Iliad on Friendship

With that, the chiefs beneath his roof he led, And placed in seats with purple carpets spread. Then thus—“Patroclus, crown a larger bowl, Mix purer wine, and open every soul. Of all the warriors yonder host can send, Thy friend most honours these, and these thy friend.”

Then turning to the martial hosts, he cries: “Ye Trojans, Dardans, Lycians, and allies! Be men, my friends, in action as in name, And yet be mindful of your ancient fame. Hector in proud Achilles’ arms shall shine, Torn from his friend, by right of conquest mine.”

“Still may our souls, O generous youth! agree ’Tis now Atrides’ turn to yield to thee. Rash heat perhaps a moment might control, Not break, the settled temper of thy soul. Not but (my friend) ’tis still the wiser way To waive contention with superior sway; For ah! how few, who should like thee offend, Like thee, have talents to regain the friend! To plead indulgence, and thy fault atone, Suffice thy father’s merit and thy own: Generous alike, for me, the sire and son Have greatly suffer’d, and have greatly done. I yield; that all may know, my soul can bend, Nor is my pride preferr’d before my friend.”

He spoke, and transport fill’d Tydides’ heart; In earth the generous warrior fix’d his dart, Then friendly, thus the Lycian prince address’d: “Welcome, my brave hereditary guest! Thus ever let us meet, with kind embrace, Nor stain the sacred friendship of our race. Know, chief, our grandsires have been guests of old; Œneus the strong, Bellerophon the bold: Our ancient seat his honour’d presence graced, Where twenty days in genial rites he pass’d. The parting heroes mutual presents left; A golden goblet was thy grandsire’s gift; Œneus a belt of matchless work bestowed, That rich with Tyrian dye refulgent glow’d. (This from his pledge I learn’d, which, safely stored Among my treasures, still adorns my board: For Tydeus left me young, when Thebe’s wall Beheld the sons of Greece untimely fall.) Mindful of this, in friendship let us join; If heaven our steps to foreign lands incline, My guest in Argos thou, and I in Lycia thine. Enough of Trojans to this lance shall yield, In the full harvest of yon ample field; Enough of Greeks shall dye thy spear with gore; But thou and Diomed be foes no more. Now change we arms, and prove to either host We guard the friendship of the line we boast.”

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

“Why calls my friend? thy loved injunctions lay; Whate’er thy will, Patroclus shall obey.”

Him, near his tent, Meriones attends; Whom thus he questions: “Ever best of friends! O say, in every art of battle skill’d, What holds thy courage from so brave a field? On some important message art thou bound, Or bleeds my friend by some unhappy wound? Inglorious here, my soul abhors to stay, And glows with prospects of th’ approaching day.”

“Teucer, behold! extended on the shore Our friend, our loved companion! now no more! Dear as a parent, with a parent’s care To fight our wars he left his native air. This death deplored, to Hector’s rage we owe; Revenge, revenge it on the cruel foe. Where are those darts on which the fates attend? And where the bow which Phœbus taught to bend?”

Thus he: the stern Achilles thus replied: “My second father, and my reverend guide: Thy friend, believe me, no such gifts demands, And asks no honours from a mortal’s hands; Jove honours me, and favours my designs; His pleasure guides me, and his will confines; And here I stay (if such his high behest) While life’s warm spirit beats within my breast. Yet hear one word, and lodge it in thy heart: No more molest me on Atrides’ part: Is it for him these tears are taught to flow, For him these sorrows? for my mortal foe? A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows; One should our interests and our passions be; My friend must hate the man that injures me. Do this, my Phœnix, ’tis a generous part; And share my realms, my honours, and my heart. Let these return: our voyage, or our stay, Rest undetermined till the dawning day.”

‘Return not, my brave friend (perhaps he said), Without the bloody arms of Hector dead.’ He spoke, Patroclus march’d, and thus he sped.”

“What thoughts, regardless chief! thy breast employ? Oh too forgetful of the friends of Troy! Those generous friends, who, from their country far, Breathe their brave souls out in another’s war. See! where in dust the great Sarpedon lies, In action valiant, and in council wise, Who guarded right, and kept his people free; To all his Lycians lost, and lost to thee! Stretch’d by Patroclus’ arm on yonder plains, O save from hostile rage his loved remains! Ah let not Greece his conquer’d trophies boast, Nor on his corse revenge her heroes lost!”

“O friends! O heroes! names for ever dear, Once sons of Mars, and thunderbolts of war! Ah! yet be mindful of your old renown, Your great forefathers’ virtues and your own. What aids expect you in this utmost strait? What bulwarks rising between you and fate? No aids, no bulwarks your retreat attend, No friends to help, no city to defend. This spot is all you have, to lose or keep; There stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep. ’Tis hostile ground you tread; your native lands Far, far from hence: your fates are in your hands.”

Great Ajax mark’d the growing storm from far, And thus bespoke his brother of the war: “Our fatal day, alas! is come, my friend; And all our wars and glories at an end! ’Tis not this corse alone we guard in vain, Condemn’d to vultures on the Trojan plain; We too must yield: the same sad fate must fall On thee, on me, perhaps, my friend, on all. See what a tempest direful Hector spreads, And lo! it bursts, it thunders on our heads! Call on our Greeks, if any hear the call, The bravest Greeks: this hour demands them all.”

Then thus to Phœbus, in the realms above, Spoke from his throne the cloud-compelling Jove: “Descend, my Phœbus! on the Phrygian plain, And from the fight convey Sarpedon slain; Then bathe his body in the crystal flood, With dust dishonour’d, and deform’d with blood; O’er all his limbs ambrosial odours shed, And with celestial robes adorn the dead. Those rites discharged, his sacred corse bequeath To the soft arms of silent Sleep and Death. They to his friends the immortal charge shall bear; His friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear: What honour mortals after death receive, Those unavailing honours we may give!”

Far o’er the rest in glittering pomp appear, There bold Automedon, Patroclus here; Brothers in arms, with equal fury fired; Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired.

“What god provokes thee rashly thus to dare, Alone, unaided, in the thickest war? Alas! thy friend is slain, and Hector wields Achilles’ arms triumphant in the fields.”

The giant spoke; and in a stupid gaze The host beheld him, silent with amaze! ’Twas thou, Euryalus! who durst aspire To meet his might, and emulate thy sire, The great Mecistheus; who in days of yore In Theban games the noblest trophy bore, (The games ordain’d dead OEdipus to grace,) And singly vanquish the Cadmean race. Him great Tydides urges to contend, Warm with the hopes of conquest for his friend; Officious with the cincture girds him round; And to his wrist the gloves of death are bound. Amid the circle now each champion stands, And poises high in air his iron hands; With clashing gauntlets now they fiercely close, Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows, And painful sweat from all their members flows. At length Epeus dealt a weighty blow Full on the cheek of his unwary foe; Beneath that ponderous arm’s resistless sway Down dropp’d he, nerveless, and extended lay. As a large fish, when winds and waters roar, By some huge billow dash’d against the shore, Lies panting; not less batter’d with his wound, The bleeding hero pants upon the ground. To rear his fallen foe, the victor lends, Scornful, his hand; and gives him to his friends; Whose arms support him, reeling through the throng, And dragging his disabled legs along; Nodding, his head hangs down his shoulder o’er; His mouth and nostrils pour the clotted gore;[292] Wrapp’d round in mists he lies, and lost to thought; His friends receive the bowl, too dearly bought.

“Patroclus! cease; this heaven-defended wall Defies thy lance; not fated yet to fall; Thy friend, thy greater far, it shall withstand, Troy shall not stoop even to Achilles’ hand.”

He said. Alcimedon, with active heat, Snatches the reins, and vaults into the seat. His friend descends. The chief of Troy descried, And call’d Æneas fighting near his side.

Eurypylus replies: “No more, my friend; Greece is no more! this day her glories end; Even to the ships victorious Troy pursues, Her force increasing as her toil renews. Those chiefs, that used her utmost rage to meet, Lie pierced with wounds, and bleeding in the fleet. But, thou, Patroclus! act a friendly part, Lead to my ships, and draw this deadly dart; With lukewarm water wash the gore away; With healing balms the raging smart allay, Such as sage Chiron, sire of pharmacy, Once taught Achilles, and Achilles thee. Of two famed surgeons, Podalirius stands This hour surrounded by the Trojan bands; And great Machaon, wounded in his tent, Now wants that succour which so oft he lent.”

But not the genial feast, nor flowing bowl, Could charm the cares of Nestor’s watchful soul; His startled ears the increasing cries attend; Then thus, impatient, to his wounded friend:

“Achilles with unactive fury glows, And gives to passion what to Greece he owes. How shall he grieve, when to the eternal shade Her hosts shall sink, nor his the power to aid! O friend! my memory recalls the day, When, gathering aids along the Grecian sea, I, and Ulysses, touch’d at Phthia’s port, And entered Peleus’ hospitable court. A bull to Jove he slew in sacrifice, And pour’d libations on the flaming thighs. Thyself, Achilles, and thy reverend sire Menoetius, turn’d the fragments on the fire. Achilles sees us, to the feast invites; Social we sit, and share the genial rites. We then explained the cause on which we came, Urged you to arms, and found you fierce for fame. Your ancient fathers generous precepts gave; Peleus said only this:—‘My son! be brave.’ Menoetius thus: ‘Though great Achilles shine In strength superior, and of race divine, Yet cooler thoughts thy elder years attend; Let thy just counsels aid, and rule thy friend.’ Thus spoke your father at Thessalia’s court: Words now forgot, though now of vast import. Ah! try the utmost that a friend can say: Such gentle force the fiercest minds obey; Some favouring god Achilles’ heart may move; Though deaf to glory, he may yield to love. If some dire oracle his breast alarm, If aught from Heaven withhold his saving arm, Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine, If thou but lead the Myrmidonian line; Clad in Achilles’ arms, if thou appear, Proud Troy may tremble, and desist from war; Press’d by fresh forces, her o’er-labour’d train Shall seek their walls, and Greece respire again.”

He said, and turn’d his brother’s vengeful mind; He stoop’d to reason, and his rage resign’d, No longer bent to rush on certain harms; His joyful friends unbrace his azure arms.

Now deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light, And drew behind the cloudy veil of night: The conquering Trojans mourn his beams decay’d; The Greeks rejoicing bless the friendly shade.

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

“O friends! O Greeks! assert your honours won; Proceed, and finish what this arm begun: Lo! angry Jove forbids your chief to stay, And envies half the glories of the day.”

“If yet Achilles have a friend, whose care Is bent to please him, this request forbear; Till yonder sun descend, ah, let me pay To grief and anguish one abstemious day.”

“Your noble vigour, O my friends, restrain; Nor weary out your generous strength in vain. Ye both have won: let others who excel, Now prove that prowess you have proved so well.”

Scarce had he spoke, when, lo! the chiefs appear, And spring to earth; the Greeks dismiss their fear: With words of friendship and extended hands They greet the kings; and Nestor first demands:

“Ah, youth for ever dear, for ever kind, Once tender friend of my distracted mind! I left thee fresh in life, in beauty gay; Now find thee cold, inanimated clay! What woes my wretched race of life attend! Sorrows on sorrows, never doom’d to end! The first loved consort of my virgin bed Before these eyes in fatal battle bled: My three brave brothers in one mournful day All trod the dark, irremeable way: Thy friendly hand uprear’d me from the plain, And dried my sorrows for a husband slain; Achilles’ care you promised I should prove, The first, the dearest partner of his love; That rites divine should ratify the band, And make me empress in his native land. Accept these grateful tears! for thee they flow, For thee, that ever felt another’s woe!”

Great Ajax first to conquest led the way, Broke the thick ranks, and turn’d the doubtful day. The Thracian Acamas his falchion found, And hew’d the enormous giant to the ground; His thundering arm a deadly stroke impress’d Where the black horse-hair nodded o’er his crest; Fix’d in his front the brazen weapon lies, And seals in endless shades his swimming eyes. Next Teuthras’ son distain’d the sands with blood, Axylus, hospitable, rich, and good: In fair Arisbe’s walls (his native place)[161] He held his seat! a friend to human race. Fast by the road, his ever-open door Obliged the wealthy, and relieved the poor. To stern Tydides now he falls a prey, No friend to guard him in the dreadful day! Breathless the good man fell, and by his side His faithful servant, old Calesius died.

“O first of Greeks! (his noble foe rejoin’d) Whom heaven adorns, superior to thy kind, With strength of body, and with worth of mind! Now martial law commands us to forbear; Hereafter we shall meet in glorious war, Some future day shall lengthen out the strife, And let the gods decide of death or life! Since, then, the night extends her gloomy shade, And heaven enjoins it, be the night obey’d. Return, brave Ajax, to thy Grecian friends, And joy the nations whom thy arm defends; As I shall glad each chief, and Trojan wife, Who wearies heaven with vows for Hector’s life. But let us, on this memorable day, Exchange some gift: that Greece and Troy may say, ‘Not hate, but glory, made these chiefs contend; And each brave foe was in his soul a friend.’”

While thus the thunder of the battle raged, And labouring armies round the works engaged, Still in the tent Patroclus sat to tend The good Eurypylus, his wounded friend. He sprinkles healing balms, to anguish kind, And adds discourse, the medicine of the mind. But when he saw, ascending up the fleet, Victorious Troy; then, starting from his seat, With bitter groans his sorrows he express’d, He wrings his hands, he beats his manly breast. “Though yet thy state require redress (he cries) Depart I must: what horrors strike my eyes! Charged with Achilles’ high command I go, A mournful witness of this scene of woe; I haste to urge him by his country’s care To rise in arms, and shine again in war. Perhaps some favouring god his soul may bend; The voice is powerful of a faithful friend.”

“Ah, dearest friend! in whom the gods had join’d[298] The mildest manners with the bravest mind, Now twice ten years (unhappy years) are o’er Since Paris brought me to the Trojan shore, (O had I perish’d, ere that form divine Seduced this soft, this easy heart of mine!) Yet was it ne’er my fate, from thee to find A deed ungentle, or a word unkind. When others cursed the authoress of their woe, Thy pity check’d my sorrows in their flow. If some proud brother eyed me with disdain, Or scornful sister with her sweeping train, Thy gentle accents soften’d all my pain. For thee I mourn, and mourn myself in thee, The wretched source of all this misery. The fate I caused, for ever I bemoan; Sad Helen has no friend, now thou art gone! Through Troy’s wide streets abandon’d shall I roam! In Troy deserted, as abhorr’d at home!”

Slain by two brothers, thus two brothers bleed, Sarpedon’s friends, Amisodarus’ seed; Amisodarus, who, by Furies led, The bane of men, abhorr’d Chimaera bred; Skill’d in the dart in vain, his sons expire, And pay the forfeit of their guilty sire.

With deep concern divine Æneas view’d The foe prevailing, and his friends pursued; Through the thick storm of singing spears he flies, Exploring Pandarus with careful eyes. At length he found Lycaon’s mighty son; To whom the chief of Venus’ race begun:

Thetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She preserves the body of his friend from corruption, and commands him to assemble the army, to declare his resentment at an end. Agamemnon and Achilles are solemnly reconciled: the speeches, presents, and ceremonies on that occasion. Achilles is with great difficulty persuaded to refrain from the battle till the troops have refreshed themselves by the advice of Ulysses. The presents are conveyed to the tent of Achilles, where Briseïs laments over the body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately refuses all repast, and gives himself up to lamentations for his friend. Minerva descends to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He arms for the fight: his appearance described. He addresses himself to his horses, and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his fate: but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with fury to the combat. The thirtieth day. The scene is on the sea-shore.

Heart-piercing anguish, at the haughty boast, Touch’d every Greek, but Nestor’s son the most. Grieved as he was, his pious arms attend, And his broad buckler shields his slaughter’d friend: Till sad Mecistheus and Alastor bore His honour’d body to the tented shore.

“Lo, to my sight, beyond our hope restored, Achilles’ car, deserted of its lord! The glorious steeds our ready arms invite, Scarce their weak drivers guide them through the fight. Can such opponents stand when we assail? Unite thy force, my friend, and we prevail.”

The effect succeeds the speech. Pelides cries, “Thy artful praise deserves a better prize. Nor Greece in vain shall hear thy friend extoll’d; Receive a talent of the purest gold.” The youth departs content. The host admire The son of Nestor, worthy of his sire.

High o’er the slain the great Achilles stands, Begirt with heroes and surrounding bands; And thus aloud, while all the host attends: “Princes and leaders! countrymen and friends! Since now at length the powerful will of heaven The dire destroyer to our arm has given, Is not Troy fallen already? Haste, ye powers! See, if already their deserted towers Are left unmann’d; or if they yet retain The souls of heroes, their great Hector slain. But what is Troy, or glory what to me? Or why reflects my mind on aught but thee, Divine Patroclus! Death hath seal’d his eyes; Unwept, unhonour’d, uninterr’d he lies! Can his dear image from my soul depart, Long as the vital spirit moves my heart? If in the melancholy shades below, The flames of friends and lovers cease to glow, Yet mine shall sacred last; mine, undecay’d, Burn on through death, and animate my shade. Meanwhile, ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring The corpse of Hector, and your pæans sing. Be this the song, slow-moving toward the shore, “Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more.””

Resolved alike, divine Sarpedon glows With generous rage that drives him on the foes. He views the towers, and meditates their fall, To sure destruction dooms the aspiring wall; Then casting on his friend an ardent look, Fired with the thirst of glory, thus he spoke:

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

“If, in that gloom which never light must know, The deeds of mortals touch the ghosts below, O friend! forgive me, that I thus fulfil (Restoring Hector) heaven’s unquestion’d will. The gifts the father gave, be ever thine, To grace thy manes, and adorn thy shrine.”[296]

The Greeks gave ear, but none the silence broke; At length Tydides rose, and rising spoke: “Oh, take not, friends! defrauded of your fame, Their proffer’d wealth, nor even the Spartan dame. Let conquest make them ours: fate shakes their wall, And Troy already totters to her fall.”

“Goddess! (he cried,) these glorious arms, that shine With matchless art, confess the hand divine. Now to the bloody battle let me bend: But ah! the relics of my slaughter’d friend! In those wide wounds through which his spirit fled, Shall flies, and worms obscene, pollute the dead?”

“Is then Achilles now no more thy care, And dost thou thus desert the great in war? Lo, where yon sails their canvas wings extend, All comfortless he sits, and wails his friend: Ere thirst and want his forces have oppress’d, Haste and infuse ambrosia in his breast.”

“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.”

“O guard these relics to your charge consign’d, And bear the merits of the dead in mind; How skill’d he was in each obliging art; The mildest manners, and the gentlest heart: He was, alas! but fate decreed his end, In death a hero, as in life a friend!”

“O friend! two chiefs of force immense I see, Dreadful they come, and bend their rage on thee: Lo the brave heir of old Lycaon’s line, And great Æneas, sprung from race divine! Enough is given to fame. Ascend thy car! And save a life, the bulwark of our war.”

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

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

’Twas thus the general voice the hero praised, Who, rising, high the imperial sceptre raised: The blue-eyed Pallas, his celestial friend, (In form a herald,) bade the crowds attend. The expecting crowds in still attention hung, To hear the wisdom of his heavenly tongue. Then deeply thoughtful, pausing ere he spoke, His silence thus the prudent hero broke:

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

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

“O great in action, and in council wise! With ours, thy care and ardour are the same, Nor need I to commend, nor aught to blame. Sage as thou art, and learn’d in human kind, Forgive the transport of a martial mind. Haste to the fight, secure of just amends; The gods that make, shall keep the worthy, friends.”

Beneath a beech, Jove’s consecrated shade, His mournful friends divine Sarpedon laid: Brave Pelagon, his favourite chief, was nigh, Who wrench’d the javelin from his sinewy thigh. The fainting soul stood ready wing’d for flight, And o’er his eye-balls swam the shades of night; But Boreas rising fresh, with gentle breath, Recall’d his spirit from the gates of death.

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

“Wisely and well, my son, thy words have proved A senior honour’d, and a friend beloved! Too true it is, deserted of my strength, These wither’d arms and limbs have fail’d at length. Oh! had I now that force I felt of yore, Known through Buprasium and the Pylian shore! Victorious then in every solemn game, Ordain’d to Amarynces’ mighty name; The brave Epeians gave my glory way, Ætolians, Pylians, all resign’d the day. I quell’d Clytomedes in fights of hand, And backward hurl’d Ancæus on the sand, Surpass’d Iphyclus in the swift career, Phyleus and Polydorus with the spear. The sons of Actor won the prize of horse, But won by numbers, not by art or force: For the famed twins, impatient to survey Prize after prize by Nestor borne away, Sprung to their car; and with united pains One lash’d the coursers, while one ruled the reins. Such once I was! Now to these tasks succeeds A younger race, that emulate our deeds: I yield, alas! (to age who must not yield?) Though once the foremost hero of the field. Go thou, my son! by generous friendship led, With martial honours decorate the dead: While pleased I take the gift thy hands present, (Pledge of benevolence, and kind intent,) Rejoiced, of all the numerous Greeks, to see Not one but honours sacred age and me: Those due distinctions thou so well canst pay, May the just gods return another day!”

“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.”