Iliad on Speech

Stung to the heart the generous Hector hears, But just reproof with decent silence bears. From his proud car the prince impetuous springs, On earth he leaps, his brazen armour rings. Two shining spears are brandish’d in his hands; Thus arm’d, he animates his drooping bands, Revives their ardour, turns their steps from flight, And wakes anew the dying flames of fight. They turn, they stand; the Greeks their fury dare, Condense their powers, and wait the growing war.

He spoke, and rising hurl’d his forceful dart, Which, driven by Pallas, pierced a vital part; Full in his face it enter’d, and betwixt The nose and eye-ball the proud Lycian fix’d; Crash’d all his jaws, and cleft the tongue within, Till the bright point look’d out beneath the chin. Headlong he falls, his helmet knocks the ground: Earth groans beneath him, and his arms resound; The starting coursers tremble with affright; The soul indignant seeks the realms of night.

This said, he ceased. The king of men replies: “Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise. But that imperious, that unconquer’d soul, No laws can limit, no respect control. Before his pride must his superiors fall; His word the law, and he the lord of all? Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself obey? What king can bear a rival in his sway? Grant that the gods his matchless force have given; Has foul reproach a privilege from heaven?”

These words he seconds with his flying lance, To meet whose point was strong Deicoon’s chance: Æneas’ friend, and in his native place Honour’d and loved like Priam’s royal race: Long had he fought the foremost in the field, But now the monarch’s lance transpierced his shield: His shield too weak the furious dart to stay, Through his broad belt the weapon forced its way: The grisly wound dismiss’d his soul to hell, His arms around him rattled as he fell.

When Paris thus: “My brother and my friend, Thy warm impatience makes thy tongue offend, In other battles I deserved thy blame, Though then not deedless, nor unknown to fame: But since yon rampart by thy arms lay low, I scatter’d slaughter from my fatal bow. The chiefs you seek on yonder shore lie slain; Of all those heroes, two alone remain; Deiphobus, and Helenus the seer, Each now disabled by a hostile spear. Go then, successful, where thy soul inspires: This heart and hand shall second all thy fires: What with this arm I can, prepare to know, Till death for death be paid, and blow for blow. But ’tis not ours, with forces not our own To combat: strength is of the gods alone.” These words the hero’s angry mind assuage: Then fierce they mingle where the thickest rage. Around Polydamas, distain’d with blood, Cebrion, Phalces, stern Orthaeus stood, Palmus, with Polypœtes the divine, And two bold brothers of Hippotion’s line (Who reach’d fair Ilion, from Ascania far, The former day; the next engaged in war). As when from gloomy clouds a whirlwind springs, That bears Jove’s thunder on its dreadful wings, Wide o’er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps; Then, gather’d, settles on the hoary deeps; The afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar; The waves behind impel the waves before, Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore: Thus rank on rank, the thick battalions throng, Chief urged on chief, and man drove man along. Far o’er the plains, in dreadful order bright, The brazen arms reflect a beamy light: Full in the blazing van great Hector shined, Like Mars commission’d to confound mankind. Before him flaming his enormous shield, Like the broad sun, illumined all the field; His nodding helm emits a streamy ray; His piercing eyes through all the battle stray, And, while beneath his targe he flash’d along, Shot terrors round, that wither’d e’en the strong.

Then thus pale Dolon, with a fearful look: (Still, as he spoke, his limbs with horror shook:) “Hither I came, by Hector’s words deceived; Much did he promise, rashly I believed: No less a bribe than great Achilles’ car, And those swift steeds that sweep the ranks of war, Urged me, unwilling, this attempt to make; To learn what counsels, what resolves you take: If now subdued, you fix your hopes on flight, And, tired with toils, neglect the watch of night.”

“Oh friends! be men: your generous breasts inflame With mutual honour, and with mutual shame! Think of your hopes, your fortunes; all the care Your wives, your infants, and your parents share: Think of each living father’s reverend head; Think of each ancestor with glory dead; Absent, by me they speak, by me they sue, They ask their safety, and their fame, from you: The gods their fates on this one action lay, And all are lost, if you desert the day.”

“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.

Thus while he spoke, the Trojan pale with fears Approach’d, and sought his knees with suppliant tears Loth as he was to yield his youthful breath, And his soul shivering at the approach of death. Achilles raised the spear, prepared to wound; He kiss’d his feet, extended on the ground: And while, above, the spear suspended stood, Longing to dip its thirsty point in blood, One hand embraced them close, one stopp’d the dart, While thus these melting words attempt his heart:

Bold Hector and Ulysses now dispose The lists of combat, and the ground inclose: Next to decide, by sacred lots prepare, Who first shall launch his pointed spear in air. The people pray with elevated hands, And words like these are heard through all the bands: “Immortal Jove, high Heaven’s superior lord, On lofty Ida’s holy mount adored! Whoe’er involved us in this dire debate, O give that author of the war to fate And shades eternal! let division cease, And joyful nations join in leagues of peace.”

The monarch thus. The reverend Nestor then: “Great Agamemnon! glorious king of men! Such are thy offers as a prince may take, And such as fits a generous king to make. Let chosen delegates this hour be sent (Myself will name them) to Pelides’ tent. Let Phœnix lead, revered for hoary age, Great Ajax next, and Ithacus the sage. Yet more to sanctify the word you send, Let Hodius and Eurybates attend. Now pray to Jove to grant what Greece demands; Pray in deep silence,[205] and with purest hands.”[206]

“Whither, oh whither does Ulysses run? Oh, flight unworthy great Laertes’ son! Mix’d with the vulgar shall thy fate be found, Pierced in the back, a vile, dishonest wound? Oh turn and save from Hector’s direful rage The glory of the Greeks, the Pylian sage.” His fruitless words are lost unheard in air, Ulysses seeks the ships, and shelters there. But bold Tydides to the rescue goes, A single warrior midst a host of foes; Before the coursers with a sudden spring He leap’d, and anxious thus bespoke the king:

At this agreed, the heavenly powers withdrew; Sage Helenus their secret counsels knew; Hector, inspired, he sought: to him address’d, Thus told the dictates of his sacred breast: “O son of Priam! let thy faithful ear Receive my words: thy friend and brother hear! Go forth persuasive, and a while engage The warring nations to suspend their rage; Then dare the boldest of the hostile train To mortal combat on the listed plain. For not this day shall end thy glorious date; The gods have spoke it, and their voice is fate.”

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.”

The monarch spoke; the words, with warmth address’d, To rigid justice steel’d his brother’s breast. Fierce from his knees the hapless chief he thrust; The monarch’s javelin stretch’d him in the dust, Then pressing with his foot his panting heart, Forth from the slain he tugg’d the reeking dart. Old Nestor saw, and roused the warrior’s rage; “Thus, heroes! thus the vigorous combat wage; No son of Mars descend, for servile gains, To touch the booty, while a foe remains. Behold yon glittering host, your future spoil! First gain the conquest, then reward the toil.”

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.”

“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.”

These words soft pity in the chief inspire, Touch’d with the dear remembrance of his sire. Then with his hand (as prostrate still he lay) The old man’s cheek he gently turn’d away. Now each by turns indulged the gush of woe; And now the mingled tides together flow: This low on earth, that gently bending o’er; A father one, and one a son deplore: But great Achilles different passions rend, And now his sire he mourns, and now his friend. The infectious softness through the heroes ran; One universal solemn shower began; They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.

But Ajax, glorying in his hardy deed, The well-arm’d Greeks to Agamemnon lead. A steer for sacrifice the king design’d, Of full five years, and of the nobler kind. The victim falls; they strip the smoking hide, The beast they quarter, and the joints divide; Then spread the tables, the repast prepare, Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. The king himself (an honorary sign) Before great Ajax placed the mighty chine.[185] When now the rage of hunger was removed, Nestor, in each persuasive art approved, The sage whose counsels long had sway’d the rest, In words like these his prudent thought express’d:

Here on the monarch’s speech Achilles broke, And furious, thus, and interrupting spoke: “Tyrant, I well deserved thy galling chain, To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain, Should I submit to each unjust decree:— Command thy vassals, but command not me. Seize on Briseïs, whom the Grecians doom’d My prize of war, yet tamely see resumed; And seize secure; no more Achilles draws His conquering sword in any woman’s cause. The gods command me to forgive the past: But let this first invasion be the last: For know, thy blood, when next thou darest invade, Shall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade.”

“Thaumantia! mount the winds, and stop their car; Against the highest who shall wage the war? If furious yet they dare the vain debate, Thus have I spoke, and what I speak is fate: Their coursers crush’d beneath the wheels shall lie, Their car in fragments, scatter’d o’er the sky: My lightning these rebellious shall confound, And hurl them flaming, headlong, to the ground, Condemn’d for ten revolving years to weep The wounds impress’d by burning thunder deep. So shall Minerva learn to fear our ire, Nor dare to combat hers and nature’s sire. For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, She claims some title to transgress our will.”

Achilles speeds from tent to tent, and warms His hardy Myrmidons to blood and arms. All breathing death, around the chief they stand, A grim, terrific, formidable band: Grim as voracious wolves, that seek the springs[244] When scalding thirst their burning bowels wrings; When some tall stag, fresh-slaughtered in the wood, Has drench’d their wide insatiate throats with blood, To the black fount they rush, a hideous throng, With paunch distended, and with lolling tongue, Fire fills their eye, their black jaws belch the gore, And gorged with slaughter still they thirst for more. Like furious, rush’d the Myrmidonian crew, Such their dread strength, and such their deathful view.

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.”

The king of ocean to the fight descends, Through all the whistling darts his course he bends, Swift interposed between the warrior flies, And casts thick darkness o’er Achilles’ eyes.[267] From great Æneas’ shield the spear he drew, And at his master’s feet the weapon threw. That done, with force divine he snatch’d on high The Dardan prince, and bore him through the sky, Smooth-gliding without step, above the heads Of warring heroes, and of bounding steeds: Till at the battle’s utmost verge they light, Where the slow Caucans close the rear of fight. The godhead there (his heavenly form confess’d) With words like these the panting chief address’d:

These boastful words provoked the raging god; With fury swells the violated flood. What means divine may yet the power employ To check Achilles, and to rescue Troy? Meanwhile the hero springs in arms, to dare The great Asteropeus to mortal war; The son of Pelagon, whose lofty line Flows from the source of Axius, stream divine! (Fair Peribaea’s love the god had crown’d, With all his refluent waters circled round:) On him Achilles rush’d; he fearless stood, And shook two spears, advancing from the flood; The flood impell’d him, on Pelides’ head To avenge his waters choked with heaps of dead. Near as they drew, Achilles thus began:

“Great is the profit (thus the god rejoin’d) When ministers are blest with prudent mind: Warn’d by thy words, to powerful Jove I yield, And quit, though angry, the contended field: Not but his threats with justice I disclaim, The same our honours, and our birth the same. If yet, forgetful of his promise given To Hermes, Pallas, and the queen of heaven, To favour Ilion, that perfidious place, He breaks his faith with half the ethereal race; Give him to know, unless the Grecian train Lay yon proud structures level with the plain, Howe’er the offence by other gods be pass’d, The wrath of Neptune shall for ever last.”

“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:

“O truly great! in whom the gods have join’d Such strength of body with such force of mind: In conduct, as in courage, you excel, Still first to act what you advise so well. These wholesome counsels which thy wisdom moves, Applauding Greece with common voice approves. Kings thou canst blame; a bold but prudent youth: And blame even kings with praise, because with truth. And yet those years that since thy birth have run Would hardly style thee Nestor’s youngest son. Then let me add what yet remains behind, A thought unfinish’d in that generous mind; Age bids me speak! nor shall the advice I bring Distaste the people, or offend the king:

Thus having spoke, Apollo wing’d his flight, And mix’d with mortals in the toils of fight: His words infix’d unutterable care Deep in great Hector’s soul: through all the war He darts his anxious eye; and, instant, view’d The breathless hero in his blood imbued, (Forth welling from the wound, as prone he lay) And in the victor’s hands the shining prey. Sheath’d in bright arms, through cleaving ranks he flies, And sends his voice in thunder to the skies: Fierce as a flood of flame by Vulcan sent, It flew, and fired the nations as it went. Atrides from the voice the storm divined, And thus explored his own unconquer’d mind:

“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!”

Full of the god that urged their burning breast, The heroes thus their mutual warmth express’d. Neptune meanwhile the routed Greeks inspired; Who, breathless, pale, with length of labours tired, Pant in the ships; while Troy to conquest calls, And swarms victorious o’er their yielding walls: Trembling before the impending storm they lie, While tears of rage stand burning in their eye. Greece sunk they thought, and this their fatal hour; But breathe new courage as they feel the power. Teucer and Leitus first his words excite; Then stern Peneleus rises to the fight; Thoas, Deipyrus, in arms renown’d, And Merion next, the impulsive fury found; Last Nestor’s son the same bold ardour takes, While thus the god the martial fire awakes:

Soon as Achilles with superior care Had call’d the chiefs, and order’d all the war, This stern remembrance to his troops he gave: “Ye far-famed Myrmidons, ye fierce and brave! Think with what threats you dared the Trojan throng, Think what reproach these ears endured so long; ‘Stern son of Peleus, (thus ye used to say, While restless, raging, in your ships you lay) Oh nursed with gall, unknowing how to yield; Whose rage defrauds us of so famed a field: If that dire fury must for ever burn, What make we here? Return, ye chiefs, return!’ Such were your words—Now, warriors! grieve no more, Lo there the Trojans; bathe your swords in gore! This day shall give you all your soul demands, Glut all your hearts, and weary all your hands!”

“Say, is it just, my friend, that Hector’s ear From such a warrior such a speech should hear? I deem’d thee once the wisest of thy kind, But ill this insult suits a prudent mind. I shun great Ajax? I desert my train? ’Tis mine to prove the rash assertion vain; I joy to mingle where the battle bleeds, And hear the thunder of the sounding steeds. But Jove’s high will is ever uncontroll’d, The strong he withers, and confounds the bold; Now crowns with fame the mighty man, and now Strikes the fresh garland from the victor’s brow! Come, through yon squadrons let us hew the way, And thou be witness, if I fear to-day; If yet a Greek the sight of Hector dread, Or yet their hero dare defend the dead.”

He said, and, rising, chose the victim ewe With silver fleece, which his attendants slew. The limbs they sever from the reeking hide, With skill prepare them, and in parts divide: Each on the coals the separate morsels lays, And, hasty, snatches from the rising blaze. With bread the glittering canisters they load, Which round the board Automedon bestow’d. The chief himself to each his portion placed, And each indulging shared in sweet repast. When now the rage of hunger was repress’d, The wondering hero eyes his royal guest: No less the royal guest the hero eyes, His godlike aspect and majestic size; Here, youthful grace and noble fire engage; And there, the mild benevolence of age. Thus gazing long, the silence neither broke, (A solemn scene!) at length the father spoke:

Then thus the goddess with the radiant eyes: “What words are these, O sovereign of the skies! Short is the date prescribed to mortal man; Shall Jove for one extend the narrow span, Whose bounds were fix’d before his race began? How many sons of gods, foredoom’d to death, Before proud Ilion must resign their breath! Were thine exempt, debate would rise above, And murmuring powers condemn their partial Jove. Give the bold chief a glorious fate in fight; And when the ascending soul has wing’d her flight, Let Sleep and Death convey, by thy command, The breathless body to his native land. His friends and people, to his future praise, A marble tomb and pyramid shall raise, And lasting honours to his ashes give; His fame (’tis all the dead can have) shall live.”

Waked with the word the trembling sire arose, And raised his friend: the god before him goes: He joins the mules, directs them with his hand, And moves in silence through the hostile land. When now to Xanthus’ yellow stream they drove, (Xanthus, immortal progeny of Jove,) The winged deity forsook their view, And in a moment to Olympus flew. Now shed Aurora round her saffron ray, Sprang through the gates of light, and gave the day: Charged with the mournful load, to Ilion go The sage and king, majestically slow. Cassandra first beholds, from Ilion’s spire, The sad procession of her hoary sire; Then, as the pensive pomp advanced more near, (Her breathless brother stretched upon the bier,) A shower of tears o’erflows her beauteous eyes, Alarming thus all Ilion with her cries:

These words the Grecians’ fainting hearts inspire, And listening armies catch the godlike fire. Fix’d at his post was each bold Ajax found, With well-ranged squadrons strongly circled round: So close their order, so disposed their fight, As Pallas’ self might view with fix’d delight; Or had the god of war inclined his eyes, The god of war had own’d a just surprise. A chosen phalanx, firm, resolved as fate, Descending Hector and his battle wait. An iron scene gleams dreadful o’er the fields, Armour in armour lock’d, and shields in shields, Spears lean on spears, on targets targets throng, Helms stuck to helms, and man drove man along. The floating plumes unnumber’d wave above, As when an earthquake stirs the nodding grove; And levell’d at the skies with pointing rays, Their brandish’d lances at each motion blaze.

“Is there (said he) a chief so greatly brave, His life to hazard, and his country save? Lives there a man, who singly dares to go To yonder camp, or seize some straggling foe? Or favour’d by the night approach so near, Their speech, their counsels, and designs to hear? If to besiege our navies they prepare, Or Troy once more must be the seat of war? This could he learn, and to our peers recite, And pass unharm’d the dangers of the night; What fame were his through all succeeding days, While Phœbus shines, or men have tongues to praise! What gifts his grateful country would bestow! What must not Greece to her deliverer owe? A sable ewe each leader should provide, With each a sable lambkin by her side; At every rite his share should be increased, And his the foremost honours of the feast.”

Gloomy he said, and (horrible to view) Before the bier the bleeding Hector threw, Prone on the dust. The Myrmidons around Unbraced their armour, and the steeds unbound. All to Achilles’ sable ship repair, Frequent and full, the genial feast to share. Now from the well-fed swine black smokes aspire, The bristly victims hissing o’er the fire: The huge ox bellowing falls; with feebler cries Expires the goat; the sheep in silence dies. Around the hero’s prostrate body flow’d, In one promiscuous stream, the reeking blood. And now a band of Argive monarchs brings The glorious victor to the king of kings. From his dead friend the pensive warrior went, With steps unwilling, to the regal tent. The attending heralds, as by office bound, With kindled flames the tripod-vase surround: To cleanse his conquering hands from hostile gore, They urged in vain; the chief refused, and swore:[282]

These words scarce spoke, with generous ardour press’d, His manly limbs in azure arms he dress’d. That day, Atrides! a superior hand Had stretch’d thee breathless on the hostile strand; But all at once, thy fury to compose, The kings of Greece, an awful band, arose; Even he their chief, great Agamemnon, press’d Thy daring hand, and this advice address’d: “Whither, O Menelaus! wouldst thou run, And tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun? Grieved though thou art, forbear the rash design; Great Hector’s arm is mightier far than thine: Even fierce Achilles learn’d its force to fear, And trembling met this dreadful son of war. Sit thou secure, amidst thy social band; Greece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand. The mightiest warrior of the Achaian name, Though bold and burning with desire of fame, Content the doubtful honour might forego, So great the danger, and so brave the foe.”

His deep design unknown, the hosts approve Atrides’ speech. The mighty numbers move. So roll the billows to the Icarian shore, From east and south when winds begin to roar, Burst their dark mansions in the clouds, and sweep The whitening surface of the ruffled deep. And as on corn when western gusts descend,[85] Before the blast the lofty harvests bend: Thus o’er the field the moving host appears, With nodding plumes and groves of waving spears. The gathering murmur spreads, their trampling feet Beat the loose sands, and thicken to the fleet; With long-resounding cries they urge the train To fit the ships, and launch into the main. They toil, they sweat, thick clouds of dust arise, The doubling clamours echo to the skies. E’en then the Greeks had left the hostile plain, And fate decreed the fall of Troy in vain; But Jove’s imperial queen their flight survey’d, And sighing thus bespoke the blue-eyed maid:

“Hence let us go—why waste we time in vain? See what effect our low submissions gain! Liked or not liked, his words we must relate, The Greeks expect them, and our heroes wait. Proud as he is, that iron heart retains Its stubborn purpose, and his friends disdains. Stern and unpitying! if a brother bleed, On just atonement, we remit the deed; A sire the slaughter of his son forgives; The price of blood discharged, the murderer lives: The haughtiest hearts at length their rage resign, And gifts can conquer every soul but thine.[213] The gods that unrelenting breast have steel’d, And cursed thee with a mind that cannot yield. One woman-slave was ravish’d from thy arms: Lo, seven are offer’d, and of equal charms. Then hear, Achilles! be of better mind; Revere thy roof, and to thy guests be kind; And know the men of all the Grecian host, Who honour worth, and prize thy valour most.”

Thoas with grief observed his dreadful course, Thoas, the bravest of the Ætolian force; Skill’d to direct the javelin’s distant flight, And bold to combat in the standing fight, Not more in councils famed for solid sense, Than winning words and heavenly eloquence. “Gods! what portent (he cried) these eyes invades? Lo! Hector rises from the Stygian shades! We saw him, late, by thundering Ajax kill’d: What god restores him to the frighted field; And not content that half of Greece lie slain, Pours new destruction on her sons again? He comes not, Jove! without thy powerful will; Lo! still he lives, pursues, and conquers still! Yet hear my counsel, and his worst withstand: The Greeks’ main body to the fleet command; But let the few whom brisker spirits warm, Stand the first onset, and provoke the storm. Thus point your arms; and when such foes appear, Fierce as he is, let Hector learn to fear.”

“Monarch of nations! whose superior sway Assembled states, and lords of earth obey, The laws and sceptres to thy hand are given, And millions own the care of thee and Heaven. O king! the counsels of my age attend; With thee my cares begin, with thee must end. Thee, prince! it fits alike to speak and hear, Pronounce with judgment, with regard give ear, To see no wholesome motion be withstood, And ratify the best for public good. Nor, though a meaner give advice, repine, But follow it, and make the wisdom thine. Hear then a thought, not now conceived in haste, At once my present judgment and my past. When from Pelides’ tent you forced the maid, I first opposed, and faithful, durst dissuade; But bold of soul, when headlong fury fired, You wronged the man, by men and gods admired: Now seek some means his fatal wrath to end, With prayers to move him, or with gifts to bend.”

“Friends and confederates! with attentive ear Receive my words, and credit what you hear. Late as I slumber’d in the shades of night, A dream divine appear’d before my sight; Whose visionary form like Nestor came, The same in habit, and in mien the same.[80] The heavenly phantom hover’d o’er my head, ‘And, dost thou sleep, O Atreus’ son? (he said) Ill fits a chief who mighty nations guides, Directs in council, and in war presides; To whom its safety a whole people owes, To waste long nights in indolent repose. Monarch, awake! ’tis Jove’s command I bear, Thou and thy glory claim his heavenly care. In just array draw forth the embattled train, And lead the Grecians to the dusty plain; E’en now, O king! ’tis given thee to destroy The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy. For now no more the gods with fate contend, At Juno’s suit the heavenly factions end. Destruction hangs o’er yon devoted wall, And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.

“Peace, factious monster, born to vex the state, With wrangling talents form’d for foul debate: Curb that impetuous tongue, nor rashly vain, And singly mad, asperse the sovereign reign. Have we not known thee, slave! of all our host, The man who acts the least, upbraids the most? Think not the Greeks to shameful flight to bring, Nor let those lips profane the name of king. For our return we trust the heavenly powers; Be that their care; to fight like men be ours. But grant the host with wealth the general load, Except detraction, what hast thou bestow’d? Suppose some hero should his spoils resign, Art thou that hero, could those spoils be thine? Gods! let me perish on this hateful shore, And let these eyes behold my son no more; If, on thy next offence, this hand forbear To strip those arms thou ill deserv’st to wear, Expel the council where our princes meet, And send thee scourged and howling through the fleet.”

Thus joyful Troy maintain’d the watch of night; While fear, pale comrade of inglorious flight,[199] And heaven-bred horror, on the Grecian part, Sat on each face, and sadden’d every heart. As from its cloudy dungeon issuing forth, A double tempest of the west and north Swells o’er the sea, from Thracia’s frozen shore, Heaps waves on waves, and bids the Ægean roar: This way and that the boiling deeps are toss’d: Such various passions urged the troubled host, Great Agamemnon grieved above the rest; Superior sorrows swell’d his royal breast; Himself his orders to the heralds bears, To bid to council all the Grecian peers, But bid in whispers: these surround their chief, In solemn sadness and majestic grief. The king amidst the mournful circle rose: Down his wan cheek a briny torrent flows. So silent fountains, from a rock’s tall head, In sable streams soft-trickling waters shed. With more than vulgar grief he stood oppress’d; Words, mix’d with sighs, thus bursting from his breast:

As Hector follow’d, Idomen address’d The flaming javelin to his manly breast; The brittle point before his corslet yields; Exulting Troy with clamour fills the fields: High on his chariots the Cretan stood, The son of Priam whirl’d the massive wood. But erring from its aim, the impetuous spear Struck to the dust the squire and charioteer Of martial Merion: Coeranus his name, Who left fair Lyctus for the fields of fame. On foot bold Merion fought; and now laid low, Had graced the triumphs of his Trojan foe, But the brave squire the ready coursers brought, And with his life his master’s safety bought. Between his cheek and ear the weapon went, The teeth it shatter’d, and the tongue it rent. Prone from the seat he tumbles to the plain; His dying hand forgets the falling rein: This Merion reaches, bending from the car, And urges to desert the hopeless war: Idomeneus consents; the lash applies; And the swift chariot to the navy flies.

He said: Patroclus o’er the blazing fire Heaps in a brazen vase three chines entire: The brazen vase Automedon sustains, Which flesh of porker, sheep, and goat contains. Achilles at the genial feast presides, The parts transfixes, and with skill divides. Meanwhile Patroclus sweats, the fire to raise; The tent is brighten’d with the rising blaze: Then, when the languid flames at length subside, He strows a bed of glowing embers wide, Above the coals the smoking fragments turns And sprinkles sacred salt from lifted urns; With bread the glittering canisters they load, Which round the board Menoetius’ son bestow’d; Himself, opposed to Ulysses full in sight, Each portion parts, and orders every rite. The first fat offering to the immortals due, Amidst the greedy flames Patroclus threw; Then each, indulging in the social feast, His thirst and hunger soberly repress’d. That done, to Phœnix Ajax gave the sign: Not unperceived; Ulysses crown’d with wine The foaming bowl, and instant thus began, His speech addressing to the godlike man.

Ulysses ceased: the great Achaian host, With sorrow seized, in consternation lost, Attend the stern reply. Tydides broke The general silence, and undaunted spoke. “Why should we gifts to proud Achilles send, Or strive with prayers his haughty soul to bend? His country’s woes he glories to deride, And prayers will burst that swelling heart with pride. Be the fierce impulse of his rage obey’d, Our battles let him or desert or aid; Then let him arm when Jove or he think fit: That, to his madness, or to Heaven commit: What for ourselves we can, is always ours; This night, let due repast refresh our powers; (For strength consists in spirits and in blood, And those are owed to generous wine and food;) But when the rosy messenger of day Strikes the blue mountains with her golden ray, Ranged at the ships, let all our squadrons shine In flaming arms, a long-extended line: In the dread front let great Atrides stand, The first in danger, as in high command.”

And now the delegates Ulysses sent, To bear the presents from the royal tent: The sons of Nestor, Phyleus’ valiant heir, Thias and Merion, thunderbolts of war, With Lycomedes of Creiontian strain, And Melanippus, form’d the chosen train. Swift as the word was given, the youths obey’d: Twice ten bright vases in the midst they laid; A row of six fair tripods then succeeds; And twice the number of high-bounding steeds: Seven captives next a lovely line compose; The eighth Briseïs, like the blooming rose, Closed the bright band: great Ithacus, before, First of the train, the golden talents bore: The rest in public view the chiefs dispose, A splendid scene! then Agamemnon rose: The boar Talthybius held: the Grecian lord Drew the broad cutlass sheath’d beside his sword: The stubborn bristles from the victim’s brow He crops, and offering meditates his vow. His hands uplifted to the attesting skies, On heaven’s broad marble roof were fixed his eyes. The solemn words a deep attention draw, And Greece around sat thrill’d with sacred awe.

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

“How dear, O kings! this fatal day has cost, What Greeks are perish’d! what a people lost! What tides of blood have drench’d Scamander’s shore! What crowds of heroes sunk to rise no more! Then hear me, chief! nor let the morrow’s light Awake thy squadrons to new toils of fight: Some space at least permit the war to breathe, While we to flames our slaughter’d friends bequeath, From the red field their scatter’d bodies bear, And nigh the fleet a funeral structure rear; So decent urns their snowy bones may keep, And pious children o’er their ashes weep. Here, where on one promiscuous pile they blazed, High o’er them all a general tomb be raised; Next, to secure our camp and naval powers, Raise an embattled wall, with lofty towers; From space to space be ample gates around, For passing chariots; and a trench profound. So Greece to combat shall in safety go, Nor fear the fierce incursions of the foe.” ’Twas thus the sage his wholesome counsel moved; The sceptred kings of Greece his words approved.

Antenor took the word, and thus began:[115] “Myself, O king! have seen that wondrous man When, trusting Jove and hospitable laws, To Troy he came, to plead the Grecian cause; (Great Menelaus urged the same request;) My house was honour’d with each royal guest: I knew their persons, and admired their parts, Both brave in arms, and both approved in arts. Erect, the Spartan most engaged our view; Ulysses seated, greater reverence drew. When Atreus’ son harangued the listening train, Just was his sense, and his expression plain, His words succinct, yet full, without a fault; He spoke no more than just the thing he ought. But when Ulysses rose, in thought profound,[116] His modest eyes he fix’d upon the ground; As one unskill’d or dumb, he seem’d to stand, Nor raised his head, nor stretch’d his sceptred hand; But, when he speaks, what elocution flows! Soft as the fleeces of descending snows,[117] The copious accents fall, with easy art; Melting they fall, and sink into the heart! Wondering we hear, and fix’d in deep surprise, Our ears refute the censure of our eyes.”

As when, on Ceres’ sacred floor, the swain Spreads the wide fan to clear the golden grain, And the light chaff, before the breezes borne, Ascends in clouds from off the heapy corn; The grey dust, rising with collected winds, Drives o’er the barn, and whitens all the hinds: So white with dust the Grecian host appears, From trampling steeds, and thundering charioteers. The dusky clouds from labour’d earth arise, And roll in smoking volumes to the skies. Mars hovers o’er them with his sable shield, And adds new horrors to the darken’d field: Pleased with his charge, and ardent to fulfil, In Troy’s defence, Apollo’s heavenly will: Soon as from fight the blue-eyed maid retires, Each Trojan bosom with new warmth he fires. And now the god, from forth his sacred fane, Produced Æneas to the shouting train; Alive, unharm’d, with all his peers around, Erect he stood, and vigorous from his wound: Inquiries none they made; the dreadful day No pause of words admits, no dull delay; Fierce Discord storms, Apollo loud exclaims, Fame calls, Mars thunders, and the field’s in flames.

This said, he stalk’d with ample strides along, To Crete’s brave monarch and his martial throng; High at their head he saw the chief appear, And bold Meriones excite the rear. At this the king his generous joy express’d, And clasp’d the warrior to his armed breast. “Divine Idomeneus! what thanks we owe To worth like thine! what praise shall we bestow? To thee the foremost honours are decreed, First in the fight and every graceful deed. For this, in banquets, when the generous bowls Restore our blood, and raise the warriors’ souls, Though all the rest with stated rules we bound, Unmix’d, unmeasured, are thy goblets crown’d. Be still thyself, in arms a mighty name; Maintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame.” To whom the Cretan thus his speech address’d: “Secure of me, O king! exhort the rest. Fix’d to thy side, in every toil I share, Thy firm associate in the day of war. But let the signal be this moment given; To mix in fight is all I ask of Heaven. The field shall prove how perjuries succeed, And chains or death avenge the impious deed.”

“Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates! (How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!) The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend, And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind, My mother’s death, the ruin of my kind, Not Priam’s hoary hairs defiled with gore, Not all my brothers gasping on the shore; As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread: I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led! In Argive looms our battles to design, And woes, of which so large a part was thine! To bear the victor’s hard commands, or bring The weight of waters from Hyperia’s spring. There while you groan beneath the load of life, They cry, ‘Behold the mighty Hector’s wife!’ Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, Imbitters all thy woes, by naming me. The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, A thousand griefs shall waken at the name! May I lie cold before that dreadful day, Press’d with a load of monumental clay! Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.”

He said; his words the listening chief inspire With equal warmth, and rouse the warrior’s fire; The troops pursue their leaders with delight, Rush to the foe, and claim the promised fight. Menestheus from on high the storm beheld Threatening the fort, and blackening in the field: Around the walls he gazed, to view from far What aid appear’d to avert the approaching war, And saw where Teucer with the Ajaces stood, Of fight insatiate, prodigal of blood. In vain he calls; the din of helms and shields Rings to the skies, and echoes through the fields, The brazen hinges fly, the walls resound, Heaven trembles, roar the mountains, thunders all the ground. Then thus to Thoos: “Hence with speed (he said), And urge the bold Ajaces to our aid; Their strength, united, best may help to bear The bloody labours of the doubtful war: Hither the Lycian princes bend their course, The best and bravest of the hostile force. But if too fiercely there the foes contend, Let Telamon, at least, our towers defend, And Teucer haste with his unerring bow To share the danger, and repel the foe.”

Fierce, at the word, his weighty sword he drew, And, all collected, on Achilles flew. So Jove’s bold bird, high balanced in the air, Stoops from the clouds to truss the quivering hare. Nor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares: Before his breast the flaming shield he bears, Refulgent orb! above his fourfold cone The gilded horse-hair sparkled in the sun. Nodding at every step: (Vulcanian frame!) And as he moved, his figure seem’d on flame. As radiant Hesper shines with keener light,[277] Far-beaming o’er the silver host of night, When all the starry train emblaze the sphere: So shone the point of great Achilles’ spear. In his right hand he waves the weapon round, Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound; But the rich mail Patroclus lately wore Securely cased the warrior’s body o’er. One space at length he spies, to let in fate, Where ’twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate Gave entrance: through that penetrable part Furious he drove the well-directed dart: Nor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power Of speech, unhappy! from thy dying hour. Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies, While, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries: