Iliad on The Divine

“My son (coerulean Thetis made reply, To fate submitting with a secret sigh,) The host to succour, and thy friends to save, Is worthy thee; the duty of the brave. But canst thou, naked, issue to the plains? Thy radiant arms the Trojan foe detains. Insulting Hector bears the spoils on high, But vainly glories, for his fate is nigh. Yet, yet awhile thy generous ardour stay; Assured, I meet thee at the dawn of day, Charged with refulgent arms (a glorious load), Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god.”

Thus spoke to Priam the celestial guide, And joyful thus the royal sire replied: “Blest is the man who pays the gods above The constant tribute of respect and love! Those who inhabit the Olympian bower My son forgot not, in exalted power; And heaven, that every virtue bears in mind, Even to the ashes of the just is kind. But thou, O generous youth! this goblet take, A pledge of gratitude for Hector’s sake; And while the favouring gods our steps survey, Safe to Pelides’ tent conduct my way.”

“Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore, And measure back the seas we cross’d before? The plague destroying whom the sword would spare, ’Tis time to save the few remains of war. But let some prophet, or some sacred sage, Explore the cause of great Apollo’s rage; Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove By mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove.[53] If broken vows this heavy curse have laid, Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid. So Heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore, And Phœbus dart his burning shafts no more.”

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

“By every oath that powers immortal ties, The foodful earth and all-infolding skies; By thy black waves, tremendous Styx! that flow Through the drear realms of gliding ghosts below; By the dread honours of thy sacred head, And that unbroken vow, our virgin bed! Not by my arts the ruler of the main Steeps Troy in blood, and ranges round the plain: By his own ardour, his own pity sway’d, To help his Greeks, he fought and disobey’d: Else had thy Juno better counsels given, And taught submission to the sire of heaven.”

This said, his eager javelin sought the foe: But Ajax shunn’d the meditated blow. Not vainly yet the forceful lance was thrown; It stretch’d in dust unhappy Lycophron: An exile long, sustain’d at Ajax’ board, A faithful servant to a foreign lord; In peace, and war, for ever at his side, Near his loved master, as he lived, he died. From the high poop he tumbles on the sand, And lies a lifeless load along the land. With anguish Ajax views the piercing sight, And thus inflames his brother to the fight:

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

Stung with new ardour, thus by heaven impell’d, He springs impetuous, and invades the field: O’er all the expanded plain the waters spread; Heaved on the bounding billows danced the dead, Floating ’midst scatter’d arms; while casques of gold And turn’d-up bucklers glitter’d as they roll’d. High o’er the surging tide, by leaps and bounds, He wades, and mounts; the parted wave resounds. Not a whole river stops the hero’s course, While Pallas fills him with immortal force. With equal rage, indignant Xanthus roars, And lifts his billows, and o’erwhelms his shores.

“How long, unhappy! shall thy sorrows flow, And thy heart waste with life-consuming woe: Mindless of food, or love, whose pleasing reign Soothes weary life, and softens human pain? O snatch the moments yet within thy power; Not long to live, indulge the amorous hour! Lo! Jove himself (for Jove’s command I bear) Forbids to tempt the wrath of heaven too far. No longer then (his fury if thou dread) Detain the relics of great Hector dead; Nor vent on senseless earth thy vengeance vain, But yield to ransom, and restore the slain.”

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

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

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

“Brother, ’tis just, (replied the beauteous youth,) Thy free remonstrance proves thy worth and truth: Yet charge my absence less, O generous chief! On hate to Troy, than conscious shame and grief: Here, hid from human eyes, thy brother sate, And mourn’d, in secret, his and Ilion’s fate. ’Tis now enough; now glory spreads her charms, And beauteous Helen calls her chief to arms. Conquest to-day my happier sword may bless, ’Tis man’s to fight, but heaven’s to give success. But while I arm, contain thy ardent mind; Or go, and Paris shall not lag behind.”

The chief replied: “This time forbids to rest; The Trojan bands, by hostile fury press’d, Demand their Hector, and his arm require; The combat urges, and my soul’s on fire. Urge thou thy knight to march where glory calls, And timely join me, ere I leave the walls. Ere yet I mingle in the direful fray, My wife, my infant, claim a moment’s stay; This day (perhaps the last that sees me here) Demands a parting word, a tender tear: This day, some god who hates our Trojan land May vanquish Hector by a Grecian hand.”

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

Stern Hector waved his sword, and standing near, Where furious Ajax plied his ashen spear, Full on the lance a stroke so justly sped, That the broad falchion lopp’d its brazen head; His pointless spear the warrior shakes in vain; The brazen head falls sounding on the plain. Great Ajax saw, and own’d the hand divine; Confessing Jove, and trembling at the sign, Warn’d he retreats. Then swift from all sides pour The hissing brands; thick streams the fiery shower; O’er the high stern the curling volumes rise, And sheets of rolling smoke involve the skies.

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

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

“What god, O Grecians! has your hearts dismay’d? Oh, turn to arms; ’tis Ajax claims your aid. This hour he stands the mark of hostile rage, And this the last brave battle he shall wage: Haste, join your forces; from the gloomy grave The warrior rescue, and your country save.” Thus urged the chief: a generous troop appears, Who spread their bucklers, and advance their spears, To guard their wounded friend: while thus they stand With pious care, great Ajax joins the band: Each takes new courage at the hero’s sight; The hero rallies, and renews the fight.

“Have mercy on me, O my son! revere The words of age; attend a parent’s prayer! If ever thee in these fond arms I press’d, Or still’d thy infant clamours at this breast; Ah do not thus our helpless years forego, But, by our walls secured, repel the foe. Against his rage if singly thou proceed, Should’st thou, (but Heaven avert it!) should’st thou bleed, Nor must thy corse lie honour’d on the bier, Nor spouse, nor mother, grace thee with a tear! Far from our pious rites those dear remains Must feast the vultures on the naked plains.”

To whom the latent god: “O king, forbear To tempt my youth, for apt is youth to err. But can I, absent from my prince’s sight, Take gifts in secret, that must shun the light? What from our master’s interest thus we draw, Is but a licensed theft that ’scapes the law. Respecting him, my soul abjures the offence; And as the crime, I dread the consequence. Thee, far as Argos, pleased I could convey; Guard of thy life, and partner of thy way: On thee attend, thy safety to maintain, O’er pathless forests, or the roaring main.”

“The life you boasted to that javelin given, Prince! you have miss’d. My fate depends on Heaven, To thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown, Or what must prove my fortune, or thy own. Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind, And with false terrors sink another’s mind. But know, whatever fate I am to try, By no dishonest wound shall Hector die. I shall not fall a fugitive at least, My soul shall bravely issue from my breast. But first, try thou my arm; and may this dart End all my country’s woes, deep buried in thy heart.”

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

“Forbear (the progeny of Jove replies) To calm thy fury I forsake the skies: Let great Achilles, to the gods resign’d, To reason yield the empire o’er his mind. By awful Juno this command is given; The king and you are both the care of heaven. The force of keen reproaches let him feel; But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel. For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power) Thy injured honour has its fated hour, When the proud monarch shall thy arms implore, And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store. Then let revenge no longer bear the sway; Command thy passions, and the gods obey.”

That heard, deep anguish stung Saturnia’s soul; She shook her throne, that shook the starry pole: And thus to Neptune: “Thou, whose force can make The stedfast earth from her foundations shake, Seest thou the Greeks by fates unjust oppress’d, Nor swells thy heart in that immortal breast? Yet Ægae, Helicè, thy power obey,[195] And gifts unceasing on thine altars lay. Would all the deities of Greece combine, In vain the gloomy Thunderer might repine: Sole should he sit, with scarce a god to friend, And see his Trojans to the shades descend: Such be the scene from his Idaean bower; Ungrateful prospect to the sullen power!”

This said, each prince a double goblet crown’d, And cast a large libation on the ground; Then to their vessels, through the gloomy shades, The chiefs return; divine Ulysses leads. Meantime Achilles’ slaves prepared a bed, With fleeces, carpets, and soft linen spread: There, till the sacred morn restored the day, In slumber sweet the reverend Phœnix lay. But in his inner tent, an ampler space, Achilles slept; and in his warm embrace Fair Diomede of the Lesbian race. Last, for Patroclus was the couch prepared, Whose nightly joys the beauteous Iphis shared; Achilles to his friend consign’d her charms When Scyros fell before his conquering arms.

With shame repulsed, with grief and fury driven, The frantic Asius thus accuses Heaven: “In powers immortal who shall now believe? Can those too flatter, and can Jove deceive? What man could doubt but Troy’s victorious power Should humble Greece, and this her fatal hour? But like when wasps from hollow crannies drive, To guard the entrance of their common hive, Darkening the rock, while with unwearied wings They strike the assailants, and infix their stings; A race determined, that to death contend: So fierce these Greeks their last retreats defend. Gods! shall two warriors only guard their gates, Repel an army, and defraud the fates?”

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:

Then swift as wind, o’er Lemnos’ smoky isle They wing their way, and Imbrus’ sea-beat soil; Through air, unseen, involved in darkness glide, And light on Lectos, on the point of Ide: (Mother of savages, whose echoing hills Are heard resounding with a hundred rills:) Fair Ida trembles underneath the god; Hush’d are her mountains, and her forests nod. There on a fir, whose spiry branches rise To join its summit to the neighbouring skies; Dark in embowering shade, conceal’d from sight, Sat Sleep, in likeness of the bird of night. (Chalcis his name by those of heavenly birth, But call’d Cymindis by the race of earth.)

He strode along the field, as thus he said: (The sable plumage nodded o’er his head:) Swift through the spacious plain he sent a look; One instant saw, one instant overtook The distant band, that on the sandy shore The radiant spoils to sacred Ilion bore. There his own mail unbraced the field bestrow’d; His train to Troy convey’d the massy load. Now blazing in the immortal arms he stands; The work and present of celestial hands; By aged Peleus to Achilles given, As first to Peleus by the court of heaven: His father’s arms not long Achilles wears, Forbid by fate to reach his father’s years.

The next, though distant, Menelaus succeeds; While thus young Nestor animates his steeds: “Now, now, my generous pair, exert your force; Not that we hope to match Tydides’ horse, Since great Minerva wings their rapid way, And gives their lord the honours of the day; But reach Atrides! shall his mare outgo Your swiftness? vanquish’d by a female foe? Through your neglect, if lagging on the plain The last ignoble gift be all we gain, No more shall Nestor’s hand your food supply, The old man’s fury rises, and ye die. Haste then: yon narrow road, before our sight, Presents the occasion, could we use it right.”

“Inglorious sons of an unhappy sire! Why did not all in Hector’s cause expire? Wretch that I am! my bravest offspring slain. You, the disgrace of Priam’s house, remain! Mestor the brave, renown’d in ranks of war, With Troilus, dreadful on his rushing car,[293] And last great Hector, more than man divine, For sure he seem’d not of terrestrial line! All those relentless Mars untimely slew, And left me these, a soft and servile crew, Whose days the feast and wanton dance employ, Gluttons and flatterers, the contempt of Troy! Why teach ye not my rapid wheels to run, And speed my journey to redeem my son?”

“Now, Xanthus, Æthon, Lampus, urge the chase, And thou, Podargus! prove thy generous race; Be fleet, be fearless, this important day, And all your master’s well-spent care repay. For this, high-fed, in plenteous stalls ye stand, Served with pure wheat, and by a princess’ hand; For this my spouse, of great Aëtion’s line, So oft has steep’d the strengthening grain in wine. Now swift pursue, now thunder uncontroll’d: Give me to seize rich Nestor’s shield of gold; From Tydeus’ shoulders strip the costly load, Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god: These if we gain, then victory, ye powers! This night, this glorious night, the fleet is ours!”

This touch’d his generous heart, and from the tent Along the shore with hasty strides he went; Soon as he came, where, on the crowded strand, The public mart and courts of justice stand, Where the tall fleet of great Ulysses lies, And altars to the guardian gods arise; There, sad, he met the brave Euaemon’s son, Large painful drops from all his members run; An arrow’s head yet rooted in his wound, The sable blood in circles mark’d the ground. As faintly reeling he confess’d the smart, Weak was his pace, but dauntless was his heart. Divine compassion touch’d Patroclus’ breast, Who, sighing, thus his bleeding friend address’d:

These empty accents mingled with the wind, Nor moved great Jove’s unalterable mind; To godlike Hector and his matchless might Was owed the glory of the destined fight. Like deeds of arms through all the forts were tried, And all the gates sustain’d an equal tide; Through the long walls the stony showers were heard, The blaze of flames, the flash of arms appear’d. The spirit of a god my breast inspire, To raise each act to life, and sing with fire! While Greece unconquer’d kept alive the war, Secure of death, confiding in despair; And all her guardian gods, in deep dismay, With unassisting arms deplored the day.

Then Idomen, insulting o’er the slain: “Behold, Deiphobus! nor vaunt in vain: See! on one Greek three Trojan ghosts attend; This, my third victim, to the shades I send. Approaching now thy boasted might approve, And try the prowess of the seed of Jove. From Jove, enamour’d of a mortal dame, Great Minos, guardian of his country, came: Deucalion, blameless prince, was Minos’ heir; His first-born I, the third from Jupiter: O’er spacious Crete, and her bold sons, I reign, And thence my ships transport me through the main: Lord of a host, o’er all my host I shine, A scourge to thee, thy father, and thy line.”

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

“Behold the prizes, valiant Greeks! decreed To the brave rulers of the racing steed; Prizes which none beside ourself could gain, Should our immortal coursers take the plain; (A race unrivall’d, which from ocean’s god Peleus received, and on his son bestow’d.) But this no time our vigour to display; Nor suit, with them, the games of this sad day: Lost is Patroclus now, that wont to deck Their flowing manes, and sleek their glossy neck. Sad, as they shared in human grief, they stand, And trail those graceful honours on the sand! Let others for the noble task prepare, Who trust the courser and the flying car.”

Thus Vulcan spoke: and rising with a bound, The double bowl with sparkling nectar crown’d,[72] Which held to Juno in a cheerful way, “Goddess (he cried), be patient and obey. Dear as you are, if Jove his arm extend, I can but grieve, unable to defend. What god so daring in your aid to move, Or lift his hand against the force of Jove? Once in your cause I felt his matchless might, Hurl’d headlong down from the ethereal height;[73] Toss’d all the day in rapid circles round, Nor till the sun descended touch’d the ground. Breathless I fell, in giddy motion lost; The Sinthians raised me on the Lemnian coast;[74]

With that the chief the tender victims slew, And in the dust their bleeding bodies threw; The vital spirit issued at the wound, And left the members quivering on the ground. From the same urn they drink the mingled wine, And add libations to the powers divine. While thus their prayers united mount the sky, “Hear, mighty Jove! and hear, ye gods on high! And may their blood, who first the league confound, Shed like this wine, disdain the thirsty ground; May all their consorts serve promiscuous lust, And all their lust be scatter’d as the dust!” Thus either host their imprecations join’d, Which Jove refused, and mingled with the wind.

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

She said. With awe divine, the queen of love Obey’d the sister and the wife of Jove; And from her fragrant breast the zone embraced,[233] With various skill and high embroidery graced. In this was every art, and every charm, To win the wisest, and the coldest warm: Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, The kind deceit, the still-reviving fire, Persuasive speech, and the more persuasive sighs, Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes. This on her hand the Cyprian Goddess laid: “Take this, and with it all thy wish;” she said. With smiles she took the charm; and smiling press’d The powerful cestus to her snowy breast.

“Griev’st thou for me, or for my martial band? Or come sad tidings from our native land? Our fathers live (our first, most tender care), Thy good Menoetius breathes the vital air, And hoary Peleus yet extends his days; Pleased in their age to hear their children’s praise. Or may some meaner cause thy pity claim? Perhaps yon relics of the Grecian name, Doom’d in their ships to sink by fire and sword, And pay the forfeit of their haughty lord? Whate’er the cause, reveal thy secret care, And speak those sorrows which a friend would share.” A sigh that instant from his bosom broke, Another follow’d, and Patroclus spoke:

“Hear, every Trojan, Lycian, Dardan band, All famed in war, and dreadful hand to hand. Be mindful of the wreaths your arms have won, Your great forefathers’ glories, and your own. Heard ye the voice of Jove? Success and fame Await on Troy, on Greece eternal shame. In vain they skulk behind their boasted wall, Weak bulwarks; destined by this arm to fall. High o’er their slighted trench our steeds shall bound, And pass victorious o’er the levell’d mound. Soon as before yon hollow ships we stand, Fight each with flames, and toss the blazing brand; Till, their proud navy wrapt in smoke and fires, All Greece, encompass’d, in one blaze expires.”

He said, and sorrow touch’d each Argive breast: The soul of Ajax burn’d above the rest. As by his side the groaning warrior fell, At the fierce foe he launch’d his piercing steel; The foe, reclining, shunn’d the flying death; But fate, Archilochus, demands thy breath: Thy lofty birth no succour could impart, The wings of death o’ertook thee on the dart; Swift to perform heaven’s fatal will, it fled Full on the juncture of the neck and head, And took the joint, and cut the nerves in twain: The dropping head first tumbled on the plain. So just the stroke, that yet the body stood Erect, then roll’d along the sands in blood.

Still flies Achilles, but before his eyes Still swift Scamander rolls where’er he flies: Not all his speed escapes the rapid floods; The first of men, but not a match for gods. Oft as he turn’d the torrent to oppose, And bravely try if all the powers were foes; So oft the surge, in watery mountains spread, Beats on his back, or bursts upon his head. Yet dauntless still the adverse flood he braves, And still indignant bounds above the waves. Tired by the tides, his knees relax with toil; Wash’d from beneath him slides the slimy soil; When thus (his eyes on heaven’s expansion thrown) Forth bursts the hero with an angry groan:

“Seek not to stay me, nor my soul affright With words of omen, like a bird of night, (Replied unmoved the venerable man;) ’Tis heaven commands me, and you urge in vain. Had any mortal voice the injunction laid, Nor augur, priest, nor seer, had been obey’d. A present goddess brought the high command, I saw, I heard her, and the word shall stand. I go, ye gods! obedient to your call: If in yon camp your powers have doom’d my fall, Content—By the same hand let me expire! Add to the slaughter’d son the wretched sire! One cold embrace at least may be allow’d, And my last tears flow mingled with his blood!”

“Ye sons of Atreus, and ye Greeks, give ear! The words of Troy, and Troy’s great monarch, hear. Pleased may ye hear (so heaven succeed my prayers) What Paris, author of the war, declares. The spoils and treasures he to Ilion bore (Oh had he perish’d ere they touch’d our shore!) He proffers injured Greece: with large increase Of added Trojan wealth to buy the peace. But to restore the beauteous bride again, This Greece demands, and Troy requests in vain. Next, O ye chiefs! we ask a truce to burn Our slaughter’d heroes, and their bones inurn. That done, once more the fate of war be tried, And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!”

Far in the bay his shining palace stands, Eternal frame! not raised by mortal hands: This having reach’d, his brass-hoof’d steeds he reins, Fleet as the winds, and deck’d with golden manes. Refulgent arms his mighty limbs infold, Immortal arms of adamant and gold. He mounts the car, the golden scourge applies, He sits superior, and the chariot flies: His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep; The enormous monsters rolling o’er the deep Gambol around him on the watery way, And heavy whales in awkward measures play; The sea subsiding spreads a level plain, Exults, and owns the monarch of the main; The parting waves before his coursers fly; The wondering waters leave his axle dry.

“For lo! I haste to those remote abodes, Where the great parents, (sacred source of gods!) Ocean and Tethys their old empire keep, On the last limits of the land and deep. In their kind arms my tender years were past; What time old Saturn, from Olympus cast, Of upper heaven to Jove resign’d the reign, Whelm’d under the huge mass of earth and main. For strife, I hear, has made the union cease, Which held so long that ancient pair in peace. What honour, and what love, shall I obtain, If I compose those fatal feuds again; Once more their minds in mutual ties engage, And, what my youth has owed, repay their age!”

“With leave and honour enter our abodes, Ye sacred ministers of men and gods![60] I know your message; by constraint you came; Not you, but your imperious lord I blame. Patroclus, haste, the fair Briseïs bring; Conduct my captive to the haughty king. But witness, heralds, and proclaim my vow, Witness to gods above, and men below! But first, and loudest, to your prince declare (That lawless tyrant whose commands you bear), Unmoved as death Achilles shall remain, Though prostrate Greece shall bleed at every vein: The raging chief in frantic passion lost, Blind to himself, and useless to his host, Unskill’d to judge the future by the past, In blood and slaughter shall repent at last.”

“What frenzy goddesses! what rage can move Celestial minds to tempt the wrath of Jove? Desist, obedient to his high command: This is his word; and know his word shall stand: His lightning your rebellion shall confound, And hurl ye headlong, flaming, to the ground; Your horses crush’d beneath the wheels shall lie, Your car in fragments scatter’d o’er the sky; Yourselves condemn’d ten rolling years to weep The wounds impress’d by burning thunder deep. So shall Minerva learn to fear his ire, Nor dare to combat hers and nature’s sire. For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, She claims some title to transgress his will: But thee, what desperate insolence has driven To lift thy lance against the king of heaven?”

Not unobserved they pass’d: the god of light Had watch’d his Troy, and mark’d Minerva’s flight, Saw Tydeus’ son with heavenly succour bless’d, And vengeful anger fill’d his sacred breast. Swift to the Trojan camp descends the power, And wakes Hippocoon in the morning-hour; (On Rhesus’ side accustom’d to attend, A faithful kinsman, and instructive friend;) He rose, and saw the field deform’d with blood, An empty space where late the coursers stood, The yet-warm Thracians panting on the coast; For each he wept, but for his Rhesus most: Now while on Rhesus’ name he calls in vain, The gathering tumult spreads o’er all the plain; On heaps the Trojans rush, with wild affright, And wondering view the slaughters of the night.

Deep in the liquid regions lies a cave, Between where Tenedos the surges lave, And rocky Imbrus breaks the rolling wave: There the great ruler of the azure round Stopp’d his swift chariot, and his steeds unbound, Fed with ambrosial herbage from his hand, And link’d their fetlocks with a golden band, Infrangible, immortal: there they stay: The father of the floods pursues his way: Where, like a tempest, darkening heaven around, Or fiery deluge that devours the ground, The impatient Trojans, in a gloomy throng, Embattled roll’d, as Hector rush’d along: To the loud tumult and the barbarous cry The heavens re-echo, and the shores reply: They vow destruction to the Grecian name, And in their hopes the fleets already flame.

Then his fell soul a thought of vengeance bred; (Unworthy of himself, and of the dead;) The nervous ancles bored, his feet he bound With thongs inserted through the double wound; These fix’d up high behind the rolling wain, His graceful head was trail’d along the plain. Proud on his car the insulting victor stood, And bore aloft his arms, distilling blood. He smites the steeds; the rapid chariot flies; The sudden clouds of circling dust arise. Now lost is all that formidable air; The face divine, and long-descending hair, Purple the ground, and streak the sable sand; Deform’d, dishonour’d, in his native land, Given to the rage of an insulting throng, And, in his parents’ sight, now dragg’d along!

Next artful Phereclus untimely fell; Bold Merion sent him to the realms of hell. Thy father’s skill, O Phereclus! was thine, The graceful fabric and the fair design; For loved by Pallas, Pallas did impart To him the shipwright’s and the builder’s art. Beneath his hand the fleet of Paris rose, The fatal cause of all his country’s woes; But he, the mystic will of heaven unknown, Nor saw his country’s peril, nor his own. The hapless artist, while confused he fled, The spear of Merion mingled with the dead. Through his right hip, with forceful fury cast, Between the bladder and the bone it pass’d; Prone on his knees he falls with fruitless cries, And death in lasting slumber seals his eyes.

“Yet while my Hector still survives, I see My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee: Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all Once more will perish, if my Hector fall, Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share: Oh, prove a husband’s and a father’s care! That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, Where yon wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy; Thou, from this tower defend the important post; There Agamemnon points his dreadful host, That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given, Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven. Let others in the field their arms employ, But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.”

He spoke, while Socus, seized with sudden fright, Trembling gave way, and turn’d his back to flight; Between his shoulders pierced the following dart, And held its passage through the panting heart: Wide in his breast appear’d the grisly wound; He falls; his armour rings against the ground. Then thus Ulysses, gazing on the slain: “Famed son of Hippasus! there press the plain; There ends thy narrow span assign’d by fate, Heaven owes Ulysses yet a longer date. Ah, wretch! no father shall thy corpse compose; Thy dying eyes no tender mother close; But hungry birds shall tear those balls away, And hovering vultures scream around their prey. Me Greece shall honour, when I meet my doom, With solemn funerals and a lasting tomb.”

When now the Thunderer on the sea-beat coast Had fix’d great Hector and his conquering host, He left them to the fates, in bloody fray To toil and struggle through the well-fought day. Then turn’d to Thracia from the field of fight Those eyes that shed insufferable light, To where the Mysians prove their martial force, And hardy Thracians tame the savage horse; And where the far-famed Hippomolgian strays, Renown’d for justice and for length of days;[229] Thrice happy race! that, innocent of blood, From milk, innoxious, seek their simple food: Jove sees delighted; and avoids the scene Of guilty Troy, of arms, and dying men: No aid, he deems, to either host is given, While his high law suspends the powers of Heaven.

Then brave Laogonus resign’d his breath, Despatch’d by Merion to the shades of death: On Ida’s holy hill he made abode, The priest of Jove, and honour’d like his god. Between the jaw and ear the javelin went; The soul, exhaling, issued at the vent. His spear Æneas at the victor threw, Who stooping forward from the death withdrew; The lance hiss’d harmless o’er his covering shield, And trembling struck, and rooted in the field; There yet scarce spent, it quivers on the plain, Sent by the great Æneas’ arm in vain. “Swift as thou art (the raging hero cries) And skill’d in dancing to dispute the prize, My spear, the destined passage had it found, Had fix’d thy active vigour to the ground.”