Iliad on Children

He said: and, seizing Thrasymedes’ shield, (His valiant offspring,) hasten’d to the field; (That day the son his father’s buckler bore;) Then snatch’d a lance, and issued from the door. Soon as the prospect open’d to his view, His wounded eyes the scene of sorrow knew; Dire disarray! the tumult of the fight, The wall in ruins, and the Greeks in flight. As when old ocean’s silent surface sleeps, The waves just heaving on the purple deeps: While yet the expected tempest hangs on high, Weighs down the cloud, and blackens in the sky, The mass of waters will no wind obey; Jove sends one gust, and bids them roll away. While wavering counsels thus his mind engage, Fluctuates in doubtful thought the Pylian sage, To join the host, or to the general haste; Debating long, he fixes on the last: Yet, as he moves, the sight his bosom warms, The field rings dreadful with the clang of arms, The gleaming falchions flash, the javelins fly; Blows echo blows, and all or kill or die.

The news of the death of Patroclus is brought to Achilles by Antilochus. Thetis, hearing his lamentations, comes with all her sea- nymphs to comfort him. The speeches of the mother and son on this occasion. Iris appears to Achilles by the command of Juno, and orders him to show himself at the head of the intrenchments. The sight of him turns the fortunes of the day, and the body of Patroclus is carried off by the Greeks. The Trojans call a council, where Hector and Polydamas disagree in their opinions: but the advice of the former prevails, to remain encamped in the field. The grief of Achilles over the body of Patroclus. Thetis goes to the palace of Vulcan to obtain new arms for her son. The description of the wonderful works of Vulcan: and, lastly, that noble one of the shield of Achilles. The latter part of the nine-and-twentieth day, and the night ensuing, take up this book: the scene is at Achilles’ tent on the sea-shore, from whence it changes to the palace of Vulcan.

Twelve days were past, and now the dawning light The gods had summon’d to the Olympian height: Jove, first ascending from the watery bowers, Leads the long order of ethereal powers. When, like the morning-mist in early day, Rose from the flood the daughter of the sea: And to the seats divine her flight address’d. There, far apart, and high above the rest, The thunderer sat; where old Olympus shrouds His hundred heads in heaven, and props the clouds. Suppliant the goddess stood: one hand she placed Beneath his beard, and one his knees embraced. “If e’er, O father of the gods! (she said) My words could please thee, or my actions aid, Some marks of honour on my son bestow, And pay in glory what in life you owe. Fame is at least by heavenly promise due To life so short, and now dishonour’d too. Avenge this wrong, O ever just and wise! Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise; Till the proud king and all the Achaian race Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace.”

Three ships with Nireus sought the Trojan shore, Nireus, whom Agäle to Charopus bore, Nireus, in faultless shape and blooming grace, The loveliest youth of all the Grecian race;[104] Pelides only match’d his early charms; But few his troops, and small his strength in arms.

“If then thou art of stern Pelides’ train, (The mournful monarch thus rejoin’d again,) Ah tell me truly, where, oh! where are laid My son’s dear relics? what befalls him dead? Have dogs dismember’d (on the naked plains), Or yet unmangled rest, his cold remains?”

The sons of Merops shone amidst the war; Towering they rode in one refulgent car: In deep prophetic arts their father skill’d, Had warn’d his children from the Trojan field. Fate urged them on: the father warn’d in vain; They rush’d to fight, and perish’d on the plain; Their breasts no more the vital spirit warms; The stern Tydides strips their shining arms. Hypirochus by great Ulysses dies, And rich Hippodamus becomes his prize. Great Jove from Ide with slaughter fills his sight, And level hangs the doubtful scale of fight. By Tydeus’ lance Agastrophus was slain, The far-famed hero of Pæonian strain; Wing’d with his fears, on foot he strove to fly, His steeds too distant, and the foe too nigh: Through broken orders, swifter than the wind, He fled, but flying left his life behind. This Hector sees, as his experienced eyes Traverse the files, and to the rescue flies; Shouts, as he pass’d, the crystal regions rend, And moving armies on his march attend. Great Diomed himself was seized with fear, And thus bespoke his brother of the war:

Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour[43] Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power Latona’s son a dire contagion spread,[44] And heap’d the camp with mountains of the dead; The king of men his reverent priest defied,[45] And for the king’s offence the people died.

“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 son of Peleus ceased: the chiefs around In silence wrapt, in consternation drown’d, Attend the stern reply. Then Phœnix rose; (Down his white beard a stream of sorrow flows;) And while the fate of suffering Greece he mourn’d, With accent weak these tender words return’d.

This counsel pleased: the godlike Hector sprung Swift from his seat; his clanging armour rung. The chief’s example follow’d by his train, Each quits his car, and issues on the plain, By orders strict the charioteers enjoin’d Compel the coursers to their ranks behind. The forces part in five distinguish’d bands, And all obey their several chiefs’ commands. The best and bravest in the first conspire, Pant for the fight, and threat the fleet with fire: Great Hector glorious in the van of these, Polydamas, and brave Cebriones. Before the next the graceful Paris shines, And bold Alcathous, and Agenor joins. The sons of Priam with the third appear, Deiphobus, and Helenas the seer; In arms with these the mighty Asius stood, Who drew from Hyrtacus his noble blood, And whom Arisba’s yellow coursers bore, The coursers fed on Sellè’s winding shore. Antenor’s sons the fourth battalion guide, And great Æneas, born on fountful Ide. Divine Sarpedon the last band obey’d, Whom Glaucus and Asteropaeus aid. Next him, the bravest, at their army’s head, But he more brave than all the hosts he led.

Æneas heard, and for a space resign’d To tender pity all his manly mind; Then rising in his rage, he burns to fight: The Greek awaits him with collected might. As the fell boar, on some rough mountain’s head, Arm’d with wild terrors, and to slaughter bred, When the loud rustics rise, and shout from far, Attends the tumult, and expects the war; O’er his bent back the bristly horrors rise; Fires stream in lightning from his sanguine eyes, His foaming tusks both dogs and men engage; But most his hunters rouse his mighty rage: So stood Idomeneus, his javelin shook, And met the Trojan with a lowering look. Antilochus, Deipyrus, were near, The youthful offspring of the god of war, Merion, and Aphareus, in field renown’d: To these the warrior sent his voice around. “Fellows in arms! your timely aid unite; Lo, great Æneas rushes to the fight: Sprung from a god, and more than mortal bold; He fresh in youth, and I in arms grown old. Else should this hand, this hour decide the strife, The great dispute, of glory, or of life.”

The son of Panthus, skill’d the dart to send, Eyes the dead hero, and insults the friend. “This hand, Atrides, laid Patroclus low; Warrior! desist, nor tempt an equal blow: To me the spoils my prowess won, resign: Depart with life, and leave the glory mine.”

The god obeys, his golden pinions binds,[294] And mounts incumbent on the wings of winds, That high, through fields of air, his flight sustain, O’er the wide earth, and o’er the boundless main; Then grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly, Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye: Thus arm’d, swift Hermes steers his airy way, And stoops on Hellespont’s resounding sea. A beauteous youth, majestic and divine, He seem’d; fair offspring of some princely line! Now twilight veil’d the glaring face of day, And clad the dusky fields in sober grey; What time the herald and the hoary king (Their chariots stopping at the silver spring, That circling Ilus’ ancient marble flows) Allow’d their mules and steeds a short repose, Through the dim shade the herald first espies A man’s approach, and thus to Priam cries: “I mark some foe’s advance: O king! beware; This hard adventure claims thy utmost care! For much I fear destruction hovers nigh: Our state asks counsel; is it best to fly? Or old and helpless, at his feet to fall, Two wretched suppliants, and for mercy call?”

He said. The challenge Hector heard with joy, Then with his spear restrain’d the youth of Troy, Held by the midst, athwart; and near the foe Advanced with steps majestically slow: While round his dauntless head the Grecians pour Their stones and arrows in a mingled shower.

Then she: “This insult from no god I found, An impious mortal gave the daring wound! Behold the deed of haughty Diomed! ’Twas in the son’s defence the mother bled. The war with Troy no more the Grecians wage; But with the gods (the immortal gods) engage.”

“Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run? Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son! And think’st thou not how wretched we shall be, A widow I, a helpless orphan he? For sure such courage length of life denies, And thou must fall, thy virtue’s sacrifice. Greece in her single heroes strove in vain; Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain. O grant me, gods, ere Hector meets his doom, All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb! So shall my days in one sad tenor run, And end with sorrows as they first begun. No parent now remains my griefs to share, No father’s aid, no mother’s tender care. The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire, Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire! His fate compassion in the victor bred; Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead, His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil, And laid him decent on the funeral pile; Then raised a mountain where his bones were burn’d, The mountain-nymphs the rural tomb adorn’d, Jove’s sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow A barren shade, and in his honour grow.

“Ah think, thou favour’d of the powers divine![295] Think of thy father’s age, and pity mine! In me that father’s reverend image trace, Those silver hairs, that venerable face; His trembling limbs, his helpless person, see! In all my equal, but in misery! Yet now, perhaps, some turn of human fate Expels him helpless from his peaceful state; Think, from some powerful foe thou seest him fly, And beg protection with a feeble cry. Yet still one comfort in his soul may rise; He hears his son still lives to glad his eyes, And, hearing, still may hope a better day May send him thee, to chase that foe away. No comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain, The best, the bravest, of my sons are slain! Yet what a race! ere Greece to Ilion came, The pledge of many a loved and loving dame: Nineteen one mother bore—Dead, all are dead! How oft, alas! has wretched Priam bled! Still one was left their loss to recompense; His father’s hope, his country’s last defence. Him too thy rage has slain! beneath thy steel, Unhappy in his country’s cause he fell!

“O suffer not the foe to bear away My helpless corpse, an unassisted prey; If I, unbless’d, must see my son no more, My much-loved consort, and my native shore, Yet let me die in Ilion’s sacred wall; Troy, in whose cause I fell, shall mourn my fall.”

Meanwhile to Juno, in the realms above, (His wife and sister,) spoke almighty Jove. “At last thy will prevails: great Peleus’ son Rises in arms: such grace thy Greeks have won. Say (for I know not), is their race divine, And thou the mother of that martial line?”

Meanwhile the rushing armies hide the ground; The trampled centre yields a hollow sound: Steeds cased in mail, and chiefs in armour bright, The gleaming champaign glows with brazen light. Amid both hosts (a dreadful space) appear, There great Achilles; bold Æneas, here. With towering strides Æneas first advanced; The nodding plumage on his helmet danced: Spread o’er his breast the fencing shield he bore, And, so he moved, his javelin flamed before. Not so Pelides; furious to engage, He rush’d impetuous. Such the lion’s rage, Who viewing first his foes with scornful eyes, Though all in arms the peopled city rise, Stalks careless on, with unregarding pride; Till at the length, by some brave youth defied, To his bold spear the savage turns alone, He murmurs fury with a hollow groan; He grins, he foams, he rolls his eyes around, Lash’d by his tail his heaving sides resound; He calls up all his rage; he grinds his teeth, Resolved on vengeance, or resolved on death. So fierce Achilles on Æneas flies; So stands Æneas, and his force defies. Ere yet the stern encounter join’d, begun The seed of Thetis thus to Venus’ son:

But great Achilles stands apart in prayer, And from his head divides the yellow hair; Those curling locks which from his youth he vow’d,[287] And sacred grew, to Sperchius’ honour’d flood: Then sighing, to the deep his locks he cast, And roll’d his eyes around the watery waste:

“Thy words, that speak benevolence of mind, Are true, my son! (the godlike sire rejoin’d:) Great are my hazards; but the gods survey My steps, and send thee, guardian of my way. Hail, and be bless’d! For scarce of mortal kind Appear thy form, thy feature, and thy mind.”

He said; and backward to the lines retired; Forth rush’d the youth with martial fury fired, Beyond the foremost ranks; his lance he threw, And round the black battalions cast his view. The troops of Troy recede with sudden fear, While the swift javelin hiss’d along in air. Advancing Melanippus met the dart With his bold breast, and felt it in his heart: Thundering he falls; his falling arms resound, And his broad buckler rings against the ground. The victor leaps upon his prostrate prize: Thus on a roe the well-breath’d beagle flies, And rends his side, fresh-bleeding with the dart The distant hunter sent into his heart. Observing Hector to the rescue flew; Bold as he was, Antilochus withdrew. So when a savage, ranging o’er the plain, Has torn the shepherd’s dog, or shepherd’s swain, While conscious of the deed, he glares around, And hears the gathering multitude resound, Timely he flies the yet-untasted food, And gains the friendly shelter of the wood: So fears the youth; all Troy with shouts pursue, While stones and darts in mingled tempest flew; But enter’d in the Grecian ranks, he turns His manly breast, and with new fury burns.

“Unpitying powers! how oft each holy fane Has Hector tinged with blood of victims slain? And can ye still his cold remains pursue? Still grudge his body to the Trojans’ view? Deny to consort, mother, son, and sire, The last sad honours of a funeral fire? Is then the dire Achilles all your care? That iron heart, inflexibly severe; A lion, not a man, who slaughters wide, In strength of rage, and impotence of pride; Who hastes to murder with a savage joy, Invades around, and breathes but to destroy! Shame is not of his soul; nor understood, The greatest evil and the greatest good. Still for one loss he rages unresign’d, Repugnant to the lot of all mankind; To lose a friend, a brother, or a son, Heaven dooms each mortal, and its will is done: Awhile they sorrow, then dismiss their care; Fate gives the wound, and man is born to bear. But this insatiate, the commission given By fate exceeds, and tempts the wrath of heaven: Lo, how his rage dishonest drags along Hector’s dead earth, insensible of wrong! Brave though he be, yet by no reason awed, He violates the laws of man and god.”

“He bleeds! (he cries) some god has sped my dart! Would the same god had fix’d it in his heart! So Troy, relieved from that wide-wasting hand, Should breathe from slaughter and in combat stand: Whose sons now tremble at his darted spear, As scatter’d lambs the rushing lion fear.”

The hoary monarch thus. Her piercing cries Sad Hecuba renews, and then replies: “Ah! whither wanders thy distemper’d mind? And where the prudence now that awed mankind? Through Phrygia once and foreign regions known; Now all confused, distracted, overthrown! Singly to pass through hosts of foes! to face (O heart of steel!) the murderer of thy race! To view that deathful eye, and wander o’er Those hands yet red with Hector’s noble gore! Alas! my lord! he knows not how to spare, And what his mercy, thy slain sons declare; So brave! so many fallen! To claim his rage Vain were thy dignity, and vain thy age. No—pent in this sad palace, let us give To grief the wretched days we have to live. Still, still for Hector let our sorrows flow, Born to his own, and to his parents’ woe! Doom’d from the hour his luckless life begun, To dogs, to vultures, and to Peleus’ son! Oh! in his dearest blood might I allay My rage, and these barbarities repay! For ah! could Hector merit thus, whose breath Expired not meanly, in unactive death? He poured his latest blood in manly fight, And fell a hero in his country’s right.”

“Forbear, my sons! your further force to prove, Both dear to men, and both beloved of Jove. To either host your matchless worth is known, Each sounds your praise, and war is all your own. But now the Night extends her awful shade; The goddess parts you; be the night obey’d.”[184]

The monarch spoke: the warriors snatch’d with haste (Each at his post in arms) a short repast. Soon as the rosy morn had waked the day, To the black ships Idæus bent his way; There, to the sons of Mars, in council found, He raised his voice: the host stood listening round.

“Say, chief, is all thy ancient valour lost? Where are thy threats, and where thy glorious boast, That propp’d alone by Priam’s race should stand Troy’s sacred walls, nor need a foreign hand? Now, now thy country calls her wonted friends, And the proud vaunt in just derision ends. Remote they stand while alien troops engage, Like trembling hounds before the lion’s rage. Far distant hence I held my wide command, Where foaming Xanthus laves the Lycian land; With ample wealth (the wish of mortals) bless’d, A beauteous wife, and infant at her breast; With those I left whatever dear could be: Greece, if she conquers, nothing wins from me; Yet first in fight my Lycian bands I cheer, And long to meet this mighty man ye fear; While Hector idle stands, nor bids the brave Their wives, their infants, and their altars save. Haste, warrior, haste! preserve thy threaten’d state, Or one vast burst of all-involving fate Full o’er your towers shall fall, and sweep away Sons, sires, and wives, an undistinguish’d prey. Rouse all thy Trojans, urge thy aids to fight; These claim thy thoughts by day, thy watch by night; With force incessant the brave Greeks oppose; Such cares thy friends deserve, and such thy foes.”

Yet more—three daughters in my court are bred, And each well worthy of a royal bed; Laodice and Iphigenia fair,[203] And bright Chrysothemis with golden hair; Her let him choose whom most his eyes approve, I ask no presents, no reward for love: Myself will give the dower; so vast a store As never father gave a child before. Seven ample cities shall confess his sway, Him Enope, and Pheræ him obey, Cardamyle with ample turrets crown’d, And sacred Pedasus for vines renown’d; Æpea fair, the pastures Hira yields, And rich Antheia with her flowery fields:[204] The whole extent to Pylos’ sandy plain, Along the verdant margin of the main. There heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil; Bold are the men, and generous is the soil; There shall he reign, with power and justice crown’d, And rule the tributary realms around. All this I give, his vengeance to control, And sure all this may move his mighty soul. Pluto, the grisly god, who never spares, Who feels no mercy, and who hears no prayers, Lives dark and dreadful in deep hell’s abodes, And mortals hate him, as the worst of gods. Great though he be, it fits him to obey, Since more than his my years, and more my sway.”

“Why comes Æneas through the ranks so far? Seeks he to meet Achilles’ arm in war, In hope the realms of Priam to enjoy, And prove his merits to the throne of Troy? Grant that beneath thy lance Achilles dies, The partial monarch may refuse the prize; Sons he has many; those thy pride may quell: And ’tis his fault to love those sons too well, Or, in reward of thy victorious hand, Has Troy proposed some spacious tract of land, An ample forest, or a fair domain, Of hills for vines, and arable for grain? Even this, perhaps, will hardly prove thy lot. But can Achilles be so soon forgot? Once (as I think) you saw this brandish’d spear, And then the great Æneas seem’d to fear: With hearty haste from Ida’s mount he fled, Nor, till he reach’d Lyrnessus, turn’d his head. Her lofty walls not long our progress stay’d; Those, Pallas, Jove, and we, in ruins laid: In Grecian chains her captive race were cast; ’Tis true, the great Æneas fled too fast. Defrauded of my conquest once before, What then I lost, the gods this day restore. Go; while thou may’st, avoid the threaten’d fate; Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late.”

He said, and feebly drives his friends away: The sorrowing friends his frantic rage obey. Next on his sons his erring fury falls, Polites, Paris, Agathon, he calls; His threats Deiphobus and Dius hear, Hippothous, Pammon, Helenes the seer, And generous Antiphon: for yet these nine Survived, sad relics of his numerous line.

Next thirty galleys cleave the liquid plain, Of those Calydnæ’s sea-girt isles contain; With them the youth of Nisyrus repair, Casus the strong, and Crapathus the fair; Cos, where Eurypylus possess’d the sway, Till great Alcides made the realms obey: These Antiphus and bold Phidippus bring, Sprung from the god by Thessalus the king.

“That unavailing care be laid aside, (The azure goddess to her son replied,) Whole years untouch’d, uninjured shall remain, Fresh as in life, the carcase of the slain. But go, Achilles, as affairs require, Before the Grecian peers renounce thine ire: Then uncontroll’d in boundless war engage, And heaven with strength supply the mighty rage!”

For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain His captive daughter from the victor’s chain. Suppliant the venerable father stands; Apollo’s awful ensigns grace his hands: By these he begs; and lowly bending down, Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown. He sued to all, but chief implored for grace The brother-kings, of Atreus’ royal race[46]

“Behold! the god whose liquid arms are hurl’d Around the globe, whose earthquakes rock the world, Desists at length his rebel-war to wage, Seeks his own seas, and trembles at our rage; Else had my wrath, heaven’s thrones all shaking round, Burn’d to the bottom of his seas profound; And all the gods that round old Saturn dwell Had heard the thunders to the deeps of hell. Well was the crime, and well the vengeance spared; Even power immense had found such battle hard. Go thou, my son! the trembling Greeks alarm, Shake my broad ægis on thy active arm, Be godlike Hector thy peculiar care, Swell his bold heart, and urge his strength to war: Let Ilion conquer, till the Achaian train Fly to their ships and Hellespont again: Then Greece shall breathe from toils.” The godhead said; His will divine the son of Jove obey’d. Not half so swift the sailing falcon flies, That drives a turtle through the liquid skies, As Phœbus, shooting from the Idaean brow, Glides down the mountain to the plain below. There Hector seated by the stream he sees, His sense returning with the coming breeze; Again his pulses beat, his spirits rise; Again his loved companions meet his eyes; Jove thinking of his pains, they pass’d away, To whom the god who gives the golden day:

Thus spake the youth; nor did his words offend; Pleased with the well-turn’d flattery of a friend, Achilles smiled: “The gift proposed (he cried), Antilochus! we shall ourself provide. With plates of brass the corslet cover’d o’er, (The same renown’d Asteropaeus wore,) Whose glittering margins raised with silver shine, (No vulgar gift,) Eumelus! shall be thine.”

Next, eighty barks the Cretan king commands, Of Gnossus, Lyctus, and Gortyna’s bands; And those who dwell where Rhytion’s domes arise, Or white Lycastus glitters to the skies, Or where by Phæstus silver Jardan runs; Crete’s hundred cities pour forth all her sons. These march’d, Idomeneus, beneath thy care, And Merion, dreadful as the god of war.

“Long since had Hector stain’d these fields with gore, Stretch’d by some Argive on his native shore: But he above, the sire of heaven, withstands, Mocks our attempts, and slights our just demands; The stubborn god, inflexible and hard, Forgets my service and deserved reward: Saved I, for this, his favourite son distress’d, By stern Eurystheus with long labours press’d? He begg’d, with tears he begg’d, in deep dismay; I shot from heaven, and gave his arm the day. Oh had my wisdom known this dire event, When to grim Pluto’s gloomy gates he went; The triple dog had never felt his chain, Nor Styx been cross’d, nor hell explored in vain. Averse to me of all his heaven of gods, At Thetis’ suit the partial Thunderer nods; To grace her gloomy, fierce, resenting son, My hopes are frustrate, and my Greeks undone. Some future day, perhaps, he may be moved To call his blue-eyed maid his best beloved. Haste, launch thy chariot, through yon ranks to ride; Myself will arm, and thunder at thy side. Then, goddess! say, shall Hector glory then? (That terror of the Greeks, that man of men) When Juno’s self, and Pallas shall appear, All dreadful in the crimson walks of war! What mighty Trojan then, on yonder shore, Expiring, pale, and terrible no more, Shall feast the fowls, and glut the dogs with gore?”

Yet more—three daughters in his court are bred, And each well worthy of a royal bed: Laodice and Iphigenia fair, And bright Chrysothemis with golden hair: Her shalt thou wed whom most thy eyes approve; He asks no presents, no reward for love: Himself will give the dower; so vast a store As never father gave a child before. Seven ample cities shall confess thy sway, The Enope and Pheræ thee obey, Cardamyle with ample turrets crown’d, And sacred Pedasus, for vines renown’d: Æpea fair, the pastures Hira yields, And rich Antheia with her flowery fields; The whole extent to Pylos’ sandy plain, Along the verdant margin of the main. There heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil; Bold are the men, and generous is the soil. There shalt thou reign, with power and justice crown’d, And rule the tributary realms around. Such are the proffers which this day we bring, Such the repentance of a suppliant king. But if all this, relentless, thou disdain, If honour and if interest plead in vain, Yet some redress to suppliant Greece afford, And be, amongst her guardian gods, adored. If no regard thy suffering country claim, Hear thy own glory, and the voice of fame: For now that chief, whose unresisted ire Made nations tremble, and whole hosts retire, Proud Hector, now, the unequal fight demands, And only triumphs to deserve thy hands.”

The counsel pleased; and Hector, with a bound, Leap’d from his chariot on the trembling ground; Swift as he leap’d his clanging arms resound. “To guard this post (he cried) thy art employ, And here detain the scatter’d youth of Troy; Where yonder heroes faint, I bend my way, And hasten back to end the doubtful day.”

“Here, proud Polydamas, here turn thy eyes! (The towering Ajax loud-insulting cries:) Say, is this chief extended on the plain A worthy vengeance for Prothoënor slain? Mark well his port! his figure and his face Nor speak him vulgar, nor of vulgar race; Some lines, methinks, may make his lineage known, Antenor’s brother, or perhaps his son.”

From rich Apæsus and Adrestia’s towers, High Teree’s summits, and Pityea’s bowers; From these the congregated troops obey Young Amphius and Adrastus’ equal sway; Old Merops’ sons; whom, skill’d in fates to come, The sire forewarn’d, and prophesied their doom: Fate urged them on! the sire forewarn’d in vain, They rush’d to war, and perish’d on the plain.

He said: Automedon at his command The corslet brought, and gave it to his hand. Distinguish’d by his friend, his bosom glows With generous joy: then Menelaus rose; The herald placed the sceptre in his hands, And still’d the clamour of the shouting bands. Not without cause incensed at Nestor’s son, And inly grieving, thus the king begun:

His word the silver-footed queen attends, And from Olympus’ snowy tops descends. Arrived, she heard the voice of loud lament, And echoing groans that shook the lofty tent: His friends prepare the victim, and dispose Repast unheeded, while he vents his woes; The goddess seats her by her pensive son, She press’d his hand, and tender thus begun:

The son of Peleus thus; and thus replies The great in councils, Ithacus the wise: “Though, godlike, thou art by no toils oppress’d, At least our armies claim repast and rest: Long and laborious must the combat be, When by the gods inspired, and led by thee. Strength is derived from spirits and from blood, And those augment by generous wine and food: What boastful son of war, without that stay, Can last a hero through a single day? Courage may prompt; but, ebbing out his strength, Mere unsupported man must yield at length; Shrunk with dry famine, and with toils declined, The drooping body will desert the mind: But built anew with strength-conferring fare, With limbs and soul untamed, he tires a war. Dismiss the people, then, and give command, With strong repast to hearten every band; But let the presents to Achilles made, In full assembly of all Greece be laid. The king of men shall rise in public sight, And solemn swear (observant of the rite) That, spotless, as she came, the maid removes, Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves. That done, a sumptuous banquet shall be made, And the full price of injured honour paid. Stretch not henceforth, O prince! thy sovereign might Beyond the bounds of reason and of right; ’Tis the chief praise that e’er to kings belong’d, To right with justice whom with power they wrong’d.”

From Meges’ force the swift Pedaeus fled, Antenor’s offspring from a foreign bed, Whose generous spouse, Theanor, heavenly fair, Nursed the young stranger with a mother’s care. How vain those cares! when Meges in the rear Full in his nape infix’d the fatal spear; Swift through his crackling jaws the weapon glides, And the cold tongue and grinning teeth divides.

“O daughter of that god, whose arm can wield The avenging bolt, and shake the saber shield! No more let beings of superior birth Contend with Jove for this low race of earth; Triumphant now, now miserably slain, They breathe or perish as the fates ordain: But Jove’s high counsels full effect shall find; And, ever constant, ever rule mankind.”

“Now, Trojan prince, employ thy pious arms, If e’er thy bosom felt fair honour’s charms. Alcathous dies, thy brother and thy friend; Come, and the warrior’s loved remains defend. Beneath his cares thy early youth was train’d, One table fed you, and one roof contain’d. This deed to fierce Idomeneus we owe; Haste, and revenge it on th’ insulting foe.”

He spoke; and, speaking, swifter than the wind Sprung from the tent, and left the war behind. The embodied Greeks the fierce attack sustain, But strive, though numerous, to repulse in vain: Nor could the Trojans, through that firm array, Force to the fleet and tents the impervious way. As when a shipwright, with Palladian art, Smooths the rough wood, and levels every part; With equal hand he guides his whole design, By the just rule, and the directing line: The martial leaders, with like skill and care, Preserved their line, and equal kept the war. Brave deeds of arms through all the ranks were tried, And every ship sustained an equal tide. At one proud bark, high-towering o’er the fleet, Ajax the great, and godlike Hector meet; For one bright prize the matchless chiefs contend, Nor this the ships can fire, nor that defend: One kept the shore, and one the vessel trod; That fix’d as fate, this acted by a god. The son of Clytius in his daring hand, The deck approaching, shakes a flaming brand; But, pierced by Telamon’s huge lance, expires: Thundering he falls, and drops the extinguish’d fires. Great Hector view’d him with a sad survey, As stretch’d in dust before the stern he lay. “Oh! all of Trojan, all of Lycian race! Stand to your arms, maintain this arduous space: Lo! where the son of royal Clytius lies; Ah, save his arms, secure his obsequies!”

The son of Venus to the counsel yields; Then o’er their backs they spread their solid shields: With brass refulgent the broad surface shined, And thick bull-hides the spacious concave lined. Them Chromius follows, Aretus succeeds; Each hopes the conquest of the lofty steeds: In vain, brave youths, with glorious hopes ye burn, In vain advance! not fated to return.

The goddess spoke, and turn’d her eyes away, That, beaming round, diffused celestial day. Jove’s Cyprian daughter, stooping on the land, Lent to the wounded god her tender hand: Slowly he rises, scarcely breathes with pain, And, propp’d on her fair arm, forsakes the plain. This the bright empress of the heavens survey’d, And, scoffing, thus to war’s victorious maid:

She spoke, and vanish’d. Priam bids prepare His gentle mules and harness to the car; There, for the gifts, a polish’d casket lay: His pious sons the king’s command obey. Then pass’d the monarch to his bridal-room, Where cedar-beams the lofty roofs perfume, And where the treasures of his empire lay; Then call’d his queen, and thus began to say:

Thy fate was next, O Phæstus! doom’d to feel The great Idomeneus’ protended steel; Whom Borus sent (his son and only joy) From fruitful Tarne to the fields of Troy. The Cretan javelin reach’d him from afar, And pierced his shoulder as he mounts his car; Back from the car he tumbles to the ground, And everlasting shades his eyes surround.

“Vain are thy fears (the queen of heaven replies, And, speaking, rolls her large majestic eyes); Think’st thou that Troy has Jove’s high favour won, Like great Alcides, his all-conquering son? Hear, and obey the mistress of the skies, Nor for the deed expect a vulgar prize; For know, thy loved-one shall be ever thine, The youngest Grace, Pasithaë the divine.”[235]

Stern Mars, with anguish for his slaughter’d son, Smote his rebelling breast, and fierce begun: “Thus then, immortals! thus shall Mars obey; Forgive me, gods, and yield my vengeance way: Descending first to yon forbidden plain, The god of battles dares avenge the slain; Dares, though the thunder bursting o’er my head Should hurl me blazing on those heaps of dead.”

Far from the deep recesses of the main, Where aged Ocean holds his watery reign, The goddess-mother heard. The waves divide; And like a mist she rose above the tide; Beheld him mourning on the naked shores, And thus the sorrows of his soul explores. “Why grieves my son? Thy anguish let me share; Reveal the cause, and trust a parent’s care.”

Meanwhile the sons of Nestor, in the rear, (Their fellows routed,) toss the distant spear, And skirmish wide: so Nestor gave command, When from the ships he sent the Pylian band. The youthful brothers thus for fame contend, Nor knew the fortune of Achilles’ friend; In thought they view’d him still, with martial joy, Glorious in arms, and dealing death to Troy.

He said; and drove with fury on the foe. Then to the godhead of the silver bow The yellow flood began: “O son of Jove! Was not the mandate of the sire above Full and express, that Phœbus should employ His sacred arrows in defence of Troy, And make her conquer, till Hyperion’s fall In awful darkness hide the face of all?”

“Nor true are all thy words, nor erring wide; (The sacred messenger of heaven replied;) But say, convey’st thou through the lonely plains What yet most precious of thy store remains, To lodge in safety with some friendly hand: Prepared, perchance, to leave thy native land? Or fliest thou now?—What hopes can Troy retain, Thy matchless son, her guard and glory, slain?”