Iliad on Wisdom

Then Helen thus: “Whom your discerning eyes Have singled out, is Ithacus the wise; A barren island boasts his glorious birth; His fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth.”

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.”

He said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied; Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide, That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view, The past, the present, and the future knew: Uprising slow, the venerable sage Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age:

’Twas thus the general voice the hero praised, Who, rising, high the imperial sceptre raised: The blue-eyed Pallas, his celestial friend, (In form a herald,) bade the crowds attend. The expecting crowds in still attention hung, To hear the wisdom of his heavenly tongue. Then deeply thoughtful, pausing ere he spoke, His silence thus the prudent hero broke:

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.)

“Then none (said Nestor) shall his rule withstand, For great examples justify command.” With that, the venerable warrior rose; The shining greaves his manly legs enclose; His purple mantle golden buckles join’d, Warm with the softest wool, and doubly lined. Then rushing from his tent, he snatch’d in haste His steely lance, that lighten’d as he pass’d. The camp he traversed through the sleeping crowd, Stopp’d at Ulysses’ tent, and call’d aloud. Ulysses, sudden as the voice was sent, Awakes, starts up, and issues from his tent. “What new distress, what sudden cause of fright, Thus leads you wandering in the silent night?” “O prudent chief! (the Pylian sage replied) Wise as thou art, be now thy wisdom tried: Whatever means of safety can be sought, Whatever counsels can inspire our thought, Whatever methods, or to fly or fight; All, all depend on this important night!” He heard, return’d, and took his painted shield; Then join’d the chiefs, and follow’d through the field. Without his tent, bold Diomed they found, All sheathed in arms, his brave companions round: Each sunk in sleep, extended on the field, His head reclining on his bossy shield. A wood of spears stood by, that, fix’d upright, Shot from their flashing points a quivering light. A bull’s black hide composed the hero’s bed; A splendid carpet roll’d beneath his head. Then, with his foot, old Nestor gently shakes The slumbering chief, and in these words awakes:

“O truly great! in whom the gods have join’d Such strength of body with such force of mind: In conduct, as in courage, you excel, Still first to act what you advise so well. These wholesome counsels which thy wisdom moves, Applauding Greece with common voice approves. Kings thou canst blame; a bold but prudent youth: And blame even kings with praise, because with truth. And yet those years that since thy birth have run Would hardly style thee Nestor’s youngest son. Then let me add what yet remains behind, A thought unfinish’d in that generous mind; Age bids me speak! nor shall the advice I bring Distaste the people, or offend the king:

He ceased; the Greeks loud acclamations raise, And voice to voice resounds Tydides’ praise. Wise Nestor then his reverend figure rear’d; He spoke: the host in still attention heard:[200]

The all-mighty spoke, nor durst the powers reply: A reverend horror silenced all the sky; Trembling they stood before their sovereign’s look; At length his best-beloved, the power of wisdom, spoke:

“Beloved of Jove, Achilles! would’st thou know Why angry Phœbus bends his fatal bow? First give thy faith, and plight a prince’s word Of sure protection, by thy power and sword: For I must speak what wisdom would conceal, And truths, invidious to the great, reveal, Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise, Instruct a monarch where his error lies; For though we deem the short-lived fury past, ’Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last.” To whom Pelides:—“From thy inmost soul Speak what thou know’st, and speak without control. E’en by that god I swear who rules the day, To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey. And whose bless’d oracles thy lips declare; Long as Achilles breathes this vital air, No daring Greek, of all the numerous band, Against his priest shall lift an impious hand; Not e’en the chief by whom our hosts are led, The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head.”

Swift as the word the vain illusion fled, Descends, and hovers o’er Atrides’ head; Clothed in the figure of the Pylian sage, Renown’d for wisdom, and revered for age: Around his temples spreads his golden wing, And thus the flattering dream deceives the king.

“O son of Tydeus, cease! be wise and see How vast the difference of the gods and thee; Distance immense! between the powers that shine Above, eternal, deathless, and divine, And mortal man! a wretch of humble birth, A short-lived reptile in the dust of earth.”

The king of men, on public counsels bent, Convened the princes in his ample tent, Each seized a portion of the kingly feast, But stay’d his hand when thirst and hunger ceased. Then Nestor spoke, for wisdom long approved, And slowly rising, thus the council moved.

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

The wound not mortal wise Ulysses knew, Then furious thus (but first some steps withdrew): “Unhappy man! whose death our hands shall grace, Fate calls thee hence and finish’d is thy race. Nor longer check my conquests on the foe; But, pierced by this, to endless darkness go, And add one spectre to the realms below!”

Thus while he spoke, the queen of heaven, enraged, And queen of war, in close consult engaged: Apart they sit, their deep designs employ, And meditate the future woes of Troy. Though secret anger swell’d Minerva’s breast, The prudent goddess yet her wrath suppress’d; But Juno, impotent of passion, broke Her sullen silence, and with fury spoke:

“O great in action, and in council wise! With ours, thy care and ardour are the same, Nor need I to commend, nor aught to blame. Sage as thou art, and learn’d in human kind, Forgive the transport of a martial mind. Haste to the fight, secure of just amends; The gods that make, shall keep the worthy, friends.”

Apollo thus: “To combat for mankind Ill suits the wisdom of celestial mind; For what is man? Calamitous by birth, They owe their life and nourishment to earth; Like yearly leaves, that now, with beauty crown’d, Smile on the sun; now, wither on the ground. To their own hands commit the frantic scene, Nor mix immortals in a cause so mean.”

“Warriors like you, with strength and wisdom bless’d, By brave examples should confirm the rest. The monarch’s will not yet reveal’d appears; He tries our courage, but resents our fears. The unwary Greeks his fury may provoke; Not thus the king in secret council spoke. Jove loves our chief, from Jove his honour springs, Beware! for dreadful is the wrath of kings.”

“Then thus (the godlike Diomed rejoin’d) My choice declares the impulse of my mind. How can I doubt, while great Ulysses stands To lend his counsels and assist our hands? A chief, whose safety is Minerva’s care; So famed, so dreadful, in the works of war: Bless’d in his conduct, I no aid require; Wisdom like his might pass through flames of fire.”

“A city stands on Argos’ utmost bound, (Argos the fair, for warlike steeds renown’d,) Æolian Sisyphus, with wisdom bless’d, In ancient time the happy wall possess’d, Then call’d Ephyre: Glaucus was his son; Great Glaucus, father of Bellerophon, Who o’er the sons of men in beauty shined, Loved for that valour which preserves mankind. Then mighty Praetus Argos’ sceptre sway’d, Whose hard commands Bellerophon obey’d. With direful jealousy the monarch raged, And the brave prince in numerous toils engaged. For him Antaea burn’d with lawless flame, And strove to tempt him from the paths of fame: In vain she tempted the relentless youth, Endued with wisdom, sacred fear, and truth. Fired at his scorn the queen to Praetus fled, And begg’d revenge for her insulted bed: Incensed he heard, resolving on his fate; But hospitable laws restrain’d his hate: To Lycia the devoted youth he sent, With tablets seal’d, that told his dire intent.[168] Now bless’d by every power who guards the good, The chief arrived at Xanthus’ silver flood: There Lycia’s monarch paid him honours due, Nine days he feasted, and nine bulls he slew. But when the tenth bright morning orient glow’d, The faithful youth his monarch’s mandate show’d: The fatal tablets, till that instant seal’d, The deathful secret to the king reveal’d. First, dire Chimaera’s conquest was enjoin’d; A mingled monster of no mortal kind! Behind, a dragon’s fiery tail was spread; A goat’s rough body bore a lion’s head; Her pitchy nostrils flaky flames expire; Her gaping throat emits infernal fire.

To this the thunderer: “Seek not thou to find The sacred counsels of almighty mind: Involved in darkness lies the great decree, Nor can the depths of fate be pierced by thee. What fits thy knowledge, thou the first shalt know; The first of gods above, and men below; But thou, nor they, shall search the thoughts that roll Deep in the close recesses of my soul.”

Ulysses follow’d through the watery road, A chief, in wisdom equal to a god. With those whom Cephalenia’s line inclosed, Or till their fields along the coast opposed; Or where fair Ithaca o’erlooks the floods, Where high Neritos shakes his waving woods, Where Ægilipa’s rugged sides are seen, Crocylia rocky, and Zacynthus green. These in twelve galleys with vermilion prores, Beneath his conduct sought the Phrygian shores.

To whom Ulysses made this wise reply: “Whoe’er thou art, be bold, nor fear to die. What moves thee, say, when sleep has closed the sight, To roam the silent fields in dead of night? Cam’st thou the secrets of our camp to find, By Hector prompted, or thy daring mind? Or art some wretch by hopes of plunder led, Through heaps of carnage, to despoil the dead?”

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

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

“Why with our wiser elders should we strive? The gods still love them, and they always thrive. Ye see, to Ajax I must yield the prize: He to Ulysses, still more aged and wise; (A green old age unconscious of decays, That proves the hero born in better days!) Behold his vigour in this active race! Achilles only boasts a swifter pace: For who can match Achilles? He who can, Must yet be more than hero, more than man.”

The prudent chief with calm attention heard; Then mildly thus: “Excuse, if youth have err’d; Superior as thou art, forgive the offence, Nor I thy equal, or in years, or sense. Thou know’st the errors of unripen’d age, Weak are its counsels, headlong is its rage. The prize I quit, if thou thy wrath resign; The mare, or aught thou ask’st, be freely thine Ere I become (from thy dear friendship torn) Hateful to thee, and to the gods forsworn.”

This said, he ceased. The king of men replies: “Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise. But that imperious, that unconquer’d soul, No laws can limit, no respect control. Before his pride must his superiors fall; His word the law, and he the lord of all? Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself obey? What king can bear a rival in his sway? Grant that the gods his matchless force have given; Has foul reproach a privilege from heaven?”

His warm reproofs the listening kings inflame; And nine, the noblest of the Grecian name, Up-started fierce: but far before the rest The king of men advanced his dauntless breast: Then bold Tydides, great in arms, appear’d; And next his bulk gigantic Ajax rear’d; Oïleus follow’d; Idomen was there,[180] And Merion, dreadful as the god of war: With these Eurypylus and Thoas stand, And wise Ulysses closed the daring band. All these, alike inspired with noble rage, Demand the fight. To whom the Pylian sage:

By love to thee his bounties I repaid, And early wisdom to thy soul convey’d: Great as thou art, my lessons made thee brave: A child I took thee, but a hero gave. Thy infant breast a like affection show’d; Still in my arms (an ever-pleasing load) Or at my knee, by Phœnix wouldst thou stand; No food was grateful but from Phœnix’ hand.[211] I pass my watchings o’er thy helpless years, The tender labours, the compliant cares, The gods (I thought) reversed their hard decree, And Phœnix felt a father’s joys in thee: Thy growing virtues justified my cares, And promised comfort to my silver hairs. Now be thy rage, thy fatal rage, resign’d; A cruel heart ill suits a manly mind: The gods (the only great, and only wise) Are moved by offerings, vows, and sacrifice; Offending man their high compassion wins, And daily prayers atone for daily sins. Prayers are Jove’s daughters, of celestial race, Lame are their feet, and wrinkled is their face; With humble mien, and with dejected eyes, Constant they follow, where injustice flies. Injustice swift, erect, and unconfined, Sweeps the wide earth, and tramples o’er mankind, While Prayers, to heal her wrongs, move slow behind. Who hears these daughters of almighty Jove, For him they mediate to the throne above: When man rejects the humble suit they make, The sire revenges for the daughters’ sake; From Jove commission’d, fierce injustice then Descends to punish unrelenting men. O let not headlong passion bear the sway These reconciling goddesses obey: Due honours to the seed of Jove belong, Due honours calm the fierce, and bend the strong. Were these not paid thee by the terms we bring, Were rage still harbour’d in the haughty king; Nor Greece nor all her fortunes should engage Thy friend to plead against so just a rage. But since what honour asks the general sends, And sends by those whom most thy heart commends; The best and noblest of the Grecian train; Permit not these to sue, and sue in vain!

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 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.”

“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!”

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.”

But Ajax, glorying in his hardy deed, The well-arm’d Greeks to Agamemnon lead. A steer for sacrifice the king design’d, Of full five years, and of the nobler kind. The victim falls; they strip the smoking hide, The beast they quarter, and the joints divide; Then spread the tables, the repast prepare, Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. The king himself (an honorary sign) Before great Ajax placed the mighty chine.[185] When now the rage of hunger was removed, Nestor, in each persuasive art approved, The sage whose counsels long had sway’d the rest, In words like these his prudent thought express’d:

Juno and Pallas grieving hear the doom, But feast their souls on Ilion’s woes to come. Though secret anger swell’d Minerva’s breast, The prudent goddess yet her wrath repress’d; But Juno, impotent of rage, replies: “What hast thou said, O tyrant of the skies! Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne; ’Tis thine to punish; ours to grieve alone. For Greece we grieve, abandon’d by her fate To drink the dregs of thy unmeasured hate. From fields forbidden we submiss refrain, With arms unaiding see our Argives slain; Yet grant our counsels still their breasts may move, Lest all should perish in the rage of Jove.”

To him the monarch: “Just is thy decree, Thy words give joy, and wisdom breathes in thee. Each due atonement gladly I prepare; And heaven regard me as I justly swear! Here then awhile let Greece assembled stay, Nor great Achilles grudge this short delay. Till from the fleet our presents be convey’d, And Jove attesting, the firm compact made. A train of noble youths the charge shall bear; These to select, Ulysses, be thy care: In order rank’d let all our gifts appear, And the fair train of captives close the rear: Talthybius shall the victim boar convey, Sacred to Jove, and yon bright orb of day.”

Pallas obeys, and from Olympus’ height Swift to the ships precipitates her flight. Ulysses, first in public cares, she found, For prudent counsel like the gods renown’d: Oppress’d with generous grief the hero stood, Nor drew his sable vessels to the flood. “And is it thus, divine Laertes’ son, Thus fly the Greeks (the martial maid begun), Thus to their country bear their own disgrace, And fame eternal leave to Priam’s race? Shall beauteous Helen still remain unfreed, Still unrevenged, a thousand heroes bleed! Haste, generous Ithacus! prevent the shame, Recall your armies, and your chiefs reclaim. Your own resistless eloquence employ, And to the immortals trust the fall of Troy.”

To whom the king: “In such distress we stand, No vulgar counsel our affairs demand; Greece to preserve, is now no easy part, But asks high wisdom, deep design, and art. For Jove, averse, our humble prayer denies, And bows his head to Hector’s sacrifice. What eye has witness’d, or what ear believed, In one great day, by one great arm achieved, Such wondrous deeds as Hector’s hand has done, And we beheld, the last revolving sun? What honours the beloved of Jove adorn! Sprung from no god, and of no goddess born; Yet such his acts, as Greeks unborn shall tell, And curse the battle where their fathers fell.

“Great is the profit (thus the god rejoin’d) When ministers are blest with prudent mind: Warn’d by thy words, to powerful Jove I yield, And quit, though angry, the contended field: Not but his threats with justice I disclaim, The same our honours, and our birth the same. If yet, forgetful of his promise given To Hermes, Pallas, and the queen of heaven, To favour Ilion, that perfidious place, He breaks his faith with half the ethereal race; Give him to know, unless the Grecian train Lay yon proud structures level with the plain, Howe’er the offence by other gods be pass’d, The wrath of Neptune shall for ever last.”

“Let Greece at length with pity touch thy breast, Thyself a Greek; and, once, of Greeks the best! Lo! every chief that might her fate prevent, Lies pierced with wounds, and bleeding in his tent: Eurypylus, Tydides, Atreus’ son, And wise Ulysses, at the navy groan, More for their country’s wounds than for their own. Their pain soft arts of pharmacy can ease, Thy breast alone no lenitives appease. May never rage like thine my soul enslave, O great in vain! unprofitably brave! Thy country slighted in her last distress, What friend, what man, from thee shall hope redress? No—men unborn, and ages yet behind, Shall curse that fierce, that unforgiving mind.

Swift to the seas profound the goddess flies, Jove to his starry mansions in the skies. The shining synod of the immortals wait The coming god, and from their thrones of state Arising silent, wrapp’d in holy fear, Before the majesty of heaven appear. Trembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne, All, but the god’s imperious queen alone: Late had she view’d the silver-footed dame, And all her passions kindled into flame. “Say, artful manager of heaven (she cries), Who now partakes the secrets of the skies? Thy Juno knows not the decrees of fate, In vain the partner of imperial state. What favourite goddess then those cares divides, Which Jove in prudence from his consort hides?”

Meantime, unwearied with his heavenly way, In ocean’s waves the unwilling light of day Quench’d his red orb, at Juno’s high command, And from their labours eased the Achaian band. The frighted Trojans (panting from the war, Their steeds unharness’d from the weary car) A sudden council call’d: each chief appear’d In haste, and standing; for to sit they fear’d. ’Twas now no season for prolong’d debate; They saw Achilles, and in him their fate. Silent they stood: Polydamas at last, Skill’d to discern the future by the past, The son of Panthus, thus express’d his fears (The friend of Hector, and of equal years; The self-same night to both a being gave, One wise in council, one in action brave):

“How long, ye warriors of the Argive race, (To generous Argos what a dire disgrace!) How long on these cursed confines will ye lie, Yet undetermined, or to live or die? What hopes remain, what methods to retire, If once your vessels catch the Trojan fire? Mark how the flames approach, how near they fall, How Hector calls, and Troy obeys his call! Not to the dance that dreadful voice invites, It calls to death, and all the rage of fights. ’Tis now no time for wisdom or debates; To your own hands are trusted all your fates; And better far in one decisive strife, One day should end our labour or our life, Than keep this hard-got inch of barren sands, Still press’d, and press’d by such inglorious hands.”

“The praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain’d, An act so rash, Antilochus! has stain’d. Robb’d of my glory and my just reward, To you, O Grecians! be my wrong declared: So not a leader shall our conduct blame, Or judge me envious of a rival’s fame. But shall not we, ourselves, the truth maintain? What needs appealing in a fact so plain? What Greek shall blame me, if I bid thee rise, And vindicate by oath th’ ill-gotten prize? Rise if thou darest, before thy chariot stand, The driving scourge high-lifted in thy hand; And touch thy steeds, and swear thy whole intent Was but to conquer, not to circumvent. Swear by that god whose liquid arms surround The globe, and whose dread earthquakes heave the ground!”

“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.”

“Me too, ye warriors, hear, whose fatal right A world engages in the toils of fight. To me the labour of the field resign; Me Paris injured; all the war be mine. Fall he that must, beneath his rival’s arms; And live the rest, secure of future harms. Two lambs, devoted by your country’s rite, To earth a sable, to the sun a white, Prepare, ye Trojans! while a third we bring Select to Jove, the inviolable king. Let reverend Priam in the truce engage, And add the sanction of considerate age; His sons are faithless, headlong in debate, And youth itself an empty wavering state; Cool age advances, venerably wise, Turns on all hands its deep-discerning eyes; Sees what befell, and what may yet befall, Concludes from both, and best provides for all.

The gods having left the field, the Grecians prevail. Helenus, the chief augur of Troy, commands Hector to return to the city, in order to appoint a solemn procession of the queen and the Trojan matrons to the temple of Minerva, to entreat her to remove Diomed from the fight. The battle relaxing during the absence of Hector, Glaucus and Diomed have an interview between the two armies; where, coming to the knowledge, of the friendship and hospitality passed between their ancestors, they make exchange of their arms. Hector, having performed the orders of Helenus, prevails upon Paris to return to the battle, and, taking a tender leave of his wife Andromache, hastens again to the field. The scene is first in the field of battle, between the rivers Simois and Scamander, and then changes to Troy.

While every Trojan thus, and every aid, The advice of wise Polydamas obey’d, Asius alone, confiding in his car, His vaunted coursers urged to meet the war. Unhappy hero! and advised in vain; Those wheels returning ne’er shall mark the plain; No more those coursers with triumphant joy Restore their master to the gates of Troy! Black death attends behind the Grecian wall, And great Idomeneus shall boast thy fall! Fierce to the left he drives, where from the plain The flying Grecians strove their ships to gain; Swift through the wall their horse and chariots pass’d, The gates half-open’d to receive the last. Thither, exulting in his force, he flies: His following host with clamours rend the skies: To plunge the Grecians headlong in the main, Such their proud hopes; but all their hopes were vain!

At Ajax, Antiphus his javelin threw; The pointed lance with erring fury flew, And Leucus, loved by wise Ulysses, slew. He drops the corpse of Simoisius slain, And sinks a breathless carcase on the plain. This saw Ulysses, and with grief enraged, Strode where the foremost of the foes engaged; Arm’d with his spear, he meditates the wound, In act to throw; but cautious look’d around, Struck at his sight the Trojans backward drew, And trembling heard the javelin as it flew. A chief stood nigh, who from Abydos came, Old Priam’s son, Democoon was his name. The weapon entered close above his ear, Cold through his temples glides the whizzing spear;[141] With piercing shrieks the youth resigns his breath, His eye-balls darken with the shades of death; Ponderous he falls; his clanging arms resound, And his broad buckler rings against the ground.

Saturn’s great sons in fierce contention vied, And crowds of heroes in their anger died. The sire of earth and heaven, by Thetis won To crown with glory Peleus’ godlike son, Will’d not destruction to the Grecian powers, But spared awhile the destined Trojan towers; While Neptune, rising from his azure main, Warr’d on the king of heaven with stern disdain, And breathed revenge, and fired the Grecian train. Gods of one source, of one ethereal race, Alike divine, and heaven their native place; But Jove the greater; first-born of the skies, And more than men, or gods, supremely wise. For this, of Jove’s superior might afraid, Neptune in human form conceal’d his aid. These powers enfold the Greek and Trojan train In war and discord’s adamantine chain, Indissolubly strong: the fatal tie Is stretch’d on both, and close compell’d they die.

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:

Fired at his word the rival racers rise; But far the first Eumelus hopes the prize, Famed though Pieria for the fleetest breed, And skill’d to manage the high-bounding steed. With equal ardour bold Tydides swell’d, The steeds of Tros beneath his yoke compell’d (Which late obey’d the Dardan chief’s command, When scarce a god redeem’d him from his hand). Then Menelaus his Podargus brings, And the famed courser of the king of kings: Whom rich Echepolus (more rich than brave), To ’scape the wars, to Agamemnon gave, (Æthe her name) at home to end his days; Base wealth preferring to eternal praise. Next him Antilochus demands the course With beating heart, and cheers his Pylian horse. Experienced Nestor gives his son the reins, Directs his judgment, and his heat restrains; Nor idly warns the hoary sire, nor hears The prudent son with unattending ears.

There sat the seniors of the Trojan race: (Old Priam’s chiefs, and most in Priam’s grace,) The king the first; Thymœtes at his side; Lampus and Clytius, long in council tried; Panthus, and Hicetaon, once the strong; And next, the wisest of the reverend throng, Antenor grave, and sage Ucalegon, Lean’d on the walls and bask’d before the sun: Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage, But wise through time, and narrative with age, In summer days, like grasshoppers rejoice, A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice. These, when the Spartan queen approach’d the tower, In secret own’d resistless beauty’s power: They cried, “No wonder[113] such celestial charms For nine long years have set the world in arms; What winning graces! what majestic mien! She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen! Yet hence, O Heaven, convey that fatal face, And from destruction save the Trojan race.”

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.”

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.

Agamemnon, after the last day’s defeat, proposes to the Greeks to quit the siege, and return to their country. Diomed opposes this, and Nestor seconds him, praising his wisdom and resolution. He orders the guard to be strengthened, and a council summoned to deliberate what measures are to be followed in this emergency. Agamemnon pursues this advice, and Nestor further prevails upon him to send ambassadors to Achilles, in order to move him to a reconciliation. Ulysses and Ajax are made choice of, who are accompanied by old Phœnix. They make, each of them, very moving and pressing speeches, but are rejected with roughness by Achilles, who notwithstanding retains Phœnix in his tent. The ambassadors return unsuccessfully to the camp, and the troops betake themselves to sleep. This book, and the next following, take up the space of one night, which is the twenty-seventh from the beginning of the poem. The scene lies on the sea-shore, the station of the Grecian ships.

“Monarch of nations! whose superior sway Assembled states, and lords of earth obey, The laws and sceptres to thy hand are given, And millions own the care of thee and Heaven. O king! the counsels of my age attend; With thee my cares begin, with thee must end. Thee, prince! it fits alike to speak and hear, Pronounce with judgment, with regard give ear, To see no wholesome motion be withstood, And ratify the best for public good. Nor, though a meaner give advice, repine, But follow it, and make the wisdom thine. Hear then a thought, not now conceived in haste, At once my present judgment and my past. When from Pelides’ tent you forced the maid, I first opposed, and faithful, durst dissuade; But bold of soul, when headlong fury fired, You wronged the man, by men and gods admired: Now seek some means his fatal wrath to end, With prayers to move him, or with gifts to bend.”

The Trojan thus: the Spartan monarch burn’d With generous anguish, and in scorn return’d: “Laugh’st thou not, Jove! from thy superior throne, When mortals boast of prowess not their own? Not thus the lion glories in his might, Nor panther braves his spotted foe in fight, Nor thus the boar (those terrors of the plain;) Man only vaunts his force, and vaunts in vain. But far the vainest of the boastful kind, These sons of Panthus vent their haughty mind. Yet ’twas but late, beneath my conquering steel This boaster’s brother, Hyperenor, fell; Against our arm which rashly he defied, Vain was his vigour, and as vain his pride. These eyes beheld him on the dust expire, No more to cheer his spouse, or glad his sire. Presumptuous youth! like his shall be thy doom, Go, wait thy brother to the Stygian gloom; Or, while thou may’st, avoid the threaten’d fate; Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late.”