and whirl\u2019d in air away,\nAt Hector\u2019s feet the gory visage lay.\n\nThe god of ocean, fired with stern disdain,\nAnd pierced with sorrow for his grandson slain,\nInspires the Grecian hearts, confirms their hands,\nAnd breathes destruction on the Trojan bands.\nSwift as a whirlwind rushing to the fleet,\nHe finds the lance-famed Idomen of Crete,\nHis pensive brow the generous care express\u2019d\nWith which a wounded soldier touch\u2019d his breast,\nWhom in the chance of war a javelin tore,\nAnd his sad comrades from the battle bore;\nHim to the surgeons of the camp he sent:\nThat office paid, he issued from his tent\nFierce for the fight: to whom the god begun,\nIn Thoas\u2019 voice, Andr\u00e6mon\u2019s valiant son,\nWho ruled where Calydon\u2019s white rocks arise,\nAnd Pleuron\u2019s chalky cliffs emblaze the skies:\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s now the imperious vaunt, the daring boast,\nOf Greece victorious, and proud Ilion lost?\u201d\n\nTo whom the king: \u201cOn Greece no blame be thrown;\nArms are her trade, and war is all her own.\nHer hardy heroes from the well-fought plains\nNor fear withholds, nor shameful sloth detains:\n\u2019Tis heaven, alas! and Jove\u2019s all-powerful doom,\nThat far, far distant from our native home\nWills us to fall inglorious! Oh, my friend!\nOnce foremost in the fight, still prone to lend\nOr arms or counsels, now perform thy best,\nAnd what thou canst not singly, urge the rest.\u201d\n\nThus he: and thus the god whose force can make\nThe solid globe\u2019s eternal basis shake:\n\u201cAh! never may he see his native land,\nBut feed the vultures on this hateful strand,\nWho seeks ignobly in his ships to stay,\nNor dares to combat on this signal day!\nFor this, behold! in horrid arms I shine,\nAnd urge thy soul to rival acts with mine.\nTogether let us battle on the plain;\nTwo, not the worst; nor even this succour vain:\nNot vain the weakest, if their force unite;\nBut ours, the bravest have confess\u2019d in fight.\u201d\n\nThis said, he rushes where the combat burns;\nSwift to his tent the Cretan king returns:\nFrom thence, two javelins glittering in his hand,\nAnd clad in arms that lighten\u2019d all the strand,\nFierce on the foe the impetuous hero drove,\nLike lightning bursting from the arm of Jove,\nWhich to pale man the wrath of heaven declares,\nOr terrifies the offending world with wars;\nIn streamy sparkles, kindling all the skies,\nFrom pole to pole the trail of glory flies:\nThus his bright armour o\u2019er the dazzled throng\nGleam\u2019d dreadful, as the monarch flash\u2019d along.\n\nHim, near his tent, Meriones attends;\nWhom thus he questions: \u201cEver best of friends!\nO say, in every art of battle skill\u2019d,\nWhat holds thy courage from so brave a field?\nOn some important message art thou bound,\nOr bleeds my friend by some unhappy wound?\nInglorious here, my soul abhors to stay,\nAnd glows with prospects of th\u2019 approaching day.\u201d\n\n\u201cO prince! (Meriones replies) whose care\nLeads forth the embattled sons of Crete to war;\nThis speaks my grief: this headless lance I wield;\nThe rest lies rooted in a Trojan shield.\u201d\n\nTo whom the Cretan: \u201cEnter, and receive\nThe wonted weapons; those my tent can give;\nSpears I have store, (and Trojan lances all,)\nThat shed a lustre round the illumined wall,\nThough I, disdainful of the distant war,\nNor trust the dart, nor aim the uncertain spear,\nYet hand to hand I fight, and spoil the slain;\nAnd thence these trophies, and these arms I gain.\nEnter, and see on heaps the helmets roll\u2019d,\nAnd high-hung spears, and shields that flame with gold.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor vain (said Merion) are our martial toils;\nWe too can boast of no ignoble spoils:\nBut those my ship contains; whence distant far,\nI fight conspicuous in the van of war,\nWhat need I more? If any Greek there be\nWho knows not Merion, I appeal to thee.\u201d\n\nTo this, Idomeneus: \u201cThe fields of fight\nHave proved thy valour, and unconquer\u2019d might:\nAnd were some ambush for the foes design\u2019d,\nEven there thy courage would not lag behind:\nIn that sharp service, singled from the rest,\nThe fear of each, or valour, stands confess\u2019d.\nNo force, no firmness, the pale coward shows;\nHe shifts his place: his colour comes and goes:\nA dropping sweat creeps cold on every part;\nAgainst his bosom beats his quivering heart;\nTerror and death in his wild eye-balls stare;\nWith chattering teeth he stands, and stiffening hair,\nAnd looks a bloodless image of despair!\nNot so the brave\u2014still dauntless, still the same,\nUnchanged his colour, and unmoved his frame:\nComposed his thought, determined is his eye,\nAnd fix\u2019d his soul, to conquer or to die:\nIf aught disturb the tenour of his breast,\n\u2019Tis but the wish to strike before the rest.\n\n\u201cIn such assays thy blameless worth is known,\nAnd every art of dangerous war thy own.\nBy chance of fight whatever wounds you bore,\nThose wounds were glorious all, and all before;\nSuch as may teach, \u2019twas still thy brave delight\nT\u2019oppose thy bosom where thy foremost fight.\nBut why, like infants, cold to honour\u2019s charms,\nStand we to talk, when glory calls to arms?\nGo\u2014from my conquer\u2019d spears the choicest take,\nAnd to their owners send them nobly back.\u201d\n\nSwift at the word bold Merion snatch\u2019d a spear\nAnd, breathing slaughter, follow\u2019d to the war.\nSo Mars armipotent invades the plain,\n(The wide destroyer of the race of man,)\nTerror, his best-beloved son, attends his course,\nArm\u2019d with stern boldness, and enormous force;\nThe pride of haughty warriors to confound,\nAnd lay the strength of tyrants on the ground:\nFrom Thrace they fly, call\u2019d to the dire alarms\nOf warring Phlegyans, and Ephyrian arms;\nInvoked by both, relentless they dispose,\nTo these glad conquest, murderous rout to those.\nSo march\u2019d the leaders of the Cretan train,\nAnd their bright arms shot horror o\u2019er the plain.\n\nThen first spake Merion: \u201cShall we join the right,\nOr combat in the centre of the fight?\nOr to the left our wonted succour lend?\nHazard and fame all parts alike attend.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot in the centre (Idomen replied:)\nOur ablest chieftains the main battle guide;\nEach godlike Ajax makes that post his care,\nAnd gallant Teucer deals destruction there,\nSkill\u2019d or with shafts to gall the distant field,\nOr bear close battle on the sounding shield.\nThese can the rage of haughty Hector tame:\nSafe in their arms, the navy fears no flame,\nTill Jove himself descends, his bolts to shed,\nAnd hurl the blazing ruin at our head.\nGreat must he be, of more than human birth,\nNor feed like mortals on the fruits of earth.\nHim neither rocks can crush, nor steel can wound,\nWhom Ajax fells not on the ensanguined ground.\nIn standing fight he mates Achilles\u2019 force,\nExcell\u2019d alone in swiftness in the course.\nThen to the left our ready arms apply,\nAnd live with glory, or with glory die.\u201d\n\nHe said: and Merion to th\u2019 appointed place,\nFierce as the god of battles, urged his pace.\nSoon as the foe the shining chiefs beheld\nRush like a fiery torrent o\u2019er the field,\nTheir force embodied in a tide they pour;\nThe rising combat sounds along the shore.\nAs warring winds, in Sirius\u2019 sultry reign,\nFrom different quarters sweep the sandy plain;\nOn every side the dusty whirlwinds rise,\nAnd the dry fields are lifted to the skies:\nThus by despair, hope, rage, together driven,\nMet the black hosts, and, meeting, darken\u2019d heaven.\nAll dreadful glared the iron face of war,\nBristled with upright spears, that flash\u2019d afar;\nDire was the gleam of breastplates, helms, and shields,\nAnd polish\u2019d arms emblazed the flaming fields:\nTremendous scene! that general horror gave,\nBut touch\u2019d with joy the bosoms of the brave.\n\nSaturn\u2019s great sons in fierce contention vied,\nAnd crowds of heroes in their anger died.\nThe sire of earth and heaven, by Thetis won\nTo crown with glory Peleus\u2019 godlike son,\nWill\u2019d not destruction to the Grecian powers,\nBut spared awhile the destined Trojan towers;\nWhile Neptune, rising from his azure main,\nWarr\u2019d on the king of heaven with stern disdain,\nAnd breathed revenge, and fired the Grecian train.\nGods of one source, of one ethereal race,\nAlike divine, and heaven their native place;\nBut Jove the greater; first-born of the skies,\nAnd more than men, or gods, supremely wise.\nFor this, of Jove\u2019s superior might afraid,\nNeptune in human form conceal\u2019d his aid.\nThese powers enfold the Greek and Trojan train\nIn war and discord\u2019s adamantine chain,\nIndissolubly strong: the fatal tie\nIs stretch\u2019d on both, and close compell\u2019d they die.\n\nDreadful in arms, and grown in combats grey,\nThe bold Idomeneus controls the day.\nFirst by his hand Othryoneus was slain,\nSwell\u2019d with false hopes, with mad ambition vain;\nCall\u2019d by the voice of war to martial fame,\nFrom high Cabesus\u2019 distant walls he came;\nCassandra\u2019s love he sought, with boasts of power,\nAnd promised conquest was the proffer\u2019d dower.\nThe king consented, by his vaunts abused;\nThe king consented, but the fates refused.\nProud of himself, and of the imagined bride,\nThe field he measured with a larger stride.\nHim as he stalk\u2019d, the Cretan javelin found;\nVain was his breastplate to repel the wound:\nHis dream of glory lost, he plunged to hell;\nHis arms resounded as the boaster fell.\nThe great Idomeneus bestrides the dead;\n\u201cAnd thus (he cries) behold thy promise sped!\nSuch is the help thy arms to Ilion bring,\nAnd such the contract of the Phrygian king!\nOur offers now, illustrious prince! receive;\nFor such an aid what will not Argos give?\nTo conquer Troy, with ours thy forces join,\nAnd count Atrides\u2019 fairest daughter thine.\nMeantime, on further methods to advise,\nCome, follow to the fleet thy new allies;\nThere hear what Greece has on her part to say.\u201d\nHe spoke, and dragg\u2019d the gory corse away.\nThis Asius view\u2019d, unable to contain,\nBefore his chariot warring on the plain:\n(His crowded coursers, to his squire consign\u2019d,\nImpatient panted on his neck behind:)\nTo vengeance rising with a sudden spring,\nHe hoped the conquest of the Cretan king.\nThe wary Cretan, as his foe drew near,\nFull on his throat discharged the forceful spear:\nBeneath the chin the point was seen to glide,\nAnd glitter\u2019d, extant at the further side.\nAs when the mountain-oak, or poplar tall,\nOr pine, fit mast for some great admiral,\nGroans to the oft-heaved axe, with many a wound,\nThen spreads a length of ruin o\u2019er the ground:\nSo sunk proud Asius in that dreadful day,\nAnd stretch\u2019d before his much-loved coursers lay.\nHe grinds the dust distain\u2019d with streaming gore,\nAnd, fierce in death, lies foaming on the shore.\nDeprived of motion, stiff with stupid fear,\nStands all aghast his trembling charioteer,\nNor shuns the foe, nor turns the steeds away,\nBut falls transfix\u2019d, an unresisting prey:\nPierced by Antilochus, he pants beneath\nThe stately car, and labours out his breath.\nThus Asius\u2019 steeds (their mighty master gone)\nRemain the prize of Nestor\u2019s youthful son.\n\nStabb\u2019d at the sight, Deiphobus drew nigh,\nAnd made, with force, the vengeful weapon fly.\nThe Cretan saw; and, stooping, caused to glance\nFrom his slope shield the disappointed lance.\nBeneath the spacious targe, (a blazing round,\nThick with bull-hides and brazen orbits bound,\nOn his raised arm by two strong braces stay\u2019d,)\nHe lay collected in defensive shade.\nO\u2019er his safe head the javelin idly sung,\nAnd on the tinkling verge more faintly rung.\nEven then the spear the vigorous arm confess\u2019d,\nAnd pierced, obliquely, king Hypsenor\u2019s breast:\nWarm\u2019d in his liver, to the ground it bore\nThe chief, his people\u2019s guardian now no more!\n\n\u201cNot unattended (the proud Trojan cries)\nNor unrevenged, lamented Asius lies:\nFor thee, through hell\u2019s black portals stand display\u2019d,\nThis mate shall joy thy melancholy shade.\u201d\n\nHeart-piercing anguish, at the haughty boast,\nTouch\u2019d every Greek, but Nestor\u2019s son the most.\nGrieved as he was, his pious arms attend,\nAnd his broad buckler shields his slaughter\u2019d friend:\nTill sad Mecistheus and Alastor bore\nHis honour\u2019d body to the tented shore.\n\nNor yet from fight Idomeneus withdraws;\nResolved to perish in his country\u2019s cause,\nOr find some foe, whom heaven and he shall doom\nTo wail his fate in death\u2019s eternal gloom.\nHe sees Alcathous in the front aspire:\nGreat \u00c6syetes was the hero\u2019s sire;\nHis spouse Hippodame, divinely fair,\nAnchises\u2019 eldest hope, and darling care:\nWho charm\u2019d her parents\u2019 and her husband\u2019s heart\nWith beauty, sense, and every work of art:\nHe once of Ilion\u2019s youth the loveliest boy,\nThe fairest she of all the fair of Troy.\nBy Neptune now the hapless hero dies,\nWho covers with a cloud those beauteous eyes,\nAnd fetters every limb: yet bent to meet\nHis fate he stands; nor shuns the lance of Crete.\nFix\u2019d as some column, or deep-rooted oak,\nWhile the winds sleep; his breast received the stroke.\nBefore the ponderous stroke his corslet yields,\nLong used to ward the death in fighting fields.\nThe riven armour sends a jarring sound;\nHis labouring heart heaves with so strong a bound,\nThe long lance shakes, and vibrates in the wound;\nFast flowing from its source, as prone he lay,\nLife\u2019s purple tide impetuous gush\u2019d away.\n\nThen Idomen, insulting o\u2019er the slain:\n\u201cBehold, Deiphobus! nor vaunt in vain:\nSee! on one Greek three Trojan ghosts attend;\nThis, my third victim, to the shades I send.\nApproaching now thy boasted might approve,\nAnd try the prowess of the seed of Jove.\nFrom Jove, enamour\u2019d of a mortal dame,\nGreat Minos, guardian of his country, came:\nDeucalion, blameless prince, was Minos\u2019 heir;\nHis first-born I, the third from Jupiter:\nO\u2019er spacious Crete, and her bold sons, I reign,\nAnd thence my ships transport me through the main:\nLord of a host, o\u2019er all my host I shine,\nA scourge to thee, thy father, and thy line.\u201d\n\nThe Trojan heard; uncertain or to meet,\nAlone, with venturous arms the king of Crete,\nOr seek auxiliar force; at length decreed\nTo call some hero to partake the deed,\nForthwith \u00c6neas rises to his thought:\nFor him in Troy\u2019s remotest lines he sought,\nWhere he, incensed at partial Priam, stands,\nAnd sees superior posts in meaner hands.\nTo him, ambitious of so great an aid,\nThe bold Deiphobus approach\u2019d, and said:\n\n\u201cNow, Trojan prince, employ thy pious arms,\nIf e\u2019er thy bosom felt fair honour\u2019s charms.\nAlcathous dies, thy brother and thy friend;\nCome, and the warrior\u2019s loved remains defend.\nBeneath his cares thy early youth was train\u2019d,\nOne table fed you, and one roof contain\u2019d.\nThis deed to fierce Idomeneus we owe;\nHaste, and revenge it on th\u2019 insulting foe.\u201d\n\n\u00c6neas heard, and for a space resign\u2019d\nTo tender pity all his manly mind;\nThen rising in his rage, he burns to fight:\nThe Greek awaits him with collected might.\nAs the fell boar, on some rough mountain\u2019s head,\nArm\u2019d with wild terrors, and to slaughter bred,\nWhen the loud rustics rise, and shout from far,\nAttends the tumult, and expects the war;\nO\u2019er his bent back the bristly horrors rise;\nFires stream in lightning from his sanguine eyes,\nHis foaming tusks both dogs and men engage;\nBut most his hunters rouse his mighty rage:\nSo stood Idomeneus, his javelin shook,\nAnd met the Trojan with a lowering look.\nAntilochus, Deipyrus, were near,\nThe youthful offspring of the god of war,\nMerion, and Aphareus, in field renown\u2019d:\nTo these the warrior sent his voice around.\n\u201cFellows in arms! your timely aid unite;\nLo, great \u00c6neas rushes to the fight:\nSprung from a god, and more than mortal bold;\nHe fresh in youth, and I in arms grown old.\nElse should this hand, this hour decide the strife,\nThe great dispute, of glory, or of life.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and all, as with one soul, obey\u2019d;\nTheir lifted bucklers cast a dreadful shade\nAround the chief. \u00c6neas too demands\nTh\u2019 assisting forces of his native bands;\nParis, Deiphobus, Agenor, join;\n(Co-aids and captains of the Trojan line;)\nIn order follow all th\u2019 embodied train,\nLike Ida\u2019s flocks proceeding o\u2019er the plain;\nBefore his fleecy care, erect and bold,\nStalks the proud ram, the father of the bold.\nWith joy the swain surveys them, as he leads\nTo the cool fountains, through the well-known meads:\nSo joys \u00c6neas, as his native band\nMoves on in rank, and stretches o\u2019er the land.\n\nRound dread Alcathous now the battle rose;\nOn every side the steely circle grows;\nNow batter\u2019d breast-plates and hack\u2019d helmets ring,\nAnd o\u2019er their heads unheeded javelins sing.\nAbove the rest, two towering chiefs appear,\nThere great Idomeneus, \u00c6neas here.\nLike gods of war, dispensing fate, they stood,\nAnd burn\u2019d to drench the ground with mutual blood.\nThe Trojan weapon whizz\u2019d along in air;\nThe Cretan saw, and shunn\u2019d the brazen spear:\nSent from an arm so strong, the missive wood\nStuck deep in earth, and quiver\u2019d where it stood.\nBut OEnomas received the Cretan\u2019s stroke;\nThe forceful spear his hollow corslet broke,\nIt ripp\u2019d his belly with a ghastly wound,\nAnd roll\u2019d the smoking entrails on the ground.\nStretch\u2019d on the plain, he sobs away his breath,\nAnd, furious, grasps the bloody dust in death.\nThe victor from his breast the weapon tears;\nHis spoils he could not, for the shower of spears.\nThough now unfit an active war to wage,\nHeavy with cumbrous arms, stiff with cold age,\nHis listless limbs unable for the course,\nIn standing fight he yet maintains his force;\nTill faint with labour, and by foes repell\u2019d,\nHis tired slow steps he drags from off the field.\nDeiphobus beheld him as he pass\u2019d,\nAnd, fired with hate, a parting javelin cast:\nThe javelin err\u2019d, but held its course along,\nAnd pierced Ascalaphus, the brave and young:\nThe son of Mars fell gasping on the ground,\nAnd gnash\u2019d the dust, all bloody with his wound.\n\nNor knew the furious father of his fall;\nHigh-throned amidst the great Olympian hall,\nOn golden clouds th\u2019 immortal synod sate;\nDetain\u2019d from bloody war by Jove and Fate.\n\nNow, where in dust the breathless hero lay,\nFor slain Ascalaphus commenced the fray,\nDeiphobus to seize his helmet flies,\nAnd from his temples rends the glittering prize;\nValiant as Mars, Meriones drew near,\nAnd on his loaded arm discharged his spear:\nHe drops the weight, disabled with the pain;\nThe hollow helmet rings against the plain.\nSwift as a vulture leaping on his prey,\nFrom his torn arm the Grecian rent away\nThe reeking javelin, and rejoin\u2019d his friends.\nHis wounded brother good Polites tends;\nAround his waist his pious arms he threw,\nAnd from the rage of battle gently drew:\nHim his swift coursers, on his splendid car,\nRapt from the lessening thunder of the war;\nTo Troy they drove him, groaning from the shore,\nAnd sprinkling, as he pass\u2019d, the sands with gore.\n\nMeanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground,\nHeaps fall on heaps, and heaven and earth resound.\nBold Aphareus by great \u00c6neas bled;\nAs toward the chief he turn\u2019d his daring head,\nHe pierced his throat; the bending head, depress\u2019d\nBeneath his helmet, nods upon his breast;\nHis shield reversed o\u2019er the fallen warrior lies,\nAnd everlasting slumber seals his eyes.\nAntilochus, as Thoon turn\u2019d him round,\nTranspierced his back with a dishonest wound:\nThe hollow vein, that to the neck extends\nAlong the chine, his eager javelin rends:\nSupine he falls, and to his social train\nSpreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain.\nThv exulting victor, leaping where he lay,\nFrom his broad shoulders tore the spoils away;\nHis time observed; for closed by foes around,\nOn all sides thick the peals of arms resound.\nHis shield emboss\u2019d the ringing storm sustains,\nBut he impervious and untouch\u2019d remains.\n(Great Neptune\u2019s care preserved from hostile rage\nThis youth, the joy of Nestor\u2019s glorious age.)\nIn arms intrepid, with the first he fought,\nFaced every foe, and every danger sought;\nHis winged lance, resistless as the wind,\nObeys each motion of the master\u2019s mind!\nRestless it flies, impatient to be free,\nAnd meditates the distant enemy.\nThe son of Asius, Adamas, drew near,\nAnd struck his target with the brazen spear\nFierce in his front: but Neptune wards the blow,\nAnd blunts the javelin of th\u2019 eluded foe:\nIn the broad buckler half the weapon stood,\nSplinter\u2019d on earth flew half the broken wood.\nDisarm\u2019d, he mingled in the Trojan crew;\nBut Merion\u2019s spear o\u2019ertook him as he flew,\nDeep in the belly\u2019s rim an entrance found,\nWhere sharp the pang, and mortal is the wound.\nBending he fell, and doubled to the ground,\nLay panting. Thus an ox in fetters tied,\nWhile death\u2019s strong pangs distend his labouring side,\nHis bulk enormous on the field displays;\nHis heaving heart beats thick as ebbing life decays.\nThe spear the conqueror from his body drew,\nAnd death\u2019s dim shadows swarm before his view.\nNext brave Deipyrus in dust was laid:\nKing Helenus waved high the Thracian blade,\nAnd smote his temples with an arm so strong,\nThe helm fell off, and roll\u2019d amid the throng:\nThere for some luckier Greek it rests a prize;\nFor dark in death the godlike owner lies!\nRaging with grief, great Menelaus burns,\nAnd fraught with vengeance, to the victor turns:\nThat shook the ponderous lance, in act to throw;\nAnd this stood adverse with the bended bow:\nFull on his breast the Trojan arrow fell,\nBut harmless bounded from the plated steel.\nAs on some ample barn\u2019s well harden\u2019d floor,\n(The winds collected at each open door,)\nWhile the broad fan with force is whirl\u2019d around,\nLight leaps the golden grain, resulting from the ground:\nSo from the steel that guards Atrides\u2019 heart,\nRepell\u2019d to distance flies the bounding dart.\nAtrides, watchful of the unwary foe,\nPierced with his lance the hand that grasp\u2019d the bow.\nAnd nailed it to the yew: the wounded hand\nTrail\u2019d the long lance that mark\u2019d with blood the sand:\nBut good Agenor gently from the wound\nThe spear solicits, and the bandage bound;\nA sling\u2019s soft wool, snatch\u2019d from a soldier\u2019s side,\nAt once the tent and ligature supplied.\n\nBehold! Pisander, urged by fate\u2019s decree,\nSprings through the ranks to fall, and fall by thee,\nGreat Menelaus! to enchance thy fame:\nHigh-towering in the front, the warrior came.\nFirst the sharp lance was by Atrides thrown;\nThe lance far distant by the winds was blown.\nNor pierced Pisander through Atrides\u2019 shield:\nPisander\u2019s spear fell shiver\u2019d on the field.\nNot so discouraged, to the future blind,\nVain dreams of conquest swell his haughty mind;\nDauntless he rushes where the Spartan lord\nLike lightning brandish\u2019d his far beaming sword.\nHis left arm high opposed the shining shield:\nHis right beneath, the cover\u2019d pole-axe held;\n(An olive\u2019s cloudy grain the handle made,\nDistinct with studs, and brazen was the blade;)\nThis on the helm discharged a noble blow;\nThe plume dropp\u2019d nodding to the plain below,\nShorn from the crest. Atrides waved his steel:\nDeep through his front the weighty falchion fell;\nThe crashing bones before its force gave way;\nIn dust and blood the groaning hero lay:\nForced from their ghastly orbs, and spouting gore,\nThe clotted eye-balls tumble on the shore.\nAnd fierce Atrides spurn\u2019d him as he bled,\nTore off his arms, and, loud-exulting, said:\n\n\u201cThus, Trojans, thus, at length be taught to fear;\nO race perfidious, who delight in war!\nAlready noble deeds ye have perform\u2019d;\nA princess raped transcends a navy storm\u2019d:\nIn such bold feats your impious might approve,\nWithout th\u2019 assistance, or the fear of Jove.\nThe violated rites, the ravish\u2019d dame;\nOur heroes slaughter\u2019d and our ships on flame,\nCrimes heap\u2019d on crimes, shall bend your glory down,\nAnd whelm in ruins yon flagitious town.\nO thou, great father! lord of earth and skies,\nAbove the thought of man, supremely wise!\nIf from thy hand the fates of mortals flow,\nFrom whence this favour to an impious foe?\nA godless crew, abandon\u2019d and unjust,\nStill breathing rapine, violence, and lust?\nThe best of things, beyond their measure, cloy;\nSleep\u2019s balmy blessing, love\u2019s endearing joy;\nThe feast, the dance; whate\u2019er mankind desire,\nEven the sweet charms of sacred numbers tire.\nBut Troy for ever reaps a dire delight\nIn thirst of slaughter, and in lust of fight.\u201d\n\nThis said, he seized (while yet the carcase heaved)\nThe bloody armour, which his train received:\nThen sudden mix\u2019d among the warring crew,\nAnd the bold son of Pyl\u00e6menes slew.\nHarpalion had through Asia travell\u2019d far,\nFollowing his martial father to the war:\nThrough filial love he left his native shore,\nNever, ah, never to behold it more!\nHis unsuccessful spear he chanced to fling\nAgainst the target of the Spartan king;\nThus of his lance disarm\u2019d, from death he flies,\nAnd turns around his apprehensive eyes.\nHim, through the hip transpiercing as he fled,\nThe shaft of Merion mingled with the dead.\nBeneath the bone the glancing point descends,\nAnd, driving down, the swelling bladder rends:\nSunk in his sad companions\u2019 arms he lay,\nAnd in short pantings sobb\u2019d his soul away;\n(Like some vile worm extended on the ground;)\nWhile life\u2019s red torrent gush\u2019d from out the wound.\n\nHim on his car the Paphlagonian train\nIn slow procession bore from off the plain.\nThe pensive father, father now no more!\nAttends the mournful pomp along the shore;\nAnd unavailing tears profusely shed;\nAnd, unrevenged, deplored his offspring dead.\n\nParis from far the moving sight beheld,\nWith pity soften\u2019d and with fury swell\u2019d:\nHis honour\u2019d host, a youth of matchless grace,\nAnd loved of all the Paphlagonian race!\nWith his full strength he bent his angry bow,\nAnd wing\u2019d the feather\u2019d vengeance at the foe.\nA chief there was, the brave Euchenor named,\nFor riches much, and more for virtue famed.\nWho held his seat in Corinth\u2019s stately town;\nPolydus\u2019 son, a seer of old renown.\nOft had the father told his early doom,\nBy arms abroad, or slow disease at home:\nHe climb\u2019d his vessel, prodigal of breath,\nAnd chose the certain glorious path to death.\nBeneath his ear the pointed arrow went;\nThe soul came issuing at the narrow vent:\nHis limbs, unnerved, drop useless on the ground,\nAnd everlasting darkness shades him round.\n\nNor knew great Hector how his legions yield,\n(Wrapp\u2019d in the cloud and tumult of the field:)\nWide on the left the force of Greece commands,\nAnd conquest hovers o\u2019er th\u2019 Achaian bands;\nWith such a tide superior virtue sway\u2019d,\nAnd he that shakes the solid earth gave aid.\nBut in the centre Hector fix\u2019d remain\u2019d,\nWhere first the gates were forced, and bulwarks gain\u2019d;\nThere, on the margin of the hoary deep,\n(Their naval station where the Ajaces keep.\nAnd where low walls confine the beating tides,\nWhose humble barrier scarce the foe divides;\nWhere late in fight both foot and horse engaged,\nAnd all the thunder of the battle raged,)\nThere join\u2019d, the whole B\u0153otian strength remains,\nThe proud Iaonians with their sweeping trains,\nLocrians and Phthians, and th\u2019 Epaean force;\nBut join\u2019d, repel not Hector\u2019s fiery course.\nThe flower of Athens, Stichius, Phidas, led;\nBias and great Menestheus at their head:\nMeges the strong the Epaean bands controll\u2019d,\nAnd Dracius prudent, and Amphion bold:\nThe Phthians, Medon, famed for martial might,\nAnd brave Podarces, active in the fight.\nThis drew from Phylacus his noble line;\nIphiclus\u2019 son: and that (O\u00efleus) thine:\n(Young Ajax\u2019 brother, by a stolen embrace;\nHe dwelt far distant from his native place,\nBy his fierce step-dame from his father\u2019s reign\nExpell\u2019d and exiled for her brother slain:)\nThese rule the Phthians, and their arms employ,\nMix\u2019d with B\u0153otians, on the shores of Troy.\n\nNow side by side, with like unwearied care,\nEach Ajax laboured through the field of war:\nSo when two lordly bulls, with equal toil,\nForce the bright ploughshare through the fallow soil,\nJoin\u2019d to one yoke, the stubborn earth they tear,\nAnd trace large furrows with the shining share;\nO\u2019er their huge limbs the foam descends in snow,\nAnd streams of sweat down their sour foreheads flow.\nA train of heroes followed through the field,\nWho bore by turns great Ajax\u2019 sevenfold shield;\nWhene\u2019er he breathed, remissive of his might,\nTired with the incessant slaughters of the fight.\nNo following troops his brave associate grace:\nIn close engagement an unpractised race,\nThe Locrian squadrons nor the javelin wield,\nNor bear the helm, nor lift the moony shield;\nBut skill\u2019d from far the flying shaft to wing,\nOr whirl the sounding pebble from the sling,\nDexterous with these they aim a certain wound,\nOr fell the distant warrior to the ground.\nThus in the van the Telamonian train,\nThrong\u2019d in bright arms, a pressing fight maintain:\nFar in the rear the Locrian archers lie,\nWhose stones and arrows intercept the sky,\nThe mingled tempest on the foes they pour;\nTroy\u2019s scattering orders open to the shower.\n\nNow had the Greeks eternal fame acquired,\nAnd the gall\u2019d Ilians to their walls retired;\nBut sage Polydamas, discreetly brave,\nAddress\u2019d great Hector, and this counsel gave:\n\n\u201cThough great in all, thou seem\u2019st averse to lend\nImpartial audience to a faithful friend;\nTo gods and men thy matchless worth is known,\nAnd every art of glorious war thy own;\nBut in cool thought and counsel to excel,\nHow widely differs this from warring well!\nContent with what the bounteous gods have given,\nSeek not alone to engross the gifts of Heaven.\nTo some the powers of bloody war belong,\nTo some sweet music and the charm of song;\nTo few, and wondrous few, has Jove assign\u2019d\nA wise, extensive, all-considering mind;\nTheir guardians these, the nations round confess,\nAnd towns and empires for their safety bless.\nIf Heaven have lodged this virtue in my breast,\nAttend, O Hector! what I judge the best,\nSee, as thou mov\u2019st, on dangers dangers spread,\nAnd war\u2019s whole fury burns around thy head.\nBehold! distress\u2019d within yon hostile wall,\nHow many Trojans yield, disperse, or fall!\nWhat troops, out-number\u2019d, scarce the war maintain!\nAnd what brave heroes at the ships lie slain!\nHere cease thy fury: and, the chiefs and kings\nConvoked to council, weigh the sum of things.\nWhether (the gods succeeding our desires)\nTo yon tall ships to bear the Trojan fires;\nOr quit the fleet, and pass unhurt away,\nContented with the conquest of the day.\nI fear, I fear, lest Greece, not yet undone,\nPay the large debt of last revolving sun;\nAchilles, great Achilles, yet remains\nOn yonder decks, and yet o\u2019erlooks the plains!\u201d\n\nThe counsel pleased; and Hector, with a bound,\nLeap\u2019d from his chariot on the trembling ground;\nSwift as he leap\u2019d his clanging arms resound.\n\u201cTo guard this post (he cried) thy art employ,\nAnd here detain the scatter\u2019d youth of Troy;\nWhere yonder heroes faint, I bend my way,\nAnd hasten back to end the doubtful day.\u201d\n\nThis said, the towering chief prepares to go,\nShakes his white plumes that to the breezes flow,\nAnd seems a moving mountain topp\u2019d with snow.\nThrough all his host, inspiring force, he flies,\nAnd bids anew the martial thunder rise.\nTo Panthus\u2019 son, at Hector\u2019s high command\nHaste the bold leaders of the Trojan band:\nBut round the battlements, and round the plain,\nFor many a chief he look\u2019d, but look\u2019d in vain;\nDeiphobus, nor Helenus the seer,\nNor Asius\u2019 son, nor Asius\u2019 self appear:\nFor these were pierced with many a ghastly wound,\nSome cold in death, some groaning on the ground;\nSome low in dust, (a mournful object) lay;\nHigh on the wall some breathed their souls away.\n\nFar on the left, amid the throng he found\n(Cheering the troops, and dealing deaths around)\nThe graceful Paris; whom, with fury moved,\nOpprobrious thus, th\u2019 impatient chief reproved:\n\n\u201cIll-fated Paris! slave to womankind,\nAs smooth of face as fraudulent of mind!\nWhere is Deiphobus, where Asius gone?\nThe godlike father, and th\u2019 intrepid son?\nThe force of Helenus, dispensing fate;\nAnd great Othryoneus, so fear\u2019d of late?\nBlack fate hang\u2019s o\u2019er thee from th\u2019 avenging gods,\nImperial Troy from her foundations nods;\nWhelm\u2019d in thy country\u2019s ruin shalt thou fall,\nAnd one devouring vengeance swallow all.\u201d\n\nWhen Paris thus: \u201cMy brother and my friend,\nThy warm impatience makes thy tongue offend,\nIn other battles I deserved thy blame,\nThough then not deedless, nor unknown to fame:\nBut since yon rampart by thy arms lay low,\nI scatter\u2019d slaughter from my fatal bow.\nThe chiefs you seek on yonder shore lie slain;\nOf all those heroes, two alone remain;\nDeiphobus, and Helenus the seer,\nEach now disabled by a hostile spear.\nGo then, successful, where thy soul inspires:\nThis heart and hand shall second all thy fires:\nWhat with this arm I can, prepare to know,\nTill death for death be paid, and blow for blow.\nBut \u2019tis not ours, with forces not our own\nTo combat: strength is of the gods alone.\u201d\nThese words the hero\u2019s angry mind assuage:\nThen fierce they mingle where the thickest rage.\nAround Polydamas, distain\u2019d with blood,\nCebrion, Phalces, stern Orthaeus stood,\nPalmus, with Polyp\u0153tes the divine,\nAnd two bold brothers of Hippotion\u2019s line\n(Who reach\u2019d fair Ilion, from Ascania far,\nThe former day; the next engaged in war).\nAs when from gloomy clouds a whirlwind springs,\nThat bears Jove\u2019s thunder on its dreadful wings,\nWide o\u2019er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps;\nThen, gather\u2019d, settles on the hoary deeps;\nThe afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar;\nThe waves behind impel the waves before,\nWide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore:\nThus rank on rank, the thick battalions throng,\nChief urged on chief, and man drove man along.\nFar o\u2019er the plains, in dreadful order bright,\nThe brazen arms reflect a beamy light:\nFull in the blazing van great Hector shined,\nLike Mars commission\u2019d to confound mankind.\nBefore him flaming his enormous shield,\nLike the broad sun, illumined all the field;\nHis nodding helm emits a streamy ray;\nHis piercing eyes through all the battle stray,\nAnd, while beneath his targe he flash\u2019d along,\nShot terrors round, that wither\u2019d e\u2019en the strong.\n\nThus stalk\u2019d he, dreadful; death was in his look:\nWhole nations fear\u2019d; but not an Argive shook.\nThe towering Ajax, with an ample stride,\nAdvanced the first, and thus the chief defied:\n\n\u201cHector! come on; thy empty threats forbear;\n\u2019Tis not thy arm, \u2019tis thundering Jove we fear:\nThe skill of war to us not idly given,\nLo! Greece is humbled, not by Troy, but Heaven.\nVain are the hopes that haughty mind imparts,\nTo force our fleet: the Greeks have hands and hearts.\nLong ere in flames our lofty navy fall,\nYour boasted city, and your god-built wall,\nShall sink beneath us, smoking on the ground;\nAnd spread a long unmeasured ruin round.\nThe time shall come, when, chased along the plain,\nEven thou shalt call on Jove, and call in vain;\nEven thou shalt wish, to aid thy desperate course,\nThe wings of falcons for thy flying horse;\nShalt run, forgetful of a warrior\u2019s fame,\nWhile clouds of friendly dust conceal thy shame.\u201d\n\nAs thus he spoke, behold, in open view,\nOn sounding wings a dexter eagle flew.\nTo Jove\u2019s glad omen all the Grecians rise,\nAnd hail, with shouts, his progress through the skies:\nFar-echoing clamours bound from side to side;\nThey ceased; and thus the chief of Troy replied:\n\n\u201cFrom whence this menace, this insulting strain?\nEnormous boaster! doom\u2019d to vaunt in vain.\nSo may the gods on Hector life bestow,\n(Not that short life which mortals lead below,\nBut such as those of Jove\u2019s high lineage born,\nThe blue-eyed maid, or he that gilds the morn,)\nAs this decisive day shall end the fame\nOf Greece, and Argos be no more a name.\nAnd thou, imperious! if thy madness wait\nThe lance of Hector, thou shalt meet thy fate:\nThat giant-corse, extended on the shore,\nShall largely feast the fowls with fat and gore.\u201d\n\nHe said; and like a lion stalk\u2019d along:\nWith shouts incessant earth and ocean rung,\nSent from his following host: the Grecian train\nWith answering thunders fill\u2019d the echoing plain;\nA shout that tore heaven\u2019s concave, and, above,\nShook the fix\u2019d splendours of the throne of Jove.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] GREEK EARRINGS\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XIV.\n\n\nARGUMENT.[231]\n\n\nJUNO DECEIVES JUPITER BY THE GIRDLE OF VENUS.\n\n\nNestor, sitting at the table with Machaon, is alarmed with the\nincreasing clamour of war, and hastens to Agamemnon; on his way he\nmeets that prince with Diomed and Ulysses, whom he informs of the\nextremity of the danger. Agamemnon proposes to make their escape by\nnight, which Ulysses withstands; to which Diomed adds his advice, that,\nwounded as they were, they should go forth and encourage the army with\ntheir presence, which advice is pursued. Juno, seeing the partiality of\nJupiter to the Trojans, forms a design to over-reach him: she sets off\nher charms with the utmost care, and (the more surely to enchant him)\nobtains the magic girdle of Venus. She then applies herself to the god\nof sleep, and, with some difficulty, persuades him to seal the eyes of\nJupiter: this done, she goes to mount Ida, where the god, at first\nsight, is ravished with her beauty, sinks in her embraces, and is laid\nasleep. Neptune takes advantage of his slumber, and succours the\nGreeks: Hector is struck to the ground with a prodigious stone by Ajax,\nand carried off from the battle: several actions succeed, till the\nTrojans, much distressed, are obliged to give way: the lesser Ajax\nsignalizes himself in a particular manner.\n\n\nBut not the genial feast, nor flowing bowl,\nCould charm the cares of Nestor\u2019s watchful soul;\nHis startled ears the increasing cries attend;\nThen thus, impatient, to his wounded friend:\n\n\u201cWhat new alarm, divine Machaon, say,\nWhat mix\u2019d events attend this mighty day?\nHark! how the shouts divide, and how they meet,\nAnd now come full, and thicken to the fleet!\nHere with the cordial draught dispel thy care,\nLet Hecamede the strengthening bath prepare,\nRefresh thy wound, and cleanse the clotted gore;\nWhile I the adventures of the day explore.\u201d\n\nHe said: and, seizing Thrasymedes\u2019 shield,\n(His valiant offspring,) hasten\u2019d to the field;\n(That day the son his father\u2019s buckler bore;)\nThen snatch\u2019d a lance, and issued from the door.\nSoon as the prospect open\u2019d to his view,\nHis wounded eyes the scene of sorrow knew;\nDire disarray! the tumult of the fight,\nThe wall in ruins, and the Greeks in flight.\nAs when old ocean\u2019s silent surface sleeps,\nThe waves just heaving on the purple deeps:\nWhile yet the expected tempest hangs on high,\nWeighs down the cloud, and blackens in the sky,\nThe mass of waters will no wind obey;\nJove sends one gust, and bids them roll away.\nWhile wavering counsels thus his mind engage,\nFluctuates in doubtful thought the Pylian sage,\nTo join the host, or to the general haste;\nDebating long, he fixes on the last:\nYet, as he moves, the sight his bosom warms,\nThe field rings dreadful with the clang of arms,\nThe gleaming falchions flash, the javelins fly;\nBlows echo blows, and all or kill or die.\n\nHim, in his march, the wounded princes meet,\nBy tardy steps ascending from the fleet:\nThe king of men, Ulysses the divine,\nAnd who to Tydeus owes his noble line[232]\n(Their ships at distance from the battle stand,\nIn lines advanced along the shelving strand:\nWhose bay, the fleet unable to contain\nAt length; beside the margin of the main,\nRank above rank, the crowded ships they moor:\nWho landed first, lay highest on the shore.)\nSupported on the spears, they took their way,\nUnfit to fight, but anxious for the day.\nNestor\u2019s approach alarm\u2019d each Grecian breast,\nWhom thus the general of the host address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cO grace and glory of the Achaian name;\nWhat drives thee, Nestor, from the field of fame?\nShall then proud Hector see his boast fulfill\u2019d,\nOur fleets in ashes, and our heroes kill\u2019d?\nSuch was his threat, ah! now too soon made good,\nOn many a Grecian bosom writ in blood.\nIs every heart inflamed with equal rage\nAgainst your king, nor will one chief engage?\nAnd have I lived to see with mournful eyes\nIn every Greek a new Achilles rise?\u201d\n\nGerenian Nestor then: \u201cSo fate has will\u2019d;\nAnd all-confirming time has fate fulfill\u2019d.\nNot he that thunders from the aerial bower,\nNot Jove himself, upon the past has power.\nThe wall, our late inviolable bound,\nAnd best defence, lies smoking on the ground:\nEven to the ships their conquering arms extend,\nAnd groans of slaughter\u2019d Greeks to heaven ascend.\nOn speedy measures then employ your thought\nIn such distress! if counsel profit aught:\nArms cannot much: though Mars our souls incite,\nThese gaping wounds withhold us from the fight.\u201d\n\nTo him the monarch: \u201cThat our army bends,\nThat Troy triumphant our high fleet ascends,\nAnd that the rampart, late our surest trust\nAnd best defence, lies smoking in the dust;\nAll this from Jove\u2019s afflictive hand we bear,\nWho, far from Argos, wills our ruin here.\nPast are the days when happier Greece was blest,\nAnd all his favour, all his aid confess\u2019d;\nNow heaven averse, our hands from battle ties,\nAnd lifts the Trojan glory to the skies.\nCease we at length to waste our blood in vain,\nAnd launch what ships lie nearest to the main;\nLeave these at anchor, till the coming night:\nThen, if impetuous Troy forbear the fight,\nBring all to sea, and hoist each sail for flight.\nBetter from evils, well foreseen, to run,\nThan perish in the danger we may shun.\u201d\n\nThus he. The sage Ulysses thus replies,\nWhile anger flash\u2019d from his disdainful eyes:\n\u201cWhat shameful words (unkingly as thou art)\nFall from that trembling tongue and timorous heart?\nOh were thy sway the curse of meaner powers,\nAnd thou the shame of any host but ours!\nA host, by Jove endued with martial might,\nAnd taught to conquer, or to fall in fight:\nAdventurous combats and bold wars to wage,\nEmploy\u2019d our youth, and yet employs our age.\nAnd wilt thou thus desert the Trojan plain?\nAnd have whole streams of blood been spilt in vain?\nIn such base sentence if thou couch thy fear,\nSpeak it in whispers, lest a Greek should hear.\nLives there a man so dead to fame, who dares\nTo think such meanness, or the thought declares?\nAnd comes it even from him whose sovereign sway\nThe banded legions of all Greece obey?\nIs this a general\u2019s voice that calls to flight,\nWhile war hangs doubtful, while his soldiers fight?\nWhat more could Troy? What yet their fate denies\nThou givest the foe: all Greece becomes their prize.\nNo more the troops (our hoisted sails in view,\nThemselves abandon\u2019d) shall the fight pursue;\nBut thy ships flying, with despair shall see;\nAnd owe destruction to a prince like thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cThy just reproofs (Atrides calm replies)\nLike arrows pierce me, for thy words are wise.\nUnwilling as I am to lose the host,\nI force not Greece to quit this hateful coast;\nGlad I submit, whoe\u2019er, or young, or old,\nAught, more conducive to our weal, unfold.\u201d\n\nTydides cut him short, and thus began:\n\u201cSuch counsel if you seek, behold the man\nWho boldly gives it, and what he shall say,\nYoung though he be, disdain not to obey:\nA youth, who from the mighty Tydeus springs,\nMay speak to councils and assembled kings.\nHear then in me the great OEnides\u2019 son,\nWhose honoured dust (his race of glory run)\nLies whelm\u2019d in ruins of the Theban wall;\nBrave in his life, and glorious in his fall.\nWith three bold sons was generous Prothous bless\u2019d,\nWho Pleuron\u2019s walls and Calydon possess\u2019d;\nMelas and Agrius, but (who far surpass\u2019d\nThe rest in courage) \u0152neus was the last.\nFrom him, my sire. From Calydon expell\u2019d,\nHe pass\u2019d to Argos, and in exile dwell\u2019d;\nThe monarch\u2019s daughter there (so Jove ordain\u2019d)\nHe won, and flourish\u2019d where Adrastus reign\u2019d;\nThere, rich in fortune\u2019s gifts, his acres till\u2019d,\nBeheld his vines their liquid harvest yield,\nAnd numerous flocks that whiten\u2019d all the field.\nSuch Tydeus was, the foremost once in fame!\nNor lives in Greece a stranger to his name.\nThen, what for common good my thoughts inspire,\nAttend, and in the son respect the sire.\nThough sore of battle, though with wounds oppress\u2019d,\nLet each go forth, and animate the rest,\nAdvance the glory which he cannot share,\nThough not partaker, witness of the war.\nBut lest new wounds on wounds o\u2019erpower us quite,\nBeyond the missile javelin\u2019s sounding flight,\nSafe let us stand; and, from the tumult far,\nInspire the ranks, and rule the distant war.\u201d\n\nHe added not: the listening kings obey,\nSlow moving on; Atrides leads the way.\nThe god of ocean (to inflame their rage)\nAppears a warrior furrowed o\u2019er with age;\nPress\u2019d in his own, the general\u2019s hand he took,\nAnd thus the venerable hero spoke:\n\n\u201cAtrides! lo! with what disdainful eye\nAchilles sees his country\u2019s forces fly;\nBlind, impious man! whose anger is his guide,\nWho glories in unutterable pride.\nSo may he perish, so may Jove disclaim\nThe wretch relentless, and o\u2019erwhelm with shame!\nBut Heaven forsakes not thee: o\u2019er yonder sands\nSoon shall thou view the scattered Trojan bands\nFly diverse; while proud kings, and chiefs renown\u2019d,\nDriven heaps on heaps, with clouds involved around\nOf rolling dust, their winged wheels employ\nTo hide their ignominious heads in Troy.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, then rush\u2019d amid the warrior crew,\nAnd sent his voice before him as he flew,\nLoud, as the shout encountering armies yield\nWhen twice ten thousand shake the labouring field;\nSuch was the voice, and such the thundering sound\nOf him whose trident rends the solid ground.\nEach Argive bosom beats to meet the fight,\nAnd grisly war appears a pleasing sight.\n\nMeantime Saturnia from Olympus\u2019 brow,\nHigh-throned in gold, beheld the fields below;\nWith joy the glorious conflict she survey\u2019d,\nWhere her great brother gave the Grecians aid.\nBut placed aloft, on Ida\u2019s shady height\nShe sees her Jove, and trembles at the sight.\nJove to deceive, what methods shall she try,\nWhat arts, to blind his all-beholding eye?\nAt length she trusts her power; resolved to prove\nThe old, yet still successful, cheat of love;\nAgainst his wisdom to oppose her charms,\nAnd lull the lord of thunders in her arms.\n\nSwift to her bright apartment she repairs,\nSacred to dress and beauty\u2019s pleasing cares:\nWith skill divine had Vulcan form\u2019d the bower,\nSafe from access of each intruding power.\nTouch\u2019d with her secret key, the doors unfold:\nSelf-closed, behind her shut the valves of gold.\nHere first she bathes; and round her body pours\nSoft oils of fragrance, and ambrosial showers:\nThe winds, perfumed, the balmy gale convey\nThrough heaven, through earth, and all the aerial way:\nSpirit divine! whose exhalation greets\nThe sense of gods with more than mortal sweets.\nThus while she breathed of heaven, with decent pride\nHer artful hands the radiant tresses tied;\nPart on her head in shining ringlets roll\u2019d,\nPart o\u2019er her shoulders waved like melted gold.\nAround her next a heavenly mantle flow\u2019d,\nThat rich with Pallas\u2019 labour\u2019d colours glow\u2019d:\nLarge clasps of gold the foldings gather\u2019d round,\nA golden zone her swelling bosom bound.\nFar-beaming pendants tremble in her ear,\nEach gem illumined with a triple star.\nThen o\u2019er her head she cast a veil more white\nThan new-fallen snow, and dazzling as the light.\nLast her fair feet celestial sandals grace.\nThus issuing radiant with majestic pace,\nForth from the dome the imperial goddess moves,\nAnd calls the mother of the smiles and loves.\n\n\u201cHow long (to Venus thus apart she cried)\nShall human strife celestial minds divide?\nAh yet, will Venus aid Saturnia\u2019s joy,\nAnd set aside the cause of Greece and Troy?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet heaven\u2019s dread empress (Cytheraea said)\nSpeak her request, and deem her will obey\u2019d.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen grant me (said the queen) those conquering charms,\nThat power, which mortals and immortals warms,\nThat love, which melts mankind in fierce desires,\nAnd burns the sons of heaven with sacred fires!\n\n\u201cFor lo! I haste to those remote abodes,\nWhere the great parents, (sacred source of gods!)\nOcean and Tethys their old empire keep,\nOn the last limits of the land and deep.\nIn their kind arms my tender years were past;\nWhat time old Saturn, from Olympus cast,\nOf upper heaven to Jove resign\u2019d the reign,\nWhelm\u2019d under the huge mass of earth and main.\nFor strife, I hear, has made the union cease,\nWhich held so long that ancient pair in peace.\nWhat honour, and what love, shall I obtain,\nIf I compose those fatal feuds again;\nOnce more their minds in mutual ties engage,\nAnd, what my youth has owed, repay their age!\u201d\n\nShe said. With awe divine, the queen of love\nObey\u2019d the sister and the wife of Jove;\nAnd from her fragrant breast the zone embraced,[233]\nWith various skill and high embroidery graced.\nIn this was every art, and every charm,\nTo win the wisest, and the coldest warm:\nFond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire,\nThe kind deceit, the still-reviving fire,\nPersuasive speech, and the more persuasive sighs,\nSilence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes.\nThis on her hand the Cyprian Goddess laid:\n\u201cTake this, and with it all thy wish;\u201d she said.\nWith smiles she took the charm; and smiling press\u2019d\nThe powerful cestus to her snowy breast.\n\nThen Venus to the courts of Jove withdrew;\nWhilst from Olympus pleased Saturnia flew.\nO\u2019er high Pieria thence her course she bore,\nO\u2019er fair Emathia\u2019s ever-pleasing shore,\nO\u2019er Hemus\u2019 hills with snows eternal crown\u2019d;\nNor once her flying foot approach\u2019d the ground.\nThen taking wing from Athos\u2019 lofty steep,\nShe speeds to Lemnos o\u2019er the rolling deep,\nAnd seeks the cave of Death\u2019s half-brother, Sleep.[234]\n\n\u201cSweet pleasing Sleep! (Saturnia thus began)\nWho spread\u2019st thy empire o\u2019er each god and man;\nIf e\u2019er obsequious to thy Juno\u2019s will,\nO power of slumbers! hear, and favour still.\nShed thy soft dews on Jove\u2019s immortal eyes,\nWhile sunk in love\u2019s entrancing joys he lies.\nA splendid footstool, and a throne, that shine\nWith gold unfading, Somnus, shall be thine;\nThe work of Vulcan; to indulge thy ease,\nWhen wine and feasts thy golden humours please.\u201d\n\n\u201cImperial dame (the balmy power replies),\nGreat Saturn\u2019s heir, and empress of the skies!\nO\u2019er other gods I spread my easy chain;\nThe sire of all, old Ocean, owns my reign.\nAnd his hush\u2019d waves lie silent on the main.\nBut how, unbidden, shall I dare to steep\nJove\u2019s awful temples in the dew of sleep?\nLong since, too venturous, at thy bold command,\nOn those eternal lids I laid my hand;\nWhat time, deserting Ilion\u2019s wasted plain,\nHis conquering son, Alcides, plough\u2019d the main.\nWhen lo! the deeps arise, the tempests roar,\nAnd drive the hero to the Coan shore:\nGreat Jove, awaking, shook the blest abodes\nWith rising wrath, and tumbled gods on gods;\nMe chief he sought, and from the realms on high\nHad hurl\u2019d indignant to the nether sky,\nBut gentle Night, to whom I fled for aid,\n(The friend of earth and heaven,) her wings display\u2019d;\nImpower\u2019d the wrath of gods and men to tame,\nEven Jove revered the venerable dame.\u201d\n\n\u201cVain are thy fears (the queen of heaven replies,\nAnd, speaking, rolls her large majestic eyes);\nThink\u2019st thou that Troy has Jove\u2019s high favour won,\nLike great Alcides, his all-conquering son?\nHear, and obey the mistress of the skies,\nNor for the deed expect a vulgar prize;\nFor know, thy loved-one shall be ever thine,\nThe youngest Grace, Pasitha\u00eb the divine.\u201d[235]\n\n\u201cSwear then (he said) by those tremendous floods\nThat roar through hell, and bind the invoking gods:\nLet the great parent earth one hand sustain,\nAnd stretch the other o\u2019er the sacred main:\nCall the black Titans, that with Chronos dwell,\nTo hear and witness from the depths of hell;\nThat she, my loved-one, shall be ever mine,\nThe youngest Grace, Pasitha\u00eb the divine.\u201d\n\nThe queen assents, and from the infernal bowers\nInvokes the sable subtartarean powers,\nAnd those who rule the inviolable floods,\nWhom mortals name the dread Titanian gods.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] SLEEP ESCAPING FROM THE WRATH OF JUPITER\n\n\nThen swift as wind, o\u2019er Lemnos\u2019 smoky isle\nThey wing their way, and Imbrus\u2019 sea-beat soil;\nThrough air, unseen, involved in darkness glide,\nAnd light on Lectos, on the point of Ide:\n(Mother of savages, whose echoing hills\nAre heard resounding with a hundred rills:)\nFair Ida trembles underneath the god;\nHush\u2019d are her mountains, and her forests nod.\nThere on a fir, whose spiry branches rise\nTo join its summit to the neighbouring skies;\nDark in embowering shade, conceal\u2019d from sight,\nSat Sleep, in likeness of the bird of night.\n(Chalcis his name by those of heavenly birth,\nBut call\u2019d Cymindis by the race of earth.)\n\nTo Ida\u2019s top successful Juno flies;\nGreat Jove surveys her with desiring eyes:\nThe god, whose lightning sets the heavens on fire,\nThrough all his bosom feels the fierce desire;\nFierce as when first by stealth he seized her charms,\nMix\u2019d with her soul, and melted in her arms:\nFix\u2019d on her eyes he fed his eager look,\nThen press\u2019d her hand, and thus with transport spoke:\n\n\u201cWhy comes my goddess from the ethereal sky,\nAnd not her steeds and flaming chariot nigh?\u201d\n\nThen she\u2014\u201cI haste to those remote abodes\nWhere the great parents of the deathless gods,\nThe reverend Ocean and gray Tethys, reign,\nOn the last limits of the land and main.\nI visit these, to whose indulgent cares\nI owe the nursing of my tender years:\nFor strife, I hear, has made that union cease\nWhich held so long that ancient pair in peace.\nThe steeds, prepared my chariot to convey\nO\u2019er earth and seas, and through the aerial way,\nWait under Ide: of thy superior power\nTo ask consent, I leave the Olympian bower;\nNor seek, unknown to thee, the sacred cells\nDeep under seas, where hoary Ocean dwells.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor that (said Jove) suffice another day!\nBut eager love denies the least delay.\nLet softer cares the present hour employ,\nAnd be these moments sacred all to joy.\nNe\u2019er did my soul so strong a passion prove,\nOr for an earthly, or a heavenly love:\nNot when I press\u2019d Ixion\u2019s matchless dame,\nWhence rose Pirithous like the gods in fame:\nNot when fair Danae felt the shower of gold\nStream into life, whence Perseus brave and bold.\nNot thus I burn\u2019d for either Theban dame:\n(Bacchus from this, from that Alcides came:)\nNor Ph\u0153nix\u2019 daughter, beautiful and young,\nWhence godlike Rhadamanth and Minos sprung.[236]\nNot thus I burn\u2019d for fair Latona\u2019s face,\nNor comelier Ceres\u2019 more majestic grace.\nNot thus even for thyself I felt desire,\nAs now my veins receive the pleasing fire.\u201d\n\nHe spoke; the goddess with the charming eyes\nGlows with celestial red, and thus replies:\n\u201cIs this a scene for love? On Ida\u2019s height,\nExposed to mortal and immortal sight!\nOur joys profaned by each familiar eye;\nThe sport of heaven, and fable of the sky:\nHow shall I e\u2019er review the blest abodes,\nOr mix among the senate of the gods?\nShall I not think, that, with disorder\u2019d charms,\nAll heaven beholds me recent from thy arms?\nWith skill divine has Vulcan form\u2019d thy bower,\nSacred to love and to the genial hour;\nIf such thy will, to that recess retire,\nIn secret there indulge thy soft desire.\u201d\n\nShe ceased; and, smiling with superior love,\nThus answer\u2019d mild the cloud-compelling Jove:\n\u201cNor god nor mortal shall our joys behold,\nShaded with clouds, and circumfused in gold;\nNot even the sun, who darts through heaven his rays,\nAnd whose broad eye the extended earth surveys.\u201d\n\nGazing he spoke, and, kindling at the view,\nHis eager arms around the goddess threw.\nGlad Earth perceives, and from her bosom pours\nUnbidden herbs and voluntary flowers:\nThick new-born violets a soft carpet spread,\nAnd clustering lotos swell\u2019d the rising bed,\nAnd sudden hyacinths the turf bestrow,[237]\nAnd flamy crocus made the mountain glow\nThere golden clouds conceal the heavenly pair,\nSteep\u2019d in soft joys and circumfused with air;\nCelestial dews, descending o\u2019er the ground,\nPerfume the mount, and breathe ambrosia round:\nAt length, with love and sleep\u2019s soft power oppress\u2019d,\nThe panting thunderer nods, and sinks to rest.\n\nNow to the navy borne on silent wings,\nTo Neptune\u2019s ear soft Sleep his message brings;\nBeside him sudden, unperceived, he stood,\nAnd thus with gentle words address\u2019d the god:\n\n\u201cNow, Neptune! now, the important hour employ,\nTo check a while the haughty hopes of Troy:\nWhile Jove yet rests, while yet my vapours shed\nThe golden vision round his sacred head;\nFor Juno\u2019s love, and Somnus\u2019 pleasing ties,\nHave closed those awful and eternal eyes.\u201d\nThus having said, the power of slumber flew,\nOn human lids to drop the balmy dew.\nNeptune, with zeal increased, renews his care,\nAnd towering in the foremost ranks of war,\nIndignant thus\u2014\u201cOh once of martial fame!\nO Greeks! if yet ye can deserve the name!\nThis half-recover\u2019d day shall Troy obtain?\nShall Hector thunder at your ships again?\nLo! still he vaunts, and threats the fleet with fires,\nWhile stern Achilles in his wrath retires.\nOne hero\u2019s loss too tamely you deplore,\nBe still yourselves, and ye shall need no more.\nOh yet, if glory any bosom warms,\nBrace on your firmest helms, and stand to arms:\nHis strongest spear each valiant Grecian wield,\nEach valiant Grecian seize his broadest shield;\nLet to the weak the lighter arms belong,\nThe ponderous targe be wielded by the strong.\nThus arm\u2019d, not Hector shall our presence stay;\nMyself, ye Greeks! myself will lead the way.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] GREEK SHIELD\n\n\nThe troops assent; their martial arms they change:\nThe busy chiefs their banded legions range.\nThe kings, though wounded, and oppress\u2019d with pain,\nWith helpful hands themselves assist the train.\nThe strong and cumbrous arms the valiant wield,\nThe weaker warrior takes a lighter shield.\nThus sheath\u2019d in shining brass, in bright array\nThe legions march, and Neptune leads the way:\nHis brandish\u2019d falchion flames before their eyes,\nLike lightning flashing through the frighted skies.\nClad in his might, the earth-shaking power appears;\nPale mortals tremble, and confess their fears.\n\nTroy\u2019s great defender stands alone unawed,\nArms his proud host, and dares oppose a god:\nAnd lo! the god, and wondrous man, appear:\nThe sea\u2019s stern ruler there, and Hector here.\nThe roaring main, at her great master\u2019s call,\nRose in huge ranks, and form\u2019d a watery wall\nAround the ships: seas hanging o\u2019er the shores,\nBoth armies join: earth thunders, ocean roars.\nNot half so loud the bellowing deeps resound,\nWhen stormy winds disclose the dark profound;\nLess loud the winds that from the \u00c6olian hall\nRoar through the woods, and make whole forests fall;\nLess loud the woods, when flames in torrents pour,\nCatch the dry mountain, and its shades devour;\nWith such a rage the meeting hosts are driven,\nAnd such a clamour shakes the sounding heaven.\nThe first bold javelin, urged by Hector\u2019s force,\nDirect at Ajax\u2019 bosom winged its course;\nBut there no pass the crossing belts afford,\n(One braced his shield, and one sustain\u2019d his sword.)\nThen back the disappointed Trojan drew,\nAnd cursed the lance that unavailing flew:\nBut \u2019scaped not Ajax; his tempestuous hand\nA ponderous stone upheaving from the sand,\n(Where heaps laid loose beneath the warrior\u2019s feet,\nOr served to ballast, or to prop the fleet,)\nToss\u2019d round and round, the missive marble flings;\nOn the razed shield the fallen ruin rings,\nFull on his breast and throat with force descends;\nNor deaden\u2019d there its giddy fury spends,\nBut whirling on, with many a fiery round,\nSmokes in the dust, and ploughs into the ground.\nAs when the bolt, red-hissing from above,\nDarts on the consecrated plant of Jove,\nThe mountain-oak in flaming ruin lies,\nBlack from the blow, and smokes of sulphur rise;\nStiff with amaze the pale beholders stand,\nAnd own the terrors of the almighty hand!\nSo lies great Hector prostrate on the shore;\nHis slacken\u2019d hand deserts the lance it bore;\nHis following shield the fallen chief o\u2019erspread;\nBeneath his helmet dropp\u2019d his fainting head;\nHis load of armour, sinking to the ground,\nClanks on the field, a dead and hollow sound.\nLoud shouts of triumph fill the crowded plain;\nGreece sees, in hope, Troy\u2019s great defender slain:\nAll spring to seize him; storms of arrows fly,\nAnd thicker javelins intercept the sky.\nIn vain an iron tempest hisses round;\nHe lies protected, and without a wound.[238]\nPolydamas, Agenor the divine,\nThe pious warrior of Anchises\u2019 line,\nAnd each bold leader of the Lycian band,\nWith covering shields (a friendly circle) stand,\nHis mournful followers, with assistant care,\nThe groaning hero to his chariot bear;\nHis foaming coursers, swifter than the wind,\nSpeed to the town, and leave the war behind.\n\nWhen now they touch\u2019d the mead\u2019s enamell\u2019d side,\nWhere gentle Xanthus rolls his easy tide,\nWith watery drops the chief they sprinkle round,\nPlaced on the margin of the flowery ground.\nRaised on his knees, he now ejects the gore;\nNow faints anew, low-sinking on the shore;\nBy fits he breathes, half views the fleeting skies,\nAnd seals again, by fits, his swimming eyes.\n\nSoon as the Greeks the chief\u2019s retreat beheld,\nWith double fury each invades the field.\nOilean Ajax first his javelin sped,\nPierced by whose point the son of Enops bled;\n(Satnius the brave, whom beauteous Neis bore\nAmidst her flocks on Satnio\u2019s silver shore;)\nStruck through the belly\u2019s rim, the warrior lies\nSupine, and shades eternal veil his eyes.\nAn arduous battle rose around the dead;\nBy turns the Greeks, by turns the Trojans bled.\n\nFired with revenge, Polydamas drew near,\nAnd at Protho\u00ebnor shook the trembling spear;\nThe driving javelin through his shoulder thrust,\nHe sinks to earth, and grasps the bloody dust.\n\u201cLo thus (the victor cries) we rule the field,\nAnd thus their arms the race of Panthus wield:\nFrom this unerring hand there flies no dart\nBut bathes its point within a Grecian heart.\nPropp\u2019d on that spear to which thou owest thy fall,\nGo, guide thy darksome steps to Pluto\u2019s dreary hall.\u201d\n\nHe said, and sorrow touch\u2019d each Argive breast:\nThe soul of Ajax burn\u2019d above the rest.\nAs by his side the groaning warrior fell,\nAt the fierce foe he launch\u2019d his piercing steel;\nThe foe, reclining, shunn\u2019d the flying death;\nBut fate, Archilochus, demands thy breath:\nThy lofty birth no succour could impart,\nThe wings of death o\u2019ertook thee on the dart;\nSwift to perform heaven\u2019s fatal will, it fled\nFull on the juncture of the neck and head,\nAnd took the joint, and cut the nerves in twain:\nThe dropping head first tumbled on the plain.\nSo just the stroke, that yet the body stood\nErect, then roll\u2019d along the sands in blood.\n\n\u201cHere, proud Polydamas, here turn thy eyes!\n(The towering Ajax loud-insulting cries:)\nSay, is this chief extended on the plain\nA worthy vengeance for Protho\u00ebnor slain?\nMark well his port! his figure and his face\nNor speak him vulgar, nor of vulgar race;\nSome lines, methinks, may make his lineage known,\nAntenor\u2019s brother, or perhaps his son.\u201d\n\nHe spake, and smiled severe, for well he knew\nThe bleeding youth: Troy sadden\u2019d at the view.\nBut furious Acamas avenged his cause;\nAs Promachus his slaughtered brother draws,\nHe pierced his heart\u2014\u201cSuch fate attends you all,\nProud Argives! destined by our arms to fall.\nNot Troy alone, but haughty Greece, shall share\nThe toils, the sorrows, and the wounds of war.\nBehold your Promachus deprived of breath,\nA victim owed to my brave brother\u2019s death.\nNot unappeased he enters Pluto\u2019s gate,\nWho leaves a brother to revenge his fate.\u201d\n\nHeart-piercing anguish struck the Grecian host,\nBut touch\u2019d the breast of bold Peneleus most;\nAt the proud boaster he directs his course;\nThe boaster flies, and shuns superior force.\nBut young Ilioneus received the spear;\nIlioneus, his father\u2019s only care:\n(Phorbas the rich, of all the Trojan train\nWhom Hermes loved, and taught the arts of gain:)\nFull in his eye the weapon chanced to fall,\nAnd from the fibres scoop\u2019d the rooted ball,\nDrove through the neck, and hurl\u2019d him to the plain;\nHe lifts his miserable arms in vain!\nSwift his broad falchion fierce Peneleus spread,\nAnd from the spouting shoulders struck his head;\nTo earth at once the head and helmet fly;\nThe lance, yet sticking through the bleeding eye,\nThe victor seized; and, as aloft he shook\nThe gory visage, thus insulting spoke:\n\n\u201cTrojans! your great Ilioneus behold!\nHaste, to his father let the tale be told:\nLet his high roofs resound with frantic woe,\nSuch as the house of Promachus must know;\nLet doleful tidings greet his mother\u2019s ear,\nSuch as to Promachus\u2019 sad spouse we bear,\nWhen we victorious shall to Greece return,\nAnd the pale matron in our triumphs mourn.\u201d\n\nDreadful he spoke, then toss\u2019d the head on high;\nThe Trojans hear, they tremble, and they fly:\nAghast they gaze around the fleet and wall,\nAnd dread the ruin that impends on all.\n\nDaughters of Jove! that on Olympus shine,\nYe all-beholding, all-recording nine!\nO say, when Neptune made proud Ilion yield,\nWhat chief, what hero first embrued the field?\nOf all the Grecians what immortal name,\nAnd whose bless\u2019d trophies, will ye raise to fame?\n\nThou first, great Ajax! on the unsanguined plain\nLaid Hyrtius, leader of the Mysian train.\nPhalces and Mermer, Nestor\u2019s son o\u2019erthrew,\nBold Merion, Morys and Hippotion slew.\nStrong Periphaetes and Prothoon bled,\nBy Teucer\u2019s arrows mingled with the dead,\nPierced in the flank by Menelaus\u2019 steel,\nHis people\u2019s pastor, Hyperenor fell;\nEternal darkness wrapp\u2019d the warrior round,\nAnd the fierce soul came rushing through the wound.\nBut stretch\u2019d in heaps before O\u00efleus\u2019 son,\nFall mighty numbers, mighty numbers run;\nAjax the less, of all the Grecian race\nSkill\u2019d in pursuit, and swiftest in the chase.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] BACCHUS\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XV.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE FIFTH BATTLE AT THE SHIPS; AND THE ACTS OF AJAX.\n\n\nJupiter, awaking, sees the Trojans repulsed from the trenches, Hector\nin a swoon, and Neptune at the head of the Greeks: he is highly\nincensed at the artifice of Juno, who appeases him by her submissions;\nshe is then sent to Iris and Apollo. Juno, repairing to the assembly of\nthe gods, attempts, with extraordinary address, to incense them against\nJupiter; in particular she touches Mars with a violent resentment; he\nis ready to take arms, but is prevented by Minerva. Iris and Apollo\nobey the orders of Jupiter; Iris commands Neptune to leave the battle,\nto which, after much reluctance and passion, he consents. Apollo\nreinspires Hector with vigour, brings him back to the battle, marches\nbefore him with his \u00e6gis, and turns the fortune of the fight. He\nbreaks down great part of the Grecian wall: the Trojans rush in, and\nattempt to fire the first line of the fleet, but are, as yet, repelled\nby the greater Ajax with a prodigious slaughter.\n\n\nNow in swift flight they pass the trench profound,\nAnd many a chief lay gasping on the ground:\nThen stopp\u2019d and panted, where the chariots lie\nFear on their cheek, and horror in their eye.\nMeanwhile, awaken\u2019d from his dream of love,\nOn Ida\u2019s summit sat imperial Jove:\nRound the wide fields he cast a careful view,\nThere saw the Trojans fly, the Greeks pursue;\nThese proud in arms, those scatter\u2019d o\u2019er the plain\nAnd, \u2019midst the war, the monarch of the main.\nNot far, great Hector on the dust he spies,\n(His sad associates round with weeping eyes,)\nEjecting blood, and panting yet for breath,\nHis senses wandering to the verge of death.\nThe god beheld him with a pitying look,\nAnd thus, incensed, to fraudful Juno spoke:\n\n\u201cO thou, still adverse to the eternal will,\nFor ever studious in promoting ill!\nThy arts have made the godlike Hector yield,\nAnd driven his conquering squadrons from the field.\nCanst thou, unhappy in thy wiles, withstand\nOur power immense, and brave the almighty hand?\nHast thou forgot, when, bound and fix\u2019d on high,\nFrom the vast concave of the spangled sky,\nI hung thee trembling in a golden chain,\nAnd all the raging gods opposed in vain?\nHeadlong I hurl\u2019d them from the Olympian hall,\nStunn\u2019d in the whirl, and breathless with the fall.\nFor godlike Hercules these deeds were done,\nNor seem\u2019d the vengeance worthy such a son:\nWhen, by thy wiles induced, fierce Boreas toss\u2019d\nThe shipwreck\u2019d hero on the Coan coast,\nHim through a thousand forms of death I bore,\nAnd sent to Argos, and his native shore.\nHear this, remember, and our fury dread,\nNor pull the unwilling vengeance on thy head;\nLest arts and blandishments successless prove,\nThy soft deceits, and well-dissembled love.\u201d\n\nThe Thunderer spoke: imperial Juno mourn\u2019d,\nAnd, trembling, these submissive words return\u2019d:\n\n\u201cBy every oath that powers immortal ties,\nThe foodful earth and all-infolding skies;\nBy thy black waves, tremendous Styx! that flow\nThrough the drear realms of gliding ghosts below;\nBy the dread honours of thy sacred head,\nAnd that unbroken vow, our virgin bed!\nNot by my arts the ruler of the main\nSteeps Troy in blood, and ranges round the plain:\nBy his own ardour, his own pity sway\u2019d,\nTo help his Greeks, he fought and disobey\u2019d:\nElse had thy Juno better counsels given,\nAnd taught submission to the sire of heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cThink\u2019st thou with me? fair empress of the skies!\n(The immortal father with a smile replies;)\nThen soon the haughty sea-god shall obey,\nNor dare to act but when we point the way.\nIf truth inspires thy tongue, proclaim our will\nTo yon bright synod on the Olympian hill;\nOur high decree let various Iris know,\nAnd call the god that bears the silver bow.\nLet her descend, and from the embattled plain\nCommand the sea-god to his watery reign:\nWhile Ph\u0153bus hastes great Hector to prepare\nTo rise afresh, and once more wake the war:\nHis labouring bosom re-inspires with breath,\nAnd calls his senses from the verge of death.\nGreece chased by Troy, even to Achilles\u2019 fleet,\nShall fall by thousands at the hero\u2019s feet.\nHe, not untouch\u2019d with pity, to the plain\nShall send Patroclus, but shall send in vain.\nWhat youths he slaughters under Ilion\u2019s walls!\nEven my loved son, divine Sarpedon, falls!\nVanquish\u2019d at last by Hector\u2019s lance he lies.\nThen, nor till then, shall great Achilles rise:\nAnd lo! that instant, godlike Hector dies.\nFrom that great hour the war\u2019s whole fortune turns,\nPallas assists, and lofty Ilion burns.\nNot till that day shall Jove relax his rage,\nNor one of all the heavenly host engage\nIn aid of Greece. The promise of a god\nI gave, and seal\u2019d it with the almighty nod,\nAchilles\u2019 glory to the stars to raise;\nSuch was our word, and fate the word obeys.\u201d\n\nThe trembling queen (the almighty order given)\nSwift from the Idaean summit shot to heaven.\nAs some wayfaring man, who wanders o\u2019er\nIn thought a length of lands he trod before,\nSends forth his active mind from place to place,\nJoins hill to dale, and measures space with space:\nSo swift flew Juno to the bless\u2019d abodes,\nIf thought of man can match the speed of gods.\nThere sat the powers in awful synod placed;\nThey bow\u2019d, and made obeisance as she pass\u2019d\nThrough all the brazen dome:[239] with goblets crown\u2019d\nThey hail her queen; the nectar streams around.\nFair Themis first presents the golden bowl,\nAnd anxious asks what cares disturb her soul?\n\nTo whom the white-arm\u2019d goddess thus replies:\n\u201cEnough thou know\u2019st the tyrant of the skies,\nSeverely bent his purpose to fulfil,\nUnmoved his mind, and unrestrain\u2019d his will.\nGo thou, the feasts of heaven attend thy call;\nBid the crown\u2019d nectar circle round the hall:\nBut Jove shall thunder through the ethereal dome\nSuch stern decrees, such threaten\u2019d woes to come,\nAs soon shall freeze mankind with dire surprise,\nAnd damp the eternal banquets of the skies.\u201d\n\nThe goddess said, and sullen took her place;\nBlack horror sadden\u2019d each celestial face.\nTo see the gathering grudge in every breast,\nSmiles on her lips a spleenful joy express\u2019d;\nWhile on her wrinkled front, and eyebrow bent,\nSat stedfast care, and lowering discontent.\nThus she proceeds\u2014\u201cAttend, ye powers above!\nBut know, \u2019tis madness to contest with Jove:\nSupreme he sits; and sees, in pride of sway.\nYour vassal godheads grudgingly obey:\nFierce in the majesty of power controls;\nShakes all the thrones of heaven, and bends the poles.\nSubmiss, immortals! all he wills, obey:\nAnd thou, great Mars, begin and show the way.\nBehold Ascalaphus! behold him die,\nBut dare not murmur, dare not vent a sigh;\nThy own loved boasted offspring lies o\u2019erthrown,\nIf that loved boasted offspring be thy own.\u201d\n\nStern Mars, with anguish for his slaughter\u2019d son,\nSmote his rebelling breast, and fierce begun:\n\u201cThus then, immortals! thus shall Mars obey;\nForgive me, gods, and yield my vengeance way:\nDescending first to yon forbidden plain,\nThe god of battles dares avenge the slain;\nDares, though the thunder bursting o\u2019er my head\nShould hurl me blazing on those heaps of dead.\u201d\n\nWith that he gives command to Fear and Flight\nTo join his rapid coursers for the fight:\nThen grim in arms, with hasty vengeance flies;\nArms that reflect a radiance through the skies.\nAnd now had Jove, by bold rebellion driven,\nDischarged his wrath on half the host of heaven;\nBut Pallas, springing through the bright abode,\nStarts from her azure throne to calm the god.\nStruck for the immortal race with timely fear,\nFrom frantic Mars she snatch\u2019d the shield and spear;\nThen the huge helmet lifting from his head,\nThus to the impetuous homicide she said:\n\n\u201cBy what wild passion, furious! art thou toss\u2019d?\nStriv\u2019st thou with Jove? thou art already lost.\nShall not the Thunderer\u2019s dread command restrain,\nAnd was imperial Juno heard in vain?\nBack to the skies wouldst thou with shame be driven,\nAnd in thy guilt involve the host of heaven?\nIlion and Greece no more should Jove engage,\nThe skies would yield an ampler scene of rage;\nGuilty and guiltless find an equal fate\nAnd one vast ruin whelm the Olympian state.\nCease then thy offspring\u2019s death unjust to call;\nHeroes as great have died, and yet shall fall.\nWhy should heaven\u2019s law with foolish man comply\nExempted from the race ordain\u2019d to die?\u201d\n\nThis menace fix\u2019d the warrior to his throne;\nSullen he sat, and curb\u2019d the rising groan.\nThen Juno call\u2019d (Jove\u2019s orders to obey)\nThe winged Iris, and the god of day.\n\u201cGo wait the Thunderer\u2019s will (Saturnia cried)\nOn yon tall summit of the fountful Ide:\nThere in the father\u2019s awful presence stand,\nReceive, and execute his dread command.\u201d\n\nShe said, and sat; the god that gilds the day,\nAnd various Iris, wing their airy way.\nSwift as the wind, to Ida\u2019s hills they came,\n(Fair nurse of fountains, and of savage game)\nThere sat the eternal; he whose nod controls\nThe trembling world, and shakes the steady poles.\nVeil\u2019d in a mist of fragrance him they found,\nWith clouds of gold and purple circled round.\nWell-pleased the Thunderer saw their earnest care,\nAnd prompt obedience to the queen of air;\nThen (while a smile serenes his awful brow)\nCommands the goddess of the showery bow:\n\n\u201cIris! descend, and what we here ordain,\nReport to yon mad tyrant of the main.\nBid him from fight to his own deeps repair,\nOr breathe from slaughter in the fields of air.\nIf he refuse, then let him timely weigh\nOur elder birthright, and superior sway.\nHow shall his rashness stand the dire alarms,\nIf heaven\u2019s omnipotence descend in arms?\nStrives he with me, by whom his power was given,\nAnd is there equal to the lord of heaven?\u201d\n\nThe all-mighty spoke; the goddess wing\u2019d her flight\nTo sacred Ilion from the Idaean height.\nSwift as the rattling hail, or fleecy snows,\nDrive through the skies, when Boreas fiercely blows;\nSo from the clouds descending Iris falls,\nAnd to blue Neptune thus the goddess calls:\n\n\u201cAttend the mandate of the sire above!\nIn me behold the messenger of Jove:\nHe bids thee from forbidden wars repair\nTo thine own deeps, or to the fields of air.\nThis if refused, he bids thee timely weigh\nHis elder birthright, and superior sway.\nHow shall thy rashness stand the dire alarms\nIf heaven\u2019s omnipotence descend in arms?\nStriv\u2019st thou with him by whom all power is given?\nAnd art thou equal to the lord of heaven?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat means the haughty sovereign of the skies?\n(The king of ocean thus, incensed, replies;)\nRule as he will his portion\u2019d realms on high;\nNo vassal god, nor of his train, am I.\nThree brother deities from Saturn came,\nAnd ancient Rhea, earth\u2019s immortal dame:\nAssign\u2019d by lot, our triple rule we know;\nInfernal Pluto sways the shades below;\nO\u2019er the wide clouds, and o\u2019er the starry plain,\nEthereal Jove extends his high domain;\nMy court beneath the hoary waves I keep,\nAnd hush the roarings of the sacred deep;\nOlympus, and this earth, in common lie:\nWhat claim has here the tyrant of the sky?\nFar in the distant clouds let him control,\nAnd awe the younger brothers of the pole;\nThere to his children his commands be given,\nThe trembling, servile, second race of heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd must I then (said she), O sire of floods!\nBear this fierce answer to the king of gods?\nCorrect it yet, and change thy rash intent;\nA noble mind disdains not to repent.\nTo elder brothers guardian fiends are given,\nTo scourge the wretch insulting them and heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cGreat is the profit (thus the god rejoin\u2019d)\nWhen ministers are blest with prudent mind:\nWarn\u2019d by thy words, to powerful Jove I yield,\nAnd quit, though angry, the contended field:\nNot but his threats with justice I disclaim,\nThe same our honours, and our birth the same.\nIf yet, forgetful of his promise given\nTo Hermes, Pallas, and the queen of heaven,\nTo favour Ilion, that perfidious place,\nHe breaks his faith with half the ethereal race;\nGive him to know, unless the Grecian train\nLay yon proud structures level with the plain,\nHowe\u2019er the offence by other gods be pass\u2019d,\nThe wrath of Neptune shall for ever last.\u201d\n\nThus speaking, furious from the field he strode,\nAnd plunged into the bosom of the flood.\nThe lord of thunders, from his lofty height\nBeheld, and thus bespoke the source of light:\n\n\u201cBehold! the god whose liquid arms are hurl\u2019d\nAround the globe, whose earthquakes rock the world,\nDesists at length his rebel-war to wage,\nSeeks his own seas, and trembles at our rage;\nElse had my wrath, heaven\u2019s thrones all shaking round,\nBurn\u2019d to the bottom of his seas profound;\nAnd all the gods that round old Saturn dwell\nHad heard the thunders to the deeps of hell.\nWell was the crime, and well the vengeance spared;\nEven power immense had found such battle hard.\nGo thou, my son! the trembling Greeks alarm,\nShake my broad \u00e6gis on thy active arm,\nBe godlike Hector thy peculiar care,\nSwell his bold heart, and urge his strength to war:\nLet Ilion conquer, till the Achaian train\nFly to their ships and Hellespont again:\nThen Greece shall breathe from toils.\u201d The godhead said;\nHis will divine the son of Jove obey\u2019d.\nNot half so swift the sailing falcon flies,\nThat drives a turtle through the liquid skies,\nAs Ph\u0153bus, shooting from the Idaean brow,\nGlides down the mountain to the plain below.\nThere Hector seated by the stream he sees,\nHis sense returning with the coming breeze;\nAgain his pulses beat, his spirits rise;\nAgain his loved companions meet his eyes;\nJove thinking of his pains, they pass\u2019d away,\nTo whom the god who gives the golden day:\n\n\u201cWhy sits great Hector from the field so far?\nWhat grief, what wound, withholds thee from the war?\u201d\n\nThe fainting hero, as the vision bright\nStood shining o\u2019er him, half unseal\u2019d his sight:\n\n\u201cWhat blest immortal, with commanding breath,\nThus wakens Hector from the sleep of death?\nHas fame not told, how, while my trusty sword\nBathed Greece in slaughter, and her battle gored,\nThe mighty Ajax with a deadly blow\nHad almost sunk me to the shades below?\nEven yet, methinks, the gliding ghosts I spy,\nAnd hell\u2019s black horrors swim before my eye.\u201d\n\nTo him Apollo: \u201cBe no more dismay\u2019d;\nSee, and be strong! the Thunderer sends thee aid.\nBehold! thy Ph\u0153bus shall his arms employ,\nPh\u0153bus, propitious still to thee and Troy.\nInspire thy warriors then with manly force,\nAnd to the ships impel thy rapid horse:\nEven I will make thy fiery coursers way,\nAnd drive the Grecians headlong to the sea.\u201d\n\nThus to bold Hector spoke the son of Jove,\nAnd breathed immortal ardour from above.\nAs when the pamper\u2019d steed, with reins unbound,\nBreaks from his stall, and pours along the ground;\nWith ample strokes he rushes to the flood,\nTo bathe his sides, and cool his fiery blood;\nHis head, now freed, he tosses to the skies;\nHis mane dishevell\u2019d o\u2019er his shoulders flies:\nHe snuffs the females in the well-known plain,\nAnd springs, exulting, to his fields again:\nUrged by the voice divine, thus Hector flew,\nFull of the god; and all his hosts pursue.\nAs when the force of men and dogs combined\nInvade the mountain goat, or branching hind;\nFar from the hunter\u2019s rage secure they lie\nClose in the rock, (not fated yet to die)\nWhen lo! a lion shoots across the way!\nThey fly: at once the chasers and the prey.\nSo Greece, that late in conquering troops pursued,\nAnd mark\u2019d their progress through the ranks in blood,\nSoon as they see the furious chief appear,\nForget to vanquish, and consent to fear.\n\nThoas with grief observed his dreadful course,\nThoas, the bravest of the \u00c6tolian force;\nSkill\u2019d to direct the javelin\u2019s distant flight,\nAnd bold to combat in the standing fight,\nNot more in councils famed for solid sense,\nThan winning words and heavenly eloquence.\n\u201cGods! what portent (he cried) these eyes invades?\nLo! Hector rises from the Stygian shades!\nWe saw him, late, by thundering Ajax kill\u2019d:\nWhat god restores him to the frighted field;\nAnd not content that half of Greece lie slain,\nPours new destruction on her sons again?\nHe comes not, Jove! without thy powerful will;\nLo! still he lives, pursues, and conquers still!\nYet hear my counsel, and his worst withstand:\nThe Greeks\u2019 main body to the fleet command;\nBut let the few whom brisker spirits warm,\nStand the first onset, and provoke the storm.\nThus point your arms; and when such foes appear,\nFierce as he is, let Hector learn to fear.\u201d\n\nThe warrior spoke; the listening Greeks obey,\nThickening their ranks, and form a deep array.\n\nEach Ajax, Teucer, Merion gave command,\nThe valiant leader of the Cretan band;\nAnd Mars-like Meges: these the chiefs excite,\nApproach the foe, and meet the coming fight.\nBehind, unnumber\u2019d multitudes attend,\nTo flank the navy, and the shores defend.\nFull on the front the pressing Trojans bear,\nAnd Hector first came towering to the war.\nPh\u0153bus himself the rushing battle led;\nA veil of clouds involved his radiant head:\nHigh held before him, Jove\u2019s enormous shield\nPortentous shone, and shaded all the field;\nVulcan to Jove the immortal gift consign\u2019d,\nTo scatter hosts and terrify mankind,\nThe Greeks expect the shock, the clamours rise\nFrom different parts, and mingle in the skies.\nDire was the hiss of darts, by heroes flung,\nAnd arrows leaping from the bow-string sung;\nThese drink the life of generous warriors slain:\nThose guiltless fall, and thirst for blood in vain.\nAs long as Ph\u0153bus bore unmoved the shield,\nSat doubtful conquest hovering o\u2019er the field;\nBut when aloft he shakes it in the skies,\nShouts in their ears, and lightens in their eyes,\nDeep horror seizes every Grecian breast,\nTheir force is humbled, and their fear confess\u2019d.\nSo flies a herd of oxen, scatter\u2019d wide,\nNo swain to guard them, and no day to guide,\nWhen two fell lions from the mountain come,\nAnd spread the carnage through the shady gloom.\nImpending Ph\u0153bus pours around them fear,\nAnd Troy and Hector thunder in the rear.\nHeaps fall on heaps: the slaughter Hector leads,\nFirst great Arcesilas, then Stichius bleeds;\nOne to the bold B\u0153otians ever dear,\nAnd one Menestheus\u2019 friend and famed compeer.\nMedon and Iasus, \u00c6neas sped;\nThis sprang from Phelus, and the Athenians led;\nBut hapless Medon from O\u00efleus came;\nHim Ajax honour\u2019d with a brother\u2019s name,\nThough born of lawless love: from home expell\u2019d,\nA banish\u2019d man, in Phylac\u00e8 he dwell\u2019d,\nPress\u2019d by the vengeance of an angry wife;\nTroy ends at last his labours and his life.\nMecystes next Polydamas o\u2019erthrew;\nAnd thee, brave Clonius, great Agenor slew.\nBy Paris, Deiochus inglorious dies,\nPierced through the shoulder as he basely flies.\nPolites\u2019 arm laid Echius on the plain;\nStretch\u2019d on one heap, the victors spoil the slain.\nThe Greeks dismay\u2019d, confused, disperse or fall,\nSome seek the trench, some skulk behind the wall.\nWhile these fly trembling, others pant for breath,\nAnd o\u2019er the slaughter stalks gigantic death.\nOn rush\u2019d bold Hector, gloomy as the night;\nForbids to plunder, animates the fight,\nPoints to the fleet: \u201cFor, by the gods! who flies,[240]\nWho dares but linger, by this hand he dies;\nNo weeping sister his cold eye shall close,\nNo friendly hand his funeral pyre compose.\nWho stops to plunder at this signal hour,\nThe birds shall tear him, and the dogs devour.\u201d\nFurious he said; the smarting scourge resounds;\nThe coursers fly; the smoking chariot bounds;\nThe hosts rush on; loud clamours shake the shore;\nThe horses thunder, earth and ocean roar!\nApollo, planted at the trench\u2019s bound,\nPush\u2019d at the bank: down sank the enormous mound:\nRoll\u2019d in the ditch the heapy ruin lay;\nA sudden road! a long and ample way.\nO\u2019er the dread fosse (a late impervious space)\nNow steeds, and men, and cars tumultuous pass.\nThe wondering crowds the downward level trod;\nBefore them flamed the shield, and march\u2019d the god.\nThen with his hand he shook the mighty wall;\nAnd lo! the turrets nod, the bulwarks fall:\nEasy as when ashore an infant stands,\nAnd draws imagined houses in the sands;\nThe sportive wanton, pleased with some new play,\nSweeps the slight works and fashion\u2019d domes away:\nThus vanish\u2019d at thy touch, the towers and walls;\nThe toil of thousands in a moment falls.\n\nThe Grecians gaze around with wild despair,\nConfused, and weary all the powers with prayer:\nExhort their men, with praises, threats, commands;\nAnd urge the gods, with voices, eyes, and hands.\nExperienced Nestor chief obtests the skies,\nAnd weeps his country with a father\u2019s eyes.\n\n\u201cO Jove! if ever, on his native shore,\nOne Greek enrich\u2019d thy shrine with offer\u2019d gore;\nIf e\u2019er, in hope our country to behold,\nWe paid the fattest firstlings of the fold;\nIf e\u2019er thou sign\u2019st our wishes with thy nod:\nPerform the promise of a gracious god!\nThis day preserve our navies from the flame,\nAnd save the relics of the Grecian name.\u201d\n\nThus prayed the sage: the eternal gave consent,\nAnd peals of thunder shook the firmament.\nPresumptuous Troy mistook the accepting sign,\nAnd catch\u2019d new fury at the voice divine.\nAs, when black tempests mix the seas and skies,\nThe roaring deeps in watery mountains rise,\nAbove the sides of some tall ship ascend,\nIts womb they deluge, and its ribs they rend:\nThus loudly roaring, and o\u2019erpowering all,\nMount the thick Trojans up the Grecian wall;\nLegions on legions from each side arise:\nThick sound the keels; the storm of arrows flies.\nFierce on the ships above, the cars below,\nThese wield the mace, and those the javelin throw.\n\nWhile thus the thunder of the battle raged,\nAnd labouring armies round the works engaged,\nStill in the tent Patroclus sat to tend\nThe good Eurypylus, his wounded friend.\nHe sprinkles healing balms, to anguish kind,\nAnd adds discourse, the medicine of the mind.\nBut when he saw, ascending up the fleet,\nVictorious Troy; then, starting from his seat,\nWith bitter groans his sorrows he express\u2019d,\nHe wrings his hands, he beats his manly breast.\n\u201cThough yet thy state require redress (he cries)\nDepart I must: what horrors strike my eyes!\nCharged with Achilles\u2019 high command I go,\nA mournful witness of this scene of woe;\nI haste to urge him by his country\u2019s care\nTo rise in arms, and shine again in war.\nPerhaps some favouring god his soul may bend;\nThe voice is powerful of a faithful friend.\u201d\n\nHe spoke; and, speaking, swifter than the wind\nSprung from the tent, and left the war behind.\nThe embodied Greeks the fierce attack sustain,\nBut strive, though numerous, to repulse in vain:\nNor could the Trojans, through that firm array,\nForce to the fleet and tents the impervious way.\nAs when a shipwright, with Palladian art,\nSmooths the rough wood, and levels every part;\nWith equal hand he guides his whole design,\nBy the just rule, and the directing line:\nThe martial leaders, with like skill and care,\nPreserved their line, and equal kept the war.\nBrave deeds of arms through all the ranks were tried,\nAnd every ship sustained an equal tide.\nAt one proud bark, high-towering o\u2019er the fleet,\nAjax the great, and godlike Hector meet;\nFor one bright prize the matchless chiefs contend,\nNor this the ships can fire, nor that defend:\nOne kept the shore, and one the vessel trod;\nThat fix\u2019d as fate, this acted by a god.\nThe son of Clytius in his daring hand,\nThe deck approaching, shakes a flaming brand;\nBut, pierced by Telamon\u2019s huge lance, expires:\nThundering he falls, and drops the extinguish\u2019d fires.\nGreat Hector view\u2019d him with a sad survey,\nAs stretch\u2019d in dust before the stern he lay.\n\u201cOh! all of Trojan, all of Lycian race!\nStand to your arms, maintain this arduous space:\nLo! where the son of royal Clytius lies;\nAh, save his arms, secure his obsequies!\u201d\n\nThis said, his eager javelin sought the foe:\nBut Ajax shunn\u2019d the meditated blow.\nNot vainly yet the forceful lance was thrown;\nIt stretch\u2019d in dust unhappy Lycophron:\nAn exile long, sustain\u2019d at Ajax\u2019 board,\nA faithful servant to a foreign lord;\nIn peace, and war, for ever at his side,\nNear his loved master, as he lived, he died.\nFrom the high poop he tumbles on the sand,\nAnd lies a lifeless load along the land.\nWith anguish Ajax views the piercing sight,\nAnd thus inflames his brother to the fight:\n\n\u201cTeucer, behold! extended on the shore\nOur friend, our loved companion! now no more!\nDear as a parent, with a parent\u2019s care\nTo fight our wars he left his native air.\nThis death deplored, to Hector\u2019s rage we owe;\nRevenge, revenge it on the cruel foe.\nWhere are those darts on which the fates attend?\nAnd where the bow which Ph\u0153bus taught to bend?\u201d\n\nImpatient Teucer, hastening to his aid,\nBefore the chief his ample bow display\u2019d;\nThe well-stored quiver on his shoulders hung:\nThen hiss\u2019d his arrow, and the bowstring sung.\nClytus, Pisenor\u2019s son, renown\u2019d in fame,\n(To thee, Polydamas! an honour\u2019d name)\nDrove through the thickest of the embattled plains\nThe startling steeds, and shook his eager reins.\nAs all on glory ran his ardent mind,\nThe pointed death arrests him from behind:\nThrough his fair neck the thrilling arrow flies;\nIn youth\u2019s first bloom reluctantly he dies.\nHurl\u2019d from the lofty seat, at distance far,\nThe headlong coursers spurn his empty car;\nTill sad Polydamas the steeds restrain\u2019d,\nAnd gave, Astynous, to thy careful hand;\nThen, fired to vengeance, rush\u2019d amidst the foe:\nRage edged his sword, and strengthen\u2019d every blow.\n\nOnce more bold Teucer, in his country\u2019s cause,\nAt Hector\u2019s breast a chosen arrow draws:\nAnd had the weapon found the destined way,\nThy fall, great Trojan! had renown\u2019d that day.\nBut Hector was not doom\u2019d to perish then:\nThe all-wise disposer of the fates of men\n(Imperial Jove) his present death withstands;\nNor was such glory due to Teucer\u2019s hands.\nAt its full stretch as the tough string he drew,\nStruck by an arm unseen, it burst in two;\nDown dropp\u2019d the bow: the shaft with brazen head\nFell innocent, and on the dust lay dead.\nThe astonish\u2019d archer to great Ajax cries;\n\u201cSome god prevents our destined enterprise:\nSome god, propitious to the Trojan foe,\nHas, from my arm unfailing, struck the bow,\nAnd broke the nerve my hands had twined with art,\nStrong to impel the flight of many a dart.\u201d\n\n\u201cSince heaven commands it (Ajax made reply)\nDismiss the bow, and lay thy arrows by:\nThy arms no less suffice the lance to wield,\nAnd quit the quiver for the ponderous shield.\nIn the first ranks indulge thy thirst of fame,\nThy brave example shall the rest inflame.\nFierce as they are, by long successes vain;\nTo force our fleet, or even a ship to gain,\nAsks toil, and sweat, and blood: their utmost might\nShall find its match\u2014No more: \u2019tis ours to fight.\u201d\n\nThen Teucer laid his faithless bow aside;\nThe fourfold buckler o\u2019er his shoulder tied;\nOn his brave head a crested helm he placed,\nWith nodding horse-hair formidably graced;\nA dart, whose point with brass refulgent shines,\nThe warrior wields; and his great brother joins.\n\nThis Hector saw, and thus express\u2019d his joy:\n\u201cYe troops of Lycia, Dardanus, and Troy!\nBe mindful of yourselves, your ancient fame,\nAnd spread your glory with the navy\u2019s flame.\nJove is with us; I saw his hand, but now,\nFrom the proud archer strike his vaunted bow:\nIndulgent Jove! how plain thy favours shine,\nWhen happy nations bear the marks divine!\nHow easy then, to see the sinking state\nOf realms accursed, deserted, reprobate!\nSuch is the fate of Greece, and such is ours:\nBehold, ye warriors, and exert your powers.\nDeath is the worst; a fate which all must try;\nAnd for our country, \u2019tis a bliss to die.\nThe gallant man, though slain in fight he be,\nYet leaves his nation safe, his children free;\nEntails a debt on all the grateful state;\nHis own brave friends shall glory in his fate;\nHis wife live honour\u2019d, all his race succeed,\nAnd late posterity enjoy the deed!\u201d\n\nThis roused the soul in every Trojan breast:\nThe godlike Ajax next his Greeks address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cHow long, ye warriors of the Argive race,\n(To generous Argos what a dire disgrace!)\nHow long on these cursed confines will ye lie,\nYet undetermined, or to live or die?\nWhat hopes remain, what methods to retire,\nIf once your vessels catch the Trojan fire?\nMark how the flames approach, how near they fall,\nHow Hector calls, and Troy obeys his call!\nNot to the dance that dreadful voice invites,\nIt calls to death, and all the rage of fights.\n\u2019Tis now no time for wisdom or debates;\nTo your own hands are trusted all your fates;\nAnd better far in one decisive strife,\nOne day should end our labour or our life,\nThan keep this hard-got inch of barren sands,\nStill press\u2019d, and press\u2019d by such inglorious hands.\u201d\n\nThe listening Grecians feel their leader\u2019s flame,\nAnd every kindling bosom pants for fame.\nThen mutual slaughters spread on either side;\nBy Hector here the Phocian Schedius died;\nThere, pierced by Ajax, sunk Laodamas,\nChief of the foot, of old Antenor\u2019s race.\nPolydamas laid Otus on the sand,\nThe fierce commander of the Epeian band.\nHis lance bold Meges at the victor threw;\nThe victor, stooping, from the death withdrew;\n(That valued life, O Ph\u0153bus! was thy care)\nBut Croesmus\u2019 bosom took the flying spear:\nHis corpse fell bleeding on the slippery shore;\nHis radiant arms triumphant Meges bore.\nDolops, the son of Lampus, rushes on,\nSprung from the race of old Laomedon,\nAnd famed for prowess in a well-fought field,\nHe pierced the centre of his sounding shield:\nBut Meges, Phyleus\u2019 ample breastplate wore,\n(Well-known in fight on Sell\u00e8\u2019s winding shore;\nFor king Euphetes gave the golden mail,\nCompact, and firm with many a jointed scale)\nWhich oft, in cities storm\u2019d, and battles won,\nHad saved the father, and now saves the son.\nFull at the Trojan\u2019s head he urged his lance,\nWhere the high plumes above the helmet dance,\nNew ting\u2019d with Tyrian dye: in dust below,\nShorn from the crest, the purple honours glow.\nMeantime their fight the Spartan king survey\u2019d,\nAnd stood by Meges\u2019 side a sudden aid.\nThrough Dolops\u2019 shoulder urged his forceful dart,\nWhich held its passage through the panting heart,\nAnd issued at his breast. With thundering sound\nThe warrior falls, extended on the ground.\nIn rush the conquering Greeks to spoil the slain:\nBut Hector\u2019s voice excites his kindred train;\nThe hero most, from Hicetaon sprung,\nFierce Melanippus, gallant, brave, and young.\nHe (ere to Troy the Grecians cross\u2019d the main)\nFed his large oxen on Percot\u00e8\u2019s plain;\nBut when oppress\u2019d, his country claim\u2019d his care,\nReturn\u2019d to Ilion, and excell\u2019d in war;\nFor this, in Priam\u2019s court, he held his place,\nBeloved no less than Priam\u2019s royal race.\nHim Hector singled, as his troops he led,\nAnd thus inflamed him, pointing to the dead.\n\n\u201cLo, Melanippus! lo, where Dolops lies;\nAnd is it thus our royal kinsman dies?\nO\u2019ermatch\u2019d he falls; to two at once a prey,\nAnd lo! they bear the bloody arms away!\nCome on\u2014a distant war no longer wage,\nBut hand to hand thy country\u2019s foes engage:\nTill Greece at once, and all her glory end;\nOr Ilion from her towery height descend,\nHeaved from the lowest stone; and bury all\nIn one sad sepulchre, one common fall.\u201d\n\nHector (this said) rush\u2019d forward on the foes:\nWith equal ardour Melanippus glows:\nThen Ajax thus\u2014\u201cO Greeks! respect your fame,\nRespect yourselves, and learn an honest shame:\nLet mutual reverence mutual warmth inspire,\nAnd catch from breast to breast the noble fire,\nOn valour\u2019s side the odds of combat lie;\nThe brave live glorious, or lamented die;\nThe wretch that trembles in the field of fame,\nMeets death, and worse than death, eternal shame.\u201d\n\nHis generous sense he not in vain imparts;\nIt sunk, and rooted in the Grecian hearts:\nThey join, they throng, they thicken at his call,\nAnd flank the navy with a brazen wall;\nShields touching shields, in order blaze above,\nAnd stop the Trojans, though impell\u2019d by Jove.\nThe fiery Spartan first, with loud applause.\nWarms the bold son of Nestor in his cause.\n\u201cIs there (he said) in arms a youth like you,\nSo strong to fight, so active to pursue?\nWhy stand you distant, nor attempt a deed?\nLift the bold lance, and make some Trojan bleed.\u201d\n\nHe said; and backward to the lines retired;\nForth rush\u2019d the youth with martial fury fired,\nBeyond the foremost ranks; his lance he threw,\nAnd round the black battalions cast his view.\nThe troops of Troy recede with sudden fear,\nWhile the swift javelin hiss\u2019d along in air.\nAdvancing Melanippus met the dart\nWith his bold breast, and felt it in his heart:\nThundering he falls; his falling arms resound,\nAnd his broad buckler rings against the ground.\nThe victor leaps upon his prostrate prize:\nThus on a roe the well-breath\u2019d beagle flies,\nAnd rends his side, fresh-bleeding with the dart\nThe distant hunter sent into his heart.\nObserving Hector to the rescue flew;\nBold as he was, Antilochus withdrew.\nSo when a savage, ranging o\u2019er the plain,\nHas torn the shepherd\u2019s dog, or shepherd\u2019s swain,\nWhile conscious of the deed, he glares around,\nAnd hears the gathering multitude resound,\nTimely he flies the yet-untasted food,\nAnd gains the friendly shelter of the wood:\nSo fears the youth; all Troy with shouts pursue,\nWhile stones and darts in mingled tempest flew;\nBut enter\u2019d in the Grecian ranks, he turns\nHis manly breast, and with new fury burns.\n\nNow on the fleet the tides of Trojans drove,\nFierce to fulfil the stern decrees of Jove:\nThe sire of gods, confirming Thetis\u2019 prayer,\nThe Grecian ardour quench\u2019d in deep despair;\nBut lifts to glory Troy\u2019s prevailing bands,\nSwells all their hearts, and strengthens all their hands.\nOn Ida\u2019s top he waits with longing eyes,\nTo view the navy blazing to the skies;\nThen, nor till then, the scale of war shall turn,\nThe Trojans fly, and conquer\u2019d Ilion burn.\nThese fates revolved in his almighty mind,\nHe raises Hector to the work design\u2019d,\nBids him with more than mortal fury glow,\nAnd drives him, like a lightning, on the foe.\nSo Mars, when human crimes for vengeance call,\nShakes his huge javelin, and whole armies fall.\nNot with more rage a conflagration rolls,\nWraps the vast mountains, and involves the poles.\nHe foams with wrath; beneath his gloomy brow\nLike fiery meteors his red eye-balls glow:\nThe radiant helmet on his temple burns,\nWaves when he nods, and lightens as he turns:\nFor Jove his splendour round the chief had thrown,\nAnd cast the blaze of both the hosts on one.\nUnhappy glories! for his fate was near,\nDue to stern Pallas, and Pelides\u2019 spear:\nYet Jove deferr\u2019d the death he was to pay,\nAnd gave what fate allow\u2019d, the honours of a day!\n\nNow all on fire for fame, his breast, his eyes\nBurn at each foe, and single every prize;\nStill at the closest ranks, the thickest fight,\nHe points his ardour, and exerts his might.\nThe Grecian phalanx, moveless as a tower,\nOn all sides batter\u2019d, yet resists his power:\nSo some tall rock o\u2019erhangs the hoary main,[241]\nBy winds assail\u2019d, by billows beat in vain,\nUnmoved it hears, above, the tempest blow,\nAnd sees the watery mountains break below.\nGirt in surrounding flames, he seems to fall\nLike fire from Jove, and bursts upon them all:\nBursts as a wave that from the cloud impends,\nAnd, swell\u2019d with tempests, on the ship descends;\nWhite are the decks with foam; the winds aloud\nHowl o\u2019er the masts, and sing through every shroud:\nPale, trembling, tired, the sailors freeze with fears;\nAnd instant death on every wave appears.\nSo pale the Greeks the eyes of Hector meet,\nThe chief so thunders, and so shakes the fleet.\n\nAs when a lion, rushing from his den,\nAmidst the plain of some wide-water\u2019d fen,\n(Where numerous oxen, as at ease they feed,\nAt large expatiate o\u2019er the ranker mead)\nLeaps on the herds before the herdsman\u2019s eyes;\nThe trembling herdsman far to distance flies;\nSome lordly bull (the rest dispersed and fled)\nHe singles out; arrests, and lays him dead.\nThus from the rage of Jove-like Hector flew\nAll Greece in heaps; but one he seized, and slew:\nMycenian Periphes, a mighty name,\nIn wisdom great, in arms well known to fame;\nThe minister of stern Eurystheus\u2019 ire\nAgainst Alcides, Copreus was his sire:\nThe son redeem\u2019d the honours of the race,\nA son as generous as the sire was base;\nO\u2019er all his country\u2019s youth conspicuous far\nIn every virtue, or of peace or war:\nBut doom\u2019d to Hector\u2019s stronger force to yield!\nAgainst the margin of his ample shield\nHe struck his hasty foot: his heels up-sprung;\nSupine he fell; his brazen helmet rung.\nOn the fallen chief the invading Trojan press\u2019d,\nAnd plunged the pointed javelin in his breast.\nHis circling friends, who strove to guard too late\nThe unhappy hero, fled, or shared his fate.\n\nChased from the foremost line, the Grecian train\nNow man the next, receding toward the main:\nWedged in one body at the tents they stand,\nWall\u2019d round with sterns, a gloomy, desperate band.\nNow manly shame forbids the inglorious flight;\nNow fear itself confines them to the fight:\nMan courage breathes in man; but Nestor most\n(The sage preserver of the Grecian host)\nExhorts, adjures, to guard these utmost shores;\nAnd by their parents, by themselves implores.\n\n\u201cOh friends! be men: your generous breasts inflame\nWith mutual honour, and with mutual shame!\nThink of your hopes, your fortunes; all the care\nYour wives, your infants, and your parents share:\nThink of each living father\u2019s reverend head;\nThink of each ancestor with glory dead;\nAbsent, by me they speak, by me they sue,\nThey ask their safety, and their fame, from you:\nThe gods their fates on this one action lay,\nAnd all are lost, if you desert the day.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and round him breathed heroic fires;\nMinerva seconds what the sage inspires.\nThe mist of darkness Jove around them threw\nShe clear\u2019d, restoring all the war to view;\nA sudden ray shot beaming o\u2019er the plain,\nAnd show\u2019d the shores, the navy, and the main:\nHector they saw, and all who fly, or fight,\nThe scene wide-opening to the blaze of light,\nFirst of the field great Ajax strikes their eyes,\nHis port majestic, and his ample size:\nA ponderous mace with studs of iron crown\u2019d,\nFull twenty cubits long, he swings around;\nNor fights, like others, fix\u2019d to certain stands\nBut looks a moving tower above the bands;\nHigh on the decks with vast gigantic stride,\nThe godlike hero stalks from side to side.\nSo when a horseman from the watery mead\n(Skill\u2019d in the manage of the bounding steed)\nDrives four fair coursers, practised to obey,\nTo some great city through the public way;\nSafe in his art, as side by side they run,\nHe shifts his seat, and vaults from one to one;\nAnd now to this, and now to that he flies;\nAdmiring numbers follow with their eyes.\n\nFrom ship to ship thus Ajax swiftly flew,\nNo less the wonder of the warring crew.\nAs furious, Hector thunder\u2019d threats aloud,\nAnd rush\u2019d enraged before the Trojan crowd;\nThen swift invades the ships, whose beaky prores\nLay rank\u2019d contiguous on the bending shores;\nSo the strong eagle from his airy height,\nWho marks the swans\u2019 or cranes\u2019 embodied flight,\nStoops down impetuous, while they light for food,\nAnd, stooping, darkens with his wings the flood.\nJove leads him on with his almighty hand,\nAnd breathes fierce spirits in his following band.\nThe warring nations meet, the battle roars,\nThick beats the combat on the sounding prores.\nThou wouldst have thought, so furious was their fire,\nNo force could tame them, and no toil could tire;\nAs if new vigour from new fights they won,\nAnd the long battle was but then begun.\nGreece, yet unconquer\u2019d, kept alive the war,\nSecure of death, confiding in despair:\nTroy in proud hopes already view\u2019d the main\nBright with the blaze, and red with heroes slain:\nLike strength is felt from hope, and from despair,\nAnd each contends, as his were all the war.\n\n\u2019Twas thou, bold Hector! whose resistless hand\nFirst seized a ship on that contested strand;\nThe same which dead Protesila\u00fcs bore,[242]\nThe first that touch\u2019d the unhappy Trojan shore:\nFor this in arms the warring nations stood,\nAnd bathed their generous breasts with mutual blood.\nNo room to poise the lance or bend the bow;\nBut hand to hand, and man to man, they grow:\nWounded, they wound; and seek each other\u2019s hearts\nWith falchions, axes, swords, and shorten\u2019d darts.\nThe falchions ring, shields rattle, axes sound,\nSwords flash in air, or glitter on the ground;\nWith streaming blood the slippery shores are dyed,\nAnd slaughter\u2019d heroes swell the dreadful tide.\n\nStill raging, Hector with his ample hand\nGrasps the high stern, and gives this loud command:\n\n\n[Illustration: ] AJAX DEFENDING THE GREEK SHIPS\n\n\n\u201cHaste, bring the flames! that toil of ten long years\nIs finished; and the day desired appears!\nThis happy day with acclamations greet,\nBright with destruction of yon hostile fleet.\nThe coward-counsels of a timorous throng\nOf reverend dotards check\u2019d our glory long:\nToo long Jove lull\u2019d us with lethargic charms,\nBut now in peals of thunder calls to arms:\nIn this great day he crowns our full desires,\nWakes all our force, and seconds all our fires.\u201d\n\nHe spoke\u2014the warriors at his fierce command\nPour a new deluge on the Grecian band.\nEven Ajax paused, (so thick the javelins fly,)\nStepp\u2019d back, and doubted or to live or die.\nYet, where the oars are placed, he stands to wait\nWhat chief approaching dares attempt his fate:\nEven to the last his naval charge defends,\nNow shakes his spear, now lifts, and now protends;\nEven yet, the Greeks with piercing shouts inspires,\nAmidst attacks, and deaths, and darts, and fires.\n\n\u201cO friends! O heroes! names for ever dear,\nOnce sons of Mars, and thunderbolts of war!\nAh! yet be mindful of your old renown,\nYour great forefathers\u2019 virtues and your own.\nWhat aids expect you in this utmost strait?\nWhat bulwarks rising between you and fate?\nNo aids, no bulwarks your retreat attend,\nNo friends to help, no city to defend.\nThis spot is all you have, to lose or keep;\nThere stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep.\n\u2019Tis hostile ground you tread; your native lands\nFar, far from hence: your fates are in your hands.\u201d\n\nRaging he spoke; nor further wastes his breath,\nBut turns his javelin to the work of death.\nWhate\u2019er bold Trojan arm\u2019d his daring hands,\nAgainst the sable ships, with flaming brands,\nSo well the chief his naval weapon sped,\nThe luckless warrior at his stern lay dead:\nFull twelve, the boldest, in a moment fell,\nSent by great Ajax to the shades of hell.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] CASTOR AND POLLUX\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XVI.\n\n\nARGUMENT\n\n\nTHE SIXTH BATTLE, THE ACTS AND DEATH OF PATROCLUS\n\n\nPatroclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh book)\nentreats Achilles to suffer him to go to the assistance of the Greeks\nwith Achilles\u2019 troops and armour. He agrees to it, but at the same time\ncharges him to content himself with rescuing the fleet, without further\npursuit of the enemy. The armour, horses, soldiers, and officers are\ndescribed. Achilles offers a libation for the success of his friend,\nafter which Patroclus leads the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, at\nthe sight of Patroclus in Achilles\u2019 armour, taking him for that hero,\nare cast into the uttermost consternation; he beats them off from the\nvessels, Hector himself flies, Sarpedon is killed, though Jupiter was\naverse to his fate. Several other particulars of the battle are\ndescribed; in the heat of which, Patroclus, neglecting the orders of\nAchilles, pursues the foe to the walls of Troy, where Apollo repulses\nand disarms him, Euphorbus wounds him, and Hector kills him, which\nconcludes the book.\n\n\nSo warr\u2019d both armies on the ensanguined shore,\nWhile the black vessels smoked with human gore.\nMeantime Patroclus to Achilles flies;\nThe streaming tears fall copious from his eyes.\nNot faster, trickling to the plains below,\nFrom the tall rock the sable waters flow.\nDivine Pelides, with compassion moved.\nThus spoke, indulgent, to his best beloved:[243]\n\n\u201cPatroclus, say, what grief thy bosom bears,\nThat flows so fast in these unmanly tears?\nNo girl, no infant whom the mother keeps\nFrom her loved breast, with fonder passion weeps;\nNot more the mother\u2019s soul, that infant warms,\nClung to her knees, and reaching at her arms,\nThan thou hast mine! Oh tell me, to what end\nThy melting sorrows thus pursue thy friend?\n\n\u201cGriev\u2019st thou for me, or for my martial band?\nOr come sad tidings from our native land?\nOur fathers live (our first, most tender care),\nThy good Menoetius breathes the vital air,\nAnd hoary Peleus yet extends his days;\nPleased in their age to hear their children\u2019s praise.\nOr may some meaner cause thy pity claim?\nPerhaps yon relics of the Grecian name,\nDoom\u2019d in their ships to sink by fire and sword,\nAnd pay the forfeit of their haughty lord?\nWhate\u2019er the cause, reveal thy secret care,\nAnd speak those sorrows which a friend would share.\u201d\nA sigh that instant from his bosom broke,\nAnother follow\u2019d, and Patroclus spoke:\n\n\u201cLet Greece at length with pity touch thy breast,\nThyself a Greek; and, once, of Greeks the best!\nLo! every chief that might her fate prevent,\nLies pierced with wounds, and bleeding in his tent:\nEurypylus, Tydides, Atreus\u2019 son,\nAnd wise Ulysses, at the navy groan,\nMore for their country\u2019s wounds than for their own.\nTheir pain soft arts of pharmacy can ease,\nThy breast alone no lenitives appease.\nMay never rage like thine my soul enslave,\nO great in vain! unprofitably brave!\nThy country slighted in her last distress,\nWhat friend, what man, from thee shall hope redress?\nNo\u2014men unborn, and ages yet behind,\nShall curse that fierce, that unforgiving mind.\n\n\u201cO man unpitying! if of man thy race;\nBut sure thou spring\u2019st not from a soft embrace,\nNor ever amorous hero caused thy birth,\nNor ever tender goddess brought thee forth:\nSome rugged rock\u2019s hard entrails gave thee form,\nAnd raging seas produced thee in a storm,\nA soul well suiting that tempestuous kind,\nSo rough thy manners, so untamed thy mind.\n\n\u201cIf some dire oracle thy breast alarm,\nIf aught from Jove, or Thetis, stop thy arm,\nSome beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine,\nIf I but lead the Myrmidonian line:\nClad in thy dreadful arms if I appear,\nProud Troy shall tremble, and desert the war;\nWithout thy person Greece shall win the day,\nAnd thy mere image chase her foes away.\nPress\u2019d by fresh forces, her o\u2019erlabour\u2019d train\nShall quit the ships, and Greece respire again.\u201d\nThus, blind to fate! with supplicating breath,\nThou begg\u2019st his arms, and in his arms thy death.\nUnfortunately good! a boding sigh\nThy friend return\u2019d; and with it, this reply:\n\u201cPatroclus! thy Achilles knows no fears;\nNor words from Jove nor oracles he hears;\nNor aught a mother\u2019s caution can suggest;\nThe tyrant\u2019s pride lies rooted in my breast.\nMy wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thought engage,\nThose, my sole oracles, inspire my rage:\nI made him tyrant: gave him power to wrong\nEven me: I felt it; and shall feel it long.\nThe maid, my black-eyed maid, he forced away,\nDue to the toils of many a well-fought day;\nDue to my conquest of her father\u2019s reign;\nDue to the votes of all the Grecian train.\nFrom me he forced her; me, the bold and brave,\nDisgraced, dishonour\u2019d, like the meanest slave.\nBut bear we this\u2014the wrongs I grieve are past;\n\u2019Tis time our fury should relent at last:\nI fix\u2019d its date; the day I wish\u2019d appears:\nHow Hector to my ships his battle bears,\nThe flames my eyes, the shouts invade my ears.\nGo then, Patroclus! court fair honour\u2019s charms\nIn Troy\u2019s famed fields, and in Achilles\u2019 arms:\nLead forth my martial Myrmidons to fight,\nGo save the fleets, and conquer in my right.\nSee the thin relics of their baffled band\nAt the last edge of yon deserted land!\nBehold all Ilion on their ships descends;\nHow the cloud blackens, how the storm impends!\nIt was not thus, when, at my sight amazed,\nTroy saw and trembled, as this helmet blazed:\nHad not the injurious king our friendship lost,\nYon ample trench had buried half her host.\nNo camps, no bulwarks now the Trojans fear,\nThose are not dreadful, no Achilles there;\nNo longer flames the lance of Tydeus\u2019 son;\nNo more your general calls his heroes on:\nHector, alone, I hear; his dreadful breath\nCommands your slaughter, or proclaims your death.\nYet now, Patroclus, issue to the plain:\nNow save the ships, the rising fires restrain,\nAnd give the Greeks to visit Greece again.\nBut heed my words, and mark a friend\u2019s command,\nWho trusts his fame and honours in thy hand,\nAnd from thy deeds expects the Achaian host\nShall render back the beauteous maid he lost:\nRage uncontroll\u2019d through all the hostile crew,\nBut touch not Hector, Hector is my due.\nThough Jove in thunder should command the war,\nBe just, consult my glory, and forbear.\nThe fleet once saved, desist from further chase,\nNor lead to Ilion\u2019s walls the Grecian race;\nSome adverse god thy rashness may destroy;\nSome god, like Ph\u0153bus, ever kind to Troy.\nLet Greece, redeem\u2019d from this destructive strait,\nDo her own work; and leave the rest to fate.\nO! would to all the immortal powers above,\nApollo, Pallas, and almighty Jove!\nThat not one Trojan might be left alive,\nAnd not a Greek of all the race survive:\nMight only we the vast destruction shun,\nAnd only we destroy the accursed town!\u201d\nSuch conference held the chiefs; while on the strand\nGreat Jove with conquest crown\u2019d the Trojan band.\nAjax no more the sounding storm sustain\u2019d,\nSo thick the darts an iron tempest rain\u2019d:\nOn his tired arm the weighty buckler hung;\nHis hollow helm with falling javelins rung;\nHis breath, in quick short pantings, comes and goes;\nAnd painful sweat from all his members flows.\nSpent and o\u2019erpower\u2019d, he barely breathes at most;\nYet scarce an army stirs him from his post;\nDangers on dangers all around him glow,\nAnd toil to toil, and woe succeeds to woe.\n\nSay, Muses, throned above the starry frame,\nHow first the navy blazed with Trojan flame?\n\nStern Hector waved his sword, and standing near,\nWhere furious Ajax plied his ashen spear,\nFull on the lance a stroke so justly sped,\nThat the broad falchion lopp\u2019d its brazen head;\nHis pointless spear the warrior shakes in vain;\nThe brazen head falls sounding on the plain.\nGreat Ajax saw, and own\u2019d the hand divine;\nConfessing Jove, and trembling at the sign,\nWarn\u2019d he retreats. Then swift from all sides pour\nThe hissing brands; thick streams the fiery shower;\nO\u2019er the high stern the curling volumes rise,\nAnd sheets of rolling smoke involve the skies.\n\nDivine Achilles view\u2019d the rising flames,\nAnd smote his thigh, and thus aloud exclaims:\n\u201cArm, arm, Patroclus! Lo, the blaze aspires!\nThe glowing ocean reddens with the fires.\nArm, ere our vessels catch the spreading flame;\nArm, ere the Grecians be no more a name;\nI haste to bring the troops.\u201d\u2014The hero said;\nThe friend with ardour and with joy obey\u2019d.\n\nHe cased his limbs in brass; and first around\nHis manly legs, with silver buckles bound\nThe clasping greaves; then to his breast applies\nThe flaming cuirass of a thousand dyes;\nEmblazed with studs of gold his falchion shone\nIn the rich belt, as in a starry zone:\nAchilles\u2019 shield his ample shoulders spread,\nAchilles\u2019 helmet nodded o\u2019er his head:\nAdorn\u2019d in all his terrible array,\nHe flash\u2019d around intolerable day.\nAlone untouch\u2019d, Pelides\u2019 javelin stands,\nNot to be poised but by Pelides\u2019 hands:\nFrom Pelion\u2019s shady brow the plant entire\nOld Chiron rent, and shaped it for his sire;\nWhose son\u2019s great arm alone the weapon wields,\nThe death of heroes, and the dread of fields.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] Buckles\n\n\nThe brave Automedon (an honour\u2019d name,\nThe second to his lord in love and fame,\nIn peace his friend, and partner of the war)\nThe winged coursers harness\u2019d to the car;\nXanthus and Balius, of immortal breed,\nSprung from the wind, and like the wind in speed.\nWhom the wing\u2019d harpy, swift Podarge, bore,\nBy Zephyr pregnant on the breezy shore:\nSwift Pedasus was added to their side,\n(Once great A\u00ebtion\u2019s, now Achilles\u2019 pride)\nWho, like in strength, in swiftness, and in grace,\nA mortal courser match\u2019d the immortal race.\n\nAchilles speeds from tent to tent, and warms\nHis hardy Myrmidons to blood and arms.\nAll breathing death, around the chief they stand,\nA grim, terrific, formidable band:\nGrim as voracious wolves, that seek the springs[244]\nWhen scalding thirst their burning bowels wrings;\nWhen some tall stag, fresh-slaughtered in the wood,\nHas drench\u2019d their wide insatiate throats with blood,\nTo the black fount they rush, a hideous throng,\nWith paunch distended, and with lolling tongue,\nFire fills their eye, their black jaws belch the gore,\nAnd gorged with slaughter still they thirst for more.\nLike furious, rush\u2019d the Myrmidonian crew,\nSuch their dread strength, and such their deathful view.\n\nHigh in the midst the great Achilles stands,\nDirects their order, and the war commands.\nHe, loved of Jove, had launch\u2019d for Ilion\u2019s shores\nFull fifty vessels, mann\u2019d with fifty oars:\nFive chosen leaders the fierce bands obey,\nHimself supreme in valour, as in sway.\n\nFirst march\u2019d Menestheus, of celestial birth,\nDerived from thee, whose waters wash the earth,\nDivine Sperchius! Jove-descended flood!\nA mortal mother mixing with a god.\nSuch was Menestheus, but miscall\u2019d by fame\nThe son of Borus, that espoused the dame.\n\nEudorus next; whom Polymele the gay,\nFamed in the graceful dance, produced to-day.\nHer, sly Cellenius loved: on her would gaze,\nAs with swift step she form\u2019d the running maze:\nTo her high chamber from Diana\u2019s quire,\nThe god pursued her, urged, and crown\u2019d his fire.\nThe son confess\u2019d his father\u2019s heavenly race,\nAnd heir\u2019d his mother\u2019s swiftness in the chase.\nStrong Echecleus, bless\u2019d in all those charms\nThat pleased a god, succeeded to her arms;\nNot conscious of those loves, long hid from fame,\nWith gifts of price he sought and won the dame;\nHer secret offspring to her sire she bare;\nHer sire caress\u2019d him with a parent\u2019s care.\n\nPisander follow\u2019d; matchless in his art\nTo wing the spear, or aim the distant dart;\nNo hand so sure of all the Emathian line,\nOr if a surer, great Patroclus! thine.\n\nThe fourth by Ph\u0153nix\u2019 grave command was graced,\nLaerces\u2019 valiant offspring led the last.\n\nSoon as Achilles with superior care\nHad call\u2019d the chiefs, and order\u2019d all the war,\nThis stern remembrance to his troops he gave:\n\u201cYe far-famed Myrmidons, ye fierce and brave!\nThink with what threats you dared the Trojan throng,\nThink what reproach these ears endured so long;\n\u2018Stern son of Peleus, (thus ye used to say,\nWhile restless, raging, in your ships you lay)\nOh nursed with gall, unknowing how to yield;\nWhose rage defrauds us of so famed a field:\nIf that dire fury must for ever burn,\nWhat make we here? Return, ye chiefs, return!\u2019\nSuch were your words\u2014Now, warriors! grieve no more,\nLo there the Trojans; bathe your swords in gore!\nThis day shall give you all your soul demands,\nGlut all your hearts, and weary all your hands!\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] DIANA\n\n\nThus while he roused the fire in every breast,\nClose and more close the listening cohorts press\u2019d;\nRanks wedged in ranks; of arms a steely ring\nStill grows, and spreads, and thickens round the king.\nAs when a circling wall the builder forms,\nOf strength defensive against wind and storms,\nCompacted stones the thickening work compose,\nAnd round him wide the rising structure grows:\nSo helm to helm, and crest to crest they throng,\nShield urged on shield, and man drove man along;\nThick, undistinguish\u2019d plumes, together join\u2019d,\nFloat in one sea, and wave before the wind.\n\nFar o\u2019er the rest in glittering pomp appear,\nThere bold Automedon, Patroclus here;\nBrothers in arms, with equal fury fired;\nTwo friends, two bodies with one soul inspired.\n\nBut mindful of the gods, Achilles went\nTo the rich coffer in his shady tent;\nThere lay on heaps his various garments roll\u2019d,\nAnd costly furs, and carpets stiff with gold,\n(The presents of the silver-footed dame)\nFrom thence he took a bowl, of antique frame,\nWhich never man had stained with ruddy wine,\nNor raised in offerings to the power divine,\nBut Peleus\u2019 son; and Peleus\u2019 son to none\nHad raised in offerings, but to Jove alone.\nThis tinged with sulphur, sacred first to flame,\nHe purged; and wash\u2019d it in the running stream.\nThen cleansed his hands; and fixing for a space\nHis eyes on heaven, his feet upon the place\nOf sacrifice, the purple draught he pour\u2019d\nForth in the midst; and thus the god implored:\n\n\u201cO thou supreme! high-throned all height above!\nO great Pelasgic, Dodonaean Jove!\nWho \u2019midst surrounding frosts, and vapours chill,\nPresid\u2019st on bleak Dodona\u2019s vocal hill:\n(Whose groves the Selli, race austere! surround,\nTheir feet unwash\u2019d, their slumbers on the ground;\nWho hear, from rustling oaks, thy dark decrees;\nAnd catch the fates, low-whispered in the breeze;)\nHear, as of old! Thou gav\u2019st, at Thetis\u2019 prayer,\nGlory to me, and to the Greeks despair.\nLo, to the dangers of the fighting field\nThe best, the dearest of my friends, I yield,\nThough still determined, to my ships confined;\nPatroclus gone, I stay but half behind.\nOh! be his guard thy providential care,\nConfirm his heart, and string his arm to war:\nPress\u2019d by his single force let Hector see\nHis fame in arms not owing all to me.\nBut when the fleets are saved from foes and fire,\nLet him with conquest and renown retire;\nPreserve his arms, preserve his social train,\nAnd safe return him to these eyes again!\u201d\n\nGreat Jove consents to half the chief\u2019s request,\nBut heaven\u2019s eternal doom denies the rest;\nTo free the fleet was granted to his prayer;\nHis safe return, the winds dispersed in air.\nBack to his tent the stern Achilles flies,\nAnd waits the combat with impatient eyes.\n\nMeanwhile the troops beneath Patroclus\u2019 care,\nInvade the Trojans, and commence the war.\nAs wasps, provoked by children in their play,\nPour from their mansions by the broad highway,\nIn swarms the guiltless traveller engage,\nWhet all their stings, and call forth all their rage:\nAll rise in arms, and, with a general cry,\nAssert their waxen domes, and buzzing progeny.\nThus from the tents the fervent legion swarms,\nSo loud their clamours, and so keen their arms:\nTheir rising rage Patroclus\u2019 breath inspires,\nWho thus inflames them with heroic fires:\n\n\u201cO warriors, partners of Achilles\u2019 praise!\nBe mindful of your deeds in ancient days;\nYour godlike master let your acts proclaim,\nAnd add new glories to his mighty name.\nThink your Achilles sees you fight: be brave,\nAnd humble the proud monarch whom you save.\u201d\n\nJoyful they heard, and kindling as he spoke,\nFlew to the fleet, involved in fire and smoke.\nFrom shore to shore the doubling shouts resound,\nThe hollow ships return a deeper sound.\nThe war stood still, and all around them gazed,\nWhen great Achilles\u2019 shining armour blazed:\nTroy saw, and thought the dread Achilles nigh,\nAt once they see, they tremble, and they fly.\n\nThen first thy spear, divine Patroclus! flew,\nWhere the war raged, and where the tumult grew.\nClose to the stern of that famed ship which bore\nUnbless\u2019d Protesilaus to Ilion\u2019s shore,\nThe great P\u00e6onian, bold Pyrechmes stood;\n(Who led his bands from Axius\u2019 winding flood;)\nHis shoulder-blade receives the fatal wound;\nThe groaning warrior pants upon the ground.\nHis troops, that see their country\u2019s glory slain,\nFly diverse, scatter\u2019d o\u2019er the distant plain.\nPatroclus\u2019 arm forbids the spreading fires,\nAnd from the half-burn\u2019d ship proud Troy retires;\nClear\u2019d from the smoke the joyful navy lies;\nIn heaps on heaps the foe tumultuous flies;\nTriumphant Greece her rescued decks ascends,\nAnd loud acclaim the starry region rends.\nSo when thick clouds enwrap the mountain\u2019s head,\nO\u2019er heaven\u2019s expanse like one black ceiling spread;\nSudden the Thunderer, with a flashing ray,\nBursts through the darkness, and lets down the day:\nThe hills shine out, the rocks in prospect rise,\nAnd streams, and vales, and forests, strike the eyes;\nThe smiling scene wide opens to the sight,\nAnd all the unmeasured ether flames with light.\n\nBut Troy repulsed, and scatter\u2019d o\u2019er the plains,\nForced from the navy, yet the fight maintains.\nNow every Greek some hostile hero slew,\nBut still the foremost, bold Patroclus flew:\nAs Areilycus had turn\u2019d him round,\nSharp in his thigh he felt the piercing wound;\nThe brazen-pointed spear, with vigour thrown,\nThe thigh transfix\u2019d, and broke the brittle bone:\nHeadlong he fell. Next, Thoas was thy chance;\nThy breast, unarm\u2019d, received the Spartan lance.\nPhylides\u2019 dart (as Amphidus drew nigh)\nHis blow prevented, and transpierced his thigh,\nTore all the brawn, and rent the nerves away;\nIn darkness, and in death, the warrior lay.\n\nIn equal arms two sons of Nestor stand,\nAnd two bold brothers of the Lycian band:\nBy great Antilochus, Atymnius dies,\nPierced in the flank, lamented youth! he lies,\nKind Maris, bleeding in his brother\u2019s wound,\nDefends the breathless carcase on the ground;\nFurious he flies, his murderer to engage:\nBut godlike Thrasimed prevents his rage,\nBetween his arm and shoulder aims a blow;\nHis arm falls spouting on the dust below:\nHe sinks, with endless darkness cover\u2019d o\u2019er:\nAnd vents his soul, effused with gushing gore.\n\nSlain by two brothers, thus two brothers bleed,\nSarpedon\u2019s friends, Amisodarus\u2019 seed;\nAmisodarus, who, by Furies led,\nThe bane of men, abhorr\u2019d Chimaera bred;\nSkill\u2019d in the dart in vain, his sons expire,\nAnd pay the forfeit of their guilty sire.\n\nStopp\u2019d in the tumult Cleobulus lies,\nBeneath O\u00efleus\u2019 arm, a living prize;\nA living prize not long the Trojan stood;\nThe thirsty falchion drank his reeking blood:\nPlunged in his throat the smoking weapon lies;\nBlack death, and fate unpitying, seal his eyes.\n\nAmid the ranks, with mutual thirst of fame,\nLycon the brave, and fierce Peneleus came;\nIn vain their javelins at each other flew,\nNow, met in arms, their eager swords they drew.\nOn the plumed crest of his B\u0153otian foe\nThe daring Lycon aim\u2019d a noble blow;\nThe sword broke short; but his, Peneleus sped\nFull on the juncture of the neck and head:\nThe head, divided by a stroke so just,\nHung by the skin; the body sunk to dust.\n\nO\u2019ertaken Neamas by Merion bleeds,\nPierced through the shoulder as he mounts his steeds;\nBack from the car he tumbles to the ground:\nHis swimming eyes eternal shades surround.\n\nNext Erymas was doom\u2019d his fate to feel,\nHis open\u2019d mouth received the Cretan steel:\nBeneath the brain the point a passage tore,\nCrash\u2019d the thin bones, and drown\u2019d the teeth in gore:\nHis mouth, his eyes, his nostrils, pour a flood;\nHe sobs his soul out in the gush of blood.\n\nAs when the flocks neglected by the swain,\nOr kids, or lambs, lie scatter\u2019d o\u2019er the plain,\nA troop of wolves the unguarded charge survey,\nAnd rend the trembling, unresisting prey:\nThus on the foe the Greeks impetuous came;\nTroy fled, unmindful of her former fame.\n\nBut still at Hector godlike Ajax aim\u2019d,\nStill, pointed at his breast, his javelin flamed.\nThe Trojan chief, experienced in the field,\nO\u2019er his broad shoulders spread the massy shield,\nObserved the storm of darts the Grecians pour,\nAnd on his buckler caught the ringing shower:\nHe sees for Greece the scale of conquest rise,\nYet stops, and turns, and saves his loved allies.\n\nAs when the hand of Jove a tempest forms,\nAnd rolls the cloud to blacken heaven with storms,\nDark o\u2019er the fields the ascending vapour flies,\nAnd shades the sun, and blots the golden skies:\nSo from the ships, along the dusky plain,\nDire Flight and Terror drove the Trojan train.\nEven Hector fled; through heads of disarray\nThe fiery coursers forced their lord away:\nWhile far behind his Trojans fall confused;\nWedged in the trench, in one vast carnage bruised:\nChariots on chariots roll: the clashing spokes\nShock; while the madding steeds break short their yokes.\nIn vain they labour up the steepy mound;\nTheir charioteers lie foaming on the ground.\nFierce on the rear, with shouts Patroclus flies;\nTumultuous clamour fills the fields and skies;\nThick drifts of dust involve their rapid flight;\nClouds rise on clouds, and heaven is snatch\u2019d from sight.\nThe affrighted steeds their dying lords cast down,\nScour o\u2019er the fields, and stretch to reach the town.\nLoud o\u2019er the rout was heard the victor\u2019s cry,\nWhere the war bleeds, and where the thickest die,\nWhere horse and arms, and chariots lie o\u2019erthrown,\nAnd bleeding heroes under axles groan.\nNo stop, no check, the steeds of Peleus knew:\nFrom bank to bank the immortal coursers flew.\nHigh-bounding o\u2019er the fosse, the whirling car\nSmokes through the ranks, o\u2019ertakes the flying war,\nAnd thunders after Hector; Hector flies,\nPatroclus shakes his lance; but fate denies.\nNot with less noise, with less impetuous force,\nThe tide of Trojans urge their desperate course,\nThan when in autumn Jove his fury pours,\nAnd earth is loaden with incessant showers;\n(When guilty mortals break the eternal laws,\nOr judges, bribed, betray the righteous cause;)\nFrom their deep beds he bids the rivers rise,\nAnd opens all the flood-gates of the skies:\nThe impetuous torrents from their hills obey,\nWhole fields are drown\u2019d, and mountains swept away;\nLoud roars the deluge till it meets the main;\nAnd trembling man sees all his labours vain!\n\nAnd now the chief (the foremost troops repell\u2019d)\nBack to the ships his destined progress held,\nBore down half Troy in his resistless way,\nAnd forced the routed ranks to stand the day.\nBetween the space where silver Simois flows,\nWhere lay the fleets, and where the rampires rose,\nAll grim in dust and blood Patroclus stands,\nAnd turns the slaughter on the conquering bands.\nFirst Pronous died beneath his fiery dart,\nWhich pierced below the shield his valiant heart.\nThestor was next, who saw the chief appear,\nAnd fell the victim of his coward fear;\nShrunk up he sat, with wild and haggard eye,\nNor stood to combat, nor had force to fly;\nPatroclus mark\u2019d him as he shunn\u2019d the war,\nAnd with unmanly tremblings shook the car,\nAnd dropp\u2019d the flowing reins. Him \u2019twixt the jaws,\nThe javelin sticks, and from the chariot draws.\nAs on a rock that overhangs the main,\nAn angler, studious of the line and cane,\nSome mighty fish draws panting to the shore:\nNot with less ease the barbed javelin bore\nThe gaping dastard; as the spear was shook,\nHe fell, and life his heartless breast forsook.\n\nNext on Eryalus he flies; a stone,\nLarge as a rock, was by his fury thrown:\nFull on his crown the ponderous fragment flew,\nAnd burst the helm, and cleft the head in two:\nProne to the ground the breathless warrior fell,\nAnd death involved him with the shades of hell.\nThen low in dust Epaltes, Echius, lie;\nIpheas, Evippus, Polymelus, die;\nAmphoterus and Erymas succeed;\nAnd last Tlepolemus and Pyres bleed.\nWhere\u2019er he moves, the growing slaughters spread\nIn heaps on heaps a monument of dead.\n\nWhen now Sarpedon his brave friends beheld\nGrovelling in dust, and gasping on the field,\nWith this reproach his flying host he warms:\n\u201cOh stain to honour! oh disgrace to arms!\nForsake, inglorious, the contended plain;\nThis hand unaided shall the war sustain:\nThe task be mine this hero\u2019s strength to try,\nWho mows whole troops, and makes an army fly.\u201d\n\nHe spake: and, speaking, leaps from off the car:\nPatroclus lights, and sternly waits the war.\nAs when two vultures on the mountain\u2019s height\nStoop with resounding pinions to the fight;\nThey cuff, they tear, they raise a screaming cry;\nThe desert echoes, and the rocks reply:\nThe warriors thus opposed in arms, engage\nWith equal clamours, and with equal rage.\n\nJove view\u2019d the combat: whose event foreseen,\nHe thus bespoke his sister and his queen:\n\u201cThe hour draws on; the destinies ordain,[245]\nMy godlike son shall press the Phrygian plain:\nAlready on the verge of death he stands,\nHis life is owed to fierce Patroclus\u2019 hands,\nWhat passions in a parent\u2019s breast debate!\nSay, shall I snatch him from impending fate,\nAnd send him safe to Lycia, distant far\nFrom all the dangers and the toils of war;\nOr to his doom my bravest offspring yield,\nAnd fatten, with celestial blood, the field?\u201d\n\nThen thus the goddess with the radiant eyes:\n\u201cWhat words are these, O sovereign of the skies!\nShort is the date prescribed to mortal man;\nShall Jove for one extend the narrow span,\nWhose bounds were fix\u2019d before his race began?\nHow many sons of gods, foredoom\u2019d to death,\nBefore proud Ilion must resign their breath!\nWere thine exempt, debate would rise above,\nAnd murmuring powers condemn their partial Jove.\nGive the bold chief a glorious fate in fight;\nAnd when the ascending soul has wing\u2019d her flight,\nLet Sleep and Death convey, by thy command,\nThe breathless body to his native land.\nHis friends and people, to his future praise,\nA marble tomb and pyramid shall raise,\nAnd lasting honours to his ashes give;\nHis fame (\u2019tis all the dead can have) shall live.\u201d\n\nShe said: the cloud-compeller, overcome,\nAssents to fate, and ratifies the doom.\nThen touch\u2019d with grief, the weeping heavens distill\u2019d\nA shower of blood o\u2019er all the fatal field:\nThe god, his eyes averting from the plain,\nLaments his son, predestined to be slain,\nFar from the Lycian shores, his happy native reign.\nNow met in arms, the combatants appear;\nEach heaved the shield, and poised the lifted spear;\nFrom strong Patroclus\u2019 hand the javelin fled,\nAnd pass\u2019d the groin of valiant Thrasymed;\nThe nerves unbraced no more his bulk sustain,\nHe falls, and falling bites the bloody plain.\nTwo sounding darts the Lycian leader threw:\nThe first aloof with erring fury flew,\nThe next transpierced Achilles\u2019 mortal steed,\nThe generous Pedasus of Theban breed:\nFix\u2019d in the shoulder\u2019s joint, he reel\u2019d around,\nRoll\u2019d in the bloody dust, and paw\u2019d the slippery ground.\nHis sudden fall the entangled harness broke;\nEach axle crackled, and the chariot shook:\nWhen bold Automedon, to disengage\nThe starting coursers, and restrain their rage,\nDivides the traces with his sword, and freed\nThe encumbered chariot from the dying steed:\nThe rest move on, obedient to the rein:\nThe car rolls slowly o\u2019er the dusty plain.\n\nThe towering chiefs to fiercer fight advance:\nAnd first Sarpedon whirl\u2019d his weighty lance,\nWhich o\u2019er the warrior\u2019s shoulder took its course,\nAnd spent in empty air its dying force.\nNot so Patroclus\u2019 never-erring dart;\nAim\u2019d at his breast it pierced a mortal part,\nWhere the strong fibres bind the solid heart.\nThen as the mountain oak, or poplar tall,\nOr pine (fit mast for some great admiral)\nNods to the axe, till with a groaning sound\nIt sinks, and spreads its honours on the ground,\nThus fell the king; and laid on earth supine,\nBefore his chariot stretch\u2019d his form divine:\nHe grasp\u2019d the dust distain\u2019d with streaming gore,\nAnd, pale in death, lay groaning on the shore.\nSo lies a bull beneath the lion\u2019s paws,\nWhile the grim savage grinds with foamy jaws\nThe trembling limbs, and sucks the smoking blood;\nDeep groans, and hollow roars, rebellow through the wood.\n\nThen to the leader of the Lycian band\nThe dying chief address\u2019d his last command;\n\u201cGlaucus, be bold; thy task be first to dare\nThe glorious dangers of destructive war,\nTo lead my troops, to combat at their head,\nIncite the living, and supply the dead.\nTell them, I charged them with my latest breath\nNot unrevenged to bear Sarpedon\u2019s death.\nWhat grief, what shame, must Glaucus undergo,\nIf these spoil\u2019d arms adorn a Grecian foe!\nThen as a friend, and as a warrior fight;\nDefend my body, conquer in my right:\nThat, taught by great examples, all may try\nLike thee to vanquish, or like me to die.\u201d\nHe ceased; the Fates suppress\u2019d his labouring breath,\nAnd his eyes darken\u2019d with the shades of death.\nThe insulting victor with disdain bestrode\nThe prostrate prince, and on his bosom trod;\nThen drew the weapon from his panting heart,\nThe reeking fibres clinging to the dart;\nFrom the wide wound gush\u2019d out a stream of blood,\nAnd the soul issued in the purple flood.\nHis flying steeds the Myrmidons detain,\nUnguided now, their mighty master slain.\nAll-impotent of aid, transfix\u2019d with grief,\nUnhappy Glaucus heard the dying chief:\nHis painful arm, yet useless with the smart\nInflicted late by Teucer\u2019s deadly dart,\nSupported on his better hand he stay\u2019d:\nTo Ph\u0153bus then (\u2019twas all he could) he pray\u2019d:\n\n\u201cAll-seeing monarch! whether Lycia\u2019s coast,\nOr sacred Ilion, thy bright presence boast,\nPowerful alike to ease the wretch\u2019s smart;\nO hear me! god of every healing art!\nLo! stiff with clotted blood, and pierced with pain,\nThat thrills my arm, and shoots through every vein,\nI stand unable to sustain the spear,\nAnd sigh, at distance from the glorious war.\nLow in the dust is great Sarpedon laid,\nNor Jove vouchsafed his hapless offspring aid;\nBut thou, O god of health! thy succour lend,\nTo guard the relics of my slaughter\u2019d friend:\nFor thou, though distant, canst restore my might,\nTo head my Lycians, and support the fight.\u201d\n\nApollo heard; and, suppliant as he stood,\nHis heavenly hand restrain\u2019d the flux of blood;\nHe drew the dolours from the wounded part,\nAnd breathed a spirit in his rising heart.\nRenew\u2019d by art divine, the hero stands,\nAnd owns the assistance of immortal hands.\nFirst to the fight his native troops he warms,\nThen loudly calls on Troy\u2019s vindictive arms;\nWith ample strides he stalks from place to place;\nNow fires Agenor, now Polydamas:\n\u00c6neas next, and Hector he accosts;\nInflaming thus the rage of all their hosts.\n\n\u201cWhat thoughts, regardless chief! thy breast employ?\nOh too forgetful of the friends of Troy!\nThose generous friends, who, from their country far,\nBreathe their brave souls out in another\u2019s war.\nSee! where in dust the great Sarpedon lies,\nIn action valiant, and in council wise,\nWho guarded right, and kept his people free;\nTo all his Lycians lost, and lost to thee!\nStretch\u2019d by Patroclus\u2019 arm on yonder plains,\nO save from hostile rage his loved remains!\nAh let not Greece his conquer\u2019d trophies boast,\nNor on his corse revenge her heroes lost!\u201d\n\nHe spoke: each leader in his grief partook:\nTroy, at the loss, through all her legions shook.\nTransfix\u2019d with deep regret, they view o\u2019erthrown\nAt once his country\u2019s pillar, and their own;\nA chief, who led to Troy\u2019s beleaguer\u2019d wall\nA host of heroes, and outshined them all.\nFired, they rush on; first Hector seeks the foes,\nAnd with superior vengeance greatly glows.\n\nBut o\u2019er the dead the fierce Patroclus stands,\nAnd rousing Ajax, roused the listening bands:\n\n\u201cHeroes, be men; be what you were before;\nOr weigh the great occasion, and be more.\nThe chief who taught our lofty walls to yield,\nLies pale in death, extended on the field.\nTo guard his body Troy in numbers flies;\n\u2019Tis half the glory to maintain our prize.\nHaste, strip his arms, the slaughter round him spread,\nAnd send the living Lycians to the dead.\u201d\n\nThe heroes kindle at his fierce command;\nThe martial squadrons close on either hand:\nHere Troy and Lycia charge with loud alarms,\nThessalia there, and Greece, oppose their arms.\nWith horrid shouts they circle round the slain;\nThe clash of armour rings o\u2019er all the plain.\nGreat Jove, to swell the horrors of the fight,\nO\u2019er the fierce armies pours pernicious night,\nAnd round his son confounds the warring hosts,\nHis fate ennobling with a crowd of ghosts.\n\nNow Greece gives way, and great Epigeus falls;\nAgacleus\u2019 son, from Budium\u2019s lofty walls;\nWho chased for murder thence a suppliant came\nTo Peleus, and the silver-footed dame;\nNow sent to Troy, Achilles\u2019 arms to aid,\nHe pays due vengeance to his kinsman\u2019s shade.\nSoon as his luckless hand had touch\u2019d the dead,\nA rock\u2019s large fragment thunder\u2019d on his head;\nHurl\u2019d by Hectorean force it cleft in twain\nHis shatter\u2019d helm, and stretch\u2019d him o\u2019er the slain.\n\nFierce to the van of fight Patroclus came,\nAnd, like an eagle darting at his game,\nSprung on the Trojan and the Lycian band.\nWhat grief thy heart, what fury urged thy hand,\nO generous Greek! when with full vigour thrown,\nAt Sthenelaus flew the weighty stone,\nWhich sunk him to the dead: when Troy, too near\nThat arm, drew back; and Hector learn\u2019d to fear.\nFar as an able hand a lance can throw,\nOr at the lists, or at the fighting foe;\nSo far the Trojans from their lines retired;\nTill Glaucus, turning, all the rest inspired.\nThen Bathyclaeus fell beneath his rage,\nThe only hope of Chalcon\u2019s trembling age;\nWide o\u2019er the land was stretch\u2019d his large domain,\nWith stately seats, and riches blest in vain:\nHim, bold with youth, and eager to pursue\nThe flying Lycians, Glaucus met and slew;\nPierced through the bosom with a sudden wound,\nHe fell, and falling made the fields resound.\nThe Achaians sorrow for their heroes slain;\nWith conquering shouts the Trojans shake the plain,\nAnd crowd to spoil the dead: the Greeks oppose;\nAn iron circle round the carcase grows.\n\nThen brave Laogonus resign\u2019d his breath,\nDespatch\u2019d by Merion to the shades of death:\nOn Ida\u2019s holy hill he made abode,\nThe priest of Jove, and honour\u2019d like his god.\nBetween the jaw and ear the javelin went;\nThe soul, exhaling, issued at the vent.\nHis spear \u00c6neas at the victor threw,\nWho stooping forward from the death withdrew;\nThe lance hiss\u2019d harmless o\u2019er his covering shield,\nAnd trembling struck, and rooted in the field;\nThere yet scarce spent, it quivers on the plain,\nSent by the great \u00c6neas\u2019 arm in vain.\n\u201cSwift as thou art (the raging hero cries)\nAnd skill\u2019d in dancing to dispute the prize,\nMy spear, the destined passage had it found,\nHad fix\u2019d thy active vigour to the ground.\u201d\n\n\u201cO valiant leader of the Dardan host!\n(Insulted Merion thus retorts the boast)\nStrong as you are, \u2019tis mortal force you trust,\nAn arm as strong may stretch thee in the dust.\nAnd if to this my lance thy fate be given,\nVain are thy vaunts; success is still from heaven:\nThis, instant, sends thee down to Pluto\u2019s coast;\nMine is the glory, his thy parting ghost.\u201d\n\n\u201cO friend (Menoetius\u2019 son this answer gave)\nWith words to combat, ill befits the brave;\nNot empty boasts the sons of Troy repel,\nYour swords must plunge them to the shades of hell.\nTo speak, beseems the council; but to dare\nIn glorious action, is the task of war.\u201d\n\nThis said, Patroclus to the battle flies;\nGreat Merion follows, and new shouts arise:\nShields, helmets rattle, as the warriors close;\nAnd thick and heavy sounds the storm of blows.\nAs through the shrilling vale, or mountain ground,\nThe labours of the woodman\u2019s axe resound;\nBlows following blows are heard re-echoing wide,\nWhile crackling forests fall on every side:\nThus echoed all the fields with loud alarms,\nSo fell the warriors, and so rung their arms.\n\nNow great Sarpedon on the sandy shore,\nHis heavenly form defaced with dust and gore,\nAnd stuck with darts by warring heroes shed,\nLies undistinguish\u2019d from the vulgar dead.\nHis long-disputed corse the chiefs enclose,\nOn every side the busy combat grows;\nThick as beneath some shepherd\u2019s thatch\u2019d abode\n(The pails high foaming with a milky flood)\nThe buzzing flies, a persevering train,\nIncessant swarm, and chased return again.\n\nJove view\u2019d the combat with a stern survey,\nAnd eyes that flash\u2019d intolerable day.\nFix\u2019d on the field his sight, his breast debates\nThe vengeance due, and meditates the fates:\nWhether to urge their prompt effect, and call\nThe force of Hector to Patroclus\u2019 fall,\nThis instant see his short-lived trophies won,\nAnd stretch him breathless on his slaughter\u2019d son;\nOr yet, with many a soul\u2019s untimely flight,\nAugment the fame and horror of the fight.\nTo crown Achilles\u2019 valiant friend with praise\nAt length he dooms; and, that his last of days\nShall set in glory, bids him drive the foe;\nNor unattended see the shades below.\nThen Hector\u2019s mind he fills with dire dismay;\nHe mounts his car, and calls his hosts away;\nSunk with Troy\u2019s heavy fates, he sees decline\nThe scales of Jove, and pants with awe divine.\n\nThen, nor before, the hardy Lycians fled,\nAnd left their monarch with the common dead:\nAround, in heaps on heaps, a dreadful wall\nOf carnage rises, as the heroes fall.\n(So Jove decreed!) At length the Greeks obtain\nThe prize contested, and despoil the slain.\nThe radiant arms are by Patroclus borne;\nPatroclus\u2019 ships the glorious spoils adorn.\n\nThen thus to Ph\u0153bus, in the realms above,\nSpoke from his throne the cloud-compelling Jove:\n\u201cDescend, my Ph\u0153bus! on the Phrygian plain,\nAnd from the fight convey Sarpedon slain;\nThen bathe his body in the crystal flood,\nWith dust dishonour\u2019d, and deform\u2019d with blood;\nO\u2019er all his limbs ambrosial odours shed,\nAnd with celestial robes adorn the dead.\nThose rites discharged, his sacred corse bequeath\nTo the soft arms of silent Sleep and Death.\nThey to his friends the immortal charge shall bear;\nHis friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear:\nWhat honour mortals after death receive,\nThose unavailing honours we may give!\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] SLEEP AND DEATH CONVEYING THE BODY OF SARPEDON TO\nLYCIA\n\n\nApollo bows, and from mount Ida\u2019s height,\nSwift to the field precipitates his flight;\nThence from the war the breathless hero bore,\nVeil\u2019d in a cloud, to silver Simois\u2019 shore;\nThere bathed his honourable wounds, and dress\u2019d\nHis manly members in the immortal vest;\nAnd with perfumes of sweet ambrosial dews\nRestores his freshness, and his form renews.\nThen Sleep and Death, two twins of winged race,\nOf matchless swiftness, but of silent pace,\nReceived Sarpedon, at the god\u2019s command,\nAnd in a moment reach\u2019d the Lycian land;\nThe corse amidst his weeping friends they laid,\nWhere endless honours wait the sacred shade.\n\nMeanwhile Patroclus pours along the plains,\nWith foaming coursers, and with loosen\u2019d reins.\nFierce on the Trojan and the Lycian crew,\nAh blind to fate! thy headlong fury flew:\nAgainst what fate and powerful Jove ordain,\nVain was thy friend\u2019s command, thy courage vain.\nFor he, the god, whose counsels uncontroll\u2019d\nDismay the mighty, and confound the bold;\nThe god who gives, resumes, and orders all,\nHe urged thee on, and urged thee on to fall.\n\nWho first, brave hero! by that arm was slain,\nWho last beneath thy vengeance press\u2019d the plain;\nWhen heaven itself thy fatal fury led,\nAnd call\u2019d to fill the number of the dead?\nAdrestus first; Autonous then succeeds;\nEcheclus follows; next young Megas bleeds,\nEpistor, Melanippus, bite the ground;\nThe slaughter, Elasus and Mulius crown\u2019d:\nThen sunk Pylartes to eternal night;\nThe rest, dispersing, trust their fates to flight.\n\nNow Troy had stoop\u2019d beneath his matchless power,\nBut flaming Ph\u0153bus kept the sacred tower.\nThrice at the battlements Patroclus strook;[246]\nHis blazing \u00e6gis thrice Apollo shook;\nHe tried the fourth; when, bursting from the cloud,\nA more than mortal voice was heard aloud.\n\n\u201cPatroclus! cease; this heaven-defended wall\nDefies thy lance; not fated yet to fall;\nThy friend, thy greater far, it shall withstand,\nTroy shall not stoop even to Achilles\u2019 hand.\u201d\n\nSo spoke the god who darts celestial fires;\nThe Greek obeys him, and with awe retires.\nWhile Hector, checking at the Sc\u00e6an gates\nHis panting coursers, in his breast debates,\nOr in the field his forces to employ,\nOr draw the troops within the walls of Troy.\nThus while he thought, beside him Ph\u0153bus stood,\nIn Asius\u2019 shape, who reigned by Sangar\u2019s flood;\n(Thy brother, Hecuba! from Dymas sprung,\nA valiant warrior, haughty, bold, and young;)\nThus he accosts him. \u201cWhat a shameful sight!\nGod! is it Hector that forbears the fight?\nWere thine my vigour this successful spear\nShould soon convince thee of so false a fear.\nTurn thee, ah turn thee to the field of fame,\nAnd in Patroclus\u2019 blood efface thy shame.\nPerhaps Apollo shall thy arms succeed,\nAnd heaven ordains him by thy lance to bleed.\u201d\n\nSo spoke the inspiring god; then took his flight,\nAnd plunged amidst the tumult of the fight.\nHe bids Cebrion drive the rapid car;\nThe lash resounds, the coursers rush to war.\nThe god the Grecians\u2019 sinking souls depress\u2019d,\nAnd pour\u2019d swift spirits through each Trojan breast.\nPatroclus lights, impatient for the fight;\nA spear his left, a stone employs his right:\nWith all his nerves he drives it at the foe.\nPointed above, and rough and gross below:\nThe falling ruin crush\u2019d Cebrion\u2019s head,\nThe lawless offspring of king Priam\u2019s bed;\nHis front, brows, eyes, one undistinguish\u2019d wound:\nThe bursting balls drop sightless to the ground.\nThe charioteer, while yet he held the rein,\nStruck from the car, falls headlong on the plain.\nTo the dark shades the soul unwilling glides,\nWhile the proud victor thus his fall derides.\n\n\u201cGood heaven! what active feats yon artist shows!\nWhat skilful divers are our Phrygian foes!\nMark with what ease they sink into the sand!\nPity that all their practice is by land!\u201d\n\nThen rushing sudden on his prostrate prize,\nTo spoil the carcase fierce Patroclus flies:\nSwift as a lion, terrible and bold,\nThat sweeps the field, depopulates the fold;\nPierced through the dauntless heart, then tumbles slain,\nAnd from his fatal courage finds his bane.\nAt once bold Hector leaping from his car,\nDefends the body, and provokes the war.\nThus for some slaughter\u2019d hind, with equal rage,\nTwo lordly rulers of the wood engage;\nStung with fierce hunger, each the prey invades,\nAnd echoing roars rebellow through the shades.\nStern Hector fastens on the warrior\u2019s head,\nAnd by the foot Patroclus drags the dead:\nWhile all around, confusion, rage, and fright,\nMix the contending hosts in mortal fight.\nSo pent by hills, the wild winds roar aloud\nIn the deep bosom of some gloomy wood;\nLeaves, arms, and trees, aloft in air are blown,\nThe broad oaks crackle, and the Sylvans groan;\nThis way and that, the rattling thicket bends,\nAnd the whole forest in one crash descends.\nNot with less noise, with less tumultuous rage,\nIn dreadful shock the mingled hosts engage.\nDarts shower\u2019d on darts, now round the carcase ring;\nNow flights of arrows bounding from the string:\nStones follow stones; some clatter on the fields,\nSome hard, and heavy, shake the sounding shields.\nBut where the rising whirlwind clouds the plains,\nSunk in soft dust the mighty chief remains,\nAnd, stretch\u2019d in death, forgets the guiding reins!\n\nNow flaming from the zenith, Sol had driven\nHis fervid orb through half the vault of heaven;\nWhile on each host with equal tempests fell\nThe showering darts, and numbers sank to hell.\nBut when his evening wheels o\u2019erhung the main,\nGlad conquest rested on the Grecian train.\nThen from amidst the tumult and alarms,\nThey draw the conquer\u2019d corse and radiant arms.\nThen rash Patroclus with new fury glows,\nAnd breathing slaughter, pours amid the foes.\nThrice on the press like Mars himself he flew,\nAnd thrice three heroes at each onset slew.\nThere ends thy glory! there the Fates untwine\nThe last, black remnant of so bright a line:\nApollo dreadful stops thy middle way;\nDeath calls, and heaven allows no longer day!\n\nFor lo! the god in dusky clouds enshrined,\nApproaching dealt a staggering blow behind.\nThe weighty shock his neck and shoulders feel;\nHis eyes flash sparkles, his stunn\u2019d senses reel\nIn giddy darkness; far to distance flung,\nHis bounding helmet on the champaign rung.\nAchilles\u2019 plume is stain\u2019d with dust and gore;\nThat plume which never stoop\u2019d to earth before;\nLong used, untouch\u2019d, in fighting fields to shine,\nAnd shade the temples of the mad divine.\nJove dooms it now on Hector\u2019s helm to nod;\nNot long\u2014for fate pursues him, and the god.\n\nHis spear in shivers falls; his ample shield\nDrops from his arm: his baldric strows the field:\nThe corslet his astonish\u2019d breast forsakes:\nLoose is each joint; each nerve with horror shakes;\nStupid he stares, and all-assistless stands:\nSuch is the force of more than mortal hands!\n\nA Dardan youth there was, well known to fame,\nFrom Panthus sprung, Euphorbus was his name;\nFamed for the manage of the foaming horse,\nSkill\u2019d in the dart, and matchless in the course:\nFull twenty knights he tumbled from the car,\nWhile yet he learn\u2019d his rudiments of war.\nHis venturous spear first drew the hero\u2019s gore;\nHe struck, he wounded, but he durst no more.\nNor, though disarm\u2019d, Patroclus\u2019 fury stood:\nBut swift withdrew the long-protended wood.\nAnd turn\u2019d him short, and herded in the crowd.\nThus, by an arm divine, and mortal spear,\nWounded, at once, Patroclus yields to fear,\nRetires for succour to his social train,\nAnd flies the fate, which heaven decreed, in vain.\nStern Hector, as the bleeding chief he views,\nBreaks through the ranks, and his retreat pursues:\nThe lance arrests him with a mortal wound;\nHe falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound.\nWith him all Greece was sunk; that moment all\nHer yet-surviving heroes seem\u2019d to fall.\nSo, scorch\u2019d with heat, along the desert score,\nThe roaming lion meets a bristly boar,\nFast by the spring; they both dispute the flood,\nWith flaming eyes, and jaws besmear\u2019d with blood;\nAt length the sovereign savage wins the strife;\nAnd the torn boar resigns his thirst and life.\nPatroclus thus, so many chiefs o\u2019erthrown,\nSo many lives effused, expires his own.\nAs dying now at Hector\u2019s feet he lies,\nHe sternly views him, and triumphant cries:\n\n\u201cLie there, Patroclus! and with thee, the joy\nThy pride once promised, of subverting Troy;\nThe fancied scenes of Ilion wrapt in flames,\nAnd thy soft pleasures served with captive dames.\nUnthinking man! I fought those towers to free,\nAnd guard that beauteous race from lords like thee:\nBut thou a prey to vultures shalt be made;\nThy own Achilles cannot lend thee aid;\nThough much at parting that great chief might say,\nAnd much enjoin thee, this important day.\n\n\u2018Return not, my brave friend (perhaps he said),\nWithout the bloody arms of Hector dead.\u2019\nHe spoke, Patroclus march\u2019d, and thus he sped.\u201d\n\nSupine, and wildly gazing on the skies,\nWith faint, expiring breath, the chief replies:\n\n\u201cVain boaster! cease, and know the powers divine!\nJove\u2019s and Apollo\u2019s is this deed, not thine;\nTo heaven is owed whate\u2019er your own you call,\nAnd heaven itself disarm\u2019d me ere my fall.\nHad twenty mortals, each thy match in might,\nOpposed me fairly, they had sunk in fight:\nBy fate and Ph\u0153bus was I first o\u2019erthrown,\nEuphorbus next; the third mean part thy own.\nBut thou, imperious! hear my latest breath;\nThe gods inspire it, and it sounds thy death:\nInsulting man, thou shalt be soon as I;\nBlack fate o\u2019erhangs thee, and thy hour draws nigh;\nEven now on life\u2019s last verge I see thee stand,\nI see thee fall, and by Achilles\u2019 hand.\u201d\n\nHe faints: the soul unwilling wings her way,\n(The beauteous body left a load of clay)\nFlits to the lone, uncomfortable coast;\nA naked, wandering, melancholy ghost!\n\nThen Hector pausing, as his eyes he fed\nOn the pale carcase, thus address\u2019d the dead:\n\n\u201cFrom whence this boding speech, the stern decree\nOf death denounced, or why denounced to me?\nWhy not as well Achilles\u2019 fate be given\nTo Hector\u2019s lance? Who knows the will of heaven?\u201d\n\nPensive he said; then pressing as he lay\nHis breathless bosom, tore the lance away;\nAnd upwards cast the corse: the reeking spear\nHe shakes, and charges the bold charioteer.\nBut swift Automedon with loosen\u2019d reins\nRapt in the chariot o\u2019er the distant plains,\nFar from his rage the immortal coursers drove;\nThe immortal coursers were the gift of Jove.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] \u00c6SCULAPIUS\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XVII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE SEVENTH BATTLE, FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS.\u2014THE ACTS OF MENELAUS.\n\n\nMenelaus, upon the death of Patroclus, defends his body from the enemy:\nEuphorbus, who attempts it, is slain. Hector advancing, Menelaus\nretires; but soon returns with Ajax, and drives him off. This, Glaucus\nobjects to Hector as a flight, who thereupon puts on the armour he had\nwon from Patroclus, and renews the battle. The Greeks give way, till\nAjax rallies them: \u00c6neas sustains the Trojans. \u00c6neas and Hector attempt\nthe chariot of Achilles, which is borne off by Automedon. The horses of\nAchilles deplore the loss of Patroclus: Jupiter covers his body with a\nthick darkness: the noble prayer of Ajax on that occasion. Menelaus\nsends Antilochus to Achilles, with the news of Patroclus\u2019 death: then\nreturns to the fight, where, though attacked with the utmost fury, he\nand Meriones, assisted by the Ajaces, bear off the body to the ships.\n    The time is the evening of the eight-and-twentieth day. The scene\n    lies in the fields before Troy.\n\n\nOn the cold earth divine Patroclus spread,\nLies pierced with wounds among the vulgar dead.\nGreat Menelaus, touch\u2019d with generous woe,\nSprings to the front, and guards him from the foe.\nThus round her new-fallen young the heifer moves,\nFruit of her throes, and first-born of her loves;\nAnd anxious (helpless as he lies, and bare)\nTurns, and re-turns her, with a mother\u2019s care,\nOpposed to each that near the carcase came,\nHis broad shield glimmers, and his lances flame.\n\nThe son of Panthus, skill\u2019d the dart to send,\nEyes the dead hero, and insults the friend.\n\u201cThis hand, Atrides, laid Patroclus low;\nWarrior! desist, nor tempt an equal blow:\nTo me the spoils my prowess won, resign:\nDepart with life, and leave the glory mine.\u201d\n\nThe Trojan thus: the Spartan monarch burn\u2019d\nWith generous anguish, and in scorn return\u2019d:\n\u201cLaugh\u2019st thou not, Jove! from thy superior throne,\nWhen mortals boast of prowess not their own?\nNot thus the lion glories in his might,\nNor panther braves his spotted foe in fight,\nNor thus the boar (those terrors of the plain;)\nMan only vaunts his force, and vaunts in vain.\nBut far the vainest of the boastful kind,\nThese sons of Panthus vent their haughty mind.\nYet \u2019twas but late, beneath my conquering steel\nThis boaster\u2019s brother, Hyperenor, fell;\nAgainst our arm which rashly he defied,\nVain was his vigour, and as vain his pride.\nThese eyes beheld him on the dust expire,\nNo more to cheer his spouse, or glad his sire.\nPresumptuous youth! like his shall be thy doom,\nGo, wait thy brother to the Stygian gloom;\nOr, while thou may\u2019st, avoid the threaten\u2019d fate;\nFools stay to feel it, and are wise too late.\u201d\n\nUnmoved, Euphorbus thus: \u201cThat action known,\nCome, for my brother\u2019s blood repay thy own.\nHis weeping father claims thy destined head,\nAnd spouse, a widow in her bridal bed.\nOn these thy conquer\u2019d spoils I shall bestow,\nTo soothe a consort\u2019s and a parent\u2019s woe.\nNo longer then defer the glorious strife,\nLet heaven decide our fortune, fame, and life.\u201d\n\nSwift as the word the missile lance he flings;\nThe well-aim\u2019d weapon on the buckler rings,\nBut blunted by the brass, innoxious falls.\nOn Jove the father great Atrides calls,\nNor flies the javelin from his arm in vain,\nIt pierced his throat, and bent him to the plain;\nWide through the neck appears the grisly wound,\nProne sinks the warrior, and his arms resound.\nThe shining circlets of his golden hair,\nWhich even the Graces might be proud to wear,\nInstarr\u2019d with gems and gold, bestrow the shore,\nWith dust dishonour\u2019d, and deform\u2019d with gore.\n\nAs the young olive, in some sylvan scene,\nCrown\u2019d by fresh fountains with eternal green,\nLifts the gay head, in snowy flowerets fair,\nAnd plays and dances to the gentle air;\nWhen lo! a whirlwind from high heaven invades\nThe tender plant, and withers all its shades;\nIt lies uprooted from its genial bed,\nA lovely ruin now defaced and dead:\nThus young, thus beautiful, Euphorbus lay,\nWhile the fierce Spartan tore his arms away.\nProud of his deed, and glorious in the prize,\nAffrighted Troy the towering victor flies:\nFlies, as before some mountain lion\u2019s ire\nThe village curs and trembling swains retire,\nWhen o\u2019er the slaughter\u2019d bull they hear him roar,\nAnd see his jaws distil with smoking gore:\nAll pale with fear, at distance scatter\u2019d round,\nThey shout incessant, and the vales resound.\n\nMeanwhile Apollo view\u2019d with envious eyes,\nAnd urged great Hector to dispute the prize;\n(In Mentes\u2019 shape, beneath whose martial care\nThe rough Ciconians learn\u2019d the trade of war;)[247]\n\u201cForbear (he cried) with fruitless speed to chase\nAchilles\u2019 coursers, of ethereal race;\nThey stoop not, these, to mortal man\u2019s command,\nOr stoop to none but great Achilles\u2019 hand.\nToo long amused with a pursuit so vain,\nTurn, and behold the brave Euphorbus slain;\nBy Sparta slain! for ever now suppress\u2019d\nThe fire which burn\u2019d in that undaunted breast!\u201d\n\nThus having spoke, Apollo wing\u2019d his flight,\nAnd mix\u2019d with mortals in the toils of fight:\nHis words infix\u2019d unutterable care\nDeep in great Hector\u2019s soul: through all the war\nHe darts his anxious eye; and, instant, view\u2019d\nThe breathless hero in his blood imbued,\n(Forth welling from the wound, as prone he lay)\nAnd in the victor\u2019s hands the shining prey.\nSheath\u2019d in bright arms, through cleaving ranks he flies,\nAnd sends his voice in thunder to the skies:\nFierce as a flood of flame by Vulcan sent,\nIt flew, and fired the nations as it went.\nAtrides from the voice the storm divined,\nAnd thus explored his own unconquer\u2019d mind:\n\n\u201cThen shall I quit Patroclus on the plain,\nSlain in my cause, and for my honour slain!\nDesert the arms, the relics, of my friend?\nOr singly, Hector and his troops attend?\nSure where such partial favour heaven bestow\u2019d,\nTo brave the hero were to brave the god:\nForgive me, Greece, if once I quit the field;\n\u2019Tis not to Hector, but to heaven I yield.\nYet, nor the god, nor heaven, should give me fear,\nDid but the voice of Ajax reach my ear:\nStill would we turn, still battle on the plains,\nAnd give Achilles all that yet remains\nOf his and our Patroclus\u2014\u201d This, no more\nThe time allow\u2019d: Troy thicken\u2019d on the shore.\nA sable scene! The terrors Hector led.\nSlow he recedes, and sighing quits the dead.\n\nSo from the fold the unwilling lion parts,\nForced by loud clamours, and a storm of darts;\nHe flies indeed, but threatens as he flies,\nWith heart indignant and retorted eyes.\nNow enter\u2019d in the Spartan ranks, he turn\u2019d\nHis manly breast, and with new fury burn\u2019d;\nO\u2019er all the black battalions sent his view,\nAnd through the cloud the godlike Ajax knew;\nWhere labouring on the left the warrior stood,\nAll grim in arms, and cover\u2019d o\u2019er with blood;\nThere breathing courage, where the god of day\nHad sunk each heart with terror and dismay.\n\nTo him the king: \u201cOh Ajax, oh my friend!\nHaste, and Patroclus\u2019 loved remains defend:\nThe body to Achilles to restore\nDemands our care; alas, we can no more!\nFor naked now, despoiled of arms, he lies;\nAnd Hector glories in the dazzling prize.\u201d\nHe said, and touch\u2019d his heart. The raging pair\nPierced the thick battle, and provoke the war.\nAlready had stern Hector seized his head,\nAnd doom\u2019d to Trojan gods the unhappy dead;\nBut soon as Ajax rear\u2019d his tower-like shield,\nSprung to his car, and measured back the field,\nHis train to Troy the radiant armour bear,\nTo stand a trophy of his fame in war.\n\nMeanwhile great Ajax (his broad shield display\u2019d)\nGuards the dead hero with the dreadful shade;\nAnd now before, and now behind he stood:\nThus in the centre of some gloomy wood,\nWith many a step, the lioness surrounds\nHer tawny young, beset by men and hounds;\nElate her heart, and rousing all her powers,\nDark o\u2019er the fiery balls each hanging eyebrow lours.\nFast by his side the generous Spartan glows\nWith great revenge, and feeds his inward woes.\n\nBut Glaucus, leader of the Lycian aids,\nOn Hector frowning, thus his flight upbraids:\n\n\u201cWhere now in Hector shall we Hector find?\nA manly form, without a manly mind.\nIs this, O chief! a hero\u2019s boasted fame?\nHow vain, without the merit, is the name!\nSince battle is renounced, thy thoughts employ\nWhat other methods may preserve thy Troy:\n\u2019Tis time to try if Ilion\u2019s state can stand\nBy thee alone, nor ask a foreign hand:\nMean, empty boast! but shall the Lycians stake\nTheir lives for you? those Lycians you forsake?\nWhat from thy thankless arms can we expect?\nThy friend Sarpedon proves thy base neglect;\nSay, shall our slaughter\u2019d bodies guard your walls,\nWhile unreveng\u2019d the great Sarpedon falls?\nEven where he died for Troy, you left him there,\nA feast for dogs, and all the fowls of air.\nOn my command if any Lycian wait,\nHence let him march, and give up Troy to fate.\nDid such a spirit as the gods impart\nImpel one Trojan hand or Trojan heart,\n(Such as should burn in every soul that draws\nThe sword for glory, and his country\u2019s cause)\nEven yet our mutual arms we might employ,\nAnd drag yon carcase to the walls of Troy.\nOh! were Patroclus ours, we might obtain\nSarpedon\u2019s arms and honour\u2019d corse again!\nGreece with Achilles\u2019 friend should be repaid,\nAnd thus due honours purchased to his shade.\nBut words are vain\u2014Let Ajax once appear,\nAnd Hector trembles and recedes with fear;\nThou dar\u2019st not meet the terrors of his eye;\nAnd lo! already thou prepar\u2019st to fly.\u201d\n\nThe Trojan chief with fix\u2019d resentment eyed\nThe Lycian leader, and sedate replied:\n\n\u201cSay, is it just, my friend, that Hector\u2019s ear\nFrom such a warrior such a speech should hear?\nI deem\u2019d thee once the wisest of thy kind,\nBut ill this insult suits a prudent mind.\nI shun great Ajax? I desert my train?\n\u2019Tis mine to prove the rash assertion vain;\nI joy to mingle where the battle bleeds,\nAnd hear the thunder of the sounding steeds.\nBut Jove\u2019s high will is ever uncontroll\u2019d,\nThe strong he withers, and confounds the bold;\nNow crowns with fame the mighty man, and now\nStrikes the fresh garland from the victor\u2019s brow!\nCome, through yon squadrons let us hew the way,\nAnd thou be witness, if I fear to-day;\nIf yet a Greek the sight of Hector dread,\nOr yet their hero dare defend the dead.\u201d\n\nThen turning to the martial hosts, he cries:\n\u201cYe Trojans, Dardans, Lycians, and allies!\nBe men, my friends, in action as in name,\nAnd yet be mindful of your ancient fame.\nHector in proud Achilles\u2019 arms shall shine,\nTorn from his friend, by right of conquest mine.\u201d\n\nHe strode along the field, as thus he said:\n(The sable plumage nodded o\u2019er his head:)\nSwift through the spacious plain he sent a look;\nOne instant saw, one instant overtook\nThe distant band, that on the sandy shore\nThe radiant spoils to sacred Ilion bore.\nThere his own mail unbraced the field bestrow\u2019d;\nHis train to Troy convey\u2019d the massy load.\nNow blazing in the immortal arms he stands;\nThe work and present of celestial hands;\nBy aged Peleus to Achilles given,\nAs first to Peleus by the court of heaven:\nHis father\u2019s arms not long Achilles wears,\nForbid by fate to reach his father\u2019s years.\n\nHim, proud in triumph, glittering from afar,\nThe god whose thunder rends the troubled air\nBeheld with pity; as apart he sat,\nAnd, conscious, look\u2019d through all the scene of fate.\nHe shook the sacred honours of his head;\nOlympus trembled, and the godhead said;\n\u201cAh, wretched man! unmindful of thy end!\nA moment\u2019s glory; and what fates attend!\nIn heavenly panoply divinely bright\nThou stand\u2019st, and armies tremble at thy sight,\nAs at Achilles\u2019 self! beneath thy dart\nLies slain the great Achilles\u2019 dearer part.\nThou from the mighty dead those arms hast torn,\nWhich once the greatest of mankind had worn.\nYet live! I give thee one illustrious day,\nA blaze of glory ere thou fad\u2019st away.\nFor ah! no more Andromache shall come\nWith joyful tears to welcome Hector home;\nNo more officious, with endearing charms,\nFrom thy tired limbs unbrace Pelides\u2019 arms!\u201d\n\nThen with his sable brow he gave the nod\nThat seals his word; the sanction of the god.\nThe stubborn arms (by Jove\u2019s command disposed)\nConform\u2019d spontaneous, and around him closed:\nFill\u2019d with the god, enlarged his members grew,\nThrough all his veins a sudden vigour flew,\nThe blood in brisker tides began to roll,\nAnd Mars himself came rushing on his soul.\nExhorting loud through all the field he strode,\nAnd look\u2019d, and moved, Achilles, or a god.\nNow Mesthles, Glaucus, Medon, he inspires,\nNow Phorcys, Chromius, and Hippothous fires;\nThe great Thersilochus like fury found,\nAsteropaeus kindled at the sound,\nAnd Ennomus, in augury renown\u2019d.\n\n\u201cHear, all ye hosts, and hear, unnumber\u2019d bands\nOf neighbouring nations, or of distant lands!\n\u2019Twas not for state we summon\u2019d you so far,\nTo boast our numbers, and the pomp of war:\nYe came to fight; a valiant foe to chase,\nTo save our present, and our future race.\nFor this, our wealth, our products, you enjoy,\nAnd glean the relics of exhausted Troy.\nNow then, to conquer or to die prepare;\nTo die or conquer are the terms of war.\nWhatever hand shall win Patroclus slain,\nWhoe\u2019er shall drag him to the Trojan train,\nWith Hector\u2019s self shall equal honours claim;\nWith Hector part the spoil, and share the fame.\u201d\n\nFired by his words, the troops dismiss their fears,\nThey join, they thicken, they protend their spears;\nFull on the Greeks they drive in firm array,\nAnd each from Ajax hopes the glorious prey:\nVain hope! what numbers shall the field o\u2019erspread,\nWhat victims perish round the mighty dead!\n\nGreat Ajax mark\u2019d the growing storm from far,\nAnd thus bespoke his brother of the war:\n\u201cOur fatal day, alas! is come, my friend;\nAnd all our wars and glories at an end!\n\u2019Tis not this corse alone we guard in vain,\nCondemn\u2019d to vultures on the Trojan plain;\nWe too must yield: the same sad fate must fall\nOn thee, on me, perhaps, my friend, on all.\nSee what a tempest direful Hector spreads,\nAnd lo! it bursts, it thunders on our heads!\nCall on our Greeks, if any hear the call,\nThe bravest Greeks: this hour demands them all.\u201d\n\nThe warrior raised his voice, and wide around\nThe field re-echoed the distressful sound.\n\u201cO chiefs! O princes, to whose hand is given\nThe rule of men; whose glory is from heaven!\nWhom with due honours both Atrides grace:\nYe guides and guardians of our Argive race!\nAll, whom this well-known voice shall reach from far,\nAll, whom I see not through this cloud of war;\nCome all! let generous rage your arms employ,\nAnd save Patroclus from the dogs of Troy.\u201d\n\nOilean Ajax first the voice obey\u2019d,\nSwift was his pace, and ready was his aid:\nNext him Idomeneus, more slow with age,\nAnd Merion, burning with a hero\u2019s rage.\nThe long-succeeding numbers who can name?\nBut all were Greeks, and eager all for fame.\nFierce to the charge great Hector led the throng;\nWhole Troy embodied rush\u2019d with shouts along.\nThus, when a mountain billow foams and raves,\nWhere some swoln river disembogues his waves,\nFull in the mouth is stopp\u2019d the rushing tide,\nThe boiling ocean works from side to side,\nThe river trembles to his utmost shore,\nAnd distant rocks re-bellow to the roar.\n\nNor less resolved, the firm Achaian band\nWith brazen shields in horrid circle stand.\nJove, pouring darkness o\u2019er the mingled fight,\nConceals the warriors\u2019 shining helms in night:\nTo him, the chief for whom the hosts contend\nHad lived not hateful, for he lived a friend:\nDead he protects him with superior care.\nNor dooms his carcase to the birds of air.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] FIGHT FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS\n\n\nThe first attack the Grecians scarce sustain,\nRepulsed, they yield; the Trojans seize the slain.\nThen fierce they rally, to revenge led on\nBy the swift rage of Ajax Telamon.\n(Ajax to Peleus\u2019 son the second name,\nIn graceful stature next, and next in fame.)\nWith headlong force the foremost ranks he tore;\nSo through the thicket bursts the mountain boar,\nAnd rudely scatters, for a distance round,\nThe frighted hunter and the baying hound.\nThe son of Lethus, brave Pelasgus\u2019 heir,\nHippothous, dragg\u2019d the carcase through the war;\nThe sinewy ankles bored, the feet he bound\nWith thongs inserted through the double wound:\nInevitable fate o\u2019ertakes the deed;\nDoom\u2019d by great Ajax\u2019 vengeful lance to bleed:\nIt cleft the helmet\u2019s brazen cheeks in twain;\nThe shatter\u2019d crest and horse-hair strow the plain:\nWith nerves relax\u2019d he tumbles to the ground:\nThe brain comes gushing through the ghastly wound:\nHe drops Patroclus\u2019 foot, and o\u2019er him spread,\nNow lies a sad companion of the dead:\nFar from Larissa lies, his native air,\nAnd ill requites his parents\u2019 tender care.\nLamented youth! in life\u2019s first bloom he fell,\nSent by great Ajax to the shades of hell.\n\nOnce more at Ajax Hector\u2019s javelin flies;\nThe Grecian marking, as it cut the skies,\nShunn\u2019d the descending death; which hissing on,\nStretch\u2019d in the dust the great Iphytus\u2019 son,\nSchedius the brave, of all the Phocian kind\nThe boldest warrior and the noblest mind:\nIn little Panope, for strength renown\u2019d,\nHe held his seat, and ruled the realms around.\nPlunged in his throat, the weapon drank his blood,\nAnd deep transpiercing through the shoulder stood;\nIn clanging arms the hero fell and all\nThe fields resounded with his weighty fall.\n\nPhorcys, as slain Hippothous he defends,\nThe Telamonian lance his belly rends;\nThe hollow armour burst before the stroke,\nAnd through the wound the rushing entrails broke:\nIn strong convulsions panting on the sands\nHe lies, and grasps the dust with dying hands.\n\nStruck at the sight, recede the Trojan train:\nThe shouting Argives strip the heroes slain.\nAnd now had Troy, by Greece compell\u2019d to yield,\nFled to her ramparts, and resign\u2019d the field;\nGreece, in her native fortitude elate,\nWith Jove averse, had turn\u2019d the scale of fate:\nBut Ph\u0153bus urged \u00c6neas to the fight;\nHe seem\u2019d like aged Periphas to sight:\n(A herald in Anchises\u2019 love grown old,\nRevered for prudence, and with prudence bold.)\n\nThus he\u2014\u201cWhat methods yet, O chief! remain,\nTo save your Troy, though heaven its fall ordain?\nThere have been heroes, who, by virtuous care,\nBy valour, numbers, and by arts of war,\nHave forced the powers to spare a sinking state,\nAnd gain\u2019d at length the glorious odds of fate:\nBut you, when fortune smiles, when Jove declares\nHis partial favour, and assists your wars,\nYour shameful efforts \u2019gainst yourselves employ,\nAnd force the unwilling god to ruin Troy.\u201d\n\n\u00c6neas through the form assumed descries\nThe power conceal\u2019d, and thus to Hector cries:\n\u201cOh lasting shame! to our own fears a prey,\nWe seek our ramparts, and desert the day.\nA god, nor is he less, my bosom warms,\nAnd tells me, Jove asserts the Trojan arms.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and foremost to the combat flew:\nThe bold example all his hosts pursue.\nThen, first, Leocritus beneath him bled,\nIn vain beloved by valiant Lycomede;\nWho view\u2019d his fall, and, grieving at the chance,\nSwift to revenge it sent his angry lance;\nThe whirling lance, with vigorous force address\u2019d,\nDescends, and pants in Apisaon\u2019s breast;\nFrom rich Paeonia\u2019s vales the warrior came,\nNext thee, Asteropeus! in place and fame.\nAsteropeus with grief beheld the slain,\nAnd rush\u2019d to combat, but he rush\u2019d in vain:\nIndissolubly firm, around the dead,\nRank within rank, on buckler buckler spread,\nAnd hemm\u2019d with bristled spears, the Grecians stood,\nA brazen bulwark, and an iron wood.\nGreat Ajax eyes them with incessant care,\nAnd in an orb contracts the crowded war,\nClose in their ranks commands to fight or fall,\nAnd stands the centre and the soul of all:\nFix\u2019d on the spot they war, and wounded, wound;\nA sanguine torrent steeps the reeking ground:\nOn heaps the Greeks, on heaps the Trojans bled,\nAnd, thickening round them, rise the hills of dead.\n\nGreece, in close order, and collected might,\nYet suffers least, and sways the wavering fight;\nFierce as conflicting fires the combat burns,\nAnd now it rises, now it sinks by turns.\nIn one thick darkness all the fight was lost;\nThe sun, the moon, and all the ethereal host\nSeem\u2019d as extinct: day ravish\u2019d from their eyes,\nAnd all heaven\u2019s splendours blotted from the skies.\nSuch o\u2019er Patroclus\u2019 body hung the night,\nThe rest in sunshine fought, and open light;\nUnclouded there, the aerial azure spread,\nNo vapour rested on the mountain\u2019s head,\nThe golden sun pour\u2019d forth a stronger ray,\nAnd all the broad expansion flamed with day.\nDispersed around the plain, by fits they fight,\nAnd here and there their scatter\u2019d arrows light:\nBut death and darkness o\u2019er the carcase spread,\nThere burn\u2019d the war, and there the mighty bled.\n\nMeanwhile the sons of Nestor, in the rear,\n(Their fellows routed,) toss the distant spear,\nAnd skirmish wide: so Nestor gave command,\nWhen from the ships he sent the Pylian band.\nThe youthful brothers thus for fame contend,\nNor knew the fortune of Achilles\u2019 friend;\nIn thought they view\u2019d him still, with martial joy,\nGlorious in arms, and dealing death to Troy.\n\nBut round the corse the heroes pant for breath,\nAnd thick and heavy grows the work of death:\nO\u2019erlabour\u2019d now, with dust, and sweat, and gore,\nTheir knees, their legs, their feet, are covered o\u2019er;\nDrops follow drops, the clouds on clouds arise,\nAnd carnage clogs their hands, and darkness fills their eyes.\nAs when a slaughter\u2019d bull\u2019s yet reeking hide,\nStrain\u2019d with full force, and tugg\u2019d from side to side,\nThe brawny curriers stretch; and labour o\u2019er\nThe extended surface, drunk with fat and gore:\nSo tugging round the corse both armies stood;\nThe mangled body bathed in sweat and blood;\nWhile Greeks and Ilians equal strength employ,\nNow to the ships to force it, now to Troy.\nNot Pallas\u2019 self, her breast when fury warms,\nNor he whose anger sets the world in arms,\nCould blame this scene; such rage, such horror reign\u2019d;\nSuch, Jove to honour the great dead ordain\u2019d.\n\nAchilles in his ships at distance lay,\nNor knew the fatal fortune of the day;\nHe, yet unconscious of Patroclus\u2019 fall,\nIn dust extended under Ilion\u2019s wall,\nExpects him glorious from the conquered plain,\nAnd for his wish\u2019d return prepares in vain;\nThough well he knew, to make proud Ilion bend\nWas more than heaven had destined to his friend.\nPerhaps to him: this Thetis had reveal\u2019d;\nThe rest, in pity to her son, conceal\u2019d.\n\nStill raged the conflict round the hero dead,\nAnd heaps on heaps by mutual wounds they bled.\n\u201cCursed be the man (even private Greeks would say)\nWho dares desert this well-disputed day!\nFirst may the cleaving earth before our eyes\nGape wide, and drink our blood for sacrifice;\nFirst perish all, ere haughty Troy shall boast\nWe lost Patroclus, and our glory lost!\u201d\n\nThus they: while with one voice the Trojans said,\n\u201cGrant this day, Jove! or heap us on the dead!\u201d\n\nThen clash their sounding arms; the clangours rise,\nAnd shake the brazen concave of the skies.\n\nMeantime, at distance from the scene of blood,\nThe pensive steeds of great Achilles stood:\nTheir godlike master slain before their eyes,\nThey wept, and shared in human miseries.[248]\nIn vain Automedon now shakes the rein,\nNow plies the lash, and soothes and threats in vain;\nNor to the fight nor Hellespont they go,\nRestive they stood, and obstinate in woe:\nStill as a tombstone, never to be moved,\nOn some good man or woman unreproved\nLays its eternal weight; or fix\u2019d, as stands\nA marble courser by the sculptor\u2019s hands,\nPlaced on the hero\u2019s grave. Along their face\nThe big round drops coursed down with silent pace,\nConglobing on the dust. Their manes, that late\nCircled their arched necks, and waved in state,\nTrail\u2019d on the dust beneath the yoke were spread,\nAnd prone to earth was hung their languid head:\nNor Jove disdain\u2019d to cast a pitying look,\nWhile thus relenting to the steeds he spoke:\n\n\u201cUnhappy coursers of immortal strain,\nExempt from age, and deathless, now in vain;\nDid we your race on mortal man bestow,\nOnly, alas! to share in mortal woe?\nFor ah! what is there of inferior birth,\nThat breathes or creeps upon the dust of earth;\nWhat wretched creature of what wretched kind,\nThan man more weak, calamitous, and blind?\nA miserable race! but cease to mourn:\nFor not by you shall Priam\u2019s son be borne\nHigh on the splendid car: one glorious prize\nHe rashly boasts: the rest our will denies.\nOurself will swiftness to your nerves impart,\nOurself with rising spirits swell your heart.\nAutomedon your rapid flight shall bear\nSafe to the navy through the storm of war.\nFor yet \u2019tis given to Troy to ravage o\u2019er\nThe field, and spread her slaughters to the shore;\nThe sun shall see her conquer, till his fall\nWith sacred darkness shades the face of all.\u201d\n\nHe said; and breathing in the immortal horse\nExcessive spirit, urged them to the course;\nFrom their high manes they shake the dust, and bear\nThe kindling chariot through the parted war:\nSo flies a vulture through the clamorous train\nOf geese, that scream, and scatter round the plain.\nFrom danger now with swiftest speed they flew,\nAnd now to conquest with like speed pursue;\nSole in the seat the charioteer remains,\nNow plies the javelin, now directs the reins:\nHim brave Alcimedon beheld distress\u2019d,\nApproach\u2019d the chariot, and the chief address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cWhat god provokes thee rashly thus to dare,\nAlone, unaided, in the thickest war?\nAlas! thy friend is slain, and Hector wields\nAchilles\u2019 arms triumphant in the fields.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn happy time (the charioteer replies)\nThe bold Alcimedon now greets my eyes;\nNo Greek like him the heavenly steeds restrains,\nOr holds their fury in suspended reins:\nPatroclus, while he lived, their rage could tame,\nBut now Patroclus is an empty name!\nTo thee I yield the seat, to thee resign\nThe ruling charge: the task of fight be mine.\u201d\n\nHe said. Alcimedon, with active heat,\nSnatches the reins, and vaults into the seat.\nHis friend descends. The chief of Troy descried,\nAnd call\u2019d \u00c6neas fighting near his side.\n\n\u201cLo, to my sight, beyond our hope restored,\nAchilles\u2019 car, deserted of its lord!\nThe glorious steeds our ready arms invite,\nScarce their weak drivers guide them through the fight.\nCan such opponents stand when we assail?\nUnite thy force, my friend, and we prevail.\u201d\n\nThe son of Venus to the counsel yields;\nThen o\u2019er their backs they spread their solid shields:\nWith brass refulgent the broad surface shined,\nAnd thick bull-hides the spacious concave lined.\nThem Chromius follows, Aretus succeeds;\nEach hopes the conquest of the lofty steeds:\nIn vain, brave youths, with glorious hopes ye burn,\nIn vain advance! not fated to return.\n\nUnmov\u2019d, Automedon attends the fight,\nImplores the Eternal, and collects his might.\nThen turning to his friend, with dauntless mind:\n\u201cOh keep the foaming coursers close behind!\nFull on my shoulders let their nostrils blow,\nFor hard the fight, determined is the foe;\n\u2019Tis Hector comes: and when he seeks the prize,\nWar knows no mean; he wins it or he dies.\u201d\n\nThen through the field he sends his voice aloud,\nAnd calls the Ajaces from the warring crowd,\nWith great Atrides. \u201cHither turn, (he said,)\nTurn where distress demands immediate aid;\nThe dead, encircled by his friends, forego,\nAnd save the living from a fiercer foe.\nUnhelp\u2019d we stand, unequal to engage\nThe force of Hector, and \u00c6neas\u2019 rage:\nYet mighty as they are, my force to prove\nIs only mine: the event belongs to Jove.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and high the sounding javelin flung,\nWhich pass\u2019d the shield of Aretus the young:\nIt pierced his belt, emboss\u2019d with curious art,\nThen in the lower belly struck the dart.\nAs when a ponderous axe, descending full,\nCleaves the broad forehead of some brawny bull:[249]\nStruck \u2019twixt the horns, he springs with many a bound,\nThen tumbling rolls enormous on the ground:\nThus fell the youth; the air his soul received,\nAnd the spear trembled as his entrails heaved.\n\nNow at Automedon the Trojan foe\nDischarged his lance; the meditated blow,\nStooping, he shunn\u2019d; the javelin idly fled,\nAnd hiss\u2019d innoxious o\u2019er the hero\u2019s head;\nDeep rooted in the ground, the forceful spear\nIn long vibrations spent its fury there.\nWith clashing falchions now the chiefs had closed,\nBut each brave Ajax heard, and interposed;\nNor longer Hector with his Trojans stood,\nBut left their slain companion in his blood:\nHis arms Automedon divests, and cries,\n\u201cAccept, Patroclus, this mean sacrifice:\nThus have I soothed my griefs, and thus have paid,\nPoor as it is, some offering to thy shade.\u201d\n\nSo looks the lion o\u2019er a mangled boar,\nAll grim with rage, and horrible with gore;\nHigh on the chariot at one bound he sprung,\nAnd o\u2019er his seat the bloody trophies hung.\n\nAnd now Minerva from the realms of air\nDescends impetuous, and renews the war;\nFor, pleased at length the Grecian arms to aid,\nThe lord of thunders sent the blue-eyed maid.\nAs when high Jove denouncing future woe,\nO\u2019er the dark clouds extends his purple bow,\n(In sign of tempests from the troubled air,\nOr from the rage of man, destructive war,)\nThe drooping cattle dread the impending skies,\nAnd from his half-till\u2019d field the labourer flies:\nIn such a form the goddess round her drew\nA livid cloud, and to the battle flew.\nAssuming Ph\u0153nix\u2019 shape on earth she falls,\nAnd in his well-known voice to Sparta calls:\n\u201cAnd lies Achilles\u2019 friend, beloved by all,\nA prey to dogs beneath the Trojan wall?\nWhat shame 'o Greece for future times to tell,\nTo thee the greatest in whose cause he fell!\u201d\n\u201cO chief, O father! (Atreus\u2019 son replies)\nO full of days! by long experience wise!\nWhat more desires my soul, than here unmoved\nTo guard the body of the man I loved?\nAh, would Minerva send me strength to rear\nThis wearied arm, and ward the storm of war!\nBut Hector, like the rage of fire, we dread,\nAnd Jove\u2019s own glories blaze around his head!\u201d\n\nPleased to be first of all the powers address\u2019d,\nShe breathes new vigour in her hero\u2019s breast,\nAnd fills with keen revenge, with fell despite,\nDesire of blood, and rage, and lust of fight.\nSo burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o\u2019er),\nRepulsed in vain, and thirsty still of gore;\n(Bold son of air and heat) on angry wings\nUntamed, untired, he turns, attacks, and stings.\nFired with like ardour fierce Atrides flew,\nAnd sent his soul with every lance he threw.\n\nThere stood a Trojan, not unknown to fame,\nA\u00ebtion\u2019s son, and Podes was his name:\nWith riches honour\u2019d, and with courage bless\u2019d,\nBy Hector loved, his comrade, and his guest;\nThrough his broad belt the spear a passage found,\nAnd, ponderous as he falls, his arms resound.\nSudden at Hector\u2019s side Apollo stood,\nLike Phaenops, Asius\u2019 son, appear\u2019d the god;\n(Asius the great, who held his wealthy reign\nIn fair Abydos, by the rolling main.)\n\n\u201cOh prince! (he cried) Oh foremost once in fame!\nWhat Grecian now shall tremble at thy name?\nDost thou at length to Menelaus yield,\nA chief once thought no terror of the field?\nYet singly, now, the long-disputed prize\nHe bears victorious, while our army flies:\nBy the same arm illustrious Podes bled;\nThe friend of Hector, unrevenged, is dead!\u201d\nThis heard, o\u2019er Hector spreads a cloud of woe,\nRage lifts his lance, and drives him on the foe.\n\nBut now the Eternal shook his sable shield,\nThat shaded Ide and all the subject field\nBeneath its ample verge. A rolling cloud\nInvolved the mount; the thunder roar\u2019d aloud;\nThe affrighted hills from their foundations nod,\nAnd blaze beneath the lightnings of the god:\nAt one regard of his all-seeing eye\nThe vanquish\u2019d triumph, and the victors fly.\n\nThen trembled Greece: the flight Peneleus led;\nFor as the brave B\u0153otian turn\u2019d his head\nTo face the foe, Polydamas drew near,\nAnd razed his shoulder with a shorten\u2019d spear:\nBy Hector wounded, Leitus quits the plain,\nPierced through the wrist; and raging with the pain,\nGrasps his once formidable lance in vain.\n\nAs Hector follow\u2019d, Idomen address\u2019d\nThe flaming javelin to his manly breast;\nThe brittle point before his corslet yields;\nExulting Troy with clamour fills the fields:\nHigh on his chariots the Cretan stood,\nThe son of Priam whirl\u2019d the massive wood.\nBut erring from its aim, the impetuous spear\nStruck to the dust the squire and charioteer\nOf martial Merion: Coeranus his name,\nWho left fair Lyctus for the fields of fame.\nOn foot bold Merion fought; and now laid low,\nHad graced the triumphs of his Trojan foe,\nBut the brave squire the ready coursers brought,\nAnd with his life his master\u2019s safety bought.\nBetween his cheek and ear the weapon went,\nThe teeth it shatter\u2019d, and the tongue it rent.\nProne from the seat he tumbles to the plain;\nHis dying hand forgets the falling rein:\nThis Merion reaches, bending from the car,\nAnd urges to desert the hopeless war:\nIdomeneus consents; the lash applies;\nAnd the swift chariot to the navy flies.\n\nNot Ajax less the will of heaven descried,\nAnd conquest shifting to the Trojan side,\nTurn\u2019d by the hand of Jove. Then thus begun,\nTo Atreus\u2019s seed, the godlike Telamon:\n\n\u201cAlas! who sees not Jove\u2019s almighty hand\nTransfers the glory to the Trojan band?\nWhether the weak or strong discharge the dart,\nHe guides each arrow to a Grecian heart:\nNot so our spears; incessant though they rain,\nHe suffers every lance to fall in vain.\nDeserted of the god, yet let us try\nWhat human strength and prudence can supply;\nIf yet this honour\u2019d corse, in triumph borne,\nMay glad the fleets that hope not our return,\nWho tremble yet, scarce rescued from their fates,\nAnd still hear Hector thundering at their gates.\nSome hero too must be despatch\u2019d to bear\nThe mournful message to Pelides\u2019 ear;\nFor sure he knows not, distant on the shore,\nHis friend, his loved Patroclus, is no more.\nBut such a chief I spy not through the host:\nThe men, the steeds, the armies, all are lost\nIn general darkness\u2014Lord of earth and air!\nOh king! Oh father! hear my humble prayer:\nDispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore;\nGive me to see, and Ajax asks no more:\nIf Greece must perish, we thy will obey,\nBut let us perish in the face of day!\u201d\n\nWith tears the hero spoke, and at his prayer\nThe god relenting clear\u2019d the clouded air;\nForth burst the sun with all-enlightening ray;\nThe blaze of armour flash\u2019d against the day.\n\u201cNow, now, Atrides! cast around thy sight;\nIf yet Antilochus survives the fight,\nLet him to great Achilles\u2019 ear convey\nThe fatal news\u201d\u2014Atrides hastes away.\n\nSo turns the lion from the nightly fold,\nThough high in courage, and with hunger bold,\nLong gall\u2019d by herdsmen, and long vex\u2019d by hounds,\nStiff with fatigue, and fretted sore with wounds;\nThe darts fly round him from a hundred hands,\nAnd the red terrors of the blazing brands:\nTill late, reluctant, at the dawn of day\nSour he departs, and quits the untasted prey,\nSo moved Atrides from his dangerous place\nWith weary limbs, but with unwilling pace;\nThe foe, he fear\u2019d, might yet Patroclus gain,\nAnd much admonish\u2019d, much adjured his train:\n\n\u201cO guard these relics to your charge consign\u2019d,\nAnd bear the merits of the dead in mind;\nHow skill\u2019d he was in each obliging art;\nThe mildest manners, and the gentlest heart:\nHe was, alas! but fate decreed his end,\nIn death a hero, as in life a friend!\u201d\n\nSo parts the chief; from rank to rank he flew,\nAnd round on all sides sent his piercing view.\nAs the bold bird, endued with sharpest eye\nOf all that wings the mid a\u00ebrial sky,\nThe sacred eagle, from his walks above\nLooks down, and sees the distant thicket move;\nThen stoops, and sousing on the quivering hare,\nSnatches his life amid the clouds of air.\nNot with less quickness, his exerted sight\nPass\u2019d this and that way, through the ranks of fight:\nTill on the left the chief he sought, he found,\nCheering his men, and spreading deaths around:\n\nTo him the king: \u201cBeloved of Jove! draw near,\nFor sadder tidings never touch\u2019d thy ear;\nThy eyes have witness\u2019d what a fatal turn!\nHow Ilion triumphs, and the Achaians mourn.\nThis is not all: Patroclus, on the shore\nNow pale and dead, shall succour Greece no more.\nFly to the fleet, this instant fly, and tell\nThe sad Achilles, how his loved-one fell:\nHe too may haste the naked corse to gain:\nThe arms are Hector\u2019s, who despoil\u2019d the slain.\u201d\n\nThe youthful warrior heard with silent woe,\nFrom his fair eyes the tears began to flow:\nBig with the mighty grief, he strove to say\nWhat sorrow dictates, but no word found way.\nTo brave Laodocus his arms he flung,\nWho, near him wheeling, drove his steeds along;\nThen ran the mournful message to impart,\nWith tearful eyes, and with dejected heart.\n\nSwift fled the youth: nor Menelaus stands\n(Though sore distress\u2019d) to aid the Pylian bands;\nBut bids bold Thrasymede those troops sustain;\nHimself returns to his Patroclus slain.\n\u201cGone is Antilochus (the hero said);\nBut hope not, warriors, for Achilles\u2019 aid:\nThough fierce his rage, unbounded be his woe,\nUnarm\u2019d, he fights not with the Trojan foe.\n\u2019Tis in our hands alone our hopes remain,\n\u2019Tis our own vigour must the dead regain,\nAnd save ourselves, while with impetuous hate\nTroy pours along, and this way rolls our fate.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis well (said Ajax), be it then thy care,\nWith Merion\u2019s aid, the weighty corse to rear;\nMyself, and my bold brother will sustain\nThe shock of Hector and his charging train:\nNor fear we armies, fighting side by side;\nWhat Troy can dare, we have already tried,\nHave tried it, and have stood.\u201d The hero said.\nHigh from the ground the warriors heave the dead.\nA general clamour rises at the sight:\nLoud shout the Trojans, and renew the fight.\nNot fiercer rush along the gloomy wood,\nWith rage insatiate, and with thirst of blood,\nVoracious hounds, that many a length before\nTheir furious hunters, drive the wounded boar;\nBut if the savage turns his glaring eye,\nThey howl aloof, and round the forest fly.\nThus on retreating Greece the Trojans pour,\nWave their thick falchions, and their javelins shower:\nBut Ajax turning, to their fears they yield,\nAll pale they tremble and forsake the field.\n\nWhile thus aloft the hero\u2019s corse they bear,\nBehind them rages all the storm of war:\nConfusion, tumult, horror, o\u2019er the throng\nOf men, steeds, chariots, urged the rout along:\nLess fierce the winds with rising flames conspire\nTo whelm some city under waves of fire;\nNow sink in gloomy clouds the proud abodes,\nNow crack the blazing temples of the gods;\nThe rumbling torrent through the ruin rolls,\nAnd sheets of smoke mount heavy to the poles.\nThe heroes sweat beneath their honour\u2019d load:\nAs when two mules, along the rugged road,\nFrom the steep mountain with exerted strength\nDrag some vast beam, or mast\u2019s unwieldy length;\nInly they groan, big drops of sweat distil,\nThe enormous timber lumbering down the hill:\nSo these\u2014Behind, the bulk of Ajax stands,\nAnd breaks the torrent of the rushing bands.\nThus when a river swell\u2019d with sudden rains\nSpreads his broad waters o\u2019er the level plains,\nSome interposing hill the stream divides,\nAnd breaks its force, and turns the winding tides.\nStill close they follow, close the rear engage;\n\u00c6neas storms, and Hector foams with rage:\nWhile Greece a heavy, thick retreat maintains,\nWedged in one body, like a flight of cranes,\nThat shriek incessant, while the falcon, hung\nHigh on poised pinions, threats their callow young.\nSo from the Trojan chiefs the Grecians fly,\nSuch the wild terror, and the mingled cry:\nWithin, without the trench, and all the way,\nStrow\u2019d in bright heaps, their arms and armour lay;\nSuch horror Jove impress\u2019d! yet still proceeds\nThe work of death, and still the battle bleeds.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] VULCAN FROM AN ANTIQUE GEM\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XVIII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE GRIEF OF ACHILLES, AND NEW ARMOUR MADE HIM BY VULCAN.\n\n\nThe news of the death of Patroclus is brought to Achilles by\nAntilochus. Thetis, hearing his lamentations, comes with all her sea-\nnymphs to comfort him. The speeches of the mother and son on this\noccasion. Iris appears to Achilles by the command of Juno, and orders\nhim to show himself at the head of the intrenchments. The sight of him\nturns the fortunes of the day, and the body of Patroclus is carried off\nby the Greeks. The Trojans call a council, where Hector and Polydamas\ndisagree in their opinions: but the advice of the former prevails, to\nremain encamped in the field. The grief of Achilles over the body of\nPatroclus.\n    Thetis goes to the palace of Vulcan to obtain new arms for her son.\n    The description of the wonderful works of Vulcan: and, lastly, that\n    noble one of the shield of Achilles.\n    The latter part of the nine-and-twentieth day, and the night\n    ensuing, take up this book: the scene is at Achilles\u2019 tent on the\n    sea-shore, from whence it changes to the palace of Vulcan.\n\n\nThus like the rage of fire the combat burns,[250]\nAnd now it rises, now it sinks by turns.\nMeanwhile, where Hellespont\u2019s broad waters flow,\nStood Nestor\u2019s son, the messenger of woe:\nThere sat Achilles, shaded by his sails,\nOn hoisted yards extended to the gales;\nPensive he sat; for all that fate design\u2019d\nRose in sad prospect to his boding mind.\nThus to his soul he said: \u201cAh! what constrains\nThe Greeks, late victors, now to quit the plains?\nIs this the day, which heaven so long ago\nOrdain\u2019d, to sink me with the weight of woe?\n(So Thetis warn\u2019d;) when by a Trojan hand\nThe bravest of the Myrmidonian band\nShould lose the light! Fulfilled is that decree;\nFallen is the warrior, and Patroclus he!\nIn vain I charged him soon to quit the plain,\nAnd warn\u2019d to shun Hectorean force in vain!\u201d\n\nThus while he thinks, Antilochus appears,\nAnd tells the melancholy tale with tears.\n\u201cSad tidings, son of Peleus! thou must hear;\nAnd wretched I, the unwilling messenger!\nDead is Patroclus! For his corse they fight;\nHis naked corse: his arms are Hector\u2019s right.\u201d\n\nA sudden horror shot through all the chief,\nAnd wrapp\u2019d his senses in the cloud of grief;\nCast on the ground, with furious hands he spread\nThe scorching ashes o\u2019er his graceful head;\nHis purple garments, and his golden hairs,\nThose he deforms with dust, and these he tears;\nOn the hard soil his groaning breast he threw,\nAnd roll\u2019d and grovell\u2019d, as to earth he grew.\nThe virgin captives, with disorder\u2019d charms,\n(Won by his own, or by Patroclus\u2019 arms,)\nRush\u2019d from their tents with cries; and gathering round,\nBeat their white breasts, and fainted on the ground:\nWhile Nestor\u2019s son sustains a manlier part,\nAnd mourns the warrior with a warrior\u2019s heart;\nHangs on his arms, amidst his frantic woe,\nAnd oft prevents the meditated blow.\n\nFar in the deep abysses of the main,[251]\nWith hoary Nereus, and the watery train,\nThe mother-goddess from her crystal throne\nHeard his loud cries, and answer\u2019d groan for groan.\nThe circling Nereids with their mistress weep,\nAnd all the sea-green sisters of the deep.\nThalia, Glauce (every watery name),\nNesaea mild, and silver Spio came:\nCymothoe and Cymodoce were nigh,\nAnd the blue languish of soft Alia\u2019s eye.\nTheir locks Actaea and Limnoria rear,\nThen Proto, Doris, Panope appear,\nThoa, Pherusa, Doto, Melita;\nAgave gentle, and Amphithoe gay:\nNext Callianira, Callianassa show\nTheir sister looks; Dexamene the slow,\nAnd swift Dynamene, now cut the tides:\nIaera now the verdant wave divides:\nNemertes with Apseudes lifts the head,\nBright Galatea quits her pearly bed;\nThese Orythia, Clymene, attend,\nMaera, Amphinome, the train extend;\nAnd black Janira, and Janassa fair,\nAnd Amatheia with her amber hair.\nAll these, and all that deep in ocean held\nTheir sacred seats, the glimmering grotto fill\u2019d;\nEach beat her ivory breast with silent woe,\nTill Thetis\u2019 sorrows thus began to flow:\n\n\u201cHear me, and judge, ye sisters of the main!\nHow just a cause has Thetis to complain!\nHow wretched, were I mortal, were my fate!\nHow more than wretched in the immortal state!\nSprung from my bed a godlike hero came,\nThe bravest far that ever bore the name;\nLike some fair olive, by my careful hand\nHe grew, he flourish\u2019d and adorn\u2019d the land!\nTo Troy I sent him: but the fates ordain\nHe never, never must return again.\nSo short a space the light of heaven to view,\nSo short, alas! and fill\u2019d with anguish too!\nHear how his sorrows echo through the shore!\nI cannot ease them, but I must deplore;\nI go at least to bear a tender part,\nAnd mourn my loved-one with a mother\u2019s heart.\u201d\n\nShe said, and left the caverns of the main,\nAll bathed in tears; the melancholy train\nAttend her way. Wide-opening part the tides,\nWhile the long pomp the silver wave divides.\nApproaching now, they touch\u2019d the Trojan land;\nThen, two by two, ascended up the strand.\nThe immortal mother, standing close beside\nHer mournful offspring, to his sighs replied;\nAlong the coast their mingled clamours ran,\nAnd thus the silver-footed dame began:\n\n\u201cWhy mourns my son? thy late preferr\u2019d request\nThe god has granted, and the Greeks distress\u2019d:\nWhy mourns my son? thy anguish let me share,\nReveal the cause, and trust a parent\u2019s care.\u201d\n\nHe, deeply groaning\u2014\u201cTo this cureless grief,\nNot even the Thunderer\u2019s favour brings relief.\nPatroclus\u2014Ah!\u2014say, goddess, can I boast\nA pleasure now? revenge itself is lost;\nPatroclus, loved of all my martial train,\nBeyond mankind, beyond myself is slain!\nLost are those arms the gods themselves bestow\u2019d\nOn Peleus; Hector bears the glorious load.\nCursed be that day, when all the powers above\nThy charms submitted to a mortal love:\nO hadst thou still, a sister of the main,\nPursued the pleasures of the watery reign:\nAnd happier Peleus, less ambitious, led\nA mortal beauty to his equal bed!\nEre the sad fruit of thy unhappy womb\nHad caused such sorrows past, and woes to come.\nFor soon, alas! that wretched offspring slain,\nNew woes, new sorrows, shall create again.\n\u2019Tis not in fate the alternate now to give;\nPatroclus dead, Achilles hates to live.\nLet me revenge it on proud Hector\u2019s heart,\nLet his last spirit smoke upon my dart;\nOn these conditions will I breathe: till then,\nI blush to walk among the race of men.\u201d\n\nA flood of tears, at this, the goddess shed:\n\u201cAh then, I see thee dying, see thee dead!\nWhen Hector falls, thou diest.\u201d\u2014\u201cLet Hector die,\nAnd let me fall! (Achilles made reply)\nFar lies Patroclus from his native plain!\nHe fell, and falling, wish\u2019d my aid in vain.\nAh then, since from this miserable day\nI cast all hope of my return away;\nSince, unrevenged, a hundred ghosts demand\nThe fate of Hector from Achilles\u2019 hand;\nSince here, for brutal courage far renown\u2019d,\nI live an idle burden to the ground,\n(Others in council famed for nobler skill,\nMore useful to preserve, than I to kill,)\nLet me\u2014But oh! ye gracious powers above!\nWrath and revenge from men and gods remove:\nFar, far too dear to every mortal breast,\nSweet to the soul, as honey to the taste:\nGathering like vapours of a noxious kind\nFrom fiery blood, and darkening all the mind.\nMe Agamemnon urged to deadly hate;\n\u2019Tis past\u2014I quell it; I resign to fate.\nYes\u2014I will meet the murderer of my friend;\nOr (if the gods ordain it) meet my end.\nThe stroke of fate the strongest cannot shun:\nThe great Alcides, Jove\u2019s unequall\u2019d son,\nTo Juno\u2019s hate, at length resign\u2019d his breath,\nAnd sunk the victim of all-conquering death.\nSo shall Achilles fall! stretch\u2019d pale and dead,\nNo more the Grecian hope, or Trojan dread!\nLet me, this instant, rush into the fields,\nAnd reap what glory life\u2019s short harvest yields.\nShall I not force some widow\u2019d dame to tear\nWith frantic hands her long dishevell\u2019d hair?\nShall I not force her breast to heave with sighs,\nAnd the soft tears to trickle from her eyes?\nYes, I shall give the fair those mournful charms\u2014\nIn vain you hold me\u2014Hence! my arms! my arms!\u2014\nSoon shall the sanguine torrent spread so wide,\nThat all shall know Achilles swells the tide.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy son (coerulean Thetis made reply,\nTo fate submitting with a secret sigh,)\nThe host to succour, and thy friends to save,\nIs worthy thee; the duty of the brave.\nBut canst thou, naked, issue to the plains?\nThy radiant arms the Trojan foe detains.\nInsulting Hector bears the spoils on high,\nBut vainly glories, for his fate is nigh.\nYet, yet awhile thy generous ardour stay;\nAssured, I meet thee at the dawn of day,\nCharged with refulgent arms (a glorious load),\nVulcanian arms, the labour of a god.\u201d\n\nThen turning to the daughters of the main,\nThe goddess thus dismiss\u2019d her azure train:\n\n\u201cYe sister Nereids! to your deeps descend;\nHaste, and our father\u2019s sacred seat attend;\nI go to find the architect divine,\nWhere vast Olympus\u2019 starry summits shine:\nSo tell our hoary sire\u201d\u2014This charge she gave:\nThe sea-green sisters plunge beneath the wave:\nThetis once more ascends the bless\u2019d abodes,\nAnd treads the brazen threshold of the gods.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THETIS ORDERING THE NEREIDS TO DESCEND INTO THE SEA\n\n\nAnd now the Greeks from furious Hector\u2019s force,\nUrge to broad Hellespont their headlong course;\nNor yet their chiefs Patroclus\u2019 body bore\nSafe through the tempest to the tented shore.\nThe horse, the foot, with equal fury join\u2019d,\nPour\u2019d on the rear, and thunder\u2019d close behind:\nAnd like a flame through fields of ripen\u2019d corn,\nThe rage of Hector o\u2019er the ranks was borne.\nThrice the slain hero by the foot he drew;\nThrice to the skies the Trojan clamours flew:\nAs oft the Ajaces his assault sustain;\nBut check\u2019d, he turns; repuls\u2019d, attacks again.\nWith fiercer shouts his lingering troops he fires,\nNor yields a step, nor from his post retires:\nSo watchful shepherds strive to force, in vain,\nThe hungry lion from a carcase slain.\nEven yet Patroclus had he borne away,\nAnd all the glories of the extended day,\nHad not high Juno from the realms of air,\nSecret, despatch\u2019d her trusty messenger.\nThe various goddess of the showery bow,\nShot in a whirlwind to the shore below;\nTo great Achilles at his ships she came,\nAnd thus began the many-colour\u2019d dame:\n\n\u201cRise, son of Peleus! rise, divinely brave!\nAssist the combat, and Patroclus save:\nFor him the slaughter to the fleet they spread,\nAnd fall by mutual wounds around the dead.\nTo drag him back to Troy the foe contends:\nNor with his death the rage of Hector ends:\nA prey to dogs he dooms the corse to lie,\nAnd marks the place to fix his head on high.\nRise, and prevent (if yet you think of fame)\nThy friend\u2019s disgrace, thy own eternal shame!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho sends thee, goddess, from the ethereal skies?\u201d\nAchilles thus. And Iris thus replies:\n\n\u201cI come, Pelides! from the queen of Jove,\nThe immortal empress of the realms above;\nUnknown to him who sits remote on high,\nUnknown to all the synod of the sky.\u201d\n\u201cThou comest in vain (he cries, with fury warm\u2019d);\nArms I have none, and can I fight unarm\u2019d?\nUnwilling as I am, of force I stay,\nTill Thetis bring me at the dawn of day\nVulcanian arms: what other can I wield,\nExcept the mighty Telamonian shield?\nThat, in my friend\u2019s defence, has Ajax spread,\nWhile his strong lance around him heaps the dead:\nThe gallant chief defends Menoetius\u2019 son,\nAnd does what his Achilles should have done.\u201d\n\n\u201cThy want of arms (said Iris) well we know;\nBut though unarm\u2019d, yet clad in terrors, go!\nLet but Achilles o\u2019er yon trench appear,\nProud Troy shall tremble, and consent to fear;\nGreece from one glance of that tremendous eye\nShall take new courage, and disdain to fly.\u201d\n\nShe spoke, and pass\u2019d in air. The hero rose:\nHer \u00e6gis Pallas o\u2019er his shoulder throws;\nAround his brows a golden cloud she spread;\nA stream of glory flamed above his head.\nAs when from some beleaguer\u2019d town arise\nThe smokes, high curling to the shaded skies;\n(Seen from some island, o\u2019er the main afar,\nWhen men distress\u2019d hang out the sign of war;)\nSoon as the sun in ocean hides his rays,\nThick on the hills the flaming beacons blaze;\nWith long-projected beams the seas are bright,\nAnd heaven\u2019s high arch reflects the ruddy light:\nSo from Achilles\u2019 head the splendours rise,\nReflecting blaze on blaze against the skies.\nForth march\u2019d the chief, and distant from the crowd,\nHigh on the rampart raised his voice aloud;\nWith her own shout Minerva swells the sound;\nTroy starts astonish\u2019d, and the shores rebound.\nAs the loud trumpet\u2019s brazen mouth from far\nWith shrilling clangour sounds the alarm of war,\nStruck from the walls, the echoes float on high,\nAnd the round bulwarks and thick towers reply;\nSo high his brazen voice the hero rear\u2019d:\nHosts dropp\u2019d their arms, and trembled as they heard:\nAnd back the chariots roll, and coursers bound,\nAnd steeds and men lie mingled on the ground.\nAghast they see the living lightnings play,\nAnd turn their eyeballs from the flashing ray.\nThrice from the trench his dreadful voice he raised,\nAnd thrice they fled, confounded and amazed.\nTwelve in the tumult wedged, untimely rush\u2019d\nOn their own spears, by their own chariots crush\u2019d:\nWhile, shielded from the darts, the Greeks obtain\nThe long-contended carcase of the slain.\n\nA lofty bier the breathless warrior bears:\nAround, his sad companions melt in tears.\nBut chief Achilles, bending down his head,\nPours unavailing sorrows o\u2019er the dead,\nWhom late triumphant, with his steeds and car,\nHe sent refulgent to the field of war;\n(Unhappy change!) now senseless, pale, he found,\nStretch\u2019d forth, and gash\u2019d with many a gaping wound.\n\nMeantime, unwearied with his heavenly way,\nIn ocean\u2019s waves the unwilling light of day\nQuench\u2019d his red orb, at Juno\u2019s high command,\nAnd from their labours eased the Achaian band.\nThe frighted Trojans (panting from the war,\nTheir steeds unharness\u2019d from the weary car)\nA sudden council call\u2019d: each chief appear\u2019d\nIn haste, and standing; for to sit they fear\u2019d.\n\u2019Twas now no season for prolong\u2019d debate;\nThey saw Achilles, and in him their fate.\nSilent they stood: Polydamas at last,\nSkill\u2019d to discern the future by the past,\nThe son of Panthus, thus express\u2019d his fears\n(The friend of Hector, and of equal years;\nThe self-same night to both a being gave,\nOne wise in council, one in action brave):\n\n\n[Illustration: ] JUNO COMMANDING THE SUN TO SET\n\n\n\u201cIn free debate, my friends, your sentence speak;\nFor me, I move, before the morning break,\nTo raise our camp: too dangerous here our post,\nFar from Troy walls, and on a naked coast.\nI deem\u2019d not Greece so dreadful, while engaged\nIn mutual feuds her king and hero raged;\nThen, while we hoped our armies might prevail\nWe boldly camp\u2019d beside a thousand sail.\nI dread Pelides now: his rage of mind\nNot long continues to the shores confined,\nNor to the fields, where long in equal fray\nContending nations won and lost the day;\nFor Troy, for Troy, shall henceforth be the strife,\nAnd the hard contest not for fame, but life.\nHaste then to Ilion, while the favouring night\nDetains these terrors, keeps that arm from fight.\nIf but the morrow\u2019s sun behold us here,\nThat arm, those terrors, we shall feel, not fear;\nAnd hearts that now disdain, shall leap with joy,\nIf heaven permit them then to enter Troy.\nLet not my fatal prophecy be true,\nNor what I tremble but to think, ensue.\nWhatever be our fate, yet let us try\nWhat force of thought and reason can supply;\nLet us on counsel for our guard depend;\nThe town her gates and bulwarks shall defend.\nWhen morning dawns, our well-appointed powers,\nArray\u2019d in arms, shall line the lofty towers.\nLet the fierce hero, then, when fury calls,\nVent his mad vengeance on our rocky walls,\nOr fetch a thousand circles round the plain,\nTill his spent coursers seek the fleet again:\nSo may his rage be tired, and labour\u2019d down!\nAnd dogs shall tear him ere he sack the town.\u201d\n\n\u201cReturn! (said Hector, fired with stern disdain)\nWhat! coop whole armies in our walls again?\nWas\u2019t not enough, ye valiant warriors, say,\nNine years imprison\u2019d in those towers ye lay?\nWide o\u2019er the world was Ilion famed of old\nFor brass exhaustless, and for mines of gold:\nBut while inglorious in her walls we stay\u2019d,\nSunk were her treasures, and her stores decay\u2019d;\nThe Phrygians now her scatter\u2019d spoils enjoy,\nAnd proud M\u00e6onia wastes the fruits of Troy.\nGreat Jove at length my arms to conquest calls,\nAnd shuts the Grecians in their wooden walls,\nDarest thou dispirit whom the gods incite?\nFlies any Trojan? I shall stop his flight.\nTo better counsel then attention lend;\nTake due refreshment, and the watch attend.\nIf there be one whose riches cost him care,\nForth let him bring them for the troops to share;\n\u2019Tis better generously bestow\u2019d on those,\nThan left the plunder of our country\u2019s foes.\nSoon as the morn the purple orient warms,\nFierce on yon navy will we pour our arms.\nIf great Achilles rise in all his might,\nHis be the danger: I shall stand the fight.\nHonour, ye gods! or let me gain or give;\nAnd live he glorious, whosoe\u2019er shall live!\nMars is our common lord, alike to all;\nAnd oft the victor triumphs, but to fall.\u201d\n\nThe shouting host in loud applauses join\u2019d;\nSo Pallas robb\u2019d the many of their mind;\nTo their own sense condemn\u2019d, and left to choose\nThe worst advice, the better to refuse.\n\nWhile the long night extends her sable reign,\nAround Patroclus mourn\u2019d the Grecian train.\nStern in superior grief Pelides stood;\nThose slaughtering arms, so used to bathe in blood,\nNow clasp his clay-cold limbs: then gushing start\nThe tears, and sighs burst from his swelling heart.\nThe lion thus, with dreadful anguish stung,\nRoars through the desert, and demands his young;\nWhen the grim savage, to his rifled den\nToo late returning, snuffs the track of men,\nAnd o\u2019er the vales and o\u2019er the forest bounds;\nHis clamorous grief the bellowing wood resounds.\nSo grieves Achilles; and, impetuous, vents\nTo all his Myrmidons his loud laments.\n\n\u201cIn what vain promise, gods! did I engage,\nWhen to console Menoetius\u2019 feeble age,\nI vowed his much-loved offspring to restore,\nCharged with rich spoils, to fair Opuntia\u2019s shore?[252]\nBut mighty Jove cuts short, with just disdain,\nThe long, long views of poor designing man!\nOne fate the warrior and the friend shall strike,\nAnd Troy\u2019s black sands must drink our blood alike:\nMe too a wretched mother shall deplore,\nAn aged father never see me more!\nYet, my Patroclus! yet a space I stay,\nThen swift pursue thee on the darksome way.\nEre thy dear relics in the grave are laid,\nShall Hector\u2019s head be offer\u2019d to thy shade;\nThat, with his arms, shall hang before thy shrine;\nAnd twelve, the noblest of the Trojan line,\nSacred to vengeance, by this hand expire;\nTheir lives effused around thy flaming pyre.\nThus let me lie till then! thus, closely press\u2019d,\nBathe thy cold face, and sob upon thy breast!\nWhile Trojan captives here thy mourners stay,\nWeep all the night and murmur all the day:\nSpoils of my arms, and thine; when, wasting wide,\nOur swords kept time, and conquer\u2019d side by side.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and bade the sad attendants round\nCleanse the pale corse, and wash each honour\u2019d wound.\nA massy caldron of stupendous frame\nThey brought, and placed it o\u2019er the rising flame:\nThen heap\u2019d the lighted wood; the flame divides\nBeneath the vase, and climbs around the sides:\nIn its wide womb they pour the rushing stream;\nThe boiling water bubbles to the brim.\nThe body then they bathe with pious toil,\nEmbalm the wounds, anoint the limbs with oil,\nHigh on a bed of state extended laid,\nAnd decent cover\u2019d with a linen shade;\nLast o\u2019er the dead the milk-white veil they threw;\nThat done, their sorrows and their sighs renew.\n\nMeanwhile to Juno, in the realms above,\n(His wife and sister,) spoke almighty Jove.\n\u201cAt last thy will prevails: great Peleus\u2019 son\nRises in arms: such grace thy Greeks have won.\nSay (for I know not), is their race divine,\nAnd thou the mother of that martial line?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat words are these? (the imperial dame replies,\nWhile anger flash\u2019d from her majestic eyes)\nSuccour like this a mortal arm might lend,\nAnd such success mere human wit attend:\nAnd shall not I, the second power above,\nHeaven\u2019s queen, and consort of the thundering Jove,\nSay, shall not I one nation\u2019s fate command,\nNot wreak my vengeance on one guilty land?\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] TRIPOD\n\n\nSo they. Meanwhile the silver-footed dame\nReach\u2019d the Vulcanian dome, eternal frame!\nHigh-eminent amid the works divine,\nWhere heaven\u2019s far-beaming brazen mansions shine.\nThere the lame architect the goddess found,\nObscure in smoke, his forges flaming round,\nWhile bathed in sweat from fire to fire he flew;\nAnd puffing loud, the roaring billows blew.\nThat day no common task his labour claim\u2019d:\nFull twenty tripods for his hall he framed,\nThat placed on living wheels of massy gold,\n(Wondrous to tell,) instinct with spirit roll\u2019d\nFrom place to place, around the bless\u2019d abodes\nSelf-moved, obedient to the beck of gods:\nFor their fair handles now, o\u2019erwrought with flowers,\nIn moulds prepared, the glowing ore he pours.\nJust as responsive to his thought the frame\nStood prompt to move, the azure goddess came:\nCharis, his spouse, a grace divinely fair,\n(With purple fillets round her braided hair,)\nObserved her entering; her soft hand she press\u2019d,\nAnd, smiling, thus the watery queen address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cWhat, goddess! this unusual favour draws?\nAll hail, and welcome! whatsoe\u2019er the cause;\nTill now a stranger, in a happy hour\nApproach, and taste the dainties of the bower.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THETIS AND EURYNOME RECEIVING THE INFANT VULCAN\n\n\nHigh on a throne, with stars of silver graced,\nAnd various artifice, the queen she placed;\nA footstool at her feet: then calling, said,\n\u201cVulcan, draw near, \u2019tis Thetis asks your aid.\u201d\n\u201cThetis (replied the god) our powers may claim,\nAn ever-dear, an ever-honour\u2019d name!\nWhen my proud mother hurl\u2019d me from the sky,\n(My awkward form, it seems, displeased her eye,)\nShe, and Eurynome, my griefs redress\u2019d,\nAnd soft received me on their silver breast.\nEven then these arts employ\u2019d my infant thought:\nChains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys, I wrought.\nNine years kept secret in the dark abode,\nSecure I lay, conceal\u2019d from man and god:\nDeep in a cavern\u2019d rock my days were led;\nThe rushing ocean murmur\u2019d o\u2019er my head.\nNow, since her presence glads our mansion, say,\nFor such desert what service can I pay?\nVouchsafe, O Thetis! at our board to share\nThe genial rites, and hospitable fare;\nWhile I the labours of the forge forego,\nAnd bid the roaring bellows cease to blow.\u201d\n\nThen from his anvil the lame artist rose;\nWide with distorted legs oblique he goes,\nAnd stills the bellows, and (in order laid)\nLocks in their chests his instruments of trade.\nThen with a sponge the sooty workman dress\u2019d\nHis brawny arms embrown\u2019d, and hairy breast.\nWith his huge sceptre graced, and red attire,\nCame halting forth the sovereign of the fire:\nThe monarch\u2019s steps two female forms uphold,\nThat moved and breathed in animated gold;\nTo whom was voice, and sense, and science given\nOf works divine (such wonders are in heaven!)\nOn these supported, with unequal gait,\nHe reach\u2019d the throne where pensive Thetis sate;\nThere placed beside her on the shining frame,\nHe thus address\u2019d the silver-footed dame:\n\n\u201cThee, welcome, goddess! what occasion calls\n(So long a stranger) to these honour\u2019d walls?\n\u2019Tis thine, fair Thetis, the command to lay,\nAnd Vulcan\u2019s joy and duty to obey.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] VULCAN AND CHARIS RECEIVING THETIS\n\n\nTo whom the mournful mother thus replies:\n(The crystal drops stood trembling in her eyes:)\n\u201cO Vulcan! say, was ever breast divine\nSo pierced with sorrows, so o\u2019erwhelm\u2019d as mine?\nOf all the goddesses, did Jove prepare\nFor Thetis only such a weight of care?\nI, only I, of all the watery race\nBy force subjected to a man\u2019s embrace,\nWho, sinking now with age and sorrow, pays\nThe mighty fine imposed on length of days.\nSprung from my bed, a godlike hero came,\nThe bravest sure that ever bore the name;\nLike some fair plant beneath my careful hand\nHe grew, he flourish\u2019d, and adorn\u2019d the land!\nTo Troy I sent him! but his native shore\nNever, ah never, shall receive him more;\n(Even while he lives, he wastes with secret woe;)\nNor I, a goddess, can retard the blow!\nRobb\u2019d of the prize the Grecian suffrage gave,\nThe king of nations forced his royal slave:\nFor this he grieved; and, till the Greeks oppress\u2019d\nRequired his arm, he sorrow\u2019d unredress\u2019d.\nLarge gifts they promise, and their elders send;\nIn vain\u2014he arms not, but permits his friend\nHis arms, his steeds, his forces to employ:\nHe marches, combats, almost conquers Troy:\nThen slain by Ph\u0153bus (Hector had the name)\nAt once resigns his armour, life, and fame.\nBut thou, in pity, by my prayer be won:\nGrace with immortal arms this short-lived son,\nAnd to the field in martial pomp restore,\nTo shine with glory, till he shines no more!\u201d\n\nTo her the artist-god: \u201cThy griefs resign,\nSecure, what Vulcan can, is ever thine.\nO could I hide him from the Fates, as well,\nOr with these hands the cruel stroke repel,\nAs I shall forge most envied arms, the gaze\nOf wondering ages, and the world\u2019s amaze!\u201d\n\nThus having said, the father of the fires\nTo the black labours of his forge retires.\nSoon as he bade them blow, the bellows turn\u2019d\nTheir iron mouths; and where the furnace burn\u2019d,\nResounding breathed: at once the blast expires,\nAnd twenty forges catch at once the fires;\nJust as the god directs, now loud, now low,\nThey raise a tempest, or they gently blow;\nIn hissing flames huge silver bars are roll\u2019d,\nAnd stubborn brass, and tin, and solid gold;\nBefore, deep fix\u2019d, the eternal anvils stand;\nThe ponderous hammer loads his better hand,\nHis left with tongs turns the vex\u2019d metal round,\nAnd thick, strong strokes, the doubling vaults rebound.\n\nThen first he form\u2019d the immense and solid shield;\nRich various artifice emblazed the field;\nIts utmost verge a threefold circle bound;[253]\nA silver chain suspends the massy round;\nFive ample plates the broad expanse compose,\nAnd godlike labours on the surface rose.\nThere shone the image of the master-mind:\nThere earth, there heaven, there ocean he design\u2019d;\nThe unwearied sun, the moon completely round;\nThe starry lights that heaven\u2019s high convex crown\u2019d;\nThe Pleiads, Hyads, with the northern team;\nAnd great Orion\u2019s more refulgent beam;\nTo which, around the axle of the sky,\nThe Bear, revolving, points his golden eye,\nStill shines exalted on the ethereal plain,\nNor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.\n\nTwo cities radiant on the shield appear,\nThe image one of peace, and one of war.\nHere sacred pomp and genial feast delight,\nAnd solemn dance, and hymeneal rite;\nAlong the street the new-made brides are led,\nWith torches flaming, to the nuptial bed:\nThe youthful dancers in a circle bound\nTo the soft flute, and cithern\u2019s silver sound:\nThrough the fair streets the matrons in a row\nStand in their porches, and enjoy the show.\n\nThere in the forum swarm a numerous train;\nThe subject of debate, a townsman slain:\nOne pleads the fine discharged, which one denied,\nAnd bade the public and the laws decide:\nThe witness is produced on either hand:\nFor this, or that, the partial people stand:\nThe appointed heralds still the noisy bands,\nAnd form a ring, with sceptres in their hands:\nOn seats of stone, within the sacred place,[254]\nThe reverend elders nodded o\u2019er the case;\nAlternate, each the attesting sceptre took,\nAnd rising solemn, each his sentence spoke.\nTwo golden talents lay amidst, in sight,\nThe prize of him who best adjudged the right.\n\nAnother part (a prospect differing far)[255]\nGlow\u2019d with refulgent arms, and horrid war.\nTwo mighty hosts a leaguer\u2019d town embrace,\nAnd one would pillage, one would burn the place.\nMeantime the townsmen, arm\u2019d with silent care,\nA secret ambush on the foe prepare:\nTheir wives, their children, and the watchful band\nOf trembling parents, on the turrets stand.\nThey march; by Pallas and by Mars made bold:\nGold were the gods, their radiant garments gold,\nAnd gold their armour: these the squadron led,\nAugust, divine, superior by the head!\nA place for ambush fit they found, and stood,\nCover\u2019d with shields, beside a silver flood.\nTwo spies at distance lurk, and watchful seem\nIf sheep or oxen seek the winding stream.\nSoon the white flocks proceeded o\u2019er the plains,\nAnd steers slow-moving, and two shepherd swains;\nBehind them piping on their reeds they go,\nNor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe.\nIn arms the glittering squadron rising round\nRush sudden; hills of slaughter heap the ground;\nWhole flocks and herds lie bleeding on the plains,\nAnd, all amidst them, dead, the shepherd swains!\nThe bellowing oxen the besiegers hear;\nThey rise, take horse, approach, and meet the war,\nThey fight, they fall, beside the silver flood;\nThe waving silver seem\u2019d to blush with blood.\nThere Tumult, there Contention stood confess\u2019d;\nOne rear\u2019d a dagger at a captive\u2019s breast;\nOne held a living foe, that freshly bled\nWith new-made wounds; another dragg\u2019d a dead;\nNow here, now there, the carcases they tore:\nFate stalk\u2019d amidst them, grim with human gore.\nAnd the whole war came out, and met the eye;\nAnd each bold figure seem\u2019d to live or die.\n\nA field deep furrow\u2019d next the god design\u2019d,[256]\nThe third time labour\u2019d by the sweating hind;\nThe shining shares full many ploughmen guide,\nAnd turn their crooked yokes on every side.\nStill as at either end they wheel around,\nThe master meets them with his goblet crown\u2019d;\nThe hearty draught rewards, renews their toil,\nThen back the turning ploughshares cleave the soil:\nBehind, the rising earth in ridges roll\u2019d;\nAnd sable look\u2019d, though form\u2019d of molten gold.\n\nAnother field rose high with waving grain;\nWith bended sickles stand the reaper train:\nHere stretched in ranks the levell\u2019d swarths are found,\nSheaves heap\u2019d on sheaves here thicken up the ground.\nWith sweeping stroke the mowers strow the lands;\nThe gatherers follow, and collect in bands;\nAnd last the children, in whose arms are borne\n(Too short to gripe them) the brown sheaves of corn.\nThe rustic monarch of the field descries,\nWith silent glee, the heaps around him rise.\nA ready banquet on the turf is laid,\nBeneath an ample oak\u2019s expanded shade.\nThe victim ox the sturdy youth prepare;\nThe reaper\u2019s due repast, the woman\u2019s care.\n\nNext, ripe in yellow gold, a vineyard shines,\nBent with the ponderous harvest of its vines;\nA deeper dye the dangling clusters show,\nAnd curl\u2019d on silver props, in order glow:\nA darker metal mix\u2019d intrench\u2019d the place;\nAnd pales of glittering tin the inclosure grace.\nTo this, one pathway gently winding leads,\nWhere march a train with baskets on their heads,\n(Fair maids and blooming youths,) that smiling bear\nThe purple product of the autumnal year.\nTo these a youth awakes the warbling strings,\nWhose tender lay the fate of Linus sings;\nIn measured dance behind him move the train,\nTune soft the voice, and answer to the strain.\n\nHere herds of oxen march, erect and bold,\nRear high their horns, and seem to low in gold,\nAnd speed to meadows on whose sounding shores\nA rapid torrent through the rushes roars:\nFour golden herdsmen as their guardians stand,\nAnd nine sour dogs complete the rustic band.\nTwo lions rushing from the wood appear\u2019d;\nAnd seized a bull, the master of the herd:\nHe roar\u2019d: in vain the dogs, the men withstood;\nThey tore his flesh, and drank his sable blood.\nThe dogs (oft cheer\u2019d in vain) desert the prey,\nDread the grim terrors, and at distance bay.\n\nNext this, the eye the art of Vulcan leads\nDeep through fair forests, and a length of meads,\nAnd stalls, and folds, and scatter\u2019d cots between;\nAnd fleecy flocks, that whiten all the scene.\n\nA figured dance succeeds; such once was seen\nIn lofty Gnossus for the Cretan queen,\nForm\u2019d by Daedalean art; a comely band\nOf youths and maidens, bounding hand in hand.\nThe maids in soft simars of linen dress\u2019d;\nThe youths all graceful in the glossy vest:\nOf those the locks with flowery wreath inroll\u2019d;\nOf these the sides adorn\u2019d with swords of gold,\nThat glittering gay, from silver belts depend.\nNow all at once they rise, at once descend,\nWith well-taught feet: now shape in oblique ways,\nConfusedly regular, the moving maze:\nNow forth at once, too swift for sight, they spring,\nAnd undistinguish\u2019d blend the flying ring:\nSo whirls a wheel, in giddy circle toss\u2019d,\nAnd, rapid as it runs, the single spokes are lost.\nThe gazing multitudes admire around:\nTwo active tumblers in the centre bound;\nNow high, now low, their pliant limbs they bend:\nAnd general songs the sprightly revel end.\n\nThus the broad shield complete the artist crown\u2019d\nWith his last hand, and pour\u2019d the ocean round:\nIn living silver seem\u2019d the waves to roll,\nAnd beat the buckler\u2019s verge, and bound the whole.\n\nThis done, whate\u2019er a warrior\u2019s use requires\nHe forged; the cuirass that outshone the fires,\nThe greaves of ductile tin, the helm impress\u2019d\nWith various sculpture, and the golden crest.\nAt Thetis\u2019 feet the finished labour lay:\nShe, as a falcon cuts the aerial way,\nSwift from Olympus\u2019 snowy summit flies,\nAnd bears the blazing present through the skies.[257]\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XIX.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE RECONCILIATION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.\n\n\nThetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She preserves the\nbody of his friend from corruption, and commands him to assemble the\narmy, to declare his resentment at an end. Agamemnon and Achilles are\nsolemnly reconciled: the speeches, presents, and ceremonies on that\noccasion. Achilles is with great difficulty persuaded to refrain from\nthe battle till the troops have refreshed themselves by the advice of\nUlysses. The presents are conveyed to the tent of Achilles, where\nBrise\u00efs laments over the body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately\nrefuses all repast, and gives himself up to lamentations for his\nfriend. Minerva descends to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He\narms for the fight: his appearance described. He addresses himself to\nhis horses, and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of\nthem is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his\nfate: but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with fury to\nthe combat.\n    The thirtieth day. The scene is on the sea-shore.\n\n\nSoon as Aurora heaved her Orient head\nAbove the waves, that blush\u2019d with early red,\n(With new-born day to gladden mortal sight,\nAnd gild the courts of heaven with sacred light,)\nThe immortal arms the goddess-mother bears\nSwift to her son: her son she finds in tears\nStretch\u2019d o\u2019er Patroclus\u2019 corse; while all the rest\nTheir sovereign\u2019s sorrows in their own express\u2019d.\nA ray divine her heavenly presence shed,\nAnd thus, his hand soft touching, Thetis said:\n\n\u201cSuppress, my son, this rage of grief, and know\nIt was not man, but heaven, that gave the blow;\nBehold what arms by Vulcan are bestow\u2019d,\nArms worthy thee, or fit to grace a god.\u201d\n\nThen drops the radiant burden on the ground;\nClang the strong arms, and ring the shores around;\nBack shrink the Myrmidons with dread surprise,\nAnd from the broad effulgence turn their eyes.\nUnmoved the hero kindles at the show,\nAnd feels with rage divine his bosom glow;\nFrom his fierce eyeballs living flames expire,\nAnd flash incessant like a stream of fire:\nHe turns the radiant gift: and feeds his mind\nOn all the immortal artist had design\u2019d.\n\n\u201cGoddess! (he cried,) these glorious arms, that shine\nWith matchless art, confess the hand divine.\nNow to the bloody battle let me bend:\nBut ah! the relics of my slaughter\u2019d friend!\nIn those wide wounds through which his spirit fled,\nShall flies, and worms obscene, pollute the dead?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat unavailing care be laid aside,\n(The azure goddess to her son replied,)\nWhole years untouch\u2019d, uninjured shall remain,\nFresh as in life, the carcase of the slain.\nBut go, Achilles, as affairs require,\nBefore the Grecian peers renounce thine ire:\nThen uncontroll\u2019d in boundless war engage,\nAnd heaven with strength supply the mighty rage!\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THETIS BRINGING THE ARMOUR TO ACHILLES\n\n\nThen in the nostrils of the slain she pour\u2019d\nNectareous drops, and rich ambrosia shower\u2019d\nO\u2019er all the corse. The flies forbid their prey,\nUntouch\u2019d it rests, and sacred from decay.\nAchilles to the strand obedient went:\nThe shores resounded with the voice he sent.\nThe heroes heard, and all the naval train\nThat tend the ships, or guide them o\u2019er the main,\nAlarm\u2019d, transported, at the well-known sound,\nFrequent and full, the great assembly crown\u2019d;\nStudious to see the terror of the plain,\nLong lost to battle, shine in arms again.\nTydides and Ulysses first appear,\nLame with their wounds, and leaning on the spear;\nThese on the sacred seats of council placed,\nThe king of men, Atrides, came the last:\nHe too sore wounded by Agenor\u2019s son.\nAchilles (rising in the midst) begun:\n\n\u201cO monarch! better far had been the fate\nOf thee, of me, of all the Grecian state,\nIf (ere the day when by mad passion sway\u2019d,\nRash we contended for the black-eyed maid)\nPreventing Dian had despatch\u2019d her dart,\nAnd shot the shining mischief to the heart!\nThen many a hero had not press\u2019d the shore,\nNor Troy\u2019s glad fields been fatten\u2019d with our gore.\nLong, long shall Greece the woes we caused bewail,\nAnd sad posterity repeat the tale.\nBut this, no more the subject of debate,\nIs past, forgotten, and resign\u2019d to fate.\nWhy should, alas, a mortal man, as I,\nBurn with a fury that can never die?\nHere then my anger ends: let war succeed,\nAnd even as Greece has bled, let Ilion bleed.\nNow call the hosts, and try if in our sight\nTroy yet shall dare to camp a second night!\nI deem, their mightiest, when this arm he knows,\nShall \u2019scape with transport, and with joy repose.\u201d\n\nHe said: his finish\u2019d wrath with loud acclaim\nThe Greeks accept, and shout Pelides\u2019 name.\nWhen thus, not rising from his lofty throne,\nIn state unmoved, the king of men begun:\n\n\u201cHear me, ye sons of Greece! with silence hear!\nAnd grant your monarch an impartial ear:\nAwhile your loud, untimely joy suspend,\nAnd let your rash, injurious clamours end:\nUnruly murmurs, or ill-timed applause,\nWrong the best speaker, and the justest cause.\nNor charge on me, ye Greeks, the dire debate:\nKnow, angry Jove, and all-compelling Fate,\nWith fell Erinnys, urged my wrath that day\nWhen from Achilles\u2019 arms I forced the prey.\nWhat then could I against the will of heaven?\nNot by myself, but vengeful Ate driven;\nShe, Jove\u2019s dread daughter, fated to infest\nThe race of mortals, enter\u2019d in my breast.\nNot on the ground that haughty fury treads,\nBut prints her lofty footsteps on the heads\nOf mighty men; inflicting as she goes\nLong-festering wounds, inextricable woes!\nOf old, she stalk\u2019d amid the bright abodes;\nAnd Jove himself, the sire of men and gods,\nThe world\u2019s great ruler, felt her venom\u2019d dart;\nDeceived by Juno\u2019s wiles, and female art:\nFor when Alcmena\u2019s nine long months were run,\nAnd Jove expected his immortal son,\nTo gods and goddesses the unruly joy\nHe show\u2019d, and vaunted of his matchless boy:\n\u2018From us, (he said) this day an infant springs,\nFated to rule, and born a king of kings.\u2019\nSaturnia ask\u2019d an oath, to vouch the truth,\nAnd fix dominion on the favour\u2019d youth.\nThe Thunderer, unsuspicious of the fraud,\nPronounced those solemn words that bind a god.\nThe joyful goddess, from Olympus\u2019 height,\nSwift to Achaian Argos bent her flight:\nScarce seven moons gone, lay Sthenelus\u2019s wife;\nShe push\u2019d her lingering infant into life:\nHer charms Alcmena\u2019s coming labours stay,\nAnd stop the babe, just issuing to the day.\nThen bids Saturnius bear his oath in mind;\n\u2018A youth (said she) of Jove\u2019s immortal kind\nIs this day born: from Sthenelus he springs,\nAnd claims thy promise to be king of kings.\u2019\nGrief seized the Thunderer, by his oath engaged;\nStung to the soul, he sorrow\u2019d, and he raged.\nFrom his ambrosial head, where perch\u2019d she sate,\nHe snatch\u2019d the fury-goddess of debate,\nThe dread, the irrevocable oath he swore,\nThe immortal seats should ne\u2019er behold her more;\nAnd whirl\u2019d her headlong down, for ever driven\nFrom bright Olympus and the starry heaven:\nThence on the nether world the fury fell;\nOrdain\u2019d with man\u2019s contentious race to dwell.\nFull oft the god his son\u2019s hard toils bemoan\u2019d,\nCursed the dire fury, and in secret groan\u2019d.[258]\nEven thus, like Jove himself, was I misled,\nWhile raging Hector heap\u2019d our camps with dead.\nWhat can the errors of my rage atone?\nMy martial troops, my treasures are thy own:\nThis instant from the navy shall be sent\nWhate\u2019er Ulysses promised at thy tent:\nBut thou! appeased, propitious to our prayer,\nResume thy arms, and shine again in war.\u201d\n\n\u201cO king of nations! whose superior sway\n(Returns Achilles) all our hosts obey!\nTo keep or send the presents, be thy care;\nTo us, \u2019tis equal: all we ask is war.\nWhile yet we talk, or but an instant shun\nThe fight, our glorious work remains undone.\nLet every Greek, who sees my spear confound\nThe Trojan ranks, and deal destruction round,\nWith emulation, what I act survey,\nAnd learn from thence the business of the day.\u201d\n\nThe son of Peleus thus; and thus replies\nThe great in councils, Ithacus the wise:\n\u201cThough, godlike, thou art by no toils oppress\u2019d,\nAt least our armies claim repast and rest:\nLong and laborious must the combat be,\nWhen by the gods inspired, and led by thee.\nStrength is derived from spirits and from blood,\nAnd those augment by generous wine and food:\nWhat boastful son of war, without that stay,\nCan last a hero through a single day?\nCourage may prompt; but, ebbing out his strength,\nMere unsupported man must yield at length;\nShrunk with dry famine, and with toils declined,\nThe drooping body will desert the mind:\nBut built anew with strength-conferring fare,\nWith limbs and soul untamed, he tires a war.\nDismiss the people, then, and give command,\nWith strong repast to hearten every band;\nBut let the presents to Achilles made,\nIn full assembly of all Greece be laid.\nThe king of men shall rise in public sight,\nAnd solemn swear (observant of the rite)\nThat, spotless, as she came, the maid removes,\nPure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves.\nThat done, a sumptuous banquet shall be made,\nAnd the full price of injured honour paid.\nStretch not henceforth, O prince! thy sovereign might\nBeyond the bounds of reason and of right;\n\u2019Tis the chief praise that e\u2019er to kings belong\u2019d,\nTo right with justice whom with power they wrong\u2019d.\u201d\n\nTo him the monarch: \u201cJust is thy decree,\nThy words give joy, and wisdom breathes in thee.\nEach due atonement gladly I prepare;\nAnd heaven regard me as I justly swear!\nHere then awhile let Greece assembled stay,\nNor great Achilles grudge this short delay.\nTill from the fleet our presents be convey\u2019d,\nAnd Jove attesting, the firm compact made.\nA train of noble youths the charge shall bear;\nThese to select, Ulysses, be thy care:\nIn order rank\u2019d let all our gifts appear,\nAnd the fair train of captives close the rear:\nTalthybius shall the victim boar convey,\nSacred to Jove, and yon bright orb of day.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor this (the stern \u00c6acides replies)\nSome less important season may suffice,\nWhen the stern fury of the war is o\u2019er,\nAnd wrath, extinguish\u2019d, burns my breast no more.\nBy Hector slain, their faces to the sky,\nAll grim with gaping wounds, our heroes lie:\nThose call to war! and might my voice incite,\nNow, now, this instant, shall commence the fight:\nThen, when the day\u2019s complete, let generous bowls,\nAnd copious banquets, glad your weary souls.\nLet not my palate know the taste of food,\nTill my insatiate rage be cloy\u2019d with blood:\nPale lies my friend, with wounds disfigured o\u2019er,\nAnd his cold feet are pointed to the door.\nRevenge is all my soul! no meaner care,\nInterest, or thought, has room to harbour there;\nDestruction be my feast, and mortal wounds,\nAnd scenes of blood, and agonizing sounds.\u201d\n\n\u201cO first of Greeks, (Ulysses thus rejoin\u2019d,)\nThe best and bravest of the warrior kind!\nThy praise it is in dreadful camps to shine,\nBut old experience and calm wisdom mine.\nThen hear my counsel, and to reason yield,\nThe bravest soon are satiate of the field;\nThough vast the heaps that strow the crimson plain,\nThe bloody harvest brings but little gain:\nThe scale of conquest ever wavering lies,\nGreat Jove but turns it, and the victor dies!\nThe great, the bold, by thousands daily fall,\nAnd endless were the grief, to weep for all.\nEternal sorrows what avails to shed?\nGreece honours not with solemn fasts the dead:\nEnough, when death demands the brave, to pay\nThe tribute of a melancholy day.\nOne chief with patience to the grave resign\u2019d,\nOur care devolves on others left behind.\nLet generous food supplies of strength produce,\nLet rising spirits flow from sprightly juice,\nLet their warm heads with scenes of battle glow,\nAnd pour new furies on the feebler foe.\nYet a short interval, and none shall dare\nExpect a second summons to the war;\nWho waits for that, the dire effects shall find,\nIf trembling in the ships he lags behind.\nEmbodied, to the battle let us bend,\nAnd all at once on haughty Troy descend.\u201d\n\nAnd now the delegates Ulysses sent,\nTo bear the presents from the royal tent:\nThe sons of Nestor, Phyleus\u2019 valiant heir,\nThias and Merion, thunderbolts of war,\nWith Lycomedes of Creiontian strain,\nAnd Melanippus, form\u2019d the chosen train.\nSwift as the word was given, the youths obey\u2019d:\nTwice ten bright vases in the midst they laid;\nA row of six fair tripods then succeeds;\nAnd twice the number of high-bounding steeds:\nSeven captives next a lovely line compose;\nThe eighth Brise\u00efs, like the blooming rose,\nClosed the bright band: great Ithacus, before,\nFirst of the train, the golden talents bore:\nThe rest in public view the chiefs dispose,\nA splendid scene! then Agamemnon rose:\nThe boar Talthybius held: the Grecian lord\nDrew the broad cutlass sheath\u2019d beside his sword:\nThe stubborn bristles from the victim\u2019s brow\nHe crops, and offering meditates his vow.\nHis hands uplifted to the attesting skies,\nOn heaven\u2019s broad marble roof were fixed his eyes.\nThe solemn words a deep attention draw,\nAnd Greece around sat thrill\u2019d with sacred awe.\n\n\u201cWitness thou first! thou greatest power above,\nAll-good, all-wise, and all-surveying Jove!\nAnd mother-earth, and heaven\u2019s revolving light,\nAnd ye, fell furies of the realms of night,\nWho rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare\nFor perjured kings, and all who falsely swear!\nThe black-eyed maid inviolate removes,\nPure and unconscious of my manly loves.\nIf this be false, heaven all its vengeance shed,\nAnd levell\u2019d thunder strike my guilty head!\u201d\n\nWith that, his weapon deep inflicts the wound;\nThe bleeding savage tumbles to the ground;\nThe sacred herald rolls the victim slain\n(A feast for fish) into the foaming main.\n\nThen thus Achilles: \u201cHear, ye Greeks! and know\nWhate\u2019er we feel, \u2019tis Jove inflicts the woe;\nNot else Atrides could our rage inflame,\nNor from my arms, unwilling, force the dame.\n\u2019Twas Jove\u2019s high will alone, o\u2019erruling all,\nThat doom\u2019d our strife, and doom\u2019d the Greeks to fall.\nGo then, ye chiefs! indulge the genial rite;\nAchilles waits ye, and expects the fight.\u201d\n\nThe speedy council at his word adjourn\u2019d:\nTo their black vessels all the Greeks return\u2019d.\nAchilles sought his tent. His train before\nMarch\u2019d onward, bending with the gifts they bore.\nThose in the tents the squires industrious spread:\nThe foaming coursers to the stalls they led;\nTo their new seats the female captives move.\nBrise\u00efs, radiant as the queen of love,\nSlow as she pass\u2019d, beheld with sad survey\nWhere, gash\u2019d with cruel wounds, Patroclus lay.\nProne on the body fell the heavenly fair,\nBeat her sad breast, and tore her golden hair;\nAll beautiful in grief, her humid eyes\nShining with tears she lifts, and thus she cries:\n\n\u201cAh, youth for ever dear, for ever kind,\nOnce tender friend of my distracted mind!\nI left thee fresh in life, in beauty gay;\nNow find thee cold, inanimated clay!\nWhat woes my wretched race of life attend!\nSorrows on sorrows, never doom\u2019d to end!\nThe first loved consort of my virgin bed\nBefore these eyes in fatal battle bled:\nMy three brave brothers in one mournful day\nAll trod the dark, irremeable way:\nThy friendly hand uprear\u2019d me from the plain,\nAnd dried my sorrows for a husband slain;\nAchilles\u2019 care you promised I should prove,\nThe first, the dearest partner of his love;\nThat rites divine should ratify the band,\nAnd make me empress in his native land.\nAccept these grateful tears! for thee they flow,\nFor thee, that ever felt another\u2019s woe!\u201d\n\nHer sister captives echoed groan for groan,\nNor mourn\u2019d Patroclus\u2019 fortunes, but their own.\nThe leaders press\u2019d the chief on every side;\nUnmoved he heard them, and with sighs denied.\n\n\u201cIf yet Achilles have a friend, whose care\nIs bent to please him, this request forbear;\nTill yonder sun descend, ah, let me pay\nTo grief and anguish one abstemious day.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and from the warriors turn\u2019d his face:\nYet still the brother-kings of Atreus\u2019 race.\nNestor, Idomeneus, Ulysses sage,\nAnd Ph\u0153nix, strive to calm his grief and rage:\nHis rage they calm not, nor his grief control;\nHe groans, he raves, he sorrows from his soul.\n\n\u201cThou too, Patroclus! (thus his heart he vents)\nOnce spread the inviting banquet in our tents:\nThy sweet society, thy winning care,\nOnce stay\u2019d Achilles, rushing to the war.\nBut now, alas! to death\u2019s cold arms resign\u2019d,\nWhat banquet but revenge can glad my mind?\nWhat greater sorrow could afflict my breast,\nWhat more if hoary Peleus were deceased?\nWho now, perhaps, in Phthia dreads to hear\nHis son\u2019s sad fate, and drops a tender tear.\nWhat more, should Neoptolemus the brave,\nMy only offspring, sink into the grave?\nIf yet that offspring lives; (I distant far,\nOf all neglectful, wage a hateful war.)\nI could not this, this cruel stroke attend;\nFate claim\u2019d Achilles, but might spare his friend.\nI hoped Patroclus might survive, to rear\nMy tender orphan with a parent\u2019s care,\nFrom Scyros\u2019 isle conduct him o\u2019er the main,\nAnd glad his eyes with his paternal reign,\nThe lofty palace, and the large domain.\nFor Peleus breathes no more the vital air;\nOr drags a wretched life of age and care,\nBut till the news of my sad fate invades\nHis hastening soul, and sinks him to the shades.\u201d\n\nSighing he said: his grief the heroes join\u2019d,\nEach stole a tear for what he left behind.\nTheir mingled grief the sire of heaven survey\u2019d,\nAnd thus with pity to his blue-eyed maid:\n\n\u201cIs then Achilles now no more thy care,\nAnd dost thou thus desert the great in war?\nLo, where yon sails their canvas wings extend,\nAll comfortless he sits, and wails his friend:\nEre thirst and want his forces have oppress\u2019d,\nHaste and infuse ambrosia in his breast.\u201d\n\nHe spoke; and sudden, at the word of Jove,\nShot the descending goddess from above.\nSo swift through ether the shrill harpy springs,\nThe wide air floating to her ample wings,\nTo great Achilles she her flight address\u2019d,\nAnd pour\u2019d divine ambrosia in his breast,[259]\nWith nectar sweet, (refection of the gods!)\nThen, swift ascending, sought the bright abodes.\n\nNow issued from the ships the warrior-train,\nAnd like a deluge pour\u2019d upon the plain.\nAs when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow,\nAnd scatter o\u2019er the fields the driving snow;\nFrom dusky clouds the fleecy winter flies,\nWhose dazzling lustre whitens all the skies:\nSo helms succeeding helms, so shields from shields,\nCatch the quick beams, and brighten all the fields;\nBroad glittering breastplates, spears with pointed rays,\nMix in one stream, reflecting blaze on blaze;\nThick beats the centre as the coursers bound;\nWith splendour flame the skies, and laugh the fields around,\n\nFull in the midst, high-towering o\u2019er the rest,\nHis limbs in arms divine Achilles dress\u2019d;\nArms which the father of the fire bestow\u2019d,\nForged on the eternal anvils of the god.\nGrief and revenge his furious heart inspire,\nHis glowing eyeballs roll with living fire;\nHe grinds his teeth, and furious with delay\nO\u2019erlooks the embattled host, and hopes the bloody day.\n\nThe silver cuishes first his thighs infold;\nThen o\u2019er his breast was braced the hollow gold;\nThe brazen sword a various baldric tied,\nThat, starr\u2019d with gems, hung glittering at his side;\nAnd, like the moon, the broad refulgent shield\nBlazed with long rays, and gleam\u2019d athwart the field.\n\nSo to night-wandering sailors, pale with fears,\nWide o\u2019er the watery waste, a light appears,\nWhich on the far-seen mountain blazing high,\nStreams from some lonely watch-tower to the sky:\nWith mournful eyes they gaze, and gaze again;\nLoud howls the storm, and drives them o\u2019er the main.\n\nNext, his high head the helmet graced; behind\nThe sweepy crest hung floating in the wind:\nLike the red star, that from his flaming hair\nShakes down diseases, pestilence, and war;\nSo stream\u2019d the golden honours from his head,\nTrembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories shed.\nThe chief beholds himself with wondering eyes;\nHis arms he poises, and his motions tries;\nBuoy\u2019d by some inward force, he seems to swim,\nAnd feels a pinion lifting every limb.\n\nAnd now he shakes his great paternal spear,\nPonderous and huge, which not a Greek could rear,\nFrom Pelion\u2019s cloudy top an ash entire\nOld Chiron fell\u2019d, and shaped it for his sire;\nA spear which stern Achilles only wields,\nThe death of heroes, and the dread of fields.\n\nAutomedon and Alcimus prepare\nThe immortal coursers, and the radiant car;\n(The silver traces sweeping at their side;)\nTheir fiery mouths resplendent bridles tied;\nThe ivory-studded reins, return\u2019d behind,\nWaved o\u2019er their backs, and to the chariot join\u2019d.\nThe charioteer then whirl\u2019d the lash around,\nAnd swift ascended at one active bound.\nAll bright in heavenly arms, above his squire\nAchilles mounts, and sets the field on fire;\nNot brighter Ph\u0153bus in the ethereal way\nFlames from his chariot, and restores the day.\nHigh o\u2019er the host, all terrible he stands,\nAnd thunders to his steeds these dread commands:\n\n\u201cXanthus and Balius! of Podarges\u2019 strain,\n(Unless ye boast that heavenly race in vain,)\nBe swift, be mindful of the load ye bear,\nAnd learn to make your master more your care:\nThrough falling squadrons bear my slaughtering sword,\nNor, as ye left Patroclus, leave your lord.\u201d\n\nThe generous Xanthus, as the words he said,\nSeem\u2019d sensible of woe, and droop\u2019d his head:\nTrembling he stood before the golden wain,\nAnd bow\u2019d to dust the honours of his mane.\nWhen, strange to tell! (so Juno will\u2019d) he broke\nEternal silence, and portentous spoke.\n\u201cAchilles! yes! this day at least we bear\nThy rage in safety through the files of war:\nBut come it will, the fatal time must come,\nNot ours the fault, but God decrees thy doom.\nNot through our crime, or slowness in the course,\nFell thy Patroclus, but by heavenly force;\nThe bright far-shooting god who gilds the day\n(Confess\u2019d we saw him) tore his arms away.\nNo\u2014could our swiftness o\u2019er the winds prevail,\nOr beat the pinions of the western gale,\nAll were in vain\u2014the Fates thy death demand,\nDue to a mortal and immortal hand.\u201d\n\nThen ceased for ever, by the Furies tied,\nHis fateful voice. The intrepid chief replied\nWith unabated rage\u2014\u201cSo let it be!\nPortents and prodigies are lost on me.\nI know my fate: to die, to see no more\nMy much-loved parents, and my native shore\u2014\nEnough\u2014when heaven ordains, I sink in night:\nNow perish Troy!\u201d He said, and rush\u2019d to fight.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] HERCULES\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XX.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE BATTLE OF THE GODS, AND THE ACTS OF ACHILLES.\n\n\nJupiter, upon Achilles\u2019 return to the battle, calls a council of the\ngods, and permits them to assist either party. The terrors of the\ncombat described, when the deities are engaged. Apollo encourages \u00c6neas\nto meet Achilles. After a long conversation, these two heroes\nencounter; but \u00c6neas is preserved by the assistance of Neptune.\nAchilles falls upon the rest of the Trojans, and is upon the point of\nkilling Hector, but Apollo conveys him away in a cloud. Achilles\npursues the Trojans with a great slaughter.\n    The same day continues. The scene is in the field before Troy.\n\n\nThus round Pelides breathing war and blood\nGreece, sheathed in arms, beside her vessels stood;\nWhile near impending from a neighbouring height,\nTroy\u2019s black battalions wait the shock of fight.\nThen Jove to Themis gives command, to call\nThe gods to council in the starry hall:\nSwift o\u2019er Olympus\u2019 hundred hills she flies,\nAnd summons all the senate of the skies.\nThese shining on, in long procession come\nTo Jove\u2019s eternal adamantine dome.\nNot one was absent, not a rural power\nThat haunts the verdant gloom, or rosy bower;\nEach fair-hair\u2019d dryad of the shady wood,\nEach azure sister of the silver flood;\nAll but old Ocean, hoary sire! who keeps\nHis ancient seat beneath the sacred deeps.\nOn marble thrones, with lucid columns crown\u2019d,\n(The work of Vulcan,) sat the powers around.\nEven he whose trident sways the watery reign\nHeard the loud summons, and forsook the main,\nAssumed his throne amid the bright abodes,\nAnd question\u2019d thus the sire of men and gods:\n\n\u201cWhat moves the god who heaven and earth commands,\nAnd grasps the thunder in his awful hands,\nThus to convene the whole ethereal state?\nIs Greece and Troy the subject in debate?\nAlready met, the louring hosts appear,\nAnd death stands ardent on the edge of war.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis true (the cloud-compelling power replies)\nThis day we call the council of the skies\nIn care of human race; even Jove\u2019s own eye\nSees with regret unhappy mortals die.\nFar on Olympus\u2019 top in secret state\nOurself will sit, and see the hand of fate\nWork out our will. Celestial powers! descend,\nAnd as your minds direct, your succour lend\nTo either host. Troy soon must lie o\u2019erthrown,\nIf uncontroll\u2019d Achilles fights alone:\nTheir troops but lately durst not meet his eyes;\nWhat can they now, if in his rage he rise?\nAssist them, gods! or Ilion\u2019s sacred wall\nMay fall this day, though fate forbids the fall.\u201d\nHe said, and fired their heavenly breasts with rage.\n\nOn adverse parts the warring gods engage:\nHeaven\u2019s awful queen; and he whose azure round\nGirds the vast globe; the maid in arms renown\u2019d;\nHermes, of profitable arts the sire;\nAnd Vulcan, the black sovereign of the fire:\nThese to the fleet repair with instant flight;\nThe vessels tremble as the gods alight.\nIn aid of Troy, Latona, Ph\u0153bus came,\nMars fiery-helm\u2019d, the laughter-loving dame,\nXanthus, whose streams in golden currents flow,\nAnd the chaste huntress of the silver bow.\nEre yet the gods their various aid employ,\nEach Argive bosom swell\u2019d with manly joy,\nWhile great Achilles (terror of the plain),\nLong lost to battle, shone in arms again.\nDreadful he stood in front of all his host;\nPale Troy beheld, and seem\u2019d already lost;\nHer bravest heroes pant with inward fear,\nAnd trembling see another god of war.\n\nBut when the powers descending swell\u2019d the fight,\nThen tumult rose: fierce rage and pale affright\nVaried each face: then Discord sounds alarms,\nEarth echoes, and the nations rush to arms.\nNow through the trembling shores Minerva calls,\nAnd now she thunders from the Grecian walls.\nMars hovering o\u2019er his Troy, his terror shrouds\nIn gloomy tempests, and a night of clouds:\nNow through each Trojan heart he fury pours\nWith voice divine, from Ilion\u2019s topmost towers:\nNow shouts to Simois, from her beauteous hill;\nThe mountain shook, the rapid stream stood still.\n\nAbove, the sire of gods his thunder rolls,\nAnd peals on peals redoubled rend the poles.\nBeneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid ground;\nThe forests wave, the mountains nod around;\nThrough all their summits tremble Ida\u2019s woods,\nAnd from their sources boil her hundred floods.\nTroy\u2019s turrets totter on the rocking plain,\nAnd the toss\u2019d navies beat the heaving main.\nDeep in the dismal regions of the dead,[260]\nThe infernal monarch rear\u2019d his horrid head,\nLeap\u2019d from his throne, lest Neptune\u2019s arm should lay\nHis dark dominions open to the day,\nAnd pour in light on Pluto\u2019s drear abodes,\nAbhorr\u2019d by men, and dreadful even to gods.[261]\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE GODS DESCENDING TO BATTLE\n\n\nSuch war the immortals wage; such horrors rend\nThe world\u2019s vast concave, when the gods contend.\nFirst silver-shafted Ph\u0153bus took the plain\nAgainst blue Neptune, monarch of the main.\nThe god of arms his giant bulk display\u2019d,\nOpposed to Pallas, war\u2019s triumphant maid.\nAgainst Latona march\u2019d the son of May.\nThe quiver\u2019d Dian, sister of the day,\n(Her golden arrows sounding at her side,)\nSaturnia, majesty of heaven, defied.\nWith fiery Vulcan last in battle stands\nThe sacred flood that rolls on golden sands;\nXanthus his name with those of heavenly birth,\nBut called Scamander by the sons of earth.\n\nWhile thus the gods in various league engage,\nAchilles glow\u2019d with more than mortal rage:\nHector he sought; in search of Hector turn\u2019d\nHis eyes around, for Hector only burn\u2019d;\nAnd burst like lightning through the ranks, and vow\u2019d\nTo glut the god of battles with his blood.\n\n\u00c6neas was the first who dared to stay;\nApollo wedged him in the warrior\u2019s way,\nBut swell\u2019d his bosom with undaunted might,\nHalf-forced and half-persuaded to the fight.\nLike young Lycaon, of the royal line,\nIn voice and aspect, seem\u2019d the power divine;\nAnd bade the chief reflect, how late with scorn\nIn distant threats he braved the goddess-born.\n\nThen thus the hero of Anchises\u2019 strain:\n\u201cTo meet Pelides you persuade in vain:\nAlready have I met, nor void of fear\nObserved the fury of his flying spear;\nFrom Ida\u2019s woods he chased us to the field,\nOur force he scattered, and our herds he kill\u2019d;\nLyrnessus, Pedasus in ashes lay;\nBut (Jove assisting) I survived the day:\nElse had I sunk oppress\u2019d in fatal fight\nBy fierce Achilles and Minerva\u2019s might.\nWhere\u2019er he moved, the goddess shone before,\nAnd bathed his brazen lance in hostile gore.\nWhat mortal man Achilles can sustain?\nThe immortals guard him through the dreadful plain,\nAnd suffer not his dart to fall in vain.\nWere God my aid, this arm should check his power,\nThough strong in battle as a brazen tower.\u201d\n\nTo whom the son of Jove: \u201cThat god implore,\nAnd be what great Achilles was before.\nFrom heavenly Venus thou deriv\u2019st thy strain,\nAnd he but from a sister of the main;\nAn aged sea-god father of his line;\nBut Jove himself the sacred source of thine.\nThen lift thy weapon for a noble blow,\nNor fear the vaunting of a mortal foe.\u201d\n\nThis said, and spirit breathed into his breast,\nThrough the thick troops the embolden\u2019d hero press\u2019d:\nHis venturous act the white-arm\u2019d queen survey\u2019d,\nAnd thus, assembling all the powers, she said:\n\n\u201cBehold an action, gods! that claims your care,\nLo great \u00c6neas rushing to the war!\nAgainst Pelides he directs his course,\nPh\u0153bus impels, and Ph\u0153bus gives him force.\nRestrain his bold career; at least, to attend\nOur favour\u2019d hero, let some power descend.\nTo guard his life, and add to his renown,\nWe, the great armament of heaven, came down.\nHereafter let him fall, as Fates design,\nThat spun so short his life\u2019s illustrious line:[262]\nBut lest some adverse god now cross his way,\nGive him to know what powers assist this day:\nFor how shall mortal stand the dire alarms,\nWhen heaven\u2019s refulgent host appear in arms?\u201d[263]\n\nThus she; and thus the god whose force can make\nThe solid globe\u2019s eternal basis shake:\n\u201cAgainst the might of man, so feeble known,\nWhy should celestial powers exert their own?\nSuffice from yonder mount to view the scene,\nAnd leave to war the fates of mortal men.\nBut if the armipotent, or god of light,\nObstruct Achilles, or commence the fight,\nThence on the gods of Troy we swift descend:\nFull soon, I doubt not, shall the conflict end;\nAnd these, in ruin and confusion hurl\u2019d,\nYield to our conquering arms the lower world.\u201d\n\nThus having said, the tyrant of the sea,\nCoerulean Neptune, rose, and led the way.\nAdvanced upon the field there stood a mound\nOf earth congested, wall\u2019d, and trench\u2019d around;\nIn elder times to guard Alcides made,\n(The work of Trojans, with Minerva\u2019s aid,)\nWhat time a vengeful monster of the main\nSwept the wide shore, and drove him to the plain.\n\nHere Neptune and the gods of Greece repair,\nWith clouds encompass\u2019d, and a veil of air:\nThe adverse powers, around Apollo laid,\nCrown the fair hills that silver Simois shade.\nIn circle close each heavenly party sat,\nIntent to form the future scheme of fate;\nBut mix not yet in fight, though Jove on high\nGives the loud signal, and the heavens reply.\n\nMeanwhile the rushing armies hide the ground;\nThe trampled centre yields a hollow sound:\nSteeds cased in mail, and chiefs in armour bright,\nThe gleaming champaign glows with brazen light.\nAmid both hosts (a dreadful space) appear,\nThere great Achilles; bold \u00c6neas, here.\nWith towering strides \u00c6neas first advanced;\nThe nodding plumage on his helmet danced:\nSpread o\u2019er his breast the fencing shield he bore,\nAnd, so he moved, his javelin flamed before.\nNot so Pelides; furious to engage,\nHe rush\u2019d impetuous. Such the lion\u2019s rage,\nWho viewing first his foes with scornful eyes,\nThough all in arms the peopled city rise,\nStalks careless on, with unregarding pride;\nTill at the length, by some brave youth defied,\nTo his bold spear the savage turns alone,\nHe murmurs fury with a hollow groan;\nHe grins, he foams, he rolls his eyes around,\nLash\u2019d by his tail his heaving sides resound;\nHe calls up all his rage; he grinds his teeth,\nResolved on vengeance, or resolved on death.\nSo fierce Achilles on \u00c6neas flies;\nSo stands \u00c6neas, and his force defies.\nEre yet the stern encounter join\u2019d, begun\nThe seed of Thetis thus to Venus\u2019 son:\n\n\u201cWhy comes \u00c6neas through the ranks so far?\nSeeks he to meet Achilles\u2019 arm in war,\nIn hope the realms of Priam to enjoy,\nAnd prove his merits to the throne of Troy?\nGrant that beneath thy lance Achilles dies,\nThe partial monarch may refuse the prize;\nSons he has many; those thy pride may quell:\nAnd \u2019tis his fault to love those sons too well,\nOr, in reward of thy victorious hand,\nHas Troy proposed some spacious tract of land,\nAn ample forest, or a fair domain,\nOf hills for vines, and arable for grain?\nEven this, perhaps, will hardly prove thy lot.\nBut can Achilles be so soon forgot?\nOnce (as I think) you saw this brandish\u2019d spear,\nAnd then the great \u00c6neas seem\u2019d to fear:\nWith hearty haste from Ida\u2019s mount he fled,\nNor, till he reach\u2019d Lyrnessus, turn\u2019d his head.\nHer lofty walls not long our progress stay\u2019d;\nThose, Pallas, Jove, and we, in ruins laid:\nIn Grecian chains her captive race were cast;\n\u2019Tis true, the great \u00c6neas fled too fast.\nDefrauded of my conquest once before,\nWhat then I lost, the gods this day restore.\nGo; while thou may\u2019st, avoid the threaten\u2019d fate;\nFools stay to feel it, and are wise too late.\u201d\n\nTo this Anchises\u2019 son: \u201cSuch words employ\nTo one that fears thee, some unwarlike boy;\nSuch we disdain; the best may be defied\nWith mean reproaches, and unmanly pride;\nUnworthy the high race from which we came\nProclaim\u2019d so loudly by the voice of fame:\nEach from illustrious fathers draws his line;\nEach goddess-born; half human, half divine.\nThetis\u2019 this day, or Venus\u2019 offspring dies,\nAnd tears shall trickle from celestial eyes:\nFor when two heroes, thus derived, contend,\n\u2019Tis not in words the glorious strife can end.\nIf yet thou further seek to learn my birth\n(A tale resounded through the spacious earth)\nHear how the glorious origin we prove\nFrom ancient Dardanus, the first from Jove:\nDardania\u2019s walls he raised; for Ilion, then,\n(The city since of many-languaged men,)\nWas not. The natives were content to till\nThe shady foot of Ida\u2019s fountful hill.[264]\nFrom Dardanus great Erichthonius springs,\nThe richest, once, of Asia\u2019s wealthy kings;\nThree thousand mares his spacious pastures bred,\nThree thousand foals beside their mothers fed.\nBoreas, enamour\u2019d of the sprightly train,\nConceal\u2019d his godhead in a flowing mane,\nWith voice dissembled to his loves he neigh\u2019d,\nAnd coursed the dappled beauties o\u2019er the mead:\nHence sprung twelve others of unrivall\u2019d kind,\nSwift as their mother mares, and father wind.\nThese lightly skimming, when they swept the plain,\nNor plied the grass, nor bent the tender grain;\nAnd when along the level seas they flew,[265]\nScarce on the surface curl\u2019d the briny dew.\nSuch Erichthonius was: from him there came\nThe sacred Tros, of whom the Trojan name.\nThree sons renown\u2019d adorn\u2019d his nuptial bed,\nIlus, Assaracus, and Ganymed:\nThe matchless Ganymed, divinely fair,\nWhom heaven, enamour\u2019d, snatch\u2019d to upper air,\nTo bear the cup of Jove (ethereal guest,\nThe grace and glory of the ambrosial feast).\nThe two remaining sons the line divide:\nFirst rose Laomedon from Ilus\u2019 side;\nFrom him Tithonus, now in cares grown old,\nAnd Priam, bless\u2019d with Hector, brave and bold;\nClytius and Lampus, ever-honour\u2019d pair;\nAnd Hicetaon, thunderbolt of war.\nFrom great Assaracus sprang Capys, he\nBegat Anchises, and Anchises me.\nSuch is our race: \u2019tis fortune gives us birth,\nBut Jove alone endues the soul with worth:\nHe, source of power and might! with boundless sway,\nAll human courage gives, or takes away.\nLong in the field of words we may contend,\nReproach is infinite, and knows no end,\nArm\u2019d or with truth or falsehood, right or wrong;\nSo voluble a weapon is the tongue;\nWounded, we wound; and neither side can fail,\nFor every man has equal strength to rail:\nWomen alone, when in the streets they jar,\nPerhaps excel us in this wordy war;\nLike us they stand, encompass\u2019d with the crowd,\nAnd vent their anger impotent and loud.\nCease then\u2014Our business in the field of fight\nIs not to question, but to prove our might.\nTo all those insults thou hast offer\u2019d here,\nReceive this answer: \u2019tis my flying spear.\u201d\n\nHe spoke. With all his force the javelin flung,\nFix\u2019d deep, and loudly in the buckler rung.\nFar on his outstretch\u2019d arm, Pelides held\n(To meet the thundering lance) his dreadful shield,\nThat trembled as it stuck; nor void of fear\nSaw, ere it fell, the immeasurable spear.\nHis fears were vain; impenetrable charms\nSecured the temper of the ethereal arms.\nThrough two strong plates the point its passage held,\nBut stopp\u2019d, and rested, by the third repell\u2019d.\nFive plates of various metal, various mould,\nComposed the shield; of brass each outward fold,\nOf tin each inward, and the middle gold:\nThere stuck the lance. Then rising ere he threw,\nThe forceful spear of great Achilles flew,\nAnd pierced the Dardan shield\u2019s extremest bound,\nWhere the shrill brass return\u2019d a sharper sound:\nThrough the thin verge the Pelean weapon glides,\nAnd the slight covering of expanded hides.\n\u00c6neas his contracted body bends,\nAnd o\u2019er him high the riven targe extends,\nSees, through its parting plates, the upper air,\nAnd at his back perceives the quivering spear:\nA fate so near him, chills his soul with fright;\nAnd swims before his eyes the many-colour\u2019d light.\nAchilles, rushing in with dreadful cries,\nDraws his broad blade, and at \u00c6neas flies:\n\u00c6neas rousing as the foe came on,\nWith force collected, heaves a mighty stone:\nA mass enormous! which in modern days\nNo two of earth\u2019s degenerate sons could raise.\nBut ocean\u2019s god, whose earthquakes rock the ground\nSaw the distress, and moved the powers around:\n\n\u201cLo! on the brink of fate \u00c6neas stands,\nAn instant victim to Achilles\u2019 hands;\nBy Ph\u0153bus urged; but Ph\u0153bus has bestow\u2019d\nHis aid in vain: the man o\u2019erpowers the god.\nAnd can ye see this righteous chief atone\nWith guiltless blood for vices not his own?\nTo all the gods his constant vows were paid;\nSure, though he wars for Troy, he claims our aid.\nFate wills not this; nor thus can Jove resign\nThe future father of the Dardan line:[266]\nThe first great ancestor obtain\u2019d his grace,\nAnd still his love descends on all the race:\nFor Priam now, and Priam\u2019s faithless kind,\nAt length are odious to the all-seeing mind;\nOn great \u00c6neas shall devolve the reign,\nAnd sons succeeding sons the lasting line sustain.\u201d\n\nThe great earth-shaker thus: to whom replies\nThe imperial goddess with the radiant eyes:\n\u201cGood as he is, to immolate or spare\nThe Dardan prince, O Neptune! be thy care;\nPallas and I, by all that gods can bind,\nHave sworn destruction to the Trojan kind;\nNot even an instant to protract their fate,\nOr save one member of the sinking state;\nTill her last flame be quench\u2019d with her last gore,\nAnd even her crumbling ruins are no more.\u201d\n\nThe king of ocean to the fight descends,\nThrough all the whistling darts his course he bends,\nSwift interposed between the warrior flies,\nAnd casts thick darkness o\u2019er Achilles\u2019 eyes.[267]\nFrom great \u00c6neas\u2019 shield the spear he drew,\nAnd at his master\u2019s feet the weapon threw.\nThat done, with force divine he snatch\u2019d on high\nThe Dardan prince, and bore him through the sky,\nSmooth-gliding without step, above the heads\nOf warring heroes, and of bounding steeds:\nTill at the battle\u2019s utmost verge they light,\nWhere the slow Caucans close the rear of fight.\nThe godhead there (his heavenly form confess\u2019d)\nWith words like these the panting chief address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cWhat power, O prince! with force inferior far,\nUrged thee to meet Achilles\u2019 arm in war?\nHenceforth beware, nor antedate thy doom,\nDefrauding fate of all thy fame to come.\nBut when the day decreed (for come it must)\nShall lay this dreadful hero in the dust,\nLet then the furies of that arm be known,\nSecure no Grecian force transcends thy own.\u201d\n\nWith that, he left him wondering as he lay,\nThen from Achilles chased the mist away:\nSudden, returning with a stream of light,\nThe scene of war came rushing on his sight.\nThen thus, amazed; \u201cWhat wonders strike my mind!\nMy spear, that parted on the wings of wind,\nLaid here before me! and the Dardan lord,\nThat fell this instant, vanish\u2019d from my sword!\nI thought alone with mortals to contend,\nBut powers celestial sure this foe defend.\nGreat as he is, our arms he scarce will try,\nContent for once, with all his gods, to fly.\nNow then let others bleed.\u201d This said, aloud\nHe vents his fury and inflames the crowd:\n\u201cO Greeks! (he cries, and every rank alarms)\nJoin battle, man to man, and arms to arms!\n\u2019Tis not in me, though favour\u2019d by the sky,\nTo mow whole troops, and make whole armies fly:\nNo god can singly such a host engage,\nNot Mars himself, nor great Minerva\u2019s rage.\nBut whatsoe\u2019er Achilles can inspire,\nWhate\u2019er of active force, or acting fire;\nWhate\u2019er this heart can prompt, or hand obey;\nAll, all Achilles, Greeks! is yours to-day.\nThrough yon wide host this arm shall scatter fear,\nAnd thin the squadrons with my single spear.\u201d\n\nHe said: nor less elate with martial joy,\nThe godlike Hector warm\u2019d the troops of Troy:\n\u201cTrojans, to war! Think, Hector leads you on;\nNor dread the vaunts of Peleus\u2019 haughty son.\nDeeds must decide our fate. E\u2019en these with words\nInsult the brave, who tremble at their swords:\nThe weakest atheist-wretch all heaven defies,\nBut shrinks and shudders when the thunder flies.\nNor from yon boaster shall your chief retire,\nNot though his heart were steel, his hands were fire;\nThat fire, that steel, your Hector should withstand,\nAnd brave that vengeful heart, that dreadful hand.\u201d\n\nThus (breathing rage through all) the hero said;\nA wood of lances rises round his head,\nClamours on clamours tempest all the air,\nThey join, they throng, they thicken to the war.\nBut Ph\u0153bus warns him from high heaven to shun\nThe single fight with Thetis\u2019 godlike son;\nMore safe to combat in the mingled band,\nNor tempt too near the terrors of his hand.\nHe hears, obedient to the god of light,\nAnd, plunged within the ranks, awaits the fight.\n\nThen fierce Achilles, shouting to the skies,\nOn Troy\u2019s whole force with boundless fury flies.\nFirst falls Iphytion, at his army\u2019s head;\nBrave was the chief, and brave the host he led;\nFrom great Otrynteus he derived his blood,\nHis mother was a Nais, of the flood;\nBeneath the shades of Tmolus, crown\u2019d with snow,\nFrom Hyde\u2019s walls he ruled the lands below.\nFierce as he springs, the sword his head divides:\nThe parted visage falls on equal sides:\nWith loud-resounding arms he strikes the plain;\nWhile thus Achilles glories o\u2019er the slain:\n\n\u201cLie there, Otryntides! the Trojan earth\nReceives thee dead, though Gygae boast thy birth;\nThose beauteous fields where Hyllus\u2019 waves are roll\u2019d,\nAnd plenteous Hermus swells with tides of gold,\nAre thine no more.\u201d\u2014The insulting hero said,\nAnd left him sleeping in eternal shade.\nThe rolling wheels of Greece the body tore,\nAnd dash\u2019d their axles with no vulgar gore.\n\nDemoleon next, Antenor\u2019s offspring, laid\nBreathless in dust, the price of rashness paid.\nThe impatient steel with full-descending sway\nForced through his brazen helm its furious way,\nResistless drove the batter\u2019d skull before,\nAnd dash\u2019d and mingled all the brains with gore.\nThis sees Hippodamas, and seized with fright,\nDeserts his chariot for a swifter flight:\nThe lance arrests him: an ignoble wound\nThe panting Trojan rivets to the ground.\nHe groans away his soul: not louder roars,\nAt Neptune\u2019s shrine on Helic\u00e8\u2019s high shores,\nThe victim bull; the rocks re-bellow round,\nAnd ocean listens to the grateful sound.\nThen fell on Polydore his vengeful rage,[268]\nThe youngest hope of Priam\u2019s stooping age:\n(Whose feet for swiftness in the race surpass\u2019d:)\nOf all his sons, the dearest, and the last.\nTo the forbidden field he takes his flight,\nIn the first folly of a youthful knight,\nTo vaunt his swiftness wheels around the plain,\nBut vaunts not long, with all his swiftness slain:\nStruck where the crossing belts unite behind,\nAnd golden rings the double back-plate join\u2019d\nForth through the navel burst the thrilling steel;\nAnd on his knees with piercing shrieks he fell;\nThe rushing entrails pour\u2019d upon the ground\nHis hands collect; and darkness wraps him round.\nWhen Hector view\u2019d, all ghastly in his gore,\nThus sadly slain the unhappy Polydore,\nA cloud of sorrow overcast his sight,\nHis soul no longer brook\u2019d the distant fight:\nFull in Achilles\u2019 dreadful front he came,\nAnd shook his javelin like a waving flame.\nThe son of Peleus sees, with joy possess\u2019d,\nHis heart high-bounding in his rising breast.\n\u201cAnd, lo! the man on whom black fates attend;\nThe man, that slew Achilles, is his friend!\nNo more shall Hector\u2019s and Pelides\u2019 spear\nTurn from each other in the walks of war.\u201d\u2014\nThen with revengeful eyes he scann\u2019d him o\u2019er:\n\u201cCome, and receive thy fate!\u201d He spake no more.\n\nHector, undaunted, thus: \u201cSuch words employ\nTo one that dreads thee, some unwarlike boy:\nSuch we could give, defying and defied,\nMean intercourse of obloquy and pride!\nI know thy force to mine superior far;\nBut heaven alone confers success in war:\nMean as I am, the gods may guide my dart,\nAnd give it entrance in a braver heart.\u201d\n\nThen parts the lance: but Pallas\u2019 heavenly breath\nFar from Achilles wafts the winged death:\nThe bidden dart again to Hector flies,\nAnd at the feet of its great master lies.\nAchilles closes with his hated foe,\nHis heart and eyes with flaming fury glow:\nBut present to his aid, Apollo shrouds\nThe favour\u2019d hero in a veil of clouds.\nThrice struck Pelides with indignant heart,\nThrice in impassive air he plunged the dart;\nThe spear a fourth time buried in the cloud.\nHe foams with fury, and exclaims aloud:\n\n\u201cWretch! thou hast \u2019scaped again; once more thy flight\nHas saved thee, and the partial god of light.\nBut long thou shalt not thy just fate withstand,\nIf any power assist Achilles\u2019 hand.\nFly then inglorious! but thy flight this day\nWhole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay.\u201d\n\nWith that, he gluts his rage on numbers slain:\nThen Dryops tumbled to the ensanguined plain,\nPierced through the neck: he left him panting there,\nAnd stopp\u2019d Demuchus, great Philetor\u2019s heir.\nGigantic chief! deep gash\u2019d the enormous blade,\nAnd for the soul an ample passage made.\nLaoganus and Dardanus expire,\nThe valiant sons of an unhappy sire;\nBoth in one instant from the chariot hurl\u2019d,\nSunk in one instant to the nether world:\nThis difference only their sad fates afford\nThat one the spear destroy\u2019d, and one the sword.\n\nNor less unpitied, young Alastor bleeds;\nIn vain his youth, in vain his beauty pleads;\nIn vain he begs thee, with a suppliant\u2019s moan,\nTo spare a form, an age so like thy own!\nUnhappy boy! no prayer, no moving art,\nE\u2019er bent that fierce, inexorable heart!\nWhile yet he trembled at his knees, and cried,\nThe ruthless falchion oped his tender side;\nThe panting liver pours a flood of gore\nThat drowns his bosom till he pants no more.\n\nThrough Mulius\u2019 head then drove the impetuous spear:\nThe warrior falls, transfix\u2019d from ear to ear.\nThy life, Echeclus! next the sword bereaves,\nDeep though the front the ponderous falchion cleaves;\nWarm\u2019d in the brain the smoking weapon lies,\nThe purple death comes floating o\u2019er his eyes.\nThen brave Deucalion died: the dart was flung\nWhere the knit nerves the pliant elbow strung;\nHe dropp\u2019d his arm, an unassisting weight,\nAnd stood all impotent, expecting fate:\nFull on his neck the falling falchion sped,\nFrom his broad shoulders hew\u2019d his crested head:\nForth from the bone the spinal marrow flies,\nAnd, sunk in dust, the corpse extended lies.\nRhigmas, whose race from fruitful Thracia came,\n(The son of Pierus, an illustrious name,)\nSucceeds to fate: the spear his belly rends;\nProne from his car the thundering chief descends.\nThe squire, who saw expiring on the ground\nHis prostrate master, rein\u2019d the steeds around;\nHis back, scarce turn\u2019d, the Pelian javelin gored,\nAnd stretch\u2019d the servant o\u2019er his dying lord.\nAs when a flame the winding valley fills,\nAnd runs on crackling shrubs between the hills;\nThen o\u2019er the stubble up the mountain flies,\nFires the high woods, and blazes to the skies,\nThis way and that, the spreading torrent roars:\nSo sweeps the hero through the wasted shores;\nAround him wide, immense destruction pours\nAnd earth is deluged with the sanguine showers,\nAs with autumnal harvests cover\u2019d o\u2019er,\nAnd thick bestrewn, lies Ceres\u2019 sacred floor;\nWhen round and round, with never-wearied pain,\nThe trampling steers beat out the unnumber\u2019d grain:\nSo the fierce coursers, as the chariot rolls,\nTread down whole ranks, and crush out heroes\u2019 souls,\nDash\u2019d from their hoofs while o\u2019er the dead they fly,\nBlack, bloody drops the smoking chariot dye:\nThe spiky wheels through heaps of carnage tore;\nAnd thick the groaning axles dropp\u2019d with gore.\nHigh o\u2019er the scene of death Achilles stood,\nAll grim with dust, all horrible in blood:\nYet still insatiate, still with rage on flame;\nSuch is the lust of never-dying fame!\n\n\n[Illustration: ] CENTAUR\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XXI.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE BATTLE IN THE RIVER SCAMANDER.[269]\n\n\nThe Trojans fly before Achilles, some towards the town, others to the\nriver Scamander: he falls upon the latter with great slaughter: takes\ntwelve captives alive, to sacrifice to the shade of Patroclus; and\nkills Lycaon and Asteropeus. Scamander attacks him with all his waves:\nNeptune and Pallas assist the hero: Simois joins Scamander: at length\nVulcan, by the instigation of Juno, almost dries up the river. This\ncombat ended, the other gods engage each other. Meanwhile Achilles\ncontinues the slaughter, drives the rest into Troy: Agenor only makes a\nstand, and is conveyed away in a cloud by Apollo; who (to delude\nAchilles) takes upon him Agenor\u2019s shape, and while he pursues him in\nthat disguise, gives the Trojans an opportunity of retiring into their\ncity.\n    The same day continues. The scene is on the banks and in the stream\n    of Scamander.\n\n\nAnd now to Xanthus\u2019 gliding stream they drove,\nXanthus, immortal progeny of Jove.\nThe river here divides the flying train,\nPart to the town fly diverse o\u2019er the plain,\nWhere late their troops triumphant bore the fight,\nNow chased, and trembling in ignoble flight:\n(These with a gathered mist Saturnia shrouds,\nAnd rolls behind the rout a heap of clouds:)\nPart plunge into the stream: old Xanthus roars,\nThe flashing billows beat the whiten\u2019d shores:\nWith cries promiscuous all the banks resound,\nAnd here, and there, in eddies whirling round,\nThe flouncing steeds and shrieking warriors drown\u2019d.\nAs the scorch\u2019d locusts from their fields retire,\nWhile fast behind them runs the blaze of fire;\nDriven from the land before the smoky cloud,\nThe clustering legions rush into the flood:\nSo, plunged in Xanthus by Achilles\u2019 force,\nRoars the resounding surge with men and horse.\nHis bloody lance the hero casts aside,\n(Which spreading tamarisks on the margin hide,)\nThen, like a god, the rapid billows braves,\nArm\u2019d with his sword, high brandish\u2019d o\u2019er the waves:\nNow down he plunges, now he whirls it round,\nDeep groan\u2019d the waters with the dying sound;\nRepeated wounds the reddening river dyed,\nAnd the warm purple circled on the tide.\nSwift through the foamy flood the Trojans fly,\nAnd close in rocks or winding caverns lie:\nSo the huge dolphin tempesting the main,\nIn shoals before him fly the scaly train,\nConfusedly heap\u2019d they seek their inmost caves,\nOr pant and heave beneath the floating waves.\nNow, tired with slaughter, from the Trojan band\nTwelve chosen youths he drags alive to land;\nWith their rich belts their captive arms restrains\n(Late their proud ornaments, but now their chains).\nThese his attendants to the ships convey\u2019d,\nSad victims destined to Patroclus\u2019 shade;\n\nThen, as once more he plunged amid the flood,\nThe young Lycaon in his passage stood;\nThe son of Priam; whom the hero\u2019s hand\nBut late made captive in his father\u2019s land\n(As from a sycamore, his sounding steel\nLopp\u2019d the green arms to spoke a chariot wheel)\nTo Lemnos\u2019 isle he sold the royal slave,\nWhere Jason\u2019s son the price demanded gave;\nBut kind Eetion, touching on the shore,\nThe ransom\u2019d prince to fair Arisbe bore.\nTen days were past, since in his father\u2019s reign\nHe felt the sweets of liberty again;\nThe next, that god whom men in vain withstand\nGives the same youth to the same conquering hand\nNow never to return! and doom\u2019d to go\nA sadder journey to the shades below.\nHis well-known face when great Achilles eyed,\n(The helm and visor he had cast aside\nWith wild affright, and dropp\u2019d upon the field\nHis useless lance and unavailing shield,)\nAs trembling, panting, from the stream he fled,\nAnd knock\u2019d his faltering knees, the hero said:\n\u201cYe mighty gods! what wonders strike my view!\nIs it in vain our conquering arms subdue?\nSure I shall see yon heaps of Trojans kill\u2019d\nRise from the shades, and brave me on the field;\nAs now the captive, whom so late I bound\nAnd sold to Lemnos, stalks on Trojan ground!\nNot him the sea\u2019s unmeasured deeps detain,\nThat bar such numbers from their native plain;\nLo! he returns. Try, then, my flying spear!\nTry, if the grave can hold the wanderer;\nIf earth, at length this active prince can seize,\nEarth, whose strong grasp has held down Hercules.\u201d\n\nThus while he spoke, the Trojan pale with fears\nApproach\u2019d, and sought his knees with suppliant tears\nLoth as he was to yield his youthful breath,\nAnd his soul shivering at the approach of death.\nAchilles raised the spear, prepared to wound;\nHe kiss\u2019d his feet, extended on the ground:\nAnd while, above, the spear suspended stood,\nLonging to dip its thirsty point in blood,\nOne hand embraced them close, one stopp\u2019d the dart,\nWhile thus these melting words attempt his heart:\n\n\u201cThy well-known captive, great Achilles! see,\nOnce more Lycaon trembles at thy knee.\nSome pity to a suppliant\u2019s name afford,\nWho shared the gifts of Ceres at thy board;\nWhom late thy conquering arm to Lemnos bore,\nFar from his father, friends, and native shore;\nA hundred oxen were his price that day,\nNow sums immense thy mercy shall repay.\nScarce respited from woes I yet appear,\nAnd scarce twelve morning suns have seen me here;\nLo! Jove again submits me to thy hands,\nAgain, her victim cruel Fate demands!\nI sprang from Priam, and Laothoe fair,\n(Old Altes\u2019 daughter, and Lelegia\u2019s heir;\nWho held in Pedasus his famed abode,\nAnd ruled the fields where silver Satnio flow\u2019d,)\nTwo sons (alas! unhappy sons) she bore;\nFor ah! one spear shall drink each brother\u2019s gore,\nAnd I succeed to slaughter\u2019d Polydore.\nHow from that arm of terror shall I fly?\nSome demon urges! \u2019tis my doom to die!\nIf ever yet soft pity touch\u2019d thy mind,\nAh! think not me too much of Hector\u2019s kind!\nNot the same mother gave thy suppliant breath,\nWith his, who wrought thy loved Patroclus\u2019 death.\u201d\n\nThese words, attended with a shower of tears,\nThe youth address\u2019d to unrelenting ears:\n\u201cTalk not of life, or ransom (he replies):\nPatroclus dead, whoever meets me, dies:\nIn vain a single Trojan sues for grace;\nBut least, the sons of Priam\u2019s hateful race.\nDie then, my friend! what boots it to deplore?\nThe great, the good Patroclus is no more!\nHe, far thy better, was foredoom\u2019d to die,\nAnd thou, dost thou bewail mortality?\nSeest thou not me, whom nature\u2019s gifts adorn,\nSprung from a hero, from a goddess born?\nThe day shall come (which nothing can avert)\nWhen by the spear, the arrow, or the dart,\nBy night, or day, by force, or by design,\nImpending death and certain fate are mine!\nDie then,\u201d\u2014He said; and as the word he spoke,\nThe fainting stripling sank before the stroke:\nHis hand forgot its grasp, and left the spear,\nWhile all his trembling frame confess\u2019d his fear:\nSudden, Achilles his broad sword display\u2019d,\nAnd buried in his neck the reeking blade.\nProne fell the youth; and panting on the land,\nThe gushing purple dyed the thirsty sand.\nThe victor to the stream the carcase gave,\nAnd thus insults him, floating on the wave:\n\n\u201cLie there, Lycaon! let the fish surround\nThy bloated corpse, and suck thy gory wound:\nThere no sad mother shall thy funerals weep,\nBut swift Scamander roll thee to the deep,\nWhose every wave some watery monster brings,\nTo feast unpunish\u2019d on the fat of kings.\nSo perish Troy, and all the Trojan line!\nSuch ruin theirs, and such compassion mine.\nWhat boots ye now Scamander\u2019s worshipp\u2019d stream,\nHis earthly honours, and immortal name?\nIn vain your immolated bulls are slain,\nYour living coursers glut his gulfs in vain!\nThus he rewards you, with this bitter fate;\nThus, till the Grecian vengeance is complete:\nThus is atoned Patroclus\u2019 honour\u2019d shade,\nAnd the short absence of Achilles paid.\u201d\n\nThese boastful words provoked the raging god;\nWith fury swells the violated flood.\nWhat means divine may yet the power employ\nTo check Achilles, and to rescue Troy?\nMeanwhile the hero springs in arms, to dare\nThe great Asteropeus to mortal war;\nThe son of Pelagon, whose lofty line\nFlows from the source of Axius, stream divine!\n(Fair Peribaea\u2019s love the god had crown\u2019d,\nWith all his refluent waters circled round:)\nOn him Achilles rush\u2019d; he fearless stood,\nAnd shook two spears, advancing from the flood;\nThe flood impell\u2019d him, on Pelides\u2019 head\nTo avenge his waters choked with heaps of dead.\nNear as they drew, Achilles thus began:\n\n\u201cWhat art thou, boldest of the race of man?\nWho, or from whence? Unhappy is the sire\nWhose son encounters our resistless ire.\u201d\n\n\u201cO son of Peleus! what avails to trace\n(Replied the warrior) our illustrious race?\nFrom rich Paeonia\u2019s valleys I command,\nArm\u2019d with protended spears, my native band;\nNow shines the tenth bright morning since I came\nIn aid of Ilion to the fields of fame:\nAxius, who swells with all the neighbouring rills,\nAnd wide around the floated region fills,\nBegot my sire, whose spear much glory won:\nNow lift thy arm, and try that hero\u2019s son!\u201d\n\nThreatening he said: the hostile chiefs advance;\nAt once Asteropeus discharged each lance,\n(For both his dexterous hands the lance could wield,)\nOne struck, but pierced not, the Vulcanian shield;\nOne razed Achilles\u2019 hand; the spouting blood\nSpun forth; in earth the fasten\u2019d weapon stood.\nLike lightning next the Pelean javelin flies:\nIts erring fury hiss\u2019d along the skies;\nDeep in the swelling bank was driven the spear,\nEven to the middle earth; and quiver\u2019d there.\nThen from his side the sword Pelides drew,\nAnd on his foe with double fury flew.\nThe foe thrice tugg\u2019d, and shook the rooted wood;\nRepulsive of his might the weapon stood:\nThe fourth, he tries to break the spear in vain;\nBent as he stands, he tumbles to the plain;\nHis belly open\u2019d with a ghastly wound,\nThe reeking entrails pour upon the ground.\nBeneath the hero\u2019s feet he panting lies,\nAnd his eye darkens, and his spirit flies;\nWhile the proud victor thus triumphing said,\nHis radiant armour tearing from the dead:\n\n\u201cSo ends thy glory! Such the fate they prove,\nWho strive presumptuous with the sons of Jove!\nSprung from a river, didst thou boast thy line?\nBut great Saturnius is the source of mine.\nHow durst thou vaunt thy watery progeny?\nOf Peleus, \u00c6acus, and Jove, am I.\nThe race of these superior far to those,\nAs he that thunders to the stream that flows.\nWhat rivers can, Scamander might have shown;\nBut Jove he dreads, nor wars against his son.\nEven Achelous might contend in vain,\nAnd all the roaring billows of the main.\nThe eternal ocean, from whose fountains flow\nThe seas, the rivers, and the springs below,\nThe thundering voice of Jove abhors to hear,\nAnd in his deep abysses shakes with fear.\u201d\n\nHe said: then from the bank his javelin tore,\nAnd left the breathless warrior in his gore.\nThe floating tides the bloody carcase lave,\nAnd beat against it, wave succeeding wave;\nTill, roll\u2019d between the banks, it lies the food\nOf curling eels, and fishes of the flood.\nAll scatter\u2019d round the stream (their mightiest slain)\nThe amazed P\u00e6onians scour along the plain;\nHe vents his fury on the flying crew,\nThrasius, Astyplus, and Mnesus slew;\nMydon, Thersilochus, with \u00c6nius, fell;\nAnd numbers more his lance had plunged to hell,\nBut from the bottom of his gulfs profound\nScamander spoke; the shores return\u2019d the sound.\n\n\u201cO first of mortals! (for the gods are thine)\nIn valour matchless, and in force divine!\nIf Jove have given thee every Trojan head,\n\u2019Tis not on me thy rage should heap the dead.\nSee! my choked streams no more their course can keep,\nNor roll their wonted tribute to the deep.\nTurn then, impetuous! from our injured flood;\nContent, thy slaughters could amaze a god.\u201d\n\nIn human form, confess\u2019d before his eyes,\nThe river thus; and thus the chief replies:\n\u201cO sacred stream! thy word we shall obey;\nBut not till Troy the destined vengeance pay,\nNot till within her towers the perjured train\nShall pant, and tremble at our arms again;\nNot till proud Hector, guardian of her wall,\nOr stain this lance, or see Achilles fall.\u201d\n\nHe said; and drove with fury on the foe.\nThen to the godhead of the silver bow\nThe yellow flood began: \u201cO son of Jove!\nWas not the mandate of the sire above\nFull and express, that Ph\u0153bus should employ\nHis sacred arrows in defence of Troy,\nAnd make her conquer, till Hyperion\u2019s fall\nIn awful darkness hide the face of all?\u201d\n\nHe spoke in vain\u2014The chief without dismay\nPloughs through the boiling surge his desperate way.\nThen rising in his rage above the shores,\nFrom all his deep the bellowing river roars,\nHuge heaps of slain disgorges on the coast,\nAnd round the banks the ghastly dead are toss\u2019d.\nWhile all before, the billows ranged on high,\n(A watery bulwark,) screen the bands who fly.\nNow bursting on his head with thundering sound,\nThe falling deluge whelms the hero round:\nHis loaded shield bends to the rushing tide;\nHis feet, upborne, scarce the strong flood divide,\nSliddering, and staggering. On the border stood\nA spreading elm, that overhung the flood;\nHe seized a bending bough, his steps to stay;\nThe plant uprooted to his weight gave way.[270]\nHeaving the bank, and undermining all;\nLoud flash the waters to the rushing fall\nOf the thick foliage. The large trunk display\u2019d\nBridged the rough flood across: the hero stay\u2019d\nOn this his weight, and raised upon his hand,\nLeap\u2019d from the channel, and regain\u2019d the land.\nThen blacken\u2019d the wild waves: the murmur rose:\nThe god pursues, a huger billow throws,\nAnd bursts the bank, ambitious to destroy\nThe man whose fury is the fate of Troy.\nHe like the warlike eagle speeds his pace\n(Swiftest and strongest of the aerial race);\nFar as a spear can fly, Achilles springs;\nAt every bound his clanging armour rings:\nNow here, now there, he turns on every side,\nAnd winds his course before the following tide;\nThe waves flow after, wheresoe\u2019er he wheels,\nAnd gather fast, and murmur at his heels.\nSo when a peasant to his garden brings\nSoft rills of water from the bubbling springs,\nAnd calls the floods from high, to bless his bowers,\nAnd feed with pregnant streams the plants and flowers:\nSoon as he clears whate\u2019er their passage stay\u2019d,\nAnd marks the future current with his spade,\nSwift o\u2019er the rolling pebbles, down the hills,\nLouder and louder purl the falling rills;\nBefore him scattering, they prevent his pains,\nAnd shine in mazy wanderings o\u2019er the plains.\n\nStill flies Achilles, but before his eyes\nStill swift Scamander rolls where\u2019er he flies:\nNot all his speed escapes the rapid floods;\nThe first of men, but not a match for gods.\nOft as he turn\u2019d the torrent to oppose,\nAnd bravely try if all the powers were foes;\nSo oft the surge, in watery mountains spread,\nBeats on his back, or bursts upon his head.\nYet dauntless still the adverse flood he braves,\nAnd still indignant bounds above the waves.\nTired by the tides, his knees relax with toil;\nWash\u2019d from beneath him slides the slimy soil;\nWhen thus (his eyes on heaven\u2019s expansion thrown)\nForth bursts the hero with an angry groan:\n\n\u201cIs there no god Achilles to befriend,\nNo power to avert his miserable end?\nPrevent, O Jove! this ignominious date,[271]\nAnd make my future life the sport of fate.\nOf all heaven\u2019s oracles believed in vain,\nBut most of Thetis must her son complain;\nBy Ph\u0153bus\u2019 darts she prophesied my fall,\nIn glorious arms before the Trojan wall.\nOh! had I died in fields of battle warm,\nStretch\u2019d like a hero, by a hero\u2019s arm!\nMight Hector\u2019s spear this dauntless bosom rend,\nAnd my swift soul o\u2019ertake my slaughter\u2019d friend.\nAh no! Achilles meets a shameful fate,\nOh how unworthy of the brave and great!\nLike some vile swain, whom on a rainy day,\nCrossing a ford, the torrent sweeps away,\nAn unregarded carcase to the sea.\u201d\n\nNeptune and Pallas haste to his relief,\nAnd thus in human form address\u2019d the chief:\nThe power of ocean first: \u201cForbear thy fear,\nO son of Peleus! Lo, thy gods appear!\nBehold! from Jove descending to thy aid,\nPropitious Neptune, and the blue-eyed maid.\nStay, and the furious flood shall cease to rave\n\u2019Tis not thy fate to glut his angry wave.\nBut thou, the counsel heaven suggests, attend!\nNor breathe from combat, nor thy sword suspend,\nTill Troy receive her flying sons, till all\nHer routed squadrons pant behind their wall:\nHector alone shall stand his fatal chance,\nAnd Hector\u2019s blood shall smoke upon thy lance.\nThine is the glory doom\u2019d.\u201d Thus spake the gods:\nThen swift ascended to the bright abodes.\n\nStung with new ardour, thus by heaven impell\u2019d,\nHe springs impetuous, and invades the field:\nO\u2019er all the expanded plain the waters spread;\nHeaved on the bounding billows danced the dead,\nFloating \u2019midst scatter\u2019d arms; while casques of gold\nAnd turn\u2019d-up bucklers glitter\u2019d as they roll\u2019d.\nHigh o\u2019er the surging tide, by leaps and bounds,\nHe wades, and mounts; the parted wave resounds.\nNot a whole river stops the hero\u2019s course,\nWhile Pallas fills him with immortal force.\nWith equal rage, indignant Xanthus roars,\nAnd lifts his billows, and o\u2019erwhelms his shores.\n\nThen thus to Simois! \u201cHaste, my brother flood;\nAnd check this mortal that controls a god;\nOur bravest heroes else shall quit the fight,\nAnd Ilion tumble from her towery height.\nCall then thy subject streams, and bid them roar,\nFrom all thy fountains swell thy watery store,\nWith broken rocks, and with a load of dead,\nCharge the black surge, and pour it on his head.\nMark how resistless through the floods he goes,\nAnd boldly bids the warring gods be foes!\nBut nor that force, nor form divine to sight,\nShall aught avail him, if our rage unite:\nWhelm\u2019d under our dark gulfs those arms shall lie,\nThat blaze so dreadful in each Trojan eye;\nAnd deep beneath a sandy mountain hurl\u2019d,\nImmersed remain this terror of the world.\nSuch ponderous ruin shall confound the place,\nNo Greeks shall e\u2019er his perish\u2019d relics grace,\nNo hand his bones shall gather, or inhume;\nThese his cold rites, and this his watery tomb.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] ACHILLES CONTENDING WITH THE RIVERS\n\n\nHe said; and on the chief descends amain,\nIncreased with gore, and swelling with the slain.\nThen, murmuring from his beds, he boils, he raves,\nAnd a foam whitens on the purple waves:\nAt every step, before Achilles stood\nThe crimson surge, and deluged him with blood.\nFear touch\u2019d the queen of heaven: she saw dismay\u2019d,\nShe call\u2019d aloud, and summon\u2019d Vulcan\u2019s aid.\n\n\u201cRise to the war! the insulting flood requires\nThy wasteful arm! assemble all thy fires!\nWhile to their aid, by our command enjoin\u2019d,\nRush the swift eastern and the western wind:\nThese from old ocean at my word shall blow,\nPour the red torrent on the watery foe,\nCorses and arms to one bright ruin turn,\nAnd hissing rivers to their bottoms burn.\nGo, mighty in thy rage! display thy power,\nDrink the whole flood, the crackling trees devour.\nScorch all the banks! and (till our voice reclaim)\nExert the unwearied furies of the flame!\u201d\n\nThe power ignipotent her word obeys:\nWide o\u2019er the plain he pours the boundless blaze;\nAt once consumes the dead, and dries the soil\nAnd the shrunk waters in their channel boil.\nAs when autumnal Boreas sweeps the sky,\nAnd instant blows the water\u2019d gardens dry:\nSo look\u2019d the field, so whiten\u2019d was the ground,\nWhile Vulcan breathed the fiery blast around.\nSwift on the sedgy reeds the ruin preys;\nAlong the margin winds the running blaze:\nThe trees in flaming rows to ashes turn,\nThe flowering lotos and the tamarisk burn,\nBroad elm, and cypress rising in a spire;\nThe watery willows hiss before the fire.\nNow glow the waves, the fishes pant for breath,\nThe eels lie twisting in the pangs of death:\nNow flounce aloft, now dive the scaly fry,\nOr, gasping, turn their bellies to the sky.\nAt length the river rear\u2019d his languid head,\nAnd thus, short-panting, to the god he said:\n\n\u201cOh Vulcan! oh! what power resists thy might?\nI faint, I sink, unequal to the fight\u2014\nI yield\u2014Let Ilion fall; if fate decree\u2014\nAh\u2014bend no more thy fiery arms on me!\u201d\n\nHe ceased; wide conflagration blazing round;\nThe bubbling waters yield a hissing sound.\nAs when the flames beneath a cauldron rise,[272]\nTo melt the fat of some rich sacrifice,\nAmid the fierce embrace of circling fires\nThe waters foam, the heavy smoke aspires:\nSo boils the imprison\u2019d flood, forbid to flow,\nAnd choked with vapours feels his bottom glow.\nTo Juno then, imperial queen of air,\nThe burning river sends his earnest prayer:\n\n\u201cAh why, Saturnia; must thy son engage\nMe, only me, with all his wasteful rage?\nOn other gods his dreadful arm employ,\nFor mightier gods assert the cause of Troy.\nSubmissive I desist, if thou command;\nBut ah! withdraw this all-destroying hand.\nHear then my solemn oath, to yield to fate\nUnaided Ilion, and her destined state,\nTill Greece shall gird her with destructive flame,\nAnd in one ruin sink the Trojan name.\u201d\n\nHis warm entreaty touch\u2019d Saturnia\u2019s ear:\nShe bade the ignipotent his rage forbear,\nRecall the flame, nor in a mortal cause\nInfest a god: the obedient flame withdraws:\nAgain the branching streams begin to spread,\nAnd soft remurmur in their wonted bed.\n\nWhile these by Juno\u2019s will the strife resign,\nThe warring gods in fierce contention join:\nRekindling rage each heavenly breast alarms:\nWith horrid clangour shock the ethereal arms:\nHeaven in loud thunder bids the trumpet sound;\nAnd wide beneath them groans the rending ground.\nJove, as his sport, the dreadful scene descries,\nAnd views contending gods with careless eyes.\nThe power of battles lifts his brazen spear,\nAnd first assaults the radiant queen of war:\n\n\u201cWhat moved thy madness, thus to disunite\nEthereal minds, and mix all heaven in fight?\nWhat wonder this, when in thy frantic mood\nThou drovest a mortal to insult a god?\nThy impious hand Tydides\u2019 javelin bore,\nAnd madly bathed it in celestial gore.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and smote the long-resounding shield,\nWhich bears Jove\u2019s thunder on its dreadful field:\nThe adamantine \u00e6gis of her sire,\nThat turns the glancing bolt and forked fire.\n\nThen heaved the goddess in her mighty hand\nA stone, the limit of the neighbouring land,\nThere fix\u2019d from eldest times; black, craggy, vast;\nThis at the heavenly homicide she cast.\nThundering he falls, a mass of monstrous size:\nAnd seven broad acres covers as he lies.\nThe stunning stroke his stubborn nerves unbound:\nLoud o\u2019er the fields his ringing arms resound:\nThe scornful dame her conquest views with smiles,\nAnd, glorying, thus the prostrate god reviles:\n\n\u201cHast thou not yet, insatiate fury! known\nHow far Minerva\u2019s force transcends thy own?\nJuno, whom thou rebellious darest withstand,\nCorrects thy folly thus by Pallas\u2019 hand;\nThus meets thy broken faith with just disgrace,\nAnd partial aid to Troy\u2019s perfidious race.\u201d\n\nThe goddess spoke, and turn\u2019d her eyes away,\nThat, beaming round, diffused celestial day.\nJove\u2019s Cyprian daughter, stooping on the land,\nLent to the wounded god her tender hand:\nSlowly he rises, scarcely breathes with pain,\nAnd, propp\u2019d on her fair arm, forsakes the plain.\nThis the bright empress of the heavens survey\u2019d,\nAnd, scoffing, thus to war\u2019s victorious maid:\n\n\u201cLo! what an aid on Mars\u2019s side is seen!\nThe smiles\u2019 and loves\u2019 unconquerable queen!\nMark with what insolence, in open view,\nShe moves: let Pallas, if she dares, pursue.\u201d\n\nMinerva smiling heard, the pair o\u2019ertook,\nAnd slightly on her breast the wanton strook:\nShe, unresisting, fell (her spirits fled);\nOn earth together lay the lovers spread.\n\u201cAnd like these heroes be the fate of all\n(Minerva cries) who guard the Trojan wall!\nTo Grecian gods such let the Phrygian be,\nSo dread, so fierce, as Venus is to me;\nThen from the lowest stone shall Troy be moved.\u201d\nThus she, and Juno with a smile approved.\n\nMeantime, to mix in more than mortal fight,\nThe god of ocean dares the god of light.\n\u201cWhat sloth has seized us, when the fields around\nRing with conflicting powers, and heaven returns the sound:\nShall, ignominious, we with shame retire,\nNo deed perform\u2019d, to our Olympian sire?\nCome, prove thy arm! for first the war to wage,\nSuits not my greatness, or superior age:\nRash as thou art to prop the Trojan throne,\n(Forgetful of my wrongs, and of thy own,)\nAnd guard the race of proud Laomedon!\nHast thou forgot, how, at the monarch\u2019s prayer,\nWe shared the lengthen\u2019d labours of a year?\nTroy walls I raised (for such were Jove\u2019s commands),\nAnd yon proud bulwarks grew beneath my hands:\nThy task it was to feed the bellowing droves\nAlong fair Ida\u2019s vales and pendant groves.\nBut when the circling seasons in their train\nBrought back the grateful day that crown\u2019d our pain,\nWith menace stern the fraudful king defied\nOur latent godhead, and the prize denied:\nMad as he was, he threaten\u2019d servile bands,\nAnd doom\u2019d us exiles far in barbarous lands.[273]\nIncensed, we heavenward fled with swiftest wing,\nAnd destined vengeance on the perjured king.\nDost thou, for this, afford proud Ilion grace,\nAnd not, like us, infest the faithless race;\nLike us, their present, future sons destroy,\nAnd from its deep foundations heave their Troy?\u201d\n\nApollo thus: \u201cTo combat for mankind\nIll suits the wisdom of celestial mind;\nFor what is man? Calamitous by birth,\nThey owe their life and nourishment to earth;\nLike yearly leaves, that now, with beauty crown\u2019d,\nSmile on the sun; now, wither on the ground.\nTo their own hands commit the frantic scene,\nNor mix immortals in a cause so mean.\u201d\n\nThen turns his face, far-beaming heavenly fires,\nAnd from the senior power submiss retires:\nHim thus retreating, Artemis upbraids,\nThe quiver\u2019d huntress of the sylvan shades:\n\n\u201cAnd is it thus the youthful Ph\u0153bus flies,\nAnd yields to ocean\u2019s hoary sire the prize?\nHow vain that martial pomp, and dreadful show\nOf pointed arrows and the silver bow!\nNow boast no more in yon celestial bower,\nThy force can match the great earth-shaking power.\u201d\n\nSilent he heard the queen of woods upbraid:\nNot so Saturnia bore the vaunting maid:\nBut furious thus: \u201cWhat insolence has driven\nThy pride to face the majesty of heaven?\nWhat though by Jove the female plague design\u2019d,\nFierce to the feeble race of womankind,\nThe wretched matron feels thy piercing dart;\nThy sex\u2019s tyrant, with a tiger\u2019s heart?\nWhat though tremendous in the woodland chase\nThy certain arrows pierce the savage race?\nHow dares thy rashness on the powers divine\nEmploy those arms, or match thy force with mine?\nLearn hence, no more unequal war to wage\u2014\u201d\nShe said, and seized her wrists with eager rage;\nThese in her left hand lock\u2019d, her right untied\nThe bow, the quiver, and its plumy pride.\nAbout her temples flies the busy bow;\nNow here, now there, she winds her from the blow;\nThe scattering arrows, rattling from the case,\nDrop round, and idly mark the dusty place.\nSwift from the field the baffled huntress flies,\nAnd scarce restrains the torrent in her eyes:\nSo, when the falcon wings her way above,\nTo the cleft cavern speeds the gentle dove;\n(Not fated yet to die;) there safe retreats,\nYet still her heart against the marble beats.\n\nTo her Latona hastes with tender care;\nWhom Hermes viewing, thus declines the war:\n\u201cHow shall I face the dame, who gives delight\nTo him whose thunders blacken heaven with night?\nGo, matchless goddess! triumph in the skies,\nAnd boast my conquest, while I yield the prize.\u201d\n\nHe spoke; and pass\u2019d: Latona, stooping low,\nCollects the scatter\u2019d shafts and fallen bow,\nThat, glittering on the dust, lay here and there\nDishonour\u2019d relics of Diana\u2019s war:\nThen swift pursued her to her blest abode,\nWhere, all confused, she sought the sovereign god;\nWeeping, she grasp\u2019d his knees: the ambrosial vest\nShook with her sighs, and panted on her breast.\n\nThe sire superior smiled, and bade her show\nWhat heavenly hand had caused his daughter\u2019s woe?\nAbash\u2019d, she names his own imperial spouse;\nAnd the pale crescent fades upon her brows.\n\nThus they above: while, swiftly gliding down,\nApollo enters Ilion\u2019s sacred town;\nThe guardian-god now trembled for her wall,\nAnd fear\u2019d the Greeks, though fate forbade her fall.\nBack to Olympus, from the war\u2019s alarms,\nReturn the shining bands of gods in arms;\nSome proud in triumph, some with rage on fire;\nAnd take their thrones around the ethereal sire.\n\nThrough blood, through death, Achilles still proceeds,\nO\u2019er slaughter\u2019d heroes, and o\u2019er rolling steeds.\nAs when avenging flames with fury driven\nOn guilty towns exert the wrath of heaven;\nThe pale inhabitants, some fall, some fly;\nAnd the red vapours purple all the sky:\nSo raged Achilles: death and dire dismay,\nAnd toils, and terrors, fill\u2019d the dreadful day.\n\nHigh on a turret hoary Priam stands,\nAnd marks the waste of his destructive hands;\nViews, from his arm, the Trojans\u2019 scatter\u2019d flight,\nAnd the near hero rising on his sight!\nNo stop, no check, no aid! With feeble pace,\nAnd settled sorrow on his aged face,\nFast as he could, he sighing quits the walls;\nAnd thus descending, on the guards he calls:\n\n\u201cYou to whose care our city-gates belong,\nSet wide your portals to the flying throng:\nFor lo! he comes, with unresisted sway;\nHe comes, and desolation marks his way!\nBut when within the walls our troops take breath,\nLock fast the brazen bars, and shut out death.\u201d\nThus charged the reverend monarch: wide were flung\nThe opening folds; the sounding hinges rung.\nPh\u0153bus rush\u2019d forth, the flying bands to meet;\nStruck slaughter back, and cover\u2019d the retreat,\nOn heaps the Trojans crowd to gain the gate,\nAnd gladsome see their last escape from fate.\nThither, all parch\u2019d with thirst, a heartless train,\nHoary with dust, they beat the hollow plain:\nAnd gasping, panting, fainting, labour on\nWith heavier strides, that lengthen toward the town.\nEnraged Achilles follows with his spear;\nWild with revenge, insatiable of war.\n\nThen had the Greeks eternal praise acquired,\nAnd Troy inglorious to her walls retired;\nBut he, the god who darts ethereal flame,\nShot down to save her, and redeem her fame:\nTo young Agenor force divine he gave;\n(Antenor\u2019s offspring, haughty, bold, and brave;)\nIn aid of him, beside the beech he sate,\nAnd wrapt in clouds, restrain\u2019d the hand of fate.\nWhen now the generous youth Achilles spies,\nThick beats his heart, the troubled motions rise.\n(So, ere a storm, the waters heave and roll.)\nHe stops, and questions thus his mighty soul;\n\n\u201cWhat, shall I fly this terror of the plain!\nLike others fly, and be like others slain?\nVain hope! to shun him by the self-same road\nYon line of slaughter\u2019d Trojans lately trod.\nNo: with the common heap I scorn to fall\u2014\nWhat if they pass\u2019d me to the Trojan wall,\nWhile I decline to yonder path, that leads\nTo Ida\u2019s forests and surrounding shades?\nSo may I reach, conceal\u2019d, the cooling flood,\nFrom my tired body wash the dirt and blood,\nAs soon as night her dusky veil extends,\nReturn in safety to my Trojan friends.\nWhat if?\u2014But wherefore all this vain debate?\nStand I to doubt, within the reach of fate?\nEven now perhaps, ere yet I turn the wall,\nThe fierce Achilles sees me, and I fall:\nSuch is his swiftness, \u2019tis in vain to fly,\nAnd such his valour, that who stands must die.\nHowe\u2019er \u2019tis better, fighting for the state,\nHere, and in public view, to meet my fate.\nYet sure he too is mortal; he may feel\n(Like all the sons of earth) the force of steel.\nOne only soul informs that dreadful frame:\nAnd Jove\u2019s sole favour gives him all his fame.\u201d\n\nHe said, and stood, collected, in his might;\nAnd all his beating bosom claim\u2019d the fight.\nSo from some deep-grown wood a panther starts,\nRoused from his thicket by a storm of darts:\nUntaught to fear or fly, he hears the sounds\nOf shouting hunters, and of clamorous hounds;\nThough struck, though wounded, scarce perceives the pain;\nAnd the barb\u2019d javelin stings his breast in vain:\nOn their whole war, untamed, the savage flies;\nAnd tears his hunter, or beneath him dies.\nNot less resolved, Antenor\u2019s valiant heir\nConfronts Achilles, and awaits the war,\nDisdainful of retreat: high held before,\nHis shield (a broad circumference) he bore;\nThen graceful as he stood, in act to throw\nThe lifted javelin, thus bespoke the foe:\n\n\u201cHow proud Achilles glories in his fame!\nAnd hopes this day to sink the Trojan name\nBeneath her ruins! Know, that hope is vain;\nA thousand woes, a thousand toils remain.\nParents and children our just arms employ,\nAnd strong and many are the sons of Troy.\nGreat as thou art, even thou may\u2019st stain with gore\nThese Phrygian fields, and press a foreign shore.\u201d\n\nHe said: with matchless force the javelin flung\nSmote on his knee; the hollow cuishes rung\nBeneath the pointed steel; but safe from harms\nHe stands impassive in the ethereal arms.\nThen fiercely rushing on the daring foe,\nHis lifted arm prepares the fatal blow:\nBut, jealous of his fame, Apollo shrouds\nThe god-like Trojan in a veil of clouds.\nSafe from pursuit, and shut from mortal view,\nDismiss\u2019d with fame, the favoured youth withdrew.\nMeanwhile the god, to cover their escape,\nAssumes Agenor\u2019s habit, voice and shape,\nFlies from the furious chief in this disguise;\nThe furious chief still follows where he flies.\nNow o\u2019er the fields they stretch with lengthen\u2019d strides,\nNow urge the course where swift Scamander glides:\nThe god, now distant scarce a stride before,\nTempts his pursuit, and wheels about the shore;\nWhile all the flying troops their speed employ,\nAnd pour on heaps into the walls of Troy:\nNo stop, no stay; no thought to ask, or tell,\nWho \u2019scaped by flight, or who by battle fell.\n\u2019Twas tumult all, and violence of flight;\nAnd sudden joy confused, and mix\u2019d affright.\nPale Troy against Achilles shuts her gate:\nAnd nations breathe, deliver\u2019d from their fate.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XXII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE DEATH OF HECTOR.\n\n\nThe Trojans being safe within the walls, Hector only stays to oppose\nAchilles. Priam is struck at his approach, and tries to persuade his\nson to re-enter the town. Hecuba joins her entreaties, but in vain.\nHector consults within himself what measures to take; but at the\nadvance of Achilles, his resolution fails him, and he flies. Achilles\npursues him thrice round the walls of Troy. The gods debate concerning\nthe fate of Hector; at length Minerva descends to the aid of Achilles.\nShe deludes Hector in the shape of Deiphobus; he stands the combat, and\nis slain. Achilles drags the dead body at his chariot in the sight of\nPriam and Hecuba. Their lamentations, tears, and despair. Their cries\nreach the ears of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into\nthe inner part of the palace: she mounts up to the walls, and beholds\nher dead husband. She swoons at the spectacle. Her excess of grief and\nlamentation.\n    The thirtieth day still continues. The scene lies under the walls,\n    and on the battlements of Troy.\n\n\nThus to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear,\nThe herded Ilians rush like driven deer:\nThere safe they wipe the briny drops away,\nAnd drown in bowls the labours of the day.\nClose to the walls, advancing o\u2019er the fields\nBeneath one roof of well-compacted shields,\nMarch, bending on, the Greeks\u2019 embodied powers,\nFar stretching in the shade of Trojan towers.\nGreat Hector singly stay\u2019d: chain\u2019d down by fate\nThere fix\u2019d he stood before the Sc\u00e6an gate;\nStill his bold arms determined to employ,\nThe guardian still of long-defended Troy.\n\nApollo now to tired Achilles turns:\n(The power confess\u2019d in all his glory burns:)\n\u201cAnd what (he cries) has Peleus\u2019 son in view,\nWith mortal speed a godhead to pursue?\nFor not to thee to know the gods is given,\nUnskill\u2019d to trace the latent marks of heaven.\nWhat boots thee now, that Troy forsook the plain?\nVain thy past labour, and thy present vain:\nSafe in their walls are now her troops bestow\u2019d,\nWhile here thy frantic rage attacks a god.\u201d\n\nThe chief incensed\u2014\u201cToo partial god of day!\nTo check my conquests in the middle way:\nHow few in Ilion else had refuge found!\nWhat gasping numbers now had bit the ground!\nThou robb\u2019st me of a glory justly mine,\nPowerful of godhead, and of fraud divine:\nMean fame, alas! for one of heavenly strain,\nTo cheat a mortal who repines in vain.\u201d\n\nThen to the city, terrible and strong,\nWith high and haughty steps he tower\u2019d along,\nSo the proud courser, victor of the prize,\nTo the near goal with double ardour flies.\nHim, as he blazing shot across the field,\nThe careful eyes of Priam first beheld.\nNot half so dreadful rises to the sight,[274]\nThrough the thick gloom of some tempestuous night,\nOrion\u2019s dog (the year when autumn weighs),\nAnd o\u2019er the feebler stars exerts his rays;\nTerrific glory! for his burning breath\nTaints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death.\nSo flamed his fiery mail. Then wept the sage:\nHe strikes his reverend head, now white with age;\nHe lifts his wither\u2019d arms; obtests the skies;\nHe calls his much-loved son with feeble cries:\nThe son, resolved Achilles\u2019 force to dare,\nFull at the Sc\u00e6an gates expects the war;\nWhile the sad father on the rampart stands,\nAnd thus adjures him with extended hands:\n\n\u201cAh stay not, stay not! guardless and alone;\nHector! my loved, my dearest, bravest son!\nMethinks already I behold thee slain,\nAnd stretch\u2019d beneath that fury of the plain.\nImplacable Achilles! might\u2019st thou be\nTo all the gods no dearer than to me!\nThee, vultures wild should scatter round the shore,\nAnd bloody dogs grow fiercer from thy gore.\nHow many valiant sons I late enjoy\u2019d,\nValiant in vain! by thy cursed arm destroy\u2019d:\nOr, worse than slaughtered, sold in distant isles\nTo shameful bondage, and unworthy toils.\nTwo, while I speak, my eyes in vain explore,\nTwo from one mother sprung, my Polydore,\nAnd loved Lycaon; now perhaps no more!\nOh! if in yonder hostile camp they live,\nWhat heaps of gold, what treasures would I give!\n(Their grandsire\u2019s wealth, by right of birth their own,\nConsign\u2019d his daughter with Lelegia\u2019s throne:)\nBut if (which Heaven forbid) already lost,\nAll pale they wander on the Stygian coast;\nWhat sorrows then must their sad mother know,\nWhat anguish I? unutterable woe!\nYet less that anguish, less to her, to me,\nLess to all Troy, if not deprived of thee.\nYet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall;\nAnd spare thyself, thy father, spare us all!\nSave thy dear life; or, if a soul so brave\nNeglect that thought, thy dearer glory save.\nPity, while yet I live, these silver hairs;\nWhile yet thy father feels the woes he bears,\nYet cursed with sense! a wretch, whom in his rage\n(All trembling on the verge of helpless age)\nGreat Jove has placed, sad spectacle of pain!\nThe bitter dregs of fortune\u2019s cup to drain:\nTo fill with scenes of death his closing eyes,\nAnd number all his days by miseries!\nMy heroes slain, my bridal bed o\u2019erturn\u2019d,\nMy daughters ravish\u2019d, and my city burn\u2019d,\nMy bleeding infants dash\u2019d against the floor;\nThese I have yet to see, perhaps yet more!\nPerhaps even I, reserved by angry fate,\nThe last sad relic of my ruin\u2019d state,\n(Dire pomp of sovereign wretchedness!) must fall,\nAnd stain the pavement of my regal hall;\nWhere famish\u2019d dogs, late guardians of my door,\nShall lick their mangled master\u2019s spatter\u2019d gore.\nYet for my sons I thank ye, gods! \u2019tis well;\nWell have they perish\u2019d, for in fight they fell.\nWho dies in youth and vigour, dies the best,\nStruck through with wounds, all honest on the breast.\nBut when the fates, in fulness of their rage,\nSpurn the hoar head of unresisting age,\nIn dust the reverend lineaments deform,\nAnd pour to dogs the life-blood scarcely warm:\nThis, this is misery! the last, the worse,\nThat man can feel! man, fated to be cursed!\u201d\n\nHe said, and acting what no words could say,\nRent from his head the silver locks away.\nWith him the mournful mother bears a part;\nYet all her sorrows turn not Hector\u2019s heart.\nThe zone unbraced, her bosom she display\u2019d;\nAnd thus, fast-falling the salt tears, she said:\n\n\u201cHave mercy on me, O my son! revere\nThe words of age; attend a parent\u2019s prayer!\nIf ever thee in these fond arms I press\u2019d,\nOr still\u2019d thy infant clamours at this breast;\nAh do not thus our helpless years forego,\nBut, by our walls secured, repel the foe.\nAgainst his rage if singly thou proceed,\nShould\u2019st thou, (but Heaven avert it!) should\u2019st thou bleed,\nNor must thy corse lie honour\u2019d on the bier,\nNor spouse, nor mother, grace thee with a tear!\nFar from our pious rites those dear remains\nMust feast the vultures on the naked plains.\u201d\n\nSo they, while down their cheeks the torrents roll;\nBut fix\u2019d remains the purpose of his soul;\nResolved he stands, and with a fiery glance\nExpects the hero\u2019s terrible advance.\nSo, roll\u2019d up in his den, the swelling snake\nBeholds the traveller approach the brake;\nWhen fed with noxious herbs his turgid veins\nHave gather\u2019d half the poisons of the plains;\nHe burns, he stiffens with collected ire,\nAnd his red eyeballs glare with living fire.\nBeneath a turret, on his shield reclined,\nHe stood, and question\u2019d thus his mighty mind:[275]\n\n\u201cWhere lies my way? to enter in the wall?\nHonour and shame the ungenerous thought recall:\nShall proud Polydamas before the gate\nProclaim, his counsels are obey\u2019d too late,\nWhich timely follow\u2019d but the former night,\nWhat numbers had been saved by Hector\u2019s flight?\nThat wise advice rejected with disdain,\nI feel my folly in my people slain.\nMethinks my suffering country\u2019s voice I hear,\nBut most her worthless sons insult my ear,\nOn my rash courage charge the chance of war,\nAnd blame those virtues which they cannot share.\nNo\u2014if I e\u2019er return, return I must\nGlorious, my country\u2019s terror laid in dust:\nOr if I perish, let her see me fall\nIn field at least, and fighting for her wall.\nAnd yet suppose these measures I forego,\nApproach unarm\u2019d, and parley with the foe,\nThe warrior-shield, the helm, and lance, lay down,\nAnd treat on terms of peace to save the town:\nThe wife withheld, the treasure ill-detain\u2019d\n(Cause of the war, and grievance of the land)\nWith honourable justice to restore:\nAnd add half Ilion\u2019s yet remaining store,\nWhich Troy shall, sworn, produce; that injured Greece\nMay share our wealth, and leave our walls in peace.\nBut why this thought? Unarm\u2019d if I should go,\nWhat hope of mercy from this vengeful foe,\nBut woman-like to fall, and fall without a blow?\nWe greet not here, as man conversing man,\nMet at an oak, or journeying o\u2019er a plain;\nNo season now for calm familiar talk,\nLike youths and maidens in an evening walk:\nWar is our business, but to whom is given\nTo die, or triumph, that, determine Heaven!\u201d\n\nThus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh;\nHis dreadful plumage nodded from on high;\nThe Pelian javelin, in his better hand,\nShot trembling rays that glitter\u2019d o\u2019er the land;\nAnd on his breast the beamy splendour shone,\nLike Jove\u2019s own lightning, or the rising sun.\nAs Hector sees, unusual terrors rise,\nStruck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies.\nHe leaves the gates, he leaves the wall behind:\nAchilles follows like the winged wind.\nThus at the panting dove a falcon flies\n(The swiftest racer of the liquid skies),\nJust when he holds, or thinks he holds his prey,\nObliquely wheeling through the aerial way,\nWith open beak and shrilling cries he springs,\nAnd aims his claws, and shoots upon his wings:\nNo less fore-right the rapid chase they held,\nOne urged by fury, one by fear impell\u2019d:\nNow circling round the walls their course maintain,\nWhere the high watch-tower overlooks the plain;\nNow where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad,\n(A wider compass,) smoke along the road.\nNext by Scamander\u2019s double source they bound,\nWhere two famed fountains burst the parted ground;\nThis hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise,\nWith exhalations steaming to the skies;\nThat the green banks in summer\u2019s heat o\u2019erflows,\nLike crystal clear, and cold as winter snows:\nEach gushing fount a marble cistern fills,\nWhose polish\u2019d bed receives the falling rills;\nWhere Trojan dames (ere yet alarm\u2019d by Greece)\nWash\u2019d their fair garments in the days of peace.[276]\nBy these they pass\u2019d, one chasing, one in flight:\n(The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might:)\nSwift was the course; no vulgar prize they play,\nNo vulgar victim must reward the day:\n(Such as in races crown the speedy strife:)\nThe prize contended was great Hector\u2019s life.\nAs when some hero\u2019s funerals are decreed\nIn grateful honour of the mighty dead;\nWhere high rewards the vigorous youth inflame\n(Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame)\nThe panting coursers swiftly turn the goal,\nAnd with them turns the raised spectator\u2019s soul:\nThus three times round the Trojan wall they fly.\nThe gazing gods lean forward from the sky;\nTo whom, while eager on the chase they look,\nThe sire of mortals and immortals spoke:\n\n\u201cUnworthy sight! the man beloved of heaven,\nBehold, inglorious round yon city driven!\nMy heart partakes the generous Hector\u2019s pain;\nHector, whose zeal whole hecatombs has slain,\nWhose grateful fumes the gods received with joy,\nFrom Ida\u2019s summits, and the towers of Troy:\nNow see him flying; to his fears resign\u2019d,\nAnd fate, and fierce Achilles, close behind.\nConsult, ye powers! (\u2019tis worthy your debate)\nWhether to snatch him from impending fate,\nOr let him bear, by stern Pelides slain,\n(Good as he is) the lot imposed on man.\u201d\n\nThen Pallas thus: \u201cShall he whose vengeance forms\nThe forky bolt, and blackens heaven with storms,\nShall he prolong one Trojan\u2019s forfeit breath?\nA man, a mortal, pre-ordain\u2019d to death!\nAnd will no murmurs fill the courts above?\nNo gods indignant blame their partial Jove?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo then (return\u2019d the sire) without delay,\nExert thy will: I give the Fates their way.\u201d\nSwift at the mandate pleased Tritonia flies,\nAnd stoops impetuous from the cleaving skies.\n\nAs through the forest, o\u2019er the vale and lawn,\nThe well-breath\u2019d beagle drives the flying fawn,\nIn vain he tries the covert of the brakes,\nOr deep beneath the trembling thicket shakes;\nSure of the vapour in the tainted dews,\nThe certain hound his various maze pursues.\nThus step by step, where\u2019er the Trojan wheel\u2019d,\nThere swift Achilles compass\u2019d round the field.\nOft as to reach the Dardan gates he bends,\nAnd hopes the assistance of his pitying friends,\n(Whose showering arrows, as he coursed below,\nFrom the high turrets might oppress the foe,)\nSo oft Achilles turns him to the plain:\nHe eyes the city, but he eyes in vain.\nAs men in slumbers seem with speedy pace,\nOne to pursue, and one to lead the chase,\nTheir sinking limbs the fancied course forsake,\nNor this can fly, nor that can overtake:\nNo less the labouring heroes pant and strain:\nWhile that but flies, and this pursues in vain.\n\nWhat god, O muse, assisted Hector\u2019s force\nWith fate itself so long to hold the course?\nPh\u0153bus it was; who, in his latest hour,\nEndued his knees with strength, his nerves with power:\nAnd great Achilles, lest some Greek\u2019s advance\nShould snatch the glory from his lifted lance,\nSign\u2019d to the troops to yield his foe the way,\nAnd leave untouch\u2019d the honours of the day.\n\nJove lifts the golden balances, that show\nThe fates of mortal men, and things below:\nHere each contending hero\u2019s lot he tries,\nAnd weighs, with equal hand, their destinies.\nLow sinks the scale surcharged with Hector\u2019s fate;\nHeavy with death it sinks, and hell receives the weight.\n\nThen Ph\u0153bus left him. Fierce Minerva flies\nTo stern Pelides, and triumphing, cries:\n\u201cO loved of Jove! this day our labours cease,\nAnd conquest blazes with full beams on Greece.\nGreat Hector falls; that Hector famed so far,\nDrunk with renown, insatiable of war,\nFalls by thy hand, and mine! nor force, nor flight,\nShall more avail him, nor his god of light.\nSee, where in vain he supplicates above,\nRoll\u2019d at the feet of unrelenting Jove;\nRest here: myself will lead the Trojan on,\nAnd urge to meet the fate he cannot shun.\u201d\n\nHer voice divine the chief with joyful mind\nObey\u2019d; and rested, on his lance reclined\nWhile like Deiphobus the martial dame\n(Her face, her gesture, and her arms the same),\nIn show an aid, by hapless Hector\u2019s side\nApproach\u2019d, and greets him thus with voice belied:\n\n\u201cToo long, O Hector! have I borne the sight\nOf this distress, and sorrow\u2019d in thy flight:\nIt fits us now a noble stand to make,\nAnd here, as brothers, equal fates partake.\u201d\n\nThen he: \u201cO prince! allied in blood and fame,\nDearer than all that own a brother\u2019s name;\nOf all that Hecuba to Priam bore,\nLong tried, long loved: much loved, but honoured more!\nSince you, of all our numerous race alone\nDefend my life, regardless of your own.\u201d\n\nAgain the goddess: \u201cMuch my father\u2019s prayer,\nAnd much my mother\u2019s, press\u2019d me to forbear:\nMy friends embraced my knees, adjured my stay,\nBut stronger love impell\u2019d, and I obey.\nCome then, the glorious conflict let us try,\nLet the steel sparkle, and the javelin fly;\nOr let us stretch Achilles on the field,\nOr to his arm our bloody trophies yield.\u201d\n\nFraudful she said; then swiftly march\u2019d before:\nThe Dardan hero shuns his foe no more.\nSternly they met. The silence Hector broke:\nHis dreadful plumage nodded as he spoke:\n\n\u201cEnough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view\u2019d\nHer walls thrice circled, and her chief pursued.\nBut now some god within me bids me try\nThine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die.\nYet on the verge of battle let us stay,\nAnd for a moment\u2019s space suspend the day;\nLet Heaven\u2019s high powers be call\u2019d to arbitrate\nThe just conditions of this stern debate,\n(Eternal witnesses of all below,\nAnd faithful guardians of the treasured vow!)\nTo them I swear; if, victor in the strife,\nJove by these hands shall shed thy noble life,\nNo vile dishonour shall thy corse pursue;\nStripp\u2019d of its arms alone (the conqueror\u2019s due)\nThe rest to Greece uninjured I\u2019ll restore:\nNow plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more.\u201d\n\n\u201cTalk not of oaths (the dreadful chief replies,\nWhile anger flash\u2019d from his disdainful eyes),\nDetested as thou art, and ought to be,\nNor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee:\nSuch pacts as lambs and rabid wolves combine,\nSuch leagues as men and furious lions join,\nTo such I call the gods! one constant state\nOf lasting rancour and eternal hate:\nNo thought but rage, and never-ceasing strife,\nTill death extinguish rage, and thought, and life.\nRouse then thy forces this important hour,\nCollect thy soul, and call forth all thy power.\nNo further subterfuge, no further chance;\n\u2019Tis Pallas, Pallas gives thee to my lance.\nEach Grecian ghost, by thee deprived of breath,\nNow hovers round, and calls thee to thy death.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and launch\u2019d his javelin at the foe;\nBut Hector shunn\u2019d the meditated blow:\nHe stoop\u2019d, while o\u2019er his head the flying spear\nSang innocent, and spent its force in air.\nMinerva watch\u2019d it falling on the land,\nThen drew, and gave to great Achilles\u2019 hand,\nUnseen of Hector, who, elate with joy,\nNow shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy.\n\n\u201cThe life you boasted to that javelin given,\nPrince! you have miss\u2019d. My fate depends on Heaven,\nTo thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown,\nOr what must prove my fortune, or thy own.\nBoasting is but an art, our fears to blind,\nAnd with false terrors sink another\u2019s mind.\nBut know, whatever fate I am to try,\nBy no dishonest wound shall Hector die.\nI shall not fall a fugitive at least,\nMy soul shall bravely issue from my breast.\nBut first, try thou my arm; and may this dart\nEnd all my country\u2019s woes, deep buried in thy heart.\u201d\n\nThe weapon flew, its course unerring held,\nUnerring, but the heavenly shield repell\u2019d\nThe mortal dart; resulting with a bound\nFrom off the ringing orb, it struck the ground.\nHector beheld his javelin fall in vain,\nNor other lance, nor other hope remain;\nHe calls Deiphobus, demands a spear\u2014\nIn vain, for no Deiphobus was there.\nAll comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh;\n\u201c\u2019Tis so\u2014Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh!\nI deem\u2019d Deiphobus had heard my call,\nBut he secure lies guarded in the wall.\nA god deceived me; Pallas, \u2019twas thy deed,\nDeath and black fate approach! \u2019tis I must bleed.\nNo refuge now, no succour from above,\nGreat Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove,\nPropitious once, and kind! Then welcome fate!\n\u2019Tis true I perish, yet I perish great:\nYet in a mighty deed I shall expire,\nLet future ages hear it, and admire!\u201d\n\nFierce, at the word, his weighty sword he drew,\nAnd, all collected, on Achilles flew.\nSo Jove\u2019s bold bird, high balanced in the air,\nStoops from the clouds to truss the quivering hare.\nNor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares:\nBefore his breast the flaming shield he bears,\nRefulgent orb! above his fourfold cone\nThe gilded horse-hair sparkled in the sun.\nNodding at every step: (Vulcanian frame!)\nAnd as he moved, his figure seem\u2019d on flame.\nAs radiant Hesper shines with keener light,[277]\nFar-beaming o\u2019er the silver host of night,\nWhen all the starry train emblaze the sphere:\nSo shone the point of great Achilles\u2019 spear.\nIn his right hand he waves the weapon round,\nEyes the whole man, and meditates the wound;\nBut the rich mail Patroclus lately wore\nSecurely cased the warrior\u2019s body o\u2019er.\nOne space at length he spies, to let in fate,\nWhere \u2019twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate\nGave entrance: through that penetrable part\nFurious he drove the well-directed dart:\nNor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power\nOf speech, unhappy! from thy dying hour.\nProne on the field the bleeding warrior lies,\nWhile, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries:\n\n\u201cAt last is Hector stretch\u2019d upon the plain,\nWho fear\u2019d no vengeance for Patroclus slain:\nThen, prince! you should have fear\u2019d, what now you feel;\nAchilles absent was Achilles still:\nYet a short space the great avenger stayed,\nThen low in dust thy strength and glory laid.\nPeaceful he sleeps, with all our rites adorn\u2019d,\nFor ever honour\u2019d, and for ever mourn\u2019d:\nWhile cast to all the rage of hostile power,\nThee birds shall mangle, and the gods devour.\u201d\n\nThen Hector, fainting at the approach of death:\n\u201cBy thy own soul! by those who gave thee breath!\nBy all the sacred prevalence of prayer;\nAh, leave me not for Grecian dogs to tear!\nThe common rites of sepulture bestow,\nTo soothe a father\u2019s and a mother\u2019s woe:\nLet their large gifts procure an urn at least,\nAnd Hector\u2019s ashes in his country rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, wretch accursed! relentless he replies;\n(Flames, as he spoke, shot flashing from his eyes;)\nNot those who gave me breath should bid me spare,\nNor all the sacred prevalence of prayer.\nCould I myself the bloody banquet join!\nNo\u2014to the dogs that carcase I resign.\nShould Troy, to bribe me, bring forth all her store,\nAnd giving thousands, offer thousands more;\nShould Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame,\nDrain their whole realm to buy one funeral flame:\nTheir Hector on the pile they should not see,\nNor rob the vultures of one limb of thee.\u201d\n\nThen thus the chief his dying accents drew:\n\u201cThy rage, implacable! too well I knew:\nThe Furies that relentless breast have steel\u2019d,\nAnd cursed thee with a heart that cannot yield.\nYet think, a day will come, when fate\u2019s decree\nAnd angry gods shall wreak this wrong on thee;\nPh\u0153bus and Paris shall avenge my fate,\nAnd stretch thee here before the Sc\u00e6an gate.\u201d[278]\n\nHe ceased. The Fates suppress\u2019d his labouring breath,\nAnd his eyes stiffen\u2019d at the hand of death;\nTo the dark realm the spirit wings its way,\n(The manly body left a load of clay,)\nAnd plaintive glides along the dreary coast,\nA naked, wandering, melancholy ghost!\n\nAchilles, musing as he roll\u2019d his eyes\nO\u2019er the dead hero, thus unheard, replies:\n\u201cDie thou the first! When Jove and heaven ordain,\nI follow thee\u201d\u2014He said, and stripp\u2019d the slain.\nThen forcing backward from the gaping wound\nThe reeking javelin, cast it on the ground.\nThe thronging Greeks behold with wondering eyes\nHis manly beauty and superior size;\nWhile some, ignobler, the great dead deface\nWith wounds ungenerous, or with taunts disgrace:\n\n\u201cHow changed that Hector, who like Jove of late\nSent lightning on our fleets, and scatter\u2019d fate!\u201d\n\nHigh o\u2019er the slain the great Achilles stands,\nBegirt with heroes and surrounding bands;\nAnd thus aloud, while all the host attends:\n\u201cPrinces and leaders! countrymen and friends!\nSince now at length the powerful will of heaven\nThe dire destroyer to our arm has given,\nIs not Troy fallen already? Haste, ye powers!\nSee, if already their deserted towers\nAre left unmann\u2019d; or if they yet retain\nThe souls of heroes, their great Hector slain.\nBut what is Troy, or glory what to me?\nOr why reflects my mind on aught but thee,\nDivine Patroclus! Death hath seal\u2019d his eyes;\nUnwept, unhonour\u2019d, uninterr\u2019d he lies!\nCan his dear image from my soul depart,\nLong as the vital spirit moves my heart?\nIf in the melancholy shades below,\nThe flames of friends and lovers cease to glow,\nYet mine shall sacred last; mine, undecay\u2019d,\nBurn on through death, and animate my shade.\nMeanwhile, ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring\nThe corpse of Hector, and your p\u00e6ans sing.\nBe this the song, slow-moving toward the shore,\n\u201cHector is dead, and Ilion is no more.\u201d\u201d\n\nThen his fell soul a thought of vengeance bred;\n(Unworthy of himself, and of the dead;)\nThe nervous ancles bored, his feet he bound\nWith thongs inserted through the double wound;\nThese fix\u2019d up high behind the rolling wain,\nHis graceful head was trail\u2019d along the plain.\nProud on his car the insulting victor stood,\nAnd bore aloft his arms, distilling blood.\nHe smites the steeds; the rapid chariot flies;\nThe sudden clouds of circling dust arise.\nNow lost is all that formidable air;\nThe face divine, and long-descending hair,\nPurple the ground, and streak the sable sand;\nDeform\u2019d, dishonour\u2019d, in his native land,\nGiven to the rage of an insulting throng,\nAnd, in his parents\u2019 sight, now dragg\u2019d along!\n\nThe mother first beheld with sad survey;\nShe rent her tresses, venerable grey,\nAnd cast, far off, the regal veils away.\nWith piercing shrieks his bitter fate she moans,\nWhile the sad father answers groans with groans,\nTears after tears his mournful cheeks o\u2019erflow,\nAnd the whole city wears one face of woe:\nNo less than if the rage of hostile fires,\nFrom her foundations curling to her spires,\nO\u2019er the proud citadel at length should rise,\nAnd the last blaze send Ilion to the skies.\nThe wretched monarch of the falling state,\nDistracted, presses to the Dardan gate.\nScarce the whole people stop his desperate course,\nWhile strong affliction gives the feeble force:\nGrief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,\nIn all the raging impotence of woe.\nAt length he roll\u2019d in dust, and thus begun,\nImploring all, and naming one by one:\n\u201cAh! let me, let me go where sorrow calls;\nI, only I, will issue from your walls\n(Guide or companion, friends! I ask ye none),\nAnd bow before the murderer of my son.\nMy grief perhaps his pity may engage;\nPerhaps at least he may respect my age.\nHe has a father too; a man like me;\nOne, not exempt from age and misery\n(Vigorous no more, as when his young embrace\nBegot this pest of me, and all my race).\nHow many valiant sons, in early bloom,\nHas that cursed hand sent headlong to the tomb!\nThee, Hector! last: thy loss (divinely brave)\nSinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.\nO had thy gentle spirit pass\u2019d in peace,\nThe son expiring in the sire\u2019s embrace,\nWhile both thy parents wept the fatal hour,\nAnd, bending o\u2019er thee, mix\u2019d the tender shower!\nSome comfort that had been, some sad relief,\nTo melt in full satiety of grief!\u201d\n\nThus wail\u2019d the father, grovelling on the ground,\nAnd all the eyes of Ilion stream\u2019d around.\n\nAmidst her matrons Hecuba appears:\n(A mourning princess, and a train in tears;)\n\u201cAh why has Heaven prolong\u2019d this hated breath,\nPatient of horrors, to behold thy death?\nO Hector! late thy parents\u2019 pride and joy,\nThe boast of nations! the defence of Troy!\nTo whom her safety and her fame she owed;\nHer chief, her hero, and almost her god!\nO fatal change! become in one sad day\nA senseless corse! inanimated clay!\u201d\n\nBut not as yet the fatal news had spread\nTo fair Andromache, of Hector dead;\nAs yet no messenger had told his fate,\nNot e\u2019en his stay without the Sc\u00e6an gate.\nFar in the close recesses of the dome,\nPensive she plied the melancholy loom;\nA growing work employ\u2019d her secret hours,\nConfusedly gay with intermingled flowers.\nHer fair-haired handmaids heat the brazen urn,\nThe bath preparing for her lord\u2019s return\nIn vain; alas! her lord returns no more;\nUnbathed he lies, and bleeds along the shore!\nNow from the walls the clamours reach her ear,\nAnd all her members shake with sudden fear:\nForth from her ivory hand the shuttle falls,\nAnd thus, astonish\u2019d, to her maids she calls:\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE BATH\n\n\n\u201cAh follow me! (she cried) what plaintive noise\nInvades my ear? \u2019Tis sure my mother\u2019s voice.\nMy faltering knees their trembling frame desert,\nA pulse unusual flutters at my heart;\nSome strange disaster, some reverse of fate\n(Ye gods avert it!) threats the Trojan state.\nFar be the omen which my thoughts suggest!\nBut much I fear my Hector\u2019s dauntless breast\nConfronts Achilles; chased along the plain,\nShut from our walls! I fear, I fear him slain!\nSafe in the crowd he ever scorn\u2019d to wait,\nAnd sought for glory in the jaws of fate:\nPerhaps that noble heat has cost his breath,\nNow quench\u2019d for ever in the arms of death.\u201d\n\nShe spoke: and furious, with distracted pace,\nFears in her heart, and anguish in her face,\nFlies through the dome (the maids her steps pursue),\nAnd mounts the walls, and sends around her view.\nToo soon her eyes the killing object found,\nThe godlike Hector dragg\u2019d along the ground.\nA sudden darkness shades her swimming eyes:\nShe faints, she falls; her breath, her colour flies.\nHer hair\u2019s fair ornaments, the braids that bound,\nThe net that held them, and the wreath that crown\u2019d,\nThe veil and diadem flew far away\n(The gift of Venus on her bridal day).\nAround a train of weeping sisters stands,\nTo raise her sinking with assistant hands.\nScarce from the verge of death recall\u2019d, again\nShe faints, or but recovers to complain.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] ANDROMACHE FAINTING ON THE WALL\n\n\n\u201cO wretched husband of a wretched wife!\nBorn with one fate, to one unhappy life!\nFor sure one star its baneful beam display\u2019d\nOn Priam\u2019s roof, and Hippoplacia\u2019s shade.\nFrom different parents, different climes we came.\nAt different periods, yet our fate the same!\nWhy was my birth to great A\u00ebtion owed,\nAnd why was all that tender care bestow\u2019d?\nWould I had never been!\u2014O thou, the ghost\nOf my dead husband! miserably lost!\nThou to the dismal realms for ever gone!\nAnd I abandon\u2019d, desolate, alone!\nAn only child, once comfort of my pains,\nSad product now of hapless love, remains!\nNo more to smile upon his sire; no friend\nTo help him now! no father to defend!\nFor should he \u2019scape the sword, the common doom,\nWhat wrongs attend him, and what griefs to come!\nEven from his own paternal roof expell\u2019d,\nSome stranger ploughs his patrimonial field.\nThe day, that to the shades the father sends,\nRobs the sad orphan of his father\u2019s friends:\nHe, wretched outcast of mankind! appears\nFor ever sad, for ever bathed in tears;\nAmongst the happy, unregarded, he\nHangs on the robe, or trembles at the knee,\nWhile those his father\u2019s former bounty fed\nNor reach the goblet, nor divide the bread:\nThe kindest but his present wants allay,\nTo leave him wretched the succeeding day.\nFrugal compassion! Heedless, they who boast\nBoth parents still, nor feel what he has lost,\nShall cry, \u2018Begone! thy father feasts not here:\u2019\nThe wretch obeys, retiring with a tear.\nThus wretched, thus retiring all in tears,\nTo my sad soul Astyanax appears!\nForced by repeated insults to return,\nAnd to his widow\u2019d mother vainly mourn:\nHe, who, with tender delicacy bred,\nWith princes sported, and on dainties fed,\nAnd when still evening gave him up to rest,\nSunk soft in down upon the nurse\u2019s breast,\nMust\u2014ah what must he not? Whom Ilion calls\nAstyanax, from her well-guarded walls,[279]\nIs now that name no more, unhappy boy!\nSince now no more thy father guards his Troy.\nBut thou, my Hector, liest exposed in air,\nFar from thy parents\u2019 and thy consort\u2019s care;\nWhose hand in vain, directed by her love,\nThe martial scarf and robe of triumph wove.\nNow to devouring flames be these a prey,\nUseless to thee, from this accursed day!\nYet let the sacrifice at least be paid,\nAn honour to the living, not the dead!\u201d\n\n\nSo spake the mournful dame: her matrons hear, Sigh back her sighs, and\nanswer tear with tear.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XXIII.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nFUNERAL GAMES IN HONOUR OF PATROCLUS.[280]\n\n\nAchilles and the Myrmidons do honours to the body of Patroclus. After\nthe funeral feast he retires to the sea-shore, where, falling asleep,\nthe ghost of his friend appears to him, and demands the rites of\nburial; the next morning the soldiers are sent with mules and waggons\nto fetch wood for the pyre. The funeral procession, and the offering\ntheir hair to the dead. Achilles sacrifices several animals, and lastly\ntwelve Trojan captives, at the pile; then sets fire to it. He pays\nlibations to the Winds, which (at the instance of Iris) rise, and raise\nthe flames. When the pile has burned all night, they gather the bones,\nplace them in an urn of gold, and raise the tomb. Achilles institutes\nthe funeral games: the chariot-race, the fight of the caestus, the\nwrestling, the foot-race, the single combat, the discus, the shooting\nwith arrows, the darting the javelin: the various descriptions of\nwhich, and the various success of the several antagonists, make the\ngreatest part of the book.\n    In this book ends the thirtieth day. The night following, the ghost\n    of Patroclus appears to Achilles: the one-and-thirtieth day is\n    employed in felling the timber for the pile: the two-and-thirtieth\n    in burning it; and the three-and-thirtieth in the games. The scene\n    is generally on the sea-shore.\n\n\nThus humbled in the dust, the pensive train\nThrough the sad city mourn\u2019d her hero slain.\nThe body soil\u2019d with dust, and black with gore,\nLies on broad Hellespont\u2019s resounding shore.\nThe Grecians seek their ships, and clear the strand,\nAll, but the martial Myrmidonian band:\nThese yet assembled great Achilles holds,\nAnd the stern purpose of his mind unfolds:\n\n\u201cNot yet, my brave companions of the war,\nRelease your smoking coursers from the car;\nBut, with his chariot each in order led,\nPerform due honours to Patroclus dead.\nEre yet from rest or food we seek relief,\nSome rites remain, to glut our rage of grief.\u201d\n\nThe troops obey\u2019d; and thrice in order led[281]\n(Achilles first) their coursers round the dead;\nAnd thrice their sorrows and laments renew;\nTears bathe their arms, and tears the sands bedew.\nFor such a warrior Thetis aids their woe,\nMelts their strong hearts, and bids their eyes to flow.\nBut chief, Pelides: thick-succeeding sighs\nBurst from his heart, and torrents from his eyes:\nHis slaughtering hands, yet red with blood, he laid\nOn his dead friend\u2019s cold breast, and thus he said:\n\n\u201cAll hail, Patroclus! let thy honour\u2019d ghost\nHear, and rejoice on Pluto\u2019s dreary coast;\nBehold! Achilles\u2019 promise is complete;\nThe bloody Hector stretch\u2019d before thy feet.\nLo! to the dogs his carcase I resign;\nAnd twelve sad victims, of the Trojan line,\nSacred to vengeance, instant shall expire;\nTheir lives effused around thy funeral pyre.\u201d\n\nGloomy he said, and (horrible to view)\nBefore the bier the bleeding Hector threw,\nProne on the dust. The Myrmidons around\nUnbraced their armour, and the steeds unbound.\nAll to Achilles\u2019 sable ship repair,\nFrequent and full, the genial feast to share.\nNow from the well-fed swine black smokes aspire,\nThe bristly victims hissing o\u2019er the fire:\nThe huge ox bellowing falls; with feebler cries\nExpires the goat; the sheep in silence dies.\nAround the hero\u2019s prostrate body flow\u2019d,\nIn one promiscuous stream, the reeking blood.\nAnd now a band of Argive monarchs brings\nThe glorious victor to the king of kings.\nFrom his dead friend the pensive warrior went,\nWith steps unwilling, to the regal tent.\nThe attending heralds, as by office bound,\nWith kindled flames the tripod-vase surround:\nTo cleanse his conquering hands from hostile gore,\nThey urged in vain; the chief refused, and swore:[282]\n\n\u201cNo drop shall touch me, by almighty Jove!\nThe first and greatest of the gods above!\nTill on the pyre I place thee; till I rear\nThe grassy mound, and clip thy sacred hair.\nSome ease at least those pious rites may give,\nAnd soothe my sorrows, while I bear to live.\nHowe\u2019er, reluctant as I am, I stay\nAnd share your feast; but with the dawn of day,\n(O king of men!) it claims thy royal care,\nThat Greece the warrior\u2019s funeral pile prepare,\nAnd bid the forests fall: (such rites are paid\nTo heroes slumbering in eternal shade:)\nThen, when his earthly part shall mount in fire,\nLet the leagued squadrons to their posts retire.\u201d\n\nHe spoke: they hear him, and the word obey;\nThe rage of hunger and of thirst allay,\nThen ease in sleep the labours of the day.\nBut great Pelides, stretch\u2019d along the shore,\nWhere, dash\u2019d on rocks, the broken billows roar,\nLies inly groaning; while on either hand\nThe martial Myrmidons confusedly stand.\nAlong the grass his languid members fall,\nTired with his chase around the Trojan wall;\nHush\u2019d by the murmurs of the rolling deep,\nAt length he sinks in the soft arms of sleep.\nWhen lo! the shade, before his closing eyes,\nOf sad Patroclus rose, or seem\u2019d to rise:\nIn the same robe he living wore, he came:\nIn stature, voice, and pleasing look, the same.\nThe form familiar hover\u2019d o\u2019er his head,\n\u201cAnd sleeps Achilles? (thus the phantom said:)\nSleeps my Achilles, his Patroclus dead?\nLiving, I seem\u2019d his dearest, tenderest care,\nBut now forgot, I wander in the air.\nLet my pale corse the rites of burial know,\nAnd give me entrance in the realms below:\nTill then the spirit finds no resting-place,\nBut here and there the unbodied spectres chase\nThe vagrant dead around the dark abode,\nForbid to cross the irremeable flood.\nNow give thy hand; for to the farther shore\nWhen once we pass, the soul returns no more:\nWhen once the last funereal flames ascend,\nNo more shall meet Achilles and his friend;\nNo more our thoughts to those we loved make known;\nOr quit the dearest, to converse alone.\nMe fate has sever\u2019d from the sons of earth,\nThe fate fore-doom\u2019d that waited from my birth:\nThee too it waits; before the Trojan wall\nEven great and godlike thou art doom\u2019d to fall.\nHear then; and as in fate and love we join,\nAh suffer that my bones may rest with thine!\nTogether have we lived; together bred,\nOne house received us, and one table fed;\nThat golden urn, thy goddess-mother gave,\nMay mix our ashes in one common grave.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is it thou? (he answers) To my sight[283]\nOnce more return\u2019st thou from the realms of night?\nO more than brother! Think each office paid,\nWhate\u2019er can rest a discontented shade;\nBut grant one last embrace, unhappy boy!\nAfford at least that melancholy joy.\u201d\n\nHe said, and with his longing arms essay\u2019d\nIn vain to grasp the visionary shade!\nLike a thin smoke he sees the spirit fly,[284]\nAnd hears a feeble, lamentable cry.\nConfused he wakes; amazement breaks the bands\nOf golden sleep, and starting from the sands,\nPensive he muses with uplifted hands:\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis true, \u2019tis certain; man, though dead, retains\nPart of himself; the immortal mind remains:\nThe form subsists without the body\u2019s aid,\nAerial semblance, and an empty shade!\nThis night my friend, so late in battle lost,\nStood at my side, a pensive, plaintive ghost:\nEven now familiar, as in life, he came;\nAlas! how different! yet how like the same!\u201d\n\nThus while he spoke, each eye grew big with tears:\nAnd now the rosy-finger\u2019d morn appears,\nShows every mournful face with tears o\u2019erspread,\nAnd glares on the pale visage of the dead.\nBut Agamemnon, as the rites demand,\nWith mules and waggons sends a chosen band\nTo load the timber, and the pile to rear;\nA charge consign\u2019d to Merion\u2019s faithful care.\nWith proper instruments they take the road,\nAxes to cut, and ropes to sling the load.\nFirst march the heavy mules, securely slow,\nO\u2019er hills, o\u2019er dales, o\u2019er crags, o\u2019er rocks they go:[285]\nJumping, high o\u2019er the shrubs of the rough ground,\nRattle the clattering cars, and the shock\u2019d axles bound.\nBut when arrived at Ida\u2019s spreading woods,[286]\n(Fair Ida, water\u2019d with descending floods,)\nLoud sounds the axe, redoubling strokes on strokes;\nOn all sides round the forest hurls her oaks\nHeadlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown;\nThen rustling, crackling, crashing, thunder down.\nThe wood the Grecians cleave, prepared to burn;\nAnd the slow mules the same rough road return.\nThe sturdy woodmen equal burdens bore\n(Such charge was given them) to the sandy shore;\nThere on the spot which great Achilles show\u2019d,\nThey eased their shoulders, and disposed the load;\nCircling around the place, where times to come\nShall view Patroclus\u2019 and Achilles\u2019 tomb.\nThe hero bids his martial troops appear\nHigh on their cars in all the pomp of war;\nEach in refulgent arms his limbs attires,\nAll mount their chariots, combatants and squires.\nThe chariots first proceed, a shining train;\nThen clouds of foot that smoke along the plain;\nNext these the melancholy band appear;\nAmidst, lay dead Patroclus on the bier;\nO\u2019er all the corse their scattered locks they throw;\nAchilles next, oppress\u2019d with mighty woe,\nSupporting with his hands the hero\u2019s head,\nBends o\u2019er the extended body of the dead.\nPatroclus decent on the appointed ground\nThey place, and heap the sylvan pile around.\nBut great Achilles stands apart in prayer,\nAnd from his head divides the yellow hair;\nThose curling locks which from his youth he vow\u2019d,[287]\nAnd sacred grew, to Sperchius\u2019 honour\u2019d flood:\nThen sighing, to the deep his locks he cast,\nAnd roll\u2019d his eyes around the watery waste:\n\n\u201cSperchius! whose waves in mazy errors lost\nDelightful roll along my native coast!\nTo whom we vainly vow\u2019d, at our return,\nThese locks to fall, and hecatombs to burn:\nFull fifty rams to bleed in sacrifice,\nWhere to the day thy silver fountains rise,\nAnd where in shade of consecrated bowers\nThy altars stand, perfumed with native flowers!\nSo vow\u2019d my father, but he vow\u2019d in vain;\nNo more Achilles sees his native plain;\nIn that vain hope these hairs no longer grow,\nPatroclus bears them to the shades below.\u201d\n\nThus o\u2019er Patroclus while the hero pray\u2019d,\nOn his cold hand the sacred lock he laid.\nOnce more afresh the Grecian sorrows flow:\nAnd now the sun had set upon their woe;\nBut to the king of men thus spoke the chief:\n\u201cEnough, Atrides! give the troops relief:\nPermit the mourning legions to retire,\nAnd let the chiefs alone attend the pyre;\nThe pious care be ours, the dead to burn\u2014\u201d\nHe said: the people to their ships return:\nWhile those deputed to inter the slain\nHeap with a rising pyramid the plain.[288]\nA hundred foot in length, a hundred wide,\nThe growing structure spreads on every side;\nHigh on the top the manly corse they lay,\nAnd well-fed sheep and sable oxen slay:\nAchilles covered with their fat the dead,\nAnd the piled victims round the body spread;\nThen jars of honey, and of fragrant oil,\nSuspends around, low-bending o\u2019er the pile.\nFour sprightly coursers, with a deadly groan\nPour forth their lives, and on the pyre are thrown.\nOf nine large dogs, domestic at his board,\nFall two, selected to attend their lord,\nThen last of all, and horrible to tell,\nSad sacrifice! twelve Trojan captives fell.[289]\nOn these the rage of fire victorious preys,\nInvolves and joins them in one common blaze.\nSmear\u2019d with the bloody rites, he stands on high,\nAnd calls the spirit with a dreadful cry:[290]\n\n\u201cAll hail, Patroclus! let thy vengeful ghost\nHear, and exult, on Pluto\u2019s dreary coast.\nBehold Achilles\u2019 promise fully paid,\nTwelve Trojan heroes offer\u2019d to thy shade;\nBut heavier fates on Hector\u2019s corse attend,\nSaved from the flames, for hungry dogs to rend.\u201d\n\nSo spake he, threatening: but the gods made vain\nHis threat, and guard inviolate the slain:\nCelestial Venus hover\u2019d o\u2019er his head,\nAnd roseate unguents, heavenly fragrance! shed:\nShe watch\u2019d him all the night and all the day,\nAnd drove the bloodhounds from their destined prey.\nNor sacred Ph\u0153bus less employ\u2019d his care;\nHe pour\u2019d around a veil of gather\u2019d air,\nAnd kept the nerves undried, the flesh entire,\nAgainst the solar beam and Sirian fire.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE FUNERAL PILE OF PATROCLUS\n\n\nNor yet the pile, where dead Patroclus lies,\nSmokes, nor as yet the sullen flames arise;\nBut, fast beside, Achilles stood in prayer,\nInvoked the gods whose spirit moves the air,\nAnd victims promised, and libations cast,\nTo gentle Zephyr and the Boreal blast:\nHe call\u2019d the aerial powers, along the skies\nTo breathe, and whisper to the fires to rise.\nThe winged Iris heard the hero\u2019s call,\nAnd instant hasten\u2019d to their airy hall,\nWhere in old Zephyr\u2019s open courts on high,\nSat all the blustering brethren of the sky.\nShe shone amidst them, on her painted bow;\nThe rocky pavement glitter\u2019d with the show.\nAll from the banquet rise, and each invites\nThe various goddess to partake the rites.\n\u201cNot so (the dame replied), I haste to go\nTo sacred Ocean, and the floods below:\nEven now our solemn hecatombs attend,\nAnd heaven is feasting on the world\u2019s green end\nWith righteous Ethiops (uncorrupted train!)\nFar on the extremest limits of the main.\nBut Peleus\u2019 son entreats, with sacrifice,\nThe western spirit, and the north, to rise!\nLet on Patroclus\u2019 pile your blast be driven,\nAnd bear the blazing honours high to heaven.\u201d\n\nSwift as the word she vanish\u2019d from their view;\nSwift as the word the winds tumultuous flew;\nForth burst the stormy band with thundering roar,\nAnd heaps on heaps the clouds are toss\u2019d before.\nTo the wide main then stooping from the skies,\nThe heaving deeps in watery mountains rise:\nTroy feels the blast along her shaking walls,\nTill on the pile the gather\u2019d tempest falls.\nThe structure crackles in the roaring fires,\nAnd all the night the plenteous flame aspires.\nAll night Achilles hails Patroclus\u2019 soul,\nWith large libations from the golden bowl.\nAs a poor father, helpless and undone,\nMourns o\u2019er the ashes of an only son,\nTakes a sad pleasure the last bones to burn,\nAnd pours in tears, ere yet they close the urn:\nSo stay\u2019d Achilles, circling round the shore,\nSo watch\u2019d the flames, till now they flame no more.\n\u2019Twas when, emerging through the shades of night,\nThe morning planet told the approach of light;\nAnd, fast behind, Aurora\u2019s warmer ray\nO\u2019er the broad ocean pour\u2019d the golden day:\nThen sank the blaze, the pile no longer burn\u2019d,\nAnd to their caves the whistling winds return\u2019d:\nAcross the Thracian seas their course they bore;\nThe ruffled seas beneath their passage roar.\n\nThen parting from the pile he ceased to weep,\nAnd sank to quiet in the embrace of sleep,\nExhausted with his grief: meanwhile the crowd\nOf thronging Grecians round Achilles stood;\nThe tumult waked him: from his eyes he shook\nUnwilling slumber, and the chiefs bespoke:\n\n\u201cYe kings and princes of the Achaian name!\nFirst let us quench the yet remaining flame\nWith sable wine; then, as the rites direct,\nThe hero\u2019s bones with careful view select:\n(Apart, and easy to be known they lie\nAmidst the heap, and obvious to the eye:\nThe rest around the margin will be seen\nPromiscuous, steeds and immolated men:)\nThese wrapp\u2019d in double cauls of fat, prepare;\nAnd in the golden vase dispose with care;\nThere let them rest with decent honour laid,\nTill I shall follow to the infernal shade.\nMeantime erect the tomb with pious hands,\nA common structure on the humble sands:\nHereafter Greece some nobler work may raise,\nAnd late posterity record our praise!\u201d\n\nThe Greeks obey; where yet the embers glow,\nWide o\u2019er the pile the sable wine they throw,\nAnd deep subsides the ashy heap below.\nNext the white bones his sad companions place,\nWith tears collected, in the golden vase.\nThe sacred relics to the tent they bore;\nThe urn a veil of linen covered o\u2019er.\nThat done, they bid the sepulchre aspire,\nAnd cast the deep foundations round the pyre;\nHigh in the midst they heap the swelling bed\nOf rising earth, memorial of the dead.\n\nThe swarming populace the chief detains,\nAnd leads amidst a wide extent of plains;\nThere placed them round: then from the ships proceeds\nA train of oxen, mules, and stately steeds,\nVases and tripods (for the funeral games),\nResplendent brass, and more resplendent dames.\nFirst stood the prizes to reward the force\nOf rapid racers in the dusty course:\nA woman for the first, in beauty\u2019s bloom,\nSkill\u2019d in the needle, and the labouring loom;\nAnd a large vase, where two bright handles rise,\nOf twenty measures its capacious size.\nThe second victor claims a mare unbroke,\nBig with a mule, unknowing of the yoke:\nThe third, a charger yet untouch\u2019d by flame;\nFour ample measures held the shining frame:\nTwo golden talents for the fourth were placed:\nAn ample double bowl contents the last.\nThese in fair order ranged upon the plain,\nThe hero, rising, thus address\u2019d the train:\n\n\u201cBehold the prizes, valiant Greeks! decreed\nTo the brave rulers of the racing steed;\nPrizes which none beside ourself could gain,\nShould our immortal coursers take the plain;\n(A race unrivall\u2019d, which from ocean\u2019s god\nPeleus received, and on his son bestow\u2019d.)\nBut this no time our vigour to display;\nNor suit, with them, the games of this sad day:\nLost is Patroclus now, that wont to deck\nTheir flowing manes, and sleek their glossy neck.\nSad, as they shared in human grief, they stand,\nAnd trail those graceful honours on the sand!\nLet others for the noble task prepare,\nWho trust the courser and the flying car.\u201d\n\nFired at his word the rival racers rise;\nBut far the first Eumelus hopes the prize,\nFamed though Pieria for the fleetest breed,\nAnd skill\u2019d to manage the high-bounding steed.\nWith equal ardour bold Tydides swell\u2019d,\nThe steeds of Tros beneath his yoke compell\u2019d\n(Which late obey\u2019d the Dardan chief\u2019s command,\nWhen scarce a god redeem\u2019d him from his hand).\nThen Menelaus his Podargus brings,\nAnd the famed courser of the king of kings:\nWhom rich Echepolus (more rich than brave),\nTo \u2019scape the wars, to Agamemnon gave,\n(\u00c6the her name) at home to end his days;\nBase wealth preferring to eternal praise.\nNext him Antilochus demands the course\nWith beating heart, and cheers his Pylian horse.\nExperienced Nestor gives his son the reins,\nDirects his judgment, and his heat restrains;\nNor idly warns the hoary sire, nor hears\nThe prudent son with unattending ears.\n\n\u201cMy son! though youthful ardour fire thy breast,\nThe gods have loved thee, and with arts have bless\u2019d;\nNeptune and Jove on thee conferr\u2019d the skill\nSwift round the goal to turn the flying wheel.\nTo guide thy conduct little precept needs;\nBut slow, and past their vigour, are my steeds.\nFear not thy rivals, though for swiftness known;\nCompare those rivals\u2019 judgment and thy own:\nIt is not strength, but art, obtains the prize,\nAnd to be swift is less than to be wise.\n\u2019Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes\nThe dexterous woodman shapes the stubborn oaks;\nBy art the pilot, through the boiling deep\nAnd howling tempest, steers the fearless ship;\nAnd \u2019tis the artist wins the glorious course;\nNot those who trust in chariots and in horse.\nIn vain, unskilful to the goal they strive,\nAnd short, or wide, the ungovern\u2019d courser drive:\nWhile with sure skill, though with inferior steeds,\nThe knowing racer to his end proceeds;\nFix\u2019d on the goal his eye foreruns the course,\nHis hand unerring steers the steady horse,\nAnd now contracts, or now extends the rein,\nObserving still the foremost on the plain.\nMark then the goal, \u2019tis easy to be found;\nYon aged trunk, a cubit from the ground;\nOf some once stately oak the last remains,\nOr hardy fir, unperish\u2019d with the rains:\nInclosed with stones, conspicuous from afar;\nAnd round, a circle for the wheeling car.\n(Some tomb perhaps of old, the dead to grace;\nOr then, as now, the limit of a race.)\nBear close to this, and warily proceed,\nA little bending to the left-hand steed;\nBut urge the right, and give him all the reins;\nWhile thy strict hand his fellow\u2019s head restrains,\nAnd turns him short; till, doubling as they roll,\nThe wheel\u2019s round naves appear to brush the goal.\nYet (not to break the car, or lame the horse)\nClear of the stony heap direct the course;\nLest through incaution failing, thou mayst be\nA joy to others, a reproach to me.\nSo shalt thou pass the goal, secure of mind,\nAnd leave unskilful swiftness far behind:\nThough thy fierce rival drove the matchless steed\nWhich bore Adrastus, of celestial breed;\nOr the famed race, through all the regions known,\nThat whirl\u2019d the car of proud Laomedon.\u201d\n\nThus (nought unsaid) the much-advising sage\nConcludes; then sat, stiff with unwieldy age.\nNext bold Meriones was seen to rise,\nThe last, but not least ardent for the prize.\nThey mount their seats; the lots their place dispose\n(Roll\u2019d in his helmet, these Achilles throws).\nYoung Nestor leads the race: Eumelus then;\nAnd next the brother of the king of men:\nThy lot, Meriones, the fourth was cast;\nAnd, far the bravest, Diomed, was last.\nThey stand in order, an impatient train:\nPelides points the barrier on the plain,\nAnd sends before old Ph\u0153nix to the place,\nTo mark the racers, and to judge the race.\nAt once the coursers from the barrier bound;\nThe lifted scourges all at once resound;\nTheir heart, their eyes, their voice, they send before;\nAnd up the champaign thunder from the shore:\nThick, where they drive, the dusty clouds arise,\nAnd the lost courser in the whirlwind flies;\nLoose on their shoulders the long manes reclined,\nFloat in their speed, and dance upon the wind:\nThe smoking chariots, rapid as they bound,\nNow seem to touch the sky, and now the ground.\nWhile hot for fame, and conquest all their care,\n(Each o\u2019er his flying courser hung in air,)\nErect with ardour, poised upon the rein,\nThey pant, they stretch, they shout along the plain.\nNow (the last compass fetch\u2019d around the goal)\nAt the near prize each gathers all his soul,\nEach burns with double hope, with double pain,\nTears up the shore, and thunders toward the main.\nFirst flew Eumelus on Pheretian steeds;\nWith those of Tros bold Diomed succeeds:\nClose on Eumelus\u2019 back they puff the wind,\nAnd seem just mounting on his car behind;\nFull on his neck he feels the sultry breeze,\nAnd, hovering o\u2019er, their stretching shadows sees.\nThen had he lost, or left a doubtful prize;\nBut angry Ph\u0153bus to Tydides flies,\nStrikes from his hand the scourge, and renders vain\nHis matchless horses\u2019 labour on the plain.\nRage fills his eye with anguish, to survey\nSnatch\u2019d from his hope the glories of the day.\nThe fraud celestial Pallas sees with pain,\nSprings to her knight, and gives the scourge again,\nAnd fills his steeds with vigour. At a stroke\nShe breaks his rival\u2019s chariot from the yoke:\nNo more their way the startled horses held;\nThe car reversed came rattling on the field;\nShot headlong from his seat, beside the wheel,\nProne on the dust the unhappy master fell;\nHis batter\u2019d face and elbows strike the ground;\nNose, mouth, and front, one undistinguish\u2019d wound:\nGrief stops his voice, a torrent drowns his eyes:\nBefore him far the glad Tydides flies;\nMinerva\u2019s spirit drives his matchless pace,\nAnd crowns him victor of the labour\u2019d race.\n\nThe next, though distant, Menelaus succeeds;\nWhile thus young Nestor animates his steeds:\n\u201cNow, now, my generous pair, exert your force;\nNot that we hope to match Tydides\u2019 horse,\nSince great Minerva wings their rapid way,\nAnd gives their lord the honours of the day;\nBut reach Atrides! shall his mare outgo\nYour swiftness? vanquish\u2019d by a female foe?\nThrough your neglect, if lagging on the plain\nThe last ignoble gift be all we gain,\nNo more shall Nestor\u2019s hand your food supply,\nThe old man\u2019s fury rises, and ye die.\nHaste then: yon narrow road, before our sight,\nPresents the occasion, could we use it right.\u201d\n\nThus he. The coursers at their master\u2019s threat\nWith quicker steps the sounding champaign beat.\nAnd now Antilochus with nice survey\nObserves the compass of the hollow way.\n\u2019Twas where, by force of wintry torrents torn,\nFast by the road a precipice was worn:\nHere, where but one could pass, to shun the throng\nThe Spartan hero\u2019s chariot smoked along.\nClose up the venturous youth resolves to keep,\nStill edging near, and bears him toward the steep.\nAtrides, trembling, casts his eye below,\nAnd wonders at the rashness of his foe.\n\u201cHold, stay your steeds\u2014What madness thus to ride\nThis narrow way! take larger field (he cried),\nOr both must fall.\u201d\u2014Atrides cried in vain;\nHe flies more fast, and throws up all the rein.\nFar as an able arm the disk can send,\nWhen youthful rivals their full force extend,\nSo far, Antilochus! thy chariot flew\nBefore the king: he, cautious, backward drew\nHis horse compell\u2019d; foreboding in his fears\nThe rattling ruin of the clashing cars,\nThe floundering coursers rolling on the plain,\nAnd conquest lost through frantic haste to gain.\nBut thus upbraids his rival as he flies:\n\u201cGo, furious youth! ungenerous and unwise!\nGo, but expect not I\u2019ll the prize resign;\nAdd perjury to fraud, and make it thine\u2014\u201d\nThen to his steeds with all his force he cries,\n\u201cBe swift, be vigorous, and regain the prize!\nYour rivals, destitute of youthful force,\nWith fainting knees shall labour in the course,\nAnd yield the glory yours.\u201d\u2014The steeds obey;\nAlready at their heels they wing their way,\nAnd seem already to retrieve the day.\n\nMeantime the Grecians in a ring beheld\nThe coursers bounding o\u2019er the dusty field.\nThe first who mark\u2019d them was the Cretan king;\nHigh on a rising ground, above the ring,\nThe monarch sat: from whence with sure survey\nHe well observed the chief who led the way,\nAnd heard from far his animating cries,\nAnd saw the foremost steed with sharpen\u2019d eyes;\nOn whose broad front a blaze of shining white,\nLike the full moon, stood obvious to the sight.\nHe saw; and rising, to the Greeks begun:\n\u201cAre yonder horse discern\u2019d by me alone?\nOr can ye, all, another chief survey,\nAnd other steeds than lately led the way?\nThose, though the swiftest, by some god withheld,\nLie sure disabled in the middle field:\nFor, since the goal they doubled, round the plain\nI search to find them, but I search in vain.\nPerchance the reins forsook the driver\u2019s hand,\nAnd, turn\u2019d too short, he tumbled on the strand,\nShot from the chariot; while his coursers stray\nWith frantic fury from the destined way.\nRise then some other, and inform my sight,\nFor these dim eyes, perhaps, discern not right;\nYet sure he seems, to judge by shape and air,\nThe great \u00c6tolian chief, renown\u2019d in war.\u201d\n\n\u201cOld man! (O\u00efleus rashly thus replies)\nThy tongue too hastily confers the prize;\nOf those who view the course, nor sharpest eyed,\nNor youngest, yet the readiest to decide.\nEumelus\u2019 steeds, high bounding in the chase,\nStill, as at first, unrivall\u2019d lead the race:\nI well discern him, as he shakes the rein,\nAnd hear his shouts victorious o\u2019er the plain.\u201d\n\nThus he. Idomeneus, incensed, rejoin\u2019d:\n\u201cBarbarous of words! and arrogant of mind!\nContentious prince, of all the Greeks beside\nThe last in merit, as the first in pride!\nTo vile reproach what answer can we make?\nA goblet or a tripod let us stake,\nAnd be the king the judge. The most unwise\nWill learn their rashness, when they pay the price.\u201d\n\nHe said: and Ajax, by mad passion borne,\nStern had replied; fierce scorn enhancing scorn\nTo fell extremes. But Thetis\u2019 godlike son\nAwful amidst them rose, and thus begun:\n\n\u201cForbear, ye chiefs! reproachful to contend;\nMuch would ye blame, should others thus offend:\nAnd lo! the approaching steeds your contest end.\u201d\nNo sooner had he spoke, but thundering near,\nDrives, through a stream of dust, the charioteer.\nHigh o\u2019er his head the circling lash he wields:\nHis bounding horses scarcely touch the fields:\nHis car amidst the dusty whirlwind roll\u2019d,\nBright with the mingled blaze of tin and gold,\nRefulgent through the cloud: no eye could find\nThe track his flying wheels had left behind:\nAnd the fierce coursers urged their rapid pace\nSo swift, it seem\u2019d a flight, and not a race.\nNow victor at the goal Tydides stands,\nQuits his bright car, and springs upon the sands;\nFrom the hot steeds the sweaty torrents stream;\nThe well-plied whip is hung athwart the beam:\nWith joy brave Sthenelus receives the prize,\nThe tripod-vase, and dame with radiant eyes:\nThese to the ships his train triumphant leads,\nThe chief himself unyokes the panting steeds.\n\nYoung Nestor follows (who by art, not force,\nO\u2019erpass\u2019d Atrides) second in the course.\nBehind, Atrides urged the race, more near\nThan to the courser in his swift career\nThe following car, just touching with his heel\nAnd brushing with his tail the whirling wheel:\nSuch, and so narrow now the space between\nThe rivals, late so distant on the green;\nSo soon swift \u00c6the her lost ground regain\u2019d,\nOne length, one moment, had the race obtain\u2019d.\n\nMerion pursued, at greater distance still,\nWith tardier coursers, and inferior skill.\nLast came, Admetus! thy unhappy son;\nSlow dragged the steeds his batter\u2019d chariot on:\nAchilles saw, and pitying thus begun:\n\n\u201cBehold! the man whose matchless art surpass\u2019d\nThe sons of Greece! the ablest, yet the last!\nFortune denies, but justice bids us pay\n(Since great Tydides bears the first away)\nTo him the second honours of the day.\u201d\n\nThe Greeks consent with loud-applauding cries,\nAnd then Eumelus had received the prize,\nBut youthful Nestor, jealous of his fame,\nThe award opposes, and asserts his claim.\n\u201cThink not (he cries) I tamely will resign,\nO Peleus\u2019 son! the mare so justly mine.\nWhat if the gods, the skilful to confound,\nHave thrown the horse and horseman to the ground?\nPerhaps he sought not heaven by sacrifice,\nAnd vows omitted forfeited the prize.\nIf yet (distinction to thy friend to show,\nAnd please a soul desirous to bestow)\nSome gift must grace Eumelus, view thy store\nOf beauteous handmaids, steeds, and shining ore;\nAn ample present let him thence receive,\nAnd Greece shall praise thy generous thirst to give.\nBut this my prize I never shall forego;\nThis, who but touches, warriors! is my foe.\u201d\n\nThus spake the youth; nor did his words offend;\nPleased with the well-turn\u2019d flattery of a friend,\nAchilles smiled: \u201cThe gift proposed (he cried),\nAntilochus! we shall ourself provide.\nWith plates of brass the corslet cover\u2019d o\u2019er,\n(The same renown\u2019d Asteropaeus wore,)\nWhose glittering margins raised with silver shine,\n(No vulgar gift,) Eumelus! shall be thine.\u201d\n\nHe said: Automedon at his command\nThe corslet brought, and gave it to his hand.\nDistinguish\u2019d by his friend, his bosom glows\nWith generous joy: then Menelaus rose;\nThe herald placed the sceptre in his hands,\nAnd still\u2019d the clamour of the shouting bands.\nNot without cause incensed at Nestor\u2019s son,\nAnd inly grieving, thus the king begun:\n\n\u201cThe praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain\u2019d,\nAn act so rash, Antilochus! has stain\u2019d.\nRobb\u2019d of my glory and my just reward,\nTo you, O Grecians! be my wrong declared:\nSo not a leader shall our conduct blame,\nOr judge me envious of a rival\u2019s fame.\nBut shall not we, ourselves, the truth maintain?\nWhat needs appealing in a fact so plain?\nWhat Greek shall blame me, if I bid thee rise,\nAnd vindicate by oath th\u2019 ill-gotten prize?\nRise if thou darest, before thy chariot stand,\nThe driving scourge high-lifted in thy hand;\nAnd touch thy steeds, and swear thy whole intent\nWas but to conquer, not to circumvent.\nSwear by that god whose liquid arms surround\nThe globe, and whose dread earthquakes heave the ground!\u201d\n\nThe prudent chief with calm attention heard;\nThen mildly thus: \u201cExcuse, if youth have err\u2019d;\nSuperior as thou art, forgive the offence,\nNor I thy equal, or in years, or sense.\nThou know\u2019st the errors of unripen\u2019d age,\nWeak are its counsels, headlong is its rage.\nThe prize I quit, if thou thy wrath resign;\nThe mare, or aught thou ask\u2019st, be freely thine\nEre I become (from thy dear friendship torn)\nHateful to thee, and to the gods forsworn.\u201d\n\nSo spoke Antilochus; and at the word\nThe mare contested to the king restored.\nJoy swells his soul: as when the vernal grain\nLifts the green ear above the springing plain,\nThe fields their vegetable life renew,\nAnd laugh and glitter with the morning dew;\nSuch joy the Spartan\u2019s shining face o\u2019erspread,\nAnd lifted his gay heart, while thus he said:\n\n\u201cStill may our souls, O generous youth! agree\n\u2019Tis now Atrides\u2019 turn to yield to thee.\nRash heat perhaps a moment might control,\nNot break, the settled temper of thy soul.\nNot but (my friend) \u2019tis still the wiser way\nTo waive contention with superior sway;\nFor ah! how few, who should like thee offend,\nLike thee, have talents to regain the friend!\nTo plead indulgence, and thy fault atone,\nSuffice thy father\u2019s merit and thy own:\nGenerous alike, for me, the sire and son\nHave greatly suffer\u2019d, and have greatly done.\nI yield; that all may know, my soul can bend,\nNor is my pride preferr\u2019d before my friend.\u201d\n\nHe said; and pleased his passion to command,\nResign\u2019d the courser to Noemon\u2019s hand,\nFriend of the youthful chief: himself content,\nThe shining charger to his vessel sent.\nThe golden talents Merion next obtain\u2019d;\nThe fifth reward, the double bowl, remain\u2019d.\nAchilles this to reverend Nestor bears.\nAnd thus the purpose of his gift declares:\n\u201cAccept thou this, O sacred sire! (he said)\nIn dear memorial of Patroclus dead;\nDead and for ever lost Patroclus lies,\nFor ever snatch\u2019d from our desiring eyes!\nTake thou this token of a grateful heart,\nThough \u2019tis not thine to hurl the distant dart,\nThe quoit to toss, the ponderous mace to wield,\nOr urge the race, or wrestle on the field:\nThy pristine vigour age has overthrown,\nBut left the glory of the past thy own.\u201d\n\nHe said, and placed the goblet at his side;\nWith joy the venerable king replied:\n\n\u201cWisely and well, my son, thy words have proved\nA senior honour\u2019d, and a friend beloved!\nToo true it is, deserted of my strength,\nThese wither\u2019d arms and limbs have fail\u2019d at length.\nOh! had I now that force I felt of yore,\nKnown through Buprasium and the Pylian shore!\nVictorious then in every solemn game,\nOrdain\u2019d to Amarynces\u2019 mighty name;\nThe brave Epeians gave my glory way,\n\u00c6tolians, Pylians, all resign\u2019d the day.\nI quell\u2019d Clytomedes in fights of hand,\nAnd backward hurl\u2019d Anc\u00e6us on the sand,\nSurpass\u2019d Iphyclus in the swift career,\nPhyleus and Polydorus with the spear.\nThe sons of Actor won the prize of horse,\nBut won by numbers, not by art or force:\nFor the famed twins, impatient to survey\nPrize after prize by Nestor borne away,\nSprung to their car; and with united pains\nOne lash\u2019d the coursers, while one ruled the reins.\nSuch once I was! Now to these tasks succeeds\nA younger race, that emulate our deeds:\nI yield, alas! (to age who must not yield?)\nThough once the foremost hero of the field.\nGo thou, my son! by generous friendship led,\nWith martial honours decorate the dead:\nWhile pleased I take the gift thy hands present,\n(Pledge of benevolence, and kind intent,)\nRejoiced, of all the numerous Greeks, to see\nNot one but honours sacred age and me:\nThose due distinctions thou so well canst pay,\nMay the just gods return another day!\u201d\n\nProud of the gift, thus spake the full of days:\nAchilles heard him, prouder of the praise.\n\nThe prizes next are order\u2019d to the field,\nFor the bold champions who the caestus wield.\nA stately mule, as yet by toils unbroke,\nOf six years\u2019 age, unconscious of the yoke,\nIs to the circus led, and firmly bound;\nNext stands a goblet, massy, large, and round.\nAchilles rising, thus: \u201cLet Greece excite\nTwo heroes equal to this hardy fight;\nWho dare the foe with lifted arms provoke,\nAnd rush beneath the long-descending stroke.\nOn whom Apollo shall the palm bestow,\nAnd whom the Greeks supreme by conquest know,\nThis mule his dauntless labours shall repay,\nThe vanquish\u2019d bear the massy bowl away.\u201d\n\nThis dreadful combat great Epe\u00fcs chose;[291]\nHigh o\u2019er the crowd, enormous bulk! he rose,\nAnd seized the beast, and thus began to say:\n\u201cStand forth some man, to bear the bowl away!\n(Price of his ruin: for who dares deny\nThis mule my right; the undoubted victor I)\nOthers, \u2019tis own\u2019d, in fields of battle shine,\nBut the first honours of this fight are mine;\nFor who excels in all? Then let my foe\nDraw near, but first his certain fortune know;\nSecure this hand shall his whole frame confound,\nMash all his bones, and all his body pound:\nSo let his friends be nigh, a needful train,\nTo heave the batter\u2019d carcase off the plain.\u201d\n\nThe giant spoke; and in a stupid gaze\nThe host beheld him, silent with amaze!\n\u2019Twas thou, Euryalus! who durst aspire\nTo meet his might, and emulate thy sire,\nThe great Mecistheus; who in days of yore\nIn Theban games the noblest trophy bore,\n(The games ordain\u2019d dead OEdipus to grace,)\nAnd singly vanquish the Cadmean race.\nHim great Tydides urges to contend,\nWarm with the hopes of conquest for his friend;\nOfficious with the cincture girds him round;\nAnd to his wrist the gloves of death are bound.\nAmid the circle now each champion stands,\nAnd poises high in air his iron hands;\nWith clashing gauntlets now they fiercely close,\nTheir crackling jaws re-echo to the blows,\nAnd painful sweat from all their members flows.\nAt length Epeus dealt a weighty blow\nFull on the cheek of his unwary foe;\nBeneath that ponderous arm\u2019s resistless sway\nDown dropp\u2019d he, nerveless, and extended lay.\nAs a large fish, when winds and waters roar,\nBy some huge billow dash\u2019d against the shore,\nLies panting; not less batter\u2019d with his wound,\nThe bleeding hero pants upon the ground.\nTo rear his fallen foe, the victor lends,\nScornful, his hand; and gives him to his friends;\nWhose arms support him, reeling through the throng,\nAnd dragging his disabled legs along;\nNodding, his head hangs down his shoulder o\u2019er;\nHis mouth and nostrils pour the clotted gore;[292]\nWrapp\u2019d round in mists he lies, and lost to thought;\nHis friends receive the bowl, too dearly bought.\n\nThe third bold game Achilles next demands,\nAnd calls the wrestlers to the level sands:\nA massy tripod for the victor lies,\nOf twice six oxen its reputed price;\nAnd next, the loser\u2019s spirits to restore,\nA female captive, valued but at four.\nScarce did the chief the vigorous strife propose\nWhen tower-like Ajax and Ulysses rose.\nAmid the ring each nervous rival stands,\nEmbracing rigid with implicit hands.\nClose lock\u2019d above, their heads and arms are mix\u2019d:\nBelow, their planted feet at distance fix\u2019d;\nLike two strong rafters which the builder forms,\nProof to the wintry winds and howling storms,\nTheir tops connected, but at wider space\nFix\u2019d on the centre stands their solid base.\nNow to the grasp each manly body bends;\nThe humid sweat from every pore descends;\nTheir bones resound with blows: sides, shoulders, thighs\nSwell to each gripe, and bloody tumours rise.\nNor could Ulysses, for his art renown\u2019d,\nO\u2019erturn the strength of Ajax on the ground;\nNor could the strength of Ajax overthrow\nThe watchful caution of his artful foe.\nWhile the long strife even tired the lookers on,\nThus to Ulysses spoke great Telamon:\n\u201cOr let me lift thee, chief, or lift thou me:\nProve we our force, and Jove the rest decree.\u201d\n\nHe said; and, straining, heaved him off the ground\nWith matchless strength; that time Ulysses found\nThe strength to evade, and where the nerves combine\nHis ankle struck: the giant fell supine;\nUlysses, following, on his bosom lies;\nShouts of applause run rattling through the skies.\nAjax to lift Ulysses next essays;\nHe barely stirr\u2019d him, but he could not raise:\nHis knee lock\u2019d fast, the foe\u2019s attempt denied;\nAnd grappling close, they tumbled side by side.\nDefiled with honourable dust they roll,\nStill breathing strife, and unsubdued of soul:\nAgain they rage, again to combat rise;\nWhen great Achilles thus divides the prize:\n\n\u201cYour noble vigour, O my friends, restrain;\nNor weary out your generous strength in vain.\nYe both have won: let others who excel,\nNow prove that prowess you have proved so well.\u201d\n\nThe hero\u2019s words the willing chiefs obey,\nFrom their tired bodies wipe the dust away,\nAnd, clothed anew, the following games survey.\n\nAnd now succeed the gifts ordain\u2019d to grace\nThe youths contending in the rapid race:\nA silver urn that full six measures held,\nBy none in weight or workmanship excell\u2019d:\nSidonian artists taught the frame to shine,\nElaborate, with artifice divine;\nWhence Tyrian sailors did the prize transport,\nAnd gave to Thoas at the Lemnian port:\nFrom him descended, good Eunaeus heir\u2019d\nThe glorious gift; and, for Lycaon spared,\nTo brave Patroclus gave the rich reward:\nNow, the same hero\u2019s funeral rites to grace,\nIt stands the prize of swiftness in the race.\nA well-fed ox was for the second placed;\nAnd half a talent must content the last.\nAchilles rising then bespoke the train:\n\u201cWho hope the palm of swiftness to obtain,\nStand forth, and bear these prizes from the plain.\u201d\n\nThe hero said, and starting from his place,\nOilean Ajax rises to the race;\nUlysses next; and he whose speed surpass\u2019d\nHis youthful equals, Nestor\u2019s son, the last.\nRanged in a line the ready racers stand;\nPelides points the barrier with his hand;\nAll start at once; O\u00efleus led the race;\nThe next Ulysses, measuring pace with pace;\nBehind him, diligently close, he sped,\nAs closely following as the running thread\nThe spindle follows, and displays the charms\nOf the fair spinster\u2019s breast and moving arms:\nGraceful in motion thus, his foe he plies,\nAnd treads each footstep ere the dust can rise;\nHis glowing breath upon his shoulders plays:\nThe admiring Greeks loud acclamations raise:\nTo him they give their wishes, hearts, and eyes,\nAnd send their souls before him as he flies.\nNow three times turn\u2019d in prospect of the goal,\nThe panting chief to Pallas lifts his soul:\n\u201cAssist, O goddess!\u201d thus in thought he pray\u2019d!\nAnd present at his thought descends the maid.\nBuoy\u2019d by her heavenly force, he seems to swim,\nAnd feels a pinion lifting every limb.\nAll fierce, and ready now the prize to gain,\nUnhappy Ajax stumbles on the plain\n(O\u2019erturn\u2019d by Pallas), where the slippery shore\nWas clogg\u2019d with slimy dung and mingled gore.\n(The self-same place beside Patroclus\u2019 pyre,\nWhere late the slaughter\u2019d victims fed the fire.)\nBesmear\u2019d with filth, and blotted o\u2019er with clay,\nObscene to sight, the rueful racer lay;\nThe well-fed bull (the second prize) he shared,\nAnd left the urn Ulysses\u2019 rich reward.\nThen, grasping by the horn the mighty beast,\nThe baffled hero thus the Greeks address\u2019d:\n\n\u201cAccursed fate! the conquest I forego;\nA mortal I, a goddess was my foe;\nShe urged her favourite on the rapid way,\nAnd Pallas, not Ulysses, won the day.\u201d\n\nThus sourly wail\u2019d he, sputtering dirt and gore;\nA burst of laughter echoed through the shore.\nAntilochus, more humorous than the rest,\nTakes the last prize, and takes it with a jest:\n\n\u201cWhy with our wiser elders should we strive?\nThe gods still love them, and they always thrive.\nYe see, to Ajax I must yield the prize:\nHe to Ulysses, still more aged and wise;\n(A green old age unconscious of decays,\nThat proves the hero born in better days!)\nBehold his vigour in this active race!\nAchilles only boasts a swifter pace:\nFor who can match Achilles? He who can,\nMust yet be more than hero, more than man.\u201d\n\nThe effect succeeds the speech. Pelides cries,\n\u201cThy artful praise deserves a better prize.\nNor Greece in vain shall hear thy friend extoll\u2019d;\nReceive a talent of the purest gold.\u201d\nThe youth departs content. The host admire\nThe son of Nestor, worthy of his sire.\n\nNext these a buckler, spear, and helm, he brings;\nCast on the plain, the brazen burden rings:\nArms which of late divine Sarpedon wore,\nAnd great Patroclus in short triumph bore.\n\u201cStand forth the bravest of our host! (he cries)\nWhoever dares deserve so rich a prize,\nNow grace the lists before our army\u2019s sight,\nAnd sheathed in steel, provoke his foe to fight.\nWho first the jointed armour shall explore,\nAnd stain his rival\u2019s mail with issuing gore,\nThe sword Asteropaeus possess\u2019d of old,\n(A Thracian blade, distinct with studs of gold,)\nShall pay the stroke, and grace the striker\u2019s side:\nThese arms in common let the chiefs divide:\nFor each brave champion, when the combat ends,\nA sumptuous banquet at our tents attends.\u201d\n\nFierce at the word uprose great Tydeus\u2019 son,\nAnd the huge bulk of Ajax Telamon.\nClad in refulgent steel, on either hand,\nThe dreadful chiefs amid the circle stand;\nLouring they meet, tremendous to the sight;\nEach Argive bosom beats with fierce delight.\nOpposed in arms not long they idly stood,\nBut thrice they closed, and thrice the charge renew\u2019d.\nA furious pass the spear of Ajax made\nThrough the broad shield, but at the corslet stay\u2019d.\nNot thus the foe: his javelin aim\u2019d above\nThe buckler\u2019s margin, at the neck he drove.\nBut Greece, now trembling for her hero\u2019s life,\nBade share the honours, and surcease the strife.\nYet still the victor\u2019s due Tydides gains,\nWith him the sword and studded belt remains.\n\nThen hurl\u2019d the hero, thundering on the ground,\nA mass of iron (an enormous round),\nWhose weight and size the circling Greeks admire,\nRude from the furnace, and but shaped by fire.\nThis mighty quoit A\u00ebtion wont to rear,\nAnd from his whirling arm dismiss in air;\nThe giant by Achilles slain, he stow\u2019d\nAmong his spoils this memorable load.\nFor this, he bids those nervous artists vie,\nThat teach the disk to sound along the sky.\n\u201cLet him, whose might can hurl this bowl, arise;\nWho farthest hurls it, take it as his prize;\nIf he be one enrich\u2019d with large domain\nOf downs for flocks, and arable for grain,\nSmall stock of iron needs that man provide;\nHis hinds and swains whole years shall be supplied\nFrom hence; nor ask the neighbouring city\u2019s aid\nFor ploughshares, wheels, and all the rural trade.\u201d\n\nStern Polyp\u0153tes stepp\u2019d before the throng,\nAnd great Leonteus, more than mortal strong;\nWhose force with rival forces to oppose,\nUprose great Ajax; up Epeus rose.\nEach stood in order: first Epeus threw;\nHigh o\u2019er the wondering crowds the whirling circle flew.\nLeonteus next a little space surpass\u2019d;\nAnd third, the strength of godlike Ajax cast.\nO\u2019er both their marks it flew; till fiercely flung\nFrom Polyp\u0153tes\u2019 arm the discus sung:\nFar as a swain his whirling sheephook throws,\nThat distant falls among the grazing cows,\nSo past them all the rapid circle flies:\nHis friends, while loud applauses shake the skies,\nWith force conjoin\u2019d heave off the weighty prize.\n\nThose, who in skilful archery contend,\nHe next invites the twanging bow to bend;\nAnd twice ten axes casts amidst the round,\nTen double-edged, and ten that singly wound\nThe mast, which late a first-rate galley bore,\nThe hero fixes in the sandy shore;\nTo the tall top a milk-white dove they tie,\nThe trembling mark at which their arrows fly.\n\n\u201cWhose weapon strikes yon fluttering bird, shall bear\nThese two-edged axes, terrible in war;\nThe single, he whose shaft divides the cord.\u201d\nHe said: experienced Merion took the word;\nAnd skilful Teucer: in the helm they threw\nTheir lots inscribed, and forth the latter flew.\nSwift from the string the sounding arrow flies;\nBut flies unbless\u2019d! No grateful sacrifice,\nNo firstling lambs, unheedful! didst thou vow\nTo Ph\u0153bus, patron of the shaft and bow.\nFor this, thy well-aim\u2019d arrow turn\u2019d aside,\nErr\u2019d from the dove, yet cut the cord that tied:\nAdown the mainmast fell the parted string,\nAnd the free bird to heaven displays her wing:\nSea, shores, and skies, with loud applause resound,\nAnd Merion eager meditates the wound:\nHe takes the bow, directs the shaft above,\nAnd following with his eye the soaring dove,\nImplores the god to speed it through the skies,\nWith vows of firstling lambs, and grateful sacrifice,\nThe dove, in airy circles as she wheels,\nAmid the clouds the piercing arrow feels;\nQuite through and through the point its passage found,\nAnd at his feet fell bloody to the ground.\nThe wounded bird, ere yet she breathed her last,\nWith flagging wings alighted on the mast,\nA moment hung, and spread her pinions there,\nThen sudden dropp\u2019d, and left her life in air.\nFrom the pleased crowd new peals of thunder rise,\nAnd to the ships brave Merion bears the prize.\n\nTo close the funeral games, Achilles last\nA massy spear amid the circle placed,\nAnd ample charger of unsullied frame,\nWith flowers high-wrought, not blacken\u2019d yet by flame.\nFor these he bids the heroes prove their art,\nWhose dexterous skill directs the flying dart.\nHere too great Merion hopes the noble prize;\nNor here disdain\u2019d the king of men to rise.\nWith joy Pelides saw the honour paid,\nRose to the monarch, and respectful said:\n\n\u201cThee first in virtue, as in power supreme,\nO king of nations! all thy Greeks proclaim;\nIn every martial game thy worth attest,\nAnd know thee both their greatest and their best.\nTake then the prize, but let brave Merion bear\nThis beamy javelin in thy brother\u2019s war.\u201d\n\nPleased from the hero\u2019s lips his praise to hear,\nThe king to Merion gives the brazen spear:\nBut, set apart for sacred use, commands\nThe glittering charger to Talthybius\u2019 hands.\n\n\n[Illustration: ] CERES\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XXIV.\n\n\nARGUMENT.\n\n\nTHE REDEMPTION OF THE BODY OF HECTOR.\n\n\nThe gods deliberate about the redemption of Hector\u2019s body. Jupiter\nsends Thetis to Achilles, to dispose him for the restoring it, and Iris\nto Priam, to encourage him to go in person and treat for it. The old\nking, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his queen, makes ready for\nthe journey, to which he is encouraged by an omen from Jupiter. He sets\nforth in his chariot, with a waggon loaded with presents, under the\ncharge of Id\u00e6us the herald. Mercury descends in the shape of a young\nman, and conducts him to the pavilion of Achilles. Their conversation\non the way. Priam finds Achilles at his table, casts himself at his\nfeet, and begs for the body of his son: Achilles, moved with\ncompassion, grants his request, detains him one night in his tent, and\nthe next morning sends him home with the body: the Trojans run out to\nmeet him. The lamentations of Andromache, Hecuba, and Helen, with the\nsolemnities of the funeral.\n    The time of twelve days is employed in this book, while the body of\n    Hector lies in the tent of Achilles; and as many more are spent in\n    the truce allowed for his interment. The scene is partly in\n    Achilles\u2019 camp, and partly in Troy.\n\n\nNow from the finish\u2019d games the Grecian band\nSeek their black ships, and clear the crowded strand,\nAll stretch\u2019d at ease the genial banquet share,\nAnd pleasing slumbers quiet all their care.\nNot so Achilles: he, to grief resign\u2019d,\nHis friend\u2019s dear image present to his mind,\nTakes his sad couch, more unobserved to weep;\nNor tastes the gifts of all-composing sleep.\nRestless he roll\u2019d around his weary bed,\nAnd all his soul on his Patroclus fed:\nThe form so pleasing, and the heart so kind,\nThat youthful vigour, and that manly mind,\nWhat toils they shared, what martial works they wrought,\nWhat seas they measured, and what fields they fought;\nAll pass\u2019d before him in remembrance dear,\nThought follows thought, and tear succeeds to tear.\nAnd now supine, now prone, the hero lay,\nNow shifts his side, impatient for the day:\nThen starting up, disconsolate he goes\nWide on the lonely beach to vent his woes.\nThere as the solitary mourner raves,\nThe ruddy morning rises o\u2019er the waves:\nSoon as it rose, his furious steeds he join\u2019d!\nThe chariot flies, and Hector trails behind.\nAnd thrice, Patroclus! round thy monument\nWas Hector dragg\u2019d, then hurried to the tent.\nThere sleep at last o\u2019ercomes the hero\u2019s eyes;\nWhile foul in dust the unhonour\u2019d carcase lies,\nBut not deserted by the pitying skies:\nFor Ph\u0153bus watch\u2019d it with superior care,\nPreserved from gaping wounds and tainting air;\nAnd, ignominious as it swept the field,\nSpread o\u2019er the sacred corse his golden shield.\nAll heaven was moved, and Hermes will\u2019d to go\nBy stealth to snatch him from the insulting foe:\nBut Neptune this, and Pallas this denies,\nAnd th\u2019 unrelenting empress of the skies,\nE\u2019er since that day implacable to Troy,\nWhat time young Paris, simple shepherd boy,\nWon by destructive lust (reward obscene),\nTheir charms rejected for the Cyprian queen.\nBut when the tenth celestial morning broke,\nTo heaven assembled, thus Apollo spoke:\n\n\n[Illustration: ] HECTOR\u2019S BODY AT THE CAR OF ACHILLES\n\n\n\u201cUnpitying powers! how oft each holy fane\nHas Hector tinged with blood of victims slain?\nAnd can ye still his cold remains pursue?\nStill grudge his body to the Trojans\u2019 view?\nDeny to consort, mother, son, and sire,\nThe last sad honours of a funeral fire?\nIs then the dire Achilles all your care?\nThat iron heart, inflexibly severe;\nA lion, not a man, who slaughters wide,\nIn strength of rage, and impotence of pride;\nWho hastes to murder with a savage joy,\nInvades around, and breathes but to destroy!\nShame is not of his soul; nor understood,\nThe greatest evil and the greatest good.\nStill for one loss he rages unresign\u2019d,\nRepugnant to the lot of all mankind;\nTo lose a friend, a brother, or a son,\nHeaven dooms each mortal, and its will is done:\nAwhile they sorrow, then dismiss their care;\nFate gives the wound, and man is born to bear.\nBut this insatiate, the commission given\nBy fate exceeds, and tempts the wrath of heaven:\nLo, how his rage dishonest drags along\nHector\u2019s dead earth, insensible of wrong!\nBrave though he be, yet by no reason awed,\nHe violates the laws of man and god.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS\n\n\n\u201cIf equal honours by the partial skies\nAre doom\u2019d both heroes, (Juno thus replies,)\nIf Thetis\u2019 son must no distinction know,\nThen hear, ye gods! the patron of the bow.\nBut Hector only boasts a mortal claim,\nHis birth deriving from a mortal dame:\nAchilles, of your own ethereal race,\nSprings from a goddess by a man\u2019s embrace\n(A goddess by ourself to Peleus given,\nA man divine, and chosen friend of heaven)\nTo grace those nuptials, from the bright abode\nYourselves were present; where this minstrel-god,\nWell pleased to share the feast, amid the quire\nStood proud to hymn, and tune his youthful lyre.\u201d\n\nThen thus the Thunderer checks the imperial dame:\n\u201cLet not thy wrath the court of heaven inflame;\nTheir merits, nor their honours, are the same.\nBut mine, and every god\u2019s peculiar grace\nHector deserves, of all the Trojan race:\nStill on our shrines his grateful offerings lay,\n(The only honours men to gods can pay,)\nNor ever from our smoking altar ceased\nThe pure libation, and the holy feast:\nHowe\u2019er by stealth to snatch the corse away,\nWe will not: Thetis guards it night and day.\nBut haste, and summon to our courts above\nThe azure queen; let her persuasion move\nHer furious son from Priam to receive\nThe proffer\u2019d ransom, and the corse to leave.\u201d\n\nHe added not: and Iris from the skies,\nSwift as a whirlwind, on the message flies,\nMeteorous the face of ocean sweeps,\nRefulgent gliding o\u2019er the sable deeps.\nBetween where Samos wide his forests spreads,\nAnd rocky Imbrus lifts its pointed heads,\nDown plunged the maid; (the parted waves resound;)\nShe plunged and instant shot the dark profound.\nAs bearing death in the fallacious bait,\nFrom the bent angle sinks the leaden weight;\nSo pass\u2019d the goddess through the closing wave,\nWhere Thetis sorrow\u2019d in her secret cave:\nThere placed amidst her melancholy train\n(The blue-hair\u2019d sisters of the sacred main)\nPensive she sat, revolving fates to come,\nAnd wept her godlike son\u2019s approaching doom.\nThen thus the goddess of the painted bow:\n\u201cArise, O Thetis! from thy seats below,\n\u2019Tis Jove that calls.\u201d\u2014\u201cAnd why (the dame replies)\nCalls Jove his Thetis to the hated skies?\nSad object as I am for heavenly sight!\nAh may my sorrows ever shun the light!\nHowe\u2019er, be heaven\u2019s almighty sire obey\u2019d\u2014\u201d\nShe spake, and veil\u2019d her head in sable shade,\nWhich, flowing long, her graceful person clad;\nAnd forth she paced, majestically sad.\n\nThen through the world of waters they repair\n(The way fair Iris led) to upper air.\nThe deeps dividing, o\u2019er the coast they rise,\nAnd touch with momentary flight the skies.\nThere in the lightning\u2019s blaze the sire they found,\nAnd all the gods in shining synod round.\nThetis approach\u2019d with anguish in her face,\n(Minerva rising, gave the mourner place,)\nEven Juno sought her sorrows to console,\nAnd offer\u2019d from her hand the nectar-bowl:\nShe tasted, and resign\u2019d it: then began\nThe sacred sire of gods and mortal man:\n\n\u201cThou comest, fair Thetis, but with grief o\u2019ercast;\nMaternal sorrows; long, ah, long to last!\nSuffice, we know and we partake thy cares;\nBut yield to fate, and hear what Jove declares.\nNine days are past since all the court above\nIn Hector\u2019s cause have moved the ear of Jove;\n\u2019Twas voted, Hermes from his godlike foe\nBy stealth should bear him, but we will\u2019d not so:\nWe will, thy son himself the corse restore,\nAnd to his conquest add this glory more.\nThen hie thee to him, and our mandate bear:\nTell him he tempts the wrath of heaven too far;\nNor let him more (our anger if he dread)\nVent his mad vengeance on the sacred dead;\nBut yield to ransom and the father\u2019s prayer;\nThe mournful father, Iris shall prepare\nWith gifts to sue; and offer to his hands\nWhate\u2019er his honour asks, or heart demands.\u201d\n\nHis word the silver-footed queen attends,\nAnd from Olympus\u2019 snowy tops descends.\nArrived, she heard the voice of loud lament,\nAnd echoing groans that shook the lofty tent:\nHis friends prepare the victim, and dispose\nRepast unheeded, while he vents his woes;\nThe goddess seats her by her pensive son,\nShe press\u2019d his hand, and tender thus begun:\n\n\u201cHow long, unhappy! shall thy sorrows flow,\nAnd thy heart waste with life-consuming woe:\nMindless of food, or love, whose pleasing reign\nSoothes weary life, and softens human pain?\nO snatch the moments yet within thy power;\nNot long to live, indulge the amorous hour!\nLo! Jove himself (for Jove\u2019s command I bear)\nForbids to tempt the wrath of heaven too far.\nNo longer then (his fury if thou dread)\nDetain the relics of great Hector dead;\nNor vent on senseless earth thy vengeance vain,\nBut yield to ransom, and restore the slain.\u201d\n\nTo whom Achilles: \u201cBe the ransom given,\nAnd we submit, since such the will of heaven.\u201d\n\nWhile thus they communed, from the Olympian bowers\nJove orders Iris to the Trojan towers:\n\u201cHaste, winged goddess! to the sacred town,\nAnd urge her monarch to redeem his son.\nAlone the Ilian ramparts let him leave,\nAnd bear what stern Achilles may receive:\nAlone, for so we will; no Trojan near\nExcept, to place the dead with decent care,\nSome aged herald, who with gentle hand\nMay the slow mules and funeral car command.\nNor let him death, nor let him danger dread,\nSafe through the foe by our protection led:\nHim Hermes to Achilles shall convey,\nGuard of his life, and partner of his way.\nFierce as he is, Achilles\u2019 self shall spare\nHis age, nor touch one venerable hair:\nSome thought there must be in a soul so brave,\nSome sense of duty, some desire to save.\u201d\n\n\n[Illustration: ] IRIS ADVISES PRIAM TO OBTAIN THE BODY OF HECTOR\n\n\nThen down her bow the winged Iris drives,\nAnd swift at Priam\u2019s mournful court arrives:\nWhere the sad sons beside their father\u2019s throne\nSat bathed in tears, and answer\u2019d groan with groan.\nAnd all amidst them lay the hoary sire,\n(Sad scene of woe!) his face his wrapp\u2019d attire\nConceal\u2019d from sight; with frantic hands he spread\nA shower of ashes o\u2019er his neck and head.\nFrom room to room his pensive daughters roam;\nWhose shrieks and clamours fill the vaulted dome;\nMindful of those, who late their pride and joy,\nLie pale and breathless round the fields of Troy!\nBefore the king Jove\u2019s messenger appears,\nAnd thus in whispers greets his trembling ears:\n\n\u201cFear not, O father! no ill news I bear;\nFrom Jove I come, Jove makes thee still his care;\nFor Hector\u2019s sake these walls he bids thee leave,\nAnd bear what stern Achilles may receive;\nAlone, for so he wills; no Trojan near,\nExcept, to place the dead with decent care,\nSome aged herald, who with gentle hand\nMay the slow mules and funeral car command.\nNor shalt thou death, nor shalt thou danger dread:\nSafe through the foe by his protection led:\nThee Hermes to Pelides shall convey,\nGuard of thy life, and partner of thy way.\nFierce as he is, Achilles\u2019 self shall spare\nThy age, nor touch one venerable hair;\nSome thought there must be in a soul so brave,\nSome sense of duty, some desire to save.\u201d\n\nShe spoke, and vanish\u2019d. Priam bids prepare\nHis gentle mules and harness to the car;\nThere, for the gifts, a polish\u2019d casket lay:\nHis pious sons the king\u2019s command obey.\nThen pass\u2019d the monarch to his bridal-room,\nWhere cedar-beams the lofty roofs perfume,\nAnd where the treasures of his empire lay;\nThen call\u2019d his queen, and thus began to say:\n\n\u201cUnhappy consort of a king distress\u2019d!\nPartake the troubles of thy husband\u2019s breast:\nI saw descend the messenger of Jove,\nWho bids me try Achilles\u2019 mind to move;\nForsake these ramparts, and with gifts obtain\nThe corse of Hector, at yon navy slain.\nTell me thy thought: my heart impels to go\nThrough hostile camps, and bears me to the foe.\u201d\n\nThe hoary monarch thus. Her piercing cries\nSad Hecuba renews, and then replies:\n\u201cAh! whither wanders thy distemper\u2019d mind?\nAnd where the prudence now that awed mankind?\nThrough Phrygia once and foreign regions known;\nNow all confused, distracted, overthrown!\nSingly to pass through hosts of foes! to face\n(O heart of steel!) the murderer of thy race!\nTo view that deathful eye, and wander o\u2019er\nThose hands yet red with Hector\u2019s noble gore!\nAlas! my lord! he knows not how to spare,\nAnd what his mercy, thy slain sons declare;\nSo brave! so many fallen! To claim his rage\nVain were thy dignity, and vain thy age.\nNo\u2014pent in this sad palace, let us give\nTo grief the wretched days we have to live.\nStill, still for Hector let our sorrows flow,\nBorn to his own, and to his parents\u2019 woe!\nDoom\u2019d from the hour his luckless life begun,\nTo dogs, to vultures, and to Peleus\u2019 son!\nOh! in his dearest blood might I allay\nMy rage, and these barbarities repay!\nFor ah! could Hector merit thus, whose breath\nExpired not meanly, in unactive death?\nHe poured his latest blood in manly fight,\nAnd fell a hero in his country\u2019s right.\u201d\n\n\u201cSeek not to stay me, nor my soul affright\nWith words of omen, like a bird of night,\n(Replied unmoved the venerable man;)\n\u2019Tis heaven commands me, and you urge in vain.\nHad any mortal voice the injunction laid,\nNor augur, priest, nor seer, had been obey\u2019d.\nA present goddess brought the high command,\nI saw, I heard her, and the word shall stand.\nI go, ye gods! obedient to your call:\nIf in yon camp your powers have doom\u2019d my fall,\nContent\u2014By the same hand let me expire!\nAdd to the slaughter\u2019d son the wretched sire!\nOne cold embrace at least may be allow\u2019d,\nAnd my last tears flow mingled with his blood!\u201d\n\nFrom forth his open\u2019d stores, this said, he drew\nTwelve costly carpets of refulgent hue,\nAs many vests, as many mantles told,\nAnd twelve fair veils, and garments stiff with gold,\nTwo tripods next, and twice two chargers shine,\nWith ten pure talents from the richest mine;\nAnd last a large well-labour\u2019d bowl had place,\n(The pledge of treaties once with friendly Thrace:)\nSeem\u2019d all too mean the stores he could employ,\nFor one last look to buy him back to Troy!\n\nLo! the sad father, frantic with his pain,\nAround him furious drives his menial train:\nIn vain each slave with duteous care attends,\nEach office hurts him, and each face offends.\n\u201cWhat make ye here, officious crowds! (he cries):\nHence! nor obtrude your anguish on my eyes.\nHave ye no griefs at home, to fix ye there:\nAm I the only object of despair?\nAm I become my people\u2019s common show,\nSet up by Jove your spectacle of woe?\nNo, you must feel him too; yourselves must fall;\nThe same stern god to ruin gives you all:\nNor is great Hector lost by me alone;\nYour sole defence, your guardian power is gone!\nI see your blood the fields of Phrygia drown,\nI see the ruins of your smoking town!\nO send me, gods! ere that sad day shall come,\nA willing ghost to Pluto\u2019s dreary dome!\u201d\n\nHe said, and feebly drives his friends away:\nThe sorrowing friends his frantic rage obey.\nNext on his sons his erring fury falls,\nPolites, Paris, Agathon, he calls;\nHis threats Deiphobus and Dius hear,\nHippothous, Pammon, Helenes the seer,\nAnd generous Antiphon: for yet these nine\nSurvived, sad relics of his numerous line.\n\n\u201cInglorious sons of an unhappy sire!\nWhy did not all in Hector\u2019s cause expire?\nWretch that I am! my bravest offspring slain.\nYou, the disgrace of Priam\u2019s house, remain!\nMestor the brave, renown\u2019d in ranks of war,\nWith Troilus, dreadful on his rushing car,[293]\nAnd last great Hector, more than man divine,\nFor sure he seem\u2019d not of terrestrial line!\nAll those relentless Mars untimely slew,\nAnd left me these, a soft and servile crew,\nWhose days the feast and wanton dance employ,\nGluttons and flatterers, the contempt of Troy!\nWhy teach ye not my rapid wheels to run,\nAnd speed my journey to redeem my son?\u201d\n\nThe sons their father\u2019s wretched age revere,\nForgive his anger, and produce the car.\nHigh on the seat the cabinet they bind:\nThe new-made car with solid beauty shined;\nBox was the yoke, emboss\u2019d with costly pains,\nAnd hung with ringlets to receive the reins;\nNine cubits long, the traces swept the ground:\nThese to the chariot\u2019s polish\u2019d pole they bound.\nThen fix\u2019d a ring the running reins to guide,\nAnd close beneath the gather\u2019d ends were tied.\nNext with the gifts (the price of Hector slain)\nThe sad attendants load the groaning wain:\nLast to the yoke the well-matched mules they bring,\n(The gift of Mysia to the Trojan king.)\nBut the fair horses, long his darling care,\nHimself received, and harness\u2019d to his car:\nGrieved as he was, he not this task denied;\nThe hoary herald help\u2019d him, at his side.\nWhile careful these the gentle coursers join\u2019d,\nSad Hecuba approach\u2019d with anxious mind;\nA golden bowl that foam\u2019d with fragrant wine,\n(Libation destined to the power divine,)\nHeld in her right, before the steed she stands,\nAnd thus consigns it to the monarch\u2019s hands:\n\n\u201cTake this, and pour to Jove; that safe from harms\nHis grace restore thee to our roof and arms.\nSince victor of thy fears, and slighting mine,\nHeaven, or thy soul, inspires this bold design;\nPray to that god, who high on Ida\u2019s brow\nSurveys thy desolated realms below,\nHis winged messenger to send from high,\nAnd lead thy way with heavenly augury:\nLet the strong sovereign of the plumy race\nTower on the right of yon ethereal space.\nThat sign beheld, and strengthen\u2019d from above,\nBoldly pursue the journey mark\u2019d by Jove:\nBut if the god his augury denies,\nSuppress thy impulse, nor reject advice.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis just (said Priam) to the sire above\nTo raise our hands; for who so good as Jove?\u201d\nHe spoke, and bade the attendant handmaid bring\nThe purest water of the living spring:\n(Her ready hands the ewer and bason held:)\nThen took the golden cup his queen had fill\u2019d;\nOn the mid pavement pours the rosy wine,\nUplifts his eyes, and calls the power divine:\n\n\u201cO first and greatest! heaven\u2019s imperial lord!\nOn lofty Ida\u2019s holy hill adored!\nTo stern Achilles now direct my ways,\nAnd teach him mercy when a father prays.\nIf such thy will, despatch from yonder sky\nThy sacred bird, celestial augury!\nLet the strong sovereign of the plumy race\nTower on the right of yon ethereal space;\nSo shall thy suppliant, strengthen\u2019d from above,\nFearless pursue the journey mark\u2019d by Jove.\u201d\n\nJove heard his prayer, and from the throne on high,\nDespatch\u2019d his bird, celestial augury!\nThe swift-wing\u2019d chaser of the feather\u2019d game,\nAnd known to gods by Percnos\u2019 lofty name.\nWide as appears some palace-gate display\u2019d,\nSo broad, his pinions stretch\u2019d their ample shade,\nAs stooping dexter with resounding wings\nThe imperial bird descends in airy rings.\nA dawn of joy in every face appears:\nThe mourning matron dries her timorous tears:\nSwift on his car the impatient monarch sprung;\nThe brazen portal in his passage rung;\nThe mules preceding draw the loaded wain,\nCharged with the gifts: Id\u00e6us holds the rein:\nThe king himself his gentle steeds controls,\nAnd through surrounding friends the chariot rolls.\nOn his slow wheels the following people wait,\nMourn at each step, and give him up to fate;\nWith hands uplifted eye him as he pass\u2019d,\nAnd gaze upon him as they gazed their last.\nNow forward fares the father on his way,\nThrough the lone fields, and back to Ilion they.\nGreat Jove beheld him as he cross\u2019d the plain,\nAnd felt the woes of miserable man.\nThen thus to Hermes: \u201cThou whose constant cares\nStill succour mortals, and attend their prayers;\nBehold an object to thy charge consign\u2019d:\nIf ever pity touch\u2019d thee for mankind,\nGo, guard the sire: the observing foe prevent,\nAnd safe conduct him to Achilles\u2019 tent.\u201d\n\nThe god obeys, his golden pinions binds,[294]\nAnd mounts incumbent on the wings of winds,\nThat high, through fields of air, his flight sustain,\nO\u2019er the wide earth, and o\u2019er the boundless main;\nThen grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly,\nOr in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye:\nThus arm\u2019d, swift Hermes steers his airy way,\nAnd stoops on Hellespont\u2019s resounding sea.\nA beauteous youth, majestic and divine,\nHe seem\u2019d; fair offspring of some princely line!\nNow twilight veil\u2019d the glaring face of day,\nAnd clad the dusky fields in sober grey;\nWhat time the herald and the hoary king\n(Their chariots stopping at the silver spring,\nThat circling Ilus\u2019 ancient marble flows)\nAllow\u2019d their mules and steeds a short repose,\nThrough the dim shade the herald first espies\nA man\u2019s approach, and thus to Priam cries:\n\u201cI mark some foe\u2019s advance: O king! beware;\nThis hard adventure claims thy utmost care!\nFor much I fear destruction hovers nigh:\nOur state asks counsel; is it best to fly?\nOr old and helpless, at his feet to fall,\nTwo wretched suppliants, and for mercy call?\u201d\n\nThe afflicted monarch shiver\u2019d with despair;\nPale grew his face, and upright stood his hair;\nSunk was his heart; his colour went and came;\nA sudden trembling shook his aged frame:\nWhen Hermes, greeting, touch\u2019d his royal hand,\nAnd, gentle, thus accosts with kind demand:\n\n\u201cSay whither, father! when each mortal sight\nIs seal\u2019d in sleep, thou wanderest through the night?\nWhy roam thy mules and steeds the plains along,\nThrough Grecian foes, so numerous and so strong?\nWhat couldst thou hope, should these thy treasures view;\nThese, who with endless hate thy race pursue?\nFor what defence, alas! could\u2019st thou provide;\nThyself not young, a weak old man thy guide?\nYet suffer not thy soul to sink with dread;\nFrom me no harm shall touch thy reverend head;\nFrom Greece I\u2019ll guard thee too; for in those lines\nThe living image of my father shines.\u201d\n\n\u201cThy words, that speak benevolence of mind,\nAre true, my son! (the godlike sire rejoin\u2019d:)\nGreat are my hazards; but the gods survey\nMy steps, and send thee, guardian of my way.\nHail, and be bless\u2019d! For scarce of mortal kind\nAppear thy form, thy feature, and thy mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor true are all thy words, nor erring wide;\n(The sacred messenger of heaven replied;)\nBut say, convey\u2019st thou through the lonely plains\nWhat yet most precious of thy store remains,\nTo lodge in safety with some friendly hand:\nPrepared, perchance, to leave thy native land?\nOr fliest thou now?\u2014What hopes can Troy retain,\nThy matchless son, her guard and glory, slain?\u201d\n\nThe king, alarm\u2019d: \u201cSay what, and whence thou art\nWho search the sorrows of a parent\u2019s heart,\nAnd know so well how godlike Hector died?\u201d\nThus Priam spoke, and Hermes thus replied:\n\n\u201cYou tempt me, father, and with pity touch:\nOn this sad subject you inquire too much.\nOft have these eyes that godlike Hector view\u2019d\nIn glorious fight, with Grecian blood embrued:\nI saw him when, like Jove, his flames he toss\u2019d\nOn thousand ships, and wither\u2019d half a host:\nI saw, but help\u2019d not: stern Achilles\u2019 ire\nForbade assistance, and enjoy\u2019d the fire.\nFor him I serve, of Myrmidonian race;\nOne ship convey\u2019d us from our native place;\nPolyctor is my sire, an honour\u2019d name,\nOld like thyself, and not unknown to fame;\nOf seven his sons, by whom the lot was cast\nTo serve our prince, it fell on me, the last.\nTo watch this quarter, my adventure falls:\nFor with the morn the Greeks attack your walls;\nSleepless they sit, impatient to engage,\nAnd scarce their rulers check their martial rage.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf then thou art of stern Pelides\u2019 train,\n(The mournful monarch thus rejoin\u2019d again,)\nAh tell me truly, where, oh! where are laid\nMy son\u2019s dear relics? what befalls him dead?\nHave dogs dismember\u2019d (on the naked plains),\nOr yet unmangled rest, his cold remains?\u201d\n\n\u201cO favour\u2019d of the skies! (thus answered then\nThe power that mediates between god and men)\nNor dogs nor vultures have thy Hector rent,\nBut whole he lies, neglected in the tent:\nThis the twelfth evening since he rested there,\nUntouch\u2019d by worms, untainted by the air.\nStill as Aurora\u2019s ruddy beam is spread,\nRound his friend\u2019s tomb Achilles drags the dead:\nYet undisfigured, or in limb or face,\nAll fresh he lies, with every living grace,\nMajestical in death! No stains are found\nO\u2019er all the corse, and closed is every wound,\nThough many a wound they gave. Some heavenly care,\nSome hand divine, preserves him ever fair:\nOr all the host of heaven, to whom he led\nA life so grateful, still regard him dead.\u201d\n\nThus spoke to Priam the celestial guide,\nAnd joyful thus the royal sire replied:\n\u201cBlest is the man who pays the gods above\nThe constant tribute of respect and love!\nThose who inhabit the Olympian bower\nMy son forgot not, in exalted power;\nAnd heaven, that every virtue bears in mind,\nEven to the ashes of the just is kind.\nBut thou, O generous youth! this goblet take,\nA pledge of gratitude for Hector\u2019s sake;\nAnd while the favouring gods our steps survey,\nSafe to Pelides\u2019 tent conduct my way.\u201d\n\nTo whom the latent god: \u201cO king, forbear\nTo tempt my youth, for apt is youth to err.\nBut can I, absent from my prince\u2019s sight,\nTake gifts in secret, that must shun the light?\nWhat from our master\u2019s interest thus we draw,\nIs but a licensed theft that \u2019scapes the law.\nRespecting him, my soul abjures the offence;\nAnd as the crime, I dread the consequence.\nThee, far as Argos, pleased I could convey;\nGuard of thy life, and partner of thy way:\nOn thee attend, thy safety to maintain,\nO\u2019er pathless forests, or the roaring main.\u201d\n\nHe said, then took the chariot at a bound,\nAnd snatch\u2019d the reins, and whirl\u2019d the lash around:\nBefore the inspiring god that urged them on,\nThe coursers fly with spirit not their own.\nAnd now they reach\u2019d the naval walls, and found\nThe guards repasting, while the bowls go round;\nOn these the virtue of his wand he tries,\nAnd pours deep slumber on their watchful eyes:\nThen heaved the massy gates, removed the bars,\nAnd o\u2019er the trenches led the rolling cars.\nUnseen, through all the hostile camp they went,\nAnd now approach\u2019d Pelides\u2019 lofty tent.\nOn firs the roof was raised, and cover\u2019d o\u2019er\nWith reeds collected from the marshy shore;\nAnd, fenced with palisades, a hall of state,\n(The work of soldiers,) where the hero sat:\nLarge was the door, whose well-compacted strength\nA solid pine-tree barr\u2019d of wondrous length:\nScarce three strong Greeks could lift its mighty weight,\nBut great Achilles singly closed the gate.\nThis Hermes (such the power of gods) set wide;\nThen swift alighted the celestial guide,\nAnd thus reveal\u2019d\u2014\u201dHear, prince! and understand\nThou ow\u2019st thy guidance to no mortal hand:\nHermes I am, descended from above,\nThe king of arts, the messenger of Jove,\nFarewell: to shun Achilles\u2019 sight I fly;\nUncommon are such favours of the sky,\nNor stand confess\u2019d to frail mortality.\nNow fearless enter, and prefer thy prayers;\nAdjure him by his father\u2019s silver hairs,\nHis son, his mother! urge him to bestow\nWhatever pity that stern heart can know.\u201d\n\nThus having said, he vanish\u2019d from his eyes,\nAnd in a moment shot into the skies:\nThe king, confirm\u2019d from heaven, alighted there,\nAnd left his aged herald on the car,\nWith solemn pace through various rooms he went,\nAnd found Achilles in his inner tent:\nThere sat the hero: Alcimus the brave,\nAnd great Automedon, attendance gave:\nThese served his person at the royal feast;\nAround, at awful distance, stood the rest.\n\nUnseen by these, the king his entry made:\nAnd, prostrate now before Achilles laid,\nSudden (a venerable sight!) appears;\nEmbraced his knees, and bathed his hands in tears;\nThose direful hands his kisses press\u2019d, embrued\nEven with the best, the dearest of his blood!\n\nAs when a wretch (who, conscious of his crime,\nPursued for murder, flies his native clime)\nJust gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amazed,\nAll gaze, all wonder: thus Achilles gazed:\nThus stood the attendants stupid with surprise:\nAll mute, yet seem\u2019d to question with their eyes:\nEach look\u2019d on other, none the silence broke,\nTill thus at last the kingly suppliant spoke:\n\n\u201cAh think, thou favour\u2019d of the powers divine![295]\nThink of thy father\u2019s age, and pity mine!\nIn me that father\u2019s reverend image trace,\nThose silver hairs, that venerable face;\nHis trembling limbs, his helpless person, see!\nIn all my equal, but in misery!\nYet now, perhaps, some turn of human fate\nExpels him helpless from his peaceful state;\nThink, from some powerful foe thou seest him fly,\nAnd beg protection with a feeble cry.\nYet still one comfort in his soul may rise;\nHe hears his son still lives to glad his eyes,\nAnd, hearing, still may hope a better day\nMay send him thee, to chase that foe away.\nNo comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain,\nThe best, the bravest, of my sons are slain!\nYet what a race! ere Greece to Ilion came,\nThe pledge of many a loved and loving dame:\nNineteen one mother bore\u2014Dead, all are dead!\nHow oft, alas! has wretched Priam bled!\nStill one was left their loss to recompense;\nHis father\u2019s hope, his country\u2019s last defence.\nHim too thy rage has slain! beneath thy steel,\nUnhappy in his country\u2019s cause he fell!\n\n\u201cFor him through hostile camps I bent my way,\nFor him thus prostrate at thy feet I lay;\nLarge gifts proportion\u2019d to thy wrath I bear;\nO hear the wretched, and the gods revere!\n\n\u201cThink of thy father, and this face behold!\nSee him in me, as helpless and as old!\nThough not so wretched: there he yields to me,\nThe first of men in sovereign misery!\nThus forced to kneel, thus grovelling to embrace\nThe scourge and ruin of my realm and race;\nSuppliant my children\u2019s murderer to implore,\nAnd kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore!\u201d\n\nThese words soft pity in the chief inspire,\nTouch\u2019d with the dear remembrance of his sire.\nThen with his hand (as prostrate still he lay)\nThe old man\u2019s cheek he gently turn\u2019d away.\nNow each by turns indulged the gush of woe;\nAnd now the mingled tides together flow:\nThis low on earth, that gently bending o\u2019er;\nA father one, and one a son deplore:\nBut great Achilles different passions rend,\nAnd now his sire he mourns, and now his friend.\nThe infectious softness through the heroes ran;\nOne universal solemn shower began;\nThey bore as heroes, but they felt as man.\n\nSatiate at length with unavailing woes,\nFrom the high throne divine Achilles rose;\nThe reverend monarch by the hand he raised;\nOn his white beard and form majestic gazed,\nNot unrelenting; then serene began\nWith words to soothe the miserable man:\n\n\u201cAlas, what weight of anguish hast thou known,\nUnhappy prince! thus guardless and alone\nTo pass through foes, and thus undaunted face\nThe man whose fury has destroy\u2019d thy race!\nHeaven sure has arm\u2019d thee with a heart of steel,\nA strength proportion\u2019d to the woes you feel.\nRise, then: let reason mitigate your care:\nTo mourn avails not: man is born to bear.\nSuch is, alas! the gods\u2019 severe decree:\nThey, only they are blest, and only free.\nTwo urns by Jove\u2019s high throne have ever stood,\nThe source of evil one, and one of good;\nFrom thence the cup of mortal man he fills,\nBlessings to these, to those distributes ill;\nTo most he mingles both: the wretch decreed\nTo taste the bad unmix\u2019d, is cursed indeed;\nPursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven,\nHe wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.\nThe happiest taste not happiness sincere;\nBut find the cordial draught is dash\u2019d with care.\nWho more than Peleus shone in wealth and power\nWhat stars concurring bless\u2019d his natal hour!\nA realm, a goddess, to his wishes given;\nGraced by the gods with all the gifts of heaven.\nOne evil yet o\u2019ertakes his latest day:\nNo race succeeding to imperial sway;\nAn only son; and he, alas! ordain\u2019d\nTo fall untimely in a foreign land.\nSee him, in Troy, the pious care decline\nOf his weak age, to live the curse of thine!\nThou too, old man, hast happier days beheld;\nIn riches once, in children once excell\u2019d;\nExtended Phrygia own\u2019d thy ample reign,\nAnd all fair Lesbos\u2019 blissful seats contain,\nAnd all wide Hellespont\u2019s unmeasured main.\nBut since the god his hand has pleased to turn,\nAnd fill thy measure from his bitter urn,\nWhat sees the sun, but hapless heroes\u2019 falls?\nWar, and the blood of men, surround thy walls!\nWhat must be, must be. Bear thy lot, nor shed\nThese unavailing sorrows o\u2019er the dead;\nThou canst not call him from the Stygian shore,\nBut thou, alas! may\u2019st live to suffer more!\u201d\n\nTo whom the king: \u201cO favour\u2019d of the skies!\nHere let me grow to earth! since Hector lies\nOn the bare beach deprived of obsequies.\nO give me Hector! to my eyes restore\nHis corse, and take the gifts: I ask no more.\nThou, as thou may\u2019st, these boundless stores enjoy;\nSafe may\u2019st thou sail, and turn thy wrath from Troy;\nSo shall thy pity and forbearance give\nA weak old man to see the light and live!\u201d\n\n\u201cMove me no more, (Achilles thus replies,\nWhile kindling anger sparkled in his eyes,)\nNor seek by tears my steady soul to bend:\nTo yield thy Hector I myself intend:\nFor know, from Jove my goddess-mother came,\n(Old Ocean\u2019s daughter, silver-footed dame,)\nNor comest thou but by heaven; nor comest alone,\nSome god impels with courage not thy own:\nNo human hand the weighty gates unbarr\u2019d,\nNor could the boldest of our youth have dared\nTo pass our outworks, or elude the guard.\nCease; lest, neglectful of high Jove\u2019s command,\nI show thee, king! thou tread\u2019st on hostile land;\nRelease my knees, thy suppliant arts give o\u2019er,\nAnd shake the purpose of my soul no more.\u201d\n\nThe sire obey\u2019d him, trembling and o\u2019eraw\u2019d.\nAchilles, like a lion, rush\u2019d abroad:\nAutomedon and Alcimus attend,\n(Whom most he honour\u2019d, since he lost his friend,)\nThese to unyoke the mules and horses went,\nAnd led the hoary herald to the tent;\nNext, heap\u2019d on high, the numerous presents bear,\n(Great Hector\u2019s ransom,) from the polish\u2019d car.\nTwo splendid mantles, and a carpet spread,\nThey leave: to cover and enwrap the dead.\nThen call the handmaids, with assistant toil\nTo wash the body and anoint with oil,\nApart from Priam: lest the unhappy sire,\nProvoked to passion, once more rouse to ire\nThe stern Pelides; and nor sacred age,\nNor Jove\u2019s command, should check the rising rage.\nThis done, the garments o\u2019er the corse they spread;\nAchilles lifts it to the funeral bed:\nThen, while the body on the car they laid,\nHe groans, and calls on loved Patroclus\u2019 shade:\n\n\u201cIf, in that gloom which never light must know,\nThe deeds of mortals touch the ghosts below,\nO friend! forgive me, that I thus fulfil\n(Restoring Hector) heaven\u2019s unquestion\u2019d will.\nThe gifts the father gave, be ever thine,\nTo grace thy manes, and adorn thy shrine.\u201d[296]\n\nHe said, and, entering, took his seat of state;\nWhere full before him reverend Priam sate;\nTo whom, composed, the godlike chief begun:\n\u201cLo! to thy prayer restored, thy breathless son;\nExtended on the funeral couch he lies;\nAnd soon as morning paints the eastern skies,\nThe sight is granted to thy longing eyes:\nBut now the peaceful hours of sacred night\nDemand reflection, and to rest invite:\nNor thou, O father! thus consumed with woe,\nThe common cares that nourish life forego.\nNot thus did Niobe, of form divine,\nA parent once, whose sorrows equall\u2019d thine:\nSix youthful sons, as many blooming maids,\nIn one sad day beheld the Stygian shades;\nThose by Apollo\u2019s silver bow were slain,\nThese, Cynthia\u2019s arrows stretch\u2019d upon the plain:\nSo was her pride chastised by wrath divine,\nWho match\u2019d her own with bright Latona\u2019s line;\nBut two the goddess, twelve the queen enjoy\u2019d;\nThose boasted twelve, the avenging two destroy\u2019d.\nSteep\u2019d in their blood, and in the dust outspread,\nNine days, neglected, lay exposed the dead;\nNone by to weep them, to inhume them none;\n(For Jove had turn\u2019d the nation all to stone.)\nThe gods themselves, at length relenting gave\nThe unhappy race the honours of a grave.\nHerself a rock (for such was heaven\u2019s high will)\nThrough deserts wild now pours a weeping rill;\nWhere round the bed whence Achelous springs,\nThe watery fairies dance in mazy rings;\nThere high on Sipylus\u2019s shaggy brow,\nShe stands, her own sad monument of woe;\nThe rock for ever lasts, the tears for ever flow.\n\n\u201cSuch griefs, O king! have other parents known;\nRemember theirs, and mitigate thy own.\nThe care of heaven thy Hector has appear\u2019d,\nNor shall he lie unwept, and uninterr\u2019d;\nSoon may thy aged cheeks in tears be drown\u2019d,\nAnd all the eyes of Ilion stream around.\u201d\n\nHe said, and, rising, chose the victim ewe\nWith silver fleece, which his attendants slew.\nThe limbs they sever from the reeking hide,\nWith skill prepare them, and in parts divide:\nEach on the coals the separate morsels lays,\nAnd, hasty, snatches from the rising blaze.\nWith bread the glittering canisters they load,\nWhich round the board Automedon bestow\u2019d.\nThe chief himself to each his portion placed,\nAnd each indulging shared in sweet repast.\nWhen now the rage of hunger was repress\u2019d,\nThe wondering hero eyes his royal guest:\nNo less the royal guest the hero eyes,\nHis godlike aspect and majestic size;\nHere, youthful grace and noble fire engage;\nAnd there, the mild benevolence of age.\nThus gazing long, the silence neither broke,\n(A solemn scene!) at length the father spoke:\n\n\u201cPermit me now, beloved of Jove! to steep\nMy careful temples in the dew of sleep:\nFor, since the day that number\u2019d with the dead\nMy hapless son, the dust has been my bed;\nSoft sleep a stranger to my weeping eyes;\nMy only food, my sorrows and my sighs!\nTill now, encouraged by the grace you give,\nI share thy banquet, and consent to live.\u201d\n\nWith that, Achilles bade prepare the bed,\nWith purple soft and shaggy carpets spread;\nForth, by the flaming lights, they bend their way,\nAnd place the couches, and the coverings lay.\nThen he: \u201cNow, father, sleep, but sleep not here;\nConsult thy safety, and forgive my fear,\nLest any Argive, at this hour awake,\nTo ask our counsel, or our orders take,\nApproaching sudden to our open\u2019d tent,\nPerchance behold thee, and our grace prevent.\nShould such report thy honour\u2019d person here,\nThe king of men the ransom might defer;\nBut say with speed, if aught of thy desire\nRemains unask\u2019d; what time the rites require\nTo inter thy Hector? For, so long we stay\nOur slaughtering arm, and bid the hosts obey.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf then thy will permit (the monarch said)\nTo finish all due honours to the dead,\nThis of thy grace accord: to thee are known\nThe fears of Ilion, closed within her town;\nAnd at what distance from our walls aspire\nThe hills of Ide, and forests for the fire.\nNine days to vent our sorrows I request,\nThe tenth shall see the funeral and the feast;\nThe next, to raise his monument be given;\nThe twelfth we war, if war be doom\u2019d by heaven!\u201d\n\n\u201cThis thy request (replied the chief) enjoy:\nTill then our arms suspend the fall of Troy.\u201d\n\nThen gave his hand at parting, to prevent\nThe old man\u2019s fears, and turn\u2019d within the tent;\nWhere fair Brise\u00efs, bright in blooming charms,\nExpects her hero with desiring arms.\nBut in the porch the king and herald rest;\nSad dreams of care yet wandering in their breast.\nNow gods and men the gifts of sleep partake;\nIndustrious Hermes only was awake,\nThe king\u2019s return revolving in his mind,\nTo pass the ramparts, and the watch to blind.\nThe power descending hover\u2019d o\u2019er his head:\n\u201cAnd sleep\u2019st thou, father! (thus the vision said:)\nNow dost thou sleep, when Hector is restored?\nNor fear the Grecian foes, or Grecian lord?\nThy presence here should stern Atrides see,\nThy still surviving sons may sue for thee;\nMay offer all thy treasures yet contain,\nTo spare thy age; and offer all in vain.\u201d\n\nWaked with the word the trembling sire arose,\nAnd raised his friend: the god before him goes:\nHe joins the mules, directs them with his hand,\nAnd moves in silence through the hostile land.\nWhen now to Xanthus\u2019 yellow stream they drove,\n(Xanthus, immortal progeny of Jove,)\nThe winged deity forsook their view,\nAnd in a moment to Olympus flew.\nNow shed Aurora round her saffron ray,\nSprang through the gates of light, and gave the day:\nCharged with the mournful load, to Ilion go\nThe sage and king, majestically slow.\nCassandra first beholds, from Ilion\u2019s spire,\nThe sad procession of her hoary sire;\nThen, as the pensive pomp advanced more near,\n(Her breathless brother stretched upon the bier,)\nA shower of tears o\u2019erflows her beauteous eyes,\nAlarming thus all Ilion with her cries:\n\n\u201cTurn here your steps, and here your eyes employ,\nYe wretched daughters, and ye sons of Troy!\nIf e\u2019er ye rush\u2019d in crowds, with vast delight,\nTo hail your hero glorious from the fight,\nNow meet him dead, and let your sorrows flow;\nYour common triumph, and your common woe.\u201d\n\nIn thronging crowds they issue to the plains;\nNor man nor woman in the walls remains;\nIn every face the self-same grief is shown;\nAnd Troy sends forth one universal groan.\nAt Sc\u00e6a\u2019s gates they meet the mourning wain,\nHang on the wheels, and grovel round the slain.\nThe wife and mother, frantic with despair,\nKiss his pale cheek, and rend their scatter\u2019d hair:\nThus wildly wailing, at the gates they lay;\nAnd there had sigh\u2019d and sorrow\u2019d out the day;\nBut godlike Priam from the chariot rose:\n\u201cForbear (he cried) this violence of woes;\nFirst to the palace let the car proceed,\nThen pour your boundless sorrows o\u2019er the dead.\u201d\n\nThe waves of people at his word divide,\nSlow rolls the chariot through the following tide;\nEven to the palace the sad pomp they wait:\nThey weep, and place him on the bed of state.\nA melancholy choir attend around,\nWith plaintive sighs, and music\u2019s solemn sound:\nAlternately they sing, alternate flow\nThe obedient tears, melodious in their woe.\nWhile deeper sorrows groan from each full heart,\nAnd nature speaks at every pause of art.\n\nFirst to the corse the weeping consort flew;\nAround his neck her milk-white arms she threw,\n\u201cAnd oh, my Hector! Oh, my lord! (she cries)\nSnatch\u2019d in thy bloom from these desiring eyes!\nThou to the dismal realms for ever gone!\nAnd I abandon\u2019d, desolate, alone!\nAn only son, once comfort of our pains,\nSad product now of hapless love, remains!\nNever to manly age that son shall rise,\nOr with increasing graces glad my eyes:\nFor Ilion now (her great defender slain)\nShall sink a smoking ruin on the plain.\nWho now protects her wives with guardian care?\nWho saves her infants from the rage of war?\nNow hostile fleets must waft those infants o\u2019er\n(Those wives must wait them) to a foreign shore:\nThou too, my son, to barbarous climes shall go,\nThe sad companion of thy mother\u2019s woe;\nDriven hence a slave before the victor\u2019s sword\nCondemn\u2019d to toil for some inhuman lord:\nOr else some Greek whose father press\u2019d the plain,\nOr son, or brother, by great Hector slain,\nIn Hector\u2019s blood his vengeance shall enjoy,\nAnd hurl thee headlong from the towers of Troy.[297]\nFor thy stern father never spared a foe:\nThence all these tears, and all this scene of woe!\nThence many evils his sad parents bore,\nHis parents many, but his consort more.\nWhy gav\u2019st thou not to me thy dying hand?\nAnd why received not I thy last command?\nSome word thou would\u2019st have spoke, which, sadly dear,\nMy soul might keep, or utter with a tear;\nWhich never, never could be lost in air,\nFix\u2019d in my heart, and oft repeated there!\u201d\n\nThus to her weeping maids she makes her moan,\nHer weeping handmaids echo groan for groan.\n\nThe mournful mother next sustains her part:\n\u201cO thou, the best, the dearest to my heart!\nOf all my race thou most by heaven approved,\nAnd by the immortals even in death beloved!\nWhile all my other sons in barbarous bands\nAchilles bound, and sold to foreign lands,\nThis felt no chains, but went a glorious ghost,\nFree, and a hero, to the Stygian coast.\nSentenced, \u2019tis true, by his inhuman doom,\nThy noble corse was dragg\u2019d around the tomb;\n(The tomb of him thy warlike arm had slain;)\nUngenerous insult, impotent and vain!\nYet glow\u2019st thou fresh with every living grace;\nNo mark of pain, or violence of face:\nRosy and fair! as Ph\u0153bus\u2019 silver bow\nDismiss\u2019d thee gently to the shades below.\u201d\n\nThus spoke the dame, and melted into tears.\nSad Helen next in pomp of grief appears;\nFast from the shining sluices of her eyes\nFall the round crystal drops, while thus she cries.\n\n\u201cAh, dearest friend! in whom the gods had join\u2019d[298]\nThe mildest manners with the bravest mind,\nNow twice ten years (unhappy years) are o\u2019er\nSince Paris brought me to the Trojan shore,\n(O had I perish\u2019d, ere that form divine\nSeduced this soft, this easy heart of mine!)\nYet was it ne\u2019er my fate, from thee to find\nA deed ungentle, or a word unkind.\nWhen others cursed the authoress of their woe,\nThy pity check\u2019d my sorrows in their flow.\nIf some proud brother eyed me with disdain,\nOr scornful sister with her sweeping train,\nThy gentle accents soften\u2019d all my pain.\nFor thee I mourn, and mourn myself in thee,\nThe wretched source of all this misery.\nThe fate I caused, for ever I bemoan;\nSad Helen has no friend, now thou art gone!\nThrough Troy\u2019s wide streets abandon\u2019d shall I roam!\nIn Troy deserted, as abhorr\u2019d at home!\u201d\n\nSo spoke the fair, with sorrow-streaming eye.\nDistressful beauty melts each stander-by.\nOn all around the infectious sorrow grows;\nBut Priam check\u2019d the torrent as it rose:\n\u201cPerform, ye Trojans! what the rites require,\nAnd fell the forests for a funeral pyre;\nTwelve days, nor foes nor secret ambush dread;\nAchilles grants these honours to the dead.\u201d[299]\n\n\n[Illustration: ] FUNERAL OF HECTOR\n\n\nHe spoke, and, at his word, the Trojan train\nTheir mules and oxen harness to the wain,\nPour through the gates, and fell\u2019d from Ida\u2019s crown,\nRoll back the gather\u2019d forests to the town.\nThese toils continue nine succeeding days,\nAnd high in air a sylvan structure raise.\nBut when the tenth fair morn began to shine,\nForth to the pile was borne the man divine,\nAnd placed aloft; while all, with streaming eyes,\nBeheld the flames and rolling smokes arise.\nSoon as Aurora, daughter of the dawn,\nWith rosy lustre streak\u2019d the dewy lawn,\nAgain the mournful crowds surround the pyre,\nAnd quench with wine the yet remaining fire.\nThe snowy bones his friends and brothers place\n(With tears collected) in a golden vase;\nThe golden vase in purple palls they roll\u2019d,\nOf softest texture, and inwrought with gold.\nLast o\u2019er the urn the sacred earth they spread,\nAnd raised the tomb, memorial of the dead.\n(Strong guards and spies, till all the rites were done,\nWatch\u2019d from the rising to the setting sun.)\nAll Troy then moves to Priam\u2019s court again,\nA solemn, silent, melancholy train:\nAssembled there, from pious toil they rest,\nAnd sadly shared the last sepulchral feast.\nSuch honours Ilion to her hero paid,\nAnd peaceful slept the mighty Hector\u2019s shade.[300]\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUDING NOTE.\n\n\nWe have now passed through the Iliad, and seen the anger of Achilles,\nand the terrible effects of it, at an end: as that only was the subject\nof the poem, and the nature of epic poetry would not permit our author\nto proceed to the event of the war, it perhaps may be acceptable to the\ncommon reader to give a short account of what happened to Troy and the\nchief actors in this poem after the conclusion of it.\n\nI need not mention that Troy was taken soon after the death of Hector\nby the stratagem of the wooden horse, the particulars of which are\ndescribed by Virgil in the second book of the \u00c6neid.\n\nAchilles fell before Troy, by the hand of Paris, by the shot of an\narrow in his heel, as Hector had prophesied at his death, lib. xxii.\n\nThe unfortunate Priam was killed by Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles.\n\nAjax, after the death of Achilles, had a contest with Ulysses for the\narmour of Vulcan, but being defeated in his aim, he slew himself\nthrough indignation.\n\nHelen, after the death of Paris, married Deiphobus his brother, and at\nthe taking of Troy betrayed him, in order to reconcile herself to\nMenelaus her first husband, who received her again into favour.\n\nAgamemnon at his return was barbarously murdered by \u00c6gysthus, at the\ninstigation of Clytemnestra his wife, who in his absence had\ndishonoured his bed with \u00c6gysthus.\n\nDiomed, after the fall of Troy, was expelled his own country, and\nscarce escaped with his life from his adulterous wife \u00c6gial\u00e9; but at\nlast was received by Daunus in Apulia, and shared his kingdom; it is\nuncertain how he died.\n\nNestor lived in peace with his children, in Pylos, his native country.\n\nUlysses also, after innumerable troubles by sea and land, at last\nreturned in safety to Ithaca, which is the subject of Homer\u2019s Odyssey.\n\nFor what remains, I beg to be excused from the ceremonies of taking\nleave at the end of my work, and from embarrassing myself, or others,\nwith any defences or apologies about it. But instead of endeavouring to\nraise a vain monument to myself, of the merits or difficulties of it\n(which must be left to the world, to truth, and to posterity), let me\nleave behind me a memorial of my friendship with one of the most\nvaluable of men, as well as finest writers, of my age and country, one\nwho has tried, and knows by his own experience, how hard an undertaking\nit is to do justice to Homer, and one whom (I am sure) sincerely\nrejoices with me at the period of my labours. To him, therefore, having\nbrought this long work to a conclusion, I desire to dedicate it, and to\nhave the honour and satisfaction of placing together, in this manner,\nthe names of Mr. CONGREVE, and of\n\nMarch 25, 1720\n\nA. POPE\n\n\nTon theon de eupoiia\u2014to mae epi pleon me procophai en poiaetiki kai\nallois epitaeoeimasi en ois isos a kateschethaen, ei aesthomaen emautan\neuodos proionta.\n\nM. AUREL ANTON _de Seipso_, lib. i. \u00a7 17.\n\n\nEND OF THE ILIAD\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes\n\n\n [1] \u201cWhat,\u201d says Archdeacon Wilberforce, \u201cis the natural root of\n loyalty as distinguished from such mere selfish desire of personal\n security as is apt to take its place in civilized times, but that\n consciousness of a natural bond among the families of men which gives\n a fellow-feeling to whole clans and nations, and thus enlists their\n affections in behalf of those time-honoured representatives of their\n ancient blood, in whose success they feel a personal interest? Hence\n the delight when we recognize an act of nobility or justice in our\n hereditary princes\n\n\u201c\u2018Tuque prior, tu parce genus qui ducis Olympo,\nProjice tela manu _sanguis meus_\u2019\n\n\u201cSo strong is this feeling, that it regains an engrafted influence even\nwhen history witnesses that vast convulsions have rent and weakened it\nand the Celtic feeling towards the Stuarts has been rekindled in our\nown days towards the granddaughter of George the Third of Hanover.\n    \u201cSomewhat similar may be seen in the disposition to idolize those\n    great lawgivers of man\u2019s race, who have given expression, in the\n    immortal language of song, to the deeper inspirations of our\n    nature. The thoughts of Homer or of Shakespere are the universal\n    inheritance of the human race. In this mutual ground every man\n    meets his brother, they have been set forth by the providence of\n    God to vindicate for all of us what nature could effect, and that,\n    in these representatives of our race, we might recognize our common\n    benefactors.\u2019\u2014_Doctrine of the Incarnation_, pp. 9, 10.\n\n [2] \u0395\u1f30\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b4\u03ad \u03bc\u03b9\u03bd \u1f26\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bc\u03bd\u03b7\u03bc\u03cc\u03c3\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03b3\u03c1\u03ac\u03c6\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9. Vit. Hom. in\n Schweigh. Herodot. t. iv. p. 299, sq. \u00a7 6. I may observe that this\n Life has been paraphrased in English by my learned young friend\n Kenneth R. H. Mackenzie, and appended to my prose translation of the\n Odyssey. The present abridgement however, will contain all that is of\n use to the reader, for the biographical value of the treatise is most\n insignificant.\n\n [3] _I.e._ both of composing and reciting verses for as Blair\n observes, \u201cThe first poets sang their own verses.\u201d Sextus Empir. adv.\n Mus. p. 360 ed. Fabric. \u039f\u1f50 \u1f00\u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9 \u03b3\u03ad \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bf\u1f30 \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf\u1f76\n \u03bb\u03ad\u03b3\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f70 \u1f49\u03bc\u03ae\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5 \u1f15\u03c0\u03b7 \u03c4\u1f78 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bb\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u03bb\u03cd\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd \u1f24\u03b4\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf.\n    \u201cThe voice,\u201d observes Heeren, \u201cwas always accompanied by some\n instrument. The bard was provided with a harp on which he played a\n prelude, to elevate and inspire his mind, and with which he\n accompanied the song when begun. His voice probably preserved a medium\n between singing and recitation; the words, and not the melody were\n regarded by the listeners, hence it was necessary for him to remain\n intelligible to all. In countries where nothing similar is found, it\n is difficult to represent such scenes to the mind; but whoever has had\n an opportunity of listening to the improvisation of Italy, can easily\n form an idea of Demodocus and Phemius.\u201d\u2014_Ancient Greece_, p. 94.\n\n [4] \u201cShould it not be, since _my_ arrival? asks Mackenzie, observing\n that \u201cpoplars can hardly live so long\u201d. But setting aside the fact\n that we must not expect consistency in a mere romance, the ancients\n had a superstitious belief in the great age of trees which grew near\n places consecrated by the presence of gods and great men. See Cicero\n de Legg II I, sub init., where he speaks of the plane tree under which\n Socrates used to walk and of the tree at Delos, where Latona gave\n birth to Apollo. This passage is referred to by Stephanus of\n Byzantium, _s. v._ N. T. p. 490, ed. de Pinedo. I omit quoting any of\n the dull epigrams ascribed to Homer for, as Mr. Justice Talfourd\n rightly observes, \u201cThe authenticity of these fragments depends upon\n that of the pseudo Herodotean Life of Homer, from which they are\n taken.\u201d Lit of Greece, pp. 38 in Encycl. Metrop. Cf. Coleridge,\n Classic Poets, p. 317.\n\n [5] It is quoted as the work of Cleobulus, by Diogenes Laert. Vit.\n Cleob. p. 62, ed. Casaub.\n\n [6] I trust I am justified in employing this as an equivalent for the\n Greek \u03bb\u03ad\u03c3\u03c7\u03b1\u03b9.\n\n [7] \u1f69\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f30 \u03c4\u03bf\u1f7a\u03c2 \u1f49\u03bc\u03ae\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b4\u03cc\u03be\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03c1\u03ad\u03c6\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2, \u1f45\u03bc\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u03cc\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\n \u1f00\u03c7\u03c1\u03b5\u03bf\u1fd6\u03bd \u1f15\u03be\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd. \u1f10\u03b9 \u03c4\u03b5\u1fe6\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u1f54\u03bd\u03bf\u03bc\u03b1 \u1f49\u03bc\u03b7\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c0\u03b5\u03ba\u03c1\u03ac\u03c4\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5 \u03c4\u1ff7\n \u039c\u03b5\u03bb\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03b3\u03b5\u03bd\u03b5\u1fd6 \u1f00\u03c0\u1f78 \u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03c3\u03c5\u03bc\u03c6\u03bf\u03c1\u03b7\u03c2. \u03bf\u1f31 \u03b3\u1f70\u03c1 \u039a\u03c5\u03bc\u03b1\u1fd6\u03bf\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u1f7a\u03c2 \u03c4\u03c5\u03c6\u03bb\u03bf\u1f7a\u03c2 \u1f49\u03bc\u03ae\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2\n \u03bb\u03ad\u03b3\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd. Vit. Hom. _l. c._ p. 311. The etymology has been condemned\n by recent scholars. See Welcker, Epische Cyclus, p. 127, and\n Mackenzie\u2019s note, p. xiv.\n\n [8] \u0398\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03af\u03b4\u03b7\u03c2, \u03b8\u03bd\u03b7\u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f00\u03bd\u03c9\u1f37\u03c3\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03b5\u03ce\u03bd \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1, \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u1f72\u03bd \u1f00\u03c6\u03c1\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03cc\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\n \u03c0\u03ad\u03bb\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bd\u03cc\u03bf\u03c5 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03ce\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd. Ibid. p. 315. During his stay at Phoc\u0153a,\n Homer is said to have composed the Little Iliad, and the Phoc\u0153id. See\n Muller\u2019s Hist. of Lit., vi. \u00a7 3. Welcker, _l. c._ pp. 132, 272, 358,\n sqq., and Mure, Gr. Lit. vol. ii. p. 284, sq.\n\n [9] This is so pretty a picture of early manners and hospitality, that\n it is almost a pity to find that it is obviously a copy from the\n Odyssey. See the fourteenth book. In fact, whoever was the author of\n this fictitious biography, he showed some tact in identifying Homer\n with certain events described in his poems, and in eliciting from them\n the germs of something like a personal narrative.\n\n [10] \u0394\u03b9\u1f70 \u03bb\u03cc\u03b3\u03c9\u03bd \u1f10\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u1ff6\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf. A common metaphor. So Plato calls the parties\n conversing \u03b4\u03b1\u03b9\u03c4\u03cd\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03c2, or \u1f10\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03ac\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03b5\u03c2, Tim. i. p. 522 A. Cf. Themist.\n Orat. vi. p. 168, and xvi. p. 374, ed. Petav. So \u03b4\u03b9\u03b7\u03b3\u03ae\u03bc\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9 \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2 \u1f41\u03bc\u03bf\u1fe6\n \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03c0\u03bd\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2 \u1f21\u03b4\u03af\u03c9 \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u03b8\u03bf\u03b9\u03bd\u03b7\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2 \u1f11\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9\u03c9\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b5\u03b9, Choricius in\n Fabric. Bibl. Gr. T. viii. P. 851. \u03bb\u03cc\u03b3\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b3\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f11\u03c3\u03c4\u03af\u1fb3, Athen\u00e6us vii p\n 275, A.\n\n [11] It was at Bolissus, and in the house of this Chian citizen, that\n Homer is said to have written the Batrachomyomachia, or Battle of the\n Frogs and Mice, the Epicichlidia, and some other minor works.\n\n [12] Chandler, Travels, vol. i. p. 61, referred to in the Voyage\n Pittoresque dans la Gr\u00e8ce, vol. i. P. 92, where a view of the spot is\n given of which the author candidly says,\u2014 \u201cJe ne puis r\u00e9pondre d\u2019une\n exactitude scrupuleuse dans la vue g\u00e9n\u00e9rale que j\u2019en donne, car \u00e9tant\n all\u00e9 seul pour l\u2019examiner je perdis mon crayon, et je fus oblig\u00e9 de\n m\u2019en fier \u00e0 ma m\u00e9moire. Je ne crois cependant pas avoir trop \u00e0 me\n plaindre d\u2019elle en cette occasion.\u201d\n\n [13] A more probable reason for this companionship, and for the\n character of Mentor itself, is given by the allegorists, viz.: the\n assumption of Mentor\u2019s form by the guardian deity of the wise Ulysses,\n Minerva. The classical reader may compare Plutarch, Opp. t. ii. p.\n 880; _Xyland_. Heraclid. Pont. Alleg. Hom. p. 531-5, of Gale\u2019s Opusc.\n Mythol. Dionys. Halic. de Hom. Poes. c. 15; Apul. de Deo Socrat. s. f.\n\n [14] Vit. Hom. \u00a7 28.\n\n [15] The riddle is given in Section 35. Compare Mackenzie\u2019s note, p.\n xxx.\n\n [16] Heeren\u2019s Ancient Greece, p. 96.\n\n [17] Compare Sir E. L. Bulwer\u2019s Caxtons v. i. p. 4.\n\n [18] Pericles and Aspasia, Letter lxxxiv., Works, vol ii. p. 387.\n\n [19] Quarterly Review, No. lxxxvii., p. 147.\n\n [20] Viz., the following beautiful passage, for the translation of\n which I am indebted to Coleridge, Classic Poets, p. 286.\n\n\u201cOrigias, farewell! and oh! remember me\nHereafter, when some stranger from the sea,\nA hapless wanderer, may your isle explore,\nAnd ask you, maid, of all the bards you boast,\nWho sings the sweetest, and delights you most\nOh! answer all,\u2014\u2018A blind old man and poor\nSweetest he sings\u2014and dwells on Chios\u2019 rocky shore.\u2019\u201d\n\n_See_ Thucyd. iii, 104.\n\n [21] Longin., de Sublim., ix. \u00a7 26. \u1f4d\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd \u03c4\u1fc7 \u1f48\u03b4\u03c5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03af\u1fb3 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9\u03ba\u03ac\u03c3\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2\n \u1f02\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03b4\u03c5\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u1ff3 \u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f4d\u03bc\u03b7\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u1f21\u03bb\u03af\u1ff3, \u03bf\u03b4 \u03b4\u03af\u03c7\u03b1 \u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u03c3\u03c6\u03bf\u03b4\u03c1\u03cc\u03c4\u03b7\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\n \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b5\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2.\n\n [22] See Tatian, quoted in Fabric. Bibl. Gr. v. II t. ii. Mr.\n Mackenzie has given three brief but elaborate papers on the different\n writers on the subject, which deserve to be consulted. See Notes and\n Queries, vol. v. pp. 99, 171, and 221. His own views are moderate, and\n perhaps as satisfactory, on the whole, as any of the hypotheses\n hitherto put forth. In fact, they consist in an attempt to blend those\n hypotheses into something like consistency, rather than in advocating\n any individual theory.\n\n [23] Letters to Phileleuth; Lips.\n\n [24] Hist. of Greece, vol. ii. p. 191, sqq.\n\n [25] It is, indeed not easy to calculate the height to which the\n memory may be cultivated. To take an ordinary case, we might refer to\n that of any first rate actor, who must be prepared, at a very short\n warning, to \u2018rhapsodize,\u2019 night after night, parts which when laid\n together, would amount to an immense number of lines. But all this is\n nothing to two instances of our own day. Visiting at Naples a\n gentleman of the highest intellectual attainments, and who held a\n distinguished rank among the men of letters in the last century, he\n informed us that the day before he had passed much time in examining a\n man, not highly educated, who had learned to repeat the whole\n Gierusalemme of Tasso, not only to recite it consecutively, but also\n to repeat those stanzas in utter defiance of the sense, either\n forwards or backwards, or from the eighth line to the first,\n alternately the odd and even lines\u2014in short, whatever the passage\n required; the memory, which seemed to cling to the words much more\n than to the sense, had it at such perfect command, that it could\n produce it under any form. Our informant went on to state that this\n singular being was proceeding to learn the Orlando Furioso in the same\n manner. But even this instance is less wonderful than one as to which\n we may appeal to any of our readers that happened some twenty years\n ago to visit the town of Stirling, in Scotland. No such person can\n have forgotten the poor, uneducated man Blind Jamie who could actually\n repeat, after a few minutes consideration any verse required from any\n part of the Bible\u2014even the obscurest and most unimportant enumeration\n of mere proper names not excepted. We do not mention these facts as\n touching the more difficult part of the question before us, but facts\n they are; and if we find so much difficulty in calculating the extent\n to which the mere memory may be cultivated, are we, in these days of\n multifarious reading, and of countless distracting affairs, fair\n judges of the perfection to which the invention and the memory\n combined may attain in a simpler age, and among a more single minded\n people?\u2014Quarterly Review, _l. c._, p. 143, sqq.\n    Heeren steers between the two opinions, observing that, \u201cThe\n    Dschungariade of the Calmucks is said to surpass the poems of Homer\n    in length, as much as it stands beneath them in merit, and yet it\n    exists only in the memory of a people which is not unacquainted\n    with writing. But the songs of a nation are probably the last\n    things which are committed to writing, for the very reason that\n    they are remembered.\u201d\u2014 _Ancient Greece_. p. 100.\n\n [26] Vol. II p. 198, sqq.\n\n [27] Quarterly Review, _l. c._, p. 131 sq.\n\n [28] Betrachtungen \u00fcber die Ilias. Berol. 1841. See Grote, p. 204.\n Notes and Queries, vol. v. p. 221.\n\n [29] Prolegg. pp. xxxii., xxxvi., &c.\n\n [30] Vol. ii. p. 214 sqq.\n\n [31] \u201cWho,\u201d says Cicero, de Orat. iii. 34, \u201cwas more learned in that\n age, or whose eloquence is reported to have been more perfected by\n literature than that of Peisistratus, who is said first to have\n disposed the books of Homer in the order in which we now have them?\u201d\n Compare Wolf\u2019s Prolegomena 33, \u00a7.\n\n [32] \u201cThe first book, together with the eighth, and the books from the\n eleventh to the twenty-second inclusive, seems to form the primary\n organization of the poem, then properly an Achille\u00efs.\u201d\u2014Grote, vol. ii.\n p. 235\n\n [33] K. R. H. Mackenzie, Notes and Queries, p. 222 sqq.\n\n [34] See his Epistle to Raphelingius, in Schroeder\u2019s edition, 4to.,\n Delphis, 1728.\n\n [35] Ancient Greece, p. 101.\n\n [36] The best description of this monument will be found in Vaux\u2019s\n \u201cAntiquities of the British Museum,\u201d p. 198 sq. The monument itself\n (Towneley Sculptures, No. 123) is well known.\n\n [37] Coleridge, Classic Poets, p. 276.\n\n [38] Preface to her Homer.\n\n [39] Hesiod. Opp. et Dier. Lib. I. vers. 155, &c.\n\n [40] The following argument of the Iliad, corrected in a few\n particulars, is translated from Bitaub\u00e9, and is, perhaps, the neatest\n summary that has ever been drawn up:\u2014\u201cA hero, injured by his general,\n and animated with a noble resentment, retires to his tent; and for a\n season withdraws himself and his troops from the war. During this\n interval, victory abandons the army, which for nine years has been\n occupied in a great enterprise, upon the successful termination of\n which the honour of their country depends. The general, at length\n opening his eyes to the fault which he had committed, deputes the\n principal officers of his army to the incensed hero, with commission\n to make compensation for the injury, and to tender magnificent\n presents. The hero, according to the proud obstinacy of his character,\n persists in his animosity; the army is again defeated, and is on the\n verge of entire destruction. This inexorable man has a friend; this\n friend weeps before him, and asks for the hero\u2019s arms, and for\n permission to go to the war in his stead. The eloquence of friendship\n prevails more than the intercession of the ambassadors or the gifts of\n the general. He lends his armour to his friend, but commands him not\n to engage with the chief of the enemy\u2019s army, because he reserves to\n himself the honour of that combat, and because he also fears for his\n friend\u2019s life. The prohibition is forgotten; the friend listens to\n nothing but his courage; his corpse is brought back to the hero, and\n the hero\u2019s arms become the prize of the conqueror. Then the hero,\n given up to the most lively despair, prepares to fight; he receives\n from a divinity new armour, is reconciled with his general and,\n thirsting for glory and revenge, enacts prodigies of valour, recovers\n the victory, slays the enemy\u2019s chief, honours his friend with superb\n funeral rites, and exercises a cruel vengeance on the body of his\n destroyer; but finally appeased by the tears and prayers of the father\n of the slain warrior, restores to the old man the corpse of his son,\n which he buries with due solemnities.\u2019\u2014Coleridge, p. 177, sqq.\n\n [41] Vultures: Pope is more accurate than the poet he translates, for\n Homer writes \u201ca prey to dogs and to _all_ kinds of birds. But all\n kinds of birds are not carnivorous.\n\n [42] _i.e._ during the whole time of their striving the will of Jove\n was being gradually accomplished.\n\n [43] Compare Milton\u2019s \u201cParadise Lost\u201d i. 6\n\n\u201cSing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top\nOf Horeb, or of Sinai, didst inspire\nThat shepherd.\u201d\n\n [44] _Latona\u2019s son: i.e._ Apollo.\n\n [45] _King of men:_ Agamemnon.\n\n [46] _Brother kings:_ Menelaus and Agamemnon.\n\n [47] _Smintheus_ an epithet taken from sminthos, the Phrygian name\n for a _mouse_, was applied to Apollo for having put an end to a plague\n of mice which had harassed that territory. Strabo, however, says, that\n when the Teucri were migrating from Crete, they were told by an oracle\n to settle in that place, where they should not be attacked by the\n original inhabitants of the land, and that, having halted for the\n night, a number of field-mice came and gnawed away the leathern straps\n of their baggage, and thongs of their armour. In fulfilment of the\n oracle, they settled on the spot, and raised a temple to Sminthean\n Apollo. Grote, \u201cHistory of Greece,\u201d i. p. 68, remarks that the\n \u201cworship of Sminthean Apollo, in various parts of the Troad and its\n neighboring territory, dates before the earliest period of \u00c6olian\n colonization.\u201d\n\n [48] _Cilla_, a town of Troas near Thebe, so called from Cillus, a\n sister of Hippodamia, slain by \u0152nomaus.\n\n [49] A mistake. It should be,\n\n\u201cIf e\u2019er I roofed thy graceful fane,\u201d\n\nfor the custom of decorating temples with garlands was of later date.\n\n [50] _Bent was his bow_ \u201cThe Apollo of Homer, it must be borne in\n mind, is a different character from the deity of the same name in the\n later classical pantheon. Throughout both poems, all deaths from\n unforeseen or invisible causes, the ravages of pestilence, the fate of\n the young child or promising adult, cut off in the germ of infancy or\n flower of youth, of the old man dropping peacefully into the grave, or\n of the reckless sinner suddenly checked in his career of crime, are\n ascribed to the arrows of Apollo or Diana. The oracular functions of\n the god rose naturally out of the above fundamental attributes, for\n who could more appropriately impart to mortals what little\n foreknowledge Fate permitted of her decrees than the agent of her most\n awful dispensations? The close union of the arts of prophecy and song\n explains his additional office of god of music, while the arrows with\n which he and his sister were armed, symbols of sudden death in every\n age, no less naturally procured him that of god of archery. Of any\n connection between Apollo and the Sun, whatever may have existed in\n the more esoteric doctrine of the Greek sanctuaries, there is no trace\n in either Iliad or Odyssey.\u201d\u2014Mure, \u201cHistory of Greek Literature,\u201d vol.\n i. p. 478, sq.\n\n [51] It has frequently been observed, that most pestilences begin with\n animals, and that Homer had this fact in mind.\n\n [52] _Convened to council_. The public assembly in the heroic times is\n well characterized by Grote, vol. ii. p 92. \u201cIt is an assembly for\n talk. Communication and discussion to a certain extent by the chiefs\n in person, of the people as listeners and sympathizers\u2014often for\n eloquence, and sometimes for quarrel\u2014but here its ostensible purposes\n end.\u201d\n\n [53] Old Jacob Duport, whose \u201cGnomologia Homerica\u201d is full of curious\n and useful things, quotes several passages of the ancients, in which\n reference is made to these words of Homer, in maintenance of the\n belief that dreams had a divine origin and an import in which men were\n interested.\n\n [54] Rather, \u201cbright-eyed.\u201d See the German critics quoted by Arnold.\n\n [55] The prize given to Ajax was Tecmessa, while Ulysses received\n Laodice, the daughter of Cycnus.\n\n [56] The Myrmidons dwelt on the southern borders of Thessaly, and took\n their origin from Myrmido, son of Jupiter and Eurymedusa. It is\n fancifully supposed that the name was derived from myrmaex, an _ant_,\n \u201cbecause they imitated the diligence of the ants, and like them were\n indefatigable, continually employed in cultivating the earth; the\n change from ants to men is founded merely on the equivocation of their\n name, which resembles that of the ant: they bore a further resemblance\n to these little animals, in that instead of inhabiting towns or\n villages, at first they commonly resided in the open fields, having no\n other retreats but dens and the cavities of trees, until Ithacus\n brought them together, and settled them in more secure and comfortable\n habitations.\u201d\u2014Anthon\u2019s \u201cLempriere.\u201d\n\n [57] Eustathius, after Heraclides Ponticus and others, allegorizes\n this apparition, as if the appearance of Minerva to Achilles, unseen\n by the rest, was intended to point out the sudden recollection that he\n would gain nothing by intemperate wrath, and that it were best to\n restrain his anger, and only gratify it by withdrawing his services.\n The same idea is rather cleverly worked out by Apuleius, \u201cDe Deo\n Socratis.\u201d\n\n [58] Compare Milton, \u201cParadise Lost,\u201d bk. ii:\n\n\u201cThough his tongue\nDropp\u2019d manna.\u201d\n\nSo Proverbs v. 3, \u201cFor the lips of a strange woman drop as an\nhoney-comb.\u201d\n\n [59] Salt water was chiefly used in lustrations, from its being\n supposed to possess certain fiery particles. Hence, if sea-water could\n not be obtained, salt was thrown into the fresh water to be used for\n the lustration. Menander, in Clem. Alex. vii. p.713, hydati\n perriranai, embalon alas, phakois.\n\n [60] The persons of heralds were held inviolable, and they were at\n liberty to travel whither they would without fear of molestation.\n Pollux, Onom. viii. p. 159. The office was generally given to old men,\n and they were believed to be under the especial protection of Jove and\n Mercury.\n\n [61] His mother, Thetis, the daughter of Nereus and Doris, who was\n courted by Neptune and Jupiter. When, however, it was known that the\n son to whom she would give birth must prove greater than his father,\n it was determined to wed her to a mortal, and Peleus, with great\n difficulty, succeeded in obtaining her hand, as she eluded him by\n assuming various forms. Her children were all destroyed by fire\n through her attempts to see whether they were immortal, and Achilles\n would have shared the same fate had not his father rescued him. She\n afterwards rendered him invulnerable by plunging him into the waters\n of the Styx, with the exception of that part of the heel by which she\n held him. Hygin. Fab. 54\n\n [62] Theb\u00e9 was a city of Mysia, north of Adramyttium.\n\n [63] That is, defrauds me of the prize allotted me by their votes.\n\n [64] Quintus Calaber goes still further in his account of the service\n rendered to Jove by Thetis:\n\n\u201cNay more, the fetters of Almighty Jove\nShe loosed\u201d\u2014Dyce\u2019s \u201cCalaber,\u201d s. 58.\n\n [65] _To Fates averse_. Of the gloomy destiny reigning throughout the\n Homeric poems, and from which even the gods are not exempt, Schlegel\n well observes, \u201cThis power extends also to the world of gods\u2014 for the\n Grecian gods are mere powers of nature\u2014and although immeasurably\n higher than mortal man, yet, compared with infinitude, they are on an\n equal footing with himself.\u201d\u2014\u2018Lectures on the Drama\u2019 v. p. 67.\n\n [66] It has been observed that the annual procession of the sacred\n ship so often represented on Egyptian monuments, and the return of the\n deity from Ethiopia after some days\u2019 absence, serves to show the\n Ethiopian origin of Thebes, and of the worship of Jupiter Ammon. \u201cI\n think,\u201d says Heeren, after quoting a passage from Diodorus about the\n holy ship, \u201cthat this procession is represented in one of the great\n sculptured reliefs on the temple of Karnak. The sacred ship of Ammon\n is on the shore with its whole equipment, and is towed along by\n another boat. It is therefore on its voyage. This must have been one\n of the most celebrated festivals, since, even according to the\n interpretation of antiquity, Homer alludes to it when he speaks of\n Jupiter\u2019s visit to the Ethiopians, and his twelve days\u2019\n absence.\u201d\u2014Long, \u201cEgyptian Antiquities\u201d vol. 1 p. 96. Eustathius, vol.\n 1 p. 98, sq. (ed. Basil) gives this interpretation, and likewise an\n allegorical one, which we will spare the reader.\n\n [67] _Atoned_, i.e. reconciled. This is the proper and most natural\n meaning of the word, as may be seen from Taylor\u2019s remarks in Calmet\u2019s\n Dictionary, p.110, of my edition.\n\n [68] That is, drawing back their necks while they cut their throats.\n \u201cIf the sacrifice was in honour of the celestial gods, the throat was\n bent upwards towards heaven; but if made to the heroes, or infernal\n deities, it was killed with its throat toward the ground.\u201d\u2014 \u201cElgin\n Marbles,\u201d vol i. p.81.\n\n\u201cThe jolly crew, unmindful of the past,\nThe quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste,\nSome strip the skin; some portion out the spoil;\nThe limbs yet trembling, in the caldrons boil;\nSome on the fire the reeking entrails broil.\nStretch\u2019d on the grassy turf, at ease they dine,\nRestore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with wine.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s \u201cVirgil,\u201d i. 293.\n\n [69] _Crown\u2019d, i.e._ filled to the brim. The custom of adorning\n goblets with flowers was of later date.\n\n [70] _He spoke_, &c. \u201cWhen a friend inquired of Phidias what pattern\n he had formed his Olympian Jupiter, he is said to have answered by\n repeating the lines of the first Iliad in which the poet represents\n the majesty of the god in the most sublime terms; thereby signifying\n that the genius of Homer had inspired him with it. Those who beheld\n this statue are said to have been so struck with it as to have asked\n whether Jupiter had descended from heaven to show himself to Phidias,\n or whether Phidias had been carried thither to contemplate the god.\u201d\u2014\n \u201cElgin Marbles,\u201d vol. xii p.124.\n\n [71] \u201cSo was his will\nPronounced among the gods, and by an oath,\nThat shook heav\u2019n\u2019s whole circumference, confirm\u2019d.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost\u201d ii. 351.\n\n [72] _A double bowl, i.e._ a vessel with a cup at both ends, something\n like the measures by which a halfpenny or pennyworth of nuts is sold.\n See Buttmann, Lexic. p. 93 sq.\n\n [73] \u201cParadise Lost,\u201d i. 44.\n\n\u201cHim th\u2019 Almighty power\nHurl\u2019d headlong flaming from th ethereal sky,\nWith hideous ruin and combustion\u201d\n\n [74] The occasion on which Vulcan incurred Jove\u2019s displeasure was\n this\u2014After Hercules, had taken and pillaged Troy, Juno raised a storm,\n which drove him to the island of Cos, having previously cast Jove into\n a sleep, to prevent him aiding his son. Jove, in revenge, fastened\n iron anvils to her feet, and hung her from the sky, and Vulcan,\n attempting to relieve her, was kicked down from Olympus in the manner\n described. The allegorists have gone mad in finding deep explanations\n for this amusing fiction. See Heraclides, \u201cPonticus,\u201d p. 463 sq., ed\n Gale. The story is told by Homer himself in Book xv. The Sinthians\n were a race of robbers, the ancient inhabitants of Lemnos which island\n was ever after sacred to Vulcan.\n\n\u201cNor was his name unheard or unadored\nIn ancient Greece, and in Ausonian land\nMen call\u2019d him Mulciber, and how he fell\nFrom heaven, they fabled, thrown by angry Jove\nSheer o\u2019er the crystal battlements from morn\nTo noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,\nA summer\u2019s day and with the setting sun\nDropp\u2019d from the zenith like a falling star\nOn Lemnos, th\u2019 Aegean isle thus they relate.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d i. 738\n\n [75] It is ingeniously observed by Grote, vol i p. 463, that \u201cThe gods\n formed a sort of political community of their own which had its\n hierarchy, its distribution of ranks and duties, its contentions for\n power and occasional revolutions, its public meetings in the agora of\n Olympus, and its multitudinous banquets or festivals.\u201d\n\n [76] Plato, Rep. iii. p. 437, was so scandalized at this deception of\n Jupiter\u2019s, and at his other attacks on the character of the gods, that\n he would fain sentence him to an honourable banishment. (See Minucius\n Felix, Section 22.) Coleridge, Introd. p. 154, well observes, that the\n supreme father of gods and men had a full right to employ a lying\n spirit to work out his ultimate will. Compare \u201cParadise Lost,\u201d v. 646:\n\n\u201cAnd roseate dews disposed\nAll but the unsleeping eyes of God to rest.\u201d\n\n [77] \u2014_Dream_ ought to be spelt with a capital letter, being, I think,\n evidently personified as the god of dreams. See Anthon and others.\n\n\u201cWhen, by Minerva sent, a _fraudful_ Dream\nRush\u2019d from the skies, the bane of her and Troy.\u201d\n\nDyce\u2019s \u201cSelect Translations from Quintus Calaber,\u201d p.10.\n\n [78] \u201cSleep\u2019st thou, companion dear, what sleep can close\nThy eye-lids?\u201d\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d v. 673.\n\n [79] This truly military sentiment has been echoed by the approving\n voice of many a general and statesman of antiquity. See Pliny\u2019s\n Panegyric on Trajan. Silius neatly translates it,\n\n\u201cTurpe duci totam somno consumere noctem.\u201d\n\n [80] _The same in habit_, &c.\n\n\u201cTo whom once more the winged god appears;\nHis former youthful mien and shape he wears.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, iv. 803.\n\n [81] \u201cAs bees in spring-time, when\nThe sun with Taurus rides,\nPour forth their populous youth about the hive\nIn clusters; they among fresh dews and flowers\nFly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank,\nThe suburb of this straw-built citadel,\nNew-nibb\u2019d with balm, expatiate and confer\nTheir state affairs. So thick the very crowd\nSwarm\u2019d and were straiten\u2019d.\u201d\u2014\u201cParadise Lost\u201d i. 768.\n\n [82] It was the herald\u2019s duty to make the people sit down. \u201cA\n _standing_ agora is a symptom of manifest terror (II. Xviii. 246) an\n evening agora, to which men came elevated by wine, is also the\n forerunner of mischief (\u2018Odyssey,\u2019 iii. 138).\u201d\u2014Grote, ii. p. 91,\n _note_.\n\n [83] This sceptre, like that of Judah (Genesis xlix. 10), is a type of\n the supreme and far-spread dominion of the house of the Atrides. See\n Thucydides i. 9. \u201cIt is traced through the hands of Hermes, he being\n the wealth giving god, whose blessing is most efficacious in\n furthering the process of acquisition.\u201d\u2014Grote, i. p. 212. Compare\n Quintus Calaber (Dyce\u2019s Selections, p. 43).\n\n\u201cThus the monarch spoke,\nThen pledged the chief in a capacious cup,\nGolden, and framed by art divine (a gift\nWhich to Almighty Jove lame Vulcan brought\nUpon his nuptial day, when he espoused\nThe Queen of Love), the sire of gods bestow\u2019d\nThe cup on Dardanus, who gave it next\nTo Ericthonius Tros received it then,\nAnd left it, with his wealth, to be possess\u2019d\nBy Ilus he to great Laomedon\nGave it, and last to Priam\u2019s lot it fell.\u201d\n\n [84] Grote, i, p. 393, states the number of the Grecian forces at\n upwards of 100,000 men. Nichols makes a total of 135,000.\n\n [85] \u201cAs thick as when a field\nOf Ceres, ripe for harvest, waving bends\nHis bearded grove of ears, which way the wind\nSways them.\u201d\u2014Paradise Lost,\u201d iv. 980, sqq.\n\n [86] This sentiment used to be a popular one with some of the greatest\n tyrants, who abused it into a pretext for unlimited usurpation of\n power. Dion, Caligula, and Domitian were particularly fond of it, and,\n in an extended form, we find the maxim propounded by Creon in the\n Antigone of Sophocles. See some important remarks of Heeren, \u201cAncient\n Greece,\u201d ch. vi. p. 105.\n\n [87] It may be remarked, that the character of Thersites, revolting\n and contemptible as it is, serves admirably to develop the disposition\n of Ulysses in a new light, in which mere cunning is less prominent. Of\n the gradual and individual development of Homer\u2019s heroes, Schlegel\n well observes, \u201cIn bas-relief the figures are usually in profile, and\n in the epos all are characterized in the simplest manner in relief;\n they are not grouped together, but follow one another; so Homer\u2019s\n heroes advance, one by one, in succession before us. It has been\n remarked that the _Iliad_ is not definitively closed, but that we are\n left to suppose something both to precede and to follow it. The\n bas-relief is equally without limit, and may be continued _ad\n infinitum_, either from before or behind, on which account the\n ancients preferred for it such subjects as admitted of an indefinite\n extension, sacrificial processions, dances, and lines of combatants,\n and hence they also exhibit bas-reliefs on curved surfaces, such as\n vases, or the frieze of a rotunda, where, by the curvature, the two\n ends are withdrawn from our sight, and where, while we advance, one\n object appears as another disappears. Reading Homer is very much like\n such a circuit; the present object alone arresting our attention, we\n lose sight of what precedes, and do not concern ourselves about what\n is to follow.\u201d\u2014\u201cDramatic Literature,\u201d p. 75.\n\n [88] \u201cThere cannot be a clearer indication than this description \u2014so\n graphic in the original poem\u2014of the true character of the Homeric\n agora. The multitude who compose it are listening and acquiescent, not\n often hesitating, and never refractory to the chief. The fate which\n awaits a presumptuous critic, even where his virulent reproaches are\n substantially well-founded, is plainly set forth in the treatment of\n Thersites; while the unpopularity of such a character is attested even\n more by the excessive pains which Homer takes to heap upon him\n repulsive personal deformities, than by the chastisement of Odysseus\n he is lame, bald, crook-backed, of misshapen head, and squinting\n vision.\u201d\u2014Grote, vol. i. p. 97.\n\n [89] According to Pausanias, both the sprig and the remains of the\n tree were exhibited in his time. The tragedians, Lucretius and others,\n adopted a different fable to account for the stoppage at Aulis, and\n seem to have found the sacrifice of Iphigena better suited to form the\n subject of a tragedy. Compare Dryden\u2019s \u201c\u00c6neid,\u201d vol. iii. sqq.\n\n [90] _Full of his god, i.e._, Apollo, filled with the prophetic\n spirit. \u201c_The_ god\u201d would be more simple and emphatic.\n\n [91] Those critics who have maintained that the \u201cCatalogue of Ships\u201d\n is an interpolation, should have paid more attention to these lines,\n which form a most natural introduction to their enumeration.\n\n [92] The following observation will be useful to Homeric readers:\n \u201cParticular animals were, at a later time, consecrated to particular\n deities. To Jupiter, Ceres, Juno, Apollo, and Bacchus victims of\n advanced age might be offered. An ox of five years old was considered\n especially acceptable to Jupiter. A black bull, a ram, or a boar pig,\n were offerings for Neptune. A heifer, or a sheep, for Minerva. To\n Ceres a sow was sacrificed, as an enemy to corn. The goat to Bacchus,\n because he fed on vines. Diana was propitiated with a stag; and to\n Venus the dove was consecrated. The infernal and evil deities were to\n be appeased with black victims. The most acceptable of all sacrifices\n was the heifer of a year old, which had never borne the yoke. It was\n to be perfect in every limb, healthy, and without blemish.\u201d\u2014\u201cElgin\n Marbles,\u201d vol. i. p. 78.\n\n [93] _Idomeneus_, son of Deucalion, was king of Crete. Having vowed,\n during a tempest, on his return from Troy, to sacrifice to Neptune the\n first creature that should present itself to his eye on the Cretan\n shore, his son fell a victim to his rash vow.\n\n [94] _Tydeus\u2019 son, i.e._ Diomed.\n\n [95] That is, Ajax, the son of O\u00efleus, a Locrian. He must be\n distinguished from the other, who was king of Salamis.\n\n [96] A great deal of nonsense has been written to account for the word\n _unbid_, in this line. Even Plato, \u201cSympos.\u201d p. 315, has found some\n curious meaning in what, to us, appears to need no explanation. Was\n there any _heroic_ rule of etiquette which prevented one brother-king\n visiting another without a formal invitation?\n\n [97] Fresh water fowl, especially swans, were found in great numbers\n about the Asian Marsh, a fenny tract of country in Lydia, formed by\n the river Cayster, near its mouth. See Virgil, \u201cGeorgics,\u201d vol. i.\n 383, sq.\n\n [98] _Scamander_, or Scamandros, was a river of Troas, rising,\n according to Strabo, on the highest part of Mount Ida, in the same\n hill with the Granicus and the OEdipus, and falling into the sea at\n Sigaeum; everything tends to identify it with Mendere, as Wood,\n Rennell, and others maintain; the Mendere is 40 miles long, 300 feet\n broad, deep in the time of flood, nearly dry in the summer. Dr. Clarke\n successfully combats the opinion of those who make the Scamander to\n have arisen from the springs of Bounabarshy, and traces the source of\n the river to the highest mountain in the chain of Ida, now Kusdaghy;\n receives the Simois in its course; towards its mouth it is very muddy,\n and flows through marshes. Between the Scamander and Simois, Homer\u2019s\n Troy is supposed to have stood: this river, according to Homer, was\n called Xanthus by the gods, Scamander by men. The waters of the\n Scamander had the singular property of giving a beautiful colour to\n the hair or wool of such animals as bathed in them; hence the three\n goddesses, Minerva, Juno, and Venus, bathed there before they appeared\n before Paris to obtain the golden apple: the name Xanthus, \u201cyellow,\u201d\n was given to the Scamander, from the peculiar colour of its waters,\n still applicable to the Mendere, the yellow colour of whose waters\n attracts the attention of travellers.\n\n [99] It should be \u201chis _chest_ like Neptune.\u201d The torso of Neptune, in\n the \u201cElgin Marbles,\u201d No. 103, (vol. ii. p. 26,) is remarkable for its\n breadth and massiveness of development.\n\n [100] \u201cSay first, for heav\u2019n hides nothing from thy view.\u201d\u2014\u201cParadise\n Lost,\u201d i. 27.\n\n\u201cMa di\u2019 tu, Musa, come i primi danni\nMandassero \u00e0 Cristiani, e di quai parti:\nTu \u2019l sai; ma di tant\u2019 opra a noi si lunge\nDebil aura di fama appena giunge.\u201d\u2014\u201cGier. Lib.\u201d iv. 19.\n\n [101] \u201cThe Catalogue is, perhaps, the portion of the poem in favour of\n which a claim to separate authorship has been most plausibly urged.\n Although the example of Homer has since rendered some such formal\n enumeration of the forces engaged, a common practice in epic poems\n descriptive of great warlike adventures, still so minute a statistical\n detail can neither be considered as imperatively required, nor perhaps\n such as would, in ordinary cases, suggest itself to the mind of a\n poet. Yet there is scarcely any portion of the Iliad where both\n historical and internal evidence are more clearly in favour of a\n connection from the remotest period, with the remainder of the work.\n The composition of the Catalogue, whensoever it may have taken place,\n necessarily presumes its author\u2019s acquaintance with a previously\n existing Iliad. It were impossible otherwise to account for the\n harmony observable in the recurrence of so vast a number of proper\n names, most of them historically unimportant, and not a few altogether\n fictitious: or of so many geographical and genealogical details as are\n condensed in these few hundred lines, and incidentally scattered over\n the thousands which follow: equally inexplicable were the pointed\n allusions occurring in this episode to events narrated in the previous\n and subsequent text, several of which could hardly be of traditional\n notoriety, but through the medium of the Iliad.\u201d\u2014Mure, \u201cLanguage and\n Literature of Greece,\u201d vol. i. p. 263.\n\n [102] _Twice Sixty:_ \u201cThucydides observes that the B\u0153otian vessels,\n which carried one hundred and twenty men each, were probably meant to\n be the largest in the fleet, and those of Philoctetes, carrying fifty\n each, the smallest. The average would be eighty-five, and Thucydides\n supposes the troops to have rowed and navigated themselves; and that\n very few, besides the chiefs, went as mere passengers or landsmen. In\n short, we have in the Homeric descriptions the complete picture of an\n Indian or African war canoe, many of which are considerably larger\n than the largest scale assigned to those of the Greeks. If the total\n number of the Greek ships be taken at twelve hundred, according to\n Thucydides, although in point of fact there are only eleven hundred\n and eighty-six in the Catalogue, the amount of the army, upon the\n foregoing average, will be about a hundred and two thousand men. The\n historian considers this a small force as representing all Greece.\n Bryant, comparing it with the allied army at Platae, thinks it so\n large as to prove the entire falsehood of the whole story; and his\n reasonings and calculations are, for their curiosity, well worth a\n careful perusal.\u201d\u2014Coleridge, p. 211, sq.\n\n [103] The mention of Corinth is an anachronism, as that city was\n called Ephyre before its capture by the Dorians. But Velleius, vol. i.\n p. 3, well observes, that the poet would naturally speak of various\n towns and cities by the names by which they were known in his own\n time.\n\n [104] \u201cAdam, the goodliest man of men since born, His sons, the\n fairest of her daughters Eve.\u2019\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d iv. 323.\n\n [105] _\u00c6setes\u2019 tomb_. Monuments were often built on the sea-coast, and\n of a considerable height, so as to serve as watch-towers or land\n marks. See my notes to my prose translations of the \u201cOdyssey,\u201d ii. p.\n 21, or on Eur. \u201cAlcest.\u201d vol. i. p. 240.\n\n [106] _Zeleia_, another name for Lycia. The inhabitants were greatly\n devoted to the worship of Apollo. See Muller, \u201cDorians,\u201d vol. i. p.\n 248.\n\n [107] _Barbarous tongues_. \u201cVarious as were the dialects of the\n Greeks\u2014and these differences existed not only between the several\n tribes, but even between neighbouring cities\u2014they yet acknowledged in\n their language that they formed but one nation were but branches of\n the same family. Homer has \u2018men of other tongues:\u2019 and yet Homer had\n no general name for the Greek nation.\u201d\u2014Heeren, \u201cAncient Greece,\u201d\n Section vii. p. 107, sq.\n\n [108] _The cranes_.\n\u201cMarking the tracts of air, the clamorous cranes\nWheel their due flight in varied ranks descried:\nAnd each with outstretch\u2019d neck his rank maintains,\nIn marshall\u2019d order through th\u2019 ethereal void.\u201d\n\nLorenzo de Medici, in Roscoe\u2019s Life, Appendix.\n\nSee Cary\u2019s Dante: \u201cHell,\u201d canto v.\n\n [109] _Silent, breathing rage._\n\u201cThus they,\nBreathing united force with fixed thought,\nMoved on in silence.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d book i. 559.\n\n [110] \u201cAs when some peasant in a bushy brake\nHas with unwary footing press\u2019d a snake;\nHe starts aside, astonish\u2019d, when he spies\nHis rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, ii. 510.\n\n [111] Dysparis, _i.e._ unlucky, ill fated, Paris. This alludes to the\n evils which resulted from his having been brought up, despite the\n omens which attended his birth.\n\n [112] The following scene, in which Homer has contrived to introduce\n so brilliant a sketch of the Grecian warriors, has been imitated by\n Euripides, who in his \u201cPhoenissae\u201d represents Antigone surveying the\n opposing champions from a high tower, while the paedagogus describes\n their insignia and details their histories.\n\n [113] _No wonder_, &c. Zeuxis, the celebrated artist, is said to have\n appended these lines to his picture of Helen, as a motto. Valer Max.\n iii. 7.\n\n [114] The early epic was largely occupied with the exploits and\n sufferings of women, or heroines, the wives and daughters of the\n Grecian heroes. A nation of courageous, hardy, indefatigable women,\n dwelling apart from men, permitting only a short temporary\n intercourse, for the purpose of renovating their numbers, burning out\n their right breast with a view of enabling themselves to draw the bow\n freely; this was at once a general type, stimulating to the fancy of\n the poet, and a theme eminently popular with his hearers. We find\n these warlike females constantly reappearing in the ancient poems, and\n universally accepted as past realities in the Iliad. When Priam wishes\n to illustrate emphatically the most numerous host in which he ever\n found himself included, he tells us that it was assembled in Phrygia,\n on the banks of the Sangarius, for the purpose of resisting the\n formidable Amazons. When Bellerophon is to be employed in a deadly and\n perilous undertaking, by those who prudently wished to procure his\n death, he is despatched against the Amazons.\u2014Grote, vol. i p. 289.\n\n [115] _Antenor_, like \u00c6neas, had always been favourable to the\n restoration of Helen. Liv 1. 2.\n\n [116]\n\u201cHis lab\u2019ring heart with sudden rapture seized\nHe paus\u2019d, and on the ground in silence gazed.\nUnskill\u2019d and uninspired he seems to stand,\nNor lifts the eye, nor graceful moves the hand:\nThen, while the chiefs in still attention hung,\nPours the full tide of eloquence along;\nWhile from his lips the melting torrent flows,\nSoft as the fleeces of descending snows.\nNow stronger notes engage the listening crowd,\nLouder the accents rise, and yet more loud,\nLike thunders rolling from a distant cloud.\u201d\n\nMerrick\u2019s \u201cTryphiodorus,\u201d 148, 99.\n\n [117] Duport, \u201cGnomol. Homer,\u201d p. 20, well observes that this\n comparison may also be sarcastically applied to the _frigid_ style of\n oratory. It, of course, here merely denotes the ready fluency of\n Ulysses.\n\n [118] _Her brothers\u2019 doom_. They perished in combat with Lynceus and\n Idas, whilst besieging Sparta. See Hygin. Poet Astr. 32, 22. Virgil\n and others, however, make them share immortality by turns.\n\n [119] Idreus was the arm-bearer and charioteer of king Priam, slain\n during this war. Cf. \u00c6n, vi. 487.\n\n [120] _Sc\u00e6a\u2019s gates_, rather _Sc\u00e6an gates_, _i.e._ the left-hand\n gates.\n\n [121] This was customary in all sacrifices. Hence we find Iras\n descending to cut off the hair of Dido, before which she could not\n expire.\n\n [122] _Nor pierced_.\n\n\u201cThis said, his feeble hand a jav\u2019lin threw,\nWhich, flutt\u2019ring, seemed to loiter as it flew,\nJust, and but barely, to the mark it held,\nAnd faintly tinkled on the brazen shield.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, ii. 742.\n\n [123] _Reveal\u2019d the queen_.\n\n\u201cThus having said, she turn\u2019d and made appear\nHer neck refulgent and dishevell\u2019d hair,\nWhich, flowing from her shoulders, reach\u2019d the ground,\nAnd widely spread ambrosial scents around.\nIn length of train descends her sweeping gown;\nAnd, by her graceful walk, the queen of love is known.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, i. 556.\n\n [124] _Cranae\u2019s isle, i.e._ Athens. See the \u201cSchol.\u201d and Alberti\u2019s\n \u201cHesychius,\u201d vol. ii. p. 338. This name was derived from one of its\n early kings, Cranaus.\n\n [125] _The martial maid_. In the original, \u201cMinerva Alalcomeneis,\u201d\n _i.e. the defender_, so called from her temple at Alalcomene in\n B\u0153otia.\n\n [126] \u201cAnything for a quiet life!\u201d\n\n [127] \u2014_Argos_. The worship of Juno at Argos was very celebrated in\n ancient times, and she was regarded as the patron deity of that city.\n Apul. Met., vi. p. 453; Servius on Virg. \u00c6n., i. 28.\n\n [128] \u2014_A wife and sister_.\n\n\u201cBut I, who walk in awful state above\nThe majesty of heav\u2019n, the sister-wife of Jove.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s \u201cVirgil,\u201d i. 70.\n\nSo Apuleius, _l. c._ speaks of her as \u201cJovis germana et conjux, and so\nHorace, Od. iii. 3, 64, \u201cconjuge me Jovis et sorore.\u201d\n\n [129]\n\u201cThither came Uriel, gleaming through the even\nOn a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star\nIn autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired\nImpress the air, and shows the mariner\nFrom what point of his compass to beware\nImpetuous winds.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d iv. 555.\n\n [130] _\u00c6sepus\u2019 flood_. A river of Mysia, rising from Mount Cotyius, in\n the southern part of the chain of Ida.\n\n [131] _Zelia_, a town of Troas, at the foot of Ida.\n\n [132] _Podaleirius_ and _Mach\u00e4on_ are the leeches of the Grecian army,\n highly prized and consulted by all the wounded chiefs. Their medical\n renown was further prolonged in the subsequent poem of Arktinus, the\n Iliou Persis, wherein the one was represented as unrivalled in\n surgical operations, the other as sagacious in detecting and\n appreciating morbid symptoms. It was Podaleirius who first noticed the\n glaring eyes and disturbed deportment which preceded the suicide of\n Ajax.\n    \u201cGalen appears uncertain whether Asklepius (as well as Dionysus)\n    was originally a god, or whether he was first a man and then became\n    afterwards a god; but Apollodorus professed to fix the exact date\n    of his apotheosis. Throughout all the historical ages the\n    descendants of Asklepius were numerous and widely diffused. The\n    many families or gentes, called Asklepiads, who devoted themselves\n    to the study and practice of medicine, and who principally dwelt\n    near the temples of Asklepius, whither sick and suffering men came\n    to obtain relief\u2014all recognized the god not merely as the object of\n    their common worship, but also as their actual progenitor.\u201d\u2014Grote\n    vol. i. p. 248.\n\n [133]\n\u201cThe plant she bruises with a stone, and stands\nTempering the juice between her ivory hands\nThis o\u2019er her breast she sheds with sovereign art\nAnd bathes with gentle touch the wounded part\nThe wound such virtue from the juice derives,\nAt once the blood is stanch\u2019d, the youth revives.\u201d\n\n\u201cOrlando Furioso,\u201d book 1.\n\n [134] _Well might I wish._\n\n\u201cWould heav\u2019n (said he) my strength and youth recall,\nSuch as I was beneath Praeneste\u2019s wall\u2014\nThen when I made the foremost foes retire,\nAnd set whole heaps of conquer\u2019d shields on fire;\nWhen Herilus in single fight I slew,\nWhom with three lives Feronia did endue.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, viii. 742.\n\n [135] _Sthenelus_, a son of Capaneus, one of the Epigoni. He was one\n of the suitors of Helen, and is said to have been one of those who\n entered Troy inside the wooden horse.\n\n [136] _Forwarn\u2019d the horrors_. The same portent has already been\n mentioned. To this day, modern nations are not wholly free from this\n superstition.\n\n [137] _Sevenfold city_, B\u0153otian Thebes, which had seven gates.\n\n [138] _As when the winds_.\n\n\u201cThus, when a black-brow\u2019d gust begins to rise,\nWhite foam at first on the curl\u2019d ocean fries;\nThen roars the main, the billows mount the skies,\nTill, by the fury of the storm full blown,\nThe muddy billow o\u2019er the clouds is thrown.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, vii. 736.\n\n [139]\n\u201cStood\nLike Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved;\nHis stature reach\u2019d the sky.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d iv. 986.\n\n [140] The Abantes seem to have been of Thracian origin.\n\n [141] I may, once for all, remark that Homer is most anatomically\n correct as to the parts of the body in which a wound would be\n immediately mortal.\n\n [142] _\u00c6nus_, a fountain almost proverbial for its coldness.\n\n [143] Compare Tasso, Gier. Lib., xx. 7:\n\n\u201cNuovo favor del cielo in lui niluce\nE \u2019l fa grande, et angusto oltre il costume.\nGl\u2019 empie d\u2019 honor la faccia, e vi riduce\nDi giovinezza il bel purpureo lume.\u201d\n\n [144]\n\u201cOr deluges, descending on the plains,\nSweep o\u2019er the yellow year, destroy the pains\nOf lab\u2019ring oxen, and the peasant\u2019s gains;\nUproot the forest oaks, and bear away\nFlocks, folds, and trees, an undistinguish\u2019d prey.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil ii. 408.\n\n [145] _From mortal mists_.\n\n\u201cBut to nobler sights\nMichael from Adam\u2019s eyes the film removed.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d xi. 411.\n\n [146] _The race of those_.\n\n\u201cA pair of coursers, born of heav\u2019nly breed,\nWho from their nostrils breathed ethereal fire;\nWhom Circe stole from her celestial sire,\nBy substituting mares produced on earth,\nWhose wombs conceived a more than mortal birth.\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, vii. 386, sqq.\n\n [147] The belief in the existence of men of larger stature in earlier\n times, is by no means confined to Homer.\n\n [148] _Such stream, i.e._ the _ichor_, or blood of the gods.\n\n\u201cA stream of nect\u2019rous humour issuing flow\u2019d,\nSanguine, such as celestial spirits may bleed.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d vi. 339.\n\n [149] This was during the wars with the Titans.\n\n [150] _Amphitryon\u2019s son_, Hercules, born to Jove by Alcmena, the wife\n of Amphitryon.\n\n [151] _\u00c6gial\u00e9_ daughter of Adrastus. The Cyclic poets (See Anthon\u2019s\n Lempriere, _s. v._) assert Venus incited her to infidelity, in revenge\n for the wound she had received from her husband.\n\n [152] _Pher\u00e6_, a town of Pelasgiotis, in Thessaly.\n\n [153] _Tlepolemus_, son of Hercules and Astyochia. Having left his\n native country, Argos, in consequence of the accidental murder of\n Liscymnius, he was commanded by an oracle to retire to Rhodes. Here he\n was chosen king, and accompanied the Trojan expedition. After his\n death, certain games were instituted at Rhodes in his honour, the\n victors being rewarded with crowns of poplar.\n\n [154] These heroes\u2019 names have since passed into a kind of proverb,\n designating the _oi polloi_ or mob.\n\n [155] _Spontaneous open_.\n\n\u201cVeil\u2019d with his gorgeous wings, upspringing light\nFlew through the midst of heaven; th\u2019 angelic quires,\nOn each hand parting, to his speed gave way\nThrough all th\u2019 empyreal road; till at the gate\nOf heaven arrived, the gate self-open\u2019d wide,\nOn golden hinges turning.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d v. 250.\n\n [156]\n\u201cTill Morn,\nWaked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand\nUnbarr\u2019d the gates of light.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d vi, 2.\n\n [157] _Far as a shepherd_. \u201cWith what majesty and pomp does Homer\n exalt his deities! He here measures the leap of the horses by the\n extent of the world. And who is there, that, considering the exceeding\n greatness of the space would not with reason cry out that \u2018If the\n steeds of the deity were to take a second leap, the world would want\n room for it\u2019?\u201d\u2014Longinus, Section 8.\n\n [158] \u201cNo trumpets, or any other instruments of sound, are used in the\n Homeric action itself; but the trumpet was known, and is introduced\n for the purpose of illustration as employed in war. Hence arose the\n value of a loud voice in a commander; Stentor was an indispensable\n officer... In the early Saracen campaigns frequent mention is made of\n the service rendered by men of uncommonly strong voices; the battle of\n Honain was restored by the shouts and menaces of Abbas, the uncle of\n Mohammed,\u201d &c.\u2014Coleridge, p. 213.\n\n [159] \u201cLong had the wav\u2019ring god the war delay\u2019d,\nWhile Greece and Troy alternate own\u2019d his aid.\u201d\n\nMerrick\u2019s \u201cTryphiodorus,\u201d vi. 761, sq.\n\n [160] _P\u00e6on_ seems to have been to the gods, what Podaleirius and\n Machaon were to the Grecian heroes.\n\n [161] _Arisbe_, a colony of the Mitylenaeans in Troas.\n\n [162] _Pedasus_, a town near Pylos.\n\n [163] _Rich heaps of brass_. \u201cThe halls of Alkinous and Menelaus\n glitter with gold, copper, and electrum; while large stocks of yet\n unemployed metal\u2014gold, copper, and iron are stored up in the\n treasure-chamber of Odysseus and other chiefs. Coined money is unknown\n in the Homeric age\u2014the trade carried on being one of barter. In\n reference also to the metals, it deserves to be remarked, that the\n Homeric descriptions universally suppose copper, and not iron, to be\n employed for arms, both offensive and defensive. By what process the\n copper was tempered and hardened, so as to serve the purpose of the\n warrior, we do not know; but the use of iron for these objects belongs\n to a later age.\u201d\u2014Grote, vol. ii. p. 142.\n\n [164] _Oh impotent_, &c. \u201cIn battle, quarter seems never to have been\n given, except with a view to the ransom of the prisoner. Agamemnon\n reproaches Menelaus with unmanly softness, when he is on the point of\n sparing a fallen enemy, and himself puts the suppliant to the\n sword.\u201d\u2014Thirlwall, vol. i. p. 181\n\n [165]\n\u201cThe ruthless steel, impatient of delay,\nForbade the sire to linger out the day.\nIt struck the bending father to the earth,\nAnd cropt the wailing infant at the birth.\nCan innocents the rage of parties know,\nAnd they who ne\u2019er offended find a foe?\u201d\n\nRowe\u2019s Lucan, bk. ii.\n\n [166]\n\u201cMeantime the Trojan dames, oppress\u2019d with woe,\nTo Pallas\u2019 fane in long procession go,\nIn hopes to reconcile their heav\u2019nly foe:\nThey weep; they beat their breasts; they rend their hair,\nAnd rich embroider\u2019d vests for presents bear.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, i. 670\n\n [167] The manner in which this episode is introduced, is well\n illustrated by the following remarks of Mure, vol. i. p.298: \u201cThe\n poet\u2019s method of introducing his episode, also, illustrates in a\n curious manner his tact in the dramatic department of his art. Where,\n for example, one or more heroes are despatched on some commission, to\n be executed at a certain distance of time or place, the fulfilment of\n this task is not, as a general rule, immediately described. A certain\n interval is allowed them for reaching the appointed scene of action,\n which interval is dramatised, as it were, either by a temporary\n continuation of the previous narrative, or by fixing attention for a\n while on some new transaction, at the close of which the further\n account of the mission is resumed.\u201d\n\n [168] _With tablets sealed_. These probably were only devices of a\n hieroglyphical character. Whether writing was known in the Homeric\n times is utterly uncertain. See Grote, vol ii. p. 192, sqq.\n\n [169] _Solym\u00e6an crew_, a people of Lycia.\n\n [170] From this \u201cmelancholy madness\u201d of Bellerophon, hypochondria\n received the name of \u201cMorbus Bellerophonteus.\u201d See my notes in my\n prose translation, p. 112. The \u201cAleian field,\u201d _i.e._ \u201cthe plain of\n wandering,\u201d was situated between the rivers Pyramus and Pinarus, in\n Cilicia.\n\n [171] _His own, of gold_. This bad bargain has passed into a common\n proverb. See Aulus Gellius, ii, 23.\n\n [172] _Sc\u00e6an, i e._ left hand.\n\n [173] _In fifty chambers_.\n\n\u201cThe fifty nuptial beds, (such hopes had he,\nSo large a promise of a progeny,)\nThe ports of plated gold, and hung with spoils.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, ii.658\n\n [174] _O would kind earth_, &c. \u201cIt is apparently a sudden, irregular\n burst of popular indignation to which Hector alludes, when he regrets\n that the Trojans had not spirit enough to cover Paris with a mantle of\n stones. This, however, was also one of the ordinary formal modes of\n punishment for great public offences. It may have been originally\n connected with the same feeling\u2014the desire of avoiding the pollution\n of bloodshed\u2014which seems to have suggested the practice of burying\n prisoners alive, with a scantling of food by their side. Though Homer\n makes no mention of this horrible usage, the example of the Roman\n Vestals affords reasons for believing that, in ascribing it to the\n heroic ages, Sophocles followed an authentic tradition.\u201d\u2014Thirlwall\u2019s\n Greece, vol. i. p. 171, sq.\n\n [175] _Paris\u2019 lofty dome_. \u201cWith respect to the private dwellings,\n which are oftenest described, the poet\u2019s language barely enables us to\n form a general notion of their ordinary plan, and affords no\n conception of the style which prevailed in them or of their effect on\n the eye. It seems indeed probable, from the manner in which he dwells\n on their metallic ornaments that the higher beauty of proportion was\n but little required or understood, and it is, perhaps, strength and\n convenience, rather than elegance, that he means to commend, in\n speaking of the fair house which Paris had built for himself with the\n aid of the most skilful masons of Troy.\u201d\u2014Thirlwall\u2019s Greece, vol. i.\n p. 231.\n\n [176] _The wanton courser_.\n\n\u201cCome destrier, che da le regie stalle\n    Ove a l\u2019usa de l\u2019arme si riserba,\nFugge, e libero al fiu per largo calle\n    Va tragl\u2019 armenti, o al fiume usato, o a l\u2019herba.\u201d\n\nGier, Lib. ix. 75.\n\n [177] _Casque_. The original word is stephanae, about the meaning of\n which there is some little doubt. Some take it for a different kind of\n cap or helmet, others for the rim, others for the cone, of the helmet.\n\n [178] _Athenian maid:_ Minerva.\n\n [179] _Celadon_, a river of Elis.\n\n [180] _O\u00efleus, i.e._ Ajax, the son of O\u00efleus, in contradistinction to\n Ajax, son of Telamon.\n\n [181] _In the general\u2019s helm_. It was customary to put the lots into a\n helmet, in which they were well shaken up; each man then took his\n choice.\n\n [182] _God of Thrace_. Mars, or Mavors, according to his Thracian\n epithet. Hence \u201cMavortia M\u0153nia.\u201d\n\n [183] _Grimly he smiled_.\n\n\u201cAnd death\nGrinn\u2019d horribly a ghastly smile.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d ii. 845.\n\n\u201cThere Mavors stands\nGrinning with ghastly feature.\u201d\n\n\u2014Carey\u2019s Dante: Hell, v.\n\n [184]\n\u201cSete \u00f2 guerrieri, incomincio Pindoro,\nCon pari honor di pari ambo possenti,\nDunque cessi la pugna, e non sian rotte\nLe ragioni, e \u2019l riposo, e de la notte.\u201d\n\n\u2014Gier. Lib. vi. 51.\n\n [185] It was an ancient style of compliment to give a larger portion\n of food to the conqueror, or person to whom respect was to be shown.\n See Virg. \u00c6n. viii. 181. Thus Benjamin was honoured with a \u201cdouble\n portion.\u201d Gen. xliii. 34.\n\n [186] _Embattled walls._ \u201cAnother essential basis of mechanical unity\n in the poem is the construction of the rampart. This takes place in\n the seventh book. The reason ascribed for the glaring improbability\n that the Greeks should have left their camp and fleet unfortified\n during nine years, in the midst of a hostile country, is a purely\n poetical one: \u2018So long as Achilles fought, the terror of his name\n sufficed to keep every foe at a distance.\u2019 The disasters consequent on\n his secession first led to the necessity of other means of protection.\n Accordingly, in the battles previous to the eighth book, no allusion\n occurs to a rampart; in all those which follow it forms a prominent\n feature. Here, then, in the anomaly as in the propriety of the Iliad,\n the destiny of Achilles, or rather this peculiar crisis of it, forms\n the pervading bond of connexion to the whole poem.\u201d\u2014Mure, vol. i., p.\n 257.\n\n [187] _What cause of fear_, &c.\n\n\u201cSeest thou not this? Or do we fear in vain\nThy boasted thunders, and thy thoughtless reign?\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, iv. 304.\n\n [188] _In exchange_. These lines are referred to by Theophilus, the\n Roman lawyer, iii. tit. xxiii. \u00a7 1, as exhibiting the most ancient\n mention of barter.\n\n [189] \u201cA similar bond of connexion, in the military details of the\n narrative, is the decree issued by Jupiter, at the commencement of the\n eighth book, against any further interference of the gods in the\n battles. In the opening of the twentieth book this interdict is\n withdrawn. During the twelve intermediate books it is kept steadily in\n view. No interposition takes place but on the part of the specially\n authorised agents of Jove, or on that of one or two contumacious\n deities, described as boldly setting his commands at defiance, but\n checked and reprimanded for their disobedience; while the other divine\n warriors, who in the previous and subsequent cantos are so active in\n support of their favourite heroes, repeatedly allude to the supreme\n edict as the cause of their present inactivity.\u201d\u2014Mure, vol. i. p 257.\n See however, Muller, \u201cGreek Literature,\u201d ch. v. Section 6, and Grote,\n vol. ii. p. 252.\n\n [190] \u201cAs far removed from God and light of heaven,\nAs from the centre thrice to th\u2019 utmost pole.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost.\u201d\n\n\u201cE quanto \u00e8 da le stelle al basso inferno,\nTanto \u00e8 pi\u00f9 in s\u00f9 de la stellata spera\u201d\n\n\u2014Gier. Lib. i. 7.\n\n\u201cSome of the epithets which Homer applies to the heavens seem to imply\nthat he considered it as a solid vault of metal. But it is not\nnecessary to construe these epithets so literally, nor to draw any such\ninference from his description of Atlas, who holds the lofty pillars\nwhich keep earth and heaven asunder. Yet it would seem, from the manner\nin which the height of heaven is compared with the depth of Tartarus,\nthat the region of light was thought to have certain bounds. The summit\nof the Thessalian Olympus was regarded as the highest point on the\nearth, and it is not always carefully distinguished from the aerian\nregions above The idea of a seat of the gods\u2014perhaps derived from a\nmore ancient tradition, in which it was not attached to any\ngeographical site\u2014seems to be indistinctly blended in the poet\u2019s mind\nwith that of the real mountain.\u201d\u2014Thirlwall\u2019s Greece, vol. i. p. 217,\nsq.\n\n [191]\n\u201cNow lately heav\u2019n, earth, another world\nHung e\u2019er my realm, link\u2019d in a golden chain\nTo that side heav\u2019n.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d ii. 1004.\n\n [192] _His golden scales_.\n\n\u201cJove now, sole arbiter of peace and war,\nHeld forth the fatal balance from afar:\nEach host he weighs; by turns they both prevail,\nTill Troy descending fix\u2019d the doubtful scale.\u201d\n\nMerrick\u2019s Tryphiodorus, v 687, sqq.\n\n\u201cOh\u2019 Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray,\nHung forth in heav\u2019n his golden scales,\nWherein all things created first he weighed;\nThe pendulous round earth, with balanced air\nIn counterpoise; now ponders all events,\nBattles and realms. In these he puts two weights,\nThe sequel each of parting and of fight:\nThe latter quick up flew, and kick\u2019d the beam.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d iv. 496.\n\n [193] _And now_, &c.\n\n\u201cAnd now all heaven\nHad gone to wrack, with ruin overspread;\nHad not th\u2019 Almighty Father, where he sits\n... foreseen.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d vi. 669.\n\n [194] _Gerenian Nestor_. The epithet _Gerenian_ either refers to the\n name of a place in which Nestor was educated, or merely signifies\n honoured, revered. See Schol. Venet. in II. B. 336; Strabo, viii. p.\n 340.\n\n [195] _\u00c6gae, Helic\u00e8_. Both these towns were conspicuous for their\n worship of Neptune.\n\n [196] _As full blown_, &c.\n\n\u201cIl suo Lesbia quasi bel fior succiso,\nE in atto si gentil languir tremanti\nGl\u2019 occhi, e cader siu \u2019l tergo il collo mira.\u201d\n\nGier. Lib. ix. 85.\n\n [197] _Ungrateful_, because the cause in which they were engaged was\n unjust.\n\n\u201cStruck by the lab\u2019ring priests\u2019 uplifted hands\nThe victims fall: to heav\u2019n they make their pray\u2019r,\nThe curling vapours load the ambient air.\nBut vain their toil: the pow\u2019rs who rule the skies\nAverse beheld the ungrateful sacrifice.\u201d\n\nMerrick\u2019s Tryphiodorus, vi. 527, sqq.\n\n [198]\n\u201cAs when about the silver moon, when aire is free from winde,\nAnd stars shine cleare, to whose sweet beams high prospects on the\nbrows\nOf all steepe hills and pinnacles thrust up themselves for shows,\nAnd even the lowly valleys joy to glitter in their sight;\nWhen the unmeasured firmament bursts to disclose her light,\nAnd all the signs in heaven are seene, that glad the shepherd\u2019s heart.\u201d\n\nChapman.\n\n [199] This flight of the Greeks, according to Buttmann, Lexil. p. 358,\n was not a supernatural flight caused by the gods, but \u201ca great and\n general one, caused by Hector and the Trojans, but with the approval\n of Jove.\u201d\n\n [200] Grote, vol. ii. p. 91, after noticing the modest calmness and\n respect with which Nestor addresses Agamemnon, observes, \u201cThe Homeric\n Council is a purely consultative body, assembled not with any power of\n peremptorily arresting mischievous resolves of the king, but solely\n for his information and guidance.\u201d\n\n [201] In the heroic times, it is not unfrequent for the king to\n receive presents to purchase freedom from his wrath, or immunity from\n his exactions. Such gifts gradually became regular, and formed the\n income of the German, (Tacit. Germ. Section 15) Persian, (Herodot.\n iii.89), and other kings. So, too, in the middle ages, \u2018The feudal\n aids are the beginning of taxation, of which they for a long time\n answered the purpose.\u2019 (Hallam, Middle Ages, ch. x. pt. 1, p. 189)\n This fact frees Achilles from the apparent charge of sordidness.\n Plato, however, (De Rep. vi. 4), says, \u201cWe cannot commend Ph\u0153nix, the\n tutor of Achilles, as if he spoke correctly, when counselling him to\n accept of presents and assist the Greeks, but, without presents, not\n to desist from his wrath, nor again, should we commend Achilles\n himself, or approve of his being so covetous as to receive presents\n from Agamemnon,\u201d &c.\n\n [202] It may be observed, that, brief as is the mention of Brise\u00efs in\n the Iliad, and small the part she plays\u2014what little is said is\n pre-eminently calculated to enhance her fitness to be the bride of\n Achilles. Purity, and retiring delicacy, are features well contrasted\n with the rough, but tender disposition of the hero.\n\n [203] _Laodice_. Iphianassa, or Iphigenia, is not mentioned by Homer,\n among the daughters of Agamemnon.\n\n [204] \u201cAgamemnon, when he offers to transfer to Achilles seven towns\n inhabited by wealthy husbandmen, who would enrich their lord by\n presents and tribute, seems likewise to assume rather a property in\n them, than an authority over them. And the same thing may be intimated\n when it is said that Peleus bestowed a great people, the Dolopes of\n Phthia, on Ph\u0153nix.\u201d\u2014Thirlwall\u2019s Greece, vol. i Section 6, p. 162,\n note.\n\n [205] _Pray in deep silence_. Rather: \u201cuse well-omened words;\u201d or, as\n Kennedy has explained it, \u201cAbstain from expressions unsuitable to the\n solemnity of the occasion, which, by offending the god, might defeat\n the object of their supplications.\u201d\n\n [206] _Purest hands_. This is one of the most ancient superstitions\n respecting prayer, and one founded as much in nature as in tradition.\n\n [207] It must be recollected, that the war at Troy was not a settled\n siege, and that many of the chieftains busied themselves in piratical\n expeditions about its neighborhood. Such a one was that of which\n Achilles now speaks. From the following verses, it is evident that\n fruits of these maraudings went to the common support of the\n expedition, and not to the successful plunderer.\n\n [208] _Pythia_, the capital of Achilles\u2019 Thessalian domains.\n\n [209] _Orchomenian town_. The topography of Orchomenus, in B\u0153otia,\n \u201csituated,\u201d as it was, \u201con the northern bank of the lake \u00c6pais, which\n receives not only the river Cephisus from the valleys of Phocis, but\n also other rivers from Parnassus and Helicon\u201d (Grote, vol. p. 181),\n was a sufficient reason for its prosperity and decay. \u201cAs long as the\n channels of these waters were diligently watched and kept clear, a\n large portion of the lake was in the condition of alluvial land,\n pre-eminently rich and fertile. But when the channels came to be\n either neglected, or designedly choked up by an enemy, the water\n accumulated in such a degree as to occupy the soil of more than one\n ancient islet, and to occasion the change of the site of Orchomenus\n itself from the plain to the declivity of Mount Hyphanteion.\u201d (Ibid.)\n\n [210] The phrase \u201chundred gates,\u201d &c., seems to be merely expressive\n of a great number. See notes to my prose translation, p. 162.\n\n [211] Compare the following pretty lines of Quintus Calaber (Dyce\u2019s\n Select Translations, p 88).\u2014\n\n\u201cMany gifts he gave, and o\u2019er\nDolopia bade me rule; thee in his arms\nHe brought an infant, on my bosom laid\nThe precious charge, and anxiously enjoin\u2019d\nThat I should rear thee as my own with all\nA parent\u2019s love. I fail\u2019d not in my trust\nAnd oft, while round my neck thy hands were lock\u2019d,\nFrom thy sweet lips the half articulate sound\nOf Father came; and oft, as children use,\nMewling and puking didst thou drench my tunic.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis description,\u201d observes my learned friend (notes, p. 121) \u201cis\ntaken from the passage of Homer, II ix, in translating which, Pope,\nwith that squeamish, artificial taste, which distinguished the age of\nAnne, omits the natural (and, let me add, affecting) circumstance.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the wine\nHeld to thy lips, and many a time in fits\nOf infant frowardness the purple juice\nRejecting thou hast deluged all my vest,\n\nAnd fill\u2019d my bosom.\u201d \u2014Cowper.\n\n [212] _Where Calydon_. For a good sketch of the story of Meleager, too\n long to be inserted here, see Grote, vol. i. p. 195, sqq.; and for the\n authorities, see my notes to the prose translation, p. 166.\n\n [213] \u201c_Gifts can conquer_\u201d\u2014It is well observed by Bishop Thirlwall,\n \u201cGreece,\u201d vol. i. p, 180, that the law of honour among the Greeks did\n not compel them to treasure up in their memory the offensive language\n which might be addressed to them by a passionate adversary, nor to\n conceive that it left a stain which could only be washed away by\n blood. Even for real and deep injuries they were commonly willing to\n accept a pecuniary compensation.\u201d\n\n [214] \u201cThe boon of sleep.\u201d\u2014Milton\n\n [215]\n\u201cAll else of nature\u2019s common gift partake:\nUnhappy Dido was alone awake.\u201d\n\n\u2014Dryden\u2019s Virgil, iv. 767.\n\n [216] _The king of Crete:_ Idomeneus.\n\n [217] _Soft wool within, i e._ a kind of woollen stuffing, pressed in\n between the straps, to protect the head, and make the helmet fit\n close.\n\n [218] \u201cAll the circumstances of this action\u2014the night, Rhesus buried\n in a profound sleep, and Diomede with the sword in his hand hanging\n over the head of that prince\u2014furnished Homer with the idea of this\n fiction, which represents Rhesus lying fast asleep, and, as it were,\n beholding his enemy in a dream, plunging the sword into his bosom.\n This image is very natural; for a man in his condition awakes no\n farther than to see confusedly what environs him, and to think it not\n a reality but a dream.\u201d\u2014Pope.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s one did laugh in his sleep, and one cry\u2019d murder;\nThey wak\u2019d each other.\u201d\n\n\u2014_Macbeth_.\n\n [219]\n\u201cAurora now had left her saffron bed,\nAnd beams of early light the heavens o\u2019erspread.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, iv. 639\n\n [220] _Red drops of blood_. \u201cThis phenomenon, if a mere fruit of the\n poet\u2019s imagination, might seem arbitrary or far-fetched. It is one,\n however, of ascertained reality, and of no uncommon occurrence in the\n climate of Greece.\u201d\u2014Mure, i p. 493. Cf. Tasso, Gier. Lib. ix. 15:\n\n\u201cLa terra in vece del notturno gelo\nBagnan rugiade tepide, e sanguigne.\u201d\n\n [221]\n\u201cNo thought of flight,\nNone of retreat, no unbecoming deed\nThat argued fear.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d vi. 236.\n\n [222] _One of love_. Although a bastard brother received only a small\n portion of the inheritance, he was commonly very well treated. Priam\n appears to be the only one of whom polygamy is directly asserted in\n the Iliad. Grote, vol. ii. p. 114, note.\n\n [223] \u201cCircled with foes as when a packe of bloodie jackals cling\n About a goodly palmed hart, hurt with a hunter\u2019s bow Whose escape his\n nimble feet insure, whilst his warm blood doth flow, And his light\n knees have power to move: but (maistred by his wound) Embost within a\n shady hill, the jackals charge him round, And teare his flesh\u2014when\n instantly fortune sends in the powers Of some sterne lion, with whose\n sighte they flie and he devours. So they around Ulysses prest.\u201d\n\n\u2014Chapman.\n\n [224] _Simois, railing_, &c.\n\n\u201cIn those bloody fields\nWhere Simois rolls the bodies and the shields\nOf heroes.\u201d\n\n\u2014Dryden\u2019s Virgil, i. 142.\n\n [225]\n\u201cWhere yon disorder\u2019d heap of ruin lies,\nStones rent from stones,\u2014where clouds of dust arise,\u2014\nAmid that smother, Neptune holds his place,\nBelow the wall\u2019s foundation drives his mace,\nAnd heaves the building from the solid base.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, ii. 825.\n\n [226] _Why boast we_.\n\n\u201cWherefore do I assume\nThese royalties and not refuse to reign,\nRefusing to accept as great a share\nOf hazard as of honour, due alike to him\nWho reigns, and so much to him due\nOf hazard more, as he above the rest\nHigh honour\u2019d sits.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d ii. 450.\n\n [227] _Each equal weight_.\n\n\u201cLong time in even scale\nThe battle hung.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d vi. 245.\n\n [228]\n\u201cHe on his impious foes right onward drove,\n_Gloomy as night_.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d vi. 831\n\n [229] _Renown\u2019d for justice and for length of days_, Arrian. de Exp.\n Alex. iv. p. 239, also speaks of the independence of these people,\n which he regards as the result of their poverty and uprightness. Some\n authors have regarded the phrase \u201cHippomolgian,\u201d _i.e._ \u201cmilking their\n mares,\u201d as an epithet applicable to numerous tribes, since the oldest\n of the Samatian nomads made their mares\u2019 milk one of their chief\n articles of diet. The epithet abion or abion, in this passage, has\n occasioned much discussion. It may mean, according as we read it,\n either \u201clong-lived,\u201d or \u201cbowless,\u201d the latter epithet indicating that\n they did not depend upon archery for subsistence.\n\n [230] Compare Chapman\u2019s quaint, bold verses:\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd as a round piece of a rocke, which with a winter\u2019s flood\nIs from his top torn, when a shoure poured from a bursten cloud,\nHath broke the naturall band it had within the roughftey rock,\nFlies jumping all adourne the woods, resounding everie shocke,\nAnd on, uncheckt, it headlong leaps till in a plaine it stay,\nAnd then (tho\u2019 never so impelled), it stirs not any way:\u2014\nSo Hector,\u2014\u201d\n\n [231] This book forms a most agreeable interruption to the continuous\n round of battles, which occupy the latter part of the Iliad. It is as\n well to observe, that the sameness of these scenes renders many notes\n unnecessary.\n\n [232] _Who to Tydeus owes, i.e._ Diomed.\n\n [233] Compare Tasso:\u2014\n\nTeneri sdegni, e placide, e tranquille\nRepulse, e cari vezzi, e liete paci,\nSorrisi, parolette, e dolci stille\nDi pianto, e sospir tronchi, e molli baci.\u201d\n\nGier. Lib. xvi. 25\n\n [234] Compare the description of the dwelling of Sleep in Orlando\n Furioso, bk. vi.\n\n [235]\n\u201cTwice seven, the charming daughters of the main\u2014\nAround my person wait, and bear my train:\nSucceed my wish, and second my design,\nThe fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, \u00c6n. i. 107, seq.\n\n [236] _And Minos_. \u201cBy Homer, Minos is described as the son of\n Jupiter, and of the daughter of Ph\u0153nix, whom all succeeding authors\n name Europa; and he is thus carried back into the remotest period of\n Cretan antiquity known to the poet, apparently as a native hero,\n Illustrious enough for a divine parentage, and too ancient to allow\n his descent to be traced to any other source. But in a genealogy\n recorded by later writers, he is likewise the adopted son of Asterius,\n as descendant of Dorus, the son of Helen, and is thus connected with a\n colony said to have been led into Creta by Tentamus, or Tectamus, son\n of Dorus, who is related either to have crossed over from Thessaly, or\n to have embarked at Malea after having led his followers by land into\n Laconia.\u201d\u2014Thirlwall, p. 136, seq.\n\n [237] Milton has emulated this passage, in describing the couch of our\n first parents:\u2014\n\n\u201cUnderneath the violet,\nCrocus, and hyacinth with rich inlay,\n\u2019Broider\u2019d the ground.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d iv. 700.\n\n [238] _He lies protected_.\n\n\u201cForthwith on all sides to his aid was run\nBy angels many and strong, who interpos\u2019d\nDefence, while others bore him on their shields\nBack to his chariot, where it stood retir\u2019d\nFrom off the files of war; there they him laid,\nGnashing for anguish, and despite, and shame.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d vi. 335, seq.\n\n [239] _The brazen dome_. See the note on Bk. viii. Page 142.\n\n [240] _For, by the gods! who flies_. Observe the bold ellipsis of \u201che\n cries,\u201d and the transition from the direct to the oblique\n construction. So in Milton:\u2014\n\n\u201cThus at their shady lodge arriv\u2019d, both stood,\nBoth turn\u2019d, and under open sky ador\u2019d\nThe God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven,\nWhich they beheld, the moon\u2019s resplendent globe,\nAnd starry pole.\u2014Thou also mad\u2019st the night,\nMaker omnipotent, and thou the day.\u201d\n\nMilton, \u201cParadise Lost,\u201d Book iv.\n\n [241] _So some tall rock_.\n\n\u201cBut like a rock unmov\u2019d, a rock that braves\nThe raging tempest, and the rising waves\u2014\nPropp\u2019d on himself he stands: his solid sides\nWash off the sea-weeds, and the sounding tides.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, vii. 809.\n\n [242] Protesilaus was the first Greek who fell, slain by Hector, as he\n leaped from the vessel to the Trojan shore. He was buried on the\n Chersonese, near the city of Plagusa. Hygin Fab. ciii. Tzetz. on\n Lycophr. 245, 528. There is a most elegant tribute to his memory in\n the Preface to the Heroica of Philostratus.\n\n [243] _His best beloved_. The following elegant remarks of Thirlwall\n (Greece, vol. i, p. 176 seq.) well illustrate the character of the\n friendship subsisting between these two heroes\u2014\n    \u201cOne of the noblest and most amiable sides of the Greek character,\n    is the readiness with which it lent itself to construct intimate\n    and durable friendships, and this is a feature no less prominent in\n    the earliest than in later times. It was indeed connected with the\n    comparatively low estimation in which female society was held; but\n    the devotedness and constancy with which these attachments were\n    maintained, was not the less admirable and engaging. The heroic\n    companions whom we find celebrated partly by Homer and partly in\n    traditions which, if not of equal antiquity, were grounded on the\n    same feeling, seem to have but one heart and soul, with scarcely a\n    wish or object apart, and only to live as they are always ready to\n    die for one another. It is true that the relation between them is\n    not always one of perfect equality; but this is a circumstance\n    which, while it often adds a peculiar charm to the poetical\n    description, detracts little from the dignity of the idea which it\n    presents. Such were the friendships of Hercules and Iolaus, of\n    Theseus and Pirithous, of Orestes and Pylades; and though These may\n    owe the greater part of their fame to the later epic or even\n    dramatic poetry, the moral groundwork undoubtedly subsisted in the\n    period to which the traditions are referred. The argument of the\n    Iliad mainly turns on the affection of Achilles for Patroclus,\n    whose love for the greater hero is only tempered by reverence for\n    his higher birth and his unequalled prowess. But the mutual regard\n    which united Idomeneus and Meriones, Diomedes and Sthenelus,\n    though, as the persons themselves are less important, it is kept\n    more in the back-ground, is manifestly viewed by the poet in the\n    same light. The idea of a Greek hero seems not to have been thought\n    complete, without such a brother in arms by his side.\u201d\u2014Thirlwall,\n    Greece, vol. i. p. 176, seq.\n\n [244]\n\u201cAs hungry wolves with raging appetite,\nScour through the fields, ne\u2019er fear the stormy night\u2014\nTheir whelps at home expect the promised food,\nAnd long to temper their dry chaps in blood\u2014\nSo rush\u2019d we forth at once.\u201d\n\n\u2014Dryden\u2019s Virgil, ii. 479.\n\n [245] _The destinies ordain_.\u2014\u201cIn the mythology, also, of the Iliad,\n purely Pagan as it is, we discover one important truth unconsciously\n involved, which was almost entirely lost from view amidst the nearly\n equal scepticism and credulity of subsequent ages. Zeus or Jupiter is\n popularly to be taken as omnipotent. No distinct empire is assigned to\n fate or fortune; the will of the father of gods and men is absolute\n and uncontrollable. This seems to be the true character of the Homeric\n deity, and it is very necessary that the student of Greek literature\n should bear it constantly in mind. A strong instance in the Iliad\n itself to illustrate this position, is the passage where Jupiter\n laments to Juno the approaching death of Sarpedon. \u2018Alas me!\u2019 says he\n \u2018since it is fated (moira) that Sarpedon, dearest to me of men, should\n be slain by Patroclus, the son of Menoetius! Indeed, my heart is\n divided within me while I ruminate it in my mind, whether having\n snatched him up from out of the lamentable battle, I should not at\n once place him alive in the fertile land of his own Lycia, or whether\n I should now destroy him by the hands of the son of Menoetius!\u2019 To\n which Juno answers\u2014\u2018Dost thou mean to rescue from death a mortal man,\n long since destined by fate (palai pepromenon)? You may do it\u2014but we,\n the rest of the gods, do not sanction it.\u2019 Here it is clear from both\n speakers, that although Sarpedon is said to be fated to die, Jupiter\n might still, if he pleased, save him, and place him entirely out of\n the reach of any such event, and further, in the alternative, that\n Jupiter himself would destroy him by the hands of another.\u201d\u2014Coleridge,\n p. 156. seq.\n\n [246] _Thrice at the battlements_. \u201cThe art military of the Homeric\n age is upon a level with the state of navigation just described,\n personal prowess decided every thing; the night attack and the\n ambuscade, although much esteemed, were never upon a large scale. The\n chiefs fight in advance, and enact almost as much as the knights of\n romance. The siege of Troy was as little like a modern siege as a\n captain in the guards is like Achilles. There is no mention of a ditch\n or any other line or work round the town, and the wall itself was\n accessible without a ladder. It was probably a vast mound of earth\n with a declivity outwards. Patroclus thrice mounts it in armour. The\n Trojans are in no respects blockaded, and receive assistance from\n their allies to the very end.\u201d\u2014Coleridge, p. 212.\n\n [247] _Ciconians_.\u2014A people of Thrace, near the Hebrus.\n\n [248] _They wept_.\n\n\u201cFast by the manger stands the inactive steed,\nAnd, sunk in sorrow, hangs his languid head;\nHe stands, and careless of his golden grain,\nWeeps his associates and his master slain.\u201d\n\nMerrick\u2019s Tryphiodorus, v. 18-24.\n\n\u201cNothing is heard upon the mountains now,\nBut pensive herds that for their master low,\nStraggling and comfortless about they rove,\nUnmindful of their pasture and their love.\u201d\n\nMoschus, id. 3, parodied, _ibid._\n\n\u201cTo close the pomp, \u00c6thon, the steed of state,\nIs led, the funeral of his lord to wait.\nStripp\u2019d of his trappings, with a sullen pace\nHe walks, and the big tears run rolling down his face.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, bk. ii\n\n [249] _Some brawny bull_.\n\n\u201cLike to a bull, that with impetuous spring\nDarts, at the moment when the fatal blow\nHath struck him, but unable to proceed\nPlunges on either side.\u201d\n\n\u2014Carey\u2019s Dante: Hell, c. xii.\n\n [250] This is connected with the earlier part of last book, the\n regular narrative being interrupted by the message of Antilochus and\n the lamentations of Achilles.\n\n [251] _Far in the deep_. So Oceanus hears the lamentations of\n Prometheus, in the play of \u00c6schylus, and comes from the depths of the\n sea to comfort him.\n\n [252] Opuntia, a city of Locris.\n\n [253] Quintus Calaber, lib. v., has attempted to rival Homer in his\n description of the shield of the same hero. A few extracts from Mr.\n Dyce\u2019s version (Select Translations, p. 104, seq.) may here be\n introduced.\n\n\u201cIn the wide circle of the shield were seen\nRefulgent images of various forms,\nThe work of Vulcan; who had there described\nThe heaven, the ether, and the earth and sea,\nThe winds, the clouds, the moon, the sun, apart\nIn different stations; and you there might view\nThe stars that gem the still-revolving heaven,\nAnd, under them, the vast expanse of air,\nIn which, with outstretch\u2019d wings, the long-beak\u2019d bird\nWinnow\u2019d the gale, as if instinct with life.\nAround the shield the waves of ocean flow\u2019d,\nThe realms of Tethys, which unnumber\u2019d streams,\nIn azure mazes rolling o\u2019er the earth,\nSeem\u2019d to augment.\u201d\n\n [254] _On seats of stone_. \u201cSeveral of the old northern Sagas\n represent the old men assembled for the purpose of judging as sitting\n on great stones, in a circle called the Urtheilsring or gerichtsring\u201d\u2014\n Grote, ii. p. 100, note. On the independence of the judicial office in\n The heroic times, see Thirlwall\u2019s Greece, vol. i. p. 166.\n\n [255] _Another part_, &c.\n\n\u201cAnd here\nWere horrid wars depicted; grimly pale\nWere heroes lying with their slaughter\u2019d steeds\nUpon the ground incarnadin\u2019d with blood.\nStern stalked Bellona, smear\u2019d with reeking gore,\nThrough charging ranks; beside her Rout was seen,\nAnd Terror, Discord to the fatal strife\nInciting men, and Furies breathing flames:\nNor absent were the Fates, and the tall shape\nOf ghastly Death, round whom did Battles throng,\nTheir limbs distilling plenteous blood and sweat;\nAnd Gorgons, whose long locks were twisting snakes.\nThat shot their forky tongues incessant forth.\nSuch were the horrors of dire war.\u201d\n\n\u2014Dyce\u2019s Calaber.\n\n [256] _A field deep furrowed_.\n\n\u201cHere was a corn field; reapers in a row,\nEach with a sharp-tooth\u2019d sickle in his hand,\nWork\u2019d busily, and, as the harvest fell,\nOthers were ready still to bind the sheaves:\nYoked to a wain that bore the corn away\nThe steers were moving; sturdy bullocks here\nThe plough were drawing, and the furrow\u2019d glebe\nWas black behind them, while with goading wand\nThe active youths impell\u2019d them. Here a feast\nWas graved: to the shrill pipe and ringing lyre\nA band of blooming virgins led the dance.\nAs if endued with life.\u201d\n\u2014Dyce\u2019s Calaber.\n\n [257] Coleridge (Greek Classic Poets, p. 182, seq.) has diligently\n compared this with the description of the shield of Hercules by\n Hesiod. He remarks that, \u201cwith two or three exceptions, the imagery\n differs in little more than the names and arrangements; and the\n difference of arrangement in the Shield of Hercules is altogether for\n the worse. The natural consecution of the Homeric images needs no\n exposition: it constitutes in itself one of the beauties of the work.\n The Hesiodic images are huddled together without connection or\n congruity: Mars and Pallas are awkwardly introduced among the Centaurs\n and Lapithae;\u2014 but the gap is wide indeed between them and Apollo with\n the Muses, waking the echoes of Olympus to celestial harmonies; whence\n however, we are hurried back to Perseus, the Gorgons, and other images\n of war, over an arm of the sea, in which the sporting dolphins, the\n fugitive fishes, and the fisherman on the shore with his casting net,\n are minutely represented. As to the Hesiodic images themselves, the\n leading remark is, that they catch at beauty by ornament, and at\n sublimity by exaggeration; and upon the untenable supposition of the\n genuineness of this poem, there is this curious peculiarity, that, in\n the description of scenes of rustic peace, the superiority of Homer is\n decisive\u2014while in those of war and tumult it may be thought, perhaps,\n that the Hesiodic poet has more than once the advantage.\u201d\n\n [258] \u201cThis legend is one of the most pregnant and characteristic in\n the Grecian Mythology; it explains, according to the religious ideas\n familiar to the old epic poets, both the distinguishing attributes and\n the endless toil and endurances of Heracles, the most renowned\n subjugator of all the semi-divine personages worshipped by the\n Hellenes,\u2014a being of irresistible force, and especially beloved by\n Zeus, yet condemned constantly to labour for others and to obey the\n commands of a worthless and cowardly persecutor. His recompense is\n reserved to the close of his career, when his afflicting trials are\n brought to a close: he is then admitted to the godhead, and receives\n in marriage Hebe.\u201d\u2014Grote, vol. i. p. 128.\n\n [259] _Ambrosia_.\n\n\u201cThe blue-eyed maid,\nIn ev\u2019ry breast new vigour to infuse.\nBrings nectar temper\u2019d with ambrosial dews.\u201d\n\nMerrick\u2019s Tryphiodorus, vi. 249.\n\n [260] \u201cHell is naked before him, and destruction hath no covering. He\n stretcheth out the north over the empty place, and hangeth the earth\n upon nothing. He bindeth up the waters in his thick clouds; and the\n cloud is not rent under them.\u201d Job xxvi. 6-8.\n\n [261]\n\u201cSwift from his throne the infernal monarch ran,\nAll pale and trembling, lest the race of man,v Slain by Jove\u2019s wrath,\nand led by Hermes\u2019 rod,\nShould fill (a countless throng!) his dark abode.\u201d\n\nMerrick\u2019s Tryphiodorus, vi. 769, sqq.\n\n [262] These words seem to imply the old belief, that the Fates might\n be delayed, but never wholly set aside.\n\n [263] It was anciently believed that it was dangerous, if not fatal,\n to behold a deity. See Exod. xxxiii. 20; Judg. xiii. 22.\n\n [264]\n\u201cEre Ilium and the Trojan tow\u2019rs arose,\nIn humble vales they built their soft abodes.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, iii. 150.\n\n [265] _Along the level seas_. Compare Virgil\u2019s description of Camilla,\n who\n\n\u201cOutstripp\u2019d the winds in speed upon the plain,\nFlew o\u2019er the field, nor hurt the bearded grain:\nShe swept the seas, and, as she skimm\u2019d along,\nHer flying feet unbathed on billows hung.\u201d\n\nDryden, vii. 1100.\n\n [266] _The future father_. \u201c\u00c6neas and Antenor stand distinguished from\n the other Trojans by a dissatisfaction with Priam, and a sympathy with\n the Greeks, which is by Sophocles and others construed as treacherous\n collusion,\u2014a suspicion indirectly glanced at, though emphatically\n repelled, in the \u00c6neas of Virgil.\u201d\u2014Grote, i. p. 427.\n\n [267] Neptune thus recounts his services to \u00c6neas:\n\n\u201cWhen your \u00c6neas fought, but fought with odds\nOf force unequal, and unequal gods:\nI spread a cloud before the victor\u2019s sight,\nSustain\u2019d the vanquish\u2019d, and secured his flight\u2014\nEven then secured him, when I sought with joy\nThe vow\u2019d destruction of ungrateful Troy.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, v. 1058.\n\n [268] _On Polydore_. Euripides, Virgil, and others, relate that\n Polydore was sent into Thrace, to the house of Polymestor, for\n protection, being the youngest of Priam\u2019s sons, and that he was\n treacherously murdered by his host for the sake of the treasure sent\n with him.\n\n [269] \u201cPerhaps the boldest excursion of Homer into this region of\n poetical fancy is the collision into which, in the twenty-first of the\n Iliad, he has brought the river god Scamander, first with Achilles,\n and afterwards with Vulcan, when summoned by Juno to the hero\u2019s aid.\n The overwhelming fury of the stream finds the natural interpretation\n in the character of the mountain torrents of Greece and Asia Minor.\n Their wide, shingly beds are in summer comparatively dry, so as to be\n easily forded by the foot passenger. But a thunder-shower in the\n mountains, unobserved perhaps by the traveller on the plain, may\n suddenly immerse him in the flood of a mighty river. The rescue of\n Achilles by the fiery arms of Vulcan scarcely admits of the same ready\n explanation from physical causes. Yet the subsiding of the flood at\n the critical moment when the hero\u2019s destruction appeared imminent,\n might, by a slight extension of the figurative parallel, be ascribed\n to a god symbolic of the influences opposed to all atmospheric\n moisture.\u201d\u2014Mure, vol. i. p. 480, sq.\n\n [270] Wood has observed, that \u201cthe circumstance of a falling tree,\n which is described as reaching from one of its banks to the other,\n affords a very just idea of the breadth of the Scamander.\u201d\n\n [271] _Ignominious_. Drowning, as compared with a death in the field\n of battle, was considered utterly disgraceful.\n\n [272] _Beneath a caldron_.\n\n\u201cSo, when with crackling flames a caldron fries,\nThe bubbling waters from the bottom rise.\nAbove the brims they force their fiery way;\nBlack vapours climb aloft, and cloud the day.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, vii. 644.\n\n [273] \u201cThis tale of the temporary servitude of particular gods, by\n order of Jove, as a punishment for misbehaviour, recurs not\n unfrequently among the incidents of the Mythical world.\u201d\u2014Grote, vol.\n i. p. 156.\n\n [274] _Not half so dreadful_.\n\n\u201cOn the other side,\nIncensed with indignation, Satan stood\nUnterrified, and like a comet burn\u2019d,\nThat fires the length of Ophiuchus huge\nIn the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair\nShakes pestilence and war.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d xi. 708.\n\n [275] \u201cAnd thus his own undaunted mind explores.\u201d\u2014\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d vi.\n 113.\n\n [276] The example of Nausicaa, in the Odyssey, proves that the duties\n of the laundry were not thought derogatory, even from the dignity of a\n princess, in the heroic times.\n\n [277] _Hesper shines with keener light_.\n\n\u201cFairest of stars, last in the train of night,\nIf better thou belong not to the dawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d v. 166.\n\n [278] Such was his fate. After chasing the Trojans into the town, he\n was slain by an arrow from the quiver of Paris, directed under the\n unerring auspices of Apollo. The greatest efforts were made by the\n Trojans to possess themselves of the body, which was however rescued\n and borne off to the Grecian camp by the valour of Ajax and Ulysses.\n Thetis stole away the body, just as the Greeks were about to burn it\n with funeral honours, and conveyed it away to a renewed life of\n immortality in the isle of Leuke in the Euxine.\n\n [279] _Astyanax_, i.e. the _city-king_ or guardian. It is amusing that\n Plato, who often finds fault with Homer without reason, should have\n copied this twaddling etymology into his Cratylus.\n\n [280] This book has been closely imitated by Virgil in his fifth book,\n but it is almost useless to attempt a selection of passages for\n comparison.\n\n [281] _Thrice in order led_. This was a frequent rite at funerals. The\n Romans had the same custom, which they called _decursio_. Plutarch\n states that Alexander, in after times, renewed these same honours to\n the memory of Achilles himself.\n\n [282] _And swore_. Literally, and called Orcus, the god of oaths, to\n witness. See Buttmann, Lexilog, p. 436.\n\n [283]\n\u201cO, long expected by thy friends! from whence\nArt thou so late return\u2019d for our defence?\nDo we behold thee, wearied as we are\nWith length of labours, and with, toils of war?\nAfter so many funerals of thy own,\nArt thou restored to thy declining town?\nBut say, what wounds are these? what new disgrace\nDeforms the manly features of thy face?\u201d\n\nDryden, xi. 369.\n\n [284] _Like a thin smoke_. Virgil, Georg. iv. 72.\n\n\u201cIn vain I reach my feeble hands to join\nIn sweet embraces\u2014ah! no longer thine!\nShe said, and from his eyes the fleeting fair\nRetired, like subtle smoke dissolved in air.\u201d\n\nDryden.\n\n [285] So Milton:\u2014\n\n\u201cSo eagerly the fiend\nO\u2019er bog, o\u2019er steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,\nWith head, hands, wings, or feet pursues his way,\nAnd swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies.\u201d\n\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d ii. 948.\n\n [286]\n\u201cAn ancient forest, for the work design\u2019d\n(The shady covert of the savage kind).\nThe Trojans found: the sounding axe is placed:\nFirs, pines, and pitch-trees, and the tow\u2019ring pride\nOf forest ashes, feel the fatal stroke,\nAnd piercing wedges cleave the stubborn oak.\nHigh trunks of trees, fell\u2019d from the steepy crown\nOf the bare mountains, roll with ruin down.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, vi. 261.\n\n [287] _He vowed_. This was a very ancient custom.\n\n [288] The height of the tomb or pile was a great proof of the dignity\n of the deceased, and the honour in which he was held.\n\n [289] On the prevalence of this cruel custom amongst the northern\n nations, see Mallet, p. 213.\n\n [290] _And calls the spirit_. Such was the custom anciently, even at\n the Roman funerals.\n\n\u201cHail, O ye holy manes! hail again,\nPaternal ashes, now revived in vain.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, v. 106.\n\n [291] Virgil, by making the boaster vanquished, has drawn a better\n moral from this episode than Homer. The following lines deserve\n comparison:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe haughty Dares in the lists appears:\nWalking he strides, his head erected bears:\nHis nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield,\nAnd loud applauses echo through the field.\n* * * *\nSuch Dares was, and such he strode along,\nAnd drew the wonder of the gazing throng\nHis brawny breast and ample chest he shows;\nHis lifted arms around his head he throws,\nAnd deals in whistling air his empty blows.\nHis match is sought, but, through the trembling band,\nNo one dares answer to the proud demand.\nPresuming of his force, with sparkling eyes,\nAlready he devours the promised prize.\n* * * *\nIf none my matchless valour dares oppose,\nHow long shall Dares wait his dastard foes?\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, v. 486, seq.\n\n [292]\n\u201cThe gauntlet-fight thus ended, from the shore\nHis faithful friends unhappy Dares bore:\nHis mouth and nostrils pour\u2019d a purple flood,\nAnd pounded teeth came rushing with his blood.\u201d\n\nDryden\u2019s Virgil, v. 623.\n\n [293] \u201cTroilus is only once named in the Iliad; he was mentioned also\n in the Cypriad but his youth, beauty, and untimely end made him an\n object of great interest with the subsequent poets.\u201d\u2014Grote, i, p. 399.\n\n [294] Milton has rivalled this passage describing the descent of\n Gabriel, \u201cParadise Lost,\u201d bk. v. 266, seq.\n\n\u201cDown thither prone in flight\nHe speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky\nSails between worlds and worlds, with steady wing,\nNow on the polar winds, then with quick fan\nWinnows the buxom air. * * * *\n* * * *\nAt once on th\u2019 eastern cliff of Paradise\nHe lights, and to his proper shape returns\nA seraph wing\u2019d. * * * *\nLike Maia\u2019s son he stood,\nAnd shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance fill\u2019d\nThe circuit wide.\u201d\n\nVirgil, \u00c6n. iv. 350:\u2014\n\n\u201cHermes obeys; with golden pinions binds\nHis flying feet, and mounts the western winds:\nAnd whether o\u2019er the seas or earth he flies,\nWith rapid force they bear him down the skies\nBut first he grasps within his awful hand\nThe mark of sovereign power, his magic wand;\nWith this he draws the ghost from hollow graves;\nWith this he drives them from the Stygian waves:\n* * * *\nThus arm\u2019d, the god begins his airy race,v And drives the racking\nclouds along the liquid space.\u201d\n\nDryden.\n\n [295] In reference to the whole scene that follows, the remarks of\n Coleridge are well worth reading:\u2014\n    \u201cBy a close study of life, and by a true and natural mode of\n    expressing everything, Homer was enabled to venture upon the most\n    peculiar and difficult situations, and to extricate himself from\n    them with the completest success. The whole scene between Achilles\n    and Priam, when the latter comes to the Greek camp for the purpose\n    of redeeming the body of Hector, is at once the most profoundly\n    skilful, and yet the simplest and most affecting passage in the\n    Iliad. Quinctilian has taken notice of the following speech of\n    Priam, the rhetorical artifice of which is so transcendent, that if\n    genius did not often, especially in oratory, unconsciously fulfil\n    the most subtle precepts of criticism, we might be induced, on this\n    account alone, to consider the last book of the Iliad as what is\n    called spurious, in other words, of later date than the rest of the\n    poem. Observe the exquisite taste of Priam in occupying the mind of\n    Achilles, from the outset, with the image of his father; in\n    gradually introducing the parallel of his own situation; and,\n    lastly, mentioning Hector\u2019s name when he perceives that the hero is\n    softened, and then only in such a manner as to flatter the pride of\n    the conqueror. The ego d\u2019eleeinoteros per, and the apusato aecha\n    geronta, are not exactly like the tone of the earlier parts of the\n    Iliad. They are almost too fine and pathetic. The whole passage\n    defies translation, for there is that about the Greek which has no\n    name, but which is of so fine and ethereal a subtlety that it can\n    only be felt in the original, and is lost in an attempt to\n    transfuse it into another language.\u201d\u2014Coleridge, p. 195.\n\n [296] \u201cAchilles\u2019 ferocious treatment of the corpse of Hector cannot\n but offend as referred to the modern standard of humanity. The heroic\n age, however, must be judged by its own moral laws. Retributive\n vengeance on the dead, as well as the living, was a duty inculcated by\n the religion of those barbarous times which not only taught that evil\n inflicted on the author of evil was a solace to the injured man; but\n made the welfare of the soul after death dependent on the fate of the\n body from which it had separated. Hence a denial of the rites\n essential to the soul\u2019s admission into the more favoured regions of\n the lower world was a cruel punishment to the wanderer on the dreary\n shores of the infernal river. The complaint of the ghost of Patroclus\n to Achilles, of but a brief postponement of his own obsequies, shows\n how efficacious their refusal to the remains of his destroyer must\n have been in satiating the thirst of revenge, which, even after death,\n was supposed to torment the dwellers in Hades. Hence before yielding\n up the body of Hector to Priam, Achilles asks pardon of Patroclus for\n even this partial cession of his just rights of retribution.\u201d\u2014Mure,\n vol. i. 289.\n\n [297] Such was the fate of Astyanax, when Troy was taken.\n\n\u201cHere, from the tow\u2019r by stern Ulysses thrown,\nAndromache bewail\u2019d her infant son.\u201d\n\nMerrick\u2019s Tryphiodorus, v. 675.\n\n [298] The following observations of Coleridge furnish a most gallant\n and interesting view of Helen\u2019s character\u2014\n    \u201cFew things are more interesting than to observe how the same hand\n    that has given us the fury and inconsistency of Achilles, gives us\n    also the consummate elegance and tenderness of Helen. She is\n    through the Iliad a genuine lady, graceful in motion and speech,\n    noble in her associations, full of remorse for a fault for which\n    higher powers seem responsible, yet grateful and affectionate\n    towards those with whom that fault had committed her. I have always\n    thought the following speech in which Helen laments Hector, and\n    hints at her own invidious and unprotected situation in Troy, as\n    almost the sweetest passage in the poem. It is another striking\n    instance of that refinement of feeling and softness of tone which\n    so generally distinguish the last book of the Iliad from the\n    rest.\u201d\u2014Classic Poets, p. 198, seq.\n\n [299] \u201cAnd here we part with Achilles at the moment best calculated to\n exalt and purify our impression of his character. We had accompanied\n him through the effervescence, undulations, and final subsidence of\n his stormy passions. We now leave him in repose and under the full\n influence of the more amiable affections, while our admiration of his\n great qualities is chastened by the reflection that, within a few\n short days the mighty being in whom they were united was himself to be\n suddenly cut off in the full vigour of their exercise.\n    The frequent and touching allusions, interspersed throughout the\n    Iliad, to the speedy termination of its hero\u2019s course, and the\n    moral on the vanity of human life which they indicate, are among\n    the finest evidences of the spirit of ethic unity by which the\n    whole framework of the poem is united.\u201d\u2014Mure, vol. i. p 201.\n\n [300] Cowper says,\u2014\u201cI cannot take my leave of this noble poem without\n expressing how much I am struck with the plain conclusion of it. It is\n like the exit of a great man out of company, whom he has entertained\n magnificently; neither pompous nor familiar; not contemptuous, yet\n without much ceremony.\u201d Coleridge, p. 227, considers the termination\n of \u201cParadise Lost\u201d somewhat similar.","title":"The Iliad","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":189218}