Iliad on Fear

Thus Thetis spoke; but Jove in silence held The sacred counsels of his breast conceal’d. Not so repulsed, the goddess closer press’d, Still grasp’d his knees, and urged the dear request. “O sire of gods and men! thy suppliant hear; Refuse, or grant; for what has Jove to fear? Or oh! declare, of all the powers above, Is wretched Thetis least the care of Jove?”

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

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

“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.”

“In free debate, my friends, your sentence speak; For me, I move, before the morning break, To raise our camp: too dangerous here our post, Far from Troy walls, and on a naked coast. I deem’d not Greece so dreadful, while engaged In mutual feuds her king and hero raged; Then, while we hoped our armies might prevail We boldly camp’d beside a thousand sail. I dread Pelides now: his rage of mind Not long continues to the shores confined, Nor to the fields, where long in equal fray Contending nations won and lost the day; For Troy, for Troy, shall henceforth be the strife, And the hard contest not for fame, but life. Haste then to Ilion, while the favouring night Detains these terrors, keeps that arm from fight. If but the morrow’s sun behold us here, That arm, those terrors, we shall feel, not fear; And hearts that now disdain, shall leap with joy, If heaven permit them then to enter Troy. Let not my fatal prophecy be true, Nor what I tremble but to think, ensue. Whatever be our fate, yet let us try What force of thought and reason can supply; Let us on counsel for our guard depend; The town her gates and bulwarks shall defend. When morning dawns, our well-appointed powers, Array’d in arms, shall line the lofty towers. Let the fierce hero, then, when fury calls, Vent his mad vengeance on our rocky walls, Or fetch a thousand circles round the plain, Till his spent coursers seek the fleet again: So may his rage be tired, and labour’d down! And dogs shall tear him ere he sack the town.”

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.

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.”

Thus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh; His dreadful plumage nodded from on high; The Pelian javelin, in his better hand, Shot trembling rays that glitter’d o’er the land; And on his breast the beamy splendour shone, Like Jove’s own lightning, or the rising sun. As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise, Struck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies. He leaves the gates, he leaves the wall behind: Achilles follows like the winged wind. Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies (The swiftest racer of the liquid skies), Just when he holds, or thinks he holds his prey, Obliquely wheeling through the aerial way, With open beak and shrilling cries he springs, And aims his claws, and shoots upon his wings: No less fore-right the rapid chase they held, One urged by fury, one by fear impell’d: Now circling round the walls their course maintain, Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain; Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad, (A wider compass,) smoke along the road. Next by Scamander’s double source they bound, Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground; This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise, With exhalations steaming to the skies; That the green banks in summer’s heat o’erflows, Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows: Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills, Whose polish’d bed receives the falling rills; Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm’d by Greece) Wash’d their fair garments in the days of peace.[276] By these they pass’d, one chasing, one in flight: (The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might:) Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play, No vulgar victim must reward the day: (Such as in races crown the speedy strife:) The prize contended was great Hector’s life.

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

Tydides paused amidst his full career; Then first the hero’s manly breast knew fear. As when some simple swain his cot forsakes, And wide through fens an unknown journey takes: If chance a swelling brook his passage stay, And foam impervious ’cross the wanderer’s way, Confused he stops, a length of country pass’d, Eyes the rough waves, and tired, returns at last. Amazed no less the great Tydides stands: He stay’d, and turning thus address’d his bands:

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

Minerva smiling heard, the pair o’ertook, And slightly on her breast the wanton strook: She, unresisting, fell (her spirits fled); On earth together lay the lovers spread. “And like these heroes be the fate of all (Minerva cries) who guard the Trojan wall! To Grecian gods such let the Phrygian be, So dread, so fierce, as Venus is to me; Then from the lowest stone shall Troy be moved.” Thus she, and Juno with a smile approved.

Then thus the god: “O restless fate of pride, That strives to learn what heaven resolves to hide; Vain is the search, presumptuous and abhorr’d, Anxious to thee, and odious to thy lord. Let this suffice: the immutable decree No force can shake: what is, that ought to be. Goddess, submit; nor dare our will withstand, But dread the power of this avenging hand: The united strength of all the gods above In vain resists the omnipotence of Jove.”

The chief thus answered mild: “Immortal maid! I own thy presence, and confess thy aid. Not fear, thou know’st, withholds me from the plains, Nor sloth hath seized me, but thy word restrains: From warring gods thou bad’st me turn my spear, And Venus only found resistance here. Hence, goddess! heedful of thy high commands, Loth I gave way, and warn’d our Argive bands: For Mars, the homicide, these eyes beheld, With slaughter red, and raging round the field.”

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

Then drops the radiant burden on the ground; Clang the strong arms, and ring the shores around; Back shrink the Myrmidons with dread surprise, And from the broad effulgence turn their eyes. Unmoved the hero kindles at the show, And feels with rage divine his bosom glow; From his fierce eyeballs living flames expire, And flash incessant like a stream of fire: He turns the radiant gift: and feeds his mind On all the immortal artist had design’d.

“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.”

Great Hector saw, and, raging at the view, Pours on the Greeks: the Trojan troops pursue: He fires his host with animating cries, And brings along the furies of the skies, Mars, stern destroyer! and Bellona dread, Flame in the front, and thunder at their head: This swells the tumult and the rage of fight; That shakes a spear that casts a dreadful light. Where Hector march’d, the god of battles shined, Now storm’d before him, and now raged behind.

Hector obedient heard: and, with a bound, Leap’d from his trembling chariot to the ground; Through all his host inspiring force he flies, And bids the thunder of the battle rise. With rage recruited the bold Trojans glow, And turn the tide of conflict on the foe: Fierce in the front he shakes two dazzling spears; All Greece recedes, and ’midst her triumphs fears; Some god, they thought, who ruled the fate of wars, Shot down avenging from the vault of stars.

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

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

Thus while he spoke, the Trojan pale with fears Approach’d, and sought his knees with suppliant tears Loth as he was to yield his youthful breath, And his soul shivering at the approach of death. Achilles raised the spear, prepared to wound; He kiss’d his feet, extended on the ground: And while, above, the spear suspended stood, Longing to dip its thirsty point in blood, One hand embraced them close, one stopp’d the dart, While thus these melting words attempt his heart:

Each Ajax, Teucer, Merion gave command, The valiant leader of the Cretan band; And Mars-like Meges: these the chiefs excite, Approach the foe, and meet the coming fight. Behind, unnumber’d multitudes attend, To flank the navy, and the shores defend. Full on the front the pressing Trojans bear, And Hector first came towering to the war. Phœbus himself the rushing battle led; A veil of clouds involved his radiant head: High held before him, Jove’s enormous shield Portentous shone, and shaded all the field; Vulcan to Jove the immortal gift consign’d, To scatter hosts and terrify mankind, The Greeks expect the shock, the clamours rise From different parts, and mingle in the skies. Dire was the hiss of darts, by heroes flung, And arrows leaping from the bow-string sung; These drink the life of generous warriors slain: Those guiltless fall, and thirst for blood in vain. As long as Phœbus bore unmoved the shield, Sat doubtful conquest hovering o’er the field; But when aloft he shakes it in the skies, Shouts in their ears, and lightens in their eyes, Deep horror seizes every Grecian breast, Their force is humbled, and their fear confess’d. So flies a herd of oxen, scatter’d wide, No swain to guard them, and no day to guide, When two fell lions from the mountain come, And spread the carnage through the shady gloom. Impending Phœbus pours around them fear, And Troy and Hector thunder in the rear. Heaps fall on heaps: the slaughter Hector leads, First great Arcesilas, then Stichius bleeds; One to the bold Bœotians ever dear, And one Menestheus’ friend and famed compeer. Medon and Iasus, Æneas sped; This sprang from Phelus, and the Athenians led; But hapless Medon from Oïleus came; Him Ajax honour’d with a brother’s name, Though born of lawless love: from home expell’d, A banish’d man, in Phylacè he dwell’d, Press’d by the vengeance of an angry wife; Troy ends at last his labours and his life. Mecystes next Polydamas o’erthrew; And thee, brave Clonius, great Agenor slew.

He from whose lips divine persuasion flows, Grave Nestor, then, in graceful act arose; Thus to the kings he spoke: “What grief, what shame Attend on Greece, and all the Grecian name! How shall, alas! her hoary heroes mourn Their sons degenerate, and their race a scorn! What tears shall down thy silvery beard be roll’d, O Peleus, old in arms, in wisdom old! Once with what joy the generous prince would hear Of every chief who fought this glorious war, Participate their fame, and pleased inquire Each name, each action, and each hero’s sire! Gods! should he see our warriors trembling stand, And trembling all before one hostile hand; How would he lift his aged arms on high, Lament inglorious Greece, and beg to die! Oh! would to all the immortal powers above, Minerva, Phœbus, and almighty Jove! Years might again roll back, my youth renew, And give this arm the spring which once it knew When fierce in war, where Jardan’s waters fall, I led my troops to Phea’s trembling wall, And with the Arcadian spears my prowess tried, Where Celadon rolls down his rapid tide.[179] There Ereuthalion braved us in the field, Proud Areithous’ dreadful arms to wield; Great Areithous, known from shore to shore By the huge, knotted, iron mace he bore; No lance he shook, nor bent the twanging bow, But broke, with this, the battle of the foe. Him not by manly force Lycurgus slew, Whose guileful javelin from the thicket flew, Deep in a winding way his breast assailed, Nor aught the warrior’s thundering mace avail’d. Supine he fell: those arms which Mars before Had given the vanquish’d, now the victor bore: But when old age had dimm’d Lycurgus’ eyes, To Ereuthalion he consign’d the prize. Furious with this he crush’d our levell’d bands, And dared the trial of the strongest hands; Nor could the strongest hands his fury stay: All saw, and fear’d, his huge tempestuous sway Till I, the youngest of the host, appear’d, And, youngest, met whom all our army fear’d.

“If then thy will permit (the monarch said) To finish all due honours to the dead, This of thy grace accord: to thee are known The fears of Ilion, closed within her town; And at what distance from our walls aspire The hills of Ide, and forests for the fire. Nine days to vent our sorrows I request, The tenth shall see the funeral and the feast; The next, to raise his monument be given; The twelfth we war, if war be doom’d by heaven!”

“Unworthy sight! the man beloved of heaven, Behold, inglorious round yon city driven! My heart partakes the generous Hector’s pain; Hector, whose zeal whole hecatombs has slain, Whose grateful fumes the gods received with joy, From Ida’s summits, and the towers of Troy: Now see him flying; to his fears resign’d, And fate, and fierce Achilles, close behind. Consult, ye powers! (’tis worthy your debate) Whether to snatch him from impending fate, Or let him bear, by stern Pelides slain, (Good as he is) the lot imposed on man.”

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

Thus to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear, The herded Ilians rush like driven deer: There safe they wipe the briny drops away, And drown in bowls the labours of the day. Close to the walls, advancing o’er the fields Beneath one roof of well-compacted shields, March, bending on, the Greeks’ embodied powers, Far stretching in the shade of Trojan towers. Great Hector singly stay’d: chain’d down by fate There fix’d he stood before the Scæan gate; Still his bold arms determined to employ, The guardian still of long-defended Troy.

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

But when the powers descending swell’d the fight, Then tumult rose: fierce rage and pale affright Varied each face: then Discord sounds alarms, Earth echoes, and the nations rush to arms. Now through the trembling shores Minerva calls, And now she thunders from the Grecian walls. Mars hovering o’er his Troy, his terror shrouds In gloomy tempests, and a night of clouds: Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours With voice divine, from Ilion’s topmost towers: Now shouts to Simois, from her beauteous hill; The mountain shook, the rapid stream stood still.

“How long, unhappy! shall thy sorrows flow, And thy heart waste with life-consuming woe: Mindless of food, or love, whose pleasing reign Soothes weary life, and softens human pain? O snatch the moments yet within thy power; Not long to live, indulge the amorous hour! Lo! Jove himself (for Jove’s command I bear) Forbids to tempt the wrath of heaven too far. No longer then (his fury if thou dread) Detain the relics of great Hector dead; Nor vent on senseless earth thy vengeance vain, But yield to ransom, and restore the slain.”

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

“Can Peleus’ son forget a warrior’s part. And fears Ulysses, skill’d in every art? Why stand you distant, and the rest expect To mix in combat which yourselves neglect? From you ’twas hoped among the first to dare The shock of armies, and commence the war; For this your names are call’d before the rest, To share the pleasures of the genial feast: And can you, chiefs! without a blush survey Whole troops before you labouring in the fray? Say, is it thus those honours you requite? The first in banquets, but the last in fight.”

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

He said: nor less elate with martial joy, The godlike Hector warm’d the troops of Troy: “Trojans, to war! Think, Hector leads you on; Nor dread the vaunts of Peleus’ haughty son. Deeds must decide our fate. E’en these with words Insult the brave, who tremble at their swords: The weakest atheist-wretch all heaven defies, But shrinks and shudders when the thunder flies. Nor from yon boaster shall your chief retire, Not though his heart were steel, his hands were fire; That fire, that steel, your Hector should withstand, And brave that vengeful heart, that dreadful hand.”

“Before thy presence, father, I appear, With conscious shame and reverential fear. Ah! had I died, ere to these walls I fled, False to my country, and my nuptial bed; My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind, False to them all, to Paris only kind! For this I mourn, till grief or dire disease Shall waste the form whose fault it was to please! The king of kings, Atrides, you survey, Great in the war, and great in arts of sway: My brother once, before my days of shame! And oh! that still he bore a brother’s name!”

“Degenerate prince! and not of Tydeus’ kind, Whose little body lodged a mighty mind; Foremost he press’d in glorious toils to share, And scarce refrain’d when I forbade the war. Alone, unguarded, once he dared to go, And feast, incircled by the Theban foe; There braved, and vanquish’d, many a hardy knight; Such nerves I gave him, and such force in fight. Thou too no less hast been my constant care; Thy hands I arm’d, and sent thee forth to war: But thee or fear deters, or sloth detains; No drop of all thy father warms thy veins.”

Here herds of oxen march, erect and bold, Rear high their horns, and seem to low in gold, And speed to meadows on whose sounding shores A rapid torrent through the rushes roars: Four golden herdsmen as their guardians stand, And nine sour dogs complete the rustic band. Two lions rushing from the wood appear’d; And seized a bull, the master of the herd: He roar’d: in vain the dogs, the men withstood; They tore his flesh, and drank his sable blood. The dogs (oft cheer’d in vain) desert the prey, Dread the grim terrors, and at distance bay.

Automedon and Alcimus prepare The immortal coursers, and the radiant car; (The silver traces sweeping at their side;) Their fiery mouths resplendent bridles tied; The ivory-studded reins, return’d behind, Waved o’er their backs, and to the chariot join’d. The charioteer then whirl’d the lash around, And swift ascended at one active bound. All bright in heavenly arms, above his squire Achilles mounts, and sets the field on fire; Not brighter Phœbus in the ethereal way Flames from his chariot, and restores the day. High o’er the host, all terrible he stands, And thunders to his steeds these dread commands:

To whom the latent god: “O king, forbear To tempt my youth, for apt is youth to err. But can I, absent from my prince’s sight, Take gifts in secret, that must shun the light? What from our master’s interest thus we draw, Is but a licensed theft that ’scapes the law. Respecting him, my soul abjures the offence; And as the crime, I dread the consequence. Thee, far as Argos, pleased I could convey; Guard of thy life, and partner of thy way: On thee attend, thy safety to maintain, O’er pathless forests, or the roaring main.”

The proud Mycenè arms her martial powers, Cleonè, Corinth, with imperial towers,[103] Fair Aræthyrea, Ornia’s fruitful plain, And Ægion, and Adrastus’ ancient reign; And those who dwell along the sandy shore, And where Pellenè yields her fleecy store, Where Helicè and Hyperesia lie, And Gonoëssa’s spires salute the sky. Great Agamemnon rules the numerous band, A hundred vessels in long order stand, And crowded nations wait his dread command. High on the deck the king of men appears, And his refulgent arms in triumph wears; Proud of his host, unrivall’d in his reign, In silent pomp he moves along the main.

“The life you boasted to that javelin given, Prince! you have miss’d. My fate depends on Heaven, To thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown, Or what must prove my fortune, or thy own. Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind, And with false terrors sink another’s mind. But know, whatever fate I am to try, By no dishonest wound shall Hector die. I shall not fall a fugitive at least, My soul shall bravely issue from my breast. But first, try thou my arm; and may this dart End all my country’s woes, deep buried in thy heart.”

“Say whither, father! when each mortal sight Is seal’d in sleep, thou wanderest through the night? Why roam thy mules and steeds the plains along, Through Grecian foes, so numerous and so strong? What couldst thou hope, should these thy treasures view; These, who with endless hate thy race pursue? For what defence, alas! could’st thou provide; Thyself not young, a weak old man thy guide? Yet suffer not thy soul to sink with dread; From me no harm shall touch thy reverend head; From Greece I’ll guard thee too; for in those lines The living image of my father shines.”

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

“Take this, and pour to Jove; that safe from harms His grace restore thee to our roof and arms. Since victor of thy fears, and slighting mine, Heaven, or thy soul, inspires this bold design; Pray to that god, who high on Ida’s brow Surveys thy desolated realms below, His winged messenger to send from high, And lead thy way with heavenly augury: Let the strong sovereign of the plumy race Tower on the right of yon ethereal space. That sign beheld, and strengthen’d from above, Boldly pursue the journey mark’d by Jove: But if the god his augury denies, Suppress thy impulse, nor reject advice.”

Full on the sire the goddess of the skies Roll’d the large orbs of her majestic eyes, And thus return’d:—“Austere Saturnius, say, From whence this wrath, or who controls thy sway? Thy boundless will, for me, remains in force, And all thy counsels take the destined course. But ’tis for Greece I fear: for late was seen, In close consult, the silver-footed queen. Jove to his Thetis nothing could deny, Nor was the signal vain that shook the sky. What fatal favour has the goddess won, To grace her fierce, inexorable son? Perhaps in Grecian blood to drench the plain, And glut his vengeance with my people slain.”

“Thaumantia! mount the winds, and stop their car; Against the highest who shall wage the war? If furious yet they dare the vain debate, Thus have I spoke, and what I speak is fate: Their coursers crush’d beneath the wheels shall lie, Their car in fragments, scatter’d o’er the sky: My lightning these rebellious shall confound, And hurl them flaming, headlong, to the ground, Condemn’d for ten revolving years to weep The wounds impress’d by burning thunder deep. So shall Minerva learn to fear our ire, Nor dare to combat hers and nature’s sire. For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, She claims some title to transgress our will.”

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

“Great perils, father! wait the unequal fight; These younger champions will oppress thy might. Thy veins no more with ancient vigour glow, Weak is thy servant, and thy coursers slow. Then haste, ascend my seat, and from the car Observe the steeds of Tros, renown’d in war. Practised alike to turn, to stop, to chase, To dare the fight, or urge the rapid race: These late obey’d Æneas’ guiding rein; Leave thou thy chariot to our faithful train; With these against yon Trojans will we go, Nor shall great Hector want an equal foe; Fierce as he is, even he may learn to fear The thirsty fury of my flying spear.”

“Andromache! my soul’s far better part, Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? No hostile hand can antedate my doom, Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. Fix’d is the term to all the race of earth; And such the hard condition of our birth: No force can then resist, no flight can save, All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. No more—but hasten to thy tasks at home, There guide the spindle, and direct the loom: Me glory summons to the martial scene, The field of combat is the sphere for men. Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, The first in danger as the first in fame.”

The almighty Thunderer with a frown replies, That clouds the world, and blackens half the skies: “Strong god of ocean! thou, whose rage can make The solid earth’s eternal basis shake! What cause of fear from mortal works could move[187] The meanest subject of our realms above? Where’er the sun’s refulgent rays are cast, Thy power is honour’d, and thy fame shall last. But yon proud work no future age shall view, No trace remain where once the glory grew. The sapp’d foundations by thy force shall fall, And, whelm’d beneath the waves, drop the huge wall: Vast drifts of sand shall change the former shore: The ruin vanish’d, and the name no more.”

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

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

Swift to the seas profound the goddess flies, Jove to his starry mansions in the skies. The shining synod of the immortals wait The coming god, and from their thrones of state Arising silent, wrapp’d in holy fear, Before the majesty of heaven appear. Trembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne, All, but the god’s imperious queen alone: Late had she view’d the silver-footed dame, And all her passions kindled into flame. “Say, artful manager of heaven (she cries), Who now partakes the secrets of the skies? Thy Juno knows not the decrees of fate, In vain the partner of imperial state. What favourite goddess then those cares divides, Which Jove in prudence from his consort hides?”

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

“What hast thou ask’d? ah, why should Jove engage In foreign contests and domestic rage, The gods’ complaints, and Juno’s fierce alarms, While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms? Go, lest the haughty partner of my sway With jealous eyes thy close access survey; But part in peace, secure thy prayer is sped: Witness the sacred honours of our head, The nod that ratifies the will divine, The faithful, fix’d, irrevocable sign; This seals thy suit, and this fulfils thy vows—” He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,[70] Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod, The stamp of fate and sanction of the god: High heaven with trembling the dread signal took, And all Olympus to the centre shook.[71]

“What frenzy goddesses! what rage can move Celestial minds to tempt the wrath of Jove? Desist, obedient to his high command: This is his word; and know his word shall stand: His lightning your rebellion shall confound, And hurl ye headlong, flaming, to the ground; Your horses crush’d beneath the wheels shall lie, Your car in fragments scatter’d o’er the sky; Yourselves condemn’d ten rolling years to weep The wounds impress’d by burning thunder deep. So shall Minerva learn to fear his ire, Nor dare to combat hers and nature’s sire. For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, She claims some title to transgress his will: But thee, what desperate insolence has driven To lift thy lance against the king of heaven?”

But not as yet the fatal news had spread To fair Andromache, of Hector dead; As yet no messenger had told his fate, Not e’en his stay without the Scæan gate. Far in the close recesses of the dome, Pensive she plied the melancholy loom; A growing work employ’d her secret hours, Confusedly gay with intermingled flowers. Her fair-haired handmaids heat the brazen urn, The bath preparing for her lord’s return In vain; alas! her lord returns no more; Unbathed he lies, and bleeds along the shore! Now from the walls the clamours reach her ear, And all her members shake with sudden fear: Forth from her ivory hand the shuttle falls, And thus, astonish’d, to her maids she calls:

Neptune and Pallas haste to his relief, And thus in human form address’d the chief: The power of ocean first: “Forbear thy fear, O son of Peleus! Lo, thy gods appear! Behold! from Jove descending to thy aid, Propitious Neptune, and the blue-eyed maid. Stay, and the furious flood shall cease to rave ’Tis not thy fate to glut his angry wave. But thou, the counsel heaven suggests, attend! Nor breathe from combat, nor thy sword suspend, Till Troy receive her flying sons, till all Her routed squadrons pant behind their wall: Hector alone shall stand his fatal chance, And Hector’s blood shall smoke upon thy lance. Thine is the glory doom’d.” Thus spake the gods: Then swift ascended to the bright abodes.

He said, and stood, collected, in his might; And all his beating bosom claim’d the fight. So from some deep-grown wood a panther starts, Roused from his thicket by a storm of darts: Untaught to fear or fly, he hears the sounds Of shouting hunters, and of clamorous hounds; Though struck, though wounded, scarce perceives the pain; And the barb’d javelin stings his breast in vain: On their whole war, untamed, the savage flies; And tears his hunter, or beneath him dies. Not less resolved, Antenor’s valiant heir Confronts Achilles, and awaits the war, Disdainful of retreat: high held before, His shield (a broad circumference) he bore; Then graceful as he stood, in act to throw The lifted javelin, thus bespoke the foe: