Iliad on Pride

So spoke the inspiring god; then took his flight, And plunged amidst the tumult of the fight. He bids Cebrion drive the rapid car; The lash resounds, the coursers rush to war. The god the Grecians’ sinking souls depress’d, And pour’d swift spirits through each Trojan breast. Patroclus lights, impatient for the fight; A spear his left, a stone employs his right: With all his nerves he drives it at the foe. Pointed above, and rough and gross below: The falling ruin crush’d Cebrion’s head, The lawless offspring of king Priam’s bed; His front, brows, eyes, one undistinguish’d wound: The bursting balls drop sightless to the ground. The charioteer, while yet he held the rein, Struck from the car, falls headlong on the plain. To the dark shades the soul unwilling glides, While the proud victor thus his fall derides.

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:

“Great king of nations! (Ithacus replied) Fix’d is his wrath, unconquer’d is his pride; He slights thy friendship, thy proposals scorns, And, thus implored, with fiercer fury burns. To save our army, and our fleets to free, Is not his care; but left to Greece and thee. Your eyes shall view, when morning paints the sky, Beneath his oars the whitening billows fly; Us too he bids our oars and sails employ, Nor hope the fall of heaven-protected Troy; For Jove o’ershades her with his arm divine, Inspires her war, and bids her glory shine. Such was his word: what further he declared, These sacred heralds and great Ajax heard. But Phœnix in his tent the chief retains, Safe to transport him to his native plains When morning dawns; if other he decree, His age is sacred, and his choice is free.”

“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.”

He dauntless thus: “Thou conqueror of the fair, Thou woman-warrior with the curling hair; Vain archer! trusting to the distant dart, Unskill’d in arms to act a manly part! Thou hast but done what boys or women can; Such hands may wound, but not incense a man. Nor boast the scratch thy feeble arrow gave, A coward’s weapon never hurts the brave. Not so this dart, which thou may’st one day feel; Fate wings its flight, and death is on the steel: Where this but lights, some noble life expires; Its touch makes orphans, bathes the cheeks of sires, Steeps earth in purple, gluts the birds of air, And leaves such objects as distract the fair.” Ulysses hastens with a trembling heart, Before him steps, and bending draws the dart: Forth flows the blood; an eager pang succeeds; Tydides mounts, and to the navy speeds.

Him, proud in triumph, glittering from afar, The god whose thunder rends the troubled air Beheld with pity; as apart he sat, And, conscious, look’d through all the scene of fate. He shook the sacred honours of his head; Olympus trembled, and the godhead said; “Ah, wretched man! unmindful of thy end! A moment’s glory; and what fates attend! In heavenly panoply divinely bright Thou stand’st, and armies tremble at thy sight, As at Achilles’ self! beneath thy dart Lies slain the great Achilles’ dearer part. Thou from the mighty dead those arms hast torn, Which once the greatest of mankind had worn. Yet live! I give thee one illustrious day, A blaze of glory ere thou fad’st away. For ah! no more Andromache shall come With joyful tears to welcome Hector home; No more officious, with endearing charms, From thy tired limbs unbrace Pelides’ arms!”

“What brings this Lycian counsellor so far, To tremble at our arms, not mix in war! Know thy vain self, nor let their flattery move, Who style thee son of cloud-compelling Jove. How far unlike those chiefs of race divine, How vast the difference of their deeds and thine! Jove got such heroes as my sire, whose soul No fear could daunt, nor earth nor hell control. Troy felt his arm, and yon proud ramparts stand Raised on the ruins of his vengeful hand: With six small ships, and but a slender train, He left the town a wide-deserted plain. But what art thou, who deedless look’st around, While unrevenged thy Lycians bite the ground! Small aid to Troy thy feeble force can be; But wert thou greater, thou must yield to me. Pierced by my spear, to endless darkness go! I make this present to the shades below.”

As thus, with glorious air and proud disdain, He boldly stalk’d, the foremost on the plain, Him Menelaus, loved of Mars, espies, With heart elated, and with joyful eyes: So joys a lion, if the branching deer, Or mountain goat, his bulky prize, appear; Eager he seizes and devours the slain, Press’d by bold youths and baying dogs in vain. Thus fond of vengeance, with a furious bound, In clanging arms he leaps upon the ground From his high chariot: him, approaching near, The beauteous champion views with marks of fear, Smit with a conscious sense, retires behind, And shuns the fate he well deserved to find. As when some shepherd, from the rustling trees[110] Shot forth to view, a scaly serpent sees, Trembling and pale, he starts with wild affright And all confused precipitates his flight: So from the king the shining warrior flies, And plunged amid the thickest Trojans lies.

“Ah, dearest friend! in whom the gods had join’d[298] The mildest manners with the bravest mind, Now twice ten years (unhappy years) are o’er Since Paris brought me to the Trojan shore, (O had I perish’d, ere that form divine Seduced this soft, this easy heart of mine!) Yet was it ne’er my fate, from thee to find A deed ungentle, or a word unkind. When others cursed the authoress of their woe, Thy pity check’d my sorrows in their flow. If some proud brother eyed me with disdain, Or scornful sister with her sweeping train, Thy gentle accents soften’d all my pain. For thee I mourn, and mourn myself in thee, The wretched source of all this misery. The fate I caused, for ever I bemoan; Sad Helen has no friend, now thou art gone! Through Troy’s wide streets abandon’d shall I roam! In Troy deserted, as abhorr’d at home!”

“Hence let us go—why waste we time in vain? See what effect our low submissions gain! Liked or not liked, his words we must relate, The Greeks expect them, and our heroes wait. Proud as he is, that iron heart retains Its stubborn purpose, and his friends disdains. Stern and unpitying! if a brother bleed, On just atonement, we remit the deed; A sire the slaughter of his son forgives; The price of blood discharged, the murderer lives: The haughtiest hearts at length their rage resign, And gifts can conquer every soul but thine.[213] The gods that unrelenting breast have steel’d, And cursed thee with a mind that cannot yield. One woman-slave was ravish’d from thy arms: Lo, seven are offer’d, and of equal charms. Then hear, Achilles! be of better mind; Revere thy roof, and to thy guests be kind; And know the men of all the Grecian host, Who honour worth, and prize thy valour most.”

Pallas disrobes; her radiant veil untied, With flowers adorn’d, with art diversified, (The laboured veil her heavenly fingers wove,) Flows on the pavement of the court of Jove. Now heaven’s dread arms her mighty limbs invest, Jove’s cuirass blazes on her ample breast; Deck’d in sad triumph for the mournful field, O’er her broad shoulders hangs his horrid shield, Dire, black, tremendous! Round the margin roll’d, A fringe of serpents hissing guards the gold: Here all the terrors of grim War appear, Here rages Force, here tremble Flight and Fear, Here storm’d Contention, and here Fury frown’d, And the dire orb portentous Gorgon crown’d. The massy golden helm she next assumes, That dreadful nods with four o’ershading plumes; So vast, the broad circumference contains A hundred armies on a hundred plains. The goddess thus the imperial car ascends; Shook by her arm the mighty javelin bends, Ponderous and huge; that when her fury burns, Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns.

“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.”

This Hector saw, and thus express’d his joy: “Ye troops of Lycia, Dardanus, and Troy! Be mindful of yourselves, your ancient fame, And spread your glory with the navy’s flame. Jove is with us; I saw his hand, but now, From the proud archer strike his vaunted bow: Indulgent Jove! how plain thy favours shine, When happy nations bear the marks divine! How easy then, to see the sinking state Of realms accursed, deserted, reprobate! Such is the fate of Greece, and such is ours: Behold, ye warriors, and exert your powers. Death is the worst; a fate which all must try; And for our country, ’tis a bliss to die. The gallant man, though slain in fight he be, Yet leaves his nation safe, his children free; Entails a debt on all the grateful state; His own brave friends shall glory in his fate; His wife live honour’d, all his race succeed, And late posterity enjoy the deed!”

“Then sleep those aids among the Trojan train, (Inquired the chief,) or scattered o’er the plain?” To whom the spy: “Their powers they thus dispose The Paeons, dreadful with their bended bows, The Carians, Caucons, the Pelasgian host, And Leleges, encamp along the coast. Not distant far, lie higher on the land The Lycian, Mysian, and Mæonian band, And Phrygia’s horse, by Thymbras’ ancient wall; The Thracians utmost, and apart from all. These Troy but lately to her succour won, Led on by Rhesus, great Eioneus’ son: I saw his coursers in proud triumph go, Swift as the wind, and white as winter-snow; Rich silver plates his shining car infold; His solid arms, refulgent, flame with gold; No mortal shoulders suit the glorious load, Celestial panoply, to grace a god! Let me, unhappy, to your fleet be borne, Or leave me here, a captive’s fate to mourn, In cruel chains, till your return reveal The truth or falsehood of the news I tell.”

To him thus Nestor: “Trust the powers above, Nor think proud Hector’s hopes confirm’d by Jove: How ill agree the views of vain mankind, And the wise counsels of the eternal mind! Audacious Hector, if the gods ordain That great Achilles rise and rage again, What toils attend thee, and what woes remain! Lo, faithful Nestor thy command obeys; The care is next our other chiefs to raise: Ulysses, Diomed, we chiefly need; Meges for strength, Oïleus famed for speed. Some other be despatch’d of nimbler feet, To those tall ships, remotest of the fleet, Where lie great Ajax and the king of Crete.[216] To rouse the Spartan I myself decree; Dear as he is to us, and dear to thee, Yet must I tax his sloth, that claims no share With his great brother in his martial care: Him it behoved to every chief to sue, Preventing every part perform’d by you; For strong necessity our toils demands, Claims all our hearts, and urges all our hands.”

(That large reprisal he might justly claim, For prize defrauded, and insulted fame, When Elis’ monarch, at the public course, Detain’d his chariot, and victorious horse.) The rest the people shared; myself survey’d The just partition, and due victims paid. Three days were past, when Elis rose to war, With many a courser, and with many a car; The sons of Actor at their army’s head (Young as they were) the vengeful squadrons led. High on the rock fair Thryoessa stands, Our utmost frontier on the Pylian lands: Not far the streams of famed Alphaeus flow: The stream they pass’d, and pitch’d their tents below. Pallas, descending in the shades of night, Alarms the Pylians and commands the fight. Each burns for fame, and swells with martial pride, Myself the foremost; but my sire denied; Fear’d for my youth, exposed to stern alarms; And stopp’d my chariot, and detain’d my arms. My sire denied in vain: on foot I fled Amidst our chariots; for the goddess led.

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.”

High on a throne, with stars of silver graced, And various artifice, the queen she placed; A footstool at her feet: then calling, said, “Vulcan, draw near, ’tis Thetis asks your aid.” “Thetis (replied the god) our powers may claim, An ever-dear, an ever-honour’d name! When my proud mother hurl’d me from the sky, (My awkward form, it seems, displeased her eye,) She, and Eurynome, my griefs redress’d, And soft received me on their silver breast. Even then these arts employ’d my infant thought: Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys, I wrought. Nine years kept secret in the dark abode, Secure I lay, conceal’d from man and god: Deep in a cavern’d rock my days were led; The rushing ocean murmur’d o’er my head. Now, since her presence glads our mansion, say, For such desert what service can I pay? Vouchsafe, O Thetis! at our board to share The genial rites, and hospitable fare; While I the labours of the forge forego, And bid the roaring bellows cease to blow.”

Threatening he said: the hostile chiefs advance; At once Asteropeus discharged each lance, (For both his dexterous hands the lance could wield,) One struck, but pierced not, the Vulcanian shield; One razed Achilles’ hand; the spouting blood Spun forth; in earth the fasten’d weapon stood. Like lightning next the Pelean javelin flies: Its erring fury hiss’d along the skies; Deep in the swelling bank was driven the spear, Even to the middle earth; and quiver’d there. Then from his side the sword Pelides drew, And on his foe with double fury flew. The foe thrice tugg’d, and shook the rooted wood; Repulsive of his might the weapon stood: The fourth, he tries to break the spear in vain; Bent as he stands, he tumbles to the plain; His belly open’d with a ghastly wound, The reeking entrails pour upon the ground. Beneath the hero’s feet he panting lies, And his eye darkens, and his spirit flies; While the proud victor thus triumphing said, His radiant armour tearing from the dead:

The king then ask’d (as yet the camp he view’d) “What chief is that, with giant strength endued, Whose brawny shoulders, and whose swelling chest, And lofty stature, far exceed the rest? “Ajax the great, (the beauteous queen replied,) Himself a host: the Grecian strength and pride. See! bold Idomeneus superior towers Amid yon circle of his Cretan powers, Great as a god! I saw him once before, With Menelaus on the Spartan shore. The rest I know, and could in order name; All valiant chiefs, and men of mighty fame. Yet two are wanting of the numerous train, Whom long my eyes have sought, but sought in vain: Castor and Pollux, first in martial force, One bold on foot, and one renown’d for horse. My brothers these; the same our native shore, One house contain’d us, as one mother bore. Perhaps the chiefs, from warlike toils at ease, For distant Troy refused to sail the seas; Perhaps their swords some nobler quarrel draws, Ashamed to combat in their sister’s cause.”

Twelve days were past, and now the dawning light The gods had summon’d to the Olympian height: Jove, first ascending from the watery bowers, Leads the long order of ethereal powers. When, like the morning-mist in early day, Rose from the flood the daughter of the sea: And to the seats divine her flight address’d. There, far apart, and high above the rest, The thunderer sat; where old Olympus shrouds His hundred heads in heaven, and props the clouds. Suppliant the goddess stood: one hand she placed Beneath his beard, and one his knees embraced. “If e’er, O father of the gods! (she said) My words could please thee, or my actions aid, Some marks of honour on my son bestow, And pay in glory what in life you owe. Fame is at least by heavenly promise due To life so short, and now dishonour’d too. Avenge this wrong, O ever just and wise! Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise; Till the proud king and all the Achaian race Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace.”

The troops exulting sat in order round, And beaming fires illumined all the ground. As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,[198] O’er heaven’s pure azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o’ercasts the solemn scene, Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumber’d gild the glowing pole, O’er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain’s head: Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, A flood of glory bursts from all the skies: The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light. So many flames before proud Ilion blaze, And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays. The long reflections of the distant fires Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires. A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild, And shoot a shady lustre o’er the field. Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend, Whose umber’d arms, by fits, thick flashes send, Loud neigh the coursers o’er their heaps of corn, And ardent warriors wait the rising morn.

“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.”

Then first thy spear, divine Patroclus! flew, Where the war raged, and where the tumult grew. Close to the stern of that famed ship which bore Unbless’d Protesilaus to Ilion’s shore, The great Pæonian, bold Pyrechmes stood; (Who led his bands from Axius’ winding flood;) His shoulder-blade receives the fatal wound; The groaning warrior pants upon the ground. His troops, that see their country’s glory slain, Fly diverse, scatter’d o’er the distant plain. Patroclus’ arm forbids the spreading fires, And from the half-burn’d ship proud Troy retires; Clear’d from the smoke the joyful navy lies; In heaps on heaps the foe tumultuous flies; Triumphant Greece her rescued decks ascends, And loud acclaim the starry region rends. So when thick clouds enwrap the mountain’s head, O’er heaven’s expanse like one black ceiling spread; Sudden the Thunderer, with a flashing ray, Bursts through the darkness, and lets down the day: The hills shine out, the rocks in prospect rise, And streams, and vales, and forests, strike the eyes; The smiling scene wide opens to the sight, And all the unmeasured ether flames with light.

“Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates! (How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!) The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend, And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind, My mother’s death, the ruin of my kind, Not Priam’s hoary hairs defiled with gore, Not all my brothers gasping on the shore; As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread: I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led! In Argive looms our battles to design, And woes, of which so large a part was thine! To bear the victor’s hard commands, or bring The weight of waters from Hyperia’s spring. There while you groan beneath the load of life, They cry, ‘Behold the mighty Hector’s wife!’ Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, Imbitters all thy woes, by naming me. The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, A thousand griefs shall waken at the name! May I lie cold before that dreadful day, Press’d with a load of monumental clay! Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.”

Now near the Greeks the black battalions drew; And first two leaders valiant Hector slew: His force Anchialus and Mnesthes found, In every art of glorious war renown’d; In the same car the chiefs to combat ride, And fought united, and united died. Struck at the sight, the mighty Ajax glows With thirst of vengeance, and assaults the foes. His massy spear with matchless fury sent, Through Amphius’ belt and heaving belly went; Amphius Apæsus’ happy soil possess’d, With herds abounding, and with treasure bless’d; But fate resistless from his country led The chief, to perish at his people’s head. Shook with his fall his brazen armour rung, And fierce, to seize it, conquering Ajax sprung; Around his head an iron tempest rain’d; A wood of spears his ample shield sustain’d: Beneath one foot the yet warm corpse he press’d, And drew his javelin from the bleeding breast: He could no more; the showering darts denied To spoil his glittering arms, and plumy pride. Now foes on foes came pouring on the fields, With bristling lances, and compacted shields; Till in the steely circle straiten’d round, Forced he gives way, and sternly quits the ground.

From ship to ship thus Ajax swiftly flew, No less the wonder of the warring crew. As furious, Hector thunder’d threats aloud, And rush’d enraged before the Trojan crowd; Then swift invades the ships, whose beaky prores Lay rank’d contiguous on the bending shores; So the strong eagle from his airy height, Who marks the swans’ or cranes’ embodied flight, Stoops down impetuous, while they light for food, And, stooping, darkens with his wings the flood. Jove leads him on with his almighty hand, And breathes fierce spirits in his following band. The warring nations meet, the battle roars, Thick beats the combat on the sounding prores. Thou wouldst have thought, so furious was their fire, No force could tame them, and no toil could tire; As if new vigour from new fights they won, And the long battle was but then begun. Greece, yet unconquer’d, kept alive the war, Secure of death, confiding in despair: Troy in proud hopes already view’d the main Bright with the blaze, and red with heroes slain: Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair, And each contends, as his were all the war.

Meanwhile the rushing armies hide the ground; The trampled centre yields a hollow sound: Steeds cased in mail, and chiefs in armour bright, The gleaming champaign glows with brazen light. Amid both hosts (a dreadful space) appear, There great Achilles; bold Æneas, here. With towering strides Æneas first advanced; The nodding plumage on his helmet danced: Spread o’er his breast the fencing shield he bore, And, so he moved, his javelin flamed before. Not so Pelides; furious to engage, He rush’d impetuous. Such the lion’s rage, Who viewing first his foes with scornful eyes, Though all in arms the peopled city rise, Stalks careless on, with unregarding pride; Till at the length, by some brave youth defied, To his bold spear the savage turns alone, He murmurs fury with a hollow groan; He grins, he foams, he rolls his eyes around, Lash’d by his tail his heaving sides resound; He calls up all his rage; he grinds his teeth, Resolved on vengeance, or resolved on death. So fierce Achilles on Æneas flies; So stands Æneas, and his force defies. Ere yet the stern encounter join’d, begun The seed of Thetis thus to Venus’ son:

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.”

Then to the next the general bends his course; (His heart exults, and glories in his force); There reverend Nestor ranks his Pylian bands, And with inspiring eloquence commands; With strictest order sets his train in arms, The chiefs advises, and the soldiers warms. Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, round him wait, Bias the good, and Pelagon the great. The horse and chariots to the front assign’d, The foot (the strength of war) he ranged behind; The middle space suspected troops supply, Inclosed by both, nor left the power to fly; He gives command to “curb the fiery steed, Nor cause confusion, nor the ranks exceed: Before the rest let none too rashly ride; No strength nor skill, but just in time, be tried: The charge once made, no warrior turn the rein, But fight, or fall; a firm embodied train. He whom the fortune of the field shall cast From forth his chariot, mount the next in haste; Nor seek unpractised to direct the car, Content with javelins to provoke the war. Our great forefathers held this prudent course, Thus ruled their ardour, thus preserved their force; By laws like these immortal conquests made, And earth’s proud tyrants low in ashes laid.”

“Why boast we, Glaucus! our extended reign,[226] Where Xanthus’ streams enrich the Lycian plain, Our numerous herds that range the fruitful field, And hills where vines their purple harvest yield, Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crown’d, Our feasts enhanced with music’s sprightly sound? Why on those shores are we with joy survey’d, Admired as heroes, and as gods obey’d, Unless great acts superior merit prove, And vindicate the bounteous powers above? ’Tis ours, the dignity they give to grace; The first in valour, as the first in place; That when with wondering eyes our martial bands Behold our deeds transcending our commands, Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state, Whom those that envy dare not imitate! Could all our care elude the gloomy grave, Which claims no less the fearful and the brave, For lust of fame I should not vainly dare In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war. But since, alas! ignoble age must come, Disease, and death’s inexorable doom, The life, which others pay, let us bestow, And give to fame what we to nature owe; Brave though we fall, and honour’d if we live, Or let us glory gain, or glory give!”

Behold! Pisander, urged by fate’s decree, Springs through the ranks to fall, and fall by thee, Great Menelaus! to enchance thy fame: High-towering in the front, the warrior came. First the sharp lance was by Atrides thrown; The lance far distant by the winds was blown. Nor pierced Pisander through Atrides’ shield: Pisander’s spear fell shiver’d on the field. Not so discouraged, to the future blind, Vain dreams of conquest swell his haughty mind; Dauntless he rushes where the Spartan lord Like lightning brandish’d his far beaming sword. His left arm high opposed the shining shield: His right beneath, the cover’d pole-axe held; (An olive’s cloudy grain the handle made, Distinct with studs, and brazen was the blade;) This on the helm discharged a noble blow; The plume dropp’d nodding to the plain below, Shorn from the crest. Atrides waved his steel: Deep through his front the weighty falchion fell; The crashing bones before its force gave way; In dust and blood the groaning hero lay: Forced from their ghastly orbs, and spouting gore, The clotted eye-balls tumble on the shore. And fierce Atrides spurn’d him as he bled, Tore off his arms, and, loud-exulting, said:

“Now, Neptune! now, the important hour employ, To check a while the haughty hopes of Troy: While Jove yet rests, while yet my vapours shed The golden vision round his sacred head; For Juno’s love, and Somnus’ pleasing ties, Have closed those awful and eternal eyes.” Thus having said, the power of slumber flew, On human lids to drop the balmy dew. Neptune, with zeal increased, renews his care, And towering in the foremost ranks of war, Indignant thus—“Oh once of martial fame! O Greeks! if yet ye can deserve the name! This half-recover’d day shall Troy obtain? Shall Hector thunder at your ships again? Lo! still he vaunts, and threats the fleet with fires, While stern Achilles in his wrath retires. One hero’s loss too tamely you deplore, Be still yourselves, and ye shall need no more. Oh yet, if glory any bosom warms, Brace on your firmest helms, and stand to arms: His strongest spear each valiant Grecian wield, Each valiant Grecian seize his broadest shield; Let to the weak the lighter arms belong, The ponderous targe be wielded by the strong. Thus arm’d, not Hector shall our presence stay; Myself, ye Greeks! myself will lead the way.”

“Unpitying powers! how oft each holy fane Has Hector tinged with blood of victims slain? And can ye still his cold remains pursue? Still grudge his body to the Trojans’ view? Deny to consort, mother, son, and sire, The last sad honours of a funeral fire? Is then the dire Achilles all your care? That iron heart, inflexibly severe; A lion, not a man, who slaughters wide, In strength of rage, and impotence of pride; Who hastes to murder with a savage joy, Invades around, and breathes but to destroy! Shame is not of his soul; nor understood, The greatest evil and the greatest good. Still for one loss he rages unresign’d, Repugnant to the lot of all mankind; To lose a friend, a brother, or a son, Heaven dooms each mortal, and its will is done: Awhile they sorrow, then dismiss their care; Fate gives the wound, and man is born to bear. But this insatiate, the commission given By fate exceeds, and tempts the wrath of heaven: Lo, how his rage dishonest drags along Hector’s dead earth, insensible of wrong! Brave though he be, yet by no reason awed, He violates the laws of man and god.”

He spoke, and transport fill’d Tydides’ heart; In earth the generous warrior fix’d his dart, Then friendly, thus the Lycian prince address’d: “Welcome, my brave hereditary guest! Thus ever let us meet, with kind embrace, Nor stain the sacred friendship of our race. Know, chief, our grandsires have been guests of old; Œneus the strong, Bellerophon the bold: Our ancient seat his honour’d presence graced, Where twenty days in genial rites he pass’d. The parting heroes mutual presents left; A golden goblet was thy grandsire’s gift; Œneus a belt of matchless work bestowed, That rich with Tyrian dye refulgent glow’d. (This from his pledge I learn’d, which, safely stored Among my treasures, still adorns my board: For Tydeus left me young, when Thebe’s wall Beheld the sons of Greece untimely fall.) Mindful of this, in friendship let us join; If heaven our steps to foreign lands incline, My guest in Argos thou, and I in Lycia thine. Enough of Trojans to this lance shall yield, In the full harvest of yon ample field; Enough of Greeks shall dye thy spear with gore; But thou and Diomed be foes no more. Now change we arms, and prove to either host We guard the friendship of the line we boast.”

Swift to her bright apartment she repairs, Sacred to dress and beauty’s pleasing cares: With skill divine had Vulcan form’d the bower, Safe from access of each intruding power. Touch’d with her secret key, the doors unfold: Self-closed, behind her shut the valves of gold. Here first she bathes; and round her body pours Soft oils of fragrance, and ambrosial showers: The winds, perfumed, the balmy gale convey Through heaven, through earth, and all the aerial way: Spirit divine! whose exhalation greets The sense of gods with more than mortal sweets. Thus while she breathed of heaven, with decent pride Her artful hands the radiant tresses tied; Part on her head in shining ringlets roll’d, Part o’er her shoulders waved like melted gold. Around her next a heavenly mantle flow’d, That rich with Pallas’ labour’d colours glow’d: Large clasps of gold the foldings gather’d round, A golden zone her swelling bosom bound. Far-beaming pendants tremble in her ear, Each gem illumined with a triple star. Then o’er her head she cast a veil more white Than new-fallen snow, and dazzling as the light. Last her fair feet celestial sandals grace. Thus issuing radiant with majestic pace, Forth from the dome the imperial goddess moves, And calls the mother of the smiles and loves.

“Why comes Æneas through the ranks so far? Seeks he to meet Achilles’ arm in war, In hope the realms of Priam to enjoy, And prove his merits to the throne of Troy? Grant that beneath thy lance Achilles dies, The partial monarch may refuse the prize; Sons he has many; those thy pride may quell: And ’tis his fault to love those sons too well, Or, in reward of thy victorious hand, Has Troy proposed some spacious tract of land, An ample forest, or a fair domain, Of hills for vines, and arable for grain? Even this, perhaps, will hardly prove thy lot. But can Achilles be so soon forgot? Once (as I think) you saw this brandish’d spear, And then the great Æneas seem’d to fear: With hearty haste from Ida’s mount he fled, Nor, till he reach’d Lyrnessus, turn’d his head. Her lofty walls not long our progress stay’d; Those, Pallas, Jove, and we, in ruins laid: In Grecian chains her captive race were cast; ’Tis true, the great Æneas fled too fast. Defrauded of my conquest once before, What then I lost, the gods this day restore. Go; while thou may’st, avoid the threaten’d fate; Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late.”

“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.”

“Amidst the glories of so bright a reign, What moves the great Atrides to complain? ’Tis thine whate’er the warrior’s breast inflames, The golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames. With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow, Thy tents are crowded and thy chests o’erflow. Thus at full ease in heaps of riches roll’d, What grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold? Say, shall we march with our unconquer’d powers (The Greeks and I) to Ilion’s hostile towers, And bring the race of royal bastards here, For Troy to ransom at a price too dear? But safer plunder thy own host supplies; Say, wouldst thou seize some valiant leader’s prize? Or, if thy heart to generous love be led, Some captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed? Whate’er our master craves submit we must, Plagued with his pride, or punish’d for his lust. Oh women of Achaia; men no more! Hence let us fly, and let him waste his store In loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore. We may be wanted on some busy day, When Hector comes: so great Achilles may: From him he forced the prize we jointly gave, From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave: And durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong, This mighty tyrant were no tyrant long.”

And now the Thunderer meditates his flight From Ida’s summits to the Olympian height. Swifter than thought, the wheels instinctive fly, Flame through the vast of air, and reach the sky. ’Twas Neptune’s charge his coursers to unbrace, And fix the car on its immortal base; There stood the chariot, beaming forth its rays, Till with a snowy veil he screen’d the blaze. He, whose all-conscious eyes the world behold, The eternal Thunderer sat, enthroned in gold. High heaven the footstool of his feet he makes, And wide beneath him all Olympus shakes. Trembling afar the offending powers appear’d, Confused and silent, for his frown they fear’d. He saw their soul, and thus his word imparts: “Pallas and Juno! say, why heave your hearts? Soon was your battle o’er: proud Troy retired Before your face, and in your wrath expired. But know, whoe’er almighty power withstand! Unmatch’d our force, unconquer’d is our hand: Who shall the sovereign of the skies control? Not all the gods that crown the starry pole. Your hearts shall tremble, if our arms we take, And each immortal nerve with horror shake. For thus I speak, and what I speak shall stand; What power soe’er provokes our lifted hand, On this our hill no more shall hold his place; Cut off, and exiled from the ethereal race.”

This said, Pisander from the car he cast, And pierced his breast: supine he breathed his last. His brother leap’d to earth; but, as he lay, The trenchant falchion lopp’d his hands away; His sever’d head was toss’d among the throng, And, rolling, drew a bloody train along. Then, where the thickest fought, the victor flew; The king’s example all his Greeks pursue. Now by the foot the flying foot were slain, Horse trod by horse, lay foaming on the plain. From the dry fields thick clouds of dust arise, Shade the black host, and intercept the skies. The brass-hoof’d steeds tumultuous plunge and bound, And the thick thunder beats the labouring ground, Still slaughtering on, the king of men proceeds; The distanced army wonders at his deeds, As when the winds with raging flames conspire, And o’er the forests roll the flood of fire, In blazing heaps the grove’s old honours fall, And one refulgent ruin levels all: Before Atrides’ rage so sinks the foe, Whole squadrons vanish, and proud heads lie low. The steeds fly trembling from his waving sword, And many a car, now lighted of its lord, Wide o’er the field with guideless fury rolls, Breaking their ranks, and crushing out their souls; While his keen falchion drinks the warriors’ lives; More grateful, now, to vultures than their wives!

“Return! (said Hector, fired with stern disdain) What! coop whole armies in our walls again? Was’t not enough, ye valiant warriors, say, Nine years imprison’d in those towers ye lay? Wide o’er the world was Ilion famed of old For brass exhaustless, and for mines of gold: But while inglorious in her walls we stay’d, Sunk were her treasures, and her stores decay’d; The Phrygians now her scatter’d spoils enjoy, And proud Mæonia wastes the fruits of Troy. Great Jove at length my arms to conquest calls, And shuts the Grecians in their wooden walls, Darest thou dispirit whom the gods incite? Flies any Trojan? I shall stop his flight. To better counsel then attention lend; Take due refreshment, and the watch attend. If there be one whose riches cost him care, Forth let him bring them for the troops to share; ’Tis better generously bestow’d on those, Than left the plunder of our country’s foes. Soon as the morn the purple orient warms, Fierce on yon navy will we pour our arms. If great Achilles rise in all his might, His be the danger: I shall stand the fight. Honour, ye gods! or let me gain or give; And live he glorious, whosoe’er shall live! Mars is our common lord, alike to all; And oft the victor triumphs, but to fall.”

Yet more—three daughters in his court are bred, And each well worthy of a royal bed: Laodice and Iphigenia fair, And bright Chrysothemis with golden hair: Her shalt thou wed whom most thy eyes approve; He asks no presents, no reward for love: Himself will give the dower; so vast a store As never father gave a child before. Seven ample cities shall confess thy sway, The Enope and Pheræ thee obey, Cardamyle with ample turrets crown’d, And sacred Pedasus, for vines renown’d: Æpea fair, the pastures Hira yields, And rich Antheia with her flowery fields; The whole extent to Pylos’ sandy plain, Along the verdant margin of the main. There heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil; Bold are the men, and generous is the soil. There shalt thou reign, with power and justice crown’d, And rule the tributary realms around. Such are the proffers which this day we bring, Such the repentance of a suppliant king. But if all this, relentless, thou disdain, If honour and if interest plead in vain, Yet some redress to suppliant Greece afford, And be, amongst her guardian gods, adored. If no regard thy suffering country claim, Hear thy own glory, and the voice of fame: For now that chief, whose unresisted ire Made nations tremble, and whole hosts retire, Proud Hector, now, the unequal fight demands, And only triumphs to deserve thy hands.”

Nor knew great Hector how his legions yield, (Wrapp’d in the cloud and tumult of the field:) Wide on the left the force of Greece commands, And conquest hovers o’er th’ Achaian bands; With such a tide superior virtue sway’d, And he that shakes the solid earth gave aid. But in the centre Hector fix’d remain’d, Where first the gates were forced, and bulwarks gain’d; There, on the margin of the hoary deep, (Their naval station where the Ajaces keep. And where low walls confine the beating tides, Whose humble barrier scarce the foe divides; Where late in fight both foot and horse engaged, And all the thunder of the battle raged,) There join’d, the whole Bœotian strength remains, The proud Iaonians with their sweeping trains, Locrians and Phthians, and th’ Epaean force; But join’d, repel not Hector’s fiery course. The flower of Athens, Stichius, Phidas, led; Bias and great Menestheus at their head: Meges the strong the Epaean bands controll’d, And Dracius prudent, and Amphion bold: The Phthians, Medon, famed for martial might, And brave Podarces, active in the fight. This drew from Phylacus his noble line; Iphiclus’ son: and that (Oïleus) thine: (Young Ajax’ brother, by a stolen embrace; He dwelt far distant from his native place, By his fierce step-dame from his father’s reign Expell’d and exiled for her brother slain:) These rule the Phthians, and their arms employ, Mix’d with Bœotians, on the shores of Troy.

The prophet spoke: when with a gloomy frown The monarch started from his shining throne; Black choler fill’d his breast that boil’d with ire, And from his eye-balls flash’d the living fire: “Augur accursed! denouncing mischief still, Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill! Still must that tongue some wounding message bring, And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king? For this are Phœbus’ oracles explored, To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord? For this with falsehood is my honour stain’d, Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned; Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold, And heavenly charms prefer to proffer’d gold? A maid, unmatch’d in manners as in face, Skill’d in each art, and crown’d with every grace; Not half so dear were Clytæmnestra’s charms, When first her blooming beauties bless’d my arms. Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail; Our cares are only for the public weal: Let me be deem’d the hateful cause of all, And suffer, rather than my people fall. The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign, So dearly valued, and so justly mine. But since for common good I yield the fair, My private loss let grateful Greece repair; Nor unrewarded let your prince complain, That he alone has fought and bled in vain.” “Insatiate king (Achilles thus replies), Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize! Would’st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, The due reward of many a well-fought field?

To him the king: “How much thy years excel In arts of counsel, and in speaking well! O would the gods, in love to Greece, decree But ten such sages as they grant in thee; Such wisdom soon should Priam’s force destroy, And soon should fall the haughty towers of Troy! But Jove forbids, who plunges those he hates In fierce contention and in vain debates: Now great Achilles from our aid withdraws, By me provoked; a captive maid the cause: If e’er as friends we join, the Trojan wall Must shake, and heavy will the vengeance fall! But now, ye warriors, take a short repast; And, well refresh’d, to bloody conflict haste. His sharpen’d spear let every Grecian wield, And every Grecian fix his brazen shield, Let all excite the fiery steeds of war, And all for combat fit the rattling car. This day, this dreadful day, let each contend; No rest, no respite, till the shades descend; Till darkness, or till death, shall cover all: Let the war bleed, and let the mighty fall; Till bathed in sweat be every manly breast, With the huge shield each brawny arm depress’d, Each aching nerve refuse the lance to throw, And each spent courser at the chariot blow. Who dares, inglorious, in his ships to stay, Who dares to tremble on this signal day; That wretch, too mean to fall by martial power, The birds shall mangle, and the dogs devour.”

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.”

“Think’st thou with me? fair empress of the skies! (The immortal father with a smile replies;) Then soon the haughty sea-god shall obey, Nor dare to act but when we point the way. If truth inspires thy tongue, proclaim our will To yon bright synod on the Olympian hill; Our high decree let various Iris know, And call the god that bears the silver bow. Let her descend, and from the embattled plain Command the sea-god to his watery reign: While Phœbus hastes great Hector to prepare To rise afresh, and once more wake the war: His labouring bosom re-inspires with breath, And calls his senses from the verge of death. Greece chased by Troy, even to Achilles’ fleet, Shall fall by thousands at the hero’s feet. He, not untouch’d with pity, to the plain Shall send Patroclus, but shall send in vain. What youths he slaughters under Ilion’s walls! Even my loved son, divine Sarpedon, falls! Vanquish’d at last by Hector’s lance he lies. Then, nor till then, shall great Achilles rise: And lo! that instant, godlike Hector dies. From that great hour the war’s whole fortune turns, Pallas assists, and lofty Ilion burns. Not till that day shall Jove relax his rage, Nor one of all the heavenly host engage In aid of Greece. The promise of a god I gave, and seal’d it with the almighty nod, Achilles’ glory to the stars to raise; Such was our word, and fate the word obeys.”

He spoke; and, speaking, swifter than the wind Sprung from the tent, and left the war behind. The embodied Greeks the fierce attack sustain, But strive, though numerous, to repulse in vain: Nor could the Trojans, through that firm array, Force to the fleet and tents the impervious way. As when a shipwright, with Palladian art, Smooths the rough wood, and levels every part; With equal hand he guides his whole design, By the just rule, and the directing line: The martial leaders, with like skill and care, Preserved their line, and equal kept the war. Brave deeds of arms through all the ranks were tried, And every ship sustained an equal tide. At one proud bark, high-towering o’er the fleet, Ajax the great, and godlike Hector meet; For one bright prize the matchless chiefs contend, Nor this the ships can fire, nor that defend: One kept the shore, and one the vessel trod; That fix’d as fate, this acted by a god. The son of Clytius in his daring hand, The deck approaching, shakes a flaming brand; But, pierced by Telamon’s huge lance, expires: Thundering he falls, and drops the extinguish’d fires. Great Hector view’d him with a sad survey, As stretch’d in dust before the stern he lay. “Oh! all of Trojan, all of Lycian race! Stand to your arms, maintain this arduous space: Lo! where the son of royal Clytius lies; Ah, save his arms, secure his obsequies!”

“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.”

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!”

While thus aloft the hero’s corse they bear, Behind them rages all the storm of war: Confusion, tumult, horror, o’er the throng Of men, steeds, chariots, urged the rout along: Less fierce the winds with rising flames conspire To whelm some city under waves of fire; Now sink in gloomy clouds the proud abodes, Now crack the blazing temples of the gods; The rumbling torrent through the ruin rolls, And sheets of smoke mount heavy to the poles. The heroes sweat beneath their honour’d load: As when two mules, along the rugged road, From the steep mountain with exerted strength Drag some vast beam, or mast’s unwieldy length; Inly they groan, big drops of sweat distil, The enormous timber lumbering down the hill: So these—Behind, the bulk of Ajax stands, And breaks the torrent of the rushing bands. Thus when a river swell’d with sudden rains Spreads his broad waters o’er the level plains, Some interposing hill the stream divides, And breaks its force, and turns the winding tides. Still close they follow, close the rear engage; Æneas storms, and Hector foams with rage: While Greece a heavy, thick retreat maintains, Wedged in one body, like a flight of cranes, That shriek incessant, while the falcon, hung High on poised pinions, threats their callow young. So from the Trojan chiefs the Grecians fly, Such the wild terror, and the mingled cry: Within, without the trench, and all the way, Strow’d in bright heaps, their arms and armour lay; Such horror Jove impress’d! yet still proceeds The work of death, and still the battle bleeds.

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.

“Achilles with unactive fury glows, And gives to passion what to Greece he owes. How shall he grieve, when to the eternal shade Her hosts shall sink, nor his the power to aid! O friend! my memory recalls the day, When, gathering aids along the Grecian sea, I, and Ulysses, touch’d at Phthia’s port, And entered Peleus’ hospitable court. A bull to Jove he slew in sacrifice, And pour’d libations on the flaming thighs. Thyself, Achilles, and thy reverend sire Menoetius, turn’d the fragments on the fire. Achilles sees us, to the feast invites; Social we sit, and share the genial rites. We then explained the cause on which we came, Urged you to arms, and found you fierce for fame. Your ancient fathers generous precepts gave; Peleus said only this:—‘My son! be brave.’ Menoetius thus: ‘Though great Achilles shine In strength superior, and of race divine, Yet cooler thoughts thy elder years attend; Let thy just counsels aid, and rule thy friend.’ Thus spoke your father at Thessalia’s court: Words now forgot, though now of vast import. Ah! try the utmost that a friend can say: Such gentle force the fiercest minds obey; Some favouring god Achilles’ heart may move; Though deaf to glory, he may yield to love. If some dire oracle his breast alarm, If aught from Heaven withhold his saving arm, Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine, If thou but lead the Myrmidonian line; Clad in Achilles’ arms, if thou appear, Proud Troy may tremble, and desist from war; Press’d by fresh forces, her o’er-labour’d train Shall seek their walls, and Greece respire again.”

“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!”

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

As on some mountain, through the lofty grove, The crackling flames ascend, and blaze above; The fires expanding, as the winds arise, Shoot their long beams, and kindle half the skies: So from the polish’d arms, and brazen shields, A gleamy splendour flash’d along the fields. Not less their number than the embodied cranes, Or milk-white swans in Asius’ watery plains. That, o’er the windings of Cayster’s springs,[97] Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings, Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds, Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds. Thus numerous and confused, extending wide, The legions crowd Scamander’s flowery side;[98] With rushing troops the plains are cover’d o’er, And thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore. Along the river’s level meads they stand, Thick as in spring the flowers adorn the land, Or leaves the trees; or thick as insects play, The wandering nation of a summer’s day: That, drawn by milky steams, at evening hours, In gather’d swarms surround the rural bowers; From pail to pail with busy murmur run The gilded legions, glittering in the sun. So throng’d, so close, the Grecian squadrons stood In radiant arms, and thirst for Trojan blood. Each leader now his scatter’d force conjoins In close array, and forms the deepening lines. Not with more ease the skilful shepherd-swain Collects his flocks from thousands on the plain. The king of kings, majestically tall, Towers o’er his armies, and outshines them all; Like some proud bull, that round the pastures leads His subject herds, the monarch of the meads, Great as the gods, the exalted chief was seen, His strength like Neptune, and like Mars his mien;[99] Jove o’er his eyes celestial glories spread, And dawning conquest played around his head.

“Oh lasting infamy, oh dire disgrace To chiefs of vigorous youth, and manly race! I trusted in the gods, and you, to see Brave Greece victorious, and her navy free: Ah, no—the glorious combat you disclaim, And one black day clouds all her former fame. Heavens! what a prodigy these eyes survey, Unseen, unthought, till this amazing day! Fly we at length from Troy’s oft-conquer’d bands? And falls our fleet by such inglorious hands? A rout undisciplined, a straggling train, Not born to glories of the dusty plain; Like frighted fawns from hill to hill pursued, A prey to every savage of the wood: Shall these, so late who trembled at your name, Invade your camps, involve your ships in flame? A change so shameful, say, what cause has wrought? The soldiers’ baseness, or the general’s fault? Fools! will ye perish for your leader’s vice; The purchase infamy, and life the price? ’Tis not your cause, Achilles’ injured fame: Another’s is the crime, but yours the shame. Grant that our chief offend through rage or lust, Must you be cowards, if your king’s unjust? Prevent this evil, and your country save: Small thought retrieves the spirits of the brave. Think, and subdue! on dastards dead to fame I waste no anger, for they feel no shame: But you, the pride, the flower of all our host, My heart weeps blood to see your glory lost! Nor deem this day, this battle, all you lose; A day more black, a fate more vile, ensues. Let each reflect, who prizes fame or breath, On endless infamy, on instant death: For, lo! the fated time, the appointed shore: Hark! the gates burst, the brazen barriers roar! Impetuous Hector thunders at the wall; The hour, the spot, to conquer, or to fall.”

Troy’s great defender stands alone unawed, Arms his proud host, and dares oppose a god: And lo! the god, and wondrous man, appear: The sea’s stern ruler there, and Hector here. The roaring main, at her great master’s call, Rose in huge ranks, and form’d a watery wall Around the ships: seas hanging o’er the shores, Both armies join: earth thunders, ocean roars. Not half so loud the bellowing deeps resound, When stormy winds disclose the dark profound; Less loud the winds that from the Æolian hall Roar through the woods, and make whole forests fall; Less loud the woods, when flames in torrents pour, Catch the dry mountain, and its shades devour; With such a rage the meeting hosts are driven, And such a clamour shakes the sounding heaven. The first bold javelin, urged by Hector’s force, Direct at Ajax’ bosom winged its course; But there no pass the crossing belts afford, (One braced his shield, and one sustain’d his sword.) Then back the disappointed Trojan drew, And cursed the lance that unavailing flew: But ’scaped not Ajax; his tempestuous hand A ponderous stone upheaving from the sand, (Where heaps laid loose beneath the warrior’s feet, Or served to ballast, or to prop the fleet,) Toss’d round and round, the missive marble flings; On the razed shield the fallen ruin rings, Full on his breast and throat with force descends; Nor deaden’d there its giddy fury spends, But whirling on, with many a fiery round, Smokes in the dust, and ploughs into the ground. As when the bolt, red-hissing from above, Darts on the consecrated plant of Jove, The mountain-oak in flaming ruin lies, Black from the blow, and smokes of sulphur rise; Stiff with amaze the pale beholders stand, And own the terrors of the almighty hand!

And now to Xanthus’ gliding stream they drove, Xanthus, immortal progeny of Jove. The river here divides the flying train, Part to the town fly diverse o’er the plain, Where late their troops triumphant bore the fight, Now chased, and trembling in ignoble flight: (These with a gathered mist Saturnia shrouds, And rolls behind the rout a heap of clouds:) Part plunge into the stream: old Xanthus roars, The flashing billows beat the whiten’d shores: With cries promiscuous all the banks resound, And here, and there, in eddies whirling round, The flouncing steeds and shrieking warriors drown’d. As the scorch’d locusts from their fields retire, While fast behind them runs the blaze of fire; Driven from the land before the smoky cloud, The clustering legions rush into the flood: So, plunged in Xanthus by Achilles’ force, Roars the resounding surge with men and horse. His bloody lance the hero casts aside, (Which spreading tamarisks on the margin hide,) Then, like a god, the rapid billows braves, Arm’d with his sword, high brandish’d o’er the waves: Now down he plunges, now he whirls it round, Deep groan’d the waters with the dying sound; Repeated wounds the reddening river dyed, And the warm purple circled on the tide. Swift through the foamy flood the Trojans fly, And close in rocks or winding caverns lie: So the huge dolphin tempesting the main, In shoals before him fly the scaly train, Confusedly heap’d they seek their inmost caves, Or pant and heave beneath the floating waves. Now, tired with slaughter, from the Trojan band Twelve chosen youths he drags alive to land; With their rich belts their captive arms restrains (Late their proud ornaments, but now their chains). These his attendants to the ships convey’d, Sad victims destined to Patroclus’ shade;