Iliad on Children

Astyalus by Polypœtes fell; Ulysses’ spear Pidytes sent to hell; By Teucer’s shaft brave Aretaon bled, And Nestor’s son laid stern Ablerus dead; Great Agamemnon, leader of the brave, The mortal wound of rich Elatus gave, Who held in Pedasus his proud abode,[162] And till’d the banks where silver Satnio flow’d. Melanthius by Eurypylus was slain; And Phylacus from Leitus flies in vain.

To whom the progeny of Jove replies: “I left, for this, the council of the skies: But who shall bid conflicting hosts forbear, What art shall calm the furious sons of war?” To her the god: “Great Hector’s soul incite To dare the boldest Greek to single fight, Till Greece, provoked, from all her numbers show A warrior worthy to be Hector’s foe.”

To whom the son of Jove: “That god implore, And be what great Achilles was before. From heavenly Venus thou deriv’st thy strain, And he but from a sister of the main; An aged sea-god father of his line; But Jove himself the sacred source of thine. Then lift thy weapon for a noble blow, Nor fear the vaunting of a mortal foe.”

“Ye kings and warriors! may your vows be crown’d, And Troy’s proud walls lie level with the ground. May Jove restore you when your toils are o’er Safe to the pleasures of your native shore. But, oh! relieve a wretched parent’s pain, And give Chryseïs to these arms again; If mercy fail, yet let my presents move, And dread avenging Phœbus, son of Jove.”

Now pleasing sleep had seal’d each mortal eye, Stretch’d in the tents the Grecian leaders lie: The immortals slumber’d on their thrones above; All, but the ever-wakeful eyes of Jove.[76] To honour Thetis’ son he bends his care, And plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war: Then bids an empty phantom rise to sight, And thus commands the vision of the night.

This hear observant, and the gods obey!’ The vision spoke, and pass’d in air away. Now, valiant chiefs! since heaven itself alarms, Unite, and rouse the sons of Greece to arms. But first, with caution, try what yet they dare, Worn with nine years of unsuccessful war. To move the troops to measure back the main, Be mine; and yours the province to detain.”

As godlike Hector sees the prince retreat, He thus upbraids him with a generous heat: “Unhappy Paris![111] but to women brave! So fairly form’d, and only to deceive! Oh, hadst thou died when first thou saw’st the light, Or died at least before thy nuptial rite! A better fate than vainly thus to boast, And fly, the scandal of thy Trojan host. Gods! how the scornful Greeks exult to see Their fears of danger undeceived in thee! Thy figure promised with a martial air, But ill thy soul supplies a form so fair. In former days, in all thy gallant pride, When thy tall ships triumphant stemm’d the tide, When Greece beheld thy painted canvas flow, And crowds stood wondering at the passing show, Say, was it thus, with such a baffled mien, You met the approaches of the Spartan queen, Thus from her realm convey’d the beauteous prize, And both her warlike lords outshined in Helen’s eyes? This deed, thy foes’ delight, thy own disgrace, Thy father’s grief, and ruin of thy race; This deed recalls thee to the proffer’d fight; Or hast thou injured whom thou dar’st not right? Soon to thy cost the field would make thee know Thou keep’st the consort of a braver foe. Thy graceful form instilling soft desire, Thy curling tresses, and thy silver lyre, Beauty and youth; in vain to these you trust, When youth and beauty shall be laid in dust: Troy yet may wake, and one avenging blow Crush the dire author of his country’s woe.”

The rites now finish’d, reverend Priam rose, And thus express’d a heart o’ercharged with woes: “Ye Greeks and Trojans, let the chiefs engage, But spare the weakness of my feeble age: In yonder walls that object let me shun, Nor view the danger of so dear a son. Whose arms shall conquer and what prince shall fall, Heaven only knows; for heaven disposes all.”

He said, and pass’d where great Tydides lay, His steeds and chariots wedged in firm array; (The warlike Sthenelus attends his side;)[135] To whom with stern reproach the monarch cried: “O son of Tydeus! (he, whose strength could tame The bounding steed, in arms a mighty name) Canst thou, remote, the mingling hosts descry, With hands unactive, and a careless eye? Not thus thy sire the fierce encounter fear’d; Still first in front the matchless prince appear’d: What glorious toils, what wonders they recite, Who view’d him labouring through the ranks of fight? I saw him once, when gathering martial powers, A peaceful guest, he sought Mycenæ’s towers; Armies he ask’d, and armies had been given, Not we denied, but Jove forbade from heaven; While dreadful comets glaring from afar, Forewarn’d the horrors of the Theban war.[136] Next, sent by Greece from where Asopus flows, A fearless envoy, he approach’d the foes; Thebes’ hostile walls unguarded and alone, Dauntless he enters, and demands the throne. The tyrant feasting with his chiefs he found, And dared to combat all those chiefs around: Dared, and subdued before their haughty lord; For Pallas strung his arm and edged his sword. Stung with the shame, within the winding way, To bar his passage fifty warriors lay; Two heroes led the secret squadron on, Mason the fierce, and hardy Lycophon; Those fifty slaughter’d in the gloomy vale. He spared but one to bear the dreadful tale, Such Tydeus was, and such his martial fire; Gods! how the son degenerates from the sire!”

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

He spoke, and sat: when Nestor, rising said, (Nestor, whom Pylos’ sandy realms obey’d,) “Princes of Greece, your faithful ears incline, Nor doubt the vision of the powers divine; Sent by great Jove to him who rules the host, Forbid it, heaven! this warning should be lost! Then let us haste, obey the god’s alarms, And join to rouse the sons of Greece to arms.”

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

“Think of thy father, and this face behold! See him in me, as helpless and as old! Though not so wretched: there he yields to me, The first of men in sovereign misery! Thus forced to kneel, thus grovelling to embrace The scourge and ruin of my realm and race; Suppliant my children’s murderer to implore, And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore!”

He said, and, entering, took his seat of state; Where full before him reverend Priam sate; To whom, composed, the godlike chief begun: “Lo! to thy prayer restored, thy breathless son; Extended on the funeral couch he lies; And soon as morning paints the eastern skies, The sight is granted to thy longing eyes: But now the peaceful hours of sacred night Demand reflection, and to rest invite: Nor thou, O father! thus consumed with woe, The common cares that nourish life forego. Not thus did Niobe, of form divine, A parent once, whose sorrows equall’d thine: Six youthful sons, as many blooming maids, In one sad day beheld the Stygian shades; Those by Apollo’s silver bow were slain, These, Cynthia’s arrows stretch’d upon the plain: So was her pride chastised by wrath divine, Who match’d her own with bright Latona’s line; But two the goddess, twelve the queen enjoy’d; Those boasted twelve, the avenging two destroy’d. Steep’d in their blood, and in the dust outspread, Nine days, neglected, lay exposed the dead; None by to weep them, to inhume them none; (For Jove had turn’d the nation all to stone.) The gods themselves, at length relenting gave The unhappy race the honours of a grave. Herself a rock (for such was heaven’s high will) Through deserts wild now pours a weeping rill; Where round the bed whence Achelous springs, The watery fairies dance in mazy rings; There high on Sipylus’s shaggy brow, She stands, her own sad monument of woe; The rock for ever lasts, the tears for ever flow.

Two sons of Priam in one chariot ride, Glittering in arms, and combat side by side. As when the lordly lion seeks his food Where grazing heifers range the lonely wood, He leaps amidst them with a furious bound, Bends their strong necks, and tears them to the ground: So from their seats the brother chiefs are torn, Their steeds and chariot to the navy borne.

Thus he. The coursers at their master’s threat With quicker steps the sounding champaign beat. And now Antilochus with nice survey Observes the compass of the hollow way. ’Twas where, by force of wintry torrents torn, Fast by the road a precipice was worn: Here, where but one could pass, to shun the throng The Spartan hero’s chariot smoked along. Close up the venturous youth resolves to keep, Still edging near, and bears him toward the steep. Atrides, trembling, casts his eye below, And wonders at the rashness of his foe. “Hold, stay your steeds—What madness thus to ride This narrow way! take larger field (he cried), Or both must fall.”—Atrides cried in vain; He flies more fast, and throws up all the rein. Far as an able arm the disk can send, When youthful rivals their full force extend, So far, Antilochus! thy chariot flew Before the king: he, cautious, backward drew His horse compell’d; foreboding in his fears The rattling ruin of the clashing cars, The floundering coursers rolling on the plain, And conquest lost through frantic haste to gain. But thus upbraids his rival as he flies: “Go, furious youth! ungenerous and unwise! Go, but expect not I’ll the prize resign; Add perjury to fraud, and make it thine—” Then to his steeds with all his force he cries, “Be swift, be vigorous, and regain the prize! Your rivals, destitute of youthful force, With fainting knees shall labour in the course, And yield the glory yours.”—The steeds obey; Already at their heels they wing their way, And seem already to retrieve the day.

“Permit me now, beloved of Jove! to steep My careful temples in the dew of sleep: For, since the day that number’d with the dead My hapless son, the dust has been my bed; Soft sleep a stranger to my weeping eyes; My only food, my sorrows and my sighs! Till now, encouraged by the grace you give, I share thy banquet, and consent to live.”

To these succeed Aspledon’s martial train, Who plough the spacious Orchomenian plain. Two valiant brothers rule the undaunted throng, Iälmen and Ascalaphus the strong: Sons of Astyochè, the heavenly fair, Whose virgin charms subdued the god of war: (In Actor’s court as she retired to rest, The strength of Mars the blushing maid compress’d) Their troops in thirty sable vessels sweep, With equal oars, the hoarse-resounding deep.

To guard his slaughter’d friend, Æneas flies, His spear extending where the carcase lies; Watchful he wheels, protects it every way, As the grim lion stalks around his prey. O’er the fall’n trunk his ample shield display’d, He hides the hero with his mighty shade, And threats aloud! the Greeks with longing eyes Behold at distance, but forbear the prize. Then fierce Tydides stoops; and from the fields Heaved with vast force, a rocky fragment wields. Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise, Such men as live in these degenerate days:[147] He swung it round; and, gathering strength to throw, Discharged the ponderous ruin at the foe. Where to the hip the inserted thigh unites, Full on the bone the pointed marble lights; Through both the tendons broke the rugged stone, And stripp’d the skin, and crack’d the solid bone. Sunk on his knees, and staggering with his pains, His falling bulk his bended arm sustains; Lost in a dizzy mist the warrior lies; A sudden cloud comes swimming o’er his eyes. There the brave chief, who mighty numbers sway’d, Oppress’d had sunk to death’s eternal shade, But heavenly Venus, mindful of the love She bore Anchises in the Idaean grove, His danger views with anguish and despair, And guards her offspring with a mother’s care. About her much-loved son her arms she throws, Her arms whose whiteness match the falling snows. Screen’d from the foe behind her shining veil, The swords wave harmless, and the javelins fail; Safe through the rushing horse, and feather’d flight Of sounding shafts, she bears him from the fight.

Then with a voice that shook the vaulted skies, The king insults the goddess as she flies: “Ill with Jove’s daughter bloody fights agree, The field of combat is no scene for thee: Go, let thy own soft sex employ thy care, Go, lull the coward, or delude the fair. Taught by this stroke renounce the war’s alarms, And learn to tremble at the name of arms.”

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

On this bright sceptre now the king reclined, And artful thus pronounced the speech design’d: “Ye sons of Mars, partake your leader’s care, Heroes of Greece, and brothers of the war! Of partial Jove with justice I complain, And heavenly oracles believed in vain A safe return was promised to our toils, Renown’d, triumphant, and enrich’d with spoils. Now shameful flight alone can save the host, Our blood, our treasure, and our glory lost. So Jove decrees, resistless lord of all! At whose command whole empires rise or fall: He shakes the feeble props of human trust, And towns and armies humbles to the dust. What shame to Greece a fruitful war to wage, Oh, lasting shame in every future age! Once great in arms, the common scorn we grow, Repulsed and baffled by a feeble foe. So small their number, that if wars were ceased, And Greece triumphant held a general feast, All rank’d by tens, whole decades when they dine Must want a Trojan slave to pour the wine.[84] But other forces have our hopes o’erthrown, And Troy prevails by armies not her own. Now nine long years of mighty Jove are run, Since first the labours of this war begun: Our cordage torn, decay’d our vessels lie, And scarce insure the wretched power to fly. Haste, then, for ever leave the Trojan wall! Our weeping wives, our tender children call: Love, duty, safety, summon us away, ’Tis nature’s voice, and nature we obey. Our shatter’d barks may yet transport us o’er, Safe and inglorious, to our native shore. Fly, Grecians, fly, your sails and oars employ, And dream no more of heaven-defended Troy.”

He deeply sighing said: “To tell my woe Is but to mention what too well you know. From Thebé, sacred to Apollo’s name[62] (Aëtion’s realm), our conquering army came, With treasure loaded and triumphant spoils, Whose just division crown’d the soldier’s toils; But bright Chryseïs, heavenly prize! was led, By vote selected, to the general’s bed. The priest of Phœbus sought by gifts to gain His beauteous daughter from the victor’s chain; The fleet he reach’d, and, lowly bending down, Held forth the sceptre and the laurel crown, Intreating all; but chief implored for grace The brother-kings of Atreus’ royal race: The generous Greeks their joint consent declare, The priest to reverence, and release the fair; Not so Atrides: he, with wonted pride, The sire insulted, and his gifts denied: The insulted sire (his god’s peculiar care) To Phœbus pray’d, and Phœbus heard the prayer: A dreadful plague ensues: the avenging darts Incessant fly, and pierce the Grecian hearts. A prophet then, inspired by heaven, arose, And points the crime, and thence derives the woes: Myself the first the assembled chiefs incline To avert the vengeance of the power divine; Then rising in his wrath, the monarch storm’d; Incensed he threaten’d, and his threats perform’d: The fair Chryseïs to her sire was sent, With offer’d gifts to make the god relent; But now he seized Briseïs’ heavenly charms, And of my valour’s prize defrauds my arms, Defrauds the votes of all the Grecian train;[63] And service, faith, and justice, plead in vain. But, goddess! thou thy suppliant son attend. To high Olympus’ shining court ascend, Urge all the ties to former service owed, And sue for vengeance to the thundering god.

She said, and left the caverns of the main, All bathed in tears; the melancholy train Attend her way. Wide-opening part the tides, While the long pomp the silver wave divides. Approaching now, they touch’d the Trojan land; Then, two by two, ascended up the strand. The immortal mother, standing close beside Her mournful offspring, to his sighs replied; Along the coast their mingled clamours ran, And thus the silver-footed dame began:

“How long, ye sons of Priam! will ye fly, And unrevenged see Priam’s people die? Still unresisted shall the foe destroy, And stretch the slaughter to the gates of Troy? Lo, brave Æneas sinks beneath his wound, Not godlike Hector more in arms renown’d: Haste all, and take the generous warrior’s part. He said;—new courage swell’d each hero’s heart. Sarpedon first his ardent soul express’d, And, turn’d to Hector, these bold words address’d:

He grinds the dust distain’d with streaming gore, And, fierce in death, lies foaming on the shore. Deprived of motion, stiff with stupid fear, Stands all aghast his trembling charioteer, Nor shuns the foe, nor turns the steeds away, But falls transfix’d, an unresisting prey: Pierced by Antilochus, he pants beneath The stately car, and labours out his breath. Thus Asius’ steeds (their mighty master gone) Remain the prize of Nestor’s youthful son.

“Ah why, Saturnia; must thy son engage Me, only me, with all his wasteful rage? On other gods his dreadful arm employ, For mightier gods assert the cause of Troy. Submissive I desist, if thou command; But ah! withdraw this all-destroying hand. Hear then my solemn oath, to yield to fate Unaided Ilion, and her destined state, Till Greece shall gird her with destructive flame, And in one ruin sink the Trojan name.”

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

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

“What needs, O monarch! this invidious praise, Ourselves to lessen, while our sire you raise? Dare to be just, Atrides! and confess Our value equal, though our fury less. With fewer troops we storm’d the Theban wall, And happier saw the sevenfold city fall,[137] In impious acts the guilty father died; The sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side. Far more than heirs of all our parents’ fame, Our glories darken their diminish’d name.”

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

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

As when some hero’s funerals are decreed In grateful honour of the mighty dead; Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame (Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame) The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal, And with them turns the raised spectator’s soul: Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly. The gazing gods lean forward from the sky; To whom, while eager on the chase they look, The sire of mortals and immortals spoke:

Fierce Ajax led the Locrian squadrons on, Ajax the less, Oïleus’ valiant son; Skill’d to direct the flying dart aright; Swift in pursuit, and active in the fight. Him, as their chief, the chosen troops attend, Which Bessa, Thronus, and rich Cynos send; Opus, Calliarus, and Scarphe’s bands; And those who dwell where pleasing Augia stands, And where Boägrius floats the lowly lands, Or in fair Tarphe’s sylvan seats reside: In forty vessels cut the yielding tide.

Now front to front the hostile armies stand, Eager of fight, and only wait command; When, to the van, before the sons of fame Whom Troy sent forth, the beauteous Paris came: In form a god! the panther’s speckled hide Flow’d o’er his armour with an easy pride: His bended bow across his shoulders flung, His sword beside him negligently hung; Two pointed spears he shook with gallant grace, And dared the bravest of the Grecian race.

But various Iris, Jove’s commands to bear, Speeds on the wings of winds through liquid air; In Priam’s porch the Trojan chiefs she found, The old consulting, and the youths around. Polites’ shape, the monarch’s son, she chose, Who from Æsetes’ tomb observed the foes,[105] High on the mound; from whence in prospect lay The fields, the tents, the navy, and the bay. In this dissembled form, she hastes to bring The unwelcome message to the Phrygian king.

The carnage Juno from the skies survey’d, And touch’d with grief bespoke the blue-eyed maid: “Oh, sight accursed! Shall faithless Troy prevail, And shall our promise to our people fail? How vain the word to Menelaus given By Jove’s great daughter and the queen of heaven, Beneath his arms that Priam’s towers should fall, If warring gods for ever guard the wall! Mars, red with slaughter, aids our hated foes: Haste, let us arm, and force with force oppose!”

“What cause, O daughter of Almighty Jove! Thus wings thy progress from the realms above? Once more impetuous dost thou bend thy way, To give to Greece the long divided day? Too much has Troy already felt thy hate, Now breathe thy rage, and hush the stern debate; This day, the business of the field suspend; War soon shall kindle, and great Ilion bend; Since vengeful goddesses confederate join To raze her walls, though built by hands divine.”

He said: the warrior heard the word with joy; Then with his spear restrain’d the youth of Troy, Held by the midst athwart. On either hand The squadrons part; the expecting Trojans stand; Great Agamemnon bids the Greeks forbear: They breathe, and hush the tumult of the war. The Athenian maid,[178] and glorious god of day, With silent joy the settling hosts survey: In form of vultures, on the beech’s height They sit conceal’d, and wait the future fight.

“Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliar bands! Now take refreshment as the hour demands; Guard well the walls, relieve the watch of night. Till the new sun restores the cheerful light. Then shall our herald, to the Atrides sent, Before their ships proclaim my son’s intent. Next let a truce be ask’d, that Troy may burn Her slaughter’d heroes, and their bones inurn; That done, once more the fate of war be tried, And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!”

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

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

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

“O prince! (Lycaon’s valiant son replied) As thine the steeds, be thine the task to guide. The horses, practised to their lord’s command, Shall bear the rein, and answer to thy hand; But, if, unhappy, we desert the fight, Thy voice alone can animate their flight; Else shall our fates be number’d with the dead, And these, the victor’s prize, in triumph led. Thine be the guidance, then: with spear and shield Myself will charge this terror of the field.”

Thus pray’d the king, and heaven’s great father heard His vows, in bitterness of soul preferr’d: The wrath appeased, by happy signs declares, And gives the people to their monarch’s prayers. His eagle, sacred bird of heaven! he sent, A fawn his talons truss’d, (divine portent!) High o’er the wondering hosts he soar’d above, Who paid their vows to Panomphaean Jove; Then let the prey before his altar fall; The Greeks beheld, and transport seized on all: Encouraged by the sign, the troops revive, And fierce on Troy with doubled fury drive. Tydides first, of all the Grecian force, O’er the broad ditch impell’d his foaming horse, Pierced the deep ranks, their strongest battle tore, And dyed his javelin red with Trojan gore. Young Agelaus (Phradmon was his sire) With flying coursers shunn’d his dreadful ire; Struck through the back, the Phrygian fell oppress’d; The dart drove on, and issued at his breast: Headlong he quits the car: his arms resound; His ponderous buckler thunders on the ground. Forth rush a tide of Greeks, the passage freed; The Atridae first, the Ajaces next succeed: Meriones, like Mars in arms renown’d, And godlike Idomen, now passed the mound; Evaemon’s son next issues to the foe, And last young Teucer with his bended bow. Secure behind the Telamonian shield The skilful archer wide survey’d the field, With every shaft some hostile victim slew, Then close beneath the sevenfold orb withdrew: The conscious infant so, when fear alarms, Retires for safety to the mother’s arms. Thus Ajax guards his brother in the field, Moves as he moves, and turns the shining shield. Who first by Teucer’s mortal arrows bled? Orsilochus; then fell Ormenus dead: The godlike Lycophon next press’d the plain, With Chromius, Daetor, Ophelestes slain: Bold Hamopaon breathless sunk to ground; The bloody pile great Melanippus crown’d. Heaps fell on heaps, sad trophies of his art, A Trojan ghost attending every dart.

Nor less unpitied, young Alastor bleeds; In vain his youth, in vain his beauty pleads; In vain he begs thee, with a suppliant’s moan, To spare a form, an age so like thy own! Unhappy boy! no prayer, no moving art, E’er bent that fierce, inexorable heart! While yet he trembled at his knees, and cried, The ruthless falchion oped his tender side; The panting liver pours a flood of gore That drowns his bosom till he pants no more.

The prudent chief with calm attention heard; Then mildly thus: “Excuse, if youth have err’d; Superior as thou art, forgive the offence, Nor I thy equal, or in years, or sense. Thou know’st the errors of unripen’d age, Weak are its counsels, headlong is its rage. The prize I quit, if thou thy wrath resign; The mare, or aught thou ask’st, be freely thine Ere I become (from thy dear friendship torn) Hateful to thee, and to the gods forsworn.”

Those, where fair Elis and Buprasium join; Whom Hyrmin, here, and Myrsinus confine, And bounded there, where o’er the valleys rose The Olenian rock; and where Alisium flows; Beneath four chiefs (a numerous army) came: The strength and glory of the Epean name. In separate squadrons these their train divide, Each leads ten vessels through the yielding tide. One was Amphimachus, and Thalpius one; (Eurytus’ this, and that Teätus’ son;) Diores sprung from Amarynceus’ line; And great Polyxenus, of force divine.

“O daughter of that god, whose arm can wield The avenging bolt, and shake the sable shield! Now, in this moment of her last despair, Shall wretched Greece no more confess our care, Condemn’d to suffer the full force of fate, And drain the dregs of heaven’s relentless hate? Gods! shall one raging hand thus level all? What numbers fell! what numbers yet shall fall! What power divine shall Hector’s wrath assuage? Still swells the slaughter, and still grows the rage!”

Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground, Heaps fall on heaps, and heaven and earth resound. Bold Aphareus by great Æneas bled; As toward the chief he turn’d his daring head, He pierced his throat; the bending head, depress’d Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast; His shield reversed o’er the fallen warrior lies, And everlasting slumber seals his eyes. Antilochus, as Thoon turn’d him round, Transpierced his back with a dishonest wound: The hollow vein, that to the neck extends Along the chine, his eager javelin rends: Supine he falls, and to his social train Spreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain. Thv exulting victor, leaping where he lay, From his broad shoulders tore the spoils away; His time observed; for closed by foes around, On all sides thick the peals of arms resound. His shield emboss’d the ringing storm sustains, But he impervious and untouch’d remains. (Great Neptune’s care preserved from hostile rage This youth, the joy of Nestor’s glorious age.) In arms intrepid, with the first he fought, Faced every foe, and every danger sought; His winged lance, resistless as the wind, Obeys each motion of the master’s mind! Restless it flies, impatient to be free, And meditates the distant enemy. The son of Asius, Adamas, drew near, And struck his target with the brazen spear Fierce in his front: but Neptune wards the blow, And blunts the javelin of th’ eluded foe: In the broad buckler half the weapon stood, Splinter’d on earth flew half the broken wood. Disarm’d, he mingled in the Trojan crew; But Merion’s spear o’ertook him as he flew, Deep in the belly’s rim an entrance found, Where sharp the pang, and mortal is the wound. Bending he fell, and doubled to the ground, Lay panting. Thus an ox in fetters tied, While death’s strong pangs distend his labouring side, His bulk enormous on the field displays; His heaving heart beats thick as ebbing life decays.

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

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

Thus (breathing rage through all) the hero said; A wood of lances rises round his head, Clamours on clamours tempest all the air, They join, they throng, they thicken to the war. But Phœbus warns him from high heaven to shun The single fight with Thetis’ godlike son; More safe to combat in the mingled band, Nor tempt too near the terrors of his hand. He hears, obedient to the god of light, And, plunged within the ranks, awaits the fight.

Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod, Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god. Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain; And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain; Till time shall rifle every youthful grace, And age dismiss her from my cold embrace, In daily labours of the loom employ’d, Or doom’d to deck the bed she once enjoy’d. Hence then; to Argos shall the maid retire, Far from her native soil and weeping sire.”

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

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

Apollo now to tired Achilles turns: (The power confess’d in all his glory burns:) “And what (he cries) has Peleus’ son in view, With mortal speed a godhead to pursue? For not to thee to know the gods is given, Unskill’d to trace the latent marks of heaven. What boots thee now, that Troy forsook the plain? Vain thy past labour, and thy present vain: Safe in their walls are now her troops bestow’d, While here thy frantic rage attacks a god.”

“Unhappy monarch! whom the Grecian race With shame deserting, heap with vile disgrace. Not such at Argos was their generous vow: Once all their voice, but ah! forgotten now: Ne’er to return, was then the common cry, Till Troy’s proud structures should in ashes lie. Behold them weeping for their native shore; What could their wives or helpless children more? What heart but melts to leave the tender train, And, one short month, endure the wintry main? Few leagues removed, we wish our peaceful seat, When the ship tosses, and the tempests beat: Then well may this long stay provoke their tears, The tedious length of nine revolving years. Not for their grief the Grecian host I blame; But vanquish’d! baffled! oh, eternal shame! Expect the time to Troy’s destruction given. And try the faith of Chalcas and of heaven. What pass’d at Aulis, Greece can witness bear,[89] And all who live to breathe this Phrygian air. Beside a fountain’s sacred brink we raised Our verdant altars, and the victims blazed: ’Twas where the plane-tree spread its shades around, The altars heaved; and from the crumbling ground A mighty dragon shot, of dire portent; From Jove himself the dreadful sign was sent. Straight to the tree his sanguine spires he roll’d, And curl’d around in many a winding fold; The topmost branch a mother-bird possess’d; Eight callow infants fill’d the mossy nest; Herself the ninth; the serpent, as he hung, Stretch’d his black jaws and crush’d the crying young; While hovering near, with miserable moan, The drooping mother wail’d her children gone. The mother last, as round the nest she flew, Seized by the beating wing, the monster slew; Nor long survived: to marble turn’d, he stands A lasting prodigy on Aulis’ sands. Such was the will of Jove; and hence we dare Trust in his omen, and support the war. For while around we gazed with wondering eyes, And trembling sought the powers with sacrifice, Full of his god, the reverend Chalcas cried,[90] ‘Ye Grecian warriors!

“‘My child! with strength, with glory, and success, Thy arms may Juno and Minerva bless! Trust that to Heaven: but thou, thy cares engage To calm thy passions, and subdue thy rage: From gentler manners let thy glory grow, And shun contention, the sure source of woe; That young and old may in thy praise combine, The virtues of humanity be thine—’ This now-despised advice thy father gave; Ah! check thy anger; and be truly brave. If thou wilt yield to great Atrides’ prayers, Gifts worthy thee his royal hand prepares; If not—but hear me, while I number o’er The proffer’d presents, an exhaustless store. Ten weighty talents of the purest gold, And twice ten vases of refulgent mould; Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; Twelve steeds unmatched in fleetness and in force, And still victorious in the dusty course; (Rich were the man, whose ample stores exceed The prizes purchased by their winged speed;) Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line, Skill’d in each art, unmatch’d in form divine, The same he chose for more than vulgar charms, When Lesbos sank beneath thy conquering arms. All these, to buy thy friendship shall be paid, And, join’d with these, the long-contested maid; With all her charms, Briseïs he’ll resign, And solemn swear those charms were only thine; Untouch’d she stay’d, uninjured she removes, Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves. These instant shall be thine; and if the powers Give to our arms proud Ilion’s hostile towers, Then shalt thou store (when Greece the spoil divides) With gold and brass thy loaded navy’s sides. Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race With copious love shall crown thy warm embrace; Such as thyself shall chose; who yield to none, Or yield to Helen’s heavenly charms alone. Yet hear me further: when our wars are o’er, If safe we land on Argos’ fruitful shore, There shalt thou live his son, his honour share, And with Orestes’ self divide his care.

“Rise, son of Peleus! rise, divinely brave! Assist the combat, and Patroclus save: For him the slaughter to the fleet they spread, And fall by mutual wounds around the dead. To drag him back to Troy the foe contends: Nor with his death the rage of Hector ends: A prey to dogs he dooms the corse to lie, And marks the place to fix his head on high. Rise, and prevent (if yet you think of fame) Thy friend’s disgrace, thy own eternal shame!”