Iliad on Fear

“Ye generous chiefs! on whom the immortals lay The cares and glories of this doubtful day; On whom your aids, your country’s hopes depend; Wise to consult, and active to defend! Here, at our gates, your brave efforts unite, Turn back the routed, and forbid the flight, Ere yet their wives’ soft arms the cowards gain, The sport and insult of the hostile train. When your commands have hearten’d every band, Ourselves, here fix’d, will make the dangerous stand; Press’d as we are, and sore of former fight, These straits demand our last remains of might. Meanwhile thou, Hector, to the town retire, And teach our mother what the gods require: Direct the queen to lead the assembled train Of Troy’s chief matrons to Minerva’s fane;[166] Unbar the sacred gates, and seek the power, With offer’d vows, in Ilion’s topmost tower. The largest mantle her rich wardrobes hold, Most prized for art, and labour’d o’er with gold, Before the goddess’ honour’d knees be spread, And twelve young heifers to her altars led: If so the power, atoned by fervent prayer, Our wives, our infants, and our city spare, And far avert Tydides’ wasteful ire, That mows whole troops, and makes all Troy retire; Not thus Achilles taught our hosts to dread, Sprung though he was from more than mortal bed; Not thus resistless ruled the stream of fight, In rage unbounded, and unmatch’d in might.”

Jupiter, in pursuance of the request of Thetis, sends a deceitful vision to Agamemnon, persuading him to lead the army to battle, in order to make the Greeks sensible of their want of Achilles. The general, who is deluded with the hopes of taking Troy without his assistance, but fears the army was discouraged by his absence, and the late plague, as well as by the length of time, contrives to make trial of their disposition by a stratagem. He first communicates his design to the princes in council, that he would propose a return to the soldiers, and that they should put a stop to them if the proposal was embraced. Then he assembles the whole host, and upon moving for a return to Greece, they unanimously agree to it, and run to prepare the ships. They are detained by the management of Ulysses, who chastises the insolence of Thersites. The assembly is recalled, several speeches made on the occasion, and at length the advice of Nestor followed, which was to make a general muster of the troops, and to divide them into their several nations, before they proceeded to battle. This gives occasion to the poet to enumerate all the forces of the Greeks and Trojans, and in a large catalogue. The time employed in this book consists not entirely of one day. The scene lies in the Grecian camp, and upon the sea-shore; towards the end it removes to Troy.

He said: deep silence held the Grecian band; Silent, unmov’d in dire dismay they stand; A pensive scene! till Tydeus’ warlike son Roll’d on the king his eyes, and thus begun: “When kings advise us to renounce our fame, First let him speak who first has suffer’d shame. If I oppose thee, prince! thy wrath withhold, The laws of council bid my tongue be bold. Thou first, and thou alone, in fields of fight, Durst brand my courage, and defame my might: Nor from a friend the unkind reproach appear’d, The Greeks stood witness, all our army heard. The gods, O chief! from whom our honours spring, The gods have made thee but by halves a king: They gave thee sceptres, and a wide command; They gave dominion o’er the seas and land; The noblest power that might the world control They gave thee not—a brave and virtuous soul. Is this a general’s voice, that would suggest Fears like his own to every Grecian breast? Confiding in our want of worth, he stands; And if we fly, ’tis what our king commands. Go thou, inglorious! from the embattled plain; Ships thou hast store, and nearest to the main; A noble care the Grecians shall employ, To combat, conquer, and extirpate Troy. Here Greece shall stay; or, if all Greece retire, Myself shall stay, till Troy or I expire; Myself, and Sthenelus, will fight for fame; God bade us fight, and ’twas with God we came.”

Even yet the dauntless Lapithae maintain The dreadful pass, and round them heap the slain. First Damasus, by Polypœtes’ steel, Pierced through his helmet’s brazen visor, fell; The weapon drank the mingled brains and gore! The warrior sinks, tremendous now no more! Next Ormenus and Pylon yield their breath: Nor less Leonteus strews the field with death; First through the belt Hippomachus he gored, Then sudden waved his unresisted sword: Antiphates, as through the ranks he broke, The falchion struck, and fate pursued the stroke: Iamenus, Orestes, Menon, bled; And round him rose a monument of dead. Meantime, the bravest of the Trojan crew, Bold Hector and Polydamas, pursue; Fierce with impatience on the works to fall, And wrap in rolling flames the fleet and wall. These on the farther bank now stood and gazed, By Heaven alarm’d, by prodigies amazed: A signal omen stopp’d the passing host, Their martial fury in their wonder lost. Jove’s bird on sounding pinions beat the skies; A bleeding serpent of enormous size, His talons truss’d; alive, and curling round, He stung the bird, whose throat received the wound: Mad with the smart, he drops the fatal prey, In airy circles wings his painful way, Floats on the winds, and rends the heaven with cries: Amidst the host the fallen serpent lies. They, pale with terror, mark its spires unroll’d, And Jove’s portent with beating hearts behold. Then first Polydamas the silence broke, Long weigh’d the signal, and to Hector spoke:

A Dardan youth there was, well known to fame, From Panthus sprung, Euphorbus was his name; Famed for the manage of the foaming horse, Skill’d in the dart, and matchless in the course: Full twenty knights he tumbled from the car, While yet he learn’d his rudiments of war. His venturous spear first drew the hero’s gore; He struck, he wounded, but he durst no more. Nor, though disarm’d, Patroclus’ fury stood: But swift withdrew the long-protended wood. And turn’d him short, and herded in the crowd. Thus, by an arm divine, and mortal spear, Wounded, at once, Patroclus yields to fear, Retires for succour to his social train, And flies the fate, which heaven decreed, in vain. Stern Hector, as the bleeding chief he views, Breaks through the ranks, and his retreat pursues: The lance arrests him with a mortal wound; He falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound. With him all Greece was sunk; that moment all Her yet-surviving heroes seem’d to fall. So, scorch’d with heat, along the desert score, The roaming lion meets a bristly boar, Fast by the spring; they both dispute the flood, With flaming eyes, and jaws besmear’d with blood; At length the sovereign savage wins the strife; And the torn boar resigns his thirst and life. Patroclus thus, so many chiefs o’erthrown, So many lives effused, expires his own. As dying now at Hector’s feet he lies, He sternly views him, and triumphant cries:

As godlike Hector sees the prince retreat, He thus upbraids him with a generous heat: “Unhappy Paris![111] but to women brave! So fairly form’d, and only to deceive! Oh, hadst thou died when first thou saw’st the light, Or died at least before thy nuptial rite! A better fate than vainly thus to boast, And fly, the scandal of thy Trojan host. Gods! how the scornful Greeks exult to see Their fears of danger undeceived in thee! Thy figure promised with a martial air, But ill thy soul supplies a form so fair. In former days, in all thy gallant pride, When thy tall ships triumphant stemm’d the tide, When Greece beheld thy painted canvas flow, And crowds stood wondering at the passing show, Say, was it thus, with such a baffled mien, You met the approaches of the Spartan queen, Thus from her realm convey’d the beauteous prize, And both her warlike lords outshined in Helen’s eyes? This deed, thy foes’ delight, thy own disgrace, Thy father’s grief, and ruin of thy race; This deed recalls thee to the proffer’d fight; Or hast thou injured whom thou dar’st not right? Soon to thy cost the field would make thee know Thou keep’st the consort of a braver foe. Thy graceful form instilling soft desire, Thy curling tresses, and thy silver lyre, Beauty and youth; in vain to these you trust, When youth and beauty shall be laid in dust: Troy yet may wake, and one avenging blow Crush the dire author of his country’s woe.”

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

But this the gods in later times perform; As yet the bulwark stood, and braved the storm; The strokes yet echoed of contending powers; War thunder’d at the gates, and blood distain’d the towers. Smote by the arm of Jove with dire dismay, Close by their hollow ships the Grecians lay: Hector’s approach in every wind they hear, And Hector’s fury every moment fear. He, like a whirlwind, toss’d the scattering throng, Mingled the troops, and drove the field along. So ’midst the dogs and hunters’ daring bands, Fierce of his might, a boar or lion stands; Arm’d foes around a dreadful circle form, And hissing javelins rain an iron storm: His powers untamed, their bold assault defy, And where he turns the rout disperse or die: He foams, he glares, he bounds against them all, And if he falls, his courage makes him fall. With equal rage encompass’d Hector glows; Exhorts his armies, and the trenches shows. The panting steeds impatient fury breathe, And snort and tremble at the gulf beneath; Just at the brink they neigh, and paw the ground, And the turf trembles, and the skies resound. Eager they view’d the prospect dark and deep, Vast was the leap, and headlong hung the steep; The bottom bare, (a formidable show!) And bristled thick with sharpen’d stakes below. The foot alone this strong defence could force, And try the pass impervious to the horse. This saw Polydamas; who, wisely brave, Restrain’d great Hector, and this counsel gave:

Round dread Alcathous now the battle rose; On every side the steely circle grows; Now batter’d breast-plates and hack’d helmets ring, And o’er their heads unheeded javelins sing. Above the rest, two towering chiefs appear, There great Idomeneus, Æneas here. Like gods of war, dispensing fate, they stood, And burn’d to drench the ground with mutual blood. The Trojan weapon whizz’d along in air; The Cretan saw, and shunn’d the brazen spear: Sent from an arm so strong, the missive wood Stuck deep in earth, and quiver’d where it stood. But OEnomas received the Cretan’s stroke; The forceful spear his hollow corslet broke, It ripp’d his belly with a ghastly wound, And roll’d the smoking entrails on the ground. Stretch’d on the plain, he sobs away his breath, And, furious, grasps the bloody dust in death. The victor from his breast the weapon tears; His spoils he could not, for the shower of spears. Though now unfit an active war to wage, Heavy with cumbrous arms, stiff with cold age, His listless limbs unable for the course, In standing fight he yet maintains his force; Till faint with labour, and by foes repell’d, His tired slow steps he drags from off the field. Deiphobus beheld him as he pass’d, And, fired with hate, a parting javelin cast: The javelin err’d, but held its course along, And pierced Ascalaphus, the brave and young: The son of Mars fell gasping on the ground, And gnash’d the dust, all bloody with his wound.

“Where now in Hector shall we Hector find? A manly form, without a manly mind. Is this, O chief! a hero’s boasted fame? How vain, without the merit, is the name! Since battle is renounced, thy thoughts employ What other methods may preserve thy Troy: ’Tis time to try if Ilion’s state can stand By thee alone, nor ask a foreign hand: Mean, empty boast! but shall the Lycians stake Their lives for you? those Lycians you forsake? What from thy thankless arms can we expect? Thy friend Sarpedon proves thy base neglect; Say, shall our slaughter’d bodies guard your walls, While unreveng’d the great Sarpedon falls? Even where he died for Troy, you left him there, A feast for dogs, and all the fowls of air. On my command if any Lycian wait, Hence let him march, and give up Troy to fate. Did such a spirit as the gods impart Impel one Trojan hand or Trojan heart, (Such as should burn in every soul that draws The sword for glory, and his country’s cause) Even yet our mutual arms we might employ, And drag yon carcase to the walls of Troy. Oh! were Patroclus ours, we might obtain Sarpedon’s arms and honour’d corse again! Greece with Achilles’ friend should be repaid, And thus due honours purchased to his shade. But words are vain—Let Ajax once appear, And Hector trembles and recedes with fear; Thou dar’st not meet the terrors of his eye; And lo! already thou prepar’st to fly.”

He said, and pass’d where great Tydides lay, His steeds and chariots wedged in firm array; (The warlike Sthenelus attends his side;)[135] To whom with stern reproach the monarch cried: “O son of Tydeus! (he, whose strength could tame The bounding steed, in arms a mighty name) Canst thou, remote, the mingling hosts descry, With hands unactive, and a careless eye? Not thus thy sire the fierce encounter fear’d; Still first in front the matchless prince appear’d: What glorious toils, what wonders they recite, Who view’d him labouring through the ranks of fight? I saw him once, when gathering martial powers, A peaceful guest, he sought Mycenæ’s towers; Armies he ask’d, and armies had been given, Not we denied, but Jove forbade from heaven; While dreadful comets glaring from afar, Forewarn’d the horrors of the Theban war.[136] Next, sent by Greece from where Asopus flows, A fearless envoy, he approach’d the foes; Thebes’ hostile walls unguarded and alone, Dauntless he enters, and demands the throne. The tyrant feasting with his chiefs he found, And dared to combat all those chiefs around: Dared, and subdued before their haughty lord; For Pallas strung his arm and edged his sword. Stung with the shame, within the winding way, To bar his passage fifty warriors lay; Two heroes led the secret squadron on, Mason the fierce, and hardy Lycophon; Those fifty slaughter’d in the gloomy vale. He spared but one to bear the dreadful tale, Such Tydeus was, and such his martial fire; Gods! how the son degenerates from the sire!”

While thus aloft the hero’s corse they bear, Behind them rages all the storm of war: Confusion, tumult, horror, o’er the throng Of men, steeds, chariots, urged the rout along: Less fierce the winds with rising flames conspire To whelm some city under waves of fire; Now sink in gloomy clouds the proud abodes, Now crack the blazing temples of the gods; The rumbling torrent through the ruin rolls, And sheets of smoke mount heavy to the poles. The heroes sweat beneath their honour’d load: As when two mules, along the rugged road, From the steep mountain with exerted strength Drag some vast beam, or mast’s unwieldy length; Inly they groan, big drops of sweat distil, The enormous timber lumbering down the hill: So these—Behind, the bulk of Ajax stands, And breaks the torrent of the rushing bands. Thus when a river swell’d with sudden rains Spreads his broad waters o’er the level plains, Some interposing hill the stream divides, And breaks its force, and turns the winding tides. Still close they follow, close the rear engage; Æneas storms, and Hector foams with rage: While Greece a heavy, thick retreat maintains, Wedged in one body, like a flight of cranes, That shriek incessant, while the falcon, hung High on poised pinions, threats their callow young. So from the Trojan chiefs the Grecians fly, Such the wild terror, and the mingled cry: Within, without the trench, and all the way, Strow’d in bright heaps, their arms and armour lay; Such horror Jove impress’d! yet still proceeds The work of death, and still the battle bleeds.

He spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground Sprung from his car: his ringing arms resound. Dire was the clang, and dreadful from afar, Of arm’d Tydides rushing to the war. As when the winds, ascending by degrees,[138] First move the whitening surface of the seas, The billows float in order to the shore, The wave behind rolls on the wave before; Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise, Foam o’er the rocks, and thunder to the skies. So to the fight the thick battalions throng, Shields urged on shields, and men drove men along Sedate and silent move the numerous bands; No sound, no whisper, but the chief’s commands, Those only heard; with awe the rest obey, As if some god had snatch’d their voice away. Not so the Trojans; from their host ascends A general shout that all the region rends. As when the fleecy flocks unnumber’d stand In wealthy folds, and wait the milker’s hand, The hollow vales incessant bleating fills, The lambs reply from all the neighbouring hills: Such clamours rose from various nations round, Mix’d was the murmur, and confused the sound. Each host now joins, and each a god inspires, These Mars incites, and those Minerva fires, Pale flight around, and dreadful terror reign; And discord raging bathes the purple plain; Discord! dire sister of the slaughtering power, Small at her birth, but rising every hour, While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound, She stalks on earth, and shakes the world around;[139] The nations bleed, where’er her steps she turns, The groan still deepens, and the combat burns.

“Where lies my way? to enter in the wall? Honour and shame the ungenerous thought recall: Shall proud Polydamas before the gate Proclaim, his counsels are obey’d too late, Which timely follow’d but the former night, What numbers had been saved by Hector’s flight? That wise advice rejected with disdain, I feel my folly in my people slain. Methinks my suffering country’s voice I hear, But most her worthless sons insult my ear, On my rash courage charge the chance of war, And blame those virtues which they cannot share. No—if I e’er return, return I must Glorious, my country’s terror laid in dust: Or if I perish, let her see me fall In field at least, and fighting for her wall. And yet suppose these measures I forego, Approach unarm’d, and parley with the foe, The warrior-shield, the helm, and lance, lay down, And treat on terms of peace to save the town: The wife withheld, the treasure ill-detain’d (Cause of the war, and grievance of the land) With honourable justice to restore: And add half Ilion’s yet remaining store, Which Troy shall, sworn, produce; that injured Greece May share our wealth, and leave our walls in peace. But why this thought? Unarm’d if I should go, What hope of mercy from this vengeful foe, But woman-like to fall, and fall without a blow? We greet not here, as man conversing man, Met at an oak, or journeying o’er a plain; No season now for calm familiar talk, Like youths and maidens in an evening walk: War is our business, but to whom is given To die, or triumph, that, determine Heaven!”

Thus he. The coursers at their master’s threat With quicker steps the sounding champaign beat. And now Antilochus with nice survey Observes the compass of the hollow way. ’Twas where, by force of wintry torrents torn, Fast by the road a precipice was worn: Here, where but one could pass, to shun the throng The Spartan hero’s chariot smoked along. Close up the venturous youth resolves to keep, Still edging near, and bears him toward the steep. Atrides, trembling, casts his eye below, And wonders at the rashness of his foe. “Hold, stay your steeds—What madness thus to ride This narrow way! take larger field (he cried), Or both must fall.”—Atrides cried in vain; He flies more fast, and throws up all the rein. Far as an able arm the disk can send, When youthful rivals their full force extend, So far, Antilochus! thy chariot flew Before the king: he, cautious, backward drew His horse compell’d; foreboding in his fears The rattling ruin of the clashing cars, The floundering coursers rolling on the plain, And conquest lost through frantic haste to gain. But thus upbraids his rival as he flies: “Go, furious youth! ungenerous and unwise! Go, but expect not I’ll the prize resign; Add perjury to fraud, and make it thine—” Then to his steeds with all his force he cries, “Be swift, be vigorous, and regain the prize! Your rivals, destitute of youthful force, With fainting knees shall labour in the course, And yield the glory yours.”—The steeds obey; Already at their heels they wing their way, And seem already to retrieve the day.

“Health to Achilles! happy are thy guests! Not those more honour’d whom Atrides feasts: Though generous plenty crown thy loaded boards, That, Agamemnon’s regal tent affords; But greater cares sit heavy on our souls, Nor eased by banquets or by flowing bowls. What scenes of slaughter in yon fields appear! The dead we mourn, and for the living fear; Greece on the brink of fate all doubtful stands, And owns no help but from thy saving hands: Troy and her aids for ready vengeance call; Their threatening tents already shade our wall: Hear how with shouts their conquest they proclaim, And point at every ship their vengeful flame! For them the father of the gods declares, Theirs are his omens, and his thunder theirs. See, full of Jove, avenging Hector rise! See! heaven and earth the raging chief defies; What fury in his breast, what lightning in his eyes! He waits but for the morn, to sink in flame The ships, the Greeks, and all the Grecian name. Heavens! how my country’s woes distract my mind, Lest Fate accomplish all his rage design’d! And must we, gods! our heads inglorious lay In Trojan dust, and this the fatal day? Return, Achilles: oh return, though late, To save thy Greeks, and stop the course of Fate; If in that heart or grief or courage lies, Rise to redeem; ah, yet to conquer, rise! The day may come, when, all our warriors slain, That heart shall melt, that courage rise in vain: Regard in time, O prince divinely brave! Those wholesome counsels which thy father gave. When Peleus in his aged arms embraced His parting son, these accents were his last:

With that they stepp’d aside, and stoop’d their head, (As Dolon pass’d,) behind a heap of dead: Along the path the spy unwary flew; Soft, at just distance, both the chiefs pursue. So distant they, and such the space between, As when two teams of mules divide the green, (To whom the hind like shares of land allows,) When now new furrows part the approaching ploughs. Now Dolon, listening, heard them as they pass’d; Hector (he thought) had sent, and check’d his haste, Till scarce at distance of a javelin’s throw, No voice succeeding, he perceived the foe. As when two skilful hounds the leveret wind; Or chase through woods obscure the trembling hind; Now lost, now seen, they intercept his way, And from the herd still turn the flying prey: So fast, and with such fears, the Trojan flew; So close, so constant, the bold Greeks pursue. Now almost on the fleet the dastard falls, And mingles with the guards that watch the walls; When brave Tydides stopp’d; a gen’rous thought (Inspired by Pallas) in his bosom wrought, Lest on the foe some forward Greek advance, And snatch the glory from his lifted lance. Then thus aloud: “Whoe’er thou art, remain; This javelin else shall fix thee to the plain.” He said, and high in air the weapon cast, Which wilful err’d, and o’er his shoulder pass’d; Then fix’d in earth. Against the trembling wood The wretch stood propp’d, and quiver’d as he stood; A sudden palsy seized his turning head; His loose teeth chatter’d, and his colour fled; The panting warriors seize him as he stands, And with unmanly tears his life demands.

By Paris, Deiochus inglorious dies, Pierced through the shoulder as he basely flies. Polites’ arm laid Echius on the plain; Stretch’d on one heap, the victors spoil the slain. The Greeks dismay’d, confused, disperse or fall, Some seek the trench, some skulk behind the wall. While these fly trembling, others pant for breath, And o’er the slaughter stalks gigantic death. On rush’d bold Hector, gloomy as the night; Forbids to plunder, animates the fight, Points to the fleet: “For, by the gods! who flies,[240] Who dares but linger, by this hand he dies; No weeping sister his cold eye shall close, No friendly hand his funeral pyre compose. Who stops to plunder at this signal hour, The birds shall tear him, and the dogs devour.” Furious he said; the smarting scourge resounds; The coursers fly; the smoking chariot bounds; The hosts rush on; loud clamours shake the shore; The horses thunder, earth and ocean roar! Apollo, planted at the trench’s bound, Push’d at the bank: down sank the enormous mound: Roll’d in the ditch the heapy ruin lay; A sudden road! a long and ample way. O’er the dread fosse (a late impervious space) Now steeds, and men, and cars tumultuous pass. The wondering crowds the downward level trod; Before them flamed the shield, and march’d the god. Then with his hand he shook the mighty wall; And lo! the turrets nod, the bulwarks fall: Easy as when ashore an infant stands, And draws imagined houses in the sands; The sportive wanton, pleased with some new play, Sweeps the slight works and fashion’d domes away: Thus vanish’d at thy touch, the towers and walls; The toil of thousands in a moment falls.

Another part (a prospect differing far)[255] Glow’d with refulgent arms, and horrid war. Two mighty hosts a leaguer’d town embrace, And one would pillage, one would burn the place. Meantime the townsmen, arm’d with silent care, A secret ambush on the foe prepare: Their wives, their children, and the watchful band Of trembling parents, on the turrets stand. They march; by Pallas and by Mars made bold: Gold were the gods, their radiant garments gold, And gold their armour: these the squadron led, August, divine, superior by the head! A place for ambush fit they found, and stood, Cover’d with shields, beside a silver flood. Two spies at distance lurk, and watchful seem If sheep or oxen seek the winding stream. Soon the white flocks proceeded o’er the plains, And steers slow-moving, and two shepherd swains; Behind them piping on their reeds they go, Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe. In arms the glittering squadron rising round Rush sudden; hills of slaughter heap the ground; Whole flocks and herds lie bleeding on the plains, And, all amidst them, dead, the shepherd swains! The bellowing oxen the besiegers hear; They rise, take horse, approach, and meet the war, They fight, they fall, beside the silver flood; The waving silver seem’d to blush with blood. There Tumult, there Contention stood confess’d; One rear’d a dagger at a captive’s breast; One held a living foe, that freshly bled With new-made wounds; another dragg’d a dead; Now here, now there, the carcases they tore: Fate stalk’d amidst them, grim with human gore. And the whole war came out, and met the eye; And each bold figure seem’d to live or die.

To this Anchises’ son: “Such words employ To one that fears thee, some unwarlike boy; Such we disdain; the best may be defied With mean reproaches, and unmanly pride; Unworthy the high race from which we came Proclaim’d so loudly by the voice of fame: Each from illustrious fathers draws his line; Each goddess-born; half human, half divine. Thetis’ this day, or Venus’ offspring dies, And tears shall trickle from celestial eyes: For when two heroes, thus derived, contend, ’Tis not in words the glorious strife can end. If yet thou further seek to learn my birth (A tale resounded through the spacious earth) Hear how the glorious origin we prove From ancient Dardanus, the first from Jove: Dardania’s walls he raised; for Ilion, then, (The city since of many-languaged men,) Was not. The natives were content to till The shady foot of Ida’s fountful hill.[264] From Dardanus great Erichthonius springs, The richest, once, of Asia’s wealthy kings; Three thousand mares his spacious pastures bred, Three thousand foals beside their mothers fed. Boreas, enamour’d of the sprightly train, Conceal’d his godhead in a flowing mane, With voice dissembled to his loves he neigh’d, And coursed the dappled beauties o’er the mead: Hence sprung twelve others of unrivall’d kind, Swift as their mother mares, and father wind. These lightly skimming, when they swept the plain, Nor plied the grass, nor bent the tender grain; And when along the level seas they flew,[265] Scarce on the surface curl’d the briny dew. Such Erichthonius was: from him there came The sacred Tros, of whom the Trojan name. Three sons renown’d adorn’d his nuptial bed, Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymed: The matchless Ganymed, divinely fair, Whom heaven, enamour’d, snatch’d to upper air, To bear the cup of Jove (ethereal guest, The grace and glory of the ambrosial feast).

lay your fears aside. This wondrous signal Jove himself displays, Of long, long labours, but eternal praise. As many birds as by the snake were slain, So many years the toils of Greece remain; But wait the tenth, for Ilion’s fall decreed:’ Thus spoke the prophet, thus the Fates succeed. Obey, ye Grecians! with submission wait, Nor let your flight avert the Trojan fate.” He said: the shores with loud applauses sound, The hollow ships each deafening shout rebound. Then Nestor thus—“These vain debates forbear, Ye talk like children, not like heroes dare. Where now are all your high resolves at last? Your leagues concluded, your engagements past? Vow’d with libations and with victims then, Now vanish’d like their smoke: the faith of men! While useless words consume the unactive hours, No wonder Troy so long resists our powers. Rise, great Atrides! and with courage sway; We march to war, if thou direct the way. But leave the few that dare resist thy laws, The mean deserters of the Grecian cause, To grudge the conquests mighty Jove prepares, And view with envy our successful wars. On that great day, when first the martial train, Big with the fate of Ilion, plough’d the main, Jove, on the right, a prosperous signal sent, And thunder rolling shook the firmament. Encouraged hence, maintain the glorious strife, Till every soldier grasp a Phrygian wife, Till Helen’s woes at full revenged appear, And Troy’s proud matrons render tear for tear. Before that day, if any Greek invite His country’s troops to base, inglorious flight, Stand forth that Greek! and hoist his sail to fly, And die the dastard first, who dreads to die. But now, O monarch! all thy chiefs advise:[91] Nor what they offer, thou thyself despise. Among those counsels, let not mine be vain; In tribes and nations to divide thy train: His separate troops let every leader call, Each strengthen each, and all encourage all.

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:

Thus pray’d the king, and heaven’s great father heard His vows, in bitterness of soul preferr’d: The wrath appeased, by happy signs declares, And gives the people to their monarch’s prayers. His eagle, sacred bird of heaven! he sent, A fawn his talons truss’d, (divine portent!) High o’er the wondering hosts he soar’d above, Who paid their vows to Panomphaean Jove; Then let the prey before his altar fall; The Greeks beheld, and transport seized on all: Encouraged by the sign, the troops revive, And fierce on Troy with doubled fury drive. Tydides first, of all the Grecian force, O’er the broad ditch impell’d his foaming horse, Pierced the deep ranks, their strongest battle tore, And dyed his javelin red with Trojan gore. Young Agelaus (Phradmon was his sire) With flying coursers shunn’d his dreadful ire; Struck through the back, the Phrygian fell oppress’d; The dart drove on, and issued at his breast: Headlong he quits the car: his arms resound; His ponderous buckler thunders on the ground. Forth rush a tide of Greeks, the passage freed; The Atridae first, the Ajaces next succeed: Meriones, like Mars in arms renown’d, And godlike Idomen, now passed the mound; Evaemon’s son next issues to the foe, And last young Teucer with his bended bow. Secure behind the Telamonian shield The skilful archer wide survey’d the field, With every shaft some hostile victim slew, Then close beneath the sevenfold orb withdrew: The conscious infant so, when fear alarms, Retires for safety to the mother’s arms. Thus Ajax guards his brother in the field, Moves as he moves, and turns the shining shield. Who first by Teucer’s mortal arrows bled? Orsilochus; then fell Ormenus dead: The godlike Lycophon next press’d the plain, With Chromius, Daetor, Ophelestes slain: Bold Hamopaon breathless sunk to ground; The bloody pile great Melanippus crown’d. Heaps fell on heaps, sad trophies of his art, A Trojan ghost attending every dart.

No camps, no bulwarks now the Trojans fear, Those are not dreadful, no Achilles there; No longer flames the lance of Tydeus’ son; No more your general calls his heroes on: Hector, alone, I hear; his dreadful breath Commands your slaughter, or proclaims your death. Yet now, Patroclus, issue to the plain: Now save the ships, the rising fires restrain, And give the Greeks to visit Greece again. But heed my words, and mark a friend’s command, Who trusts his fame and honours in thy hand, And from thy deeds expects the Achaian host Shall render back the beauteous maid he lost: Rage uncontroll’d through all the hostile crew, But touch not Hector, Hector is my due. Though Jove in thunder should command the war, Be just, consult my glory, and forbear. The fleet once saved, desist from further chase, Nor lead to Ilion’s walls the Grecian race; Some adverse god thy rashness may destroy; Some god, like Phœbus, ever kind to Troy. Let Greece, redeem’d from this destructive strait, Do her own work; and leave the rest to fate. O! would to all the immortal powers above, Apollo, Pallas, and almighty Jove! That not one Trojan might be left alive, And not a Greek of all the race survive: Might only we the vast destruction shun, And only we destroy the accursed town!” Such conference held the chiefs; while on the strand Great Jove with conquest crown’d the Trojan band. Ajax no more the sounding storm sustain’d, So thick the darts an iron tempest rain’d: On his tired arm the weighty buckler hung; His hollow helm with falling javelins rung; His breath, in quick short pantings, comes and goes; And painful sweat from all his members flows. Spent and o’erpower’d, he barely breathes at most; Yet scarce an army stirs him from his post; Dangers on dangers all around him glow, And toil to toil, and woe succeeds to woe.

A flood of tears, at this, the goddess shed: “Ah then, I see thee dying, see thee dead! When Hector falls, thou diest.”—“Let Hector die, And let me fall! (Achilles made reply) Far lies Patroclus from his native plain! He fell, and falling, wish’d my aid in vain. Ah then, since from this miserable day I cast all hope of my return away; Since, unrevenged, a hundred ghosts demand The fate of Hector from Achilles’ hand; Since here, for brutal courage far renown’d, I live an idle burden to the ground, (Others in council famed for nobler skill, More useful to preserve, than I to kill,) Let me—But oh! ye gracious powers above! Wrath and revenge from men and gods remove: Far, far too dear to every mortal breast, Sweet to the soul, as honey to the taste: Gathering like vapours of a noxious kind From fiery blood, and darkening all the mind. Me Agamemnon urged to deadly hate; ’Tis past—I quell it; I resign to fate. Yes—I will meet the murderer of my friend; Or (if the gods ordain it) meet my end. The stroke of fate the strongest cannot shun: The great Alcides, Jove’s unequall’d son, To Juno’s hate, at length resign’d his breath, And sunk the victim of all-conquering death. So shall Achilles fall! stretch’d pale and dead, No more the Grecian hope, or Trojan dread! Let me, this instant, rush into the fields, And reap what glory life’s short harvest yields. Shall I not force some widow’d dame to tear With frantic hands her long dishevell’d hair? Shall I not force her breast to heave with sighs, And the soft tears to trickle from her eyes? Yes, I shall give the fair those mournful charms— In vain you hold me—Hence! my arms! my arms!— Soon shall the sanguine torrent spread so wide, That all shall know Achilles swells the tide.”

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 the hand of Jove a tempest forms, And rolls the cloud to blacken heaven with storms, Dark o’er the fields the ascending vapour flies, And shades the sun, and blots the golden skies: So from the ships, along the dusky plain, Dire Flight and Terror drove the Trojan train. Even Hector fled; through heads of disarray The fiery coursers forced their lord away: While far behind his Trojans fall confused; Wedged in the trench, in one vast carnage bruised: Chariots on chariots roll: the clashing spokes Shock; while the madding steeds break short their yokes. In vain they labour up the steepy mound; Their charioteers lie foaming on the ground. Fierce on the rear, with shouts Patroclus flies; Tumultuous clamour fills the fields and skies; Thick drifts of dust involve their rapid flight; Clouds rise on clouds, and heaven is snatch’d from sight. The affrighted steeds their dying lords cast down, Scour o’er the fields, and stretch to reach the town. Loud o’er the rout was heard the victor’s cry, Where the war bleeds, and where the thickest die, Where horse and arms, and chariots lie o’erthrown, And bleeding heroes under axles groan. No stop, no check, the steeds of Peleus knew: From bank to bank the immortal coursers flew. High-bounding o’er the fosse, the whirling car Smokes through the ranks, o’ertakes the flying war, And thunders after Hector; Hector flies, Patroclus shakes his lance; but fate denies. Not with less noise, with less impetuous force, The tide of Trojans urge their desperate course, Than when in autumn Jove his fury pours, And earth is loaden with incessant showers; (When guilty mortals break the eternal laws, Or judges, bribed, betray the righteous cause;) From their deep beds he bids the rivers rise, And opens all the flood-gates of the skies: The impetuous torrents from their hills obey, Whole fields are drown’d, and mountains swept away; Loud roars the deluge till it meets the main; And trembling man sees all his labours vain!

“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 son! though youthful ardour fire thy breast, The gods have loved thee, and with arts have bless’d; Neptune and Jove on thee conferr’d the skill Swift round the goal to turn the flying wheel. To guide thy conduct little precept needs; But slow, and past their vigour, are my steeds. Fear not thy rivals, though for swiftness known; Compare those rivals’ judgment and thy own: It is not strength, but art, obtains the prize, And to be swift is less than to be wise. ’Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes The dexterous woodman shapes the stubborn oaks; By art the pilot, through the boiling deep And howling tempest, steers the fearless ship; And ’tis the artist wins the glorious course; Not those who trust in chariots and in horse. In vain, unskilful to the goal they strive, And short, or wide, the ungovern’d courser drive: While with sure skill, though with inferior steeds, The knowing racer to his end proceeds; Fix’d on the goal his eye foreruns the course, His hand unerring steers the steady horse, And now contracts, or now extends the rein, Observing still the foremost on the plain. Mark then the goal, ’tis easy to be found; Yon aged trunk, a cubit from the ground; Of some once stately oak the last remains, Or hardy fir, unperish’d with the rains: Inclosed with stones, conspicuous from afar; And round, a circle for the wheeling car. (Some tomb perhaps of old, the dead to grace; Or then, as now, the limit of a race.) Bear close to this, and warily proceed, A little bending to the left-hand steed; But urge the right, and give him all the reins; While thy strict hand his fellow’s head restrains, And turns him short; till, doubling as they roll, The wheel’s round naves appear to brush the goal. Yet (not to break the car, or lame the horse) Clear of the stony heap direct the course; Lest through incaution failing, thou mayst be A joy to others, a reproach to me.

“If some dire oracle thy breast alarm, If aught from Jove, or Thetis, stop thy arm, Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine, If I but lead the Myrmidonian line: Clad in thy dreadful arms if I appear, Proud Troy shall tremble, and desert the war; Without thy person Greece shall win the day, And thy mere image chase her foes away. Press’d by fresh forces, her o’erlabour’d train Shall quit the ships, and Greece respire again.” Thus, blind to fate! with supplicating breath, Thou begg’st his arms, and in his arms thy death. Unfortunately good! a boding sigh Thy friend return’d; and with it, this reply: “Patroclus! thy Achilles knows no fears; Nor words from Jove nor oracles he hears; Nor aught a mother’s caution can suggest; The tyrant’s pride lies rooted in my breast. My wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thought engage, Those, my sole oracles, inspire my rage: I made him tyrant: gave him power to wrong Even me: I felt it; and shall feel it long. The maid, my black-eyed maid, he forced away, Due to the toils of many a well-fought day; Due to my conquest of her father’s reign; Due to the votes of all the Grecian train. From me he forced her; me, the bold and brave, Disgraced, dishonour’d, like the meanest slave. But bear we this—the wrongs I grieve are past; ’Tis time our fury should relent at last: I fix’d its date; the day I wish’d appears: How Hector to my ships his battle bears, The flames my eyes, the shouts invade my ears. Go then, Patroclus! court fair honour’s charms In Troy’s famed fields, and in Achilles’ arms: Lead forth my martial Myrmidons to fight, Go save the fleets, and conquer in my right. See the thin relics of their baffled band At the last edge of yon deserted land! Behold all Ilion on their ships descends; How the cloud blackens, how the storm impends! It was not thus, when, at my sight amazed, Troy saw and trembled, as this helmet blazed: Had not the injurious king our friendship lost, Yon ample trench had buried half her host.

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

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.

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

“O friend (Menoetius’ son this answer gave) With words to combat, ill befits the brave; Not empty boasts the sons of Troy repel, Your swords must plunge them to the shades of hell. To speak, beseems the council; but to dare In glorious action, is the task of war.”