Iliad on Wealth

She spoke; Minerva burns to meet the war: And now heaven’s empress calls her blazing car. At her command rush forth the steeds divine; Rich with immortal gold their trappings shine. Bright Hebe waits; by Hebe, ever young, The whirling wheels are to the chariot hung. On the bright axle turns the bidden wheel Of sounding brass; the polished axle steel. Eight brazen spokes in radiant order flame; The circles gold, of uncorrupted frame, Such as the heavens produce: and round the gold Two brazen rings of work divine were roll’d. The bossy naves of sold silver shone; Braces of gold suspend the moving throne: The car, behind, an arching figure bore; The bending concave form’d an arch before. Silver the beam, the extended yoke was gold, And golden reins the immortal coursers hold. Herself, impatient, to the ready car, The coursers joins, and breathes revenge and war.

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

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.

With that, a sword with stars of silver graced, The baldric studded, and the sheath enchased, He gave the Greek. The generous Greek bestow’d A radiant belt that rich with purple glow’d. Then with majestic grace they quit the plain; This seeks the Grecian, that the Phrygian train.

The silver cuishes first his thighs infold; Then o’er his breast was braced the hollow gold; The brazen sword a various baldric tied, That, starr’d with gems, hung glittering at his side; And, like the moon, the broad refulgent shield Blazed with long rays, and gleam’d athwart the field.

“O spare my youth, and for the life I owe Large gifts of price my father shall bestow. When fame shall tell, that, not in battle slain, Thy hollow ships his captive son detain: Rich heaps of brass shall in thy tent be told,[163] And steel well-temper’d, and persuasive gold.”

He cased his limbs in brass; and first around His manly legs, with silver buckles bound The clasping greaves; then to his breast applies The flaming cuirass of a thousand dyes; Emblazed with studs of gold his falchion shone In the rich belt, as in a starry zone: Achilles’ shield his ample shoulders spread, Achilles’ helmet nodded o’er his head: Adorn’d in all his terrible array, He flash’d around intolerable day. Alone untouch’d, Pelides’ javelin stands, Not to be poised but by Pelides’ hands: From Pelion’s shady brow the plant entire Old Chiron rent, and shaped it for his sire; Whose son’s great arm alone the weapon wields, The death of heroes, and the dread of fields.

Swift to her bright apartment she repairs, Sacred to dress and beauty’s pleasing cares: With skill divine had Vulcan form’d the bower, Safe from access of each intruding power. Touch’d with her secret key, the doors unfold: Self-closed, behind her shut the valves of gold. Here first she bathes; and round her body pours Soft oils of fragrance, and ambrosial showers: The winds, perfumed, the balmy gale convey Through heaven, through earth, and all the aerial way: Spirit divine! whose exhalation greets The sense of gods with more than mortal sweets. Thus while she breathed of heaven, with decent pride Her artful hands the radiant tresses tied; Part on her head in shining ringlets roll’d, Part o’er her shoulders waved like melted gold. Around her next a heavenly mantle flow’d, That rich with Pallas’ labour’d colours glow’d: Large clasps of gold the foldings gather’d round, A golden zone her swelling bosom bound. Far-beaming pendants tremble in her ear, Each gem illumined with a triple star. Then o’er her head she cast a veil more white Than new-fallen snow, and dazzling as the light. Last her fair feet celestial sandals grace. Thus issuing radiant with majestic pace, Forth from the dome the imperial goddess moves, And calls the mother of the smiles and loves.

A youth there was among the tribes of Troy, Dolon his name, Eumedes’ only boy, (Five girls beside the reverend herald told.) Rich was the son in brass, and rich in gold; Not bless’d by nature with the charms of face, But swift of foot, and matchless in the race. “Hector! (he said) my courage bids me meet This high achievement, and explore the fleet: But first exalt thy sceptre to the skies, And swear to grant me the demanded prize; The immortal coursers, and the glittering car, That bear Pelides through the ranks of war. Encouraged thus, no idle scout I go, Fulfil thy wish, their whole intention know, Even to the royal tent pursue my way, And all their counsels, all their aims betray.”

She spoke, and backward turn’d her steeds of light, Adorn’d with manes of gold, and heavenly bright. The Hours unloosed them, panting as they stood, And heap’d their mangers with ambrosial food. There tied, they rest in high celestial stalls; The chariot propp’d against the crystal walls, The pensive goddesses, abash’d, controll’d, Mix with the gods, and fill their seats of gold.

Astyalus by Polypœtes fell; Ulysses’ spear Pidytes sent to hell; By Teucer’s shaft brave Aretaon bled, And Nestor’s son laid stern Ablerus dead; Great Agamemnon, leader of the brave, The mortal wound of rich Elatus gave, Who held in Pedasus his proud abode,[162] And till’d the banks where silver Satnio flow’d. Melanthius by Eurypylus was slain; And Phylacus from Leitus flies in vain.

Fired at his word the rival racers rise; But far the first Eumelus hopes the prize, Famed though Pieria for the fleetest breed, And skill’d to manage the high-bounding steed. With equal ardour bold Tydides swell’d, The steeds of Tros beneath his yoke compell’d (Which late obey’d the Dardan chief’s command, When scarce a god redeem’d him from his hand). Then Menelaus his Podargus brings, And the famed courser of the king of kings: Whom rich Echepolus (more rich than brave), To ’scape the wars, to Agamemnon gave, (Æthe her name) at home to end his days; Base wealth preferring to eternal praise. Next him Antilochus demands the course With beating heart, and cheers his Pylian horse. Experienced Nestor gives his son the reins, Directs his judgment, and his heat restrains; Nor idly warns the hoary sire, nor hears The prudent son with unattending ears.

The Phocians next in forty barks repair; Epistrophus and Schedius head the war: From those rich regions where Cephisus leads His silver current through the flowery meads; From Panopëa, Chrysa the divine, Where Anemoria’s stately turrets shine, Where Pytho, Daulis, Cyparissus stood, And fair Lilæ views the rising flood. These, ranged in order on the floating tide, Close, on the left, the bold Bœotians’ side.

The sons of Dares first the combat sought, A wealthy priest, but rich without a fault; In Vulcan’s fane the father’s days were led, The sons to toils of glorious battle bred; These singled from their troops the fight maintain, These, from their steeds, Tydides on the plain. Fierce for renown the brother-chiefs draw near, And first bold Phegeus cast his sounding spear, Which o’er the warrior’s shoulder took its course, And spent in empty air its erring force. Not so, Tydides, flew thy lance in vain, But pierced his breast, and stretch’d him on the plain. Seized with unusual fear, Idæus fled, Left the rich chariot, and his brother dead. And had not Vulcan lent celestial aid, He too had sunk to death’s eternal shade; But in a smoky cloud the god of fire Preserved the son, in pity to the sire. The steeds and chariot, to the navy led, Increased the spoils of gallant Diomed.

“Then sleep those aids among the Trojan train, (Inquired the chief,) or scattered o’er the plain?” To whom the spy: “Their powers they thus dispose The Paeons, dreadful with their bended bows, The Carians, Caucons, the Pelasgian host, And Leleges, encamp along the coast. Not distant far, lie higher on the land The Lycian, Mysian, and Mæonian band, And Phrygia’s horse, by Thymbras’ ancient wall; The Thracians utmost, and apart from all. These Troy but lately to her succour won, Led on by Rhesus, great Eioneus’ son: I saw his coursers in proud triumph go, Swift as the wind, and white as winter-snow; Rich silver plates his shining car infold; His solid arms, refulgent, flame with gold; No mortal shoulders suit the glorious load, Celestial panoply, to grace a god! Let me, unhappy, to your fleet be borne, Or leave me here, a captive’s fate to mourn, In cruel chains, till your return reveal The truth or falsehood of the news I tell.”

There stood a Trojan, not unknown to fame, Aëtion’s son, and Podes was his name: With riches honour’d, and with courage bless’d, By Hector loved, his comrade, and his guest; Through his broad belt the spear a passage found, And, ponderous as he falls, his arms resound. Sudden at Hector’s side Apollo stood, Like Phaenops, Asius’ son, appear’d the god; (Asius the great, who held his wealthy reign In fair Abydos, by the rolling main.)

“Amidst the glories of so bright a reign, What moves the great Atrides to complain? ’Tis thine whate’er the warrior’s breast inflames, The golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames. With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow, Thy tents are crowded and thy chests o’erflow. Thus at full ease in heaps of riches roll’d, What grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold? Say, shall we march with our unconquer’d powers (The Greeks and I) to Ilion’s hostile towers, And bring the race of royal bastards here, For Troy to ransom at a price too dear? But safer plunder thy own host supplies; Say, wouldst thou seize some valiant leader’s prize? Or, if thy heart to generous love be led, Some captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed? Whate’er our master craves submit we must, Plagued with his pride, or punish’d for his lust. Oh women of Achaia; men no more! Hence let us fly, and let him waste his store In loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore. We may be wanted on some busy day, When Hector comes: so great Achilles may: From him he forced the prize we jointly gave, From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave: And durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong, This mighty tyrant were no tyrant long.”

Here march’d in arms the Halizonian band, Whom Odius and Epistrophus command, From those far regions where the sun refines The ripening silver in Alybean mines.

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

Next, ripe in yellow gold, a vineyard shines, Bent with the ponderous harvest of its vines; A deeper dye the dangling clusters show, And curl’d on silver props, in order glow: A darker metal mix’d intrench’d the place; And pales of glittering tin the inclosure grace. To this, one pathway gently winding leads, Where march a train with baskets on their heads, (Fair maids and blooming youths,) that smiling bear The purple product of the autumnal year. To these a youth awakes the warbling strings, Whose tender lay the fate of Linus sings; In measured dance behind him move the train, Tune soft the voice, and answer to the strain.

Thus having said, the father of the fires To the black labours of his forge retires. Soon as he bade them blow, the bellows turn’d Their iron mouths; and where the furnace burn’d, Resounding breathed: at once the blast expires, And twenty forges catch at once the fires; Just as the god directs, now loud, now low, They raise a tempest, or they gently blow; In hissing flames huge silver bars are roll’d, And stubborn brass, and tin, and solid gold; Before, deep fix’d, the eternal anvils stand; The ponderous hammer loads his better hand, His left with tongs turns the vex’d metal round, And thick, strong strokes, the doubling vaults rebound.

Meantime the heralds, through the crowded town, Bring the rich wine and destined victims down. Idæus’ arms the golden goblets press’d,[119] Who thus the venerable king address’d: “Arise, O father of the Trojan state! The nations call, thy joyful people wait To seal the truce, and end the dire debate. Paris, thy son, and Sparta’s king advance, In measured lists to toss the weighty lance; And who his rival shall in arms subdue, His be the dame, and his the treasure too. Thus with a lasting league our toils may cease, And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace: So shall the Greeks review their native shore, Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.”

Then first he form’d the immense and solid shield; Rich various artifice emblazed the field; Its utmost verge a threefold circle bound;[253] A silver chain suspends the massy round; Five ample plates the broad expanse compose, And godlike labours on the surface rose. There shone the image of the master-mind: There earth, there heaven, there ocean he design’d; The unwearied sun, the moon completely round; The starry lights that heaven’s high convex crown’d; The Pleiads, Hyads, with the northern team; And great Orion’s more refulgent beam; To which, around the axle of the sky, The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye, Still shines exalted on the ethereal plain, Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.

Next these a buckler, spear, and helm, he brings; Cast on the plain, the brazen burden rings: Arms which of late divine Sarpedon wore, And great Patroclus in short triumph bore. “Stand forth the bravest of our host! (he cries) Whoever dares deserve so rich a prize, Now grace the lists before our army’s sight, And sheathed in steel, provoke his foe to fight. Who first the jointed armour shall explore, And stain his rival’s mail with issuing gore, The sword Asteropaeus possess’d of old, (A Thracian blade, distinct with studs of gold,) Shall pay the stroke, and grace the striker’s side: These arms in common let the chiefs divide: For each brave champion, when the combat ends, A sumptuous banquet at our tents attends.”

But mindful of the gods, Achilles went To the rich coffer in his shady tent; There lay on heaps his various garments roll’d, And costly furs, and carpets stiff with gold, (The presents of the silver-footed dame) From thence he took a bowl, of antique frame, Which never man had stained with ruddy wine, Nor raised in offerings to the power divine, But Peleus’ son; and Peleus’ son to none Had raised in offerings, but to Jove alone. This tinged with sulphur, sacred first to flame, He purged; and wash’d it in the running stream. Then cleansed his hands; and fixing for a space His eyes on heaven, his feet upon the place Of sacrifice, the purple draught he pour’d Forth in the midst; and thus the god implored:

And now succeed the gifts ordain’d to grace The youths contending in the rapid race: A silver urn that full six measures held, By none in weight or workmanship excell’d: Sidonian artists taught the frame to shine, Elaborate, with artifice divine; Whence Tyrian sailors did the prize transport, And gave to Thoas at the Lemnian port: From him descended, good Eunaeus heir’d The glorious gift; and, for Lycaon spared, To brave Patroclus gave the rich reward: Now, the same hero’s funeral rites to grace, It stands the prize of swiftness in the race. A well-fed ox was for the second placed; And half a talent must content the last. Achilles rising then bespoke the train: “Who hope the palm of swiftness to obtain, Stand forth, and bear these prizes from the plain.”

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 spare my youth, and for the breath I owe, Large gifts of price my father shall bestow: Vast heaps of brass shall in your ships be told, And steel well-temper’d and refulgent gold.”

Thus the broad shield complete the artist crown’d With his last hand, and pour’d the ocean round: In living silver seem’d the waves to roll, And beat the buckler’s verge, and bound the whole.

To whom the king. “With justice hast thou shown A prince’s faults, and I with reason own. That happy man, whom Jove still honours most, Is more than armies, and himself a host. Bless’d in his love, this wondrous hero stands; Heaven fights his war, and humbles all our bands. Fain would my heart, which err’d through frantic rage, The wrathful chief and angry gods assuage. If gifts immense his mighty soul can bow,[201] Hear, all ye Greeks, and witness what I vow. Ten weighty talents of the purest gold, And twice ten vases of refulgent mould: Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; Twelve steeds unmatch’d in fleetness and in force, And still victorious in the dusty course; (Rich were the man whose ample stores exceed The prizes purchased by their winged speed;) Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line, Skill’d in each art, unmatch’d in form divine, The same I chose for more than vulgar charms, When Lesbos sank beneath the hero’s arms: All these, to buy his friendship, shall be paid, And join’d with these the long-contested maid; With all her charms, Briseïs I resign, And solemn swear those charms were never mine; Untouch’d she stay’d, uninjured she removes, Pure from my arms, and guiltless of my loves,[202] These instant shall be his; and if the powers Give to our arms proud Ilion’s hostile towers, Then shall he store (when Greece the spoil divides) With gold and brass his loaded navy’s sides: Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race With copious love shall crown his warm embrace, Such as himself will choose; who yield to none, Or yield to Helen’s heavenly charms alone. Yet hear me further: when our wars are o’er, If safe we land on Argos’ fruitful shore, There shall he live my son, our honours share, And with Orestes’ self divide my care.

The cloud-compelling god her suit approved, And smiled superior on his best beloved; Then call’d his coursers, and his chariot took; The stedfast firmament beneath them shook: Rapt by the ethereal steeds the chariot roll’d; Brass were their hoofs, their curling manes of gold: Of heaven’s undrossy gold the gods array, Refulgent, flash’d intolerable day. High on the throne he shines: his coursers fly Between the extended earth and starry sky. But when to Ida’s topmost height he came, (Fair nurse of fountains, and of savage game,) Where o’er her pointed summits proudly raised, His fane breathed odours, and his altar blazed: There, from his radiant car, the sacred sire Of gods and men released the steeds of fire: Blue ambient mists the immortal steeds embraced; High on the cloudy point his seat he placed; Thence his broad eye the subject world surveys, The town, and tents, and navigable seas.

“‘My child! with strength, with glory, and success, Thy arms may Juno and Minerva bless! Trust that to Heaven: but thou, thy cares engage To calm thy passions, and subdue thy rage: From gentler manners let thy glory grow, And shun contention, the sure source of woe; That young and old may in thy praise combine, The virtues of humanity be thine—’ This now-despised advice thy father gave; Ah! check thy anger; and be truly brave. If thou wilt yield to great Atrides’ prayers, Gifts worthy thee his royal hand prepares; If not—but hear me, while I number o’er The proffer’d presents, an exhaustless store. Ten weighty talents of the purest gold, And twice ten vases of refulgent mould; Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; Twelve steeds unmatched in fleetness and in force, And still victorious in the dusty course; (Rich were the man, whose ample stores exceed The prizes purchased by their winged speed;) Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line, Skill’d in each art, unmatch’d in form divine, The same he chose for more than vulgar charms, When Lesbos sank beneath thy conquering arms. All these, to buy thy friendship shall be paid, And, join’d with these, the long-contested maid; With all her charms, Briseïs he’ll resign, And solemn swear those charms were only thine; Untouch’d she stay’d, uninjured she removes, Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves. These instant shall be thine; and if the powers Give to our arms proud Ilion’s hostile towers, Then shalt thou store (when Greece the spoil divides) With gold and brass thy loaded navy’s sides. Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race With copious love shall crown thy warm embrace; Such as thyself shall chose; who yield to none, Or yield to Helen’s heavenly charms alone. Yet hear me further: when our wars are o’er, If safe we land on Argos’ fruitful shore, There shalt thou live his son, his honour share, And with Orestes’ self divide his care.

“Ah stay not, stay not! guardless and alone; Hector! my loved, my dearest, bravest son! Methinks already I behold thee slain, And stretch’d beneath that fury of the plain. Implacable Achilles! might’st thou be To all the gods no dearer than to me! Thee, vultures wild should scatter round the shore, And bloody dogs grow fiercer from thy gore. How many valiant sons I late enjoy’d, Valiant in vain! by thy cursed arm destroy’d: Or, worse than slaughtered, sold in distant isles To shameful bondage, and unworthy toils. Two, while I speak, my eyes in vain explore, Two from one mother sprung, my Polydore, And loved Lycaon; now perhaps no more! Oh! if in yonder hostile camp they live, What heaps of gold, what treasures would I give! (Their grandsire’s wealth, by right of birth their own, Consign’d his daughter with Lelegia’s throne:) But if (which Heaven forbid) already lost, All pale they wander on the Stygian coast; What sorrows then must their sad mother know, What anguish I? unutterable woe! Yet less that anguish, less to her, to me, Less to all Troy, if not deprived of thee. Yet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall; And spare thyself, thy father, spare us all! Save thy dear life; or, if a soul so brave Neglect that thought, thy dearer glory save. Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs; While yet thy father feels the woes he bears, Yet cursed with sense! a wretch, whom in his rage (All trembling on the verge of helpless age) Great Jove has placed, sad spectacle of pain! The bitter dregs of fortune’s cup to drain: To fill with scenes of death his closing eyes, And number all his days by miseries! My heroes slain, my bridal bed o’erturn’d, My daughters ravish’d, and my city burn’d, My bleeding infants dash’d against the floor; These I have yet to see, perhaps yet more! Perhaps even I, reserved by angry fate, The last sad relic of my ruin’d state, (Dire pomp of sovereign wretchedness!)

The hardy warriors whom Bœotia bred, Penelius, Leitus, Prothoënor, led: With these Arcesilaus and Clonius stand, Equal in arms, and equal in command. These head the troops that rocky Aulis yields, And Eteon’s hills, and Hyrie’s watery fields, And Schoenos, Scholos, Græa near the main, And Mycalessia’s ample piny plain; Those who in Peteon or Ilesion dwell, Or Harma where Apollo’s prophet fell; Heleon and Hylè, which the springs o’erflow; And Medeon lofty, and Ocalea low; Or in the meads of Haliartus stray, Or Thespia sacred to the god of day: Onchestus, Neptune’s celebrated groves; Copæ, and Thisbè, famed for silver doves; For flocks Erythræ, Glissa for the vine; Platea green, and Nysa the divine; And they whom Thebé’s well-built walls inclose, Where Mydè, Eutresis, Coronè, rose; And Arnè rich, with purple harvests crown’d; And Anthedon, Bœotia’s utmost bound. Full fifty ships they send, and each conveys Twice sixty warriors through the foaming seas.[102]

A figured dance succeeds; such once was seen In lofty Gnossus for the Cretan queen, Form’d by Daedalean art; a comely band Of youths and maidens, bounding hand in hand. The maids in soft simars of linen dress’d; The youths all graceful in the glossy vest: Of those the locks with flowery wreath inroll’d; Of these the sides adorn’d with swords of gold, That glittering gay, from silver belts depend. Now all at once they rise, at once descend, With well-taught feet: now shape in oblique ways, Confusedly regular, the moving maze: Now forth at once, too swift for sight, they spring, And undistinguish’d blend the flying ring: So whirls a wheel, in giddy circle toss’d, And, rapid as it runs, the single spokes are lost. The gazing multitudes admire around: Two active tumblers in the centre bound; Now high, now low, their pliant limbs they bend: And general songs the sprightly revel end.

High on a throne, with stars of silver graced, And various artifice, the queen she placed; A footstool at her feet: then calling, said, “Vulcan, draw near, ’tis Thetis asks your aid.” “Thetis (replied the god) our powers may claim, An ever-dear, an ever-honour’d name! When my proud mother hurl’d me from the sky, (My awkward form, it seems, displeased her eye,) She, and Eurynome, my griefs redress’d, And soft received me on their silver breast. Even then these arts employ’d my infant thought: Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys, I wrought. Nine years kept secret in the dark abode, Secure I lay, conceal’d from man and god: Deep in a cavern’d rock my days were led; The rushing ocean murmur’d o’er my head. Now, since her presence glads our mansion, say, For such desert what service can I pay? Vouchsafe, O Thetis! at our board to share The genial rites, and hospitable fare; While I the labours of the forge forego, And bid the roaring bellows cease to blow.”

And now Olympus’ shining gates unfold; The gods, with Jove, assume their thrones of gold: Immortal Hebe, fresh with bloom divine, The golden goblet crowns with purple wine: While the full bowls flow round, the powers employ Their careful eyes on long-contended Troy.

Who fair Zeleia’s wealthy valleys till,[106] Fast by the foot of Ida’s sacred hill, Or drink, Æsepus, of thy sable flood, Were led by Pandarus, of royal blood; To whom his art Apollo deign’d to show, Graced with the presents of his shafts and bow.

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.

Has he not walls no human force can shake? Has he not fenced his guarded navy round With piles, with ramparts, and a trench profound? And will not these (the wonders he has done) Repel the rage of Priam’s single son? There was a time (’twas when for Greece I fought) When Hector’s prowess no such wonders wrought; He kept the verge of Troy, nor dared to wait Achilles’ fury at the Scæan gate; He tried it once, and scarce was saved by fate. But now those ancient enmities are o’er; To-morrow we the favouring gods implore; Then shall you see our parting vessels crown’d, And hear with oars the Hellespont resound. The third day hence shall Pythia greet our sails,[208] If mighty Neptune send propitious gales; Pythia to her Achilles shall restore The wealth he left for this detested shore: Thither the spoils of this long war shall pass, The ruddy gold, the steel, and shining brass: My beauteous captives thither I’ll convey, And all that rests of my unravish’d prey. One only valued gift your tyrant gave, And that resumed—the fair Lyrnessian slave.

“O spare our youth, and for the life we owe, Antimachus shall copious gifts bestow: Soon as he hears, that, not in battle slain, The Grecian ships his captive sons detain, Large heaps of brass in ransom shall be told, And steel well-tempered, and persuasive gold.”

She ceased; and, smiling with superior love, Thus answer’d mild the cloud-compelling Jove: “Nor god nor mortal shall our joys behold, Shaded with clouds, and circumfused in gold; Not even the sun, who darts through heaven his rays, And whose broad eye the extended earth surveys.”

He said: a leader’s and a brother’s fears Possess his soul, which thus the Spartan cheers: “Let not thy words the warmth of Greece abate; The feeble dart is guiltless of my fate: Stiff with the rich embroider’d work around, My varied belt repell’d the flying wound.”

“And is it thus the youthful Phœbus flies, And yields to ocean’s hoary sire the prize? How vain that martial pomp, and dreadful show Of pointed arrows and the silver bow! Now boast no more in yon celestial bower, Thy force can match the great earth-shaking power.”

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.”

He said, and acting what no words could say, Rent from his head the silver locks away. With him the mournful mother bears a part; Yet all her sorrows turn not Hector’s heart. The zone unbraced, her bosom she display’d; And thus, fast-falling the salt tears, she said:

His silence here, with blushes, Paris breaks: “’Tis just, my brother, what your anger speaks: But who like thee can boast a soul sedate, So firmly proof to all the shocks of fate? Thy force, like steel, a temper’d hardness shows, Still edged to wound, and still untired with blows, Like steel, uplifted by some strenuous swain, With falling woods to strew the wasted plain. Thy gifts I praise; nor thou despise the charms With which a lover golden Venus arms; Soft moving speech, and pleasing outward show, No wish can gain them, but the gods bestow. Yet, would’st thou have the proffer’d combat stand, The Greeks and Trojans seat on either hand; Then let a midway space our hosts divide, And, on that stage of war, the cause be tried: By Paris there the Spartan king be fought, For beauteous Helen and the wealth she brought; And who his rival can in arms subdue, His be the fair, and his the treasure too. Thus with a lasting league your toils may cease, And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace; Thus may the Greeks review their native shore, Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.”

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:

The Paphlagonians Pylæmenes rules, Where rich Henetia breeds her savage mules, Where Erythinus’ rising cliffs are seen, Thy groves of box, Cytorus! ever green, And where Ægialus and Cromna lie, And lofty Sesamus invades the sky, And where Parthenius, roll’d through banks of flowers, Reflects her bordering palaces and bowers.

“Far hence be Bacchus’ gifts; (the chief rejoin’d;) Inflaming wine, pernicious to mankind, Unnerves the limbs, and dulls the noble mind. Let chiefs abstain, and spare the sacred juice To sprinkle to the gods, its better use. By me that holy office were profaned; Ill fits it me, with human gore distain’d, To the pure skies these horrid hands to raise, Or offer heaven’s great Sire polluted praise. You, with your matrons, go! a spotless train, And burn rich odours in Minerva’s fane. The largest mantle your full wardrobes hold, Most prized for art, and labour’d o’er with gold, Before the goddess’ honour’d knees be spread, And twelve young heifers to her altar led. So may the power, atoned by fervent prayer, Our wives, our infants, and our city spare; And far avert Tydides’ wasteful ire, Who mows whole troops, and makes all Troy retire. Be this, O mother, your religious care: I go to rouse soft Paris to the war; If yet not lost to all the sense of shame, The recreant warrior hear the voice of fame. Oh, would kind earth the hateful wretch embrace, That pest of Troy, that ruin of our race![174] Deep to the dark abyss might he descend, Troy yet should flourish, and my sorrows end.”

“God of the silver bow, thy ear incline, Whose power incircles Cilla the divine; Whose sacred eye thy Tenedos surveys, And gilds fair Chrysa with distinguish’d rays! If, fired to vengeance at thy priest’s request, Thy direful darts inflict the raging pest: Once more attend! avert the wasteful woe, And smile propitious, and unbend thy bow.”

“Return! (said Hector, fired with stern disdain) What! coop whole armies in our walls again? Was’t not enough, ye valiant warriors, say, Nine years imprison’d in those towers ye lay? Wide o’er the world was Ilion famed of old For brass exhaustless, and for mines of gold: But while inglorious in her walls we stay’d, Sunk were her treasures, and her stores decay’d; The Phrygians now her scatter’d spoils enjoy, And proud Mæonia wastes the fruits of Troy. Great Jove at length my arms to conquest calls, And shuts the Grecians in their wooden walls, Darest thou dispirit whom the gods incite? Flies any Trojan? I shall stop his flight. To better counsel then attention lend; Take due refreshment, and the watch attend. If there be one whose riches cost him care, Forth let him bring them for the troops to share; ’Tis better generously bestow’d on those, Than left the plunder of our country’s foes. Soon as the morn the purple orient warms, Fierce on yon navy will we pour our arms. If great Achilles rise in all his might, His be the danger: I shall stand the fight. Honour, ye gods! or let me gain or give; And live he glorious, whosoe’er shall live! Mars is our common lord, alike to all; And oft the victor triumphs, but to fall.”

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.”

Next, eighty barks the Cretan king commands, Of Gnossus, Lyctus, and Gortyna’s bands; And those who dwell where Rhytion’s domes arise, Or white Lycastus glitters to the skies, Or where by Phæstus silver Jardan runs; Crete’s hundred cities pour forth all her sons. These march’d, Idomeneus, beneath thy care, And Merion, dreadful as the god of war.

From rich Apæsus and Adrestia’s towers, High Teree’s summits, and Pityea’s bowers; From these the congregated troops obey Young Amphius and Adrastus’ equal sway; Old Merops’ sons; whom, skill’d in fates to come, The sire forewarn’d, and prophesied their doom: Fate urged them on! the sire forewarn’d in vain, They rush’d to war, and perish’d on the plain.

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

“Lie there, Otryntides! the Trojan earth Receives thee dead, though Gygae boast thy birth; Those beauteous fields where Hyllus’ waves are roll’d, And plenteous Hermus swells with tides of gold, Are thine no more.”—The insulting hero said, And left him sleeping in eternal shade. The rolling wheels of Greece the body tore, And dash’d their axles with no vulgar gore.

Thus having said, the gallant chiefs alight, Their hands they join, their mutual faith they plight; Brave Glaucus then each narrow thought resign’d, (Jove warm’d his bosom, and enlarged his mind,) For Diomed’s brass arms, of mean device, For which nine oxen paid, (a vulgar price,) He gave his own, of gold divinely wrought,[171] A hundred beeves the shining purchase bought.

“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.”

At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied: “O tyrant, arm’d with insolence and pride! Inglorious slave to interest, ever join’d With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind! What generous Greek, obedient to thy word, Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword? What cause have I to war at thy decree? The distant Trojans never injured me; To Phthia’s realms no hostile troops they led: Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed; Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main, And walls of rocks, secure my native reign, Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace, Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race. Hither we sail’d, a voluntary throng, To avenge a private, not a public wrong: What else to Troy the assembled nations draws, But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother’s cause? Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve; Disgraced and injured by the man we serve? And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away, Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day? A prize as small, O tyrant! match’d with thine, As thy own actions if compared to mine. Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey, Though mine the sweat and danger of the day. Some trivial present to my ships I bear: Or barren praises pay the wounds of war. But know, proud monarch, I’m thy slave no more; My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia’s shore: Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain, What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?”