Iliad on The Divine

He said, then shook the ponderous lance, and flung; On his broad shield the sounding weapon rung, Pierced the tough orb, and in his cuirass hung, “He bleeds! the pride of Greece! (the boaster cries,) Our triumph now, the mighty warrior lies!” “Mistaken vaunter! (Diomed replied;) Thy dart has erred, and now my spear be tried; Ye ’scape not both; one, headlong from his car, With hostile blood shall glut the god of war.”

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

Shall see his bloody spoils in triumph borne, With this keen javelin shall his breast be gored, And prostrate heroes bleed around their lord. Certain as this, oh! might my days endure, From age inglorious, and black death secure; So might my life and glory know no bound, Like Pallas worshipp’d, like the sun renown’d! As the next dawn, the last they shall enjoy, Shall crush the Greeks, and end the woes of Troy.”

Hector (this said) rush’d forward on the foes: With equal ardour Melanippus glows: Then Ajax thus—“O Greeks! respect your fame, Respect yourselves, and learn an honest shame: Let mutual reverence mutual warmth inspire, And catch from breast to breast the noble fire, On valour’s side the odds of combat lie; The brave live glorious, or lamented die; The wretch that trembles in the field of fame, Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame.”

Thus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh; His dreadful plumage nodded from on high; The Pelian javelin, in his better hand, Shot trembling rays that glitter’d o’er the land; And on his breast the beamy splendour shone, Like Jove’s own lightning, or the rising sun. As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise, Struck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies. He leaves the gates, he leaves the wall behind: Achilles follows like the winged wind. Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies (The swiftest racer of the liquid skies), Just when he holds, or thinks he holds his prey, Obliquely wheeling through the aerial way, With open beak and shrilling cries he springs, And aims his claws, and shoots upon his wings: No less fore-right the rapid chase they held, One urged by fury, one by fear impell’d: Now circling round the walls their course maintain, Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain; Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad, (A wider compass,) smoke along the road. Next by Scamander’s double source they bound, Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground; This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise, With exhalations steaming to the skies; That the green banks in summer’s heat o’erflows, Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows: Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills, Whose polish’d bed receives the falling rills; Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm’d by Greece) Wash’d their fair garments in the days of peace.[276] By these they pass’d, one chasing, one in flight: (The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might:) Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play, No vulgar victim must reward the day: (Such as in races crown the speedy strife:) The prize contended was great Hector’s life.

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

“What needs, O monarch! this invidious praise, Ourselves to lessen, while our sire you raise? Dare to be just, Atrides! and confess Our value equal, though our fury less. With fewer troops we storm’d the Theban wall, And happier saw the sevenfold city fall,[137] In impious acts the guilty father died; The sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side. Far more than heirs of all our parents’ fame, Our glories darken their diminish’d name.”

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.”

“Father! not so, (sage Ithacus rejoin’d,) The gifts of heaven are of a nobler kind. Of Thracian lineage are the steeds ye view, Whose hostile king the brave Tydides slew; Sleeping he died, with all his guards around, And twelve beside lay gasping on the ground. These other spoils from conquer’d Dolon came, A wretch, whose swiftness was his only fame; By Hector sent our forces to explore, He now lies headless on the sandy shore.”

The saffron morn, with early blushes spread,[219] Now rose refulgent from Tithonus’ bed; With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light: When baleful Eris, sent by Jove’s command, The torch of discord blazing in her hand, Through the red skies her bloody sign extends, And, wrapt in tempests, o’er the fleet descends. High on Ulysses’ bark her horrid stand She took, and thunder’d through the seas and land.

Soon as the Greeks the chief’s retreat beheld, With double fury each invades the field. Oilean Ajax first his javelin sped, Pierced by whose point the son of Enops bled; (Satnius the brave, whom beauteous Neis bore Amidst her flocks on Satnio’s silver shore;) Struck through the belly’s rim, the warrior lies Supine, and shades eternal veil his eyes. An arduous battle rose around the dead; By turns the Greeks, by turns the Trojans bled.

Achilles in his ships at distance lay, Nor knew the fatal fortune of the day; He, yet unconscious of Patroclus’ fall, In dust extended under Ilion’s wall, Expects him glorious from the conquered plain, And for his wish’d return prepares in vain; Though well he knew, to make proud Ilion bend Was more than heaven had destined to his friend. Perhaps to him: this Thetis had reveal’d; The rest, in pity to her son, conceal’d.

There stood a Trojan, not unknown to fame, Aëtion’s son, and Podes was his name: With riches honour’d, and with courage bless’d, By Hector loved, his comrade, and his guest; Through his broad belt the spear a passage found, And, ponderous as he falls, his arms resound. Sudden at Hector’s side Apollo stood, Like Phaenops, Asius’ son, appear’d the god; (Asius the great, who held his wealthy reign In fair Abydos, by the rolling main.)

While these by Juno’s will the strife resign, The warring gods in fierce contention join: Rekindling rage each heavenly breast alarms: With horrid clangour shock the ethereal arms: Heaven in loud thunder bids the trumpet sound; And wide beneath them groans the rending ground. Jove, as his sport, the dreadful scene descries, And views contending gods with careless eyes. The power of battles lifts his brazen spear, And first assaults the radiant queen of war:

Now front to front the hostile armies stand, Eager of fight, and only wait command; When, to the van, before the sons of fame Whom Troy sent forth, the beauteous Paris came: In form a god! the panther’s speckled hide Flow’d o’er his armour with an easy pride: His bended bow across his shoulders flung, His sword beside him negligently hung; Two pointed spears he shook with gallant grace, And dared the bravest of the Grecian race.

She said, and to the steeds approaching near, Drew from his seat the martial charioteer. The vigorous power the trembling car ascends, Fierce for revenge; and Diomed attends: The groaning axle bent beneath the load; So great a hero, and so great a god. She snatch’d the reins, she lash’d with all her force, And full on Mars impelled the foaming horse: But first, to hide her heavenly visage, spread Black Orcus’ helmet o’er her radiant head.

“Women of Greece! O scandal of your race, Whose coward souls your manly form disgrace, How great the shame, when every age shall know That not a Grecian met this noble foe! Go then! resolve to earth, from whence ye grew, A heartless, spiritless, inglorious crew! Be what ye seem, unanimated clay, Myself will dare the danger of the day; ’Tis man’s bold task the generous strife to try, But in the hands of God is victory.”

“Sweet pleasing Sleep! (Saturnia thus began) Who spread’st thy empire o’er each god and man; If e’er obsequious to thy Juno’s will, O power of slumbers! hear, and favour still. Shed thy soft dews on Jove’s immortal eyes, While sunk in love’s entrancing joys he lies. A splendid footstool, and a throne, that shine With gold unfading, Somnus, shall be thine; The work of Vulcan; to indulge thy ease, When wine and feasts thy golden humours please.”

A field deep furrow’d next the god design’d,[256] The third time labour’d by the sweating hind; The shining shares full many ploughmen guide, And turn their crooked yokes on every side. Still as at either end they wheel around, The master meets them with his goblet crown’d; The hearty draught rewards, renews their toil, Then back the turning ploughshares cleave the soil: Behind, the rising earth in ridges roll’d; And sable look’d, though form’d of molten gold.

Then heaved the goddess in her mighty hand A stone, the limit of the neighbouring land, There fix’d from eldest times; black, craggy, vast; This at the heavenly homicide she cast. Thundering he falls, a mass of monstrous size: And seven broad acres covers as he lies. The stunning stroke his stubborn nerves unbound: Loud o’er the fields his ringing arms resound: The scornful dame her conquest views with smiles, And, glorying, thus the prostrate god reviles:

The carnage Juno from the skies survey’d, And touch’d with grief bespoke the blue-eyed maid: “Oh, sight accursed! Shall faithless Troy prevail, And shall our promise to our people fail? How vain the word to Menelaus given By Jove’s great daughter and the queen of heaven, Beneath his arms that Priam’s towers should fall, If warring gods for ever guard the wall! Mars, red with slaughter, aids our hated foes: Haste, let us arm, and force with force oppose!”

He said: the warrior heard the word with joy; Then with his spear restrain’d the youth of Troy, Held by the midst athwart. On either hand The squadrons part; the expecting Trojans stand; Great Agamemnon bids the Greeks forbear: They breathe, and hush the tumult of the war. The Athenian maid,[178] and glorious god of day, With silent joy the settling hosts survey: In form of vultures, on the beech’s height They sit conceal’d, and wait the future fight.

He said, and rising, high above the field Whirl’d the long lance against the sevenfold shield. Full on the brass descending from above Through six bull-hides the furious weapon drove, Till in the seventh it fix’d. Then Ajax threw; Through Hector’s shield the forceful javelin flew, His corslet enters, and his garment rends, And glancing downwards, near his flank descends. The wary Trojan shrinks, and bending low Beneath his buckler, disappoints the blow. From their bored shields the chiefs their javelins drew, Then close impetuous, and the charge renew; Fierce as the mountain-lions bathed in blood, Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood. At Ajax, Hector his long lance extends; The blunted point against the buckler bends; But Ajax, watchful as his foe drew near, Drove through the Trojan targe the knotty spear; It reach’d his neck, with matchless strength impell’d! Spouts the black gore, and dims his shining shield. Yet ceased not Hector thus; but stooping down, In his strong hand up-heaved a flinty stone, Black, craggy, vast: to this his force he bends; Full on the brazen boss the stone descends; The hollow brass resounded with the shock: Then Ajax seized the fragment of a rock, Applied each nerve, and swinging round on high, With force tempestuous, let the ruin fly; The huge stone thundering through his buckler broke: His slacken’d knees received the numbing stroke; Great Hector falls extended on the field, His bulk supporting on the shatter’d shield: Nor wanted heavenly aid: Apollo’s might Confirm’d his sinews, and restored to fight. And now both heroes their broad falchions drew In flaming circles round their heads they flew; But then by heralds’ voice the word was given. The sacred ministers of earth and heaven: Divine Talthybius, whom the Greeks employ, And sage Idæus on the part of Troy, Between the swords their peaceful sceptres rear’d; And first Idæus’ awful voice was heard:

Then drops the radiant burden on the ground; Clang the strong arms, and ring the shores around; Back shrink the Myrmidons with dread surprise, And from the broad effulgence turn their eyes. Unmoved the hero kindles at the show, And feels with rage divine his bosom glow; From his fierce eyeballs living flames expire, And flash incessant like a stream of fire: He turns the radiant gift: and feeds his mind On all the immortal artist had design’d.

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

Great Hector saw, and, raging at the view, Pours on the Greeks: the Trojan troops pursue: He fires his host with animating cries, And brings along the furies of the skies, Mars, stern destroyer! and Bellona dread, Flame in the front, and thunder at their head: This swells the tumult and the rage of fight; That shakes a spear that casts a dreadful light. Where Hector march’d, the god of battles shined, Now storm’d before him, and now raged behind.

To whom the king. “With justice hast thou shown A prince’s faults, and I with reason own. That happy man, whom Jove still honours most, Is more than armies, and himself a host. Bless’d in his love, this wondrous hero stands; Heaven fights his war, and humbles all our bands. Fain would my heart, which err’d through frantic rage, The wrathful chief and angry gods assuage. If gifts immense his mighty soul can bow,[201] Hear, all ye Greeks, and witness what I vow. Ten weighty talents of the purest gold, And twice ten vases of refulgent mould: Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; Twelve steeds unmatch’d in fleetness and in force, And still victorious in the dusty course; (Rich were the man whose ample stores exceed The prizes purchased by their winged speed;) Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line, Skill’d in each art, unmatch’d in form divine, The same I chose for more than vulgar charms, When Lesbos sank beneath the hero’s arms: All these, to buy his friendship, shall be paid, And join’d with these the long-contested maid; With all her charms, Briseïs I resign, And solemn swear those charms were never mine; Untouch’d she stay’d, uninjured she removes, Pure from my arms, and guiltless of my loves,[202] These instant shall be his; and if the powers Give to our arms proud Ilion’s hostile towers, Then shall he store (when Greece the spoil divides) With gold and brass his loaded navy’s sides: Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race With copious love shall crown his warm embrace, Such as himself will choose; who yield to none, Or yield to Helen’s heavenly charms alone. Yet hear me further: when our wars are o’er, If safe we land on Argos’ fruitful shore, There shall he live my son, our honours share, And with Orestes’ self divide my care.

Meanwhile with rising rage the battle glows, The tumult thickens, and the clamour grows. By Teucer’s arm the warlike Imbrius bleeds, The son of Mentor, rich in generous steeds. Ere yet to Troy the sons of Greece were led, In fair Pedaeus’ verdant pastures bred, The youth had dwelt, remote from war’s alarms, And blest in bright Medesicaste’s arms: (This nymph, the fruit of Priam’s ravish’d joy, Allied the warrior to the house of Troy:) To Troy, when glory call’d his arms, he came, And match’d the bravest of her chiefs in fame: With Priam’s sons, a guardian of the throne, He lived, beloved and honour’d as his own. Him Teucer pierced between the throat and ear: He groans beneath the Telamonian spear. As from some far-seen mountain’s airy crown, Subdued by steel, a tall ash tumbles down, And soils its verdant tresses on the ground; So falls the youth; his arms the fall resound. Then Teucer rushing to despoil the dead, From Hector’s hand a shining javelin fled: He saw, and shunn’d the death; the forceful dart Sung on, and pierced Amphimachus’s heart, Cteatus’ son, of Neptune’s forceful line; Vain was his courage, and his race divine! Prostrate he falls; his clanging arms resound, And his broad buckler thunders on the ground. To seize his beamy helm the victor flies, And just had fastened on the dazzling prize, When Ajax’ manly arm a javelin flung; Full on the shield’s round boss the weapon rung; He felt the shock, nor more was doom’d to feel, Secure in mail, and sheath’d in shining steel. Repulsed he yields; the victor Greeks obtain The spoils contested, and bear off the slain. Between the leaders of the Athenian line, (Stichius the brave, Menestheus the divine,) Deplored Amphimachus, sad object! lies; Imbrius remains the fierce Ajaces’ prize. As two grim lions bear across the lawn, Snatch’d from devouring hounds, a slaughter’d fawn.

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.

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

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

Now had the Grecians snatch’d a short repast, And buckled on their shining arms with haste. Troy roused as soon; for on this dreadful day The fate of fathers, wives, and infants lay. The gates unfolding pour forth all their train; Squadrons on squadrons cloud the dusky plain: Men, steeds, and chariots shake the trembling ground, The tumult thickens, and the skies resound; And now with shouts the shocking armies closed, To lances lances, shields to shields opposed, Host against host with shadowy legends drew, The sounding darts in iron tempests flew; Victors and vanquish’d join promiscuous cries, Triumphant shouts and dying groans arise; With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed, And slaughter’d heroes swell the dreadful tide. Long as the morning beams, increasing bright, O’er heaven’s clear azure spread the sacred light, Commutual death the fate of war confounds, Each adverse battle gored with equal wounds. But when the sun the height of heaven ascends, The sire of gods his golden scales suspends,[192] With equal hand: in these explored the fate Of Greece and Troy, and poised the mighty weight: Press’d with its load, the Grecian balance lies Low sunk on earth, the Trojan strikes the skies. Then Jove from Ida’s top his horrors spreads; The clouds burst dreadful o’er the Grecian heads; Thick lightnings flash; the muttering thunder rolls; Their strength he withers, and unmans their souls. Before his wrath the trembling hosts retire; The gods in terrors, and the skies on fire. Nor great Idomeneus that sight could bear, Nor each stern Ajax, thunderbolts of war: Nor he, the king of war, the alarm sustain’d Nestor alone, amidst the storm remain’d. Unwilling he remain’d, for Paris’ dart Had pierced his courser in a mortal part; Fix’d in the forehead, where the springing mane Curl’d o’er the brow, it stung him to the brain; Mad with his anguish, he begins to rear, Paw with his hoofs aloft, and lash the air.

Then with his sceptre, that the deep controls, He touch’d the chiefs, and steel’d their manly souls: Strength, not their own, the touch divine imparts, Prompts their light limbs, and swells their daring hearts. Then, as a falcon from the rocky height, Her quarry seen, impetuous at the sight, Forth-springing instant, darts herself from high, Shoots on the wing, and skims along the sky: Such, and so swift, the power of ocean flew; The wide horizon shut him from their view.

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:

Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod, Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god. Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain; And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain; Till time shall rifle every youthful grace, And age dismiss her from my cold embrace, In daily labours of the loom employ’d, Or doom’d to deck the bed she once enjoy’d. Hence then; to Argos shall the maid retire, Far from her native soil and weeping sire.”

“Is this the chief, who, lost to sense of shame, Late fled the field, and yet survives his fame? O hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword Of that brave man whom once I call’d my lord! The boaster Paris oft desired the day With Sparta’s king to meet in single fray: Go now, once more thy rival’s rage excite, Provoke Atrides, and renew the fight: Yet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill’d Shouldst fall an easy conquest on the field.”

Hector obedient heard: and, with a bound, Leap’d from his trembling chariot to the ground; Through all his host inspiring force he flies, And bids the thunder of the battle rise. With rage recruited the bold Trojans glow, And turn the tide of conflict on the foe: Fierce in the front he shakes two dazzling spears; All Greece recedes, and ’midst her triumphs fears; Some god, they thought, who ruled the fate of wars, Shot down avenging from the vault of stars.

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

To whom the king: “On Greece no blame be thrown; Arms are her trade, and war is all her own. Her hardy heroes from the well-fought plains Nor fear withholds, nor shameful sloth detains: ’Tis heaven, alas! and Jove’s all-powerful doom, That far, far distant from our native home Wills us to fall inglorious! Oh, my friend! Once foremost in the fight, still prone to lend Or arms or counsels, now perform thy best, And what thou canst not singly, urge the rest.”

The warrior raised his voice, and wide around The field re-echoed the distressful sound. “O chiefs! O princes, to whose hand is given The rule of men; whose glory is from heaven! Whom with due honours both Atrides grace: Ye guides and guardians of our Argive race! All, whom this well-known voice shall reach from far, All, whom I see not through this cloud of war; Come all! let generous rage your arms employ, And save Patroclus from the dogs of Troy.”

“Hear me, ye sons of Greece! with silence hear! And grant your monarch an impartial ear: Awhile your loud, untimely joy suspend, And let your rash, injurious clamours end: Unruly murmurs, or ill-timed applause, Wrong the best speaker, and the justest cause. Nor charge on me, ye Greeks, the dire debate: Know, angry Jove, and all-compelling Fate, With fell Erinnys, urged my wrath that day When from Achilles’ arms I forced the prey. What then could I against the will of heaven? Not by myself, but vengeful Ate driven; She, Jove’s dread daughter, fated to infest The race of mortals, enter’d in my breast. Not on the ground that haughty fury treads, But prints her lofty footsteps on the heads Of mighty men; inflicting as she goes Long-festering wounds, inextricable woes! Of old, she stalk’d amid the bright abodes; And Jove himself, the sire of men and gods, The world’s great ruler, felt her venom’d dart; Deceived by Juno’s wiles, and female art: For when Alcmena’s nine long months were run, And Jove expected his immortal son, To gods and goddesses the unruly joy He show’d, and vaunted of his matchless boy: ‘From us, (he said) this day an infant springs, Fated to rule, and born a king of kings.’ Saturnia ask’d an oath, to vouch the truth, And fix dominion on the favour’d youth. The Thunderer, unsuspicious of the fraud, Pronounced those solemn words that bind a god. The joyful goddess, from Olympus’ height, Swift to Achaian Argos bent her flight: Scarce seven moons gone, lay Sthenelus’s wife; She push’d her lingering infant into life: Her charms Alcmena’s coming labours stay, And stop the babe, just issuing to the day. Then bids Saturnius bear his oath in mind; ‘A youth (said she) of Jove’s immortal kind Is this day born: from Sthenelus he springs, And claims thy promise to be king of kings.’ Grief seized the Thunderer, by his oath engaged; Stung to the soul, he sorrow’d, and he raged.

“‘My child! with strength, with glory, and success, Thy arms may Juno and Minerva bless! Trust that to Heaven: but thou, thy cares engage To calm thy passions, and subdue thy rage: From gentler manners let thy glory grow, And shun contention, the sure source of woe; That young and old may in thy praise combine, The virtues of humanity be thine—’ This now-despised advice thy father gave; Ah! check thy anger; and be truly brave. If thou wilt yield to great Atrides’ prayers, Gifts worthy thee his royal hand prepares; If not—but hear me, while I number o’er The proffer’d presents, an exhaustless store. Ten weighty talents of the purest gold, And twice ten vases of refulgent mould; Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; Twelve steeds unmatched in fleetness and in force, And still victorious in the dusty course; (Rich were the man, whose ample stores exceed The prizes purchased by their winged speed;) Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line, Skill’d in each art, unmatch’d in form divine, The same he chose for more than vulgar charms, When Lesbos sank beneath thy conquering arms. All these, to buy thy friendship shall be paid, And, join’d with these, the long-contested maid; With all her charms, Briseïs he’ll resign, And solemn swear those charms were only thine; Untouch’d she stay’d, uninjured she removes, Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves. These instant shall be thine; and if the powers Give to our arms proud Ilion’s hostile towers, Then shalt thou store (when Greece the spoil divides) With gold and brass thy loaded navy’s sides. Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race With copious love shall crown thy warm embrace; Such as thyself shall chose; who yield to none, Or yield to Helen’s heavenly charms alone. Yet hear me further: when our wars are o’er, If safe we land on Argos’ fruitful shore, There shalt thou live his son, his honour share, And with Orestes’ self divide his care.

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

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

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

“Rise, son of Peleus! rise, divinely brave! Assist the combat, and Patroclus save: For him the slaughter to the fleet they spread, And fall by mutual wounds around the dead. To drag him back to Troy the foe contends: Nor with his death the rage of Hector ends: A prey to dogs he dooms the corse to lie, And marks the place to fix his head on high. Rise, and prevent (if yet you think of fame) Thy friend’s disgrace, thy own eternal shame!”

He from whose lips divine persuasion flows, Grave Nestor, then, in graceful act arose; Thus to the kings he spoke: “What grief, what shame Attend on Greece, and all the Grecian name! How shall, alas! her hoary heroes mourn Their sons degenerate, and their race a scorn! What tears shall down thy silvery beard be roll’d, O Peleus, old in arms, in wisdom old! Once with what joy the generous prince would hear Of every chief who fought this glorious war, Participate their fame, and pleased inquire Each name, each action, and each hero’s sire! Gods! should he see our warriors trembling stand, And trembling all before one hostile hand; How would he lift his aged arms on high, Lament inglorious Greece, and beg to die! Oh! would to all the immortal powers above, Minerva, Phœbus, and almighty Jove! Years might again roll back, my youth renew, And give this arm the spring which once it knew When fierce in war, where Jardan’s waters fall, I led my troops to Phea’s trembling wall, And with the Arcadian spears my prowess tried, Where Celadon rolls down his rapid tide.[179] There Ereuthalion braved us in the field, Proud Areithous’ dreadful arms to wield; Great Areithous, known from shore to shore By the huge, knotted, iron mace he bore; No lance he shook, nor bent the twanging bow, But broke, with this, the battle of the foe. Him not by manly force Lycurgus slew, Whose guileful javelin from the thicket flew, Deep in a winding way his breast assailed, Nor aught the warrior’s thundering mace avail’d. Supine he fell: those arms which Mars before Had given the vanquish’d, now the victor bore: But when old age had dimm’d Lycurgus’ eyes, To Ereuthalion he consign’d the prize. Furious with this he crush’d our levell’d bands, And dared the trial of the strongest hands; Nor could the strongest hands his fury stay: All saw, and fear’d, his huge tempestuous sway Till I, the youngest of the host, appear’d, And, youngest, met whom all our army fear’d.

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:

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

“Atrides! lo! with what disdainful eye Achilles sees his country’s forces fly; Blind, impious man! whose anger is his guide, Who glories in unutterable pride. So may he perish, so may Jove disclaim The wretch relentless, and o’erwhelm with shame! But Heaven forsakes not thee: o’er yonder sands Soon shall thou view the scattered Trojan bands Fly diverse; while proud kings, and chiefs renown’d, Driven heaps on heaps, with clouds involved around Of rolling dust, their winged wheels employ To hide their ignominious heads in Troy.”

“If then thy will permit (the monarch said) To finish all due honours to the dead, This of thy grace accord: to thee are known The fears of Ilion, closed within her town; And at what distance from our walls aspire The hills of Ide, and forests for the fire. Nine days to vent our sorrows I request, The tenth shall see the funeral and the feast; The next, to raise his monument be given; The twelfth we war, if war be doom’d by heaven!”

“O Hector! say, what great occasion calls My son from fight, when Greece surrounds our walls; Com’st thou to supplicate the almighty power With lifted hands, from Ilion’s lofty tower? Stay, till I bring the cup with Bacchus crown’d, In Jove’s high name, to sprinkle on the ground, And pay due vows to all the gods around. Then with a plenteous draught refresh thy soul, And draw new spirits from the generous bowl; Spent as thou art with long laborious fight, The brave defender of thy country’s right.”

She ceased, and Juno rein’d the steeds with care: (Heaven’s awful empress, Saturn’s other heir:) Pallas, meanwhile, her various veil unbound, With flowers adorn’d, with art immortal crown’d; The radiant robe her sacred fingers wove Floats in rich waves, and spreads the court of Jove. Her father’s arms her mighty limbs invest, His cuirass blazes on her ample breast. The vigorous power the trembling car ascends: Shook by her arm, the massy javelin bends: Huge, ponderous, strong! that when her fury burns Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns.

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

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

“Unworthy sight! the man beloved of heaven, Behold, inglorious round yon city driven! My heart partakes the generous Hector’s pain; Hector, whose zeal whole hecatombs has slain, Whose grateful fumes the gods received with joy, From Ida’s summits, and the towers of Troy: Now see him flying; to his fears resign’d, And fate, and fierce Achilles, close behind. Consult, ye powers! (’tis worthy your debate) Whether to snatch him from impending fate, Or let him bear, by stern Pelides slain, (Good as he is) the lot imposed on man.”

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

The leader spoke. From all his host around Shouts of applause along the shores resound. Each from the yoke the smoking steeds untied, And fix’d their headstalls to his chariot-side. Fat sheep and oxen from the town are led, With generous wine, and all-sustaining bread, Full hecatombs lay burning on the shore: The winds to heaven the curling vapours bore. Ungrateful offering to the immortal powers![197] Whose wrath hung heavy o’er the Trojan towers: Nor Priam nor his sons obtain’d their grace; Proud Troy they hated, and her guilty race.

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