Iliad on War

As when the hand of Jove a tempest forms, And rolls the cloud to blacken heaven with storms, Dark o’er the fields the ascending vapour flies, And shades the sun, and blots the golden skies: So from the ships, along the dusky plain, Dire Flight and Terror drove the Trojan train. Even Hector fled; through heads of disarray The fiery coursers forced their lord away: While far behind his Trojans fall confused; Wedged in the trench, in one vast carnage bruised: Chariots on chariots roll: the clashing spokes Shock; while the madding steeds break short their yokes. In vain they labour up the steepy mound; Their charioteers lie foaming on the ground. Fierce on the rear, with shouts Patroclus flies; Tumultuous clamour fills the fields and skies; Thick drifts of dust involve their rapid flight; Clouds rise on clouds, and heaven is snatch’d from sight. The affrighted steeds their dying lords cast down, Scour o’er the fields, and stretch to reach the town. Loud o’er the rout was heard the victor’s cry, Where the war bleeds, and where the thickest die, Where horse and arms, and chariots lie o’erthrown, And bleeding heroes under axles groan. No stop, no check, the steeds of Peleus knew: From bank to bank the immortal coursers flew. High-bounding o’er the fosse, the whirling car Smokes through the ranks, o’ertakes the flying war, And thunders after Hector; Hector flies, Patroclus shakes his lance; but fate denies. Not with less noise, with less impetuous force, The tide of Trojans urge their desperate course, Than when in autumn Jove his fury pours, And earth is loaden with incessant showers; (When guilty mortals break the eternal laws, Or judges, bribed, betray the righteous cause;) From their deep beds he bids the rivers rise, And opens all the flood-gates of the skies: The impetuous torrents from their hills obey, Whole fields are drown’d, and mountains swept away; Loud roars the deluge till it meets the main; And trembling man sees all his labours vain!

The bold Ormenian and Asterian bands In forty barks Eurypylus commands. Where Titan hides his hoary head in snow, And where Hyperia’s silver fountains flow. Thy troops, Argissa, Polypœtes leads, And Eleon, shelter’d by Olympus’ shades, Gyrtonè’s warriors; and where Orthè lies, And Oloösson’s chalky cliffs arise. Sprung from Pirithous of immortal race, The fruit of fair Hippodame’s embrace, (That day, when hurl’d from Pelion’s cloudy head, To distant dens the shaggy Centaurs fled) With Polypœtes join’d in equal sway Leonteus leads, and forty ships obey.

“Where, Pandarus, are all thy honours now, Thy winged arrows and unerring bow, Thy matchless skill, thy yet unrivall’d fame, And boasted glory of the Lycian name? O pierce that mortal! if we mortal call That wondrous force by which whole armies fall; Or god incensed, who quits the distant skies To punish Troy for slighted sacrifice; (Which, oh avert from our unhappy state! For what so dreadful as celestial hate)? Whoe’er he be, propitiate Jove with prayer; If man, destroy; if god, entreat to spare.”

To this the chief: “With praise the rest inspire, Nor urge a soul already fill’d with fire. What strength I have, be now in battle tried, Till every shaft in Phrygian blood be dyed. Since rallying from our wall we forced the foe, Still aim’d at Hector have I bent my bow: Eight forky arrows from this hand have fled, And eight bold heroes by their points lie dead: But sure some god denies me to destroy This fury of the field, this dog of Troy.”

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

Nor Sthenelus, with unassisting hands, Remain’d unheedful of his lord’s commands: His panting steeds, removed from out the war, He fix’d with straiten’d traces to the car, Next, rushing to the Dardan spoil, detains The heavenly coursers with the flowing manes: These in proud triumph to the fleet convey’d, No longer now a Trojan lord obey’d. That charge to bold Deipylus he gave, (Whom most he loved, as brave men love the brave,) Then mounting on his car, resumed the rein, And follow’d where Tydides swept the plain.

Next on Eryalus he flies; a stone, Large as a rock, was by his fury thrown: Full on his crown the ponderous fragment flew, And burst the helm, and cleft the head in two: Prone to the ground the breathless warrior fell, And death involved him with the shades of hell. Then low in dust Epaltes, Echius, lie; Ipheas, Evippus, Polymelus, die; Amphoterus and Erymas succeed; And last Tlepolemus and Pyres bleed. Where’er he moves, the growing slaughters spread In heaps on heaps a monument of dead.

Meanwhile Apollo view’d with envious eyes, And urged great Hector to dispute the prize; (In Mentes’ shape, beneath whose martial care The rough Ciconians learn’d the trade of war;)[247] “Forbear (he cried) with fruitless speed to chase Achilles’ coursers, of ethereal race; They stoop not, these, to mortal man’s command, Or stoop to none but great Achilles’ hand. Too long amused with a pursuit so vain, Turn, and behold the brave Euphorbus slain; By Sparta slain! for ever now suppress’d The fire which burn’d in that undaunted breast!”

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

“O great Ulysses! much-enduring man! Not deeper skill’d in every martial sleight, Than worn to toils, and active in the fight! This day two brothers shall thy conquest grace, And end at once the great Hippasian race, Or thou beneath this lance must press the field.” He said, and forceful pierced his spacious shield: Through the strong brass the ringing javelin thrown, Plough’d half his side, and bared it to the bone. By Pallas’ care, the spear, though deep infix’d, Stopp’d short of life, nor with his entrails mix’d.

Gerenian Nestor then: “So fate has will’d; And all-confirming time has fate fulfill’d. Not he that thunders from the aerial bower, Not Jove himself, upon the past has power. The wall, our late inviolable bound, And best defence, lies smoking on the ground: Even to the ships their conquering arms extend, And groans of slaughter’d Greeks to heaven ascend. On speedy measures then employ your thought In such distress! if counsel profit aught: Arms cannot much: though Mars our souls incite, These gaping wounds withhold us from the fight.”

Apollo heard; and, suppliant as he stood, His heavenly hand restrain’d the flux of blood; He drew the dolours from the wounded part, And breathed a spirit in his rising heart. Renew’d by art divine, the hero stands, And owns the assistance of immortal hands. First to the fight his native troops he warms, Then loudly calls on Troy’s vindictive arms; With ample strides he stalks from place to place; Now fires Agenor, now Polydamas: Æneas next, and Hector he accosts; Inflaming thus the rage of all their hosts.

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

With that, he gluts his rage on numbers slain: Then Dryops tumbled to the ensanguined plain, Pierced through the neck: he left him panting there, And stopp’d Demuchus, great Philetor’s heir. Gigantic chief! deep gash’d the enormous blade, And for the soul an ample passage made. Laoganus and Dardanus expire, The valiant sons of an unhappy sire; Both in one instant from the chariot hurl’d, Sunk in one instant to the nether world: This difference only their sad fates afford That one the spear destroy’d, and one the sword.

Unbless’d Adrastus next at mercy lies Beneath the Spartan spear, a living prize. Scared with the din and tumult of the fight, His headlong steeds, precipitate in flight, Rush’d on a tamarisk’s strong trunk, and broke The shatter’d chariot from the crooked yoke; Wide o’er the field, resistless as the wind, For Troy they fly, and leave their lord behind. Prone on his face he sinks beside the wheel: Atrides o’er him shakes his vengeful steel; The fallen chief in suppliant posture press’d The victor’s knees, and thus his prayer address’d:

“Whither, oh whither does Ulysses run? Oh, flight unworthy great Laertes’ son! Mix’d with the vulgar shall thy fate be found, Pierced in the back, a vile, dishonest wound? Oh turn and save from Hector’s direful rage The glory of the Greeks, the Pylian sage.” His fruitless words are lost unheard in air, Ulysses seeks the ships, and shelters there. But bold Tydides to the rescue goes, A single warrior midst a host of foes; Before the coursers with a sudden spring He leap’d, and anxious thus bespoke the king:

Old Nestor first perceived the approaching sound, Bespeaking thus the Grecian peers around: “Methinks the noise of trampling steeds I hear, Thickening this way, and gathering on my ear; Perhaps some horses of the Trojan breed (So may, ye gods! my pious hopes succeed) The great Tydides and Ulysses bear, Return’d triumphant with this prize of war. Yet much I fear (ah, may that fear be vain!) The chiefs outnumber’d by the Trojan train; Perhaps, even now pursued, they seek the shore; Or, oh! perhaps those heroes are no more.”

Meantime Saturnia from Olympus’ brow, High-throned in gold, beheld the fields below; With joy the glorious conflict she survey’d, Where her great brother gave the Grecians aid. But placed aloft, on Ida’s shady height She sees her Jove, and trembles at the sight. Jove to deceive, what methods shall she try, What arts, to blind his all-beholding eye? At length she trusts her power; resolved to prove The old, yet still successful, cheat of love; Against his wisdom to oppose her charms, And lull the lord of thunders in her arms.

The troops assent; their martial arms they change: The busy chiefs their banded legions range. The kings, though wounded, and oppress’d with pain, With helpful hands themselves assist the train. The strong and cumbrous arms the valiant wield, The weaker warrior takes a lighter shield. Thus sheath’d in shining brass, in bright array The legions march, and Neptune leads the way: His brandish’d falchion flames before their eyes, Like lightning flashing through the frighted skies. Clad in his might, the earth-shaking power appears; Pale mortals tremble, and confess their fears.

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

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

Meanwhile the troops beneath Patroclus’ care, Invade the Trojans, and commence the war. As wasps, provoked by children in their play, Pour from their mansions by the broad highway, In swarms the guiltless traveller engage, Whet all their stings, and call forth all their rage: All rise in arms, and, with a general cry, Assert their waxen domes, and buzzing progeny. Thus from the tents the fervent legion swarms, So loud their clamours, and so keen their arms: Their rising rage Patroclus’ breath inspires, Who thus inflames them with heroic fires:

Once more at Ajax Hector’s javelin flies; The Grecian marking, as it cut the skies, Shunn’d the descending death; which hissing on, Stretch’d in the dust the great Iphytus’ son, Schedius the brave, of all the Phocian kind The boldest warrior and the noblest mind: In little Panope, for strength renown’d, He held his seat, and ruled the realms around. Plunged in his throat, the weapon drank his blood, And deep transpiercing through the shoulder stood; In clanging arms the hero fell and all The fields resounded with his weighty fall.

“O thou! whose glory fills the ethereal throne, And all ye deathless powers! protect my son! Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown, Against his country’s foes the war to wage, And rise the Hector of the future age! So when triumphant from successful toils Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils, Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim, And say, ‘This chief transcends his father’s fame:’ While pleased amidst the general shouts of Troy, His mother’s conscious heart o’erflows with joy.”

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

Jove view’d the combat: whose event foreseen, He thus bespoke his sister and his queen: “The hour draws on; the destinies ordain,[245] My godlike son shall press the Phrygian plain: Already on the verge of death he stands, His life is owed to fierce Patroclus’ hands, What passions in a parent’s breast debate! Say, shall I snatch him from impending fate, And send him safe to Lycia, distant far From all the dangers and the toils of war; Or to his doom my bravest offspring yield, And fatten, with celestial blood, the field?”

He said; and breathing in the immortal horse Excessive spirit, urged them to the course; From their high manes they shake the dust, and bear The kindling chariot through the parted war: So flies a vulture through the clamorous train Of geese, that scream, and scatter round the plain. From danger now with swiftest speed they flew, And now to conquest with like speed pursue; Sole in the seat the charioteer remains, Now plies the javelin, now directs the reins: Him brave Alcimedon beheld distress’d, Approach’d the chariot, and the chief address’d:

But when the powers descending swell’d the fight, Then tumult rose: fierce rage and pale affright Varied each face: then Discord sounds alarms, Earth echoes, and the nations rush to arms. Now through the trembling shores Minerva calls, And now she thunders from the Grecian walls. Mars hovering o’er his Troy, his terror shrouds In gloomy tempests, and a night of clouds: Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours With voice divine, from Ilion’s topmost towers: Now shouts to Simois, from her beauteous hill; The mountain shook, the rapid stream stood still.

Seized with affright the boldest foes appear; E’en godlike Hector seems himself to fear; Slow he gave way, the rest tumultuous fled; The Greeks with shouts press on, and spoil the dead: But Phœbus now from Ilion’s towering height Shines forth reveal’d, and animates the fight. “Trojans, be bold, and force with force oppose; Your foaming steeds urge headlong on the foes! Nor are their bodies rocks, nor ribb’d with steel; Your weapons enter, and your strokes they feel. Have ye forgot what seem’d your dread before? The great, the fierce Achilles fights no more.”

The monarch spoke; the words, with warmth address’d, To rigid justice steel’d his brother’s breast. Fierce from his knees the hapless chief he thrust; The monarch’s javelin stretch’d him in the dust, Then pressing with his foot his panting heart, Forth from the slain he tugg’d the reeking dart. Old Nestor saw, and roused the warrior’s rage; “Thus, heroes! thus the vigorous combat wage; No son of Mars descend, for servile gains, To touch the booty, while a foe remains. Behold yon glittering host, your future spoil! First gain the conquest, then reward the toil.”

Him, while he triumph’d, Paris eyed from far, (The spouse of Helen, the fair cause of war;) Around the fields his feather’d shafts he sent, From ancient Ilus’ ruin’d monument: Behind the column placed, he bent his bow, And wing’d an arrow at the unwary foe; Just as he stoop’d, Agastrophus’s crest To seize, and drew the corslet from his breast, The bowstring twang’d; nor flew the shaft in vain, But pierced his foot, and nail’d it to the plain. The laughing Trojan, with a joyful spring. Leaps from his ambush, and insults the king.

Thou first, great Ajax! on the unsanguined plain Laid Hyrtius, leader of the Mysian train. Phalces and Mermer, Nestor’s son o’erthrew, Bold Merion, Morys and Hippotion slew. Strong Periphaetes and Prothoon bled, By Teucer’s arrows mingled with the dead, Pierced in the flank by Menelaus’ steel, His people’s pastor, Hyperenor fell; Eternal darkness wrapp’d the warrior round, And the fierce soul came rushing through the wound. But stretch’d in heaps before Oïleus’ son, Fall mighty numbers, mighty numbers run; Ajax the less, of all the Grecian race Skill’d in pursuit, and swiftest in the chase.

“What thoughts, regardless chief! thy breast employ? Oh too forgetful of the friends of Troy! Those generous friends, who, from their country far, Breathe their brave souls out in another’s war. See! where in dust the great Sarpedon lies, In action valiant, and in council wise, Who guarded right, and kept his people free; To all his Lycians lost, and lost to thee! Stretch’d by Patroclus’ arm on yonder plains, O save from hostile rage his loved remains! Ah let not Greece his conquer’d trophies boast, Nor on his corse revenge her heroes lost!”

“Rise to the war! the insulting flood requires Thy wasteful arm! assemble all thy fires! While to their aid, by our command enjoin’d, Rush the swift eastern and the western wind: These from old ocean at my word shall blow, Pour the red torrent on the watery foe, Corses and arms to one bright ruin turn, And hissing rivers to their bottoms burn. Go, mighty in thy rage! display thy power, Drink the whole flood, the crackling trees devour. Scorch all the banks! and (till our voice reclaim) Exert the unwearied furies of the flame!”

Then Phœbus left him. Fierce Minerva flies To stern Pelides, and triumphing, cries: “O loved of Jove! this day our labours cease, And conquest blazes with full beams on Greece. Great Hector falls; that Hector famed so far, Drunk with renown, insatiable of war, Falls by thy hand, and mine! nor force, nor flight, Shall more avail him, nor his god of light. See, where in vain he supplicates above, Roll’d at the feet of unrelenting Jove; Rest here: myself will lead the Trojan on, And urge to meet the fate he cannot shun.”

Thus to the experienced prince Atrides cried; He shook his hoary locks, and thus replied: “Well might I wish, could mortal wish renew[134] That strength which once in boiling youth I knew; Such as I was, when Ereuthalion, slain Beneath this arm, fell prostrate on the plain. But heaven its gifts not all at once bestows, These years with wisdom crowns, with action those: The field of combat fits the young and bold, The solemn council best becomes the old: To you the glorious conflict I resign, Let sage advice, the palm of age, be mine.”

Close to the limits of the trench and mound, The fiery coursers to their chariots bound The squires restrain’d: the foot, with those who wield The lighter arms, rush forward to the field. To second these, in close array combined, The squadrons spread their sable wings behind. Now shouts and tumults wake the tardy sun, As with the light the warriors’ toils begun. Even Jove, whose thunder spoke his wrath, distill’d Red drops of blood o’er all the fatal field;[220] The woes of men unwilling to survey, And all the slaughters that must stain the day.

“Iris, with haste thy golden wings display, To godlike Hector this our word convey— While Agamemnon wastes the ranks around, Fights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground, Bid him give way; but issue forth commands, And trust the war to less important hands: But when, or wounded by the spear or dart, That chief shall mount his chariot, and depart, Then Jove shall string his arm, and fire his breast, Then to her ships shall flying Greece be press’d, Till to the main the burning sun descend, And sacred night her awful shade extend.”

This said, he rushes where the combat burns; Swift to his tent the Cretan king returns: From thence, two javelins glittering in his hand, And clad in arms that lighten’d all the strand, Fierce on the foe the impetuous hero drove, Like lightning bursting from the arm of Jove, Which to pale man the wrath of heaven declares, Or terrifies the offending world with wars; In streamy sparkles, kindling all the skies, From pole to pole the trail of glory flies: Thus his bright armour o’er the dazzled throng Gleam’d dreadful, as the monarch flash’d along.

Swift as the word the missile lance he flings; The well-aim’d weapon on the buckler rings, But blunted by the brass, innoxious falls. On Jove the father great Atrides calls, Nor flies the javelin from his arm in vain, It pierced his throat, and bent him to the plain; Wide through the neck appears the grisly wound, Prone sinks the warrior, and his arms resound. The shining circlets of his golden hair, Which even the Graces might be proud to wear, Instarr’d with gems and gold, bestrow the shore, With dust dishonour’d, and deform’d with gore.

So from the fold the unwilling lion parts, Forced by loud clamours, and a storm of darts; He flies indeed, but threatens as he flies, With heart indignant and retorted eyes. Now enter’d in the Spartan ranks, he turn’d His manly breast, and with new fury burn’d; O’er all the black battalions sent his view, And through the cloud the godlike Ajax knew; Where labouring on the left the warrior stood, All grim in arms, and cover’d o’er with blood; There breathing courage, where the god of day Had sunk each heart with terror and dismay.

He said: nor less elate with martial joy, The godlike Hector warm’d the troops of Troy: “Trojans, to war! Think, Hector leads you on; Nor dread the vaunts of Peleus’ haughty son. Deeds must decide our fate. E’en these with words Insult the brave, who tremble at their swords: The weakest atheist-wretch all heaven defies, But shrinks and shudders when the thunder flies. Nor from yon boaster shall your chief retire, Not though his heart were steel, his hands were fire; That fire, that steel, your Hector should withstand, And brave that vengeful heart, that dreadful hand.”

“Before thy presence, father, I appear, With conscious shame and reverential fear. Ah! had I died, ere to these walls I fled, False to my country, and my nuptial bed; My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind, False to them all, to Paris only kind! For this I mourn, till grief or dire disease Shall waste the form whose fault it was to please! The king of kings, Atrides, you survey, Great in the war, and great in arts of sway: My brother once, before my days of shame! And oh! that still he bore a brother’s name!”

“Bold was thy aim, and glorious was the prize, (Ulysses, with a scornful smile, replies,) Far other rulers those proud steeds demand, And scorn the guidance of a vulgar hand; Even great Achilles scarce their rage can tame, Achilles sprung from an immortal dame. But say, be faithful, and the truth recite! Where lies encamp’d the Trojan chief to-night? Where stand his coursers? in what quarter sleep Their other princes? tell what watch they keep: Say, since this conquest, what their counsels are; Or here to combat, from their city far, Or back to Ilion’s walls transfer the war?”

“O first of friends! (Pelides thus replied) Still at my heart, and ever at my side! The time is come, when yon despairing host Shall learn the value of the man they lost: Now at my knees the Greeks shall pour their moan, And proud Atrides tremble on his throne. Go now to Nestor, and from him be taught What wounded warrior late his chariot brought: For, seen at distance, and but seen behind, His form recall’d Machaon to my mind; Nor could I, through yon cloud, discern his face, The coursers pass’d me with so swift a pace.”

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

His generous sense he not in vain imparts; It sunk, and rooted in the Grecian hearts: They join, they throng, they thicken at his call, And flank the navy with a brazen wall; Shields touching shields, in order blaze above, And stop the Trojans, though impell’d by Jove. The fiery Spartan first, with loud applause. Warms the bold son of Nestor in his cause. “Is there (he said) in arms a youth like you, So strong to fight, so active to pursue? Why stand you distant, nor attempt a deed? Lift the bold lance, and make some Trojan bleed.”

“O friends! O heroes! names for ever dear, Once sons of Mars, and thunderbolts of war! Ah! yet be mindful of your old renown, Your great forefathers’ virtues and your own. What aids expect you in this utmost strait? What bulwarks rising between you and fate? No aids, no bulwarks your retreat attend, No friends to help, no city to defend. This spot is all you have, to lose or keep; There stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep. ’Tis hostile ground you tread; your native lands Far, far from hence: your fates are in your hands.”

Jupiter, upon Achilles’ return to the battle, calls a council of the gods, and permits them to assist either party. The terrors of the combat described, when the deities are engaged. Apollo encourages Æneas to meet Achilles. After a long conversation, these two heroes encounter; but Æneas is preserved by the assistance of Neptune. Achilles falls upon the rest of the Trojans, and is upon the point of killing Hector, but Apollo conveys him away in a cloud. Achilles pursues the Trojans with a great slaughter. The same day continues. The scene is in the field before Troy.

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

Meanwhile, convened at Priam’s palace-gate, The Trojan peers in nightly council sate; A senate void of order, as of choice: Their hearts were fearful, and confused their voice. Antenor, rising, thus demands their ear: “Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliars, hear! ’Tis heaven the counsel of my breast inspires, And I but move what every god requires: Let Sparta’s treasures be this hour restored, And Argive Helen own her ancient lord. The ties of faith, the sworn alliance, broke, Our impious battles the just gods provoke. As this advice ye practise, or reject, So hope success, or dread the dire effect.”

So parts the chief; from rank to rank he flew, And round on all sides sent his piercing view. As the bold bird, endued with sharpest eye Of all that wings the mid aërial sky, The sacred eagle, from his walks above Looks down, and sees the distant thicket move; Then stoops, and sousing on the quivering hare, Snatches his life amid the clouds of air. Not with less quickness, his exerted sight Pass’d this and that way, through the ranks of fight: Till on the left the chief he sought, he found, Cheering his men, and spreading deaths around:

With wonder Priam view’d the godlike man, Extoll’d the happy prince, and thus began: “O bless’d Atrides! born to prosperous fate, Successful monarch of a mighty state! How vast thy empire! Of your matchless train What numbers lost, what numbers yet remain! In Phrygia once were gallant armies known, In ancient time, when Otreus fill’d the throne, When godlike Mygdon led their troops of horse, And I, to join them, raised the Trojan force: Against the manlike Amazons we stood,[114] And Sangar’s stream ran purple with their blood. But far inferior those, in martial grace, And strength of numbers, to this Grecian race.”

The generous Greeks recede with tardy pace, Though Mars and Hector thunder in their face; None turn their backs to mean ignoble flight, Slow they retreat, and even retreating fight. Who first, who last, by Mars’ and Hector’s hand, Stretch’d in their blood, lay gasping on the sand? Tenthras the great, Orestes the renown’d For managed steeds, and Trechus press’d the ground; Next Œnomaus and OEnops’ offspring died; Oresbius last fell groaning at their side: Oresbius, in his painted mitre gay, In fat Bœotia held his wealthy sway, Where lakes surround low Hylè’s watery plain; A prince and people studious of their gain.

“Fellows in arms! whose deeds are known to fame, And you, whose ardour hopes an equal name! Since not alike endued with force or art; Behold a day when each may act his part! A day to fire the brave, and warm the cold, To gain new glories, or augment the old. Urge those who stand, and those who faint, excite; Drown Hector’s vaunts in loud exhorts of fight; Conquest, not safety, fill the thoughts of all; Seek not your fleet, but sally from the wall; So Jove once more may drive their routed train, And Troy lie trembling in her walls again.”

Then thus to Phœbus, in the realms above, Spoke from his throne the cloud-compelling Jove: “Descend, my Phœbus! on the Phrygian plain, And from the fight convey Sarpedon slain; Then bathe his body in the crystal flood, With dust dishonour’d, and deform’d with blood; O’er all his limbs ambrosial odours shed, And with celestial robes adorn the dead. Those rites discharged, his sacred corse bequeath To the soft arms of silent Sleep and Death. They to his friends the immortal charge shall bear; His friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear: What honour mortals after death receive, Those unavailing honours we may give!”

Apollo bows, and from mount Ida’s height, Swift to the field precipitates his flight; Thence from the war the breathless hero bore, Veil’d in a cloud, to silver Simois’ shore; There bathed his honourable wounds, and dress’d His manly members in the immortal vest; And with perfumes of sweet ambrosial dews Restores his freshness, and his form renews. Then Sleep and Death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace, Received Sarpedon, at the god’s command, And in a moment reach’d the Lycian land; The corse amidst his weeping friends they laid, Where endless honours wait the sacred shade.

Say, virgins, seated round the throne divine, All-knowing goddesses! immortal nine![100] Since earth’s wide regions, heaven’s umneasur’d height, And hell’s abyss, hide nothing from your sight, (We, wretched mortals! lost in doubts below, But guess by rumour, and but boast we know,) O say what heroes, fired by thirst of fame, Or urged by wrongs, to Troy’s destruction came. To count them all, demands a thousand tongues, A throat of brass, and adamantine lungs. Daughters of Jove, assist! inspired by you The mighty labour dauntless I pursue; What crowded armies, from what climes they bring, Their names, their numbers, and their chiefs I sing.

Eubœa next her martial sons prepares, And sends the brave Abantes to the wars: Breathing revenge, in arms they take their way From Chalcis’ walls, and strong Eretria; The Isteian fields for generous vines renown’d, The fair Caristos, and the Styrian ground; Where Dios from her towers o’erlooks the plain, And high Cerinthus views the neighbouring main. Down their broad shoulders falls a length of hair; Their hands dismiss not the long lance in air; But with protended spears in fighting fields Pierce the tough corslets and the brazen shields. Twice twenty ships transport the warlike bands, Which bold Elphenor, fierce in arms, commands.

Contending leaders at the word arose; Each generous breast with emulation glows; So brave a task each Ajax strove to share, Bold Merion strove, and Nestor’s valiant heir; The Spartan wish’d the second place to gain, And great Ulysses wish’d, nor wish’d in vain. Then thus the king of men the contest ends: “Thou first of warriors, and thou best of friends, Undaunted Diomed! what chief to join In this great enterprise, is only thine. Just be thy choice, without affection made; To birth, or office, no respect be paid; Let worth determine here.” The monarch spake, And inly trembled for his brother’s sake.