Iliad on War

Nor knew the furious father of his fall; High-throned amidst the great Olympian hall, On golden clouds th’ immortal synod sate; Detain’d from bloody war by Jove and Fate.

This dreadful combat great Epeüs chose;[291] High o’er the crowd, enormous bulk! he rose, And seized the beast, and thus began to say: “Stand forth some man, to bear the bowl away! (Price of his ruin: for who dares deny This mule my right; the undoubted victor I) Others, ’tis own’d, in fields of battle shine, But the first honours of this fight are mine; For who excels in all? Then let my foe Draw near, but first his certain fortune know; Secure this hand shall his whole frame confound, Mash all his bones, and all his body pound: So let his friends be nigh, a needful train, To heave the batter’d carcase off the plain.”

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

Of those who round Mæonia’s realms reside, Or whom the vales in shades of Tmolus hide, Mestles and Antiphus the charge partake, Born on the banks of Gyges’ silent lake. There, from the fields where wild Mæander flows, High Mycale, and Latmos’ shady brows, And proud Miletus, came the Carian throngs, With mingled clamours and with barbarous tongues.[107] Amphimachus and Naustes guide the train, Naustes the bold, Amphimachus the vain, Who, trick’d with gold, and glittering on his car, Rode like a woman to the field of war. Fool that he was! by fierce Achilles slain, The river swept him to the briny main: There whelm’d with waves the gaudy warrior lies The valiant victor seized the golden prize.

To guard the gates, two mighty chiefs attend, Who from the Lapiths’ warlike race descend; This Polypœtes, great Perithous’ heir, And that Leonteus, like the god of war. As two tall oaks, before the wall they rise; Their roots in earth, their heads amidst the skies: Whose spreading arms with leafy honours crown’d, Forbid the tempest, and protect the ground; High on the hills appears their stately form, And their deep roots for ever brave the storm. So graceful these, and so the shock they stand Of raging Asius, and his furious band. Orestes, Acamas, in front appear, And Œnomaus and Thoon close the rear: In vain their clamours shake the ambient fields, In vain around them beat their hollow shields; The fearless brothers on the Grecians call, To guard their navies, and defend the wall. Even when they saw Troy’s sable troops impend, And Greece tumultuous from her towers descend, Forth from the portals rush’d the intrepid pair, Opposed their breasts, and stood themselves the war. So two wild boars spring furious from their den, Roused with the cries of dogs and voice of men; On every side the crackling trees they tear, And root the shrubs, and lay the forest bare; They gnash their tusks, with fire their eye-balls roll, Till some wide wound lets out their mighty soul. Around their heads the whistling javelins sung, With sounding strokes their brazen targets rung; Fierce was the fight, while yet the Grecian powers Maintain’d the walls, and mann’d the lofty towers: To save their fleet their last efforts they try, And stones and darts in mingled tempests fly.

With words like these the fiery chief alarms His fainting host, and every bosom warms. As the bold hunter cheers his hounds to tear The brindled lion, or the tusky bear: With voice and hand provokes their doubting heart, And springs the foremost with his lifted dart: So godlike Hector prompts his troops to dare; Nor prompts alone, but leads himself the war. On the black body of the foe he pours; As from the cloud’s deep bosom, swell’d with showers, A sudden storm the purple ocean sweeps, Drives the wild waves, and tosses all the deeps. Say, Muse! when Jove the Trojan’s glory crown’d, Beneath his arm what heroes bit the ground? Assaeus, Dolops, and Autonous died, Opites next was added to their side; Then brave Hipponous, famed in many a fight, Opheltius, Orus, sunk to endless night; Æsymnus, Agelaus; all chiefs of name; The rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame. As when a western whirlwind, charged with storms, Dispels the gather’d clouds that Notus forms: The gust continued, violent and strong, Rolls sable clouds in heaps on heaps along; Now to the skies the foaming billows rears, Now breaks the surge, and wide the bottom bares: Thus, raging Hector, with resistless hands, O’erturns, confounds, and scatters all their bands. Now the last ruin the whole host appals; Now Greece had trembled in her wooden walls; But wise Ulysses call’d Tydides forth, His soul rekindled, and awaked his worth. “And stand we deedless, O eternal shame! Till Hector’s arm involve the ships in flame? Haste, let us join, and combat side by side.” The warrior thus, and thus the friend replied:

“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!”

Now godlike Hector, to whose matchless might Jove gave the glory of the destined fight, Squadrons on squadrons drives, and fills the fields With close-ranged chariots, and with thicken’d shields. Where the deep trench in length extended lay, Compacted troops stand wedged in firm array, A dreadful front! they shake the brands, and threat With long-destroying flames the hostile fleet. The king of men, by Juno’s self inspired, Toil’d through the tents, and all his army fired. Swift as he moved, he lifted in his hand His purple robe, bright ensign of command. High on the midmost bark the king appear’d: There, from Ulysses’ deck, his voice was heard: To Ajax and Achilles reach’d the sound, Whose distant ships the guarded navy bound. “O Argives! shame of human race! (he cried: The hollow vessels to his voice replied,) Where now are all your glorious boasts of yore, Your hasty triumphs on the Lemnian shore? Each fearless hero dares a hundred foes, While the feast lasts, and while the goblet flows; But who to meet one martial man is found, When the fight rages, and the flames surround? O mighty Jove! O sire of the distress’d! Was ever king like me, like me oppress’d? With power immense, with justice arm’d in vain; My glory ravish’d, and my people slain! To thee my vows were breathed from every shore; What altar smoked not with our victims’ gore? With fat of bulls I fed the constant flame, And ask’d destruction to the Trojan name. Now, gracious god! far humbler our demand; Give these at least to ’scape from Hector’s hand, And save the relics of the Grecian land!”

The god of battle issues on the plain, Stirs all the ranks, and fires the Trojan train; In form like Acamas, the Thracian guide, Enraged to Troy’s retiring chiefs he cried:

Neptune with wrath rejects the rash design: “What rage, what madness, furious queen! is thine? I war not with the highest. All above Submit and tremble at the hand of Jove.”

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

“Oh Vulcan! oh! what power resists thy might? I faint, I sink, unequal to the fight— I yield—Let Ilion fall; if fate decree— Ah—bend no more thy fiery arms on me!”

Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew, Or slain, or fled, the sons of Dares view; When by the blood-stain’d hand Minerva press’d The god of battles, and this speech address’d:

But now, no longer deaf to honour’s call, Forth issues Paris from the palace wall. In brazen arms that cast a gleamy ray, Swift through the town the warrior bends his way. The wanton courser thus with reins unbound[176] Breaks from his stall, and beats the trembling ground; Pamper’d and proud, he seeks the wonted tides, And laves, in height of blood his shining sides; His head now freed, he tosses to the skies; His mane dishevell’d o’er his shoulders flies; He snuffs the females in the distant plain, And springs, exulting, to his fields again. With equal triumph, sprightly, bold, and gay, In arms refulgent as the god of day, The son of Priam, glorying in his might, Rush’d forth with Hector to the fields of fight.

That instant Juno, and the martial maid, In happy thunders promised Greece their aid; High o’er the chief they clash’d their arms in air, And, leaning from the clouds, expect the war.

“O prince! (Meriones replies) whose care Leads forth the embattled sons of Crete to war; This speaks my grief: this headless lance I wield; The rest lies rooted in a Trojan shield.”

Then first spake Merion: “Shall we join the right, Or combat in the centre of the fight? Or to the left our wonted succour lend? Hazard and fame all parts alike attend.”

A sudden horror shot through all the chief, And wrapp’d his senses in the cloud of grief; Cast on the ground, with furious hands he spread The scorching ashes o’er his graceful head; His purple garments, and his golden hairs, Those he deforms with dust, and these he tears; On the hard soil his groaning breast he threw, And roll’d and grovell’d, as to earth he grew. The virgin captives, with disorder’d charms, (Won by his own, or by Patroclus’ arms,) Rush’d from their tents with cries; and gathering round, Beat their white breasts, and fainted on the ground: While Nestor’s son sustains a manlier part, And mourns the warrior with a warrior’s heart; Hangs on his arms, amidst his frantic woe, And oft prevents the meditated blow.

This just rebuke inflamed the Lycian crew; They join, they thicken, and the assault renew: Unmoved the embodied Greeks their fury dare, And fix’d support the weight of all the war; Nor could the Greeks repel the Lycian powers, Nor the bold Lycians force the Grecian towers. As on the confines of adjoining grounds, Two stubborn swains with blows dispute their bounds; They tug, they sweat; but neither gain, nor yield, One foot, one inch, of the contended field; Thus obstinate to death, they fight, they fall; Nor these can keep, nor those can win the wall. Their manly breasts are pierced with many a wound, Loud strokes are heard, and rattling arms resound; The copious slaughter covers all the shore, And the high ramparts drip with human gore.

Then thus the hero of Anchises’ strain: “To meet Pelides you persuade in vain: Already have I met, nor void of fear Observed the fury of his flying spear; From Ida’s woods he chased us to the field, Our force he scattered, and our herds he kill’d; Lyrnessus, Pedasus in ashes lay; But (Jove assisting) I survived the day: Else had I sunk oppress’d in fatal fight By fierce Achilles and Minerva’s might. Where’er he moved, the goddess shone before, And bathed his brazen lance in hostile gore. What mortal man Achilles can sustain? The immortals guard him through the dreadful plain, And suffer not his dart to fall in vain. Were God my aid, this arm should check his power, Though strong in battle as a brazen tower.”

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.”

“Now bid thy heralds sound the loud alarms, And call the squadrons sheathed in brazen arms; Now seize the occasion, now the troops survey, And lead to war when heaven directs the way.”

So spoke the fair, nor knew her brothers’ doom;[118] Wrapt in the cold embraces of the tomb; Adorn’d with honours in their native shore, Silent they slept, and heard of wars no more.

First, Pylæmenes, great in battle, bled, Who sheathed in brass the Paphlagonians led. Atrides mark’d him where sublime he stood; Fix’d in his throat the javelin drank his blood. The faithful Mydon, as he turn’d from fight His flying coursers, sunk to endless night; A broken rock by Nestor’s son was thrown: His bended arm received the falling stone; From his numb’d hand the ivory-studded reins, Dropp’d in the dust, are trail’d along the plains: Meanwhile his temples feel a deadly wound; He groans in death, and ponderous sinks to ground: Deep drove his helmet in the sands, and there The head stood fix’d, the quivering legs in air, Till trampled flat beneath the coursers’ feet: The youthful victor mounts his empty seat, And bears the prize in triumph to the fleet.

Soon as Achilles with superior care Had call’d the chiefs, and order’d all the war, This stern remembrance to his troops he gave: “Ye far-famed Myrmidons, ye fierce and brave! Think with what threats you dared the Trojan throng, Think what reproach these ears endured so long; ‘Stern son of Peleus, (thus ye used to say, While restless, raging, in your ships you lay) Oh nursed with gall, unknowing how to yield; Whose rage defrauds us of so famed a field: If that dire fury must for ever burn, What make we here? Return, ye chiefs, return!’ Such were your words—Now, warriors! grieve no more, Lo there the Trojans; bathe your swords in gore! This day shall give you all your soul demands, Glut all your hearts, and weary all your hands!”

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;

Now, Muse, recount Pelasgic Argos’ powers, From Alos, Alopé, and Trechin’s towers: From Phthia’s spacious vales; and Hella, bless’d With female beauty far beyond the rest. Full fifty ships beneath Achilles’ care, The Achaians, Myrmidons, Hellenians bear; Thessalians all, though various in their name; The same their nation, and their chief the same. But now inglorious, stretch’d along the shore, They hear the brazen voice of war no more; No more the foe they face in dire array: Close in his fleet the angry leader lay; Since fair Briseïs from his arms was torn, The noblest spoil from sack’d Lyrnessus borne, Then, when the chief the Theban walls o’erthrew, And the bold sons of great Evenus slew. There mourn’d Achilles, plunged in depth of care, But soon to rise in slaughter, blood, and war.

The gods deliberate in council concerning the Trojan war: they agree upon the continuation of it, and Jupiter sends down Minerva to break the truce. She persuades Pandarus to aim an arrow at Menelaus, who is wounded, but cured by Machaon. In the meantime some of the Trojan troops attack the Greeks. Agamemnon is distinguished in all the parts of a good general; he reviews the troops, and exhorts the leaders, some by praises and others by reproof. Nestor is particularly celebrated for his military discipline. The battle joins, and great numbers are slain on both sides. The same day continues through this as through the last book (as it does also through the two following, and almost to the end of the seventh book). The scene is wholly in the field before Troy.

“Hector! come on; thy empty threats forbear; ’Tis not thy arm, ’tis thundering Jove we fear: The skill of war to us not idly given, Lo! Greece is humbled, not by Troy, but Heaven. Vain are the hopes that haughty mind imparts, To force our fleet: the Greeks have hands and hearts. Long ere in flames our lofty navy fall, Your boasted city, and your god-built wall, Shall sink beneath us, smoking on the ground; And spread a long unmeasured ruin round. The time shall come, when, chased along the plain, Even thou shalt call on Jove, and call in vain; Even thou shalt wish, to aid thy desperate course, The wings of falcons for thy flying horse; Shalt run, forgetful of a warrior’s fame, While clouds of friendly dust conceal thy shame.”

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!

“Say, is it just, my friend, that Hector’s ear From such a warrior such a speech should hear? I deem’d thee once the wisest of thy kind, But ill this insult suits a prudent mind. I shun great Ajax? I desert my train? ’Tis mine to prove the rash assertion vain; I joy to mingle where the battle bleeds, And hear the thunder of the sounding steeds. But Jove’s high will is ever uncontroll’d, The strong he withers, and confounds the bold; Now crowns with fame the mighty man, and now Strikes the fresh garland from the victor’s brow! Come, through yon squadrons let us hew the way, And thou be witness, if I fear to-day; If yet a Greek the sight of Hector dread, Or yet their hero dare defend the dead.”

Great Agamemnon views with joyful eye The ranks grow thinner as his arrows fly: “O youth forever dear! (the monarch cried) Thus, always thus, thy early worth be tried; Thy brave example shall retrieve our host, Thy country’s saviour, and thy father’s boast! Sprung from an alien’s bed thy sire to grace, The vigorous offspring of a stolen embrace: Proud of his boy, he own’d the generous flame, And the brave son repays his cares with fame. Now hear a monarch’s vow: If heaven’s high powers Give me to raze Troy’s long-defended towers; Whatever treasures Greece for me design, The next rich honorary gift be thine: Some golden tripod, or distinguished car, With coursers dreadful in the ranks of war: Or some fair captive, whom thy eyes approve, Shall recompense the warrior’s toils with love.”

Now, where in dust the breathless hero lay, For slain Ascalaphus commenced the fray, Deiphobus to seize his helmet flies, And from his temples rends the glittering prize; Valiant as Mars, Meriones drew near, And on his loaded arm discharged his spear: He drops the weight, disabled with the pain; The hollow helmet rings against the plain. Swift as a vulture leaping on his prey, From his torn arm the Grecian rent away The reeking javelin, and rejoin’d his friends. His wounded brother good Polites tends; Around his waist his pious arms he threw, And from the rage of battle gently drew: Him his swift coursers, on his splendid car, Rapt from the lessening thunder of the war; To Troy they drove him, groaning from the shore, And sprinkling, as he pass’d, the sands with gore.

He said: and Merion to th’ appointed place, Fierce as the god of battles, urged his pace. Soon as the foe the shining chiefs beheld Rush like a fiery torrent o’er the field, Their force embodied in a tide they pour; The rising combat sounds along the shore. As warring winds, in Sirius’ sultry reign, From different quarters sweep the sandy plain; On every side the dusty whirlwinds rise, And the dry fields are lifted to the skies: Thus by despair, hope, rage, together driven, Met the black hosts, and, meeting, darken’d heaven. All dreadful glared the iron face of war, Bristled with upright spears, that flash’d afar; Dire was the gleam of breastplates, helms, and shields, And polish’d arms emblazed the flaming fields: Tremendous scene! that general horror gave, But touch’d with joy the bosoms of the brave.

Ye sacred nine! celestial Muses! tell, Who faced him first, and by his prowess fell? The great Iphidamas, the bold and young, From sage Antenor and Theano sprung; Whom from his youth his grandsire Cisseus bred, And nursed in Thrace where snowy flocks are fed. Scarce did the down his rosy cheeks invest, And early honour warm his generous breast, When the kind sire consign’d his daughter’s charms (Theano’s sister) to his youthful arms. But call’d by glory to the wars of Troy, He leaves untasted the first fruits of joy; From his loved bride departs with melting eyes, And swift to aid his dearer country flies. With twelve black ships he reach’d Percope’s strand, Thence took the long laborious march by land. Now fierce for fame, before the ranks he springs, Towering in arms, and braves the king of kings. Atrides first discharged the missive spear; The Trojan stoop’d, the javelin pass’d in air. Then near the corslet, at the monarch’s heart, With all his strength, the youth directs his dart: But the broad belt, with plates of silver bound, The point rebated, and repell’d the wound. Encumber’d with the dart, Atrides stands, Till, grasp’d with force, he wrench’d it from his hands; At once his weighty sword discharged a wound Full on his neck, that fell’d him to the ground. Stretch’d in the dust the unhappy warrior lies, And sleep eternal seals his swimming eyes. Oh worthy better fate! oh early slain! Thy country’s friend; and virtuous, though in vain! No more the youth shall join his consort’s side, At once a virgin, and at once a bride! No more with presents her embraces meet, Or lay the spoils of conquest at her feet, On whom his passion, lavish of his store, Bestow’d so much, and vainly promised more! Unwept, uncover’d, on the plain he lay, While the proud victor bore his arms away.

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

So spoke the god who darts celestial fires; The Greek obeys him, and with awe retires. While Hector, checking at the Scæan gates His panting coursers, in his breast debates, Or in the field his forces to employ, Or draw the troops within the walls of Troy. Thus while he thought, beside him Phœbus stood, In Asius’ shape, who reigned by Sangar’s flood; (Thy brother, Hecuba! from Dymas sprung, A valiant warrior, haughty, bold, and young;) Thus he accosts him. “What a shameful sight! God! is it Hector that forbears the fight? Were thine my vigour this successful spear Should soon convince thee of so false a fear. Turn thee, ah turn thee to the field of fame, And in Patroclus’ blood efface thy shame. Perhaps Apollo shall thy arms succeed, And heaven ordains him by thy lance to bleed.”

On adverse parts the warring gods engage: Heaven’s awful queen; and he whose azure round Girds the vast globe; the maid in arms renown’d; Hermes, of profitable arts the sire; And Vulcan, the black sovereign of the fire: These to the fleet repair with instant flight; The vessels tremble as the gods alight. In aid of Troy, Latona, Phœbus came, Mars fiery-helm’d, the laughter-loving dame, Xanthus, whose streams in golden currents flow, And the chaste huntress of the silver bow. Ere yet the gods their various aid employ, Each Argive bosom swell’d with manly joy, While great Achilles (terror of the plain), Long lost to battle, shone in arms again. Dreadful he stood in front of all his host; Pale Troy beheld, and seem’d already lost; Her bravest heroes pant with inward fear, And trembling see another god of war.

To whom the king. “With justice hast thou shown A prince’s faults, and I with reason own. That happy man, whom Jove still honours most, Is more than armies, and himself a host. Bless’d in his love, this wondrous hero stands; Heaven fights his war, and humbles all our bands. Fain would my heart, which err’d through frantic rage, The wrathful chief and angry gods assuage. If gifts immense his mighty soul can bow,[201] Hear, all ye Greeks, and witness what I vow. Ten weighty talents of the purest gold, And twice ten vases of refulgent mould: Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; Twelve steeds unmatch’d in fleetness and in force, And still victorious in the dusty course; (Rich were the man whose ample stores exceed The prizes purchased by their winged speed;) Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line, Skill’d in each art, unmatch’d in form divine, The same I chose for more than vulgar charms, When Lesbos sank beneath the hero’s arms: All these, to buy his friendship, shall be paid, And join’d with these the long-contested maid; With all her charms, Briseïs I resign, And solemn swear those charms were never mine; Untouch’d she stay’d, uninjured she removes, Pure from my arms, and guiltless of my loves,[202] These instant shall be his; and if the powers Give to our arms proud Ilion’s hostile towers, Then shall he store (when Greece the spoil divides) With gold and brass his loaded navy’s sides: Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race With copious love shall crown his warm embrace, Such as himself will choose; who yield to none, Or yield to Helen’s heavenly charms alone. Yet hear me further: when our wars are o’er, If safe we land on Argos’ fruitful shore, There shall he live my son, our honours share, And with Orestes’ self divide my care.

“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.”

Meanwhile with rising rage the battle glows, The tumult thickens, and the clamour grows. By Teucer’s arm the warlike Imbrius bleeds, The son of Mentor, rich in generous steeds. Ere yet to Troy the sons of Greece were led, In fair Pedaeus’ verdant pastures bred, The youth had dwelt, remote from war’s alarms, And blest in bright Medesicaste’s arms: (This nymph, the fruit of Priam’s ravish’d joy, Allied the warrior to the house of Troy:) To Troy, when glory call’d his arms, he came, And match’d the bravest of her chiefs in fame: With Priam’s sons, a guardian of the throne, He lived, beloved and honour’d as his own. Him Teucer pierced between the throat and ear: He groans beneath the Telamonian spear. As from some far-seen mountain’s airy crown, Subdued by steel, a tall ash tumbles down, And soils its verdant tresses on the ground; So falls the youth; his arms the fall resound. Then Teucer rushing to despoil the dead, From Hector’s hand a shining javelin fled: He saw, and shunn’d the death; the forceful dart Sung on, and pierced Amphimachus’s heart, Cteatus’ son, of Neptune’s forceful line; Vain was his courage, and his race divine! Prostrate he falls; his clanging arms resound, And his broad buckler thunders on the ground. To seize his beamy helm the victor flies, And just had fastened on the dazzling prize, When Ajax’ manly arm a javelin flung; Full on the shield’s round boss the weapon rung; He felt the shock, nor more was doom’d to feel, Secure in mail, and sheath’d in shining steel. Repulsed he yields; the victor Greeks obtain The spoils contested, and bear off the slain. Between the leaders of the Athenian line, (Stichius the brave, Menestheus the divine,) Deplored Amphimachus, sad object! lies; Imbrius remains the fierce Ajaces’ prize. As two grim lions bear across the lawn, Snatch’d from devouring hounds, a slaughter’d fawn.

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

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

At this, soft slumber from his eyelids fled; The warrior saw the hoary chief, and said: “Wondrous old man! whose soul no respite knows, Though years and honours bid thee seek repose, Let younger Greeks our sleeping warriors wake; Ill fits thy age these toils to undertake.” “My friend, (he answered,) generous is thy care; These toils, my subjects and my sons might bear; Their loyal thoughts and pious love conspire To ease a sovereign and relieve a sire: But now the last despair surrounds our host; No hour must pass, no moment must be lost; Each single Greek, in this conclusive strife, Stands on the sharpest edge of death or life: Yet, if my years thy kind regard engage, Employ thy youth as I employ my age; Succeed to these my cares, and rouse the rest; He serves me most, who serves his country best.”

Such thoughts revolving in his careful breast, Near, and more near, the shady cohorts press’d; These, in the warrior, their own fate enclose; And round him deep the steely circle grows. So fares a boar whom all the troop surrounds Of shouting huntsmen and of clamorous hounds; He grinds his ivory tusks; he foams with ire; His sanguine eye-balls glare with living fire; By these, by those, on every part is plied; And the red slaughter spreads on every side. Pierced through the shoulder, first Deiopis fell; Next Ennomus and Thoon sank to hell; Chersidamas, beneath the navel thrust, Falls prone to earth, and grasps the bloody dust. Charops, the son of Hippasus, was near; Ulysses reach’d him with the fatal spear; But to his aid his brother Socus flies, Socus the brave, the generous, and the wise. Near as he drew, the warrior thus began:

So lies great Hector prostrate on the shore; His slacken’d hand deserts the lance it bore; His following shield the fallen chief o’erspread; Beneath his helmet dropp’d his fainting head; His load of armour, sinking to the ground, Clanks on the field, a dead and hollow sound. Loud shouts of triumph fill the crowded plain; Greece sees, in hope, Troy’s great defender slain: All spring to seize him; storms of arrows fly, And thicker javelins intercept the sky. In vain an iron tempest hisses round; He lies protected, and without a wound.[238] Polydamas, Agenor the divine, The pious warrior of Anchises’ line, And each bold leader of the Lycian band, With covering shields (a friendly circle) stand, His mournful followers, with assistant care, The groaning hero to his chariot bear; His foaming coursers, swifter than the wind, Speed to the town, and leave the war behind.

She spoke; Minerva burns to meet the war: And now heaven’s empress calls her blazing car. At her command rush forth the steeds divine; Rich with immortal gold their trappings shine. Bright Hebe waits; by Hebe, ever young, The whirling wheels are to the chariot hung. On the bright axle turns the bidden wheel Of sounding brass; the polished axle steel. Eight brazen spokes in radiant order flame; The circles gold, of uncorrupted frame, Such as the heavens produce: and round the gold Two brazen rings of work divine were roll’d. The bossy naves of sold silver shone; Braces of gold suspend the moving throne: The car, behind, an arching figure bore; The bending concave form’d an arch before. Silver the beam, the extended yoke was gold, And golden reins the immortal coursers hold. Herself, impatient, to the ready car, The coursers joins, and breathes revenge and war.

“Give me, great Jove! to punish lawless lust, And lay the Trojan gasping in the dust: Destroy the aggressor, aid my righteous cause, Avenge the breach of hospitable laws! Let this example future times reclaim, And guard from wrong fair friendship’s holy name,” He said, and poised in air the javelin sent, Through Paris’ shield the forceful weapon went, His corslet pierces, and his garment rends, And glancing downward, near his flank descends. The wary Trojan, bending from the blow, Eludes the death, and disappoints his foe: But fierce Atrides waved his sword, and strook Full on his casque: the crested helmet shook; The brittle steel, unfaithful to his hand, Broke short: the fragments glitter’d on the sand. The raging warrior to the spacious skies Raised his upbraiding voice and angry eyes: “Then is it vain in Jove himself to trust? And is it thus the gods assist the just? When crimes provoke us, Heaven success denies; The dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies.” Furious he said, and towards the Grecian crew (Seized by the crest) the unhappy warrior drew; Struggling he followed, while the embroider’d thong That tied his helmet, dragg’d the chief along. Then had his ruin crown’d Atrides’ joy, But Venus trembled for the prince of Troy: Unseen she came, and burst the golden band; And left an empty helmet in his hand. The casque, enraged, amidst the Greeks he threw; The Greeks with smiles the polish’d trophy view. Then, as once more he lifts the deadly dart, In thirst of vengeance, at his rival’s heart; The queen of love her favour’d champion shrouds (For gods can all things) in a veil of clouds. Raised from the field the panting youth she led, And gently laid him on the bridal bed, With pleasing sweets his fainting sense renews, And all the dome perfumes with heavenly dews. Meantime the brightest of the female kind, The matchless Helen, o’er the walls reclined; To her, beset with Trojan beauties, came, In borrow’d form, the laughter-loving dame.

Then, where the cry directs, his course he bends; Great Ajax, like the god of war, attends, The prudent chief in sore distress they found, With bands of furious Trojans compass’d round.[223] As when some huntsman, with a flying spear, From the blind thicket wounds a stately deer; Down his cleft side, while fresh the blood distils, He bounds aloft, and scuds from hills to hills, Till life’s warm vapour issuing through the wound, Wild mountain-wolves the fainting beast surround: Just as their jaws his prostrate limbs invade, The lion rushes through the woodland shade, The wolves, though hungry, scour dispersed away; The lordly savage vindicates his prey. Ulysses thus, unconquer’d by his pains, A single warrior half a host sustains: But soon as Ajax leaves his tower-like shield, The scattered crowds fly frighted o’er the field; Atrides’ arm the sinking hero stays, And, saved from numbers, to his car conveys.

These words scarce spoke, with generous ardour press’d, His manly limbs in azure arms he dress’d. That day, Atrides! a superior hand Had stretch’d thee breathless on the hostile strand; But all at once, thy fury to compose, The kings of Greece, an awful band, arose; Even he their chief, great Agamemnon, press’d Thy daring hand, and this advice address’d: “Whither, O Menelaus! wouldst thou run, And tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun? Grieved though thou art, forbear the rash design; Great Hector’s arm is mightier far than thine: Even fierce Achilles learn’d its force to fear, And trembling met this dreadful son of war. Sit thou secure, amidst thy social band; Greece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand. The mightiest warrior of the Achaian name, Though bold and burning with desire of fame, Content the doubtful honour might forego, So great the danger, and so brave the foe.”

The towering chiefs to fiercer fight advance: And first Sarpedon whirl’d his weighty lance, Which o’er the warrior’s shoulder took its course, And spent in empty air its dying force. Not so Patroclus’ never-erring dart; Aim’d at his breast it pierced a mortal part, Where the strong fibres bind the solid heart. Then as the mountain oak, or poplar tall, Or pine (fit mast for some great admiral) Nods to the axe, till with a groaning sound It sinks, and spreads its honours on the ground, Thus fell the king; and laid on earth supine, Before his chariot stretch’d his form divine: He grasp’d the dust distain’d with streaming gore, And, pale in death, lay groaning on the shore. So lies a bull beneath the lion’s paws, While the grim savage grinds with foamy jaws The trembling limbs, and sucks the smoking blood; Deep groans, and hollow roars, rebellow through the wood.

The hardy warriors whom Bœotia bred, Penelius, Leitus, Prothoënor, led: With these Arcesilaus and Clonius stand, Equal in arms, and equal in command. These head the troops that rocky Aulis yields, And Eteon’s hills, and Hyrie’s watery fields, And Schoenos, Scholos, Græa near the main, And Mycalessia’s ample piny plain; Those who in Peteon or Ilesion dwell, Or Harma where Apollo’s prophet fell; Heleon and Hylè, which the springs o’erflow; And Medeon lofty, and Ocalea low; Or in the meads of Haliartus stray, Or Thespia sacred to the god of day: Onchestus, Neptune’s celebrated groves; Copæ, and Thisbè, famed for silver doves; For flocks Erythræ, Glissa for the vine; Platea green, and Nysa the divine; And they whom Thebé’s well-built walls inclose, Where Mydè, Eutresis, Coronè, rose; And Arnè rich, with purple harvests crown’d; And Anthedon, Bœotia’s utmost bound. Full fifty ships they send, and each conveys Twice sixty warriors through the foaming seas.[102]

The bold Antilochus the slaughter led, The first who struck a valiant Trojan dead: At great Echepolus the lance arrives, Razed his high crest, and through his helmet drives; Warm’d in the brain the brazen weapon lies, And shades eternal settle o’er his eyes. So sinks a tower, that long assaults had stood Of force and fire, its walls besmear’d with blood. Him, the bold leader of the Abantian throng,[140] Seized to despoil, and dragg’d the corpse along: But while he strove to tug the inserted dart, Agenor’s javelin reach’d the hero’s heart. His flank, unguarded by his ample shield, Admits the lance: he falls, and spurns the field; The nerves, unbraced, support his limbs no more; The soul comes floating in a tide of gore. Trojans and Greeks now gather round the slain; The war renews, the warriors bleed again: As o’er their prey rapacious wolves engage, Man dies on man, and all is blood and rage.

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!”

Divine Æneas brings the Dardan race, Anchises’ son, by Venus’ stolen embrace, Born in the shades of Ida’s secret grove; (A mortal mixing with the queen of love;) Archilochus and Acamas divide The warrior’s toils, and combat by his side.

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.

This said, the hero o’er his shoulders flung A lion’s spoils, that to his ankles hung; Then seized his ponderous lance, and strode along. Meges the bold, with Ajax famed for speed, The warrior roused, and to the entrenchments lead.

“If some dire oracle thy breast alarm, If aught from Jove, or Thetis, stop thy arm, Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine, If I but lead the Myrmidonian line: Clad in thy dreadful arms if I appear, Proud Troy shall tremble, and desert the war; Without thy person Greece shall win the day, And thy mere image chase her foes away. Press’d by fresh forces, her o’erlabour’d train Shall quit the ships, and Greece respire again.” Thus, blind to fate! with supplicating breath, Thou begg’st his arms, and in his arms thy death. Unfortunately good! a boding sigh Thy friend return’d; and with it, this reply: “Patroclus! thy Achilles knows no fears; Nor words from Jove nor oracles he hears; Nor aught a mother’s caution can suggest; The tyrant’s pride lies rooted in my breast. My wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thought engage, Those, my sole oracles, inspire my rage: I made him tyrant: gave him power to wrong Even me: I felt it; and shall feel it long. The maid, my black-eyed maid, he forced away, Due to the toils of many a well-fought day; Due to my conquest of her father’s reign; Due to the votes of all the Grecian train. From me he forced her; me, the bold and brave, Disgraced, dishonour’d, like the meanest slave. But bear we this—the wrongs I grieve are past; ’Tis time our fury should relent at last: I fix’d its date; the day I wish’d appears: How Hector to my ships his battle bears, The flames my eyes, the shouts invade my ears. Go then, Patroclus! court fair honour’s charms In Troy’s famed fields, and in Achilles’ arms: Lead forth my martial Myrmidons to fight, Go save the fleets, and conquer in my right. See the thin relics of their baffled band At the last edge of yon deserted land! Behold all Ilion on their ships descends; How the cloud blackens, how the storm impends! It was not thus, when, at my sight amazed, Troy saw and trembled, as this helmet blazed: Had not the injurious king our friendship lost, Yon ample trench had buried half her host.

Thus by their leaders’ care each martial band Moves into ranks, and stretches o’er the land. With shouts the Trojans, rushing from afar, Proclaim their motions, and provoke the war. So when inclement winters vex the plain With piercing frosts, or thick-descending rain, To warmer seas the cranes embodied fly,[108] With noise, and order, through the midway sky; To pigmy nations wounds and death they bring, And all the war descends upon the wing, But silent, breathing rage, resolved and skill’d[109] By mutual aids to fix a doubtful field, Swift march the Greeks: the rapid dust around Darkening arises from the labour’d ground. Thus from his flaggy wings when Notus sheds A night of vapours round the mountain heads, Swift-gliding mists the dusky fields invade, To thieves more grateful than the midnight shade; While scarce the swains their feeding flocks survey, Lost and confused amidst the thicken’d day: So wrapp’d in gathering dust, the Grecian train, A moving cloud, swept on, and hid the plain.

Thus round Pelides breathing war and blood Greece, sheathed in arms, beside her vessels stood; While near impending from a neighbouring height, Troy’s black battalions wait the shock of fight. Then Jove to Themis gives command, to call The gods to council in the starry hall: Swift o’er Olympus’ hundred hills she flies, And summons all the senate of the skies. These shining on, in long procession come To Jove’s eternal adamantine dome. Not one was absent, not a rural power That haunts the verdant gloom, or rosy bower; Each fair-hair’d dryad of the shady wood, Each azure sister of the silver flood; All but old Ocean, hoary sire! who keeps His ancient seat beneath the sacred deeps. On marble thrones, with lucid columns crown’d, (The work of Vulcan,) sat the powers around. Even he whose trident sways the watery reign Heard the loud summons, and forsook the main, Assumed his throne amid the bright abodes, And question’d thus the sire of men and gods: