Iliad on Peace

He spoke, and from the warriors turn’d his face: Yet still the brother-kings of Atreus’ race. Nestor, Idomeneus, Ulysses sage, And Phœnix, strive to calm his grief and rage: His rage they calm not, nor his grief control; He groans, he raves, he sorrows from his soul.

Nestor lived in peace with his children, in Pylos, his native country.

The nations hear with rising hopes possess’d, And peaceful prospects dawn in every breast. Within the lines they drew their steeds around, And from their chariots issued on the ground; Next, all unbuckling the rich mail they wore, Laid their bright arms along the sable shore. On either side the meeting hosts are seen With lances fix’d, and close the space between. Two heralds now, despatch’d to Troy, invite The Phrygian monarch to the peaceful rite.

The thunderer spoke, nor durst the queen reply; A reverent horror silenced all the sky. The feast disturb’d, with sorrow Vulcan saw His mother menaced, and the gods in awe; Peace at his heart, and pleasure his design, Thus interposed the architect divine: “The wretched quarrels of the mortal state Are far unworthy, gods! of your debate: Let men their days in senseless strife employ, We, in eternal peace and constant joy. Thou, goddess-mother, with our sire comply, Nor break the sacred union of the sky: Lest, roused to rage, he shake the bless’d abodes, Launch the red lightning, and dethrone the gods. If you submit, the thunderer stands appeased; The gracious power is willing to be pleased.”

“Where lies my way? to enter in the wall? Honour and shame the ungenerous thought recall: Shall proud Polydamas before the gate Proclaim, his counsels are obey’d too late, Which timely follow’d but the former night, What numbers had been saved by Hector’s flight? That wise advice rejected with disdain, I feel my folly in my people slain. Methinks my suffering country’s voice I hear, But most her worthless sons insult my ear, On my rash courage charge the chance of war, And blame those virtues which they cannot share. No—if I e’er return, return I must Glorious, my country’s terror laid in dust: Or if I perish, let her see me fall In field at least, and fighting for her wall. And yet suppose these measures I forego, Approach unarm’d, and parley with the foe, The warrior-shield, the helm, and lance, lay down, And treat on terms of peace to save the town: The wife withheld, the treasure ill-detain’d (Cause of the war, and grievance of the land) With honourable justice to restore: And add half Ilion’s yet remaining store, Which Troy shall, sworn, produce; that injured Greece May share our wealth, and leave our walls in peace. But why this thought? Unarm’d if I should go, What hope of mercy from this vengeful foe, But woman-like to fall, and fall without a blow? We greet not here, as man conversing man, Met at an oak, or journeying o’er a plain; No season now for calm familiar talk, Like youths and maidens in an evening walk: War is our business, but to whom is given To die, or triumph, that, determine Heaven!”

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

When Jove, disposed to tempt Saturnia’s spleen, Thus waked the fury of his partial queen, “Two powers divine the son of Atreus aid, Imperial Juno, and the martial maid;[125] But high in heaven they sit, and gaze from far, The tame spectators of his deeds of war. Not thus fair Venus helps her favour’d knight, The queen of pleasures shares the toils of fight, Each danger wards, and constant in her care, Saves in the moment of the last despair. Her act has rescued Paris’ forfeit life, Though great Atrides gain’d the glorious strife. Then say, ye powers! what signal issue waits To crown this deed, and finish all the fates! Shall Heaven by peace the bleeding kingdoms spare, Or rouse the furies, and awake the war? Yet, would the gods for human good provide, Atrides soon might gain his beauteous bride, Still Priam’s walls in peaceful honours grow, And through his gates the crowding nations flow.”

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

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

Not all Apollo’s Pythian treasures hold, Or Troy once held, in peace and pride of sway, Can bribe the poor possession of a day! Lost herds and treasures we by arms regain, And steeds unrivall’d on the dusty plain: But from our lips the vital spirit fled, Returns no more to wake the silent dead. My fates long since by Thetis were disclosed, And each alternate, life or fame, proposed; Here, if I stay, before the Trojan town, Short is my date, but deathless my renown: If I return, I quit immortal praise For years on years, and long-extended days. Convinced, though late, I find my fond mistake, And warn the Greeks the wiser choice to make; To quit these shores, their native seats enjoy, Nor hope the fall of heaven-defended Troy. Jove’s arm display’d asserts her from the skies! Her hearts are strengthen’d, and her glories rise. Go then to Greece, report our fix’d design; Bid all your counsels, all your armies join, Let all your forces, all your arts conspire, To save the ships, the troops, the chiefs, from fire. One stratagem has fail’d, and others will: Ye find, Achilles is unconquer’d still. Go then—digest my message as ye may— But here this night let reverend Phœnix stay: His tedious toils and hoary hairs demand A peaceful death in Pythia’s friendly land. But whether he remain or sail with me, His age be sacred, and his will be free.”

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

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.”

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 calm their passion with the words of age, Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage, Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill’d; Words, sweet as honey, from his lips distill’d:[58] Two generations now had pass’d away, Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway; Two ages o’er his native realm he reign’d, And now the example of the third remain’d. All view’d with awe the venerable man; Who thus with mild benevolence began:—

“Shall then the Grecians fly! O dire disgrace! And leave unpunish’d this perfidious race? Shall Troy, shall Priam, and the adulterous spouse, In peace enjoy the fruits of broken vows? And bravest chiefs, in Helen’s quarrel slain, Lie unrevenged on yon detested plain? No: let my Greeks, unmoved by vain alarms, Once more refulgent shine in brazen arms. Haste, goddess, haste! the flying host detain, Nor let one sail be hoisted on the main.”

He said. With joy the monarch march’d before, And found Menestheus on the dusty shore, With whom the firm Athenian phalanx stands; And next Ulysses, with his subject bands. Remote their forces lay, nor knew so far The peace infringed, nor heard the sounds of war; The tumult late begun, they stood intent To watch the motion, dubious of the event. The king, who saw their squadrons yet unmoved, With hasty ardour thus the chiefs reproved:

Two cities radiant on the shield appear, The image one of peace, and one of war. Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight, And solemn dance, and hymeneal rite; Along the street the new-made brides are led, With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed: The youthful dancers in a circle bound To the soft flute, and cithern’s silver sound: Through the fair streets the matrons in a row Stand in their porches, and enjoy the show.

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

“At last is Hector stretch’d upon the plain, Who fear’d no vengeance for Patroclus slain: Then, prince! you should have fear’d, what now you feel; Achilles absent was Achilles still: Yet a short space the great avenger stayed, Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid. Peaceful he sleeps, with all our rites adorn’d, For ever honour’d, and for ever mourn’d: While cast to all the rage of hostile power, Thee birds shall mangle, and the gods devour.”

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.”

The admiring chiefs, and all the Grecian name, With general shouts return’d him loud acclaim. Then thus the king of kings rejects the peace: “Herald! in him thou hear’st the voice of Greece For what remains; let funeral flames be fed With heroes’ corps: I war not with the dead: Go search your slaughtered chiefs on yonder plain, And gratify the manes of the slain. Be witness, Jove, whose thunder rolls on high!” He said, and rear’d his sceptre to the sky.

Bold Hector and Ulysses now dispose The lists of combat, and the ground inclose: Next to decide, by sacred lots prepare, Who first shall launch his pointed spear in air. The people pray with elevated hands, And words like these are heard through all the bands: “Immortal Jove, high Heaven’s superior lord, On lofty Ida’s holy mount adored! Whoe’er involved us in this dire debate, O give that author of the war to fate And shades eternal! let division cease, And joyful nations join in leagues of peace.”

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

While from the centre Hector rolls his eyes On either host, and thus to both applies: “Hear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands, What Paris, author of the war, demands. Your shining swords within the sheath restrain, And pitch your lances in the yielding plain. Here in the midst, in either army’s sight, He dares the Spartan king to single fight; And wills that Helen and the ravish’d spoil, That caused the contest, shall reward the toil. Let these the brave triumphant victor grace, And different nations part in leagues of peace.”

The senior spoke and sate. To whom replied The graceful husband of the Spartan bride: “Cold counsels, Trojan, may become thy years But sound ungrateful in a warrior’s ears: Old man, if void of fallacy or art, Thy words express the purpose of thy heart, Thou, in thy time, more sound advice hast given; But wisdom has its date, assign’d by heaven. Then hear me, princes of the Trojan name! Their treasures I’ll restore, but not the dame; My treasures too, for peace, I will resign; But be this bright possession ever mine.”

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

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

Stern Diomed with either Ajax stood, And great Ulysses, bathed in hostile blood. Embodied close, the labouring Grecian train The fiercest shock of charging hosts sustain. Unmoved and silent, the whole war they wait Serenely dreadful, and as fix’d as fate. So when the embattled clouds in dark array, Along the skies their gloomy lines display; When now the North his boisterous rage has spent, And peaceful sleeps the liquid element: The low-hung vapours, motionless and still, Rest on the summits of the shaded hill; Till the mass scatters as the winds arise, Dispersed and broken through the ruffled skies.

“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.”

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

Meantime the heralds, through the crowded town, Bring the rich wine and destined victims down. Idæus’ arms the golden goblets press’d,[119] Who thus the venerable king address’d: “Arise, O father of the Trojan state! The nations call, thy joyful people wait To seal the truce, and end the dire debate. Paris, thy son, and Sparta’s king advance, In measured lists to toss the weighty lance; And who his rival shall in arms subdue, His be the dame, and his the treasure too. Thus with a lasting league our toils may cease, And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace: So shall the Greeks review their native shore, Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.”

“Ye sons of Atreus, and ye Greeks, give ear! The words of Troy, and Troy’s great monarch, hear. Pleased may ye hear (so heaven succeed my prayers) What Paris, author of the war, declares. The spoils and treasures he to Ilion bore (Oh had he perish’d ere they touch’d our shore!) He proffers injured Greece: with large increase Of added Trojan wealth to buy the peace. But to restore the beauteous bride again, This Greece demands, and Troy requests in vain. Next, O ye chiefs! we ask a truce to burn Our slaughter’d heroes, and their bones inurn. That done, once more the fate of war be tried, And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!”

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

“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]

To whom the leader of the Dardan race: “Be calm, nor Phœbus’ honour’d gift disgrace. The distant dart be praised, though here we need The rushing chariot and the bounding steed. Against yon hero let us bend our course, And, hand to hand, encounter force with force. Now mount my seat, and from the chariot’s height Observe my father’s steeds, renown’d in fight; Practised alike to turn, to stop, to chase, To dare the shock, or urge the rapid race; Secure with these, through fighting fields we go; Or safe to Troy, if Jove assist the foe. Haste, seize the whip, and snatch the guiding rein; The warrior’s fury let this arm sustain; Or, if to combat thy bold heart incline, Take thou the spear, the chariot’s care be mine.”

These thou mayst raze, nor I forbid their fall: ’Tis not in me the vengeance to remove; The crime’s sufficient that they share my love. Of power superior why should I complain? Resent I may, but must resent in vain. Yet some distinction Juno might require, Sprung with thyself from one celestial sire, A goddess born, to share the realms above, And styled the consort of the thundering Jove; Nor thou a wife and sister’s right deny;[128] Let both consent, and both by terms comply; So shall the gods our joint decrees obey, And heaven shall act as we direct the way. See ready Pallas waits thy high commands To raise in arms the Greek and Phrygian bands; Their sudden friendship by her arts may cease, And the proud Trojans first infringe the peace.”

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:

The sire of men and monarch of the sky The advice approved, and bade Minerva fly, Dissolve the league, and all her arts employ To make the breach the faithless act of Troy. Fired with the charge, she headlong urged her flight, And shot like lightning from Olympus’ height. As the red comet, from Saturnius sent To fright the nations with a dire portent, (A fatal sign to armies on the plain, Or trembling sailors on the wintry main,) With sweeping glories glides along in air, And shakes the sparkles from its blazing hair:[129] Between both armies thus, in open sight Shot the bright goddess in a trail of light, With eyes erect the gazing hosts admire The power descending, and the heavens on fire! “The gods (they cried), the gods this signal sent, And fate now labours with some vast event: Jove seals the league, or bloodier scenes prepares; Jove, the great arbiter of peace and wars.”

Tlepolemus, the son of Hercules, Led nine swift vessels through the foamy seas, From Rhodes, with everlasting sunshine bright, Jalyssus, Lindus, and Camirus white. His captive mother fierce Alcides bore From Ephyr’s walls and Sellè’s winding shore, Where mighty towns in ruins spread the plain, And saw their blooming warriors early slain. The hero, when to manly years he grew, Alcides’ uncle, old Licymnius, slew; For this, constrain’d to quit his native place, And shun the vengeance of the Herculean race, A fleet he built, and with a numerous train Of willing exiles wander’d o’er the main; Where, many seas and many sufferings past, On happy Rhodes the chief arrived at last: There in three tribes divides his native band, And rules them peaceful in a foreign land; Increased and prosper’d in their new abodes By mighty Jove, the sire of men and gods; With joy they saw the growing empire rise, And showers of wealth descending from the skies.

“Peace, factious monster, born to vex the state, With wrangling talents form’d for foul debate: Curb that impetuous tongue, nor rashly vain, And singly mad, asperse the sovereign reign. Have we not known thee, slave! of all our host, The man who acts the least, upbraids the most? Think not the Greeks to shameful flight to bring, Nor let those lips profane the name of king. For our return we trust the heavenly powers; Be that their care; to fight like men be ours. But grant the host with wealth the general load, Except detraction, what hast thou bestow’d? Suppose some hero should his spoils resign, Art thou that hero, could those spoils be thine? Gods! let me perish on this hateful shore, And let these eyes behold my son no more; If, on thy next offence, this hand forbear To strip those arms thou ill deserv’st to wear, Expel the council where our princes meet, And send thee scourged and howling through the fleet.”

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

“Ah think, thou favour’d of the powers divine![295] Think of thy father’s age, and pity mine! In me that father’s reverend image trace, Those silver hairs, that venerable face; His trembling limbs, his helpless person, see! In all my equal, but in misery! Yet now, perhaps, some turn of human fate Expels him helpless from his peaceful state; Think, from some powerful foe thou seest him fly, And beg protection with a feeble cry. Yet still one comfort in his soul may rise; He hears his son still lives to glad his eyes, And, hearing, still may hope a better day May send him thee, to chase that foe away. No comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain, The best, the bravest, of my sons are slain! Yet what a race! ere Greece to Ilion came, The pledge of many a loved and loving dame: Nineteen one mother bore—Dead, all are dead! How oft, alas! has wretched Priam bled! Still one was left their loss to recompense; His father’s hope, his country’s last defence. Him too thy rage has slain! beneath thy steel, Unhappy in his country’s cause he fell!

His silence here, with blushes, Paris breaks: “’Tis just, my brother, what your anger speaks: But who like thee can boast a soul sedate, So firmly proof to all the shocks of fate? Thy force, like steel, a temper’d hardness shows, Still edged to wound, and still untired with blows, Like steel, uplifted by some strenuous swain, With falling woods to strew the wasted plain. Thy gifts I praise; nor thou despise the charms With which a lover golden Venus arms; Soft moving speech, and pleasing outward show, No wish can gain them, but the gods bestow. Yet, would’st thou have the proffer’d combat stand, The Greeks and Trojans seat on either hand; Then let a midway space our hosts divide, And, on that stage of war, the cause be tried: By Paris there the Spartan king be fought, For beauteous Helen and the wealth she brought; And who his rival can in arms subdue, His be the fair, and his the treasure too. Thus with a lasting league your toils may cease, And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace; Thus may the Greeks review their native shore, Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.”

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

“O first of Greeks, (Ulysses thus rejoin’d,) The best and bravest of the warrior kind! Thy praise it is in dreadful camps to shine, But old experience and calm wisdom mine. Then hear my counsel, and to reason yield, The bravest soon are satiate of the field; Though vast the heaps that strow the crimson plain, The bloody harvest brings but little gain: The scale of conquest ever wavering lies, Great Jove but turns it, and the victor dies! The great, the bold, by thousands daily fall, And endless were the grief, to weep for all. Eternal sorrows what avails to shed? Greece honours not with solemn fasts the dead: Enough, when death demands the brave, to pay The tribute of a melancholy day. One chief with patience to the grave resign’d, Our care devolves on others left behind. Let generous food supplies of strength produce, Let rising spirits flow from sprightly juice, Let their warm heads with scenes of battle glow, And pour new furies on the feebler foe. Yet a short interval, and none shall dare Expect a second summons to the war; Who waits for that, the dire effects shall find, If trembling in the ships he lags behind. Embodied, to the battle let us bend, And all at once on haughty Troy descend.”

He spoke, and, at his word, the Trojan train Their mules and oxen harness to the wain, Pour through the gates, and fell’d from Ida’s crown, Roll back the gather’d forests to the town. These toils continue nine succeeding days, And high in air a sylvan structure raise. But when the tenth fair morn began to shine, Forth to the pile was borne the man divine, And placed aloft; while all, with streaming eyes, Beheld the flames and rolling smokes arise. Soon as Aurora, daughter of the dawn, With rosy lustre streak’d the dewy lawn, Again the mournful crowds surround the pyre, And quench with wine the yet remaining fire. The snowy bones his friends and brothers place (With tears collected) in a golden vase; The golden vase in purple palls they roll’d, Of softest texture, and inwrought with gold. Last o’er the urn the sacred earth they spread, And raised the tomb, memorial of the dead. (Strong guards and spies, till all the rites were done, Watch’d from the rising to the setting sun.) All Troy then moves to Priam’s court again, A solemn, silent, melancholy train: Assembled there, from pious toil they rest, And sadly shared the last sepulchral feast. Such honours Ilion to her hero paid, And peaceful slept the mighty Hector’s shade.[300]

The sire whose thunder shakes the cloudy skies, Sighs from his inmost soul, and thus replies: “Oh lasting rancour! oh insatiate hate To Phrygia’s monarch, and the Phrygian state! What high offence has fired the wife of Jove? Can wretched mortals harm the powers above, That Troy, and Troy’s whole race thou wouldst confound, And yon fair structures level with the ground! Haste, leave the skies, fulfil thy stern desire, Burst all her gates, and wrap her walls in fire! Let Priam bleed! if yet you thirst for more, Bleed all his sons, and Ilion float with gore: To boundless vengeance the wide realm be given, Till vast destruction glut the queen of heaven! So let it be, and Jove his peace enjoy,[126] When heaven no longer hears the name of Troy. But should this arm prepare to wreak our hate On thy loved realms, whose guilt demands their fate; Presume not thou the lifted bolt to stay, Remember Troy, and give the vengeance way. For know, of all the numerous towns that rise Beneath the rolling sun and starry skies, Which gods have raised, or earth-born men enjoy, None stands so dear to Jove as sacred Troy. No mortals merit more distinguish’d grace Than godlike Priam, or than Priam’s race. Still to our name their hecatombs expire, And altars blaze with unextinguish’d fire.”

With words like these the troops Ulysses ruled, The loudest silenced, and the fiercest cool’d. Back to the assembly roll the thronging train, Desert the ships, and pour upon the plain. Murmuring they move, as when old ocean roars, And heaves huge surges to the trembling shores; The groaning banks are burst with bellowing sound, The rocks remurmur and the deeps rebound. At length the tumult sinks, the noises cease, And a still silence lulls the camp to peace. Thersites only clamour’d in the throng, Loquacious, loud, and turbulent of tongue: Awed by no shame, by no respect controll’d, In scandal busy, in reproaches bold: With witty malice studious to defame, Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim:— But chief he gloried with licentious style To lash the great, and monarchs to revile. His figure such as might his soul proclaim; One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame: His mountain shoulders half his breast o’erspread, Thin hairs bestrew’d his long misshapen head. Spleen to mankind his envious heart possess’d, And much he hated all, but most the best: Ulysses or Achilles still his theme; But royal scandal his delight supreme, Long had he lived the scorn of every Greek, Vex’d when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak. Sharp was his voice; which in the shrillest tone, Thus with injurious taunts attack’d the throne.

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 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, 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.

“What shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy To Troy’s proud monarch, and the friends of Troy! That adverse gods commit to stern debate The best, the bravest, of the Grecian state. Young as ye are, this youthful heat restrain, Nor think your Nestor’s years and wisdom vain. A godlike race of heroes once I knew, Such as no more these aged eyes shall view! Lives there a chief to match Pirithous’ fame, Dryas the bold, or Ceneus’ deathless name; Theseus, endued with more than mortal might, Or Polyphemus, like the gods in fight? With these of old, to toils of battle bred, In early youth my hardy days I led; Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds, And smit with love of honourable deeds, Strongest of men, they pierced the mountain boar, Ranged the wild deserts red with monsters’ gore, And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore: Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway’d; When Nestor spoke, they listen’d and obey’d. If in my youth, even these esteem’d me wise; Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise. Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave; That prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave: Nor thou, Achilles, treat our prince with pride; Let kings be just, and sovereign power preside. Thee, the first honours of the war adorn, Like gods in strength, and of a goddess born; Him, awful majesty exalts above The powers of earth, and sceptred sons of Jove. Let both unite with well-consenting mind, So shall authority with strength be join’d. Leave me, O king! to calm Achilles’ rage; Rule thou thyself, as more advanced in age. Forbid it, gods! Achilles should be lost, The pride of Greece, and bulwark of our host.”

To sacred Troy, where all her princes lay To wait the event, the herald bent his way. He came, and standing in the midst, explain’d The peace rejected, but the truce obtain’d. Straight to their several cares the Trojans move, Some search the plains, some fell the sounding grove: Nor less the Greeks, descending on the shore, Hew’d the green forests, and the bodies bore. And now from forth the chambers of the main, To shed his sacred light on earth again, Arose the golden chariot of the day, And tipp’d the mountains with a purple ray. In mingled throngs the Greek and Trojan train Through heaps of carnage search’d the mournful plain. Scarce could the friend his slaughter’d friend explore, With dust dishonour’d, and deformed with gore. The wounds they wash’d, their pious tears they shed, And, laid along their cars, deplored the dead. Sage Priam check’d their grief: with silent haste The bodies decent on the piles were placed: With melting hearts the cold remains they burn’d, And, sadly slow, to sacred Troy return’d. Nor less the Greeks their pious sorrows shed, And decent on the pile dispose the dead; The cold remains consume with equal care; And slowly, sadly, to their fleet repair. Now, ere the morn had streak’d with reddening light The doubtful confines of the day and night, About the dying flames the Greeks appear’d, And round the pile a general tomb they rear’d. Then, to secure the camp and naval powers, They raised embattled walls with lofty towers:[186] From space to space were ample gates around, For passing chariots, and a trench profound Of large extent; and deep in earth below, Strong piles infix’d stood adverse to the foe.

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.

The mother first beheld with sad survey; She rent her tresses, venerable grey, And cast, far off, the regal veils away. With piercing shrieks his bitter fate she moans, While the sad father answers groans with groans, Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o’erflow, And the whole city wears one face of woe: No less than if the rage of hostile fires, From her foundations curling to her spires, O’er the proud citadel at length should rise, And the last blaze send Ilion to the skies. The wretched monarch of the falling state, Distracted, presses to the Dardan gate. Scarce the whole people stop his desperate course, While strong affliction gives the feeble force: Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro, In all the raging impotence of woe. At length he roll’d in dust, and thus begun, Imploring all, and naming one by one: “Ah! let me, let me go where sorrow calls; I, only I, will issue from your walls (Guide or companion, friends! I ask ye none), And bow before the murderer of my son. My grief perhaps his pity may engage; Perhaps at least he may respect my age. He has a father too; a man like me; One, not exempt from age and misery (Vigorous no more, as when his young embrace Begot this pest of me, and all my race). How many valiant sons, in early bloom, Has that cursed hand sent headlong to the tomb! Thee, Hector! last: thy loss (divinely brave) Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave. O had thy gentle spirit pass’d in peace, The son expiring in the sire’s embrace, While both thy parents wept the fatal hour, And, bending o’er thee, mix’d the tender shower! Some comfort that had been, some sad relief, To melt in full satiety of grief!”

He said, and rising, high above the field Whirl’d the long lance against the sevenfold shield. Full on the brass descending from above Through six bull-hides the furious weapon drove, Till in the seventh it fix’d. Then Ajax threw; Through Hector’s shield the forceful javelin flew, His corslet enters, and his garment rends, And glancing downwards, near his flank descends. The wary Trojan shrinks, and bending low Beneath his buckler, disappoints the blow. From their bored shields the chiefs their javelins drew, Then close impetuous, and the charge renew; Fierce as the mountain-lions bathed in blood, Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood. At Ajax, Hector his long lance extends; The blunted point against the buckler bends; But Ajax, watchful as his foe drew near, Drove through the Trojan targe the knotty spear; It reach’d his neck, with matchless strength impell’d! Spouts the black gore, and dims his shining shield. Yet ceased not Hector thus; but stooping down, In his strong hand up-heaved a flinty stone, Black, craggy, vast: to this his force he bends; Full on the brazen boss the stone descends; The hollow brass resounded with the shock: Then Ajax seized the fragment of a rock, Applied each nerve, and swinging round on high, With force tempestuous, let the ruin fly; The huge stone thundering through his buckler broke: His slacken’d knees received the numbing stroke; Great Hector falls extended on the field, His bulk supporting on the shatter’d shield: Nor wanted heavenly aid: Apollo’s might Confirm’d his sinews, and restored to fight. And now both heroes their broad falchions drew In flaming circles round their heads they flew; But then by heralds’ voice the word was given. The sacred ministers of earth and heaven: Divine Talthybius, whom the Greeks employ, And sage Idæus on the part of Troy, Between the swords their peaceful sceptres rear’d; And first Idæus’ awful voice was heard:

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.

“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.”

“’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.

“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!