Iliad on Loneliness

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

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

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

The goddess spoke: the rolling waves unclose; Then down the steep she plunged from whence she rose, And left him sorrowing on the lonely coast, In wild resentment for the fair he lost.

While thus they communed, from the Olympian bowers Jove orders Iris to the Trojan towers: “Haste, winged goddess! to the sacred town, And urge her monarch to redeem his son. Alone the Ilian ramparts let him leave, And bear what stern Achilles may receive: Alone, for so we will; no Trojan near Except, to place the dead with decent care, Some aged herald, who with gentle hand May the slow mules and funeral car command. Nor let him death, nor let him danger dread, Safe through the foe by our protection led: Him Hermes to Achilles shall convey, Guard of his life, and partner of his way. Fierce as he is, Achilles’ self shall spare His age, nor touch one venerable hair: Some thought there must be in a soul so brave, Some sense of duty, some desire to save.”

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

So to night-wandering sailors, pale with fears, Wide o’er the watery waste, a light appears, Which on the far-seen mountain blazing high, Streams from some lonely watch-tower to the sky: With mournful eyes they gaze, and gaze again; Loud howls the storm, and drives them o’er the main.

The two remaining sons the line divide: First rose Laomedon from Ilus’ side; From him Tithonus, now in cares grown old, And Priam, bless’d with Hector, brave and bold; Clytius and Lampus, ever-honour’d pair; And Hicetaon, thunderbolt of war. From great Assaracus sprang Capys, he Begat Anchises, and Anchises me. Such is our race: ’tis fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth: He, source of power and might! with boundless sway, All human courage gives, or takes away. Long in the field of words we may contend, Reproach is infinite, and knows no end, Arm’d or with truth or falsehood, right or wrong; So voluble a weapon is the tongue; Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail, For every man has equal strength to rail: Women alone, when in the streets they jar, Perhaps excel us in this wordy war; Like us they stand, encompass’d with the crowd, And vent their anger impotent and loud. Cease then—Our business in the field of fight Is not to question, but to prove our might. To all those insults thou hast offer’d here, Receive this answer: ’tis my flying spear.”

Then he: “O prince! allied in blood and fame, Dearer than all that own a brother’s name; Of all that Hecuba to Priam bore, Long tried, long loved: much loved, but honoured more! Since you, of all our numerous race alone Defend my life, regardless of your own.”

Hector, undaunted, thus: “Such words employ To one that dreads thee, some unwarlike boy: Such we could give, defying and defied, Mean intercourse of obloquy and pride! I know thy force to mine superior far; But heaven alone confers success in war: Mean as I am, the gods may guide my dart, And give it entrance in a braver heart.”

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

“Unhappy consort of a king distress’d! Partake the troubles of thy husband’s breast: I saw descend the messenger of Jove, Who bids me try Achilles’ mind to move; Forsake these ramparts, and with gifts obtain The corse of Hector, at yon navy slain. Tell me thy thought: my heart impels to go Through hostile camps, and bears me to the foe.”

“Nor true are all thy words, nor erring wide; (The sacred messenger of heaven replied;) But say, convey’st thou through the lonely plains What yet most precious of thy store remains, To lodge in safety with some friendly hand: Prepared, perchance, to leave thy native land? Or fliest thou now?—What hopes can Troy retain, Thy matchless son, her guard and glory, slain?”

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

Then thus Achilles: “Hear, ye Greeks! and know Whate’er we feel, ’tis Jove inflicts the woe; Not else Atrides could our rage inflame, Nor from my arms, unwilling, force the dame. ’Twas Jove’s high will alone, o’erruling all, That doom’d our strife, and doom’d the Greeks to fall. Go then, ye chiefs! indulge the genial rite; Achilles waits ye, and expects the fight.”

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.

First to the corse the weeping consort flew; Around his neck her milk-white arms she threw, “And oh, my Hector! Oh, my lord! (she cries) Snatch’d in thy bloom from these desiring eyes! Thou to the dismal realms for ever gone! And I abandon’d, desolate, alone! An only son, once comfort of our pains, Sad product now of hapless love, remains! Never to manly age that son shall rise, Or with increasing graces glad my eyes: For Ilion now (her great defender slain) Shall sink a smoking ruin on the plain. Who now protects her wives with guardian care? Who saves her infants from the rage of war? Now hostile fleets must waft those infants o’er (Those wives must wait them) to a foreign shore: Thou too, my son, to barbarous climes shall go, The sad companion of thy mother’s woe; Driven hence a slave before the victor’s sword Condemn’d to toil for some inhuman lord: Or else some Greek whose father press’d the plain, Or son, or brother, by great Hector slain, In Hector’s blood his vengeance shall enjoy, And hurl thee headlong from the towers of Troy.[297] For thy stern father never spared a foe: Thence all these tears, and all this scene of woe! Thence many evils his sad parents bore, His parents many, but his consort more. Why gav’st thou not to me thy dying hand? And why received not I thy last command? Some word thou would’st have spoke, which, sadly dear, My soul might keep, or utter with a tear; Which never, never could be lost in air, Fix’d in my heart, and oft repeated there!”

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

He said. The troops with elevated eyes, Implore the god whose thunder rends the skies: “O father of mankind, superior lord! On lofty Ida’s holy hill adored: Who in the highest heaven hast fix’d thy throne, Supreme of gods! unbounded and alone: Grant thou, that Telamon may bear away The praise and conquest of this doubtful day; Or, if illustrious Hector be thy care, That both may claim it, and that both may share.”

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

“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.”

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

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

Now from the finish’d games the Grecian band Seek their black ships, and clear the crowded strand, All stretch’d at ease the genial banquet share, And pleasing slumbers quiet all their care. Not so Achilles: he, to grief resign’d, His friend’s dear image present to his mind, Takes his sad couch, more unobserved to weep; Nor tastes the gifts of all-composing sleep. Restless he roll’d around his weary bed, And all his soul on his Patroclus fed: The form so pleasing, and the heart so kind, That youthful vigour, and that manly mind, What toils they shared, what martial works they wrought, What seas they measured, and what fields they fought; All pass’d before him in remembrance dear, Thought follows thought, and tear succeeds to tear. And now supine, now prone, the hero lay, Now shifts his side, impatient for the day: Then starting up, disconsolate he goes Wide on the lonely beach to vent his woes. There as the solitary mourner raves, The ruddy morning rises o’er the waves: Soon as it rose, his furious steeds he join’d! The chariot flies, and Hector trails behind. And thrice, Patroclus! round thy monument Was Hector dragg’d, then hurried to the tent. There sleep at last o’ercomes the hero’s eyes; While foul in dust the unhonour’d carcase lies, But not deserted by the pitying skies: For Phœbus watch’d it with superior care, Preserved from gaping wounds and tainting air; And, ignominious as it swept the field, Spread o’er the sacred corse his golden shield. All heaven was moved, and Hermes will’d to go By stealth to snatch him from the insulting foe: But Neptune this, and Pallas this denies, And th’ unrelenting empress of the skies, E’er since that day implacable to Troy, What time young Paris, simple shepherd boy, Won by destructive lust (reward obscene), Their charms rejected for the Cyprian queen. But when the tenth celestial morning broke, To heaven assembled, thus Apollo spoke:

The chief replied: “That post shall be my care, Not that alone, but all the works of war. How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown’d, And Troy’s proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground Attaint the lustre of my former name, Should Hector basely quit the field of fame? My early youth was bred to martial pains, My soul impels me to the embattled plains! Let me be foremost to defend the throne, And guard my father’s glories, and my own.

“’Tis now no season for these kind delays; The great Achilles with impatience stays. To great Achilles this respect I owe; Who asks, what hero, wounded by the foe, Was borne from combat by thy foaming steeds? With grief I see the great Machaon bleeds. This to report, my hasty course I bend; Thou know’st the fiery temper of my friend.” “Can then the sons of Greece (the sage rejoin’d) Excite compassion in Achilles’ mind? Seeks he the sorrows of our host to know? This is not half the story of our woe. Tell him, not great Machaon bleeds alone, Our bravest heroes in the navy groan, Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed, And stern Eurypylus, already bleed. But, ah! what flattering hopes I entertain! Achilles heeds not, but derides our pain: Even till the flames consume our fleet he stays, And waits the rising of the fatal blaze. Chief after chief the raging foe destroys; Calm he looks on, and every death enjoys. Now the slow course of all-impairing time Unstrings my nerves, and ends my manly prime; Oh! had I still that strength my youth possess’d, When this bold arm the Epeian powers oppress’d, The bulls of Elis in glad triumph led, And stretch’d the great Itymonaeus dead! Then from my fury fled the trembling swains, And ours was all the plunder of the plains: Fifty white flocks, full fifty herds of swine, As many goats, as many lowing kine: And thrice the number of unrivall’d steeds, All teeming females, and of generous breeds. These, as my first essay of arms, I won; Old Neleus gloried in his conquering son. Thus Elis forced, her long arrears restored, And shares were parted to each Pylian lord. The state of Pyle was sunk to last despair, When the proud Elians first commenced the war: For Neleus’ sons Alcides’ rage had slain; Of twelve bold brothers, I alone remain! Oppress’d, we arm’d; and now this conquest gain’d, My sire three hundred chosen sheep obtain’d.

“O wretched husband of a wretched wife! Born with one fate, to one unhappy life! For sure one star its baneful beam display’d On Priam’s roof, and Hippoplacia’s shade. From different parents, different climes we came. At different periods, yet our fate the same! Why was my birth to great Aëtion owed, And why was all that tender care bestow’d? Would I had never been!—O thou, the ghost Of my dead husband! miserably lost! Thou to the dismal realms for ever gone! And I abandon’d, desolate, alone! An only child, once comfort of my pains, Sad product now of hapless love, remains! No more to smile upon his sire; no friend To help him now! no father to defend! For should he ’scape the sword, the common doom, What wrongs attend him, and what griefs to come! Even from his own paternal roof expell’d, Some stranger ploughs his patrimonial field. The day, that to the shades the father sends, Robs the sad orphan of his father’s friends: He, wretched outcast of mankind! appears For ever sad, for ever bathed in tears; Amongst the happy, unregarded, he Hangs on the robe, or trembles at the knee, While those his father’s former bounty fed Nor reach the goblet, nor divide the bread: The kindest but his present wants allay, To leave him wretched the succeeding day. Frugal compassion! Heedless, they who boast Both parents still, nor feel what he has lost, Shall cry, ‘Begone! thy father feasts not here:’ The wretch obeys, retiring with a tear. Thus wretched, thus retiring all in tears, To my sad soul Astyanax appears! Forced by repeated insults to return, And to his widow’d mother vainly mourn: He, who, with tender delicacy bred, With princes sported, and on dainties fed, And when still evening gave him up to rest, Sunk soft in down upon the nurse’s breast, Must—ah what must he not? Whom Ilion calls Astyanax, from her well-guarded walls,[279] Is now that name no more, unhappy boy! Since now no more thy father guards his Troy.

“Then thus in short my fix’d resolves attend, Which nor Atrides nor his Greeks can bend; Long toils, long perils in their cause I bore, But now the unfruitful glories charm no more. Fight or not fight, a like reward we claim, The wretch and hero find their prize the same. Alike regretted in the dust he lies, Who yields ignobly, or who bravely dies. Of all my dangers, all my glorious pains, A life of labours, lo! what fruit remains? As the bold bird her helpless young attends, From danger guards them, and from want defends; In search of prey she wings the spacious air, And with the untasted food supplies her care: For thankless Greece such hardships have I braved, Her wives, her infants, by my labours saved; Long sleepless nights in heavy arms I stood, And sweat laborious days in dust and blood. I sack’d twelve ample cities on the main,[207] And twelve lay smoking on the Trojan plain: Then at Atrides’ haughty feet were laid The wealth I gathered, and the spoils I made. Your mighty monarch these in peace possess’d; Some few my soldiers had, himself the rest. Some present, too, to every prince was paid; And every prince enjoys the gift he made: I only must refund, of all his train; See what pre-eminence our merits gain! My spoil alone his greedy soul delights: My spouse alone must bless his lustful nights: The woman, let him (as he may) enjoy; But what’s the quarrel, then, of Greece to Troy? What to these shores the assembled nations draws, What calls for vengeance but a woman’s cause? Are fair endowments and a beauteous face Beloved by none but those of Atreus’ race? The wife whom choice and passion doth approve, Sure every wise and worthy man will love. Nor did my fair one less distinction claim; Slave as she was, my soul adored the dame. Wrong’d in my love, all proffers I disdain; Deceived for once, I trust not kings again. Ye have my answer—what remains to do, Your king, Ulysses, may consult with you. What needs he the defence this arm can make?

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

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

“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.”

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

Juno and Pallas grieving hear the doom, But feast their souls on Ilion’s woes to come. Though secret anger swell’d Minerva’s breast, The prudent goddess yet her wrath repress’d; But Juno, impotent of rage, replies: “What hast thou said, O tyrant of the skies! Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne; ’Tis thine to punish; ours to grieve alone. For Greece we grieve, abandon’d by her fate To drink the dregs of thy unmeasured hate. From fields forbidden we submiss refrain, With arms unaiding see our Argives slain; Yet grant our counsels still their breasts may move, Lest all should perish in the rage of Jove.”

“Forbear (the progeny of Jove replies) To calm thy fury I forsake the skies: Let great Achilles, to the gods resign’d, To reason yield the empire o’er his mind. By awful Juno this command is given; The king and you are both the care of heaven. The force of keen reproaches let him feel; But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel. For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power) Thy injured honour has its fated hour, When the proud monarch shall thy arms implore, And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store. Then let revenge no longer bear the sway; Command thy passions, and the gods obey.”

Him thus inactive, with an ardent look The prince beheld, and high-resenting spoke. “Thy hate to Troy, is this the time to show? (O wretch ill-fated, and thy country’s foe!) Paris and Greece against us both conspire, Thy close resentment, and their vengeful ire. For thee great Ilion’s guardian heroes fall, Till heaps of dead alone defend her wall, For thee the soldier bleeds, the matron mourns, And wasteful war in all its fury burns. Ungrateful man! deserves not this thy care, Our troops to hearten, and our toils to share? Rise, or behold the conquering flames ascend, And all the Phrygian glories at an end.”

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

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

“Move me no more, (Achilles thus replies, While kindling anger sparkled in his eyes,) Nor seek by tears my steady soul to bend: To yield thy Hector I myself intend: For know, from Jove my goddess-mother came, (Old Ocean’s daughter, silver-footed dame,) Nor comest thou but by heaven; nor comest alone, Some god impels with courage not thy own: No human hand the weighty gates unbarr’d, Nor could the boldest of our youth have dared To pass our outworks, or elude the guard. Cease; lest, neglectful of high Jove’s command, I show thee, king! thou tread’st on hostile land; Release my knees, thy suppliant arts give o’er, And shake the purpose of my soul no more.”

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?”

Full fifty more from Athens stem the main, Led by Menestheus through the liquid plain. (Athens the fair, where great Erectheus sway’d, That owed his nurture to the blue-eyed maid, But from the teeming furrow took his birth, The mighty offspring of the foodful earth. Him Pallas placed amidst her wealthy fane, Adored with sacrifice and oxen slain; Where, as the years revolve, her altars blaze, And all the tribes resound the goddess’ praise.) No chief like thee, Menestheus! Greece could yield, To marshal armies in the dusty field, The extended wings of battle to display, Or close the embodied host in firm array. Nestor alone, improved by length of days, For martial conduct bore an equal praise.

Swift at the scourge the ethereal coursers fly, While the smooth chariot cuts the liquid sky. Heaven’s gates spontaneous open to the powers,[155] Heaven’s golden gates, kept by the winged Hours;[156] Commission’d in alternate watch they stand, The sun’s bright portals and the skies command, Involve in clouds the eternal gates of day, Or the dark barrier roll with ease away. The sounding hinges ring, on either side The gloomy volumes, pierced with light, divide. The chariot mounts, where deep in ambient skies, Confused, Olympus’ hundred heads arise; Where far apart the Thunderer fills his throne, O’er all the gods superior and alone. There with her snowy hand the queen restrains The fiery steeds, and thus to Jove complains:

“’Tis true (the cloud-compelling power replies) This day we call the council of the skies In care of human race; even Jove’s own eye Sees with regret unhappy mortals die. Far on Olympus’ top in secret state Ourself will sit, and see the hand of fate Work out our will. Celestial powers! descend, And as your minds direct, your succour lend To either host. Troy soon must lie o’erthrown, If uncontroll’d Achilles fights alone: Their troops but lately durst not meet his eyes; What can they now, if in his rage he rise? Assist them, gods! or Ilion’s sacred wall May fall this day, though fate forbids the fall.” He said, and fired their heavenly breasts with rage.

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

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

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

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.

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

“Enough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view’d Her walls thrice circled, and her chief pursued. But now some god within me bids me try Thine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die. Yet on the verge of battle let us stay, And for a moment’s space suspend the day; Let Heaven’s high powers be call’d to arbitrate The just conditions of this stern debate, (Eternal witnesses of all below, And faithful guardians of the treasured vow!) To them I swear; if, victor in the strife, Jove by these hands shall shed thy noble life, No vile dishonour shall thy corse pursue; Stripp’d of its arms alone (the conqueror’s due) The rest to Greece uninjured I’ll restore: Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more.”

“Fear not, O father! no ill news I bear; From Jove I come, Jove makes thee still his care; For Hector’s sake these walls he bids thee leave, And bear what stern Achilles may receive; Alone, for so he wills; no Trojan near, Except, to place the dead with decent care, Some aged herald, who with gentle hand May the slow mules and funeral car command. Nor shalt thou death, nor shalt thou danger dread: Safe through the foe by his protection led: Thee Hermes to Pelides shall convey, Guard of thy life, and partner of thy way. Fierce as he is, Achilles’ self shall spare Thy age, nor touch one venerable hair; Some thought there must be in a soul so brave, Some sense of duty, some desire to save.”

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

Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppress’d, His heart swell’d high, and labour’d in his breast; Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled; Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cool’d: That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword, Force through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord; This whispers soft his vengeance to control, And calm the rising tempest of his soul. Just as in anguish of suspense he stay’d, While half unsheathed appear’d the glittering blade,[57] Minerva swift descended from above, Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove (For both the princes claim’d her equal care); Behind she stood, and by the golden hair Achilles seized; to him alone confess’d; A sable cloud conceal’d her from the rest. He sees, and sudden to the goddess cries, Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes:

Meantime to beauteous Helen, from the skies The various goddess of the rainbow flies: (Like fair Laodice in form and face, The loveliest nymph of Priam’s royal race:) Her in the palace, at her loom she found; The golden web her own sad story crown’d, The Trojan wars she weaved (herself the prize) And the dire triumphs of her fatal eyes. To whom the goddess of the painted bow: “Approach, and view the wondrous scene below![112] Each hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight, So dreadful late, and furious for the fight, Now rest their spears, or lean upon their shields; Ceased is the war, and silent all the fields. Paris alone and Sparta’s king advance, In single fight to toss the beamy lance; Each met in arms, the fate of combat tries, Thy love the motive, and thy charms the prize.”

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

Lo! the sad father, frantic with his pain, Around him furious drives his menial train: In vain each slave with duteous care attends, Each office hurts him, and each face offends. “What make ye here, officious crowds! (he cries): Hence! nor obtrude your anguish on my eyes. Have ye no griefs at home, to fix ye there: Am I the only object of despair? Am I become my people’s common show, Set up by Jove your spectacle of woe? No, you must feel him too; yourselves must fall; The same stern god to ruin gives you all: Nor is great Hector lost by me alone; Your sole defence, your guardian power is gone! I see your blood the fields of Phrygia drown, I see the ruins of your smoking town! O send me, gods! ere that sad day shall come, A willing ghost to Pluto’s dreary dome!”

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

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

As through the forest, o’er the vale and lawn, The well-breath’d beagle drives the flying fawn, In vain he tries the covert of the brakes, Or deep beneath the trembling thicket shakes; Sure of the vapour in the tainted dews, The certain hound his various maze pursues. Thus step by step, where’er the Trojan wheel’d, There swift Achilles compass’d round the field. Oft as to reach the Dardan gates he bends, And hopes the assistance of his pitying friends, (Whose showering arrows, as he coursed below, From the high turrets might oppress the foe,) So oft Achilles turns him to the plain: He eyes the city, but he eyes in vain. As men in slumbers seem with speedy pace, One to pursue, and one to lead the chase, Their sinking limbs the fancied course forsake, Nor this can fly, nor that can overtake: No less the labouring heroes pant and strain: While that but flies, and this pursues in vain.

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

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