Iliad on Strength

To him Apollo: “Be no more dismay’d; See, and be strong! the Thunderer sends thee aid. Behold! thy Phœbus shall his arms employ, Phœbus, propitious still to thee and Troy. Inspire thy warriors then with manly force, And to the ships impel thy rapid horse: Even I will make thy fiery coursers way, And drive the Grecians headlong to the sea.”

When now Sarpedon his brave friends beheld Grovelling in dust, and gasping on the field, With this reproach his flying host he warms: “Oh stain to honour! oh disgrace to arms! Forsake, inglorious, the contended plain; This hand unaided shall the war sustain: The task be mine this hero’s strength to try, Who mows whole troops, and makes an army fly.”

“O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona’s line,[47] Thou guardian power of Cilla the divine,[48] Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores, And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa’s shores. If e’er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,[49] Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain; God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ, Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy.”

“Warriors like you, with strength and wisdom bless’d, By brave examples should confirm the rest. The monarch’s will not yet reveal’d appears; He tries our courage, but resents our fears. The unwary Greeks his fury may provoke; Not thus the king in secret council spoke. Jove loves our chief, from Jove his honour springs, Beware! for dreadful is the wrath of kings.”

As the slow beast, with heavy strength endued, In some wide field by troops of boys pursued, Though round his sides a wooden tempest rain, Crops the tall harvest, and lays waste the plain; Thick on his hide the hollow blows resound, The patient animal maintains his ground, Scarce from the field with all their efforts chased, And stirs but slowly when he stirs at last: On Ajax thus a weight of Trojans hung, The strokes redoubled on his buckler rung; Confiding now in bulky strength he stands, Now turns, and backward bears the yielding bands; Now stiff recedes, yet hardly seems to fly, And threats his followers with retorted eye. Fix’d as the bar between two warring powers, While hissing darts descend in iron showers: In his broad buckler many a weapon stood, Its surface bristled with a quivering wood; And many a javelin, guiltless on the plain, Marks the dry dust, and thirsts for blood in vain. But bold Eurypylus his aid imparts, And dauntless springs beneath a cloud of darts; Whose eager javelin launch’d against the foe, Great Apisaon felt the fatal blow; From his torn liver the red current flow’d, And his slack knees desert their dying load. The victor rushing to despoil the dead, From Paris’ bow a vengeful arrow fled; Fix’d in his nervous thigh the weapon stood, Fix’d was the point, but broken was the wood. Back to the lines the wounded Greek retired, Yet thus retreating, his associates fired:

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:

“What blest immortal, with commanding breath, Thus wakens Hector from the sleep of death? Has fame not told, how, while my trusty sword Bathed Greece in slaughter, and her battle gored, The mighty Ajax with a deadly blow Had almost sunk me to the shades below? Even yet, methinks, the gliding ghosts I spy, And hell’s black horrors swim before my eye.”

Unmov’d, Automedon attends the fight, Implores the Eternal, and collects his might. Then turning to his friend, with dauntless mind: “Oh keep the foaming coursers close behind! Full on my shoulders let their nostrils blow, For hard the fight, determined is the foe; ’Tis Hector comes: and when he seeks the prize, War knows no mean; he wins it or he dies.”

The youthful warrior heard with silent woe, From his fair eyes the tears began to flow: Big with the mighty grief, he strove to say What sorrow dictates, but no word found way. To brave Laodocus his arms he flung, Who, near him wheeling, drove his steeds along; Then ran the mournful message to impart, With tearful eyes, and with dejected heart.

The chief incensed—“Too partial god of day! To check my conquests in the middle way: How few in Ilion else had refuge found! What gasping numbers now had bit the ground! Thou robb’st me of a glory justly mine, Powerful of godhead, and of fraud divine: Mean fame, alas! for one of heavenly strain, To cheat a mortal who repines in vain.”

To whom the king: “My brother and my friend, Thus, always thus, may Heaven thy life defend! Now seek some skilful hand, whose powerful art May stanch the effusion, and extract the dart. Herald, be swift, and bid Machaon bring His speedy succour to the Spartan king; Pierced with a winged shaft (the deed of Troy), The Grecian’s sorrow, and the Dardan’s joy.”

“No wonder, Greeks! that all to Hector yield; Secure of favouring gods, he takes the field; His strokes they second, and avert our spears. Behold where Mars in mortal arms appears! Retire then, warriors, but sedate and slow; Retire, but with your faces to the foe. Trust not too much your unavailing might; ’Tis not with Troy, but with the gods ye fight.”

Then thus aloud: “Ye dauntless Dardans, hear! And you whom distant nations send to war! Be mindful of the strength your fathers bore; Be still yourselves, and Hector asks no more. One hour demands me in the Trojan wall, To bid our altars flame, and victims fall: Nor shall, I trust, the matrons’ holy train, And reverend elders, seek the gods in vain.”

“O chief! too daring in thy friend’s defence Retire advised, and urge the chariot hence. This day, averse, the sovereign of the skies Assists great Hector, and our palm denies. Some other sun may see the happier hour, When Greece shall conquer by his heavenly power. ’Tis not in man his fix’d decree to move: The great will glory to submit to Jove.”

“Then thus (the godlike Diomed rejoin’d) My choice declares the impulse of my mind. How can I doubt, while great Ulysses stands To lend his counsels and assist our hands? A chief, whose safety is Minerva’s care; So famed, so dreadful, in the works of war: Bless’d in his conduct, I no aid require; Wisdom like his might pass through flames of fire.”

“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 spoke. With all his force the javelin flung, Fix’d deep, and loudly in the buckler rung. Far on his outstretch’d arm, Pelides held (To meet the thundering lance) his dreadful shield, That trembled as it stuck; nor void of fear Saw, ere it fell, the immeasurable spear. His fears were vain; impenetrable charms Secured the temper of the ethereal arms. Through two strong plates the point its passage held, But stopp’d, and rested, by the third repell’d. Five plates of various metal, various mould, Composed the shield; of brass each outward fold, Of tin each inward, and the middle gold: There stuck the lance. Then rising ere he threw, The forceful spear of great Achilles flew, And pierced the Dardan shield’s extremest bound, Where the shrill brass return’d a sharper sound: Through the thin verge the Pelean weapon glides, And the slight covering of expanded hides. Æneas his contracted body bends, And o’er him high the riven targe extends, Sees, through its parting plates, the upper air, And at his back perceives the quivering spear: A fate so near him, chills his soul with fright; And swims before his eyes the many-colour’d light. Achilles, rushing in with dreadful cries, Draws his broad blade, and at Æneas flies: Æneas rousing as the foe came on, With force collected, heaves a mighty stone: A mass enormous! which in modern days No two of earth’s degenerate sons could raise. But ocean’s god, whose earthquakes rock the ground Saw the distress, and moved the powers around:

“What power, O prince! with force inferior far, Urged thee to meet Achilles’ arm in war? Henceforth beware, nor antedate thy doom, Defrauding fate of all thy fame to come. But when the day decreed (for come it must) Shall lay this dreadful hero in the dust, Let then the furies of that arm be known, Secure no Grecian force transcends thy own.”

Then thus incensed, the Paphian queen replies: “Obey the power from whom thy glories rise: Should Venus leave thee, every charm must fly, Fade from thy cheek, and languish in thy eye. Cease to provoke me, lest I make thee more The world’s aversion, than their love before; Now the bright prize for which mankind engage, Than, the sad victim, of the public rage.”

So spoke the master of the martial art, And touch’d with transport great Atrides’ heart. “Oh! hadst thou strength to match thy brave desires, And nerves to second what thy soul inspires! But wasting years, that wither human race, Exhaust thy spirits, and thy arms unbrace. What once thou wert, oh ever mightst thou be! And age the lot of any chief but thee.”

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!”

“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.

“O first and greatest! God, by gods adored We own thy might, our father and our lord! But, ah! permit to pity human state: If not to help, at least lament their fate. From fields forbidden we submiss refrain, With arms unaiding mourn our Argives slain; Yet grant my counsels still their breasts may move, Or all must perish in the wrath of Jove.”

“Some god, my friend, some god in human form Favouring descends, and wills to stand the storm. Not Calchas this, the venerable seer; Short as he turned, I saw the power appear: I mark’d his parting, and the steps he trod; His own bright evidence reveals a god. Even now some energy divine I share, And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air!”

“How proud Achilles glories in his fame! And hopes this day to sink the Trojan name Beneath her ruins! Know, that hope is vain; A thousand woes, a thousand toils remain. Parents and children our just arms employ, And strong and many are the sons of Troy. Great as thou art, even thou may’st stain with gore These Phrygian fields, and press a foreign shore.”

Two sons of Priam in one chariot ride, Glittering in arms, and combat side by side. As when the lordly lion seeks his food Where grazing heifers range the lonely wood, He leaps amidst them with a furious bound, Bends their strong necks, and tears them to the ground: So from their seats the brother chiefs are torn, Their steeds and chariot to the navy borne.

I fought the chief: my arms Minerva crown’d: Prone fell the giant o’er a length of ground. What then I was, O were your Nestor now! Not Hector’s self should want an equal foe. But, warriors, you that youthful vigour boast, The flower of Greece, the examples of our host, Sprung from such fathers, who such numbers sway, Can you stand trembling, and desert the day?”

“’Tis just (said Priam) to the sire above To raise our hands; for who so good as Jove?” He spoke, and bade the attendant handmaid bring The purest water of the living spring: (Her ready hands the ewer and bason held:) Then took the golden cup his queen had fill’d; On the mid pavement pours the rosy wine, Uplifts his eyes, and calls the power divine:

To guard the gates, two mighty chiefs attend, Who from the Lapiths’ warlike race descend; This Polypœtes, great Perithous’ heir, And that Leonteus, like the god of war. As two tall oaks, before the wall they rise; Their roots in earth, their heads amidst the skies: Whose spreading arms with leafy honours crown’d, Forbid the tempest, and protect the ground; High on the hills appears their stately form, And their deep roots for ever brave the storm. So graceful these, and so the shock they stand Of raging Asius, and his furious band. Orestes, Acamas, in front appear, And Œnomaus and Thoon close the rear: In vain their clamours shake the ambient fields, In vain around them beat their hollow shields; The fearless brothers on the Grecians call, To guard their navies, and defend the wall. Even when they saw Troy’s sable troops impend, And Greece tumultuous from her towers descend, Forth from the portals rush’d the intrepid pair, Opposed their breasts, and stood themselves the war. So two wild boars spring furious from their den, Roused with the cries of dogs and voice of men; On every side the crackling trees they tear, And root the shrubs, and lay the forest bare; They gnash their tusks, with fire their eye-balls roll, Till some wide wound lets out their mighty soul. Around their heads the whistling javelins sung, With sounding strokes their brazen targets rung; Fierce was the fight, while yet the Grecian powers Maintain’d the walls, and mann’d the lofty towers: To save their fleet their last efforts they try, And stones and darts in mingled tempests fly.

“Oh, dear as life! did I for this agree The solemn truce, a fatal truce to thee! Wert thou exposed to all the hostile train, To fight for Greece, and conquer, to be slain! The race of Trojans in thy ruin join, And faith is scorn’d by all the perjured line. Not thus our vows, confirm’d with wine and gore, Those hands we plighted, and those oaths we swore, Shall all be vain: when Heaven’s revenge is slow, Jove but prepares to strike the fiercer blow. The day shall come, that great avenging day, When Troy’s proud glories in the dust shall lay, When Priam’s powers and Priam’s self shall fall, And one prodigious ruin swallow all. I see the god, already, from the pole Bare his red arm, and bid the thunder roll; I see the Eternal all his fury shed, And shake his ægis o’er their guilty head. Such mighty woes on perjured princes wait; But thou, alas! deserv’st a happier fate. Still must I mourn the period of thy days, And only mourn, without my share of praise? Deprived of thee, the heartless Greeks no more Shall dream of conquests on the hostile shore; Troy seized of Helen, and our glory lost, Thy bones shall moulder on a foreign coast; While some proud Trojan thus insulting cries, (And spurns the dust where Menelaus lies,) ‘Such are the trophies Greece from Ilion brings, And such the conquest of her king of kings! Lo his proud vessels scatter’d o’er the main, And unrevenged, his mighty brother slain.’ Oh! ere that dire disgrace shall blast my fame, O’erwhelm me, earth! and hide a monarch’s shame.”

“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.”

Then, as once more he plunged amid the flood, The young Lycaon in his passage stood; The son of Priam; whom the hero’s hand But late made captive in his father’s land (As from a sycamore, his sounding steel Lopp’d the green arms to spoke a chariot wheel) To Lemnos’ isle he sold the royal slave, Where Jason’s son the price demanded gave; But kind Eetion, touching on the shore, The ransom’d prince to fair Arisbe bore. Ten days were past, since in his father’s reign He felt the sweets of liberty again; The next, that god whom men in vain withstand Gives the same youth to the same conquering hand Now never to return! and doom’d to go A sadder journey to the shades below. His well-known face when great Achilles eyed, (The helm and visor he had cast aside With wild affright, and dropp’d upon the field His useless lance and unavailing shield,) As trembling, panting, from the stream he fled, And knock’d his faltering knees, the hero said: “Ye mighty gods! what wonders strike my view! Is it in vain our conquering arms subdue? Sure I shall see yon heaps of Trojans kill’d Rise from the shades, and brave me on the field; As now the captive, whom so late I bound And sold to Lemnos, stalks on Trojan ground! Not him the sea’s unmeasured deeps detain, That bar such numbers from their native plain; Lo! he returns. Try, then, my flying spear! Try, if the grave can hold the wanderer; If earth, at length this active prince can seize, Earth, whose strong grasp has held down Hercules.”

On this bright sceptre now the king reclined, And artful thus pronounced the speech design’d: “Ye sons of Mars, partake your leader’s care, Heroes of Greece, and brothers of the war! Of partial Jove with justice I complain, And heavenly oracles believed in vain A safe return was promised to our toils, Renown’d, triumphant, and enrich’d with spoils. Now shameful flight alone can save the host, Our blood, our treasure, and our glory lost. So Jove decrees, resistless lord of all! At whose command whole empires rise or fall: He shakes the feeble props of human trust, And towns and armies humbles to the dust. What shame to Greece a fruitful war to wage, Oh, lasting shame in every future age! Once great in arms, the common scorn we grow, Repulsed and baffled by a feeble foe. So small their number, that if wars were ceased, And Greece triumphant held a general feast, All rank’d by tens, whole decades when they dine Must want a Trojan slave to pour the wine.[84] But other forces have our hopes o’erthrown, And Troy prevails by armies not her own. Now nine long years of mighty Jove are run, Since first the labours of this war begun: Our cordage torn, decay’d our vessels lie, And scarce insure the wretched power to fly. Haste, then, for ever leave the Trojan wall! Our weeping wives, our tender children call: Love, duty, safety, summon us away, ’Tis nature’s voice, and nature we obey. Our shatter’d barks may yet transport us o’er, Safe and inglorious, to our native shore. Fly, Grecians, fly, your sails and oars employ, And dream no more of heaven-defended Troy.”

Thoas came next, Andræmon’s valiant son, From Pleuron’s walls, and chalky Calydon, And rough Pylene, and the Olenian steep, And Chalcis, beaten by the rolling deep. He led the warriors from the Ætolian shore, For now the sons of Œneus were no more! The glories of the mighty race were fled! Œneus himself, and Meleager dead! To Thoas’ care now trust the martial train, His forty vessels follow through the main.

“Witness thou first! thou greatest power above, All-good, all-wise, and all-surveying Jove! And mother-earth, and heaven’s revolving light, And ye, fell furies of the realms of night, Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare For perjured kings, and all who falsely swear! The black-eyed maid inviolate removes, Pure and unconscious of my manly loves. If this be false, heaven all its vengeance shed, And levell’d thunder strike my guilty head!”

The king of men his hardy host inspires With loud command, with great example fires! Himself first rose, himself before the rest His mighty limbs in radiant armour dress’d, And first he cased his manly legs around In shining greaves with silver buckles bound; The beaming cuirass next adorn’d his breast, The same which once king Cinyras possess’d: (The fame of Greece and her assembled host Had reach’d that monarch on the Cyprian coast; ’Twas then, the friendship of the chief to gain, This glorious gift he sent, nor sent in vain:) Ten rows of azure steel the work infold, Twice ten of tin, and twelve of ductile gold; Three glittering dragons to the gorget rise, Whose imitated scales against the skies Reflected various light, and arching bow’d, Like colour’d rainbows o’er a showery cloud (Jove’s wondrous bow, of three celestial dies, Placed as a sign to man amidst the skies). A radiant baldric, o’er his shoulder tied, Sustain’d the sword that glitter’d at his side: Gold was the hilt, a silver sheath encased The shining blade, and golden hangers graced. His buckler’s mighty orb was next display’d, That round the warrior cast a dreadful shade; Ten zones of brass its ample brim surround, And twice ten bosses the bright convex crown’d: Tremendous Gorgon frown’d upon its field, And circling terrors fill’d the expressive shield: Within its concave hung a silver thong, On which a mimic serpent creeps along, His azure length in easy waves extends, Till in three heads the embroider’d monster ends. Last o’er his brows his fourfold helm he placed, With nodding horse-hair formidably graced; And in his hands two steely javelins wields, That blaze to heaven, and lighten all the fields.

By great Euryalus was Dresus slain, And next he laid Opheltius on the plain. Two twins were near, bold, beautiful, and young, From a fair naiad and Bucolion sprung: (Laomedon’s white flocks Bucolion fed, That monarch’s first-born by a foreign bed; In secret woods he won the naiad’s grace, And two fair infants crown’d his strong embrace:) Here dead they lay in all their youthful charms; The ruthless victor stripp’d their shining arms.

He grinds the dust distain’d with streaming gore, And, fierce in death, lies foaming on the shore. Deprived of motion, stiff with stupid fear, Stands all aghast his trembling charioteer, Nor shuns the foe, nor turns the steeds away, But falls transfix’d, an unresisting prey: Pierced by Antilochus, he pants beneath The stately car, and labours out his breath. Thus Asius’ steeds (their mighty master gone) Remain the prize of Nestor’s youthful son.

Next move to war the generous Argive train, From high Trœzenè, and Maseta’s plain, And fair Ægina circled by the main: Whom strong Tyrinthe’s lofty walls surround, And Epidaure with viny harvests crown’d: And where fair Asinen and Hermoin show Their cliffs above, and ample bay below. These by the brave Euryalus were led, Great Sthenelus, and greater Diomed; But chief Tydides bore the sovereign sway: In fourscore barks they plough the watery way.

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

“Oh awful goddess! ever-dreadful maid, Troy’s strong defence, unconquer’d Pallas, aid! Break thou Tydides’ spear, and let him fall Prone on the dust before the Trojan wall! So twelve young heifers, guiltless of the yoke, Shall fill thy temple with a grateful smoke. But thou, atoned by penitence and prayer, Ourselves, our infants, and our city spare!” So pray’d the priestess in her holy fane; So vow’d the matrons, but they vow’d in vain.

Victorious Ajax plies the routed crew; And first Doryclus, Priam’s son, he slew, On strong Pandocus next inflicts a wound, And lays Lysander bleeding on the ground. As when a torrent, swell’d with wintry rains, Pours from the mountains o’er the deluged plains, And pines and oaks, from their foundations torn, A country’s ruins! to the seas are borne: Fierce Ajax thus o’erwhelms the yielding throng; Men, steeds, and chariots, roll in heaps along.

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

Thus they in heaven: while on the plain below The fierce Tydides charged his Dardan foe, Flush’d with celestial blood pursued his way, And fearless dared the threatening god of day; Already in his hopes he saw him kill’d, Though screen’d behind Apollo’s mighty shield. Thrice rushing furious, at the chief he strook; His blazing buckler thrice Apollo shook: He tried the fourth: when, breaking from the cloud, A more than mortal voice was heard aloud.

Struck at the sight, recede the Trojan train: The shouting Argives strip the heroes slain. And now had Troy, by Greece compell’d to yield, Fled to her ramparts, and resign’d the field; Greece, in her native fortitude elate, With Jove averse, had turn’d the scale of fate: But Phœbus urged Æneas to the fight; He seem’d like aged Periphas to sight: (A herald in Anchises’ love grown old, Revered for prudence, and with prudence bold.)

Then through the field he sends his voice aloud, And calls the Ajaces from the warring crowd, With great Atrides. “Hither turn, (he said,) Turn where distress demands immediate aid; The dead, encircled by his friends, forego, And save the living from a fiercer foe. Unhelp’d we stand, unequal to engage The force of Hector, and Æneas’ rage: Yet mighty as they are, my force to prove Is only mine: the event belongs to Jove.”

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

As when some hero’s funerals are decreed In grateful honour of the mighty dead; Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame (Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame) The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal, And with them turns the raised spectator’s soul: Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly. The gazing gods lean forward from the sky; To whom, while eager on the chase they look, The sire of mortals and immortals spoke:

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

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

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

“Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliar bands! Now take refreshment as the hour demands; Guard well the walls, relieve the watch of night. Till the new sun restores the cheerful light. Then shall our herald, to the Atrides sent, Before their ships proclaim my son’s intent. Next let a truce be ask’d, that Troy may burn Her slaughter’d heroes, and their bones inurn; That done, once more the fate of war be tried, And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!”

“Attend the mandate of the sire above! In me behold the messenger of Jove: He bids thee from forbidden wars repair To thine own deeps, or to the fields of air. This if refused, he bids thee timely weigh His elder birthright, and superior sway. How shall thy rashness stand the dire alarms If heaven’s omnipotence descend in arms? Striv’st thou with him by whom all power is given? And art thou equal to the lord of heaven?”

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

“Why with our wiser elders should we strive? The gods still love them, and they always thrive. Ye see, to Ajax I must yield the prize: He to Ulysses, still more aged and wise; (A green old age unconscious of decays, That proves the hero born in better days!) Behold his vigour in this active race! Achilles only boasts a swifter pace: For who can match Achilles? He who can, Must yet be more than hero, more than man.”

“Iris! descend, and what we here ordain, Report to yon mad tyrant of the main. Bid him from fight to his own deeps repair, Or breathe from slaughter in the fields of air. If he refuse, then let him timely weigh Our elder birthright, and superior sway. How shall his rashness stand the dire alarms, If heaven’s omnipotence descend in arms? Strives he with me, by whom his power was given, And is there equal to the lord of heaven?”

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.

“Lie there, Patroclus! and with thee, the joy Thy pride once promised, of subverting Troy; The fancied scenes of Ilion wrapt in flames, And thy soft pleasures served with captive dames. Unthinking man! I fought those towers to free, And guard that beauteous race from lords like thee: But thou a prey to vultures shalt be made; Thy own Achilles cannot lend thee aid; Though much at parting that great chief might say, And much enjoin thee, this important day.

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.

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