Iliad on War

To these succeed Aspledon’s martial train, Who plough the spacious Orchomenian plain. Two valiant brothers rule the undaunted throng, Iälmen and Ascalaphus the strong: Sons of Astyochè, the heavenly fair, Whose virgin charms subdued the god of war: (In Actor’s court as she retired to rest, The strength of Mars the blushing maid compress’d) Their troops in thirty sable vessels sweep, With equal oars, the hoarse-resounding deep.

He spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground Sprung from his car: his ringing arms resound. Dire was the clang, and dreadful from afar, Of arm’d Tydides rushing to the war. As when the winds, ascending by degrees,[138] First move the whitening surface of the seas, The billows float in order to the shore, The wave behind rolls on the wave before; Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise, Foam o’er the rocks, and thunder to the skies. So to the fight the thick battalions throng, Shields urged on shields, and men drove men along Sedate and silent move the numerous bands; No sound, no whisper, but the chief’s commands, Those only heard; with awe the rest obey, As if some god had snatch’d their voice away. Not so the Trojans; from their host ascends A general shout that all the region rends. As when the fleecy flocks unnumber’d stand In wealthy folds, and wait the milker’s hand, The hollow vales incessant bleating fills, The lambs reply from all the neighbouring hills: Such clamours rose from various nations round, Mix’d was the murmur, and confused the sound. Each host now joins, and each a god inspires, These Mars incites, and those Minerva fires, Pale flight around, and dreadful terror reign; And discord raging bathes the purple plain; Discord! dire sister of the slaughtering power, Small at her birth, but rising every hour, While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound, She stalks on earth, and shakes the world around;[139] The nations bleed, where’er her steps she turns, The groan still deepens, and the combat burns.

To guard his slaughter’d friend, Æneas flies, His spear extending where the carcase lies; Watchful he wheels, protects it every way, As the grim lion stalks around his prey. O’er the fall’n trunk his ample shield display’d, He hides the hero with his mighty shade, And threats aloud! the Greeks with longing eyes Behold at distance, but forbear the prize. Then fierce Tydides stoops; and from the fields Heaved with vast force, a rocky fragment wields. Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise, Such men as live in these degenerate days:[147] He swung it round; and, gathering strength to throw, Discharged the ponderous ruin at the foe. Where to the hip the inserted thigh unites, Full on the bone the pointed marble lights; Through both the tendons broke the rugged stone, And stripp’d the skin, and crack’d the solid bone. Sunk on his knees, and staggering with his pains, His falling bulk his bended arm sustains; Lost in a dizzy mist the warrior lies; A sudden cloud comes swimming o’er his eyes. There the brave chief, who mighty numbers sway’d, Oppress’d had sunk to death’s eternal shade, But heavenly Venus, mindful of the love She bore Anchises in the Idaean grove, His danger views with anguish and despair, And guards her offspring with a mother’s care. About her much-loved son her arms she throws, Her arms whose whiteness match the falling snows. Screen’d from the foe behind her shining veil, The swords wave harmless, and the javelins fail; Safe through the rushing horse, and feather’d flight Of sounding shafts, she bears him from the fight.

Then with a voice that shook the vaulted skies, The king insults the goddess as she flies: “Ill with Jove’s daughter bloody fights agree, The field of combat is no scene for thee: Go, let thy own soft sex employ thy care, Go, lull the coward, or delude the fair. Taught by this stroke renounce the war’s alarms, And learn to tremble at the name of arms.”

She spoke, and pass’d in air. The hero rose: Her ægis Pallas o’er his shoulder throws; Around his brows a golden cloud she spread; A stream of glory flamed above his head. As when from some beleaguer’d town arise The smokes, high curling to the shaded skies; (Seen from some island, o’er the main afar, When men distress’d hang out the sign of war;) Soon as the sun in ocean hides his rays, Thick on the hills the flaming beacons blaze; With long-projected beams the seas are bright, And heaven’s high arch reflects the ruddy light: So from Achilles’ head the splendours rise, Reflecting blaze on blaze against the skies. Forth march’d the chief, and distant from the crowd, High on the rampart raised his voice aloud; With her own shout Minerva swells the sound; Troy starts astonish’d, and the shores rebound. As the loud trumpet’s brazen mouth from far With shrilling clangour sounds the alarm of war, Struck from the walls, the echoes float on high, And the round bulwarks and thick towers reply; So high his brazen voice the hero rear’d: Hosts dropp’d their arms, and trembled as they heard: And back the chariots roll, and coursers bound, And steeds and men lie mingled on the ground. Aghast they see the living lightnings play, And turn their eyeballs from the flashing ray. Thrice from the trench his dreadful voice he raised, And thrice they fled, confounded and amazed. Twelve in the tumult wedged, untimely rush’d On their own spears, by their own chariots crush’d: While, shielded from the darts, the Greeks obtain The long-contended carcase of the slain.

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

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

Thoas came next, Andræmon’s valiant son, From Pleuron’s walls, and chalky Calydon, And rough Pylene, and the Olenian steep, And Chalcis, beaten by the rolling deep. He led the warriors from the Ætolian shore, For now the sons of Œneus were no more! The glories of the mighty race were fled! Œneus himself, and Meleager dead! To Thoas’ care now trust the martial train, His forty vessels follow through the main.

The king of men his hardy host inspires With loud command, with great example fires! Himself first rose, himself before the rest His mighty limbs in radiant armour dress’d, And first he cased his manly legs around In shining greaves with silver buckles bound; The beaming cuirass next adorn’d his breast, The same which once king Cinyras possess’d: (The fame of Greece and her assembled host Had reach’d that monarch on the Cyprian coast; ’Twas then, the friendship of the chief to gain, This glorious gift he sent, nor sent in vain:) Ten rows of azure steel the work infold, Twice ten of tin, and twelve of ductile gold; Three glittering dragons to the gorget rise, Whose imitated scales against the skies Reflected various light, and arching bow’d, Like colour’d rainbows o’er a showery cloud (Jove’s wondrous bow, of three celestial dies, Placed as a sign to man amidst the skies). A radiant baldric, o’er his shoulder tied, Sustain’d the sword that glitter’d at his side: Gold was the hilt, a silver sheath encased The shining blade, and golden hangers graced. His buckler’s mighty orb was next display’d, That round the warrior cast a dreadful shade; Ten zones of brass its ample brim surround, And twice ten bosses the bright convex crown’d: Tremendous Gorgon frown’d upon its field, And circling terrors fill’d the expressive shield: Within its concave hung a silver thong, On which a mimic serpent creeps along, His azure length in easy waves extends, Till in three heads the embroider’d monster ends. Last o’er his brows his fourfold helm he placed, With nodding horse-hair formidably graced; And in his hands two steely javelins wields, That blaze to heaven, and lighten all the fields.

“How long, ye sons of Priam! will ye fly, And unrevenged see Priam’s people die? Still unresisted shall the foe destroy, And stretch the slaughter to the gates of Troy? Lo, brave Æneas sinks beneath his wound, Not godlike Hector more in arms renown’d: Haste all, and take the generous warrior’s part. He said;—new courage swell’d each hero’s heart. Sarpedon first his ardent soul express’d, And, turn’d to Hector, these bold words address’d:

Next move to war the generous Argive train, From high Trœzenè, and Maseta’s plain, And fair Ægina circled by the main: Whom strong Tyrinthe’s lofty walls surround, And Epidaure with viny harvests crown’d: And where fair Asinen and Hermoin show Their cliffs above, and ample bay below. These by the brave Euryalus were led, Great Sthenelus, and greater Diomed; But chief Tydides bore the sovereign sway: In fourscore barks they plough the watery way.

“O sire! can no resentment touch thy soul? Can Mars rebel, and does no thunder roll? What lawless rage on yon forbidden plain, What rash destruction! and what heroes slain! Venus, and Phœbus with the dreadful bow, Smile on the slaughter, and enjoy my woe. Mad, furious power! whose unrelenting mind No god can govern, and no justice bind. Say, mighty father! shall we scourge this pride, And drive from fight the impetuous homicide?”

Ulysses thus, and thus Eumedes’ son: “What Dolon knows, his faithful tongue shall own. Hector, the peers assembling in his tent, A council holds at Ilus’ monument. No certain guards the nightly watch partake; Where’er yon fires ascend, the Trojans wake: Anxious for Troy, the guard the natives keep; Safe in their cares, the auxiliar forces sleep, Whose wives and infants, from the danger far, Discharge their souls of half the fears of war.”

Now, like a deluge, covering all around, The shining armies sweep along the ground; Swift as a flood of fire, when storms arise, Floats the wild field, and blazes to the skies. Earth groan’d beneath them; as when angry Jove Hurls down the forky lightning from above, On Arimé when he the thunder throws, And fires Typhœus with redoubled blows, Where Typhon, press’d beneath the burning load, Still feels the fury of the avenging god.

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

Then died Scamandrius, expert in the chase, In woods and wilds to wound the savage race; Diana taught him all her sylvan arts, To bend the bow, and aim unerring darts: But vainly here Diana’s arts he tries, The fatal lance arrests him as he flies; From Menelaus’ arm the weapon sent, Through his broad back and heaving bosom went: Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound, His brazen armour rings against the ground.

The thronging troops obscure the dusky fields, Horrid with bristling spears, and gleaming shields. As when a general darkness veils the main, (Soft Zephyr curling the wide wat’ry plain,) The waves scarce heave, the face of ocean sleeps, And a still horror saddens all the deeps; Thus in thick orders settling wide around, At length composed they sit, and shade the ground. Great Hector first amidst both armies broke The solemn silence, and their powers bespoke:

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

Struck at the sight, recede the Trojan train: The shouting Argives strip the heroes slain. And now had Troy, by Greece compell’d to yield, Fled to her ramparts, and resign’d the field; Greece, in her native fortitude elate, With Jove averse, had turn’d the scale of fate: But Phœbus urged Æneas to the fight; He seem’d like aged Periphas to sight: (A herald in Anchises’ love grown old, Revered for prudence, and with prudence bold.)

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

Fierce Ajax led the Locrian squadrons on, Ajax the less, Oïleus’ valiant son; Skill’d to direct the flying dart aright; Swift in pursuit, and active in the fight. Him, as their chief, the chosen troops attend, Which Bessa, Thronus, and rich Cynos send; Opus, Calliarus, and Scarphe’s bands; And those who dwell where pleasing Augia stands, And where Boägrius floats the lowly lands, Or in fair Tarphe’s sylvan seats reside: In forty vessels cut the yielding tide.

So raged Tydides, boundless in his ire, Drove armies back, and made all Troy retire. With grief the leader of the Lycian band Saw the wide waste of his destructive hand: His bended bow against the chief he drew; Swift to the mark the thirsty arrow flew, Whose forky point the hollow breastplate tore, Deep in his shoulder pierced, and drank the gore: The rushing stream his brazen armour dyed, While the proud archer thus exulting cried:

“Thy sire, O prince! o’erturn’d the Trojan state, Whose perjured monarch well deserved his fate; Those heavenly steeds the hero sought so far, False he detain’d, the just reward of war. Nor so content, the generous chief defied, With base reproaches and unmanly pride. But you, unworthy the high race you boast, Shall raise my glory when thy own is lost: Now meet thy fate, and by Sarpedon slain, Add one more ghost to Pluto’s gloomy reign.”

So spoke the guardian of the Trojan state, Then rush’d impetuous through the Scæan gate. Him Paris follow’d to the dire alarms; Both breathing slaughter, both resolved in arms. As when to sailors labouring through the main, That long have heaved the weary oar in vain, Jove bids at length the expected gales arise; The gales blow grateful, and the vessel flies. So welcome these to Troy’s desiring train, The bands are cheer’d, the war awakes again.

No sooner Hector saw the king retired, But thus his Trojans and his aids he fired: “Hear, all ye Dardan, all ye Lycian race! Famed in close fight, and dreadful face to face: Now call to mind your ancient trophies won, Your great forefathers’ virtues, and your own. Behold, the general flies! deserts his powers! Lo, Jove himself declares the conquest ours! Now on yon ranks impel your foaming steeds; And, sure of glory, dare immortal deeds.”

“Lo, Melanippus! lo, where Dolops lies; And is it thus our royal kinsman dies? O’ermatch’d he falls; to two at once a prey, And lo! they bear the bloody arms away! Come on—a distant war no longer wage, But hand to hand thy country’s foes engage: Till Greece at once, and all her glory end; Or Ilion from her towery height descend, Heaved from the lowest stone; and bury all In one sad sepulchre, one common fall.”

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

Through Mulius’ head then drove the impetuous spear: The warrior falls, transfix’d from ear to ear. Thy life, Echeclus! next the sword bereaves, Deep though the front the ponderous falchion cleaves; Warm’d in the brain the smoking weapon lies, The purple death comes floating o’er his eyes. Then brave Deucalion died: the dart was flung Where the knit nerves the pliant elbow strung; He dropp’d his arm, an unassisting weight, And stood all impotent, expecting fate: Full on his neck the falling falchion sped, From his broad shoulders hew’d his crested head: Forth from the bone the spinal marrow flies, And, sunk in dust, the corpse extended lies. Rhigmas, whose race from fruitful Thracia came, (The son of Pierus, an illustrious name,) Succeeds to fate: the spear his belly rends; Prone from his car the thundering chief descends. The squire, who saw expiring on the ground His prostrate master, rein’d the steeds around; His back, scarce turn’d, the Pelian javelin gored, And stretch’d the servant o’er his dying lord. As when a flame the winding valley fills, And runs on crackling shrubs between the hills; Then o’er the stubble up the mountain flies, Fires the high woods, and blazes to the skies, This way and that, the spreading torrent roars: So sweeps the hero through the wasted shores; Around him wide, immense destruction pours And earth is deluged with the sanguine showers, As with autumnal harvests cover’d o’er, And thick bestrewn, lies Ceres’ sacred floor; When round and round, with never-wearied pain, The trampling steers beat out the unnumber’d grain: So the fierce coursers, as the chariot rolls, Tread down whole ranks, and crush out heroes’ souls, Dash’d from their hoofs while o’er the dead they fly, Black, bloody drops the smoking chariot dye: The spiky wheels through heaps of carnage tore; And thick the groaning axles dropp’d with gore.

“O son of Peleus! what avails to trace (Replied the warrior) our illustrious race? From rich Paeonia’s valleys I command, Arm’d with protended spears, my native band; Now shines the tenth bright morning since I came In aid of Ilion to the fields of fame: Axius, who swells with all the neighbouring rills, And wide around the floated region fills, Begot my sire, whose spear much glory won: Now lift thy arm, and try that hero’s son!”

Now round the lists the admiring armies stand, With javelins fix’d, the Greek and Trojan band. Amidst the dreadful vale, the chiefs advance, All pale with rage, and shake the threatening lance. The Trojan first his shining javelin threw; Full on Atrides’ ringing shield it flew, Nor pierced the brazen orb, but with a bound[122] Leap’d from the buckler, blunted, on the ground. Atrides then his massy lance prepares, In act to throw, but first prefers his prayers:

“What cause, O daughter of Almighty Jove! Thus wings thy progress from the realms above? Once more impetuous dost thou bend thy way, To give to Greece the long divided day? Too much has Troy already felt thy hate, Now breathe thy rage, and hush the stern debate; This day, the business of the field suspend; War soon shall kindle, and great Ilion bend; Since vengeful goddesses confederate join To raze her walls, though built by hands divine.”

“Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliar bands! Now take refreshment as the hour demands; Guard well the walls, relieve the watch of night. Till the new sun restores the cheerful light. Then shall our herald, to the Atrides sent, Before their ships proclaim my son’s intent. Next let a truce be ask’d, that Troy may burn Her slaughter’d heroes, and their bones inurn; That done, once more the fate of war be tried, And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!”

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

“Attend the mandate of the sire above! In me behold the messenger of Jove: He bids thee from forbidden wars repair To thine own deeps, or to the fields of air. This if refused, he bids thee timely weigh His elder birthright, and superior sway. How shall thy rashness stand the dire alarms If heaven’s omnipotence descend in arms? Striv’st thou with him by whom all power is given? And art thou equal to the lord of heaven?”

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

Next, his high head the helmet graced; behind The sweepy crest hung floating in the wind: Like the red star, that from his flaming hair Shakes down diseases, pestilence, and war; So stream’d the golden honours from his head, Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories shed. The chief beholds himself with wondering eyes; His arms he poises, and his motions tries; Buoy’d by some inward force, he seems to swim, And feels a pinion lifting every limb.

“Shall then, O tyrant of the ethereal reign! My schemes, my labours, and my hopes be vain? Have I, for this, shook Ilion with alarms, Assembled nations, set two worlds in arms? To spread the war, I flew from shore to shore; The immortal coursers scarce the labour bore. At length ripe vengeance o’er their heads impends, But Jove himself the faithless race defends. Loth as thou art to punish lawless lust, Not all the gods are partial and unjust.”

“O prince! (Lycaon’s valiant son replied) As thine the steeds, be thine the task to guide. The horses, practised to their lord’s command, Shall bear the rein, and answer to thy hand; But, if, unhappy, we desert the fight, Thy voice alone can animate their flight; Else shall our fates be number’d with the dead, And these, the victor’s prize, in triumph led. Thine be the guidance, then: with spear and shield Myself will charge this terror of the field.”

“Iris! descend, and what we here ordain, Report to yon mad tyrant of the main. Bid him from fight to his own deeps repair, Or breathe from slaughter in the fields of air. If he refuse, then let him timely weigh Our elder birthright, and superior sway. How shall his rashness stand the dire alarms, If heaven’s omnipotence descend in arms? Strives he with me, by whom his power was given, And is there equal to the lord of heaven?”

No camps, no bulwarks now the Trojans fear, Those are not dreadful, no Achilles there; No longer flames the lance of Tydeus’ son; No more your general calls his heroes on: Hector, alone, I hear; his dreadful breath Commands your slaughter, or proclaims your death. Yet now, Patroclus, issue to the plain: Now save the ships, the rising fires restrain, And give the Greeks to visit Greece again. But heed my words, and mark a friend’s command, Who trusts his fame and honours in thy hand, And from thy deeds expects the Achaian host Shall render back the beauteous maid he lost: Rage uncontroll’d through all the hostile crew, But touch not Hector, Hector is my due. Though Jove in thunder should command the war, Be just, consult my glory, and forbear. The fleet once saved, desist from further chase, Nor lead to Ilion’s walls the Grecian race; Some adverse god thy rashness may destroy; Some god, like Phœbus, ever kind to Troy. Let Greece, redeem’d from this destructive strait, Do her own work; and leave the rest to fate. O! would to all the immortal powers above, Apollo, Pallas, and almighty Jove! That not one Trojan might be left alive, And not a Greek of all the race survive: Might only we the vast destruction shun, And only we destroy the accursed town!” Such conference held the chiefs; while on the strand Great Jove with conquest crown’d the Trojan band. Ajax no more the sounding storm sustain’d, So thick the darts an iron tempest rain’d: On his tired arm the weighty buckler hung; His hollow helm with falling javelins rung; His breath, in quick short pantings, comes and goes; And painful sweat from all his members flows. Spent and o’erpower’d, he barely breathes at most; Yet scarce an army stirs him from his post; Dangers on dangers all around him glow, And toil to toil, and woe succeeds to woe.

Demoleon next, Antenor’s offspring, laid Breathless in dust, the price of rashness paid. The impatient steel with full-descending sway Forced through his brazen helm its furious way, Resistless drove the batter’d skull before, And dash’d and mingled all the brains with gore. This sees Hippodamas, and seized with fright, Deserts his chariot for a swifter flight: The lance arrests him: an ignoble wound The panting Trojan rivets to the ground. He groans away his soul: not louder roars, At Neptune’s shrine on Helicè’s high shores, The victim bull; the rocks re-bellow round, And ocean listens to the grateful sound. Then fell on Polydore his vengeful rage,[268] The youngest hope of Priam’s stooping age: (Whose feet for swiftness in the race surpass’d:) Of all his sons, the dearest, and the last. To the forbidden field he takes his flight, In the first folly of a youthful knight, To vaunt his swiftness wheels around the plain, But vaunts not long, with all his swiftness slain: Struck where the crossing belts unite behind, And golden rings the double back-plate join’d Forth through the navel burst the thrilling steel; And on his knees with piercing shrieks he fell; The rushing entrails pour’d upon the ground His hands collect; and darkness wraps him round. When Hector view’d, all ghastly in his gore, Thus sadly slain the unhappy Polydore, A cloud of sorrow overcast his sight, His soul no longer brook’d the distant fight: Full in Achilles’ dreadful front he came, And shook his javelin like a waving flame. The son of Peleus sees, with joy possess’d, His heart high-bounding in his rising breast. “And, lo! the man on whom black fates attend; The man, that slew Achilles, is his friend! No more shall Hector’s and Pelides’ spear Turn from each other in the walks of war.”— Then with revengeful eyes he scann’d him o’er: “Come, and receive thy fate!” He spake no more.

But if a clamorous vile plebeian rose, Him with reproof he check’d or tamed with blows. “Be still, thou slave, and to thy betters yield; Unknown alike in council and in field! Ye gods, what dastards would our host command! Swept to the war, the lumber of a land. Be silent, wretch, and think not here allow’d That worst of tyrants, an usurping crowd. To one sole monarch Jove commits the sway; His are the laws, and him let all obey.”[86]

lay your fears aside. This wondrous signal Jove himself displays, Of long, long labours, but eternal praise. As many birds as by the snake were slain, So many years the toils of Greece remain; But wait the tenth, for Ilion’s fall decreed:’ Thus spoke the prophet, thus the Fates succeed. Obey, ye Grecians! with submission wait, Nor let your flight avert the Trojan fate.” He said: the shores with loud applauses sound, The hollow ships each deafening shout rebound. Then Nestor thus—“These vain debates forbear, Ye talk like children, not like heroes dare. Where now are all your high resolves at last? Your leagues concluded, your engagements past? Vow’d with libations and with victims then, Now vanish’d like their smoke: the faith of men! While useless words consume the unactive hours, No wonder Troy so long resists our powers. Rise, great Atrides! and with courage sway; We march to war, if thou direct the way. But leave the few that dare resist thy laws, The mean deserters of the Grecian cause, To grudge the conquests mighty Jove prepares, And view with envy our successful wars. On that great day, when first the martial train, Big with the fate of Ilion, plough’d the main, Jove, on the right, a prosperous signal sent, And thunder rolling shook the firmament. Encouraged hence, maintain the glorious strife, Till every soldier grasp a Phrygian wife, Till Helen’s woes at full revenged appear, And Troy’s proud matrons render tear for tear. Before that day, if any Greek invite His country’s troops to base, inglorious flight, Stand forth that Greek! and hoist his sail to fly, And die the dastard first, who dreads to die. But now, O monarch! all thy chiefs advise:[91] Nor what they offer, thou thyself despise. Among those counsels, let not mine be vain; In tribes and nations to divide thy train: His separate troops let every leader call, Each strengthen each, and all encourage all.

Those, where fair Elis and Buprasium join; Whom Hyrmin, here, and Myrsinus confine, And bounded there, where o’er the valleys rose The Olenian rock; and where Alisium flows; Beneath four chiefs (a numerous army) came: The strength and glory of the Epean name. In separate squadrons these their train divide, Each leads ten vessels through the yielding tide. One was Amphimachus, and Thalpius one; (Eurytus’ this, and that Teätus’ son;) Diores sprung from Amarynceus’ line; And great Polyxenus, of force divine.

Nor was the general wanting to his train; From troop to troop he toils through all the plain, “Ye Greeks, be men! the charge of battle bear; Your brave associates and yourselves revere! Let glorious acts more glorious acts inspire, And catch from breast to breast the noble fire! On valour’s side the odds of combat lie, The brave live glorious, or lamented die; The wretch who trembles in the field of fame, Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame!”

Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground, Heaps fall on heaps, and heaven and earth resound. Bold Aphareus by great Æneas bled; As toward the chief he turn’d his daring head, He pierced his throat; the bending head, depress’d Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast; His shield reversed o’er the fallen warrior lies, And everlasting slumber seals his eyes. Antilochus, as Thoon turn’d him round, Transpierced his back with a dishonest wound: The hollow vein, that to the neck extends Along the chine, his eager javelin rends: Supine he falls, and to his social train Spreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain. Thv exulting victor, leaping where he lay, From his broad shoulders tore the spoils away; His time observed; for closed by foes around, On all sides thick the peals of arms resound. His shield emboss’d the ringing storm sustains, But he impervious and untouch’d remains. (Great Neptune’s care preserved from hostile rage This youth, the joy of Nestor’s glorious age.) In arms intrepid, with the first he fought, Faced every foe, and every danger sought; His winged lance, resistless as the wind, Obeys each motion of the master’s mind! Restless it flies, impatient to be free, And meditates the distant enemy. The son of Asius, Adamas, drew near, And struck his target with the brazen spear Fierce in his front: but Neptune wards the blow, And blunts the javelin of th’ eluded foe: In the broad buckler half the weapon stood, Splinter’d on earth flew half the broken wood. Disarm’d, he mingled in the Trojan crew; But Merion’s spear o’ertook him as he flew, Deep in the belly’s rim an entrance found, Where sharp the pang, and mortal is the wound. Bending he fell, and doubled to the ground, Lay panting. Thus an ox in fetters tied, While death’s strong pangs distend his labouring side, His bulk enormous on the field displays; His heaving heart beats thick as ebbing life decays.

Amid the ranks, with mutual thirst of fame, Lycon the brave, and fierce Peneleus came; In vain their javelins at each other flew, Now, met in arms, their eager swords they drew. On the plumed crest of his Bœotian foe The daring Lycon aim’d a noble blow; The sword broke short; but his, Peneleus sped Full on the juncture of the neck and head: The head, divided by a stroke so just, Hung by the skin; the body sunk to dust.

We have now passed through the Iliad, and seen the anger of Achilles, and the terrible effects of it, at an end: as that only was the subject of the poem, and the nature of epic poetry would not permit our author to proceed to the event of the war, it perhaps may be acceptable to the common reader to give a short account of what happened to Troy and the chief actors in this poem after the conclusion of it.

He said, and pass’d with sad presaging heart To seek his spouse, his soul’s far dearer part; At home he sought her, but he sought in vain; She, with one maid of all her menial train, Had hence retired; and with her second joy, The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy, Pensive she stood on Ilion’s towery height, Beheld the war, and sicken’d at the sight; There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore, Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore.

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

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

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

He spoke—the warriors at his fierce command Pour a new deluge on the Grecian band. Even Ajax paused, (so thick the javelins fly,) Stepp’d back, and doubted or to live or die. Yet, where the oars are placed, he stands to wait What chief approaching dares attempt his fate: Even to the last his naval charge defends, Now shakes his spear, now lifts, and now protends; Even yet, the Greeks with piercing shouts inspires, Amidst attacks, and deaths, and darts, and fires.

Pleased to be first of all the powers address’d, She breathes new vigour in her hero’s breast, And fills with keen revenge, with fell despite, Desire of blood, and rage, and lust of fight. So burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o’er), Repulsed in vain, and thirsty still of gore; (Bold son of air and heat) on angry wings Untamed, untired, he turns, attacks, and stings. Fired with like ardour fierce Atrides flew, And sent his soul with every lance he threw.

The troops obey’d; and thrice in order led[281] (Achilles first) their coursers round the dead; And thrice their sorrows and laments renew; Tears bathe their arms, and tears the sands bedew. For such a warrior Thetis aids their woe, Melts their strong hearts, and bids their eyes to flow. But chief, Pelides: thick-succeeding sighs Burst from his heart, and torrents from his eyes: His slaughtering hands, yet red with blood, he laid On his dead friend’s cold breast, and thus he said:

“Unhappy monarch! whom the Grecian race With shame deserting, heap with vile disgrace. Not such at Argos was their generous vow: Once all their voice, but ah! forgotten now: Ne’er to return, was then the common cry, Till Troy’s proud structures should in ashes lie. Behold them weeping for their native shore; What could their wives or helpless children more? What heart but melts to leave the tender train, And, one short month, endure the wintry main? Few leagues removed, we wish our peaceful seat, When the ship tosses, and the tempests beat: Then well may this long stay provoke their tears, The tedious length of nine revolving years. Not for their grief the Grecian host I blame; But vanquish’d! baffled! oh, eternal shame! Expect the time to Troy’s destruction given. And try the faith of Chalcas and of heaven. What pass’d at Aulis, Greece can witness bear,[89] And all who live to breathe this Phrygian air. Beside a fountain’s sacred brink we raised Our verdant altars, and the victims blazed: ’Twas where the plane-tree spread its shades around, The altars heaved; and from the crumbling ground A mighty dragon shot, of dire portent; From Jove himself the dreadful sign was sent. Straight to the tree his sanguine spires he roll’d, And curl’d around in many a winding fold; The topmost branch a mother-bird possess’d; Eight callow infants fill’d the mossy nest; Herself the ninth; the serpent, as he hung, Stretch’d his black jaws and crush’d the crying young; While hovering near, with miserable moan, The drooping mother wail’d her children gone. The mother last, as round the nest she flew, Seized by the beating wing, the monster slew; Nor long survived: to marble turn’d, he stands A lasting prodigy on Aulis’ sands. Such was the will of Jove; and hence we dare Trust in his omen, and support the war. For while around we gazed with wondering eyes, And trembling sought the powers with sacrifice, Full of his god, the reverend Chalcas cried,[90] ‘Ye Grecian warriors!

“Ye valiant Trojans, with attention hear! Ye Dardan bands, and generous aids, give ear! This day, we hoped, would wrap in conquering flame Greece with her ships, and crown our toils with fame. But darkness now, to save the cowards, falls, And guards them trembling in their wooden walls. Obey the night, and use her peaceful hours Our steeds to forage, and refresh our powers. Straight from the town be sheep and oxen sought, And strengthening bread and generous wine be brought. Wide o’er the field, high blazing to the sky, Let numerous fires the absent sun supply, The flaming piles with plenteous fuel raise, Till the bright morn her purple beam displays; Lest, in the silence and the shades of night, Greece on her sable ships attempt her flight. Not unmolested let the wretches gain Their lofty decks, or safely cleave the main; Some hostile wound let every dart bestow, Some lasting token of the Phrygian foe, Wounds, that long hence may ask their spouses’ care. And warn their children from a Trojan war. Now through the circuit of our Ilion wall, Let sacred heralds sound the solemn call; To bid the sires with hoary honours crown’d, And beardless youths, our battlements surround. Firm be the guard, while distant lie our powers, And let the matrons hang with lights the towers; Lest, under covert of the midnight shade, The insidious foe the naked town invade. Suffice, to-night, these orders to obey; A nobler charge shall rouse the dawning day. The gods, I trust, shall give to Hector’s hand From these detested foes to free the land, Who plough’d, with fates averse, the watery way: For Trojan vultures a predestined prey. Our common safety must be now the care; But soon as morning paints the fields of air, Sheathed in bright arms let every troop engage, And the fired fleet behold the battle rage. Then, then shall Hector and Tydides prove Whose fates are heaviest in the scales of Jove. To-morrow’s light (O haste the glorious morn!)

Then tell him: loud, that all the Greeks may hear, And learn to scorn the wretch they basely fear; (For arm’d in impudence, mankind he braves, And meditates new cheats on all his slaves; Though shameless as he is, to face these eyes Is what he dares not: if he dares he dies;) Tell him, all terms, all commerce I decline, Nor share his council, nor his battle join; For once deceiv’d, was his; but twice were mine, No—let the stupid prince, whom Jove deprives Of sense and justice, run where frenzy drives; His gifts are hateful: kings of such a kind Stand but as slaves before a noble mind, Not though he proffer’d all himself possess’d, And all his rapine could from others wrest: Not all the golden tides of wealth that crown The many-peopled Orchomenian town;[209] Not all proud Thebes’ unrivall’d walls contain, The world’s great empress on the Egyptian plain (That spreads her conquests o’er a thousand states, And pours her heroes through a hundred gates, Two hundred horsemen and two hundred cars From each wide portal issuing to the wars);[210] Though bribes were heap’d on bribes, in number more Than dust in fields, or sands along the shore; Should all these offers for my friendship call, ’Tis he that offers, and I scorn them all. Atrides’ daughter never shall be led (An ill-match’d consort) to Achilles’ bed; Like golden Venus though she charm’d the heart, And vied with Pallas in the works of art; Some greater Greek let those high nuptials grace, I hate alliance with a tyrant’s race. If heaven restore me to my realms with life, The reverend Peleus shall elect my wife; Thessalian nymphs there are of form divine, And kings that sue to mix their blood with mine. Bless’d in kind love, my years shall glide away, Content with just hereditary sway; There, deaf for ever to the martial strife, Enjoy the dear prerogative of life. Life is not to be bought with heaps of gold.

As when two scales are charged with doubtful loads, From side to side the trembling balance nods, (While some laborious matron, just and poor, With nice exactness weighs her woolly store,) Till poised aloft, the resting beam suspends Each equal weight; nor this, nor that, descends:[227] So stood the war, till Hector’s matchless might, With fates prevailing, turn’d the scale of fight. Fierce as a whirlwind up the walls he flies, And fires his host with loud repeated cries. “Advance, ye Trojans! lend your valiant hands, Haste to the fleet, and toss the blazing brands!” They hear, they run; and, gathering at his call, Raise scaling engines, and ascend the wall: Around the works a wood of glittering spears Shoots up, and all the rising host appears. A ponderous stone bold Hector heaved to throw, Pointed above, and rough and gross below: Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise, Such men as live in these degenerate days: Yet this, as easy as a swain could bear The snowy fleece, he toss’d, and shook in air; For Jove upheld, and lighten’d of its load The unwieldy rock, the labour of a god. Thus arm’d, before the folded gates he came, Of massy substance, and stupendous frame; With iron bars and brazen hinges strong, On lofty beams of solid timber hung: Then thundering through the planks with forceful sway, Drives the sharp rock; the solid beams give way, The folds are shatter’d; from the crackling door Leap the resounding bars, the flying hinges roar. Now rushing in, the furious chief appears, Gloomy as night![228] and shakes two shining spears: A dreadful gleam from his bright armour came, And from his eye-balls flash’d the living flame. He moves a god, resistless in his course, And seems a match for more than mortal force. Then pouring after, through the gaping space, A tide of Trojans flows, and fills the place; The Greeks behold, they tremble, and they fly; The shore is heap’d with death, and tumult rends the sky.

“Since heaven commands it (Ajax made reply) Dismiss the bow, and lay thy arrows by: Thy arms no less suffice the lance to wield, And quit the quiver for the ponderous shield. In the first ranks indulge thy thirst of fame, Thy brave example shall the rest inflame. Fierce as they are, by long successes vain; To force our fleet, or even a ship to gain, Asks toil, and sweat, and blood: their utmost might Shall find its match—No more: ’tis ours to fight.”