Iliad on Anxiety

Then thus the god: “O restless fate of pride, That strives to learn what heaven resolves to hide; Vain is the search, presumptuous and abhorr’d, Anxious to thee, and odious to thy lord. Let this suffice: the immutable decree No force can shake: what is, that ought to be. Goddess, submit; nor dare our will withstand, But dread the power of this avenging hand: The united strength of all the gods above In vain resists the omnipotence of Jove.”

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.”

On the cold earth divine Patroclus spread, Lies pierced with wounds among the vulgar dead. Great Menelaus, touch’d with generous woe, Springs to the front, and guards him from the foe. Thus round her new-fallen young the heifer moves, Fruit of her throes, and first-born of her loves; And anxious (helpless as he lies, and bare) Turns, and re-turns her, with a mother’s care, Opposed to each that near the carcase came, His broad shield glimmers, and his lances flame.

“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:

Him, in his march, the wounded princes meet, By tardy steps ascending from the fleet: The king of men, Ulysses the divine, And who to Tydeus owes his noble line[232] (Their ships at distance from the battle stand, In lines advanced along the shelving strand: Whose bay, the fleet unable to contain At length; beside the margin of the main, Rank above rank, the crowded ships they moor: Who landed first, lay highest on the shore.) Supported on the spears, they took their way, Unfit to fight, but anxious for the day. Nestor’s approach alarm’d each Grecian breast, Whom thus the general of the host address’d:

The trembling queen (the almighty order given) Swift from the Idaean summit shot to heaven. As some wayfaring man, who wanders o’er In thought a length of lands he trod before, Sends forth his active mind from place to place, Joins hill to dale, and measures space with space: So swift flew Juno to the bless’d abodes, If thought of man can match the speed of gods. There sat the powers in awful synod placed; They bow’d, and made obeisance as she pass’d Through all the brazen dome:[239] with goblets crown’d They hail her queen; the nectar streams around. Fair Themis first presents the golden bowl, And anxious asks what cares disturb her soul?

Thus having spoke, Apollo wing’d his flight, And mix’d with mortals in the toils of fight: His words infix’d unutterable care Deep in great Hector’s soul: through all the war He darts his anxious eye; and, instant, view’d The breathless hero in his blood imbued, (Forth welling from the wound, as prone he lay) And in the victor’s hands the shining prey. Sheath’d in bright arms, through cleaving ranks he flies, And sends his voice in thunder to the skies: Fierce as a flood of flame by Vulcan sent, It flew, and fired the nations as it went. Atrides from the voice the storm divined, And thus explored his own unconquer’d mind:

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

All night the chiefs before their vessels lay, And lost in sleep the labours of the day: All but the king: with various thoughts oppress’d,[215] His country’s cares lay rolling in his breast. As when by lightnings Jove’s ethereal power Foretels the rattling hail, or weighty shower, Or sends soft snows to whiten all the shore, Or bids the brazen throat of war to roar; By fits one flash succeeds as one expires, And heaven flames thick with momentary fires: So bursting frequent from Atrides’ breast, Sighs following sighs his inward fears confess’d. Now o’er the fields, dejected, he surveys From thousand Trojan fires the mounting blaze; Hears in the passing wind their music blow, And marks distinct the voices of the foe. Now looking backwards to the fleet and coast, Anxious he sorrows for the endangered host. He rends his hair, in sacrifice to Jove, And sues to him that ever lives above: Inly he groans; while glory and despair Divide his heart, and wage a double war.

The sons their father’s wretched age revere, Forgive his anger, and produce the car. High on the seat the cabinet they bind: The new-made car with solid beauty shined; Box was the yoke, emboss’d with costly pains, And hung with ringlets to receive the reins; Nine cubits long, the traces swept the ground: These to the chariot’s polish’d pole they bound. Then fix’d a ring the running reins to guide, And close beneath the gather’d ends were tied. Next with the gifts (the price of Hector slain) The sad attendants load the groaning wain: Last to the yoke the well-matched mules they bring, (The gift of Mysia to the Trojan king.) But the fair horses, long his darling care, Himself received, and harness’d to his car: Grieved as he was, he not this task denied; The hoary herald help’d him, at his side. While careful these the gentle coursers join’d, Sad Hecuba approach’d with anxious mind; A golden bowl that foam’d with fragrant wine, (Libation destined to the power divine,) Held in her right, before the steed she stands, And thus consigns it to the monarch’s hands:

To this the king: “Fly, mighty warrior! fly; Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy. There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight, And Jove himself shall guard a monarch’s right. Of all the kings (the god’s distinguish’d care) To power superior none such hatred bear: Strife and debate thy restless soul employ, And wars and horrors are thy savage joy, If thou hast strength, ’twas Heaven that strength bestow’d; For know, vain man! thy valour is from God. Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away; Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway; I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate. Go, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons:—but here[56] ’Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear. Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand, My bark shall waft her to her native land; But then prepare, imperious prince! prepare, Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair: Even in thy tent I’ll seize the blooming prize, Thy loved Briseïs with the radiant eyes. Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour Thou stood’st a rival of imperial power; And hence, to all our hosts it shall be known, That kings are subject to the gods alone.”

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

Now from the finish’d games the Grecian band Seek their black ships, and clear the crowded strand, All stretch’d at ease the genial banquet share, And pleasing slumbers quiet all their care. Not so Achilles: he, to grief resign’d, His friend’s dear image present to his mind, Takes his sad couch, more unobserved to weep; Nor tastes the gifts of all-composing sleep. Restless he roll’d around his weary bed, And all his soul on his Patroclus fed: The form so pleasing, and the heart so kind, That youthful vigour, and that manly mind, What toils they shared, what martial works they wrought, What seas they measured, and what fields they fought; All pass’d before him in remembrance dear, Thought follows thought, and tear succeeds to tear. And now supine, now prone, the hero lay, Now shifts his side, impatient for the day: Then starting up, disconsolate he goes Wide on the lonely beach to vent his woes. There as the solitary mourner raves, The ruddy morning rises o’er the waves: Soon as it rose, his furious steeds he join’d! The chariot flies, and Hector trails behind. And thrice, Patroclus! round thy monument Was Hector dragg’d, then hurried to the tent. There sleep at last o’ercomes the hero’s eyes; While foul in dust the unhonour’d carcase lies, But not deserted by the pitying skies: For Phœbus watch’d it with superior care, Preserved from gaping wounds and tainting air; And, ignominious as it swept the field, Spread o’er the sacred corse his golden shield. All heaven was moved, and Hermes will’d to go By stealth to snatch him from the insulting foe: But Neptune this, and Pallas this denies, And th’ unrelenting empress of the skies, E’er since that day implacable to Troy, What time young Paris, simple shepherd boy, Won by destructive lust (reward obscene), Their charms rejected for the Cyprian queen. But when the tenth celestial morning broke, To heaven assembled, thus Apollo spoke:

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.

Thus with new ardour he the brave inspires; Or thus the fearful with reproaches fires: “Shame to your country, scandal of your kind; Born to the fate ye well deserve to find! Why stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain, Prepared for flight, but doom’d to fly in vain? Confused and panting thus, the hunted deer Falls as he flies, a victim to his fear. Still must ye wait the foes, and still retire, Till yon tall vessels blaze with Trojan fire? Or trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chase, To save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?”

Tydides paused amidst his full career; Then first the hero’s manly breast knew fear. As when some simple swain his cot forsakes, And wide through fens an unknown journey takes: If chance a swelling brook his passage stay, And foam impervious ’cross the wanderer’s way, Confused he stops, a length of country pass’d, Eyes the rough waves, and tired, returns at last. Amazed no less the great Tydides stands: He stay’d, and turning thus address’d his bands:

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, Restored the pleasing burden to her arms; Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid, Hush’d to repose, and with a smile survey’d. The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, She mingled with a smile a tender tear. The soften’d chief with kind compassion view’d, And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued:

“What art thou, speak, that on designs unknown, While others sleep, thus range the camp alone; Seek’st thou some friend or nightly sentinel? Stand off, approach not, but thy purpose tell.”

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.”

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.”

To this Tydides, with a gloomy frown: “Think not to live, though all the truth be shown: Shall we dismiss thee, in some future strife To risk more bravely thy now forfeit life? Or that again our camps thou may’st explore? No—once a traitor, thou betray’st no more.”

“What further subterfuge, what hopes remain? What shame, inglorious if I quit the plain? What danger, singly if I stand the ground, My friends all scatter’d, all the foes around? Yet wherefore doubtful? let this truth suffice, The brave meets danger, and the coward flies. To die or conquer, proves a hero’s heart; And, knowing this, I know a soldier’s part.”

“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 equal ardour (Telamon returns) My soul is kindled, and my bosom burns; New rising spirits all my force alarm, Lift each impatient limb, and brace my arm. This ready arm, unthinking, shakes the dart; The blood pours back, and fortifies my heart: Singly, methinks, yon towering chief I meet, And stretch the dreadful Hector at my feet.”

To this, Idomeneus: “The fields of fight Have proved thy valour, and unconquer’d might: And were some ambush for the foes design’d, Even there thy courage would not lag behind: In that sharp service, singled from the rest, The fear of each, or valour, stands confess’d. No force, no firmness, the pale coward shows; He shifts his place: his colour comes and goes: A dropping sweat creeps cold on every part; Against his bosom beats his quivering heart; Terror and death in his wild eye-balls stare; With chattering teeth he stands, and stiffening hair, And looks a bloodless image of despair! Not so the brave—still dauntless, still the same, Unchanged his colour, and unmoved his frame: Composed his thought, determined is his eye, And fix’d his soul, to conquer or to die: If aught disturb the tenour of his breast, ’Tis but the wish to strike before the rest.

“Ah follow me! (she cried) what plaintive noise Invades my ear? ’Tis sure my mother’s voice. My faltering knees their trembling frame desert, A pulse unusual flutters at my heart; Some strange disaster, some reverse of fate (Ye gods avert it!) threats the Trojan state. Far be the omen which my thoughts suggest! But much I fear my Hector’s dauntless breast Confronts Achilles; chased along the plain, Shut from our walls! I fear, I fear him slain! Safe in the crowd he ever scorn’d to wait, And sought for glory in the jaws of fate: Perhaps that noble heat has cost his breath, Now quench’d for ever in the arms of death.”

The afflicted monarch shiver’d with despair; Pale grew his face, and upright stood his hair; Sunk was his heart; his colour went and came; A sudden trembling shook his aged frame: When Hermes, greeting, touch’d his royal hand, And, gentle, thus accosts with kind demand:

“Permit me now, beloved of Jove! to steep My careful temples in the dew of sleep: For, since the day that number’d with the dead My hapless son, the dust has been my bed; Soft sleep a stranger to my weeping eyes; My only food, my sorrows and my sighs! Till now, encouraged by the grace you give, I share thy banquet, and consent to live.”

Then gave his hand at parting, to prevent The old man’s fears, and turn’d within the tent; Where fair Briseïs, bright in blooming charms, Expects her hero with desiring arms. But in the porch the king and herald rest; Sad dreams of care yet wandering in their breast. Now gods and men the gifts of sleep partake; Industrious Hermes only was awake, The king’s return revolving in his mind, To pass the ramparts, and the watch to blind. The power descending hover’d o’er his head: “And sleep’st thou, father! (thus the vision said:) Now dost thou sleep, when Hector is restored? Nor fear the Grecian foes, or Grecian lord? Thy presence here should stern Atrides see, Thy still surviving sons may sue for thee; May offer all thy treasures yet contain, To spare thy age; and offer all in vain.”