Achilles'
wrath,
to
Greece
the
direful
spring
Of
woes
unnumber'd,
heavenly
goddess,
sing!
That
wrath
which
hurl'd
to
Pluto's
gloomy
reign
The
souls
of
mighty
chiefs
untimely
slain;
Whose
limbs
unburied
on
the
naked
shore,
Devouring
dogs
and
hungry
vultures
tore.(41)
Since
great
Achilles
and
Atrides
strove,
Such
was
the
sovereign
doom,
and
such
the
will
of
Jove!(42)
Declare,
O
Muse!
in
what
ill-fated
hour(43)
Sprung
the
fierce
strife,
from
what
offended
power
Latona's
son
a
dire
contagion
spread,(44)
And
heap'd
the
camp
with
mountains
of
the
dead;
The
king
of
men
his
reverent
priest
defied,(45)
And
for
the
king's
offence
the
people
died.
For
Chryses
sought
with
costly
gifts
to
gain
His
captive
daughter
from
the
victor's
chain.
Suppliant
the
venerable
father
stands;
Apollo's
awful
ensigns
grace
his
hands
By
these
he
begs;
and
lowly
bending
down,
Extends
the
sceptre
and
the
laurel
crown
He
sued
to
all,
but
chief
implored
for
grace
The
brother-kings,
of
Atreus'
royal
race(46)
"Ye
kings
and
warriors!
may
your
vows
be
crown'd,
And
Troy's
proud
walls
lie
level
with
the
ground.
May
Jove
restore
you
when
your
toils
are
o'er
Safe
to
the
pleasures
of
your
native
shore.
But,
oh!
relieve
a
wretched
parent's
pain,
And
give
Chryseis
to
these
arms
again;
If
mercy
fail,
yet
let
my
presents
move,
And
dread
avenging
Phoebus,
son
of
Jove."
The
Greeks
in
shouts
their
joint
assent
declare,
The
priest
to
reverence,
and
release
the
fair.
Not
so
Atrides;
he,
with
kingly
pride,
Repulsed
the
sacred
sire,
and
thus
replied:
"Hence
on
thy
life,
and
fly
these
hostile
plains,
Nor
ask,
presumptuous,
what
the
king
detains
Hence,
with
thy
laurel
crown,
and
golden
rod,
Nor
trust
too
far
those
ensigns
of
thy
god.
Mine
is
thy
daughter,
priest,
and
shall
remain;
And
prayers,
and
tears,
and
bribes,
shall
plead
in
vain;
Till
time
shall
rifle
every
youthful
grace,
And
age
dismiss
her
from
my
cold
embrace,
In
daily
labours
of
the
loom
employ'd,
Or
doom'd
to
deck
the
bed
she
once
enjoy'd
Hence
then;
to
Argos
shall
the
maid
retire,
Far
from
her
native
soil
and
weeping
sire."
[Illustration:
HOMER
INVOKING
THE
MUSE.]
HOMER
INVOKING
THE
MUSE.
The
trembling
priest
along
the
shore
return'd,
And
in
the
anguish
of
a
father
mourn'd.
Disconsolate,
not
daring
to
complain,
Silent
he
wander'd
by
the
sounding
main;
Till,
safe
at
distance,
to
his
god
he
prays,
The
god
who
darts
around
the
world
his
rays.
"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."
Thus
Chryses
pray'd.--the
favouring
power
attends,
And
from
Olympus'
lofty
tops
descends.
Bent
was
his
bow,
the
Grecian
hearts
to
wound;(50)
Fierce
as
he
moved,
his
silver
shafts
resound.
Breathing
revenge,
a
sudden
night
he
spread,
And
gloomy
darkness
roll'd
about
his
head.
The
fleet
in
view,
he
twang'd
his
deadly
bow,
And
hissing
fly
the
feather'd
fates
below.
On
mules
and
dogs
the
infection
first
began;(51)
And
last,
the
vengeful
arrows
fix'd
in
man.
For
nine
long
nights,
through
all
the
dusky
air,
The
pyres,
thick-flaming,
shot
a
dismal
glare.
But
ere
the
tenth
revolving
day
was
run,
Inspired
by
Juno,
Thetis'
godlike
son
Convened
to
council
all
the
Grecian
train;
For
much
the
goddess
mourn'd
her
heroes
slain.(52)
The
assembly
seated,
rising
o'er
the
rest,
Achilles
thus
the
king
of
men
address'd:
"Why
leave
we
not
the
fatal
Trojan
shore,
And
measure
back
the
seas
we
cross'd
before?
The
plague
destroying
whom
the
sword
would
spare,
'Tis
time
to
save
the
few
remains
of
war.
But
let
some
prophet,
or
some
sacred
sage,
Explore
the
cause
of
great
Apollo's
rage;
Or
learn
the
wasteful
vengeance
to
remove
By
mystic
dreams,
for
dreams
descend
from
Jove.(53)
If
broken
vows
this
heavy
curse
have
laid,
Let
altars
smoke,
and
hecatombs
be
paid.
So
Heaven,
atoned,
shall
dying
Greece
restore,
And
Phoebus
dart
his
burning
shafts
no
more."
He
said,
and
sat:
when
Chalcas
thus
replied;
Chalcas
the
wise,
the
Grecian
priest
and
guide,
That
sacred
seer,
whose
comprehensive
view,
The
past,
the
present,
and
the
future
knew:
Uprising
slow,
the
venerable
sage
Thus
spoke
the
prudence
and
the
fears
of
age:
"Beloved
of
Jove,
Achilles!
would'st
thou
know
Why
angry
Phoebus
bends
his
fatal
bow?
First
give
thy
faith,
and
plight
a
prince's
word
Of
sure
protection,
by
thy
power
and
sword:
For
I
must
speak
what
wisdom
would
conceal,
And
truths,
invidious
to
the
great,
reveal,
Bold
is
the
task,
when
subjects,
grown
too
wise,
Instruct
a
monarch
where
his
error
lies;
For
though
we
deem
the
short-lived
fury
past,
'Tis
sure
the
mighty
will
revenge
at
last."
To
whom
Pelides:--"From
thy
inmost
soul
Speak
what
thou
know'st,
and
speak
without
control.
E'en
by
that
god
I
swear
who
rules
the
day,
To
whom
thy
hands
the
vows
of
Greece
convey.
And
whose
bless'd
oracles
thy
lips
declare;
Long
as
Achilles
breathes
this
vital
air,
No
daring
Greek,
of
all
the
numerous
band,
Against
his
priest
shall
lift
an
impious
hand;
Not
e'en
the
chief
by
whom
our
hosts
are
led,
The
king
of
kings,
shall
touch
that
sacred
head."
Encouraged
thus,
the
blameless
man
replies:
"Nor
vows
unpaid,
nor
slighted
sacrifice,
But
he,
our
chief,
provoked
the
raging
pest,
Apollo's
vengeance
for
his
injured
priest.
Nor
will
the
god's
awaken'd
fury
cease,
But
plagues
shall
spread,
and
funeral
fires
increase,
Till
the
great
king,
without
a
ransom
paid,
To
her
own
Chrysa
send
the
black-eyed
maid.(54)
Perhaps,
with
added
sacrifice
and
prayer,
The
priest
may
pardon,
and
the
god
may
spare."
The
prophet
spoke:
when
with
a
gloomy
frown
The
monarch
started
from
his
shining
throne;
Black
choler
fill'd
his
breast
that
boil'd
with
ire,
And
from
his
eye-balls
flash'd
the
living
fire:
"Augur
accursed!
denouncing
mischief
still,
Prophet
of
plagues,
for
ever
boding
ill!
Still
must
that
tongue
some
wounding
message
bring,
And
still
thy
priestly
pride
provoke
thy
king?
For
this
are
Phoebus'
oracles
explored,
To
teach
the
Greeks
to
murmur
at
their
lord?
For
this
with
falsehood
is
my
honour
stain'd,
Is
heaven
offended,
and
a
priest
profaned;
Because
my
prize,
my
beauteous
maid,
I
hold,
And
heavenly
charms
prefer
to
proffer'd
gold?
A
maid,
unmatch'd
in
manners
as
in
face,
Skill'd
in
each
art,
and
crown'd
with
every
grace;
Not
half
so
dear
were
Clytaemnestra's
charms,
When
first
her
blooming
beauties
bless'd
my
arms.
Yet,
if
the
gods
demand
her,
let
her
sail;
Our
cares
are
only
for
the
public
weal:
Let
me
be
deem'd
the
hateful
cause
of
all,
And
suffer,
rather
than
my
people
fall.
The
prize,
the
beauteous
prize,
I
will
resign,
So
dearly
valued,
and
so
justly
mine.
But
since
for
common
good
I
yield
the
fair,
My
private
loss
let
grateful
Greece
repair;
Nor
unrewarded
let
your
prince
complain,
That
he
alone
has
fought
and
bled
in
vain."
"Insatiate
king
(Achilles
thus
replies),
Fond
of
the
power,
but
fonder
of
the
prize!
Would'st
thou
the
Greeks
their
lawful
prey
should
yield,
The
due
reward
of
many
a
well-fought
field?
The
spoils
of
cities
razed
and
warriors
slain,
We
share
with
justice,
as
with
toil
we
gain;
But
to
resume
whate'er
thy
avarice
craves
(That
trick
of
tyrants)
may
be
borne
by
slaves.
Yet
if
our
chief
for
plunder
only
fight,
The
spoils
of
Ilion
shall
thy
loss
requite,
Whene'er,
by
Jove's
decree,
our
conquering
powers
Shall
humble
to
the
dust
her
lofty
towers."
Then
thus
the
king:
"Shall
I
my
prize
resign
With
tame
content,
and
thou
possess'd
of
thine?
Great
as
thou
art,
and
like
a
god
in
fight,
Think
not
to
rob
me
of
a
soldier's
right.
At
thy
demand
shall
I
restore
the
maid?
First
let
the
just
equivalent
be
paid;
Such
as
a
king
might
ask;
and
let
it
be
A
treasure
worthy
her,
and
worthy
me.
Or
grant
me
this,
or
with
a
monarch's
claim
This
hand
shall
seize
some
other
captive
dame.
The
mighty
Ajax
shall
his
prize
resign;(55)
Ulysses'
spoils,
or
even
thy
own,
be
mine.
The
man
who
suffers,
loudly
may
complain;
And
rage
he
may,
but
he
shall
rage
in
vain.
But
this
when
time
requires.--It
now
remains
We
launch
a
bark
to
plough
the
watery
plains,
And
waft
the
sacrifice
to
Chrysa's
shores,
With
chosen
pilots,
and
with
labouring
oars.
Soon
shall
the
fair
the
sable
ship
ascend,
And
some
deputed
prince
the
charge
attend:
This
Creta's
king,
or
Ajax
shall
fulfil,
Or
wise
Ulysses
see
perform'd
our
will;
Or,
if
our
royal
pleasure
shall
ordain,
Achilles'
self
conduct
her
o'er
the
main;
Let
fierce
Achilles,
dreadful
in
his
rage,
The
god
propitiate,
and
the
pest
assuage."
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?"
To
this
the
king:
"Fly,
mighty
warrior!
fly;
Thy
aid
we
need
not,
and
thy
threats
defy.
There
want
not
chiefs
in
such
a
cause
to
fight,
And
Jove
himself
shall
guard
a
monarch's
right.
Of
all
the
kings
(the
god's
distinguish'd
care)
To
power
superior
none
such
hatred
bear:
Strife
and
debate
thy
restless
soul
employ,
And
wars
and
horrors
are
thy
savage
joy,
If
thou
hast
strength,
'twas
Heaven
that
strength
bestow'd;
For
know,
vain
man!
thy
valour
is
from
God.
Haste,
launch
thy
vessels,
fly
with
speed
away;
Rule
thy
own
realms
with
arbitrary
sway;
I
heed
thee
not,
but
prize
at
equal
rate
Thy
short-lived
friendship,
and
thy
groundless
hate.
Go,
threat
thy
earth-born
Myrmidons:--but
here(56)
'Tis
mine
to
threaten,
prince,
and
thine
to
fear.
Know,
if
the
god
the
beauteous
dame
demand,
My
bark
shall
waft
her
to
her
native
land;
But
then
prepare,
imperious
prince!
prepare,
Fierce
as
thou
art,
to
yield
thy
captive
fair:
Even
in
thy
tent
I'll
seize
the
blooming
prize,
Thy
loved
Briseis
with
the
radiant
eyes.
Hence
shalt
thou
prove
my
might,
and
curse
the
hour
Thou
stood'st
a
rival
of
imperial
power;
And
hence,
to
all
our
hosts
it
shall
be
known,
That
kings
are
subject
to
the
gods
alone."
Achilles
heard,
with
grief
and
rage
oppress'd,
His
heart
swell'd
high,
and
labour'd
in
his
breast;
Distracting
thoughts
by
turns
his
bosom
ruled;
Now
fired
by
wrath,
and
now
by
reason
cool'd:
That
prompts
his
hand
to
draw
the
deadly
sword,
Force
through
the
Greeks,
and
pierce
their
haughty
lord;
This
whispers
soft
his
vengeance
to
control,
And
calm
the
rising
tempest
of
his
soul.
Just
as
in
anguish
of
suspense
he
stay'd,
While
half
unsheathed
appear'd
the
glittering
blade,(57)
Minerva
swift
descended
from
above,
Sent
by
the
sister
and
the
wife
of
Jove
(For
both
the
princes
claim'd
her
equal
care);
Behind
she
stood,
and
by
the
golden
hair
Achilles
seized;
to
him
alone
confess'd;
A
sable
cloud
conceal'd
her
from
the
rest.
He
sees,
and
sudden
to
the
goddess
cries,
Known
by
the
flames
that
sparkle
from
her
eyes:
[Illustration:
MINERVA
REPRESSING
THE
FURY
OF
ACHILLES.]
MINERVA
REPRESSING
THE
FURY
OF
ACHILLES.
"Descends
Minerva,
in
her
guardian
care,
A
heavenly
witness
of
the
wrongs
I
bear
From
Atreus'
son?--Then
let
those
eyes
that
view
The
daring
crime,
behold
the
vengeance
too."
"Forbear
(the
progeny
of
Jove
replies)
To
calm
thy
fury
I
forsake
the
skies:
Let
great
Achilles,
to
the
gods
resign'd,
To
reason
yield
the
empire
o'er
his
mind.
By
awful
Juno
this
command
is
given;
The
king
and
you
are
both
the
care
of
heaven.
The
force
of
keen
reproaches
let
him
feel;
But
sheathe,
obedient,
thy
revenging
steel.
For
I
pronounce
(and
trust
a
heavenly
power)
Thy
injured
honour
has
its
fated
hour,
When
the
proud
monarch
shall
thy
arms
implores
And
bribe
thy
friendship
with
a
boundless
store.
Then
let
revenge
no
longer
bear
the
sway;
Command
thy
passions,
and
the
gods
obey."
To
her
Pelides:--"With
regardful
ear,
'Tis
just,
O
goddess!
I
thy
dictates
hear.
Hard
as
it
is,
my
vengeance
I
suppress:
Those
who
revere
the
gods
the
gods
will
bless."
He
said,
observant
of
the
blue-eyed
maid;
Then
in
the
sheath
return'd
the
shining
blade.
The
goddess
swift
to
high
Olympus
flies,
And
joins
the
sacred
senate
of
the
skies.
Nor
yet
the
rage
his
boiling
breast
forsook,
Which
thus
redoubling
on
Atrides
broke:
"O
monster!
mix'd
of
insolence
and
fear,
Thou
dog
in
forehead,
but
in
heart
a
deer!
When
wert
thou
known
in
ambush'd
fights
to
dare,
Or
nobly
face
the
horrid
front
of
war?
'Tis
ours,
the
chance
of
fighting
fields
to
try;
Thine
to
look
on,
and
bid
the
valiant
die:
So
much
'tis
safer
through
the
camp
to
go,
And
rob
a
subject,
than
despoil
a
foe.
Scourge
of
thy
people,
violent
and
base!
Sent
in
Jove's
anger
on
a
slavish
race;
Who,
lost
to
sense
of
generous
freedom
past,
Are
tamed
to
wrongs;--or
this
had
been
thy
last.
Now
by
this
sacred
sceptre
hear
me
swear,
Which
never
more
shall
leaves
or
blossoms
bear,
Which
sever'd
from
the
trunk
(as
I
from
thee)
On
the
bare
mountains
left
its
parent
tree;
This
sceptre,
form'd
by
temper'd
steel
to
prove
An
ensign
of
the
delegates
of
Jove,
From
whom
the
power
of
laws
and
justice
springs
(Tremendous
oath!
inviolate
to
kings);
By
this
I
swear:--when
bleeding
Greece
again
Shall
call
Achilles,
she
shall
call
in
vain.
When,
flush'd
with
slaughter,
Hector
comes
to
spread
The
purpled
shore
with
mountains
of
the
dead,
Then
shall
thou
mourn
the
affront
thy
madness
gave,
Forced
to
deplore
when
impotent
to
save:
Then
rage
in
bitterness
of
soul
to
know
This
act
has
made
the
bravest
Greek
thy
foe."
He
spoke;
and
furious
hurl'd
against
the
ground
His
sceptre
starr'd
with
golden
studs
around:
Then
sternly
silent
sat.
With
like
disdain
The
raging
king
return'd
his
frowns
again.
To
calm
their
passion
with
the
words
of
age,
Slow
from
his
seat
arose
the
Pylian
sage,
Experienced
Nestor,
in
persuasion
skill'd;
Words,
sweet
as
honey,
from
his
lips
distill'd:(58)
Two
generations
now
had
pass'd
away,
Wise
by
his
rules,
and
happy
by
his
sway;
Two
ages
o'er
his
native
realm
he
reign'd,
And
now
the
example
of
the
third
remain'd.
All
view'd
with
awe
the
venerable
man;
Who
thus
with
mild
benevolence
began:--
"What
shame,
what
woe
is
this
to
Greece!
what
joy
To
Troy's
proud
monarch,
and
the
friends
of
Troy!
That
adverse
gods
commit
to
stern
debate
The
best,
the
bravest,
of
the
Grecian
state.
Young
as
ye
are,
this
youthful
heat
restrain,
Nor
think
your
Nestor's
years
and
wisdom
vain.
A
godlike
race
of
heroes
once
I
knew,
Such
as
no
more
these
aged
eyes
shall
view!
Lives
there
a
chief
to
match
Pirithous'
fame,
Dryas
the
bold,
or
Ceneus'
deathless
name;
Theseus,
endued
with
more
than
mortal
might,
Or
Polyphemus,
like
the
gods
in
fight?
With
these
of
old,
to
toils
of
battle
bred,
In
early
youth
my
hardy
days
I
led;
Fired
with
the
thirst
which
virtuous
envy
breeds,
And
smit
with
love
of
honourable
deeds,
Strongest
of
men,
they
pierced
the
mountain
boar,
Ranged
the
wild
deserts
red
with
monsters'
gore,
And
from
their
hills
the
shaggy
Centaurs
tore:
Yet
these
with
soft
persuasive
arts
I
sway'd;
When
Nestor
spoke,
they
listen'd
and
obey'd.
If
in
my
youth,
even
these
esteem'd
me
wise;
Do
you,
young
warriors,
hear
my
age
advise.
Atrides,
seize
not
on
the
beauteous
slave;
That
prize
the
Greeks
by
common
suffrage
gave:
Nor
thou,
Achilles,
treat
our
prince
with
pride;
Let
kings
be
just,
and
sovereign
power
preside.
Thee,
the
first
honours
of
the
war
adorn,
Like
gods
in
strength,
and
of
a
goddess
born;
Him,
awful
majesty
exalts
above
The
powers
of
earth,
and
sceptred
sons
of
Jove.
Let
both
unite
with
well-consenting
mind,
So
shall
authority
with
strength
be
join'd.
Leave
me,
O
king!
to
calm
Achilles'
rage;
Rule
thou
thyself,
as
more
advanced
in
age.
Forbid
it,
gods!
Achilles
should
be
lost,
The
pride
of
Greece,
and
bulwark
of
our
host."
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?"
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
Briseis,
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."
At
this
they
ceased:
the
stern
debate
expired:
The
chiefs
in
sullen
majesty
retired.
Achilles
with
Patroclus
took
his
way
Where
near
his
tents
his
hollow
vessels
lay.
Meantime
Atrides
launch'd
with
numerous
oars
A
well-rigg'd
ship
for
Chrysa's
sacred
shores:
High
on
the
deck
was
fair
Chryseis
placed,
And
sage
Ulysses
with
the
conduct
graced:
Safe
in
her
sides
the
hecatomb
they
stow'd,
Then
swiftly
sailing,
cut
the
liquid
road.
The
host
to
expiate
next
the
king
prepares,
With
pure
lustrations,
and
with
solemn
prayers.
Wash'd
by
the
briny
wave,
the
pious
train(59)
Are
cleansed;
and
cast
the
ablutions
in
the
main.
Along
the
shore
whole
hecatombs
were
laid,
And
bulls
and
goats
to
Phoebus'
altars
paid;
The
sable
fumes
in
curling
spires
arise,
And
waft
their
grateful
odours
to
the
skies.
The
army
thus
in
sacred
rites
engaged,
Atrides
still
with
deep
resentment
raged.
To
wait
his
will
two
sacred
heralds
stood,
Talthybius
and
Eurybates
the
good.
"Haste
to
the
fierce
Achilles'
tent
(he
cries),
Thence
bear
Briseis
as
our
royal
prize:
Submit
he
must;
or
if
they
will
not
part,
Ourself
in
arms
shall
tear
her
from
his
heart."
The
unwilling
heralds
act
their
lord's
commands;
Pensive
they
walk
along
the
barren
sands:
Arrived,
the
hero
in
his
tent
they
find,
With
gloomy
aspect
on
his
arm
reclined.
At
awful
distance
long
they
silent
stand,
Loth
to
advance,
and
speak
their
hard
command;
Decent
confusion!
This
the
godlike
man
Perceived,
and
thus
with
accent
mild
began:
"With
leave
and
honour
enter
our
abodes,
Ye
sacred
ministers
of
men
and
gods!(60)
I
know
your
message;
by
constraint
you
came;
Not
you,
but
your
imperious
lord
I
blame.
Patroclus,
haste,
the
fair
Briseis
bring;
Conduct
my
captive
to
the
haughty
king.
But
witness,
heralds,
and
proclaim
my
vow,
Witness
to
gods
above,
and
men
below!
But
first,
and
loudest,
to
your
prince
declare
(That
lawless
tyrant
whose
commands
you
bear),
Unmoved
as
death
Achilles
shall
remain,
Though
prostrate
Greece
shall
bleed
at
every
vein:
The
raging
chief
in
frantic
passion
lost,
Blind
to
himself,
and
useless
to
his
host,
Unskill'd
to
judge
the
future
by
the
past,
In
blood
and
slaughter
shall
repent
at
last."
[Illustration:
THE
DEPARTURE
OF
BRISEIS
FROM
THE
TENT
OF
ACHILLES.]
THE
DEPARTURE
OF
BRISEIS
FROM
THE
TENT
OF
ACHILLES.
Patroclus
now
the
unwilling
beauty
brought;
She,
in
soft
sorrows,
and
in
pensive
thought,
Pass'd
silent,
as
the
heralds
held
her
hand,
And
of
look'd
back,
slow-moving
o'er
the
strand.
Not
so
his
loss
the
fierce
Achilles
bore;
But
sad,
retiring
to
the
sounding
shore,
O'er
the
wild
margin
of
the
deep
he
hung,
That
kindred
deep
from
whence
his
mother
sprung:(61)
There
bathed
in
tears
of
anger
and
disdain,
Thus
loud
lamented
to
the
stormy
main:
"O
parent
goddess!
since
in
early
bloom
Thy
son
must
fall,
by
too
severe
a
doom;
Sure
to
so
short
a
race
of
glory
born,
Great
Jove
in
justice
should
this
span
adorn:
Honour
and
fame
at
least
the
thunderer
owed;
And
ill
he
pays
the
promise
of
a
god,
If
yon
proud
monarch
thus
thy
son
defies,
Obscures
my
glories,
and
resumes
my
prize."
Far
from
the
deep
recesses
of
the
main,
Where
aged
Ocean
holds
his
watery
reign,
The
goddess-mother
heard.
The
waves
divide;
And
like
a
mist
she
rose
above
the
tide;
Beheld
him
mourning
on
the
naked
shores,
And
thus
the
sorrows
of
his
soul
explores.
"Why
grieves
my
son?
Thy
anguish
let
me
share;
Reveal
the
cause,
and
trust
a
parent's
care."
He
deeply
sighing
said:
"To
tell
my
woe
Is
but
to
mention
what
too
well
you
know.
From
Thebe,
sacred
to
Apollo's
name(62)
(Aetion's
realm),
our
conquering
army
came,
With
treasure
loaded
and
triumphant
spoils,
Whose
just
division
crown'd
the
soldier's
toils;
But
bright
Chryseis,
heavenly
prize!
was
led,
By
vote
selected,
to
the
general's
bed.
The
priest
of
Phoebus
sought
by
gifts
to
gain
His
beauteous
daughter
from
the
victor's
chain;
The
fleet
he
reach'd,
and,
lowly
bending
down,
Held
forth
the
sceptre
and
the
laurel
crown,
Intreating
all;
but
chief
implored
for
grace
The
brother-kings
of
Atreus'
royal
race:
The
generous
Greeks
their
joint
consent
declare,
The
priest
to
reverence,
and
release
the
fair;
Not
so
Atrides:
he,
with
wonted
pride,
The
sire
insulted,
and
his
gifts
denied:
The
insulted
sire
(his
god's
peculiar
care)
To
Phoebus
pray'd,
and
Phoebus
heard
the
prayer:
A
dreadful
plague
ensues:
the
avenging
darts
Incessant
fly,
and
pierce
the
Grecian
hearts.
A
prophet
then,
inspired
by
heaven,
arose,
And
points
the
crime,
and
thence
derives
the
woes:
Myself
the
first
the
assembled
chiefs
incline
To
avert
the
vengeance
of
the
power
divine;
Then
rising
in
his
wrath,
the
monarch
storm'd;
Incensed
he
threaten'd,
and
his
threats
perform'd:
The
fair
Chryseis
to
her
sire
was
sent,
With
offer'd
gifts
to
make
the
god
relent;
But
now
he
seized
Briseis'
heavenly
charms,
And
of
my
valour's
prize
defrauds
my
arms,
Defrauds
the
votes
of
all
the
Grecian
train;(63)
And
service,
faith,
and
justice,
plead
in
vain.
But,
goddess!
thou
thy
suppliant
son
attend.
To
high
Olympus'
shining
court
ascend,
Urge
all
the
ties
to
former
service
owed,
And
sue
for
vengeance
to
the
thundering
god.
Oft
hast
thou
triumph'd
in
the
glorious
boast,
That
thou
stood'st
forth
of
all
the
ethereal
host,
When
bold
rebellion
shook
the
realms
above,
The
undaunted
guard
of
cloud-compelling
Jove:
When
the
bright
partner
of
his
awful
reign,
The
warlike
maid,
and
monarch
of
the
main,
The
traitor-gods,
by
mad
ambition
driven,
Durst
threat
with
chains
the
omnipotence
of
Heaven.
Then,
call'd
by
thee,
the
monster
Titan
came
(Whom
gods
Briareus,
men
Ęgeon
name),
Through
wondering
skies
enormous
stalk'd
along;
Not
he
that
shakes
the
solid
earth
so
strong:
With
giant-pride
at
Jove's
high
throne
he
stands,
And
brandish'd
round
him
all
his
hundred
hands:
The
affrighted
gods
confess'd
their
awful
lord,
They
dropp'd
the
fetters,
trembled,
and
adored.(64)
This,
goddess,
this
to
his
remembrance
call,
Embrace
his
knees,
at
his
tribunal
fall;
Conjure
him
far
to
drive
the
Grecian
train,
To
hurl
them
headlong
to
their
fleet
and
main,
To
heap
the
shores
with
copious
death,
and
bring
The
Greeks
to
know
the
curse
of
such
a
king.
Let
Agamemnon
lift
his
haughty
head
O'er
all
his
wide
dominion
of
the
dead,
And
mourn
in
blood
that
e'er
he
durst
disgrace
The
boldest
warrior
of
the
Grecian
race."
[Illustration:
THETIS
CALLING
BRIAREUS
TO
THE
ASSISTANCE
OF
JUPITER.]
THETIS
CALLING
BRIAREUS
TO
THE
ASSISTANCE
OF
JUPITER.
"Unhappy
son!
(fair
Thetis
thus
replies,
While
tears
celestial
trickle
from
her
eyes)
Why
have
I
borne
thee
with
a
mother's
throes,
To
Fates
averse,
and
nursed
for
future
woes?(65)
So
short
a
space
the
light
of
heaven
to
view!
So
short
a
space!
and
fill'd
with
sorrow
too!
O
might
a
parent's
careful
wish
prevail,
Far,
far
from
Ilion
should
thy
vessels
sail,
And
thou,
from
camps
remote,
the
danger
shun
Which
now,
alas!
too
nearly
threats
my
son.
Yet
(what
I
can)
to
move
thy
suit
I'll
go
To
great
Olympus
crown'd
with
fleecy
snow.
Meantime,
secure
within
thy
ships,
from
far
Behold
the
field,
not
mingle
in
the
war.
The
sire
of
gods
and
all
the
ethereal
train,
On
the
warm
limits
of
the
farthest
main,
Now
mix
with
mortals,
nor
disdain
to
grace
The
feasts
of
Ęthiopia's
blameless
race,(66)
Twelve
days
the
powers
indulge
the
genial
rite,
Returning
with
the
twelfth
revolving
light.
Then
will
I
mount
the
brazen
dome,
and
move
The
high
tribunal
of
immortal
Jove."
The
goddess
spoke:
the
rolling
waves
unclose;
Then
down
the
steep
she
plunged
from
whence
she
rose,
And
left
him
sorrowing
on
the
lonely
coast,
In
wild
resentment
for
the
fair
he
lost.
In
Chrysa's
port
now
sage
Ulysses
rode;
Beneath
the
deck
the
destined
victims
stow'd:
The
sails
they
furl'd,
they
lash
the
mast
aside,
And
dropp'd
their
anchors,
and
the
pinnace
tied.
Next
on
the
shore
their
hecatomb
they
land;
Chryseis
last
descending
on
the
strand.
Her,
thus
returning
from
the
furrow'd
main,
Ulysses
led
to
Phoebus'
sacred
fane;
Where
at
his
solemn
altar,
as
the
maid
He
gave
to
Chryses,
thus
the
hero
said:
"Hail,
reverend
priest!
to
Phoebus'
awful
dome
A
suppliant
I
from
great
Atrides
come:
Unransom'd,
here
receive
the
spotless
fair;
Accept
the
hecatomb
the
Greeks
prepare;
And
may
thy
god
who
scatters
darts
around,
Atoned
by
sacrifice,
desist
to
wound."(67)
At
this,
the
sire
embraced
the
maid
again,
So
sadly
lost,
so
lately
sought
in
vain.
Then
near
the
altar
of
the
darting
king,
Disposed
in
rank
their
hecatomb
they
bring;
With
water
purify
their
hands,
and
take
The
sacred
offering
of
the
salted
cake;
While
thus
with
arms
devoutly
raised
in
air,
And
solemn
voice,
the
priest
directs
his
prayer:
"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."
So
Chryses
pray'd.
Apollo
heard
his
prayer:
And
now
the
Greeks
their
hecatomb
prepare;
Between
their
horns
the
salted
barley
threw,
And,
with
their
heads
to
heaven,
the
victims
slew:(68)
The
limbs
they
sever
from
the
inclosing
hide;
The
thighs,
selected
to
the
gods,
divide:
On
these,
in
double
cauls
involved
with
art,
The
choicest
morsels
lay
from
every
part.
The
priest
himself
before
his
altar
stands,
And
burns
the
offering
with
his
holy
hands.
Pours
the
black
wine,
and
sees
the
flames
aspire;
The
youth
with
instruments
surround
the
fire:
The
thighs
thus
sacrificed,
and
entrails
dress'd,
The
assistants
part,
transfix,
and
roast
the
rest:
Then
spread
the
tables,
the
repast
prepare;
Each
takes
his
seat,
and
each
receives
his
share.
When
now
the
rage
of
hunger
was
repress'd,
With
pure
libations
they
conclude
the
feast;
The
youths
with
wine
the
copious
goblets
crown'd,
And,
pleased,
dispense
the
flowing
bowls
around;(69)
With
hymns
divine
the
joyous
banquet
ends,
The
paeans
lengthen'd
till
the
sun
descends:
The
Greeks,
restored,
the
grateful
notes
prolong;
Apollo
listens,
and
approves
the
song.
'Twas
night;
the
chiefs
beside
their
vessel
lie,
Till
rosy
morn
had
purpled
o'er
the
sky:
Then
launch,
and
hoist
the
mast:
indulgent
gales,
Supplied
by
Phoebus,
fill
the
swelling
sails;
The
milk-white
canvas
bellying
as
they
blow,
The
parted
ocean
foams
and
roars
below:
Above
the
bounding
billows
swift
they
flew,
Till
now
the
Grecian
camp
appear'd
in
view.
Far
on
the
beach
they
haul
their
bark
to
land,
(The
crooked
keel
divides
the
yellow
sand,)
Then
part,
where
stretch'd
along
the
winding
bay,
The
ships
and
tents
in
mingled
prospect
lay.
But
raging
still,
amidst
his
navy
sat
The
stern
Achilles,
stedfast
in
his
hate;
Nor
mix'd
in
combat,
nor
in
council
join'd;
But
wasting
cares
lay
heavy
on
his
mind:
In
his
black
thoughts
revenge
and
slaughter
roll,
And
scenes
of
blood
rise
dreadful
in
his
soul.
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."
[Illustration:
THETIS
ENTREATING
JUPITER
TO
HONOUR
ACHILLES.]
THETIS
ENTREATING
JUPITER
TO
HONOUR
ACHILLES.
Thus
Thetis
spoke;
but
Jove
in
silence
held
The
sacred
counsels
of
his
breast
conceal'd.
Not
so
repulsed,
the
goddess
closer
press'd,
Still
grasp'd
his
knees,
and
urged
the
dear
request.
"O
sire
of
gods
and
men!
thy
suppliant
hear;
Refuse,
or
grant;
for
what
has
Jove
to
fear?
Or
oh!
declare,
of
all
the
powers
above,
Is
wretched
Thetis
least
the
care
of
Jove?"
She
said;
and,
sighing,
thus
the
god
replies,
Who
rolls
the
thunder
o'er
the
vaulted
skies:
"What
hast
thou
ask'd?
ah,
why
should
Jove
engage
In
foreign
contests
and
domestic
rage,
The
gods'
complaints,
and
Juno's
fierce
alarms,
While
I,
too
partial,
aid
the
Trojan
arms?
Go,
lest
the
haughty
partner
of
my
sway
With
jealous
eyes
thy
close
access
survey;
But
part
in
peace,
secure
thy
prayer
is
sped:
Witness
the
sacred
honours
of
our
head,
The
nod
that
ratifies
the
will
divine,
The
faithful,
fix'd,
irrevocable
sign;
This
seals
thy
suit,
and
this
fulfils
thy
vows--"
He
spoke,
and
awful
bends
his
sable
brows,(70)
Shakes
his
ambrosial
curls,
and
gives
the
nod,
The
stamp
of
fate
and
sanction
of
the
god:
High
heaven
with
trembling
the
dread
signal
took,
And
all
Olympus
to
the
centre
shook.(71)
Swift
to
the
seas
profound
the
goddess
flies,
Jove
to
his
starry
mansions
in
the
skies.
The
shining
synod
of
the
immortals
wait
The
coming
god,
and
from
their
thrones
of
state
Arising
silent,
wrapp'd
in
holy
fear,
Before
the
majesty
of
heaven
appear.
Trembling
they
stand,
while
Jove
assumes
the
throne,
All,
but
the
god's
imperious
queen
alone:
Late
had
she
view'd
the
silver-footed
dame,
And
all
her
passions
kindled
into
flame.
"Say,
artful
manager
of
heaven
(she
cries),
Who
now
partakes
the
secrets
of
the
skies?
Thy
Juno
knows
not
the
decrees
of
fate,
In
vain
the
partner
of
imperial
state.
What
favourite
goddess
then
those
cares
divides,
Which
Jove
in
prudence
from
his
consort
hides?"
To
this
the
thunderer:
"Seek
not
thou
to
find
The
sacred
counsels
of
almighty
mind:
Involved
in
darkness
likes
the
great
decree,
Nor
can
the
depths
of
fate
be
pierced
by
thee.
What
fits
thy
knowledge,
thou
the
first
shalt
know;
The
first
of
gods
above,
and
men
below;
But
thou,
nor
they,
shall
search
the
thoughts
that
roll
Deep
in
the
close
recesses
of
my
soul."
Full
on
the
sire
the
goddess
of
the
skies
Roll'd
the
large
orbs
of
her
majestic
eyes,
And
thus
return'd:--"Austere
Saturnius,
say,
From
whence
this
wrath,
or
who
controls
thy
sway?
Thy
boundless
will,
for
me,
remains
in
force,
And
all
thy
counsels
take
the
destined
course.
But
'tis
for
Greece
I
fear:
for
late
was
seen,
In
close
consult,
the
silver-footed
queen.
Jove
to
his
Thetis
nothing
could
deny,
Nor
was
the
signal
vain
that
shook
the
sky.
What
fatal
favour
has
the
goddess
won,
To
grace
her
fierce,
inexorable
son?
Perhaps
in
Grecian
blood
to
drench
the
plain,
And
glut
his
vengeance
with
my
people
slain."
Then
thus
the
god:
"O
restless
fate
of
pride,
That
strives
to
learn
what
heaven
resolves
to
hide;
Vain
is
the
search,
presumptuous
and
abhorr'd,
Anxious
to
thee,
and
odious
to
thy
lord.
Let
this
suffice:
the
immutable
decree
No
force
can
shake:
what
is,
that
ought
to
be.
Goddess,
submit;
nor
dare
our
will
withstand,
But
dread
the
power
of
this
avenging
hand:
The
united
strength
of
all
the
gods
above
In
vain
resists
the
omnipotence
of
Jove."
[Illustration:
VULCAN.]
VULCAN.
The
thunderer
spoke,
nor
durst
the
queen
reply;
A
reverent
horror
silenced
all
the
sky.
The
feast
disturb'd,
with
sorrow
Vulcan
saw
His
mother
menaced,
and
the
gods
in
awe;
Peace
at
his
heart,
and
pleasure
his
design,
Thus
interposed
the
architect
divine:
"The
wretched
quarrels
of
the
mortal
state
Are
far
unworthy,
gods!
of
your
debate:
Let
men
their
days
in
senseless
strife
employ,
We,
in
eternal
peace
and
constant
joy.
Thou,
goddess-mother,
with
our
sire
comply,
Nor
break
the
sacred
union
of
the
sky:
Lest,
roused
to
rage,
he
shake
the
bless'd
abodes,
Launch
the
red
lightning,
and
dethrone
the
gods.
If
you
submit,
the
thunderer
stands
appeased;
The
gracious
power
is
willing
to
be
pleased."
Thus
Vulcan
spoke:
and
rising
with
a
bound,
The
double
bowl
with
sparkling
nectar
crown'd,(72)
Which
held
to
Juno
in
a
cheerful
way,
"Goddess
(he
cried),
be
patient
and
obey.
Dear
as
you
are,
if
Jove
his
arm
extend,
I
can
but
grieve,
unable
to
defend
What
god
so
daring
in
your
aid
to
move,
Or
lift
his
hand
against
the
force
of
Jove?
Once
in
your
cause
I
felt
his
matchless
might,
Hurl'd
headlong
down
from
the
ethereal
height;(73)
Toss'd
all
the
day
in
rapid
circles
round,
Nor
till
the
sun
descended
touch'd
the
ground.
Breathless
I
fell,
in
giddy
motion
lost;
The
Sinthians
raised
me
on
the
Lemnian
coast;(74)
He
said,
and
to
her
hands
the
goblet
heaved,
Which,
with
a
smile,
the
white-arm'd
queen
received
Then,
to
the
rest
he
fill'd;
and
in
his
turn,
Each
to
his
lips
applied
the
nectar'd
urn,
Vulcan
with
awkward
grace
his
office
plies,
And
unextinguish'd
laughter
shakes
the
skies.
Thus
the
blest
gods
the
genial
day
prolong,
In
feasts
ambrosial,
and
celestial
song.(75)
Apollo
tuned
the
lyre;
the
Muses
round
With
voice
alternate
aid
the
silver
sound.
Meantime
the
radiant
sun
to
mortal
sight
Descending
swift,
roll'd
down
the
rapid
light:
Then
to
their
starry
domes
the
gods
depart,
The
shining
monuments
of
Vulcan's
art:
Jove
on
his
couch
reclined
his
awful
head,
And
Juno
slumber'd
on
the
golden
bed.
[Illustration:
JUPITER.]
JUPITER.
[Illustration:
THE
APOTHEOSIS
OF
HOMER.]
THE
APOTHEOSIS
OF
HOMER.
BOOK
II.
ARGUMENT.
THE
TRIAL
OF
THE
ARMY,
AND
CATALOGUE
OF
THE
FORCES.
Jupiter,
in
pursuance
of
the
request
of
Thetis,
sends
a
deceitful
vision
to
Agamemnon,
persuading
him
to
lead
the
army
to
battle,
in
order
to
make
the
Greeks
sensible
of
their
want
of
Achilles.
The
general,
who
is
deluded
with
the
hopes
of
taking
Troy
without
his
assistance,
but
fears
the
army
was
discouraged
by
his
absence,
and
the
late
plague,
as
well
as
by
the
length
of
time,
contrives
to
make
trial
of
their
disposition
by
a
stratagem.
He
first
communicates
his
design
to
the
princes
in
council,
that
he
would
propose
a
return
to
the
soldiers,
and
that
they
should
put
a
stop
to
them
if
the
proposal
was
embraced.
Then
he
assembles
the
whole
host,
and
upon
moving
for
a
return
to
Greece,
they
unanimously
agree
to
it,
and
run
to
prepare
the
ships.
They
are
detained
by
the
management
of
Ulysses,
who
chastises
the
insolence
of
Thersites.
The
assembly
is
recalled,
several
speeches
made
on
the
occasion,
and
at
length
the
advice
of
Nestor
followed,
which
was
to
make
a
general
muster
of
the
troops,
and
to
divide
them
into
their
several
nations,
before
they
proceeded
to
battle.
This
gives
occasion
to
the
poet
to
enumerate
all
the
forces
of
the
Greeks
and
Trojans,
and
in
a
large
catalogue.
The
time
employed
in
this
book
consists
not
entirely
of
one
day.
The
scene
lies
in
the
Grecian
camp,
and
upon
the
sea-shore;
towards
the
end
it
removes
to
Troy.
Now
pleasing
sleep
had
seal'd
each
mortal
eye,
Stretch'd
in
the
tents
the
Grecian
leaders
lie:
The
immortals
slumber'd
on
their
thrones
above;
All,
but
the
ever-wakeful
eyes
of
Jove.(76)
To
honour
Thetis'
son
he
bends
his
care,
And
plunge
the
Greeks
in
all
the
woes
of
war:
Then
bids
an
empty
phantom
rise
to
sight,
And
thus
commands
the
vision
of
the
night.
"Fly
hence,
deluding
Dream!
and
light
as
air,(77)
To
Agamemnon's
ample
tent
repair.
Bid
him
in
arms
draw
forth
the
embattled
train,
Lead
all
his
Grecians
to
the
dusty
plain.
Declare,
e'en
now
'tis
given
him
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."
Swift
as
the
word
the
vain
illusion
fled,
Descends,
and
hovers
o'er
Atrides'
head;
Clothed
in
the
figure
of
the
Pylian
sage,
Renown'd
for
wisdom,
and
revered
for
age:
Around
his
temples
spreads
his
golden
wing,
And
thus
the
flattering
dream
deceives
the
king.
[Illustration:
JUPITER
SENDING
THE
EVIL
DREAM
TO
AGAMEMNON.]
JUPITER
SENDING
THE
EVIL
DREAM
TO
AGAMEMNON.
"Canst
thou,
with
all
a
monarch's
cares
oppress'd,
O
Atreus'
son!
canst
thou
indulge
the
rest?(78)
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.(79)
Monarch,
awake!
'tis
Jove's
command
I
bear;
Thou,
and
thy
glory,
claim
his
heavenly
care.
In
just
array
draw
forth
the
embattled
train,
Lead
all
thy
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.
Awake,
but
waking
this
advice
approve,
And
trust
the
vision
that
descends
from
Jove."
The
phantom
said;
then
vanish'd
from
his
sight,
Resolves
to
air,
and
mixes
with
the
night.
A
thousand
schemes
the
monarch's
mind
employ;
Elate
in
thought
he
sacks
untaken
Troy:
Vain
as
he
was,
and
to
the
future
blind,
Nor
saw
what
Jove
and
secret
fate
design'd,
What
mighty
toils
to
either
host
remain,
What
scenes
of
grief,
and
numbers
of
the
slain!
Eager
he
rises,
and
in
fancy
hears
The
voice
celestial
murmuring
in
his
ears.
First
on
his
limbs
a
slender
vest
he
drew,
Around
him
next
the
regal
mantle
threw,
The
embroider'd
sandals
on
his
feet
were
tied;
The
starry
falchion
glitter'd
at
his
side;
And
last,
his
arm
the
massy
sceptre
loads,
Unstain'd,
immortal,
and
the
gift
of
gods.
Now
rosy
Morn
ascends
the
court
of
Jove,
Lifts
up
her
light,
and
opens
day
above.
The
king
despatch'd
his
heralds
with
commands
To
range
the
camp
and
summon
all
the
bands:
The
gathering
hosts
the
monarch's
word
obey;
While
to
the
fleet
Atrides
bends
his
way.
In
his
black
ship
the
Pylian
prince
he
found;
There
calls
a
senate
of
the
peers
around:
The
assembly
placed,
the
king
of
men
express'd
The
counsels
labouring
in
his
artful
breast.
"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.
This
hear
observant,
and
the
gods
obey!'
The
vision
spoke,
and
pass'd
in
air
away.
Now,
valiant
chiefs!
since
heaven
itself
alarms,
Unite,
and
rouse
the
sons
of
Greece
to
arms.
But
first,
with
caution,
try
what
yet
they
dare,
Worn
with
nine
years
of
unsuccessful
war.
To
move
the
troops
to
measure
back
the
main,
Be
mine;
and
yours
the
province
to
detain."
He
spoke,
and
sat:
when
Nestor,
rising
said,
(Nestor,
whom
Pylos'
sandy
realms
obey'd,)
"Princes
of
Greece,
your
faithful
ears
incline,
Nor
doubt
the
vision
of
the
powers
divine;
Sent
by
great
Jove
to
him
who
rules
the
host,
Forbid
it,
heaven!
this
warning
should
be
lost!
Then
let
us
haste,
obey
the
god's
alarms,
And
join
to
rouse
the
sons
of
Greece
to
arms."
Thus
spoke
the
sage:
the
kings
without
delay
Dissolve
the
council,
and
their
chief
obey:
The
sceptred
rulers
lead;
the
following
host,
Pour'd
forth
by
thousands,
darkens
all
the
coast.
As
from
some
rocky
cleft
the
shepherd
sees
Clustering
in
heaps
on
heaps
the
driving
bees,
Rolling
and
blackening,
swarms
succeeding
swarms,
With
deeper
murmurs
and
more
hoarse
alarms;
Dusky
they
spread,
a
close
embodied
crowd,
And
o'er
the
vale
descends
the
living
cloud.(81)
So,
from
the
tents
and
ships,
a
lengthen'd
train
Spreads
all
the
beach,
and
wide
o'ershades
the
plain:
Along
the
region
runs
a
deafening
sound;
Beneath
their
footsteps
groans
the
trembling
ground.
Fame
flies
before
the
messenger
of
Jove,
And
shining
soars,
and
claps
her
wings
above.
Nine
sacred
heralds
now,
proclaiming
loud(82)
The
monarch's
will,
suspend
the
listening
crowd.
Soon
as
the
throngs
in
order
ranged
appear,
And
fainter
murmurs
died
upon
the
ear,
The
king
of
kings
his
awful
figure
raised:
High
in
his
hand
the
golden
sceptre
blazed;
The
golden
sceptre,
of
celestial
flame,
By
Vulcan
form'd,
from
Jove
to
Hermes
came.
To
Pelops
he
the
immortal
gift
resign'd;
The
immortal
gift
great
Pelops
left
behind,
In
Atreus'
hand,
which
not
with
Atreus
ends,
To
rich
Thyestes
next
the
prize
descends;
And
now
the
mark
of
Agamemnon's
reign,
Subjects
all
Argos,
and
controls
the
main.(83)
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."
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:
"Shall
then
the
Grecians
fly!
O
dire
disgrace!
And
leave
unpunish'd
this
perfidious
race?
Shall
Troy,
shall
Priam,
and
the
adulterous
spouse,
In
peace
enjoy
the
fruits
of
broken
vows?
And
bravest
chiefs,
in
Helen's
quarrel
slain,
Lie
unrevenged
on
yon
detested
plain?
No:
let
my
Greeks,
unmoved
by
vain
alarms,
Once
more
refulgent
shine
in
brazen
arms.
Haste,
goddess,
haste!
the
flying
host
detain,
Nor
let
one
sail
be
hoisted
on
the
main."
Pallas
obeys,
and
from
Olympus'
height
Swift
to
the
ships
precipitates
her
flight.
Ulysses,
first
in
public
cares,
she
found,
For
prudent
counsel
like
the
gods
renown'd:
Oppress'd
with
generous
grief
the
hero
stood,
Nor
drew
his
sable
vessels
to
the
flood.
"And
is
it
thus,
divine
Laertes'
son,
Thus
fly
the
Greeks
(the
martial
maid
begun),
Thus
to
their
country
bear
their
own
disgrace,
And
fame
eternal
leave
to
Priam's
race?
Shall
beauteous
Helen
still
remain
unfreed,
Still
unrevenged,
a
thousand
heroes
bleed!
Haste,
generous
Ithacus!
prevent
the
shame,
Recall
your
armies,
and
your
chiefs
reclaim.
Your
own
resistless
eloquence
employ,
And
to
the
immortals
trust
the
fall
of
Troy."
The
voice
divine
confess'd
the
warlike
maid,
Ulysses
heard,
nor
uninspired
obey'd:
Then
meeting
first
Atrides,
from
his
hand
Received
the
imperial
sceptre
of
command.
Thus
graced,
attention
and
respect
to
gain,
He
runs,
he
flies
through
all
the
Grecian
train;
Each
prince
of
name,
or
chief
in
arms
approved,
He
fired
with
praise,
or
with
persuasion
moved.
"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."
But
if
a
clamorous
vile
plebeian
rose,
Him
with
reproof
he
check'd
or
tamed
with
blows.
"Be
still,
thou
slave,
and
to
thy
betters
yield;
Unknown
alike
in
council
and
in
field!
Ye
gods,
what
dastards
would
our
host
command!
Swept
to
the
war,
the
lumber
of
a
land.
Be
silent,
wretch,
and
think
not
here
allow'd
That
worst
of
tyrants,
an
usurping
crowd.
To
one
sole
monarch
Jove
commits
the
sway;
His
are
the
laws,
and
him
let
all
obey."(86)
With
words
like
these
the
troops
Ulysses
ruled,
The
loudest
silenced,
and
the
fiercest
cool'd.
Back
to
the
assembly
roll
the
thronging
train,
Desert
the
ships,
and
pour
upon
the
plain.
Murmuring
they
move,
as
when
old
ocean
roars,
And
heaves
huge
surges
to
the
trembling
shores;
The
groaning
banks
are
burst
with
bellowing
sound,
The
rocks
remurmur
and
the
deeps
rebound.
At
length
the
tumult
sinks,
the
noises
cease,
And
a
still
silence
lulls
the
camp
to
peace.
Thersites
only
clamour'd
in
the
throng,
Loquacious,
loud,
and
turbulent
of
tongue:
Awed
by
no
shame,
by
no
respect
controll'd,
In
scandal
busy,
in
reproaches
bold:
With
witty
malice
studious
to
defame,
Scorn
all
his
joy,
and
laughter
all
his
aim:--
But
chief
he
gloried
with
licentious
style
To
lash
the
great,
and
monarchs
to
revile.
His
figure
such
as
might
his
soul
proclaim;
One
eye
was
blinking,
and
one
leg
was
lame:
His
mountain
shoulders
half
his
breast
o'erspread,
Thin
hairs
bestrew'd
his
long
misshapen
head.
Spleen
to
mankind
his
envious
heart
possess'd,
And
much
he
hated
all,
but
most
the
best:
Ulysses
or
Achilles
still
his
theme;
But
royal
scandal
his
delight
supreme,
Long
had
he
lived
the
scorn
of
every
Greek,
Vex'd
when
he
spoke,
yet
still
they
heard
him
speak.
Sharp
was
his
voice;
which
in
the
shrillest
tone,
Thus
with
injurious
taunts
attack'd
the
throne.
"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."
Fierce
from
his
seat
at
this
Ulysses
springs,(87)
In
generous
vengeance
of
the
king
of
kings.
With
indignation
sparkling
in
his
eyes,
He
views
the
wretch,
and
sternly
thus
replies:
"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."
He
said,
and
cowering
as
the
dastard
bends,
The
weighty
sceptre
on
his
bank
descends.(88)
On
the
round
bunch
the
bloody
tumours
rise:
The
tears
spring
starting
from
his
haggard
eyes;
Trembling
he
sat,
and
shrunk
in
abject
fears,
From
his
vile
visage
wiped
the
scalding
tears;
While
to
his
neighbour
each
express'd
his
thought:
"Ye
gods!
what
wonders
has
Ulysses
wrought!
What
fruits
his
conduct
and
his
courage
yield!
Great
in
the
council,
glorious
in
the
field.
Generous
he
rises
in
the
crown's
defence,
To
curb
the
factious
tongue
of
insolence,
Such
just
examples
on
offenders
shown,
Sedition
silence,
and
assert
the
throne."
'Twas
thus
the
general
voice
the
hero
praised,
Who,
rising,
high
the
imperial
sceptre
raised:
The
blue-eyed
Pallas,
his
celestial
friend,
(In
form
a
herald,)
bade
the
crowds
attend.
The
expecting
crowds
in
still
attention
hung,
To
hear
the
wisdom
of
his
heavenly
tongue.
Then
deeply
thoughtful,
pausing
ere
he
spoke,
His
silence
thus
the
prudent
hero
broke:
"Unhappy
monarch!
whom
the
Grecian
race
With
shame
deserting,
heap
with
vile
disgrace.
Not
such
at
Argos
was
their
generous
vow:
Once
all
their
voice,
but
ah!
forgotten
now:
Ne'er
to
return,
was
then
the
common
cry,
Till
Troy's
proud
structures
should
in
ashes
lie.
Behold
them
weeping
for
their
native
shore;
What
could
their
wives
or
helpless
children
more?
What
heart
but
melts
to
leave
the
tender
train,
And,
one
short
month,
endure
the
wintry
main?
Few
leagues
removed,
we
wish
our
peaceful
seat,
When
the
ship
tosses,
and
the
tempests
beat:
Then
well
may
this
long
stay
provoke
their
tears,
The
tedious
length
of
nine
revolving
years.
Not
for
their
grief
the
Grecian
host
I
blame;
But
vanquish'd!
baffled!
oh,
eternal
shame!
Expect
the
time
to
Troy's
destruction
given.
And
try
the
faith
of
Chalcas
and
of
heaven.
What
pass'd
at
Aulis,
Greece
can
witness
bear,(89)
And
all
who
live
to
breathe
this
Phrygian
air.
Beside
a
fountain's
sacred
brink
we
raised
Our
verdant
altars,
and
the
victims
blazed:
'Twas
where
the
plane-tree
spread
its
shades
around,
The
altars
heaved;
and
from
the
crumbling
ground
A
mighty
dragon
shot,
of
dire
portent;
From
Jove
himself
the
dreadful
sign
was
sent.
Straight
to
the
tree
his
sanguine
spires
he
roll'd,
And
curl'd
around
in
many
a
winding
fold;
The
topmost
branch
a
mother-bird
possess'd;
Eight
callow
infants
fill'd
the
mossy
nest;
Herself
the
ninth;
the
serpent,
as
he
hung,
Stretch'd
his
black
jaws
and
crush'd
the
crying
young;
While
hovering
near,
with
miserable
moan,
The
drooping
mother
wail'd
her
children
gone.
The
mother
last,
as
round
the
nest
she
flew,
Seized
by
the
beating
wing,
the
monster
slew;
Nor
long
survived:
to
marble
turn'd,
he
stands
A
lasting
prodigy
on
Aulis'
sands.
Such
was
the
will
of
Jove;
and
hence
we
dare
Trust
in
his
omen,
and
support
the
war.
For
while
around
we
gazed
with
wondering
eyes,
And
trembling
sought
the
powers
with
sacrifice,
Full
of
his
god,
the
reverend
Chalcas
cried,(90)
'Ye
Grecian
warriors!
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.
What
chief,
or
soldier,
of
the
numerous
band,
Or
bravely
fights,
or
ill
obeys
command,
When
thus
distinct
they
war,
shall
soon
be
known
And
what
the
cause
of
Ilion
not
o'erthrown;
If
fate
resists,
or
if
our
arms
are
slow,
If
gods
above
prevent,
or
men
below."
To
him
the
king:
"How
much
thy
years
excel
In
arts
of
counsel,
and
in
speaking
well!
O
would
the
gods,
in
love
to
Greece,
decree
But
ten
such
sages
as
they
grant
in
thee;
Such
wisdom
soon
should
Priam's
force
destroy,
And
soon
should
fall
the
haughty
towers
of
Troy!
But
Jove
forbids,
who
plunges
those
he
hates
In
fierce
contention
and
in
vain
debates:
Now
great
Achilles
from
our
aid
withdraws,
By
me
provoked;
a
captive
maid
the
cause:
If
e'er
as
friends
we
join,
the
Trojan
wall
Must
shake,
and
heavy
will
the
vengeance
fall!
But
now,
ye
warriors,
take
a
short
repast;
And,
well
refresh'd,
to
bloody
conflict
haste.
His
sharpen'd
spear
let
every
Grecian
wield,
And
every
Grecian
fix
his
brazen
shield,
Let
all
excite
the
fiery
steeds
of
war,
And
all
for
combat
fit
the
rattling
car.
This
day,
this
dreadful
day,
let
each
contend;
No
rest,
no
respite,
till
the
shades
descend;
Till
darkness,
or
till
death,
shall
cover
all:
Let
the
war
bleed,
and
let
the
mighty
fall;
Till
bathed
in
sweat
be
every
manly
breast,
With
the
huge
shield
each
brawny
arm
depress'd,
Each
aching
nerve
refuse
the
lance
to
throw,
And
each
spent
courser
at
the
chariot
blow.
Who
dares,
inglorious,
in
his
ships
to
stay,
Who
dares
to
tremble
on
this
signal
day;
That
wretch,
too
mean
to
fall
by
martial
power,
The
birds
shall
mangle,
and
the
dogs
devour."
The
monarch
spoke;
and
straight
a
murmur
rose,
Loud
as
the
surges
when
the
tempest
blows,
That
dash'd
on
broken
rocks
tumultuous
roar,
And
foam
and
thunder
on
the
stony
shore.
Straight
to
the
tents
the
troops
dispersing
bend,
The
fires
are
kindled,
and
the
smokes
ascend;
With
hasty
feasts
they
sacrifice,
and
pray,
To
avert
the
dangers
of
the
doubtful
day.
A
steer
of
five
years'
age,
large
limb'd,
and
fed,(92)
To
Jove's
high
altars
Agamemnon
led:
There
bade
the
noblest
of
the
Grecian
peers;
And
Nestor
first,
as
most
advanced
in
years.
Next
came
Idomeneus,(93)
and
Tydeus'
son,(94)
Ajax
the
less,
and
Ajax
Telamon;(95)
Then
wise
Ulysses
in
his
rank
was
placed;
And
Menelaus
came,
unbid,
the
last.(96)
The
chiefs
surround
the
destined
beast,
and
take
The
sacred
offering
of
the
salted
cake:
When
thus
the
king
prefers
his
solemn
prayer;
"O
thou!
whose
thunder
rends
the
clouded
air,
Who
in
the
heaven
of
heavens
hast
fixed
thy
throne,
Supreme
of
gods!
unbounded,
and
alone!
Hear!
and
before
the
burning
sun
descends,
Before
the
night
her
gloomy
veil
extends,
Low
in
the
dust
be
laid
yon
hostile
spires,
Be
Priam's
palace
sunk
in
Grecian
fires.
In
Hector's
breast
be
plunged
this
shining
sword,
And
slaughter'd
heroes
groan
around
their
lord!"
Thus
prayed
the
chief:
his
unavailing
prayer
Great
Jove
refused,
and
toss'd
in
empty
air:
The
God
averse,
while
yet
the
fumes
arose,
Prepared
new
toils,
and
doubled
woes
on
woes.
Their
prayers
perform'd
the
chiefs
the
rite
pursue,
The
barley
sprinkled,
and
the
victim
slew.
The
limbs
they
sever
from
the
inclosing
hide,
The
thighs,
selected
to
the
gods,
divide.
On
these,
in
double
cauls
involved
with
art,
The
choicest
morsels
lie
from
every
part,
From
the
cleft
wood
the
crackling
flames
aspires
While
the
fat
victims
feed
the
sacred
fire.
The
thighs
thus
sacrificed,
and
entrails
dress'd
The
assistants
part,
transfix,
and
roast
the
rest;
Then
spread
the
tables,
the
repast
prepare,
Each
takes
his
seat,
and
each
receives
his
share.
Soon
as
the
rage
of
hunger
was
suppress'd,
The
generous
Nestor
thus
the
prince
address'd.
"Now
bid
thy
heralds
sound
the
loud
alarms,
And
call
the
squadrons
sheathed
in
brazen
arms;
Now
seize
the
occasion,
now
the
troops
survey,
And
lead
to
war
when
heaven
directs
the
way."
He
said;
the
monarch
issued
his
commands;
Straight
the
loud
heralds
call
the
gathering
bands
The
chiefs
inclose
their
king;
the
hosts
divide,
In
tribes
and
nations
rank'd
on
either
side.
High
in
the
midst
the
blue-eyed
virgin
flies;
From
rank
to
rank
she
darts
her
ardent
eyes;
The
dreadful
aegis,
Jove's
immortal
shield,
Blazed
on
her
arm,
and
lighten'd
all
the
field:
Round
the
vast
orb
a
hundred
serpents
roll'd,
Form'd
the
bright
fringe,
and
seem'd
to
burn
in
gold,
With
this
each
Grecian's
manly
breast
she
warms,
Swells
their
bold
hearts,
and
strings
their
nervous
arms,
No
more
they
sigh,
inglorious,
to
return,
But
breathe
revenge,
and
for
the
combat
burn.
As
on
some
mountain,
through
the
lofty
grove,
The
crackling
flames
ascend,
and
blaze
above;
The
fires
expanding,
as
the
winds
arise,
Shoot
their
long
beams,
and
kindle
half
the
skies:
So
from
the
polish'd
arms,
and
brazen
shields,
A
gleamy
splendour
flash'd
along
the
fields.
Not
less
their
number
than
the
embodied
cranes,
Or
milk-white
swans
in
Asius'
watery
plains.
That,
o'er
the
windings
of
Cayster's
springs,(97)
Stretch
their
long
necks,
and
clap
their
rustling
wings,
Now
tower
aloft,
and
course
in
airy
rounds,
Now
light
with
noise;
with
noise
the
field
resounds.
Thus
numerous
and
confused,
extending
wide,
The
legions
crowd
Scamander's
flowery
side;(98)
With
rushing
troops
the
plains
are
cover'd
o'er,
And
thundering
footsteps
shake
the
sounding
shore.
Along
the
river's
level
meads
they
stand,
Thick
as
in
spring
the
flowers
adorn
the
land,
Or
leaves
the
trees;
or
thick
as
insects
play,
The
wandering
nation
of
a
summer's
day:
That,
drawn
by
milky
steams,
at
evening
hours,
In
gather'd
swarms
surround
the
rural
bowers;
From
pail
to
pail
with
busy
murmur
run
The
gilded
legions,
glittering
in
the
sun.
So
throng'd,
so
close,
the
Grecian
squadrons
stood
In
radiant
arms,
and
thirst
for
Trojan
blood.
Each
leader
now
his
scatter'd
force
conjoins
In
close
array,
and
forms
the
deepening
lines.
Not
with
more
ease
the
skilful
shepherd-swain
Collects
his
flocks
from
thousands
on
the
plain.
The
king
of
kings,
majestically
tall,
Towers
o'er
his
armies,
and
outshines
them
all;
Like
some
proud
bull,
that
round
the
pastures
leads
His
subject
herds,
the
monarch
of
the
meads,
Great
as
the
gods,
the
exalted
chief
was
seen,
His
strength
like
Neptune,
and
like
Mars
his
mien;(99)
Jove
o'er
his
eyes
celestial
glories
spread,
And
dawning
conquest
played
around
his
head.
Say,
virgins,
seated
round
the
throne
divine,
All-knowing
goddesses!
immortal
nine!(100)
Since
earth's
wide
regions,
heaven's
umneasur'd
height,
And
hell's
abyss,
hide
nothing
from
your
sight,
(We,
wretched
mortals!
lost
in
doubts
below,
But
guess
by
rumour,
and
but
boast
we
know,)
O
say
what
heroes,
fired
by
thirst
of
fame,
Or
urged
by
wrongs,
to
Troy's
destruction
came.
To
count
them
all,
demands
a
thousand
tongues,
A
throat
of
brass,
and
adamantine
lungs.
Daughters
of
Jove,
assist!
inspired
by
you
The
mighty
labour
dauntless
I
pursue;
What
crowded
armies,
from
what
climes
they
bring,
Their
names,
their
numbers,
and
their
chiefs
I
sing.
THE
CATALOGUE
OF
THE
SHIPS.(101)
[Illustration:
NEPTUNE.]
NEPTUNE.
The
hardy
warriors
whom
Boeotia
bred,
Penelius,
Leitus,
Prothoenor,
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,
Graea
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
Hyle,
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;
Copae,
and
Thisbe,
famed
for
silver
doves;
For
flocks
Erythrae,
Glissa
for
the
vine;
Platea
green,
and
Nysa
the
divine;
And
they
whom
Thebe's
well-built
walls
inclose,
Where
Myde,
Eutresis,
Corone,
rose;
And
Arne
rich,
with
purple
harvests
crown'd;
And
Anthedon,
Boeotia's
utmost
bound.
Full
fifty
ships
they
send,
and
each
conveys
Twice
sixty
warriors
through
the
foaming
seas.(102)
To
these
succeed
Aspledon's
martial
train,
Who
plough
the
spacious
Orchomenian
plain.
Two
valiant
brothers
rule
the
undaunted
throng,
Ialmen
and
Ascalaphus
the
strong:
Sons
of
Astyoche,
the
heavenly
fair,
Whose
virgin
charms
subdued
the
god
of
war:
(In
Actor's
court
as
she
retired
to
rest,
The
strength
of
Mars
the
blushing
maid
compress'd)
Their
troops
in
thirty
sable
vessels
sweep,
With
equal
oars,
the
hoarse-resounding
deep.
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
Panopea,
Chrysa
the
divine,
Where
Anemoria's
stately
turrets
shine,
Where
Pytho,
Daulis,
Cyparissus
stood,
And
fair
Lilaea
views
the
rising
flood.
These,
ranged
in
order
on
the
floating
tide,
Close,
on
the
left,
the
bold
Boeotians'
side.
Fierce
Ajax
led
the
Locrian
squadrons
on,
Ajax
the
less,
Oileus'
valiant
son;
Skill'd
to
direct
the
flying
dart
aright;
Swift
in
pursuit,
and
active
in
the
fight.
Him,
as
their
chief,
the
chosen
troops
attend,
Which
Bessa,
Thronus,
and
rich
Cynos
send;
Opus,
Calliarus,
and
Scarphe's
bands;
And
those
who
dwell
where
pleasing
Augia
stands,
And
where
Boagrius
floats
the
lowly
lands,
Or
in
fair
Tarphe's
sylvan
seats
reside:
In
forty
vessels
cut
the
yielding
tide.
Euboea
next
her
martial
sons
prepares,
And
sends
the
brave
Abantes
to
the
wars:
Breathing
revenge,
in
arms
they
take
their
way
From
Chalcis'
walls,
and
strong
Eretria;
The
Isteian
fields
for
generous
vines
renown'd,
The
fair
Caristos,
and
the
Styrian
ground;
Where
Dios
from
her
towers
o'erlooks
the
plain,
And
high
Cerinthus
views
the
neighbouring
main.
Down
their
broad
shoulders
falls
a
length
of
hair;
Their
hands
dismiss
not
the
long
lance
in
air;
But
with
protended
spears
in
fighting
fields
Pierce
the
tough
corslets
and
the
brazen
shields.
Twice
twenty
ships
transport
the
warlike
bands,
Which
bold
Elphenor,
fierce
in
arms,
commands.
Full
fifty
more
from
Athens
stem
the
main,
Led
by
Menestheus
through
the
liquid
plain.
(Athens
the
fair,
where
great
Erectheus
sway'd,
That
owed
his
nurture
to
the
blue-eyed
maid,
But
from
the
teeming
furrow
took
his
birth,
The
mighty
offspring
of
the
foodful
earth.
Him
Pallas
placed
amidst
her
wealthy
fane,
Adored
with
sacrifice
and
oxen
slain;
Where,
as
the
years
revolve,
her
altars
blaze,
And
all
the
tribes
resound
the
goddess'
praise.)
No
chief
like
thee,
Menestheus!
Greece
could
yield,
To
marshal
armies
in
the
dusty
field,
The
extended
wings
of
battle
to
display,
Or
close
the
embodied
host
in
firm
array.
Nestor
alone,
improved
by
length
of
days,
For
martial
conduct
bore
an
equal
praise.
With
these
appear
the
Salaminian
bands,
Whom
the
gigantic
Telamon
commands;
In
twelve
black
ships
to
Troy
they
steer
their
course,
And
with
the
great
Athenians
join
their
force.
Next
move
to
war
the
generous
Argive
train,
From
high
Troezene,
and
Maseta's
plain,
And
fair
Ęgina
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.
The
proud
Mycene
arms
her
martial
powers,
Cleone,
Corinth,
with
imperial
towers,(103)
Fair
Araethyrea,
Ornia's
fruitful
plain,
And
Ęgion,
and
Adrastus'
ancient
reign;
And
those
who
dwell
along
the
sandy
shore,
And
where
Pellene
yields
her
fleecy
store,
Where
Helice
and
Hyperesia
lie,
And
Gonoessa's
spires
salute
the
sky.
Great
Agamemnon
rules
the
numerous
band,
A
hundred
vessels
in
long
order
stand,
And
crowded
nations
wait
his
dread
command.
High
on
the
deck
the
king
of
men
appears,
And
his
refulgent
arms
in
triumph
wears;
Proud
of
his
host,
unrivall'd
in
his
reign,
In
silent
pomp
he
moves
along
the
main.
His
brother
follows,
and
to
vengeance
warms
The
hardy
Spartans,
exercised
in
arms:
Phares
and
Brysia's
valiant
troops,
and
those
Whom
Lacedaemon's
lofty
hills
inclose;
Or
Messe's
towers
for
silver
doves
renown'd,
Amyclae,
Laas,
Augia's
happy
ground,
And
those
whom
OEtylos'
low
walls
contain,
And
Helos,
on
the
margin
of
the
main:
These,
o'er
the
bending
ocean,
Helen's
cause,
In
sixty
ships
with
Menelaus
draws:
Eager
and
loud
from
man
to
man
he
flies,
Revenge
and
fury
flaming
in
his
eyes;
While
vainly
fond,
in
fancy
oft
he
hears
The
fair
one's
grief,
and
sees
her
falling
tears.
In
ninety
sail,
from
Pylos'
sandy
coast,
Nestor
the
sage
conducts
his
chosen
host:
From
Amphigenia's
ever-fruitful
land,
Where
Ępy
high,
and
little
Pteleon
stand;
Where
beauteous
Arene
her
structures
shows,
And
Thryon's
walls
Alpheus'
streams
inclose:
And
Dorion,
famed
for
Thamyris'
disgrace,
Superior
once
of
all
the
tuneful
race,
Till,
vain
of
mortals'
empty
praise,
he
strove
To
match
the
seed
of
cloud-compelling
Jove!
Too
daring
bard!
whose
unsuccessful
pride
The
immortal
Muses
in
their
art
defied.
The
avenging
Muses
of
the
light
of
day
Deprived
his
eyes,
and
snatch'd
his
voice
away;
No
more
his
heavenly
voice
was
heard
to
sing,
His
hand
no
more
awaked
the
silver
string.
Where
under
high
Cyllene,
crown'd
with
wood,
The
shaded
tomb
of
old
Ępytus
stood;
From
Ripe,
Stratie,
Tegea's
bordering
towns,
The
Phenean
fields,
and
Orchomenian
downs,
Where
the
fat
herds
in
plenteous
pasture
rove;
And
Stymphelus
with
her
surrounding
grove;
Parrhasia,
on
her
snowy
cliffs
reclined,
And
high
Enispe
shook
by
wintry
wind,
And
fair
Mantinea's
ever-pleasing
site;
In
sixty
sail
the
Arcadian
bands
unite.
Bold
Agapenor,
glorious
at
their
head,
(Ancaeus'
son)
the
mighty
squadron
led.
Their
ships,
supplied
by
Agamemnon's
care,
Through
roaring
seas
the
wondering
warriors
bear;
The
first
to
battle
on
the
appointed
plain,
But
new
to
all
the
dangers
of
the
main.
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
Teatus'
son;)
Diores
sprung
from
Amarynceus'
line;
And
great
Polyxenus,
of
force
divine.
But
those
who
view
fair
Elis
o'er
the
seas
From
the
blest
islands
of
the
Echinades,
In
forty
vessels
under
Meges
move,
Begot
by
Phyleus,
the
beloved
of
Jove:
To
strong
Dulichium
from
his
sire
he
fled,
And
thence
to
Troy
his
hardy
warriors
led.
Ulysses
follow'd
through
the
watery
road,
A
chief,
in
wisdom
equal
to
a
god.
With
those
whom
Cephalenia's
line
inclosed,
Or
till
their
fields
along
the
coast
opposed;
Or
where
fair
Ithaca
o'erlooks
the
floods,
Where
high
Neritos
shakes
his
waving
woods,
Where
Ęgilipa's
rugged
sides
are
seen,
Crocylia
rocky,
and
Zacynthus
green.
These
in
twelve
galleys
with
vermilion
prores,
Beneath
his
conduct
sought
the
Phrygian
shores.
Thoas
came
next,
Andraemon'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
Ętolian
shore,
For
now
the
sons
of
OEneus
were
no
more!
The
glories
of
the
mighty
race
were
fled!
OEneus
himself,
and
Meleager
dead!
To
Thoas'
care
now
trust
the
martial
train,
His
forty
vessels
follow
through
the
main.
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
Phaestus
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.
Tlepolemus,
the
sun
of
Hercules,
Led
nine
swift
vessels
through
the
foamy
seas,
From
Rhodes,
with
everlasting
sunshine
bright,
Jalyssus,
Lindus,
and
Camirus
white.
His
captive
mother
fierce
Alcides
bore
From
Ephyr's
walls
and
Selle's
winding
shore,
Where
mighty
towns
in
ruins
spread
the
plain,
And
saw
their
blooming
warriors
early
slain.
The
hero,
when
to
manly
years
he
grew,
Alcides'
uncle,
old
Licymnius,
slew;
For
this,
constrain'd
to
quit
his
native
place,
And
shun
the
vengeance
of
the
Herculean
race,
A
fleet
he
built,
and
with
a
numerous
train
Of
willing
exiles
wander'd
o'er
the
main;
Where,
many
seas
and
many
sufferings
past,
On
happy
Rhodes
the
chief
arrived
at
last:
There
in
three
tribes
divides
his
native
band,
And
rules
them
peaceful
in
a
foreign
land;
Increased
and
prosper'd
in
their
new
abodes
By
mighty
Jove,
the
sire
of
men
and
gods;
With
joy
they
saw
the
growing
empire
rise,
And
showers
of
wealth
descending
from
the
skies.
Three
ships
with
Nireus
sought
the
Trojan
shore,
Nireus,
whom
Aglae
to
Charopus
bore,
Nireus,
in
faultless
shape
and
blooming
grace,
The
loveliest
youth
of
all
the
Grecian
race;(104)
Pelides
only
match'd
his
early
charms;
But
few
his
troops,
and
small
his
strength
in
arms.
Next
thirty
galleys
cleave
the
liquid
plain,
Of
those
Calydnae's
sea-girt
isles
contain;
With
them
the
youth
of
Nisyrus
repair,
Casus
the
strong,
and
Crapathus
the
fair;
Cos,
where
Eurypylus
possess'd
the
sway,
Till
great
Alcides
made
the
realms
obey:
These
Antiphus
and
bold
Phidippus
bring,
Sprung
from
the
god
by
Thessalus
the
king.
Now,
Muse,
recount
Pelasgic
Argos'
powers,
From
Alos,
Alope,
and
Trechin's
towers:
From
Phthia's
spacious
vales;
and
Hella,
bless'd
With
female
beauty
far
beyond
the
rest.
Full
fifty
ships
beneath
Achilles'
care,
The
Achaians,
Myrmidons,
Hellenians
bear;
Thessalians
all,
though
various
in
their
name;
The
same
their
nation,
and
their
chief
the
same.
But
now
inglorious,
stretch'd
along
the
shore,
They
hear
the
brazen
voice
of
war
no
more;
No
more
the
foe
they
face
in
dire
array:
Close
in
his
fleet
the
angry
leader
lay;
Since
fair
Briseis
from
his
arms
was
torn,
The
noblest
spoil
from
sack'd
Lyrnessus
borne,
Then,
when
the
chief
the
Theban
walls
o'erthrew,
And
the
bold
sons
of
great
Evenus
slew.
There
mourn'd
Achilles,
plunged
in
depth
of
care,
But
soon
to
rise
in
slaughter,
blood,
and
war.
To
these
the
youth
of
Phylace
succeed,
Itona,
famous
for
her
fleecy
breed,
And
grassy
Pteleon
deck'd
with
cheerful
greens,
The
bowers
of
Ceres,
and
the
sylvan
scenes.
Sweet
Pyrrhasus,
with
blooming
flowerets
crown'd,
And
Antron's
watery
dens,
and
cavern'd
ground.
These
own'd,
as
chief,
Protesilas
the
brave,
Who
now
lay
silent
in
the
gloomy
grave:
The
first
who
boldly
touch'd
the
Trojan
shore,
And
dyed
a
Phrygian
lance
with
Grecian
gore;
There
lies,
far
distant
from
his
native
plain;
Unfinish'd
his
proud
palaces
remain,
And
his
sad
consort
beats
her
breast
in
vain.
His
troops
in
forty
ships
Podarces
led,
Iphiclus'
son,
and
brother
to
the
dead;
Nor
he
unworthy
to
command
the
host;
Yet
still
they
mourn'd
their
ancient
leader
lost.
The
men
who
Glaphyra's
fair
soil
partake,
Where
hills
incircle
Boebe's
lowly
lake,
Where
Phaere
hears
the
neighbouring
waters
fall,
Or
proud
Iolcus
lifts
her
airy
wall,
In
ten
black
ships
embark'd
for
Ilion's
shore,
With
bold
Eumelus,
whom
Alceste
bore:
All
Pelias'
race
Alceste
far
outshined,
The
grace
and
glory
of
the
beauteous
kind,
The
troops
Methone
or
Thaumacia
yields,
Olizon's
rocks,
or
Meliboea's
fields,
With
Philoctetes
sail'd
whose
matchless
art
From
the
tough
bow
directs
the
feather'd
dart.
Seven
were
his
ships;
each
vessel
fifty
row,
Skill'd
in
his
science
of
the
dart
and
bow.
But
he
lay
raging
on
the
Lemnian
ground,
A
poisonous
hydra
gave
the
burning
wound;
There
groan'd
the
chief
in
agonizing
pain,
Whom
Greece
at
length
shall
wish,
nor
wish
in
vain.
His
forces
Medon
led
from
Lemnos'
shore,
Oileus'
son,
whom
beauteous
Rhena
bore.
The
OEchalian
race,
in
those
high
towers
contain'd
Where
once
Eurytus
in
proud
triumph
reign'd,
Or
where
her
humbler
turrets
Tricca
rears,
Or
where
Ithome,
rough
with
rocks,
appears,
In
thirty
sail
the
sparkling
waves
divide,
Which
Podalirius
and
Machaon
guide.
To
these
his
skill
their
parent-god
imparts,
Divine
professors
of
the
healing
arts.
The
bold
Ormenian
and
Asterian
bands
In
forty
barks
Eurypylus
commands.
Where
Titan
hides
his
hoary
head
in
snow,
And
where
Hyperia's
silver
fountains
flow.
Thy
troops,
Argissa,
Polypoetes
leads,
And
Eleon,
shelter'd
by
Olympus'
shades,
Gyrtone's
warriors;
and
where
Orthe
lies,
And
Oloosson's
chalky
cliffs
arise.
Sprung
from
Pirithous
of
immortal
race,
The
fruit
of
fair
Hippodame's
embrace,
(That
day,
when
hurl'd
from
Pelion's
cloudy
head,
To
distant
dens
the
shaggy
Centaurs
fled)
With
Polypoetes
join'd
in
equal
sway
Leonteus
leads,
and
forty
ships
obey.
In
twenty
sail
the
bold
Perrhaebians
came
From
Cyphus,
Guneus
was
their
leader's
name.
With
these
the
Enians
join'd,
and
those
who
freeze
Where
cold
Dodona
lifts
her
holy
trees;
Or
where
the
pleasing
Titaresius
glides,
And
into
Peneus
rolls
his
easy
tides;
Yet
o'er
the
silvery
surface
pure
they
flow,
The
sacred
stream
unmix'd
with
streams
below,
Sacred
and
awful!
from
the
dark
abodes
Styx
pours
them
forth,
the
dreadful
oath
of
gods!
Last,
under
Prothous
the
Magnesians
stood,
(Prothous
the
swift,
of
old
Tenthredon's
blood;)
Who
dwell
where
Pelion,
crown'd
with
piny
boughs,
Obscures
the
glade,
and
nods
his
shaggy
brows;
Or
where
through
flowery
Tempe
Peneus
stray'd:
(The
region
stretch'd
beneath
his
mighty
shade:)
In
forty
sable
barks
they
stemm'd
the
main;
Such
were
the
chiefs,
and
such
the
Grecian
train.
Say
next,
O
Muse!
of
all
Achaia
breeds,
Who
bravest
fought,
or
rein'd
the
noblest
steeds?
Eumelus'
mares
were
foremost
in
the
chase,
As
eagles
fleet,
and
of
Pheretian
race;
Bred
where
Pieria's
fruitful
fountains
flow,
And
train'd
by
him
who
bears
the
silver
bow.
Fierce
in
the
fight
their
nostrils
breathed
a
flame,
Their
height,
their
colour,
and
their
age
the
same;
O'er
fields
of
death
they
whirl
the
rapid
car,
And
break
the
ranks,
and
thunder
through
the
war.
Ajax
in
arms
the
first
renown
acquired,
While
stern
Achilles
in
his
wrath
retired:
(His
was
the
strength
that
mortal
might
exceeds,
And
his
the
unrivall'd
race
of
heavenly
steeds:)
But
Thetis'
son
now
shines
in
arms
no
more;
His
troops,
neglected
on
the
sandy
shore.
In
empty
air
their
sportive
javelins
throw,
Or
whirl
the
disk,
or
bend
an
idle
bow:
Unstain'd
with
blood
his
cover'd
chariots
stand;
The
immortal
coursers
graze
along
the
strand;
But
the
brave
chiefs
the
inglorious
life
deplored,
And,
wandering
o'er
the
camp,
required
their
lord.
Now,
like
a
deluge,
covering
all
around,
The
shining
armies
sweep
along
the
ground;
Swift
as
a
flood
of
fire,
when
storms
arise,
Floats
the
wild
field,
and
blazes
to
the
skies.
Earth
groan'd
beneath
them;
as
when
angry
Jove
Hurls
down
the
forky
lightning
from
above,
On
Arime
when
he
the
thunder
throws,
And
fires
Typhoeus
with
redoubled
blows,
Where
Typhon,
press'd
beneath
the
burning
load,
Still
feels
the
fury
of
the
avenging
god.
But
various
Iris,
Jove's
commands
to
bear,
Speeds
on
the
wings
of
winds
through
liquid
air;
In
Priam's
porch
the
Trojan
chiefs
she
found,
The
old
consulting,
and
the
youths
around.
Polites'
shape,
the
monarch's
son,
she
chose,
Who
from
Ęsetes'
tomb
observed
the
foes,(105)
High
on
the
mound;
from
whence
in
prospect
lay
The
fields,
the
tents,
the
navy,
and
the
bay.
In
this
dissembled
form,
she
hastes
to
bring
The
unwelcome
message
to
the
Phrygian
king.
"Cease
to
consult,
the
time
for
action
calls;
War,
horrid
war,
approaches
to
your
walls!
Assembled
armies
oft
have
I
beheld;
But
ne'er
till
now
such
numbers
charged
a
field:
Thick
as
autumnal
leaves
or
driving
sand,
The
moving
squadrons
blacken
all
the
strand.
Thou,
godlike
Hector!
all
thy
force
employ,
Assemble
all
the
united
bands
of
Troy;
In
just
array
let
every
leader
call
The
foreign
troops:
this
day
demands
them
all!"
The
voice
divine
the
mighty
chief
alarms;
The
council
breaks,
the
warriors
rush
to
arms.
The
gates
unfolding
pour
forth
all
their
train,
Nations
on
nations
fill
the
dusky
plain,
Men,
steeds,
and
chariots,
shake
the
trembling
ground:
The
tumult
thickens,
and
the
skies
resound.
Amidst
the
plain,
in
sight
of
Ilion,
stands
A
rising
mount,
the
work
of
human
hands;
(This
for
Myrinne's
tomb
the
immortals
know,
Though
call'd
Bateia
in
the
world
below;)
Beneath
their
chiefs
in
martial
order
here,
The
auxiliar
troops
and
Trojan
hosts
appear.
The
godlike
Hector,
high
above
the
rest,
Shakes
his
huge
spear,
and
nods
his
plumy
crest:
In
throngs
around
his
native
bands
repair,
And
groves
of
lances
glitter
in
the
air.
Divine
Ęneas
brings
the
Dardan
race,
Anchises'
son,
by
Venus'
stolen
embrace,
Born
in
the
shades
of
Ida's
secret
grove;
(A
mortal
mixing
with
the
queen
of
love;)
Archilochus
and
Acamas
divide
The
warrior's
toils,
and
combat
by
his
side.
Who
fair
Zeleia's
wealthy
valleys
till,(106)
Fast
by
the
foot
of
Ida's
sacred
hill,
Or
drink,
Ęsepus,
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.
From
rich
Apaesus
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.
From
Practius'
stream,
Percote's
pasture
lands,
And
Sestos
and
Abydos'
neighbouring
strands,
From
great
Arisba's
walls
and
Selle's
coast,
Asius
Hyrtacides
conducts
his
host:
High
on
his
car
he
shakes
the
flowing
reins,
His
fiery
coursers
thunder
o'er
the
plains.
The
fierce
Pelasgi
next,
in
war
renown'd,
March
from
Larissa's
ever-fertile
ground:
In
equal
arms
their
brother
leaders
shine,
Hippothous
bold,
and
Pyleus
the
divine.
Next
Acamas
and
Pyrous
lead
their
hosts,
In
dread
array,
from
Thracia's
wintry
coasts;
Round
the
bleak
realms
where
Hellespontus
roars,
And
Boreas
beats
the
hoarse-resounding
shores.
With
great
Euphemus
the
Ciconians
move,
Sprung
from
Troezenian
Ceus,
loved
by
Jove.
Pyraechmes
the
Paeonian
troops
attend,
Skill'd
in
the
fight
their
crooked
bows
to
bend;
From
Axius'
ample
bed
he
leads
them
on,
Axius,
that
laves
the
distant
Amydon,
Axius,
that
swells
with
all
his
neighbouring
rills,
And
wide
around
the
floating
region
fills.
The
Paphlagonians
Pylaemenes
rules,
Where
rich
Henetia
breeds
her
savage
mules,
Where
Erythinus'
rising
cliffs
are
seen,
Thy
groves
of
box,
Cytorus!
ever
green,
And
where
Ęgialus
and
Cromna
lie,
And
lofty
Sesamus
invades
the
sky,
And
where
Parthenius,
roll'd
through
banks
of
flowers,
Reflects
her
bordering
palaces
and
bowers.
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.
There
mighty
Chromis
led
the
Mysian
train,
And
augur
Ennomus,
inspired
in
vain;
For
stern
Achilles
lopp'd
his
sacred
head,
Roll'd
down
Scamander
with
the
vulgar
dead.
Phorcys
and
brave
Ascanius
here
unite
The
Ascanian
Phrygians,
eager
for
the
fight.
Of
those
who
round
Maeonia's
realms
reside,
Or
whom
the
vales
in
shades
of
Tmolus
hide,
Mestles
and
Antiphus
the
charge
partake,
Born
on
the
banks
of
Gyges'
silent
lake.
There,
from
the
fields
where
wild
Maeander
flows,
High
Mycale,
and
Latmos'
shady
brows,
And
proud
Miletus,
came
the
Carian
throngs,
With
mingled
clamours
and
with
barbarous
tongues.(107)
Amphimachus
and
Naustes
guide
the
train,
Naustes
the
bold,
Amphimachus
the
vain,
Who,
trick'd
with
gold,
and
glittering
on
his
car,
Rode
like
a
woman
to
the
field
of
war.
Fool
that
he
was!
by
fierce
Achilles
slain,
The
river
swept
him
to
the
briny
main:
There
whelm'd
with
waves
the
gaudy
warrior
lies
The
valiant
victor
seized
the
golden
prize.
The
forces
last
in
fair
array
succeed,
Which
blameless
Glaucus
and
Sarpedon
lead
The
warlike
bands
that
distant
Lycia
yields,
Where
gulfy
Xanthus
foams
along
the
fields.
BOOK
III.
ARGUMENT.
THE
DUEL
OF
MENELAUS
AND
PARIS.
The
armies
being
ready
to
engage,
a
single
combat
is
agreed
upon
between
Menelaus
and
Paris
(by
the
intervention
of
Hector)
for
the
determination
of
the
war.
Iris
is
sent
to
call
Helen
to
behold
the
fight.
She
leads
her
to
the
walls
of
Troy,
where
Priam
sat
with
his
counsellers
observing
the
Grecian
leaders
on
the
plain
below,
to
whom
Helen
gives
an
account
of
the
chief
of
them.
The
kings
on
either
part
take
the
solemn
oath
for
the
conditions
of
the
combat.
The
duel
ensues;
wherein
Paris
being
overcome,
he
is
snatched
away
in
a
cloud
by
Venus,
and
transported
to
his
apartment.
She
then
calls
Helen
from
the
walls,
and
brings
the
lovers
together.
Agamemnon,
on
the
part
of
the
Grecians,
demands
the
restoration
of
Helen,
and
the
performance
of
the
articles.
The
three-and-twentieth
day
still
continues
throughout
this
book.
The
scene
is
sometimes
in
the
fields
before
Troy,
and
sometimes
in
Troy
itself.
Thus
by
their
leaders'
care
each
martial
band
Moves
into
ranks,
and
stretches
o'er
the
land.
With
shouts
the
Trojans,
rushing
from
afar,
Proclaim
their
motions,
and
provoke
the
war
So
when
inclement
winters
vex
the
plain
With
piercing
frosts,
or
thick-descending
rain,
To
warmer
seas
the
cranes
embodied
fly,(108)
With
noise,
and
order,
through
the
midway
sky;
To
pigmy
nations
wounds
and
death
they
bring,
And
all
the
war
descends
upon
the
wing,
But
silent,
breathing
rage,
resolved
and
skill'd(109)
By
mutual
aids
to
fix
a
doubtful
field,
Swift
march
the
Greeks:
the
rapid
dust
around
Darkening
arises
from
the
labour'd
ground.
Thus
from
his
flaggy
wings
when
Notus
sheds
A
night
of
vapours
round
the
mountain
heads,
Swift-gliding
mists
the
dusky
fields
invade,
To
thieves
more
grateful
than
the
midnight
shade;
While
scarce
the
swains
their
feeding
flocks
survey,
Lost
and
confused
amidst
the
thicken'd
day:
So
wrapp'd
in
gathering
dust,
the
Grecian
train,
A
moving
cloud,
swept
on,
and
hid
the
plain.
Now
front
to
front
the
hostile
armies
stand,
Eager
of
fight,
and
only
wait
command;
When,
to
the
van,
before
the
sons
of
fame
Whom
Troy
sent
forth,
the
beauteous
Paris
came:
In
form
a
god!
the
panther's
speckled
hide
Flow'd
o'er
his
armour
with
an
easy
pride:
His
bended
bow
across
his
shoulders
flung,
His
sword
beside
him
negligently
hung;
Two
pointed
spears
he
shook
with
gallant
grace,
And
dared
the
bravest
of
the
Grecian
race.
As
thus,
with
glorious
air
and
proud
disdain,
He
boldly
stalk'd,
the
foremost
on
the
plain,
Him
Menelaus,
loved
of
Mars,
espies,
With
heart
elated,
and
with
joyful
eyes:
So
joys
a
lion,
if
the
branching
deer,
Or
mountain
goat,
his
bulky
prize,
appear;
Eager
he
seizes
and
devours
the
slain,
Press'd
by
bold
youths
and
baying
dogs
in
vain.
Thus
fond
of
vengeance,
with
a
furious
bound,
In
clanging
arms
he
leaps
upon
the
ground
From
his
high
chariot:
him,
approaching
near,
The
beauteous
champion
views
with
marks
of
fear,
Smit
with
a
conscious
sense,
retires
behind,
And
shuns
the
fate
he
well
deserved
to
find.
As
when
some
shepherd,
from
the
rustling
trees(110)
Shot
forth
to
view,
a
scaly
serpent
sees,
Trembling
and
pale,
he
starts
with
wild
affright
And
all
confused
precipitates
his
flight:
So
from
the
king
the
shining
warrior
flies,
And
plunged
amid
the
thickest
Trojans
lies.
As
godlike
Hector
sees
the
prince
retreat,
He
thus
upbraids
him
with
a
generous
heat:
"Unhappy
Paris!
but
to
women
brave!(111)
So
fairly
form'd,
and
only
to
deceive!
Oh,
hadst
thou
died
when
first
thou
saw'st
the
light,
Or
died
at
least
before
thy
nuptial
rite!
A
better
fate
than
vainly
thus
to
boast,
And
fly,
the
scandal
of
thy
Trojan
host.
Gods!
how
the
scornful
Greeks
exult
to
see
Their
fears
of
danger
undeceived
in
thee!
Thy
figure
promised
with
a
martial
air,
But
ill
thy
soul
supplies
a
form
so
fair.
In
former
days,
in
all
thy
gallant
pride,
When
thy
tall
ships
triumphant
stemm'd
the
tide,
When
Greece
beheld
thy
painted
canvas
flow,
And
crowds
stood
wondering
at
the
passing
show,
Say,
was
it
thus,
with
such
a
baffled
mien,
You
met
the
approaches
of
the
Spartan
queen,
Thus
from
her
realm
convey'd
the
beauteous
prize,
And
both
her
warlike
lords
outshined
in
Helen's
eyes?
This
deed,
thy
foes'
delight,
thy
own
disgrace,
Thy
father's
grief,
and
ruin
of
thy
race;
This
deed
recalls
thee
to
the
proffer'd
fight;
Or
hast
thou
injured
whom
thou
dar'st
not
right?
Soon
to
thy
cost
the
field
would
make
thee
know
Thou
keep'st
the
consort
of
a
braver
foe.
Thy
graceful
form
instilling
soft
desire,
Thy
curling
tresses,
and
thy
silver
lyre,
Beauty
and
youth;
in
vain
to
these
you
trust,
When
youth
and
beauty
shall
be
laid
in
dust:
Troy
yet
may
wake,
and
one
avenging
blow
Crush
the
dire
author
of
his
country's
woe."
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."
He
said.
The
challenge
Hector
heard
with
joy,
Then
with
his
spear
restrain'd
the
youth
of
Troy,
Held
by
the
midst,
athwart;
and
near
the
foe
Advanced
with
steps
majestically
slow:
While
round
his
dauntless
head
the
Grecians
pour
Their
stones
and
arrows
in
a
mingled
shower.
Then
thus
the
monarch,
great
Atrides,
cried:
"Forbear,
ye
warriors!
lay
the
darts
aside:
A
parley
Hector
asks,
a
message
bears;
We
know
him
by
the
various
plume
he
wears."
Awed
by
his
high
command
the
Greeks
attend,
The
tumult
silence,
and
the
fight
suspend.
While
from
the
centre
Hector
rolls
his
eyes
On
either
host,
and
thus
to
both
applies:
"Hear,
all
ye
Trojan,
all
ye
Grecian
bands,
What
Paris,
author
of
the
war,
demands.
Your
shining
swords
within
the
sheath
restrain,
And
pitch
your
lances
in
the
yielding
plain.
Here
in
the
midst,
in
either
army's
sight,
He
dares
the
Spartan
king
to
single
fight;
And
wills
that
Helen
and
the
ravish'd
spoil,
That
caused
the
contest,
shall
reward
the
toil.
Let
these
the
brave
triumphant
victor
grace,
And
different
nations
part
in
leagues
of
peace."
He
spoke:
in
still
suspense
on
either
side
Each
army
stood:
the
Spartan
chief
replied:
"Me
too,
ye
warriors,
hear,
whose
fatal
right
A
world
engages
in
the
toils
of
fight.
To
me
the
labour
of
the
field
resign;
Me
Paris
injured;
all
the
war
be
mine.
Fall
he
that
must,
beneath
his
rival's
arms;
And
live
the
rest,
secure
of
future
harms.
Two
lambs,
devoted
by
your
country's
rite,
To
earth
a
sable,
to
the
sun
a
white,
Prepare,
ye
Trojans!
while
a
third
we
bring
Select
to
Jove,
the
inviolable
king.
Let
reverend
Priam
in
the
truce
engage,
And
add
the
sanction
of
considerate
age;
His
sons
are
faithless,
headlong
in
debate,
And
youth
itself
an
empty
wavering
state;
Cool
age
advances,
venerably
wise,
Turns
on
all
hands
its
deep-discerning
eyes;
Sees
what
befell,
and
what
may
yet
befall,
Concludes
from
both,
and
best
provides
for
all.
The
nations
hear
with
rising
hopes
possess'd,
And
peaceful
prospects
dawn
in
every
breast.
Within
the
lines
they
drew
their
steeds
around,
And
from
their
chariots
issued
on
the
ground;
Next,
all
unbuckling
the
rich
mail
they
wore,
Laid
their
bright
arms
along
the
sable
shore.
On
either
side
the
meeting
hosts
are
seen
With
lances
fix'd,
and
close
the
space
between.
Two
heralds
now,
despatch'd
to
Troy,
invite
The
Phrygian
monarch
to
the
peaceful
rite.
Talthybius
hastens
to
the
fleet,
to
bring
The
lamb
for
Jove,
the
inviolable
king.
Meantime
to
beauteous
Helen,
from
the
skies
The
various
goddess
of
the
rainbow
flies:
(Like
fair
Laodice
in
form
and
face,
The
loveliest
nymph
of
Priam's
royal
race:)
Her
in
the
palace,
at
her
loom
she
found;
The
golden
web
her
own
sad
story
crown'd,
The
Trojan
wars
she
weaved
(herself
the
prize)
And
the
dire
triumphs
of
her
fatal
eyes.
To
whom
the
goddess
of
the
painted
bow:
"Approach,
and
view
the
wondrous
scene
below!(112)
Each
hardy
Greek,
and
valiant
Trojan
knight,
So
dreadful
late,
and
furious
for
the
fight,
Now
rest
their
spears,
or
lean
upon
their
shields;
Ceased
is
the
war,
and
silent
all
the
fields.
Paris
alone
and
Sparta's
king
advance,
In
single
fight
to
toss
the
beamy
lance;
Each
met
in
arms,
the
fate
of
combat
tries,
Thy
love
the
motive,
and
thy
charms
the
prize."
This
said,
the
many-coloured
maid
inspires
Her
husband's
love,
and
wakes
her
former
fires;
Her
country,
parents,
all
that
once
were
dear,
Rush
to
her
thought,
and
force
a
tender
tear,
O'er
her
fair
face
a
snowy
veil
she
threw,
And,
softly
sighing,
from
the
loom
withdrew.
Her
handmaids,
Clymene
and
Ęthra,
wait
Her
silent
footsteps
to
the
Scaean
gate.
There
sat
the
seniors
of
the
Trojan
race:
(Old
Priam's
chiefs,
and
most
in
Priam's
grace,)
The
king
the
first;
Thymoetes
at
his
side;
Lampus
and
Clytius,
long
in
council
tried;
Panthus,
and
Hicetaon,
once
the
strong;
And
next,
the
wisest
of
the
reverend
throng,
Antenor
grave,
and
sage
Ucalegon,
Lean'd
on
the
walls
and
bask'd
before
the
sun:
Chiefs,
who
no
more
in
bloody
fights
engage,
But
wise
through
time,
and
narrative
with
age,
In
summer
days,
like
grasshoppers
rejoice,
A
bloodless
race,
that
send
a
feeble
voice.
These,
when
the
Spartan
queen
approach'd
the
tower,
In
secret
own'd
resistless
beauty's
power:
They
cried,
"No
wonder
such
celestial
charms(113)
For
nine
long
years
have
set
the
world
in
arms;
What
winning
graces!
what
majestic
mien!
She
moves
a
goddess,
and
she
looks
a
queen!
Yet
hence,
O
Heaven,
convey
that
fatal
face,
And
from
destruction
save
the
Trojan
race."
The
good
old
Priam
welcomed
her,
and
cried,
"Approach,
my
child,
and
grace
thy
father's
side.
See
on
the
plain
thy
Grecian
spouse
appears,
The
friends
and
kindred
of
thy
former
years.
No
crime
of
thine
our
present
sufferings
draws,
Not
thou,
but
Heaven's
disposing
will,
the
cause
The
gods
these
armies
and
this
force
employ,
The
hostile
gods
conspire
the
fate
of
Troy.
But
lift
thy
eyes,
and
say,
what
Greek
is
he
(Far
as
from
hence
these
aged
orbs
can
see)
Around
whose
brow
such
martial
graces
shine,
So
tall,
so
awful,
and
almost
divine!
Though
some
of
larger
stature
tread
the
green,
None
match
his
grandeur
and
exalted
mien:
He
seems
a
monarch,
and
his
country's
pride."
Thus
ceased
the
king,
and
thus
the
fair
replied:
"Before
thy
presence,
father,
I
appear,
With
conscious
shame
and
reverential
fear.
Ah!
had
I
died,
ere
to
these
walk
I
fled,
False
to
my
country,
and
my
nuptial
bed;
My
brothers,
friends,
and
daughter
left
behind,
False
to
them
all,
to
Paris
only
kind!
For
this
I
mourn,
till
grief
or
dire
disease
Shall
waste
the
form
whose
fault
it
was
to
please!
The
king
of
kings,
Atrides,
you
survey,
Great
in
the
war,
and
great
in
arts
of
sway:
My
brother
once,
before
my
days
of
shame!
And
oh!
that
still
he
bore
a
brother's
name!"
With
wonder
Priam
view'd
the
godlike
man,
Extoll'd
the
happy
prince,
and
thus
began:
"O
bless'd
Atrides!
born
to
prosperous
fate,
Successful
monarch
of
a
mighty
state!
How
vast
thy
empire!
Of
your
matchless
train
What
numbers
lost,
what
numbers
yet
remain!
In
Phrygia
once
were
gallant
armies
known,
In
ancient
time,
when
Otreus
fill'd
the
throne,
When
godlike
Mygdon
led
their
troops
of
horse,
And
I,
to
join
them,
raised
the
Trojan
force:
Against
the
manlike
Amazons
we
stood,(114)
And
Sangar's
stream
ran
purple
with
their
blood.
But
far
inferior
those,
in
martial
grace,
And
strength
of
numbers,
to
this
Grecian
race."
This
said,
once
more
he
view'd
the
warrior
train;
"What's
he,
whose
arms
lie
scatter'd
on
the
plain?
Broad
is
his
breast,
his
shoulders
larger
spread,
Though
great
Atrides
overtops
his
head.
Nor
yet
appear
his
care
and
conduct
small;
From
rank
to
rank
he
moves,
and
orders
all.
The
stately
ram
thus
measures
o'er
the
ground,
And,
master
of
the
flock,
surveys
them
round."
Then
Helen
thus:
"Whom
your
discerning
eyes
Have
singled
out,
is
Ithacus
the
wise;
A
barren
island
boasts
his
glorious
birth;
His
fame
for
wisdom
fills
the
spacious
earth."
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."
The
king
then
ask'd
(as
yet
the
camp
he
view'd)
"What
chief
is
that,
with
giant
strength
endued,
Whose
brawny
shoulders,
and
whose
swelling
chest,
And
lofty
stature,
far
exceed
the
rest?
"Ajax
the
great,
(the
beauteous
queen
replied,)
Himself
a
host:
the
Grecian
strength
and
pride.
See!
bold
Idomeneus
superior
towers
Amid
yon
circle
of
his
Cretan
powers,
Great
as
a
god!
I
saw
him
once
before,
With
Menelaus
on
the
Spartan
shore.
The
rest
I
know,
and
could
in
order
name;
All
valiant
chiefs,
and
men
of
mighty
fame.
Yet
two
are
wanting
of
the
numerous
train,
Whom
long
my
eyes
have
sought,
but
sought
in
vain:
Castor
and
Pollux,
first
in
martial
force,
One
bold
on
foot,
and
one
renown'd
for
horse.
My
brothers
these;
the
same
our
native
shore,
One
house
contain'd
us,
as
one
mother
bore.
Perhaps
the
chiefs,
from
warlike
toils
at
ease,
For
distant
Troy
refused
to
sail
the
seas;
Perhaps
their
swords
some
nobler
quarrel
draws,
Ashamed
to
combat
in
their
sister's
cause."
So
spoke
the
fair,
nor
knew
her
brothers'
doom;(118)
Wrapt
in
the
cold
embraces
of
the
tomb;
Adorn'd
with
honours
in
their
native
shore,
Silent
they
slept,
and
heard
of
wars
no
more.
Meantime
the
heralds,
through
the
crowded
town.
Bring
the
rich
wine
and
destined
victims
down.
Idaeus'
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."
With
grief
he
heard,
and
bade
the
chiefs
prepare
To
join
his
milk-white
coursers
to
the
car;
He
mounts
the
seat,
Antenor
at
his
side;
The
gentle
steeds
through
Scaea's
gates
they
guide:(120)
Next
from
the
car
descending
on
the
plain,
Amid
the
Grecian
host
and
Trojan
train,
Slow
they
proceed:
the
sage
Ulysses
then
Arose,
and
with
him
rose
the
king
of
men.
On
either
side
a
sacred
herald
stands,
The
wine
they
mix,
and
on
each
monarch's
hands
Pour
the
full
urn;
then
draws
the
Grecian
lord
His
cutlass
sheathed
beside
his
ponderous
sword;
From
the
sign'd
victims
crops
the
curling
hair;(121)
The
heralds
part
it,
and
the
princes
share;
Then
loudly
thus
before
the
attentive
bands
He
calls
the
gods,
and
spreads
his
lifted
hands:
"O
first
and
greatest
power!
whom
all
obey,
Who
high
on
Ida's
holy
mountain
sway,
Eternal
Jove!
and
you
bright
orb
that
roll
From
east
to
west,
and
view
from
pole
to
pole!
Thou
mother
Earth!
and
all
ye
living
floods!
Infernal
furies,
and
Tartarean
gods,
Who
rule
the
dead,
and
horrid
woes
prepare
For
perjured
kings,
and
all
who
falsely
swear!
Hear,
and
be
witness.
If,
by
Paris
slain,
Great
Menelaus
press
the
fatal
plain;
The
dame
and
treasures
let
the
Trojan
keep,
And
Greece
returning
plough
the
watery
deep.
If
by
my
brother's
lance
the
Trojan
bleed,
Be
his
the
wealth
and
beauteous
dame
decreed:
The
appointed
fine
let
Ilion
justly
pay,
And
every
age
record
the
signal
day.
This
if
the
Phrygians
shall
refuse
to
yield,
Arms
must
revenge,
and
Mars
decide
the
field."
With
that
the
chief
the
tender
victims
slew,
And
in
the
dust
their
bleeding
bodies
threw;
The
vital
spirit
issued
at
the
wound,
And
left
the
members
quivering
on
the
ground.
From
the
same
urn
they
drink
the
mingled
wine,
And
add
libations
to
the
powers
divine.
While
thus
their
prayers
united
mount
the
sky,
"Hear,
mighty
Jove!
and
hear,
ye
gods
on
high!
And
may
their
blood,
who
first
the
league
confound,
Shed
like
this
wine,
disdain
the
thirsty
ground;
May
all
their
consorts
serve
promiscuous
lust,
And
all
their
lust
be
scatter'd
as
the
dust!"
Thus
either
host
their
imprecations
join'd,
Which
Jove
refused,
and
mingled
with
the
wind.
The
rites
now
finish'd,
reverend
Priam
rose,
And
thus
express'd
a
heart
o'ercharged
with
woes:
"Ye
Greeks
and
Trojans,
let
the
chiefs
engage,
But
spare
the
weakness
of
my
feeble
age:
In
yonder
walls
that
object
let
me
shun,
Nor
view
the
danger
of
so
dear
a
son.
Whose
arms
shall
conquer
and
what
prince
shall
fall,
Heaven
only
knows;
for
heaven
disposes
all."
This
said,
the
hoary
king
no
longer
stay'd,
But
on
his
car
the
slaughter'd
victims
laid:
Then
seized
the
reins
his
gentle
steeds
to
guide,
And
drove
to
Troy,
Antenor
at
his
side.
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."
With
eyes
averted
Hector
hastes
to
turn
The
lots
of
fight
and
shakes
the
brazen
urn.
Then,
Paris,
thine
leap'd
forth;
by
fatal
chance
Ordain'd
the
first
to
whirl
the
weighty
lance.
Both
armies
sat
the
combat
to
survey.
Beside
each
chief
his
azure
armour
lay,
And
round
the
lists
the
generous
coursers
neigh.
The
beauteous
warrior
now
arrays
for
fight,
In
gilded
arms
magnificently
bright:
The
purple
cuishes
clasp
his
thighs
around,
With
flowers
adorn'd,
with
silver
buckles
bound:
Lycaon's
corslet
his
fair
body
dress'd,
Braced
in
and
fitted
to
his
softer
breast;
A
radiant
baldric,
o'er
his
shoulder
tied,
Sustain'd
the
sword
that
glitter'd
at
his
side:
His
youthful
face
a
polish'd
helm
o'erspread;
The
waving
horse-hair
nodded
on
his
head:
His
figured
shield,
a
shining
orb,
he
takes,
And
in
his
hand
a
pointed
javelin
shakes.
With
equal
speed
and
fired
by
equal
charms,
The
Spartan
hero
sheathes
his
limbs
in
arms.
Now
round
the
lists
the
admiring
armies
stand,
With
javelins
fix'd,
the
Greek
and
Trojan
band.
Amidst
the
dreadful
vale,
the
chiefs
advance,
All
pale
with
rage,
and
shake
the
threatening
lance.
The
Trojan
first
his
shining
javelin
threw;
Full
on
Atrides'
ringing
shield
it
flew,
Nor
pierced
the
brazen
orb,
but
with
a
bound(122)
Leap'd
from
the
buckler,
blunted,
on
the
ground.
Atrides
then
his
massy
lance
prepares,
In
act
to
throw,
but
first
prefers
his
prayers:
"Give
me,
great
Jove!
to
punish
lawless
lust,
And
lay
the
Trojan
gasping
in
the
dust:
Destroy
the
aggressor,
aid
my
righteous
cause,
Avenge
the
breach
of
hospitable
laws!
Let
this
example
future
times
reclaim,
And
guard
from
wrong
fair
friendship's
holy
name."
Be
said,
and
poised
in
air
the
javelin
sent,
Through
Paris'
shield
the
forceful
weapon
went,
His
corslet
pierces,
and
his
garment
rends,
And
glancing
downward,
near
his
flank
descends.
The
wary
Trojan,
bending
from
the
blow,
Eludes
the
death,
and
disappoints
his
foe:
But
fierce
Atrides
waved
his
sword,
and
strook
Full
on
his
casque:
the
crested
helmet
shook;
The
brittle
steel,
unfaithful
to
his
hand,
Broke
short:
the
fragments
glitter'd
on
the
sand.
The
raging
warrior
to
the
spacious
skies
Raised
his
upbraiding
voice
and
angry
eyes:
"Then
is
it
vain
in
Jove
himself
to
trust?
And
is
it
thus
the
gods
assist
the
just?
When
crimes
provoke
us,
Heaven
success
denies;
The
dart
falls
harmless,
and
the
falchion
flies."
Furious
he
said,
and
towards
the
Grecian
crew
(Seized
by
the
crest)
the
unhappy
warrior
drew;
Struggling
he
followed,
while
the
embroider'd
thong
That
tied
his
helmet,
dragg'd
the
chief
along.
Then
had
his
ruin
crown'd
Atrides'
joy,
But
Venus
trembled
for
the
prince
of
Troy:
Unseen
she
came,
and
burst
the
golden
band;
And
left
an
empty
helmet
in
his
hand.
The
casque,
enraged,
amidst
the
Greeks
he
threw;
The
Greeks
with
smiles
the
polish'd
trophy
view.
Then,
as
once
more
he
lifts
the
deadly
dart,
In
thirst
of
vengeance,
at
his
rival's
heart;
The
queen
of
love
her
favour'd
champion
shrouds
(For
gods
can
all
things)
in
a
veil
of
clouds.
Raised
from
the
field
the
panting
youth
she
led,
And
gently
laid
him
on
the
bridal
bed,
With
pleasing
sweets
his
fainting
sense
renews,
And
all
the
dome
perfumes
with
heavenly
dews.
Meantime
the
brightest
of
the
female
kind,
The
matchless
Helen,
o'er
the
walls
reclined;
To
her,
beset
with
Trojan
beauties,
came,
In
borrow'd
form,
the
laughter-loving
dame.
(She
seem'd
an
ancient
maid,
well-skill'd
to
cull
The
snowy
fleece,
and
wind
the
twisted
wool.)
The
goddess
softly
shook
her
silken
vest,
That
shed
perfumes,
and
whispering
thus
address'd:
[Illustration:
VENUS,
DISGUISED,
INVITING
HELEN
TO
THE
CHAMBER
OF
PARIS.]
VENUS,
DISGUISED,
INVITING
HELEN
TO
THE
CHAMBER
OF
PARIS.
"Haste,
happy
nymph!
for
thee
thy
Paris
calls,
Safe
from
the
fight,
in
yonder
lofty
walls,
Fair
as
a
god;
with
odours
round
him
spread,
He
lies,
and
waits
thee
on
the
well-known
bed;
Not
like
a
warrior
parted
from
the
foe,
But
some
gay
dancer
in
the
public
show."
She
spoke,
and
Helen's
secret
soul
was
moved;
She
scorn'd
the
champion,
but
the
man
she
loved.
Fair
Venus'
neck,
her
eyes
that
sparkled
fire,
And
breast,
reveal'd
the
queen
of
soft
desire.(123)
Struck
with
her
presence,
straight
the
lively
red
Forsook
her
cheek;
and
trembling,
thus
she
said:
"Then
is
it
still
thy
pleasure
to
deceive?
And
woman's
frailty
always
to
believe!
Say,
to
new
nations
must
I
cross
the
main,
Or
carry
wars
to
some
soft
Asian
plain?
For
whom
must
Helen
break
her
second
vow?
What
other
Paris
is
thy
darling
now?
Left
to
Atrides,
(victor
in
the
strife,)
An
odious
conquest
and
a
captive
wife,
Hence
let
me
sail;
and
if
thy
Paris
bear
My
absence
ill,
let
Venus
ease
his
care.
A
handmaid
goddess
at
his
side
to
wait,
Renounce
the
glories
of
thy
heavenly
state,
Be
fix'd
for
ever
to
the
Trojan
shore,
His
spouse,
or
slave;
and
mount
the
skies
no
more.
For
me,
to
lawless
love
no
longer
led,
I
scorn
the
coward,
and
detest
his
bed;
Else
should
I
merit
everlasting
shame,
And
keen
reproach,
from
every
Phrygian
dame:
Ill
suits
it
now
the
joys
of
love
to
know,
Too
deep
my
anguish,
and
too
wild
my
woe."
[Illustration:
VENUS
PRESENTING
HELEN
TO
PARIS.]
VENUS
PRESENTING
HELEN
TO
PARIS.
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."
At
this,
the
fairest
of
her
sex
obey'd,
And
veil'd
her
blushes
in
a
silken
shade;
Unseen,
and
silent,
from
the
train
she
moves,
Led
by
the
goddess
of
the
Smiles
and
Loves.
Arrived,
and
enter'd
at
the
palace
gate,
The
maids
officious
round
their
mistress
wait;
Then,
all
dispersing,
various
tasks
attend;
The
queen
and
goddess
to
the
prince
ascend.
Full
in
her
Paris'
sight,
the
queen
of
love
Had
placed
the
beauteous
progeny
of
Jove;
Where,
as
he
view'd
her
charms,
she
turn'd
away
Her
glowing
eyes,
and
thus
began
to
say:
"Is
this
the
chief,
who,
lost
to
sense
of
shame,
Late
fled
the
field,
and
yet
survives
his
fame?
O
hadst
thou
died
beneath
the
righteous
sword
Of
that
brave
man
whom
once
I
call'd
my
lord!
The
boaster
Paris
oft
desired
the
day
With
Sparta's
king
to
meet
in
single
fray:
Go
now,
once
more
thy
rival's
rage
excite,
Provoke
Atrides,
and
renew
the
fight:
Yet
Helen
bids
thee
stay,
lest
thou
unskill'd
Shouldst
fall
an
easy
conquest
on
the
field."
The
prince
replies:
"Ah
cease,
divinely
fair,
Nor
add
reproaches
to
the
wounds
I
bear;
This
day
the
foe
prevail'd
by
Pallas'
power:
We
yet
may
vanquish
in
a
happier
hour:
There
want
not
gods
to
favour
us
above;
But
let
the
business
of
our
life
be
love:
These
softer
moments
let
delights
employ,
And
kind
embraces
snatch
the
hasty
joy.
Not
thus
I
loved
thee,
when
from
Sparta's
shore
My
forced,
my
willing
heavenly
prize
I
bore,
When
first
entranced
in
Cranae's
isle
I
lay,(124)
Mix'd
with
thy
soul,
and
all
dissolved
away!"
Thus
having
spoke,
the
enamour'd
Phrygian
boy
Rush'd
to
the
bed,
impatient
for
the
joy.
Him
Helen
follow'd
slow
with
bashful
charms,
And
clasp'd
the
blooming
hero
in
her
arms.
While
these
to
love's
delicious
rapture
yield,
The
stern
Atrides
rages
round
the
field:
So
some
fell
lion
whom
the
woods
obey,
Roars
through
the
desert,
and
demands
his
prey.
Paris
he
seeks,
impatient
to
destroy,
But
seeks
in
vain
along
the
troops
of
Troy;
Even
those
had
yielded
to
a
foe
so
brave
The
recreant
warrior,
hateful
as
the
grave.
Then
speaking
thus,
the
king
of
kings
arose,
"Ye
Trojans,
Dardans,
all
our
generous
foes!
Hear
and
attest!
from
Heaven
with
conquest
crown'd,
Our
brother's
arms
the
just
success
have
found:
Be
therefore
now
the
Spartan
wealth
restor'd,
Let
Argive
Helen
own
her
lawful
lord;
The
appointed
fine
let
Ilion
justly
pay,
And
age
to
age
record
this
signal
day."
He
ceased;
his
army's
loud
applauses
rise,
And
the
long
shout
runs
echoing
through
the
skies.
[Illustration:
VENUS.]
VENUS.
[Illustration:
Map,
titled
"Graeciae
Antiquae".]
Map,
titled
"Graeciae
Antiquae".
BOOK
IV.
ARGUMENT.
THE
BREACH
OF
THE
TRUCE,
AND
THE
FIRST
BATTLE.
The
gods
deliberate
in
council
concerning
the
Trojan
war:
they
agree
upon
the
continuation
of
it,
and
Jupiter
sends
down
Minerva
to
break
the
truce.
She
persuades
Pandarus
to
aim
an
arrow
at
Menelaus,
who
is
wounded,
but
cured
by
Machaon.
In
the
meantime
some
of
the
Trojan
troops
attack
the
Greeks.
Agamemnon
is
distinguished
in
all
the
parts
of
a
good
general;
he
reviews
the
troops,
and
exhorts
the
leaders,
some
by
praises
and
others
by
reproof.
Nestor
is
particularly
celebrated
for
his
military
discipline.
The
battle
joins,
and
great
numbers
are
slain
on
both
sides.
The
same
day
continues
through
this
as
through
the
last
book
(as
it
does
also
through
the
two
following,
and
almost
to
the
end
of
the
seventh
book).
The
scene
is
wholly
in
the
field
before
Troy.
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.
When
Jove,
disposed
to
tempt
Saturnia's
spleen,
Thus
waked
the
fury
of
his
partial
queen,
"Two
powers
divine
the
son
of
Atreus
aid,
Imperial
Juno,
and
the
martial
maid;(125)
But
high
in
heaven
they
sit,
and
gaze
from
far,
The
tame
spectators
of
his
deeds
of
war.
Not
thus
fair
Venus
helps
her
favour'd
knight,
The
queen
of
pleasures
shares
the
toils
of
fight,
Each
danger
wards,
and
constant
in
her
care,
Saves
in
the
moment
of
the
last
despair.
Her
act
has
rescued
Paris'
forfeit
life,
Though
great
Atrides
gain'd
the
glorious
strife.
Then
say,
ye
powers!
what
signal
issue
waits
To
crown
this
deed,
and
finish
all
the
fates!
Shall
Heaven
by
peace
the
bleeding
kingdoms
spare,
Or
rouse
the
furies,
and
awake
the
war?
Yet,
would
the
gods
for
human
good
provide,
Atrides
soon
might
gain
his
beauteous
bride,
Still
Priam's
walls
in
peaceful
honours
grow,
And
through
his
gates
the
crowding
nations
flow."
Thus
while
he
spoke,
the
queen
of
heaven,
enraged,
And
queen
of
war,
in
close
consult
engaged:
Apart
they
sit,
their
deep
designs
employ,
And
meditate
the
future
woes
of
Troy.
Though
secret
anger
swell'd
Minerva's
breast,
The
prudent
goddess
yet
her
wrath
suppress'd;
But
Juno,
impotent
of
passion,
broke
Her
sullen
silence,
and
with
fury
spoke:
[Illustration:
THE
COUNCIL
OF
THE
GODS.]
THE
COUNCIL
OF
THE
GODS.
"Shall
then,
O
tyrant
of
the
ethereal
reign!
My
schemes,
my
labours,
and
my
hopes
be
vain?
Have
I,
for
this,
shook
Ilion
with
alarms,
Assembled
nations,
set
two
worlds
in
arms?
To
spread
the
war,
I
flew
from
shore
to
shore;
The
immortal
coursers
scarce
the
labour
bore.
At
length
ripe
vengeance
o'er
their
heads
impends,
But
Jove
himself
the
faithless
race
defends.
Loth
as
thou
art
to
punish
lawless
lust,
Not
all
the
gods
are
partial
and
unjust."
The
sire
whose
thunder
shakes
the
cloudy
skies,
Sighs
from
his
inmost
soul,
and
thus
replies:
"Oh
lasting
rancour!
oh
insatiate
hate
To
Phrygia's
monarch,
and
the
Phrygian
state!
What
high
offence
has
fired
the
wife
of
Jove?
Can
wretched
mortals
harm
the
powers
above,
That
Troy,
and
Troy's
whole
race
thou
wouldst
confound,
And
yon
fair
structures
level
with
the
ground!
Haste,
leave
the
skies,
fulfil
thy
stern
desire,
Burst
all
her
gates,
and
wrap
her
walls
in
fire!
Let
Priam
bleed!
if
yet
you
thirst
for
more,
Bleed
all
his
sons,
and
Ilion
float
with
gore:
To
boundless
vengeance
the
wide
realm
be
given,
Till
vast
destruction
glut
the
queen
of
heaven!
So
let
it
be,
and
Jove
his
peace
enjoy,(126)
When
heaven
no
longer
hears
the
name
of
Troy.
But
should
this
arm
prepare
to
wreak
our
hate
On
thy
loved
realms,
whose
guilt
demands
their
fate;
Presume
not
thou
the
lifted
bolt
to
stay,
Remember
Troy,
and
give
the
vengeance
way.
For
know,
of
all
the
numerous
towns
that
rise
Beneath
the
rolling
sun
and
starry
skies,
Which
gods
have
raised,
or
earth-born
men
enjoy,
None
stands
so
dear
to
Jove
as
sacred
Troy.
No
mortals
merit
more
distinguish'd
grace
Than
godlike
Priam,
or
than
Priam's
race.
Still
to
our
name
their
hecatombs
expire,
And
altars
blaze
with
unextinguish'd
fire."
At
this
the
goddess
rolled
her
radiant
eyes,
Then
on
the
Thunderer
fix'd
them,
and
replies:
"Three
towns
are
Juno's
on
the
Grecian
plains,
More
dear
than
all
the
extended
earth
contains,
Mycenae,
Argos,
and
the
Spartan
wall;(127)
These
thou
mayst
raze,
nor
I
forbid
their
fall:
'Tis
not
in
me
the
vengeance
to
remove;
The
crime's
sufficient
that
they
share
my
love.
Of
power
superior
why
should
I
complain?
Resent
I
may,
but
must
resent
in
vain.
Yet
some
distinction
Juno
might
require,
Sprung
with
thyself
from
one
celestial
sire,
A
goddess
born,
to
share
the
realms
above,
And
styled
the
consort
of
the
thundering
Jove;
Nor
thou
a
wife
and
sister's
right
deny;(128)
Let
both
consent,
and
both
by
terms
comply;
So
shall
the
gods
our
joint
decrees
obey,
And
heaven
shall
act
as
we
direct
the
way.
See
ready
Pallas
waits
thy
high
commands
To
raise
in
arms
the
Greek
and
Phrygian
bands;
Their
sudden
friendship
by
her
arts
may
cease,
And
the
proud
Trojans
first
infringe
the
peace."
The
sire
of
men
and
monarch
of
the
sky
The
advice
approved,
and
bade
Minerva
fly,
Dissolve
the
league,
and
all
her
arts
employ
To
make
the
breach
the
faithless
act
of
Troy.
Fired
with
the
charge,
she
headlong
urged
her
flight,
And
shot
like
lightning
from
Olympus'
height.
As
the
red
comet,
from
Saturnius
sent
To
fright
the
nations
with
a
dire
portent,
(A
fatal
sign
to
armies
on
the
plain,
Or
trembling
sailors
on
the
wintry
main,)
With
sweeping
glories
glides
along
in
air,
And
shakes
the
sparkles
from
its
blazing
hair:(129)
Between
both
armies
thus,
in
open
sight
Shot
the
bright
goddess
in
a
trail
of
light,
With
eyes
erect
the
gazing
hosts
admire
The
power
descending,
and
the
heavens
on
fire!
"The
gods
(they
cried),
the
gods
this
signal
sent,
And
fate
now
labours
with
some
vast
event:
Jove
seals
the
league,
or
bloodier
scenes
prepares;
Jove,
the
great
arbiter
of
peace
and
wars."
They
said,
while
Pallas
through
the
Trojan
throng,
(In
shape
a
mortal,)
pass'd
disguised
along.
Like
bold
Laodocus,
her
course
she
bent,
Who
from
Antenor
traced
his
high
descent.
Amidst
the
ranks
Lycaon's
son
she
found,
The
warlike
Pandarus,
for
strength
renown'd;
Whose
squadrons,
led
from
black
Ęsepus'
flood,(130)
With
flaming
shields
in
martial
circle
stood.
To
him
the
goddess:
"Phrygian!
canst
thou
hear
A
well-timed
counsel
with
a
willing
ear?
What
praise
were
thine,
couldst
thou
direct
thy
dart,
Amidst
his
triumph,
to
the
Spartan's
heart?
What
gifts
from
Troy,
from
Paris
wouldst
thou
gain,
Thy
country's
foe,
the
Grecian
glory
slain?
Then
seize
the
occasion,
dare
the
mighty
deed,
Aim
at
his
breast,
and
may
that
aim
succeed!
But
first,
to
speed
the
shaft,
address
thy
vow
To
Lycian
Phoebus
with
the
silver
bow,
And
swear
the
firstlings
of
thy
flock
to
pay,
On
Zelia's
altars,
to
the
god
of
day."(131)
He
heard,
and
madly
at
the
motion
pleased,
His
polish'd
bow
with
hasty
rashness
seized.
'Twas
form'd
of
horn,
and
smooth'd
with
artful
toil:
A
mountain
goat
resign'd
the
shining
spoil.
Who
pierced
long
since
beneath
his
arrows
bled;
The
stately
quarry
on
the
cliffs
lay
dead,
And
sixteen
palms
his
brow's
large
honours
spread:
The
workmen
join'd,
and
shaped
the
bended
horns,
And
beaten
gold
each
taper
point
adorns.
This,
by
the
Greeks
unseen,
the
warrior
bends,
Screen'd
by
the
shields
of
his
surrounding
friends:
There
meditates
the
mark;
and
couching
low,
Fits
the
sharp
arrow
to
the
well-strung
bow.
One
from
a
hundred
feather'd
deaths
he
chose,
Fated
to
wound,
and
cause
of
future
woes;
Then
offers
vows
with
hecatombs
to
crown
Apollo's
altars
in
his
native
town.
Now
with
full
force
the
yielding
horn
he
bends,
Drawn
to
an
arch,
and
joins
the
doubling
ends;
Close
to
his
breast
he
strains
the
nerve
below,
Till
the
barb'd
points
approach
the
circling
bow;
The
impatient
weapon
whizzes
on
the
wing;
Sounds
the
tough
horn,
and
twangs
the
quivering
string.
But
thee,
Atrides!
in
that
dangerous
hour
The
gods
forget
not,
nor
thy
guardian
power,
Pallas
assists,
and
(weakened
in
its
force)
Diverts
the
weapon
from
its
destined
course:
So
from
her
babe,
when
slumber
seals
his
eye,
The
watchful
mother
wafts
the
envenom'd
fly.
Just
where
his
belt
with
golden
buckles
join'd,
Where
linen
folds
the
double
corslet
lined,
She
turn'd
the
shaft,
which,
hissing
from
above,
Pass'd
the
broad
belt,
and
through
the
corslet
drove;
The
folds
it
pierced,
the
plaited
linen
tore,
And
razed
the
skin,
and
drew
the
purple
gore.
As
when
some
stately
trappings
are
decreed
To
grace
a
monarch
on
his
bounding
steed,
A
nymph
in
Caria
or
Maeonia
bred,
Stains
the
pure
ivory
with
a
lively
red;
With
equal
lustre
various
colours
vie,
The
shining
whiteness,
and
the
Tyrian
dye:
So
great
Atrides!
show'd
thy
sacred
blood,
As
down
thy
snowy
thigh
distill'd
the
streaming
flood.
With
horror
seized,
the
king
of
men
descried
The
shaft
infix'd,
and
saw
the
gushing
tide:
Nor
less
the
Spartan
fear'd,
before
he
found
The
shining
barb
appear
above
the
wound,
Then,
with
a
sigh,
that
heaved
his
manly
breast,
The
royal
brother
thus
his
grief
express'd,
And
grasp'd
his
hand;
while
all
the
Greeks
around
With
answering
sighs
return'd
the
plaintive
sound.
"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
aegis
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."
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."
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."
With
hasty
zeal
the
swift
Talthybius
flies;
Through
the
thick
files
he
darts
his
searching
eyes,
And
finds
Machaon,
where
sublime
he
stands(132)
In
arms
incircled
with
his
native
bands.
Then
thus:
"Machaon,
to
the
king
repair,
His
wounded
brother
claims
thy
timely
care;
Pierced
by
some
Lycian
or
Dardanian
bow,
A
grief
to
us,
a
triumph
to
the
foe."
The
heavy
tidings
grieved
the
godlike
man
Swift
to
his
succour
through
the
ranks
he
ran.
The
dauntless
king
yet
standing
firm
he
found,
And
all
the
chiefs
in
deep
concern
around.
Where
to
the
steely
point
the
reed
was
join'd,
The
shaft
he
drew,
but
left
the
head
behind.
Straight
the
broad
belt
with
gay
embroidery
graced,
He
loosed;
the
corslet
from
his
breast
unbraced;
Then
suck'd
the
blood,
and
sovereign
balm
infused,(133)
Which
Chiron
gave,
and
Ęsculapius
used.
While
round
the
prince
the
Greeks
employ
their
care,
The
Trojans
rush
tumultuous
to
the
war;
Once
more
they
glitter
in
refulgent
arms,
Once
more
the
fields
are
fill'd
with
dire
alarms.
Nor
had
you
seen
the
king
of
men
appear
Confused,
unactive,
or
surprised
with
fear;
But
fond
of
glory,
with
severe
delight,
His
beating
bosom
claim'd
the
rising
fight.
No
longer
with
his
warlike
steeds
he
stay'd,
Or
press'd
the
car
with
polish'd
brass
inlaid
But
left
Eurymedon
the
reins
to
guide;
The
fiery
coursers
snorted
at
his
side.
On
foot
through
all
the
martial
ranks
he
moves
And
these
encourages,
and
those
reproves.
"Brave
men!"
he
cries,
(to
such
who
boldly
dare
Urge
their
swift
steeds
to
face
the
coming
war),
"Your
ancient
valour
on
the
foes
approve;
Jove
is
with
Greece,
and
let
us
trust
in
Jove.
'Tis
not
for
us,
but
guilty
Troy,
to
dread,
Whose
crimes
sit
heavy
on
her
perjured
head;
Her
sons
and
matrons
Greece
shall
lead
in
chains,
And
her
dead
warriors
strew
the
mournful
plains."
Thus
with
new
ardour
he
the
brave
inspires;
Or
thus
the
fearful
with
reproaches
fires:
"Shame
to
your
country,
scandal
of
your
kind;
Born
to
the
fate
ye
well
deserve
to
find!
Why
stand
ye
gazing
round
the
dreadful
plain,
Prepared
for
flight,
but
doom'd
to
fly
in
vain?
Confused
and
panting
thus,
the
hunted
deer
Falls
as
he
flies,
a
victim
to
his
fear.
Still
must
ye
wait
the
foes,
and
still
retire,
Till
yon
tall
vessels
blaze
with
Trojan
fire?
Or
trust
ye,
Jove
a
valiant
foe
shall
chase,
To
save
a
trembling,
heartless,
dastard
race?"
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."
Charm'd
with
this
heat,
the
king
his
course
pursues,
And
next
the
troops
of
either
Ajax
views:
In
one
firm
orb
the
bands
were
ranged
around,
A
cloud
of
heroes
blacken'd
all
the
ground.
Thus
from
the
lofty
promontory's
brow
A
swain
surveys
the
gathering
storm
below;
Slow
from
the
main
the
heavy
vapours
rise,
Spread
in
dim
streams,
and
sail
along
the
skies,
Till
black
as
night
the
swelling
tempest
shows,
The
cloud
condensing
as
the
west-wind
blows:
He
dreads
the
impending
storm,
and
drives
his
flock
To
the
close
covert
of
an
arching
rock.
Such,
and
so
thick,
the
embattled
squadrons
stood,
With
spears
erect,
a
moving
iron
wood:
A
shady
light
was
shot
from
glimmering
shields,
And
their
brown
arms
obscured
the
dusky
fields.
"O
heroes!
worthy
such
a
dauntless
train,
Whose
godlike
virtue
we
but
urge
in
vain,
(Exclaim'd
the
king),
who
raise
your
eager
bands
With
great
examples,
more
than
loud
commands.
Ah!
would
the
gods
but
breathe
in
all
the
rest
Such
souls
as
burn
in
your
exalted
breast,
Soon
should
our
arms
with
just
success
be
crown'd,
And
Troy's
proud
walls
lie
smoking
on
the
ground."
Then
to
the
next
the
general
bends
his
course;
(His
heart
exults,
and
glories
in
his
force);
There
reverend
Nestor
ranks
his
Pylian
bands,
And
with
inspiring
eloquence
commands;
With
strictest
order
sets
his
train
in
arms,
The
chiefs
advises,
and
the
soldiers
warms.
Alastor,
Chromius,
Haemon,
round
him
wait,
Bias
the
good,
and
Pelagon
the
great.
The
horse
and
chariots
to
the
front
assign'd,
The
foot
(the
strength
of
war)
he
ranged
behind;
The
middle
space
suspected
troops
supply,
Inclosed
by
both,
nor
left
the
power
to
fly;
He
gives
command
to
"curb
the
fiery
steed,
Nor
cause
confusion,
nor
the
ranks
exceed:
Before
the
rest
let
none
too
rashly
ride;
No
strength
nor
skill,
but
just
in
time,
be
tried:
The
charge
once
made,
no
warrior
turn
the
rein,
But
fight,
or
fall;
a
firm
embodied
train.
He
whom
the
fortune
of
the
field
shall
cast
From
forth
his
chariot,
mount
the
next
in
haste;
Nor
seek
unpractised
to
direct
the
car,
Content
with
javelins
to
provoke
the
war.
Our
great
forefathers
held
this
prudent
course,
Thus
ruled
their
ardour,
thus
preserved
their
force;
By
laws
like
these
immortal
conquests
made,
And
earth's
proud
tyrants
low
in
ashes
laid."
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."
Thus
to
the
experienced
prince
Atrides
cried;
He
shook
his
hoary
locks,
and
thus
replied:
"Well
might
I
wish,
could
mortal
wish
renew(134)
That
strength
which
once
in
boiling
youth
I
knew;
Such
as
I
was,
when
Ereuthalion,
slain
Beneath
this
arm,
fell
prostrate
on
the
plain.
But
heaven
its
gifts
not
all
at
once
bestows,
These
years
with
wisdom
crowns,
with
action
those:
The
field
of
combat
fits
the
young
and
bold,
The
solemn
council
best
becomes
the
old:
To
you
the
glorious
conflict
I
resign,
Let
sage
advice,
the
palm
of
age,
be
mine."
He
said.
With
joy
the
monarch
march'd
before,
And
found
Menestheus
on
the
dusty
shore,
With
whom
the
firm
Athenian
phalanx
stands;
And
next
Ulysses,
with
his
subject
bands.
Remote
their
forces
lay,
nor
knew
so
far
The
peace
infringed,
nor
heard
the
sounds
of
war;
The
tumult
late
begun,
they
stood
intent
To
watch
the
motion,
dubious
of
the
event.
The
king,
who
saw
their
squadrons
yet
unmoved,
With
hasty
ardour
thus
the
chiefs
reproved:
"Can
Peleus'
son
forget
a
warrior's
part.
And
fears
Ulysses,
skill'd
in
every
art?
Why
stand
you
distant,
and
the
rest
expect
To
mix
in
combat
which
yourselves
neglect?
From
you
'twas
hoped
among
the
first
to
dare
The
shock
of
armies,
and
commence
the
war;
For
this
your
names
are
call'd
before
the
rest,
To
share
the
pleasures
of
the
genial
feast:
And
can
you,
chiefs!
without
a
blush
survey
Whole
troops
before
you
labouring
in
the
fray?
Say,
is
it
thus
those
honours
you
requite?
The
first
in
banquets,
but
the
last
in
fight."
Ulysses
heard:
the
hero's
warmth
o'erspread
His
cheek
with
blushes:
and
severe,
he
said:
"Take
back
the
unjust
reproach!
Behold
we
stand
Sheathed
in
bright
arms,
and
but
expect
command.
If
glorious
deeds
afford
thy
soul
delight,
Behold
me
plunging
in
the
thickest
fight.
Then
give
thy
warrior-chief
a
warrior's
due,
Who
dares
to
act
whate'er
thou
dar'st
to
view."
Struck
with
his
generous
wrath,
the
king
replies:
"O
great
in
action,
and
in
council
wise!
With
ours,
thy
care
and
ardour
are
the
same,
Nor
need
I
to
commend,
nor
aught
to
blame.
Sage
as
thou
art,
and
learn'd
in
human
kind,
Forgive
the
transport
of
a
martial
mind.
Haste
to
the
fight,
secure
of
just
amends;
The
gods
that
make,
shall
keep
the
worthy,
friends."
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
Mycenae'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!"
No
words
the
godlike
Diomed
return'd,
But
heard
respectful,
and
in
secret
burn'd:
Not
so
fierce
Capaneus'
undaunted
son;
Stern
as
his
sire,
the
boaster
thus
begun:
"What
needs,
O
monarch!
this
invidious
praise,
Ourselves
to
lessen,
while
our
sire
you
raise?
Dare
to
be
just,
Atrides!
and
confess
Our
value
equal,
though
our
fury
less.
With
fewer
troops
we
storm'd
the
Theban
wall,
And
happier
saw
the
sevenfold
city
fall,(137)
In
impious
acts
the
guilty
father
died;
The
sons
subdued,
for
Heaven
was
on
their
side.
Far
more
than
heirs
of
all
our
parents'
fame,
Our
glories
darken
their
diminish'd
name."
To
him
Tydides
thus:
"My
friend,
forbear;
Suppress
thy
passion,
and
the
king
revere:
His
high
concern
may
well
excuse
this
rage,
Whose
cause
we
follow,
and
whose
war
we
wage:
His
the
first
praise,
were
Ilion's
towers
o'erthrown,
And,
if
we
fail,
the
chief
disgrace
his
own.
Let
him
the
Greeks
to
hardy
toils
excite,
'Tis
ours
to
labour
in
the
glorious
fight."
He
spoke,
and
ardent,
on
the
trembling
ground
Sprung
from
his
car:
his
ringing
arms
resound.
Dire
was
the
clang,
and
dreadful
from
afar,
Of
arm'd
Tydides
rushing
to
the
war.
As
when
the
winds,
ascending
by
degrees,(138)
First
move
the
whitening
surface
of
the
seas,
The
billows
float
in
order
to
the
shore,
The
wave
behind
rolls
on
the
wave
before;
Till,
with
the
growing
storm,
the
deeps
arise,
Foam
o'er
the
rocks,
and
thunder
to
the
skies.
So
to
the
fight
the
thick
battalions
throng,
Shields
urged
on
shields,
and
men
drove
men
along
Sedate
and
silent
move
the
numerous
bands;
No
sound,
no
whisper,
but
the
chief's
commands,
Those
only
heard;
with
awe
the
rest
obey,
As
if
some
god
had
snatch'd
their
voice
away.
Not
so
the
Trojans;
from
their
host
ascends
A
general
shout
that
all
the
region
rends.
As
when
the
fleecy
flocks
unnumber'd
stand
In
wealthy
folds,
and
wait
the
milker's
hand,
The
hollow
vales
incessant
bleating
fills,
The
lambs
reply
from
all
the
neighbouring
hills:
Such
clamours
rose
from
various
nations
round,
Mix'd
was
the
murmur,
and
confused
the
sound.
Each
host
now
joins,
and
each
a
god
inspires,
These
Mars
incites,
and
those
Minerva
fires,
Pale
flight
around,
and
dreadful
terror
reign;
And
discord
raging
bathes
the
purple
plain;
Discord!
dire
sister
of
the
slaughtering
power,
Small
at
her
birth,
but
rising
every
hour,
While
scarce
the
skies
her
horrid
head
can
bound,
She
stalks
on
earth,
and
shakes
the
world
around;(139)
The
nations
bleed,
where'er
her
steps
she
turns,
The
groan
still
deepens,
and
the
combat
burns.
Now
shield
with
shield,
with
helmet
helmet
closed,
To
armour
armour,
lance
to
lance
opposed,
Host
against
host
with
shadowy
squadrons
drew,
The
sounding
darts
in
iron
tempests
flew,
Victors
and
vanquish'd
join'd
promiscuous
cries,
And
shrilling
shouts
and
dying
groans
arise;
With
streaming
blood
the
slippery
fields
are
dyed,
And
slaughter'd
heroes
swell
the
dreadful
tide.
As
torrents
roll,
increased
by
numerous
rills,
With
rage
impetuous,
down
their
echoing
hills
Rush
to
the
vales,
and
pour'd
along
the
plain.
Roar
through
a
thousand
channels
to
the
main:
The
distant
shepherd
trembling
hears
the
sound;
So
mix
both
hosts,
and
so
their
cries
rebound.
The
bold
Antilochus
the
slaughter
led,
The
first
who
struck
a
valiant
Trojan
dead:
At
great
Echepolus
the
lance
arrives,
Razed
his
high
crest,
and
through
his
helmet
drives;
Warm'd
in
the
brain
the
brazen
weapon
lies,
And
shades
eternal
settle
o'er
his
eyes.
So
sinks
a
tower,
that
long
assaults
had
stood
Of
force
and
fire,
its
walls
besmear'd
with
blood.
Him,
the
bold
leader
of
the
Abantian
throng,(140)
Seized
to
despoil,
and
dragg'd
the
corpse
along:
But
while
he
strove
to
tug
the
inserted
dart,
Agenor's
javelin
reach'd
the
hero's
heart.
His
flank,
unguarded
by
his
ample
shield,
Admits
the
lance:
he
falls,
and
spurns
the
field;
The
nerves,
unbraced,
support
his
limbs
no
more;
The
soul
comes
floating
in
a
tide
of
gore.
Trojans
and
Greeks
now
gather
round
the
slain;
The
war
renews,
the
warriors
bleed
again:
As
o'er
their
prey
rapacious
wolves
engage,
Man
dies
on
man,
and
all
is
blood
and
rage.
In
blooming
youth
fair
Simoisius
fell,
Sent
by
great
Ajax
to
the
shades
of
hell;
Fair
Simoisius,
whom
his
mother
bore
Amid
the
flocks
on
silver
Simois'
shore:
The
nymph
descending
from
the
hills
of
Ide,
To
seek
her
parents
on
his
flowery
side,
Brought
forth
the
babe,
their
common
care
and
joy,
And
thence
from
Simois
named
the
lovely
boy.
Short
was
his
date!
by
dreadful
Ajax
slain,
He
falls,
and
renders
all
their
cares
in
vain!
So
falls
a
poplar,
that
in
watery
ground
Raised
high
the
head,
with
stately
branches
crown'd,
(Fell'd
by
some
artist
with
his
shining
steel,
To
shape
the
circle
of
the
bending
wheel,)
Cut
down
it
lies,
tall,
smooth,
and
largely
spread,
With
all
its
beauteous
honours
on
its
head
There,
left
a
subject
to
the
wind
and
rain,
And
scorch'd
by
suns,
it
withers
on
the
plain
Thus
pierced
by
Ajax,
Simoisius
lies
Stretch'd
on
the
shore,
and
thus
neglected
dies.
At
Ajax,
Antiphus
his
javelin
threw;
The
pointed
lance
with
erring
fury
flew,
And
Leucus,
loved
by
wise
Ulysses,
slew.
He
drops
the
corpse
of
Simoisius
slain,
And
sinks
a
breathless
carcase
on
the
plain.
This
saw
Ulysses,
and
with
grief
enraged,
Strode
where
the
foremost
of
the
foes
engaged;
Arm'd
with
his
spear,
he
meditates
the
wound,
In
act
to
throw;
but
cautious
look'd
around,
Struck
at
his
sight
the
Trojans
backward
drew,
And
trembling
heard
the
javelin
as
it
flew.
A
chief
stood
nigh,
who
from
Abydos
came,
Old
Priam's
son,
Democoon
was
his
name.
The
weapon
entered
close
above
his
ear,
Cold
through
his
temples
glides
the
whizzing
spear;(141)
With
piercing
shrieks
the
youth
resigns
his
breath,
His
eye-balls
darken
with
the
shades
of
death;
Ponderous
he
falls;
his
clanging
arms
resound,
And
his
broad
buckler
rings
against
the
ground.
Seized
with
affright
the
boldest
foes
appear;
E'en
godlike
Hector
seems
himself
to
fear;
Slow
he
gave
way,
the
rest
tumultuous
fled;
The
Greeks
with
shouts
press
on,
and
spoil
the
dead:
But
Phoebus
now
from
Ilion's
towering
height
Shines
forth
reveal'd,
and
animates
the
fight.
"Trojans,
be
bold,
and
force
with
force
oppose;
Your
foaming
steeds
urge
headlong
on
the
foes!
Nor
are
their
bodies
rocks,
nor
ribb'd
with
steel;
Your
weapons
enter,
and
your
strokes
they
feel.
Have
ye
forgot
what
seem'd
your
dread
before?
The
great,
the
fierce
Achilles
fights
no
more."
Apollo
thus
from
Ilion's
lofty
towers,
Array'd
in
terrors,
roused
the
Trojan
powers:
While
war's
fierce
goddess
fires
the
Grecian
foe,
And
shouts
and
thunders
in
the
fields
below.
Then
great
Diores
fell,
by
doom
divine,
In
vain
his
valour
and
illustrious
line.
A
broken
rock
the
force
of
Pyrus
threw,
(Who
from
cold
Ęnus
led
the
Thracian
crew,)(142)
Full
on
his
ankle
dropp'd
the
ponderous
stone,
Burst
the
strong
nerves,
and
crash'd
the
solid
bone.
Supine
he
tumbles
on
the
crimson
sands,
Before
his
helpless
friends,
and
native
bands,
And
spreads
for
aid
his
unavailing
hands.
The
foe
rush'd
furious
as
he
pants
for
breath,
And
through
his
navel
drove
the
pointed
death:
His
gushing
entrails
smoked
upon
the
ground,
And
the
warm
life
came
issuing
from
the
wound.
His
lance
bold
Thoas
at
the
conqueror
sent,
Deep
in
his
breast
above
the
pap
it
went,
Amid
the
lungs
was
fix'd
the
winged
wood,
And
quivering
in
his
heaving
bosom
stood:
Till
from
the
dying
chief,
approaching
near,
The
Ętolian
warrior
tugg'd
his
weighty
spear:
Then
sudden
waved
his
flaming
falchion
round,
And
gash'd
his
belly
with
a
ghastly
wound;
The
corpse
now
breathless
on
the
bloody
plain,
To
spoil
his
arms
the
victor
strove
in
vain;
The
Thracian
bands
against
the
victor
press'd,
A
grove
of
lances
glitter'd
at
his
breast.
Stern
Thoas,
glaring
with
revengeful
eyes,
In
sullen
fury
slowly
quits
the
prize.
Thus
fell
two
heroes;
one
the
pride
of
Thrace,
And
one
the
leader
of
the
Epeian
race;
Death's
sable
shade
at
once
o'ercast
their
eyes,
In
dust
the
vanquish'd
and
the
victor
lies.
With
copious
slaughter
all
the
fields
are
red,
And
heap'd
with
growing
mountains
of
the
dead.
Had
some
brave
chief
this
martial
scene
beheld,
By
Pallas
guarded
through
the
dreadful
field;
Might
darts
be
bid
to
turn
their
points
away,
And
swords
around
him
innocently
play;
The
war's
whole
art
with
wonder
had
he
seen,
And
counted
heroes
where
he
counted
men.
So
fought
each
host,
with
thirst
of
glory
fired,
And
crowds
on
crowds
triumphantly
expired.
[Illustration:
Map
of
the
Plain
of
Troy.]
Map
of
the
Plain
of
Troy.
BOOK
V.
ARGUMENT.
THE
ACTS
OF
DIOMED.
Diomed,
assisted
by
Pallas,
performs
wonders
in
this
day's
battle.
Pandarus
wounds
him
with
an
arrow,
but
the
goddess
cures
him,
enables
him
to
discern
gods
from
mortals,
and
prohibits
him
from
contending
with
any
of
the
former,
excepting
Venus.
Ęneas
joins
Pandarus
to
oppose
him;
Pandarus
is
killed,
and
Ęneas
in
great
danger
but
for
the
assistance
of
Venus;
who,
as
she
is
removing
her
son
from
the
fight,
is
wounded
on
the
hand
by
Diomed.
Apollo
seconds
her
in
his
rescue,
and
at
length
carries
off
Ęneas
to
Troy,
where
he
is
healed
in
the
temple
of
Pergamus.
Mars
rallies
the
Trojans,
and
assists
Hector
to
make
a
stand.
In
the
meantime
Ęneas
is
restored
to
the
field,
and
they
overthrow
several
of
the
Greeks;
among
the
rest
Tlepolemus
is
slain
by
Sarpedon.
Juno
and
Minerva
descend
to
resist
Mars;
the
latter
incites
Diomed
to
go
against
that
god;
he
wounds
him,
and
sends
him
groaning
to
heaven.
The
first
battle
continues
through
this
book.
The
scene
is
the
same
as
in
the
former.
But
Pallas
now
Tydides'
soul
inspires,(143)
Fills
with
her
force,
and
warms
with
all
her
fires,
Above
the
Greeks
his
deathless
fame
to
raise,
And
crown
her
hero
with
distinguish'd
praise.
High
on
his
helm
celestial
lightnings
play,
His
beamy
shield
emits
a
living
ray;
The
unwearied
blaze
incessant
streams
supplies,
Like
the
red
star
that
fires
the
autumnal
skies,
When
fresh
he
rears
his
radiant
orb
to
sight,
And,
bathed
in
ocean,
shoots
a
keener
light.
Such
glories
Pallas
on
the
chief
bestow'd,
Such,
from
his
arms,
the
fierce
effulgence
flow'd:
Onward
she
drives
him,
furious
to
engage,
Where
the
fight
burns,
and
where
the
thickest
rage.
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,
Idaeus
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.
Struck
with
amaze
and
shame,
the
Trojan
crew,
Or
slain,
or
fled,
the
sons
of
Dares
view;
When
by
the
blood-stain'd
hand
Minerva
press'd
The
god
of
battles,
and
this
speech
address'd:
"Stern
power
of
war!
by
whom
the
mighty
fall,
Who
bathe
in
blood,
and
shake
the
lofty
wall!
Let
the
brave
chiefs
their
glorious
toils
divide;
And
whose
the
conquest,
mighty
Jove
decide:
While
we
from
interdicted
fields
retire,
Nor
tempt
the
wrath
of
heaven's
avenging
sire."
Her
words
allay
the
impetuous
warrior's
heat,
The
god
of
arms
and
martial
maid
retreat;
Removed
from
fight,
on
Xanthus'
flowery
bounds
They
sat,
and
listen'd
to
the
dying
sounds.
Meantime,
the
Greeks
the
Trojan
race
pursue,
And
some
bold
chieftain
every
leader
slew:
First
Odius
falls,
and
bites
the
bloody
sand,
His
death
ennobled
by
Atrides'
hand:
As
he
to
flight
his
wheeling
car
address'd,
The
speedy
javelin
drove
from
back
to
breast.
In
dust
the
mighty
Halizonian
lay,
His
arms
resound,
the
spirit
wings
its
way.
Thy
fate
was
next,
O
Phaestus!
doom'd
to
feel
The
great
Idomeneus'
protended
steel;
Whom
Borus
sent
(his
son
and
only
joy)
From
fruitful
Tarne
to
the
fields
of
Troy.
The
Cretan
javelin
reach'd
him
from
afar,
And
pierced
his
shoulder
as
he
mounts
his
car;
Back
from
the
car
he
tumbles
to
the
ground,
And
everlasting
shades
his
eyes
surround.
Then
died
Scamandrius,
expert
in
the
chase,
In
woods
and
wilds
to
wound
the
savage
race;
Diana
taught
him
all
her
sylvan
arts,
To
bend
the
bow,
and
aim
unerring
darts:
But
vainly
here
Diana's
arts
he
tries,
The
fatal
lance
arrests
him
as
he
flies;
From
Menelaus'
arm
the
weapon
sent,
Through
his
broad
back
and
heaving
bosom
went:
Down
sinks
the
warrior
with
a
thundering
sound,
His
brazen
armour
rings
against
the
ground.
Next
artful
Phereclus
untimely
fell;
Bold
Merion
sent
him
to
the
realms
of
hell.
Thy
father's
skill,
O
Phereclus!
was
thine,
The
graceful
fabric
and
the
fair
design;
For
loved
by
Pallas,
Pallas
did
impart
To
him
the
shipwright's
and
the
builder's
art.
Beneath
his
hand
the
fleet
of
Paris
rose,
The
fatal
cause
of
all
his
country's
woes;
But
he,
the
mystic
will
of
heaven
unknown,
Nor
saw
his
country's
peril,
nor
his
own.
The
hapless
artist,
while
confused
he
fled,
The
spear
of
Merion
mingled
with
the
dead.
Through
his
right
hip,
with
forceful
fury
cast,
Between
the
bladder
and
the
bone
it
pass'd;
Prone
on
his
knees
he
falls
with
fruitless
cries,
And
death
in
lasting
slumber
seals
his
eyes.
From
Meges'
force
the
swift
Pedaeus
fled,
Antenor's
offspring
from
a
foreign
bed,
Whose
generous
spouse,
Theanor,
heavenly
fair,
Nursed
the
young
stranger
with
a
mother's
care.
How
vain
those
cares!
when
Meges
in
the
rear
Full
in
his
nape
infix'd
the
fatal
spear;
Swift
through
his
crackling
jaws
the
weapon
glides,
And
the
cold
tongue
and
grinning
teeth
divides.
Then
died
Hypsenor,
generous
and
divine,
Sprung
from
the
brave
Dolopion's
mighty
line,
Who
near
adored
Scamander
made
abode,
Priest
of
the
stream,
and
honoured
as
a
god.
On
him,
amidst
the
flying
numbers
found,
Eurypylus
inflicts
a
deadly
wound;
On
his
broad
shoulders
fell
the
forceful
brand,
Thence
glancing
downwards,
lopp'd
his
holy
hand,
Which
stain'd
with
sacred
blood
the
blushing
sand.
Down
sunk
the
priest:
the
purple
hand
of
death
Closed
his
dim
eye,
and
fate
suppress'd
his
breath.
Thus
toil'd
the
chiefs,
in
different
parts
engaged.
In
every
quarter
fierce
Tydides
raged;
Amid
the
Greek,
amid
the
Trojan
train,
Rapt
through
the
ranks
he
thunders
o'er
the
plain;
Now
here,
now
there,
he
darts
from
place
to
place,
Pours
on
the
rear,
or
lightens
in
their
face.
Thus
from
high
hills
the
torrents
swift
and
strong
Deluge
whole
fields,
and
sweep
the
trees
along,
Through
ruin'd
moles
the
rushing
wave
resounds,
O'erwhelm's
the
bridge,
and
bursts
the
lofty
bounds;
The
yellow
harvests
of
the
ripen'd
year,
And
flatted
vineyards,
one
sad
waste
appear!(144)
While
Jove
descends
in
sluicy
sheets
of
rain,
And
all
the
labours
of
mankind
are
vain.
So
raged
Tydides,
boundless
in
his
ire,
Drove
armies
back,
and
made
all
Troy
retire.
With
grief
the
leader
of
the
Lycian
band
Saw
the
wide
waste
of
his
destructive
hand:
His
bended
bow
against
the
chief
he
drew;
Swift
to
the
mark
the
thirsty
arrow
flew,
Whose
forky
point
the
hollow
breastplate
tore,
Deep
in
his
shoulder
pierced,
and
drank
the
gore:
The
rushing
stream
his
brazen
armour
dyed,
While
the
proud
archer
thus
exulting
cried:
"Hither,
ye
Trojans,
hither
drive
your
steeds!
Lo!
by
our
hand
the
bravest
Grecian
bleeds,
Not
long
the
deathful
dart
he
can
sustain;
Or
Phoebus
urged
me
to
these
fields
in
vain."
So
spoke
he,
boastful:
but
the
winged
dart
Stopp'd
short
of
life,
and
mock'd
the
shooter's
art.
The
wounded
chief,
behind
his
car
retired,
The
helping
hand
of
Sthenelus
required;
Swift
from
his
seat
he
leap'd
upon
the
ground,
And
tugg'd
the
weapon
from
the
gushing
wound;
When
thus
the
king
his
guardian
power
address'd,
The
purple
current
wandering
o'er
his
vest:
"O
progeny
of
Jove!
unconquer'd
maid!
If
e'er
my
godlike
sire
deserved
thy
aid,
If
e'er
I
felt
thee
in
the
fighting
field;
Now,
goddess,
now,
thy
sacred
succour
yield.
O
give
my
lance
to
reach
the
Trojan
knight,
Whose
arrow
wounds
the
chief
thou
guard'st
in
fight;
And
lay
the
boaster
grovelling
on
the
shore,
That
vaunts
these
eyes
shall
view
the
light
no
more."
Thus
pray'd
Tydides,
and
Minerva
heard,
His
nerves
confirm'd,
his
languid
spirits
cheer'd;
He
feels
each
limb
with
wonted
vigour
light;
His
beating
bosom
claim'd
the
promised
fight.
"Be
bold,
(she
cried),
in
every
combat
shine,
War
be
thy
province,
thy
protection
mine;
Rush
to
the
fight,
and
every
foe
control;
Wake
each
paternal
virtue
in
thy
soul:
Strength
swells
thy
boiling
breast,
infused
by
me,
And
all
thy
godlike
father
breathes
in
thee;
Yet
more,
from
mortal
mists
I
purge
thy
eyes,(145)
And
set
to
view
the
warring
deities.
These
see
thou
shun,
through
all
the
embattled
plain;
Nor
rashly
strive
where
human
force
is
vain.
If
Venus
mingle
in
the
martial
band,
Her
shalt
thou
wound:
so
Pallas
gives
command."
With
that,
the
blue-eyed
virgin
wing'd
her
flight;
The
hero
rush'd
impetuous
to
the
fight;
With
tenfold
ardour
now
invades
the
plain,
Wild
with
delay,
and
more
enraged
by
pain.
As
on
the
fleecy
flocks
when
hunger
calls,
Amidst
the
field
a
brindled
lion
falls;
If
chance
some
shepherd
with
a
distant
dart
The
savage
wound,
he
rouses
at
the
smart,
He
foams,
he
roars;
the
shepherd
dares
not
stay,
But
trembling
leaves
the
scattering
flocks
a
prey;
Heaps
fall
on
heaps;
he
bathes
with
blood
the
ground,
Then
leaps
victorious
o'er
the
lofty
mound.
Not
with
less
fury
stern
Tydides
flew;
And
two
brave
leaders
at
an
instant
slew;
Astynous
breathless
fell,
and
by
his
side,
His
people's
pastor,
good
Hypenor,
died;
Astynous'
breast
the
deadly
lance
receives,
Hypenor's
shoulder
his
broad
falchion
cleaves.
Those
slain
he
left,
and
sprung
with
noble
rage
Abas
and
Polyidus
to
engage;
Sons
of
Eurydamus,
who,
wise
and
old,
Could
fate
foresee,
and
mystic
dreams
unfold;
The
youths
return'd
not
from
the
doubtful
plain,
And
the
sad
father
tried
his
arts
in
vain;
No
mystic
dream
could
make
their
fates
appear,
Though
now
determined
by
Tydides'
spear.
Young
Xanthus
next,
and
Thoon
felt
his
rage;
The
joy
and
hope
of
Phaenops'
feeble
age:
Vast
was
his
wealth,
and
these
the
only
heirs
Of
all
his
labours
and
a
life
of
cares.
Cold
death
o'ertakes
them
in
their
blooming
years,
And
leaves
the
father
unavailing
tears:
To
strangers
now
descends
his
heapy
store,
The
race
forgotten,
and
the
name
no
more.
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.
With
deep
concern
divine
Ęneas
view'd
The
foe
prevailing,
and
his
friends
pursued;
Through
the
thick
storm
of
singing
spears
he
flies,
Exploring
Pandarus
with
careful
eyes.
At
length
he
found
Lycaon's
mighty
son;
To
whom
the
chief
of
Venus'
race
begun:
"Where,
Pandarus,
are
all
thy
honours
now,
Thy
winged
arrows
and
unerring
bow,
Thy
matchless
skill,
thy
yet
unrivall'd
fame,
And
boasted
glory
of
the
Lycian
name?
O
pierce
that
mortal!
if
we
mortal
call
That
wondrous
force
by
which
whole
armies
fall;
Or
god
incensed,
who
quits
the
distant
skies
To
punish
Troy
for
slighted
sacrifice;
(Which,
oh
avert
from
our
unhappy
state!
For
what
so
dreadful
as
celestial
hate)?
Whoe'er
he
be,
propitiate
Jove
with
prayer;
If
man,
destroy;
if
god,
entreat
to
spare."
To
him
the
Lycian:
"Whom
your
eyes
behold,
If
right
I
judge,
is
Diomed
the
bold:
Such
coursers
whirl
him
o'er
the
dusty
field,
So
towers
his
helmet,
and
so
flames
his
shield.
If
'tis
a
god,
he
wears
that
chief's
disguise:
Or
if
that
chief,
some
guardian
of
the
skies,
Involved
in
clouds,
protects
him
in
the
fray,
And
turns
unseen
the
frustrate
dart
away.
I
wing'd
an
arrow,
which
not
idly
fell,
The
stroke
had
fix'd
him
to
the
gates
of
hell;
And,
but
some
god,
some
angry
god
withstands,
His
fate
was
due
to
these
unerring
hands.
Skill'd
in
the
bow,
on
foot
I
sought
the
war,
Nor
join'd
swift
horses
to
the
rapid
car.
Ten
polish'd
chariots
I
possess'd
at
home,
And
still
they
grace
Lycaon's
princely
dome:
There
veil'd
in
spacious
coverlets
they
stand;
And
twice
ten
coursers
wait
their
lord's
command.
The
good
old
warrior
bade
me
trust
to
these,
When
first
for
Troy
I
sail'd
the
sacred
seas;
In
fields,
aloft,
the
whirling
car
to
guide,
And
through
the
ranks
of
death
triumphant
ride.
But
vain
with
youth,
and
yet
to
thrift
inclined,
I
heard
his
counsels
with
unheedful
mind,
And
thought
the
steeds
(your
large
supplies
unknown)
Might
fail
of
forage
in
the
straiten'd
town;
So
took
my
bow
and
pointed
darts
in
hand
And
left
the
chariots
in
my
native
land.
"Too
late,
O
friend!
my
rashness
I
deplore;
These
shafts,
once
fatal,
carry
death
no
more.
Tydeus'
and
Atreus'
sons
their
points
have
found,
And
undissembled
gore
pursued
the
wound.
In
vain
they
bleed:
this
unavailing
bow
Serves,
not
to
slaughter,
but
provoke
the
foe.
In
evil
hour
these
bended
horns
I
strung,
And
seized
the
quiver
where
it
idly
hung.
Cursed
be
the
fate
that
sent
me
to
the
field
Without
a
warrior's
arms,
the
spear
and
shield!
If
e'er
with
life
I
quit
the
Trojan
plain,
If
e'er
I
see
my
spouse
and
sire
again,
This
bow,
unfaithful
to
my
glorious
aims,
Broke
by
my
hand,
shall
feed
the
blazing
flames."
To
whom
the
leader
of
the
Dardan
race:
"Be
calm,
nor
Phoebus'
honour'd
gift
disgrace.
The
distant
dart
be
praised,
though
here
we
need
The
rushing
chariot
and
the
bounding
steed.
Against
yon
hero
let
us
bend
our
course,
And,
hand
to
hand,
encounter
force
with
force.
Now
mount
my
seat,
and
from
the
chariot's
height
Observe
my
father's
steeds,
renown'd
in
fight;
Practised
alike
to
turn,
to
stop,
to
chase,
To
dare
the
shock,
or
urge
the
rapid
race;
Secure
with
these,
through
fighting
fields
we
go;
Or
safe
to
Troy,
if
Jove
assist
the
foe.
Haste,
seize
the
whip,
and
snatch
the
guiding
rein;
The
warrior's
fury
let
this
arm
sustain;
Or,
if
to
combat
thy
bold
heart
incline,
Take
thou
the
spear,
the
chariot's
care
be
mine."
"O
prince!
(Lycaon's
valiant
son
replied)
As
thine
the
steeds,
be
thine
the
task
to
guide.
The
horses,
practised
to
their
lord's
command,
Shall
bear
the
rein,
and
answer
to
thy
hand;
But,
if,
unhappy,
we
desert
the
fight,
Thy
voice
alone
can
animate
their
flight;
Else
shall
our
fates
be
number'd
with
the
dead,
And
these,
the
victor's
prize,
in
triumph
led.
Thine
be
the
guidance,
then:
with
spear
and
shield
Myself
will
charge
this
terror
of
the
field."
And
now
both
heroes
mount
the
glittering
car;
The
bounding
coursers
rush
amidst
the
war;
Their
fierce
approach
bold
Sthenelus
espied,
Who
thus,
alarm'd,
to
great
Tydides
cried:
"O
friend!
two
chiefs
of
force
immense
I
see,
Dreadful
they
come,
and
bend
their
rage
on
thee:
Lo
the
brave
heir
of
old
Lycaon's
line,
And
great
Ęneas,
sprung
from
race
divine!
Enough
is
given
to
fame.
Ascend
thy
car!
And
save
a
life,
the
bulwark
of
our
war."
At
this
the
hero
cast
a
gloomy
look,
Fix'd
on
the
chief
with
scorn;
and
thus
he
spoke:
"Me
dost
thou
bid
to
shun
the
coming
fight?
Me
wouldst
thou
move
to
base,
inglorious
flight?
Know,
'tis
not
honest
in
my
soul
to
fear,
Nor
was
Tydides
born
to
tremble
here.
I
hate
the
cumbrous
chariot's
slow
advance,
And
the
long
distance
of
the
flying
lance;
But
while
my
nerves
are
strong,
my
force
entire,
Thus
front
the
foe,
and
emulate
my
sire.
Nor
shall
yon
steeds,
that
fierce
to
fight
convey
Those
threatening
heroes,
bear
them
both
away;
One
chief
at
least
beneath
this
arm
shall
die;
So
Pallas
tells
me,
and
forbids
to
fly.
But
if
she
dooms,
and
if
no
god
withstand,
That
both
shall
fall
by
one
victorious
hand,
Then
heed
my
words:
my
horses
here
detain,
Fix'd
to
the
chariot
by
the
straiten'd
rein;
Swift
to
Ęneas'
empty
seat
proceed,
And
seize
the
coursers
of
ethereal
breed;
The
race
of
those,
which
once
the
thundering
god(146)
For
ravish'd
Ganymede
on
Tros
bestow'd,
The
best
that
e'er
on
earth's
broad
surface
run,
Beneath
the
rising
or
the
setting
sun.
Hence
great
Anchises
stole
a
breed
unknown,
By
mortal
mares,
from
fierce
Laomedon:
Four
of
this
race
his
ample
stalls
contain,
And
two
transport
Ęneas
o'er
the
plain.
These,
were
the
rich
immortal
prize
our
own,
Through
the
wide
world
should
make
our
glory
known."
Thus
while
they
spoke,
the
foe
came
furious
on,
And
stern
Lycaon's
warlike
race
begun:
"Prince,
thou
art
met.
Though
late
in
vain
assail'd,
The
spear
may
enter
where
the
arrow
fail'd."
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."
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.
To
guard
his
slaughter'd
friend,
Ęneas
flies,
His
spear
extending
where
the
carcase
lies;
Watchful
he
wheels,
protects
it
every
way,
As
the
grim
lion
stalks
around
his
prey.
O'er
the
fall'n
trunk
his
ample
shield
display'd,
He
hides
the
hero
with
his
mighty
shade,
And
threats
aloud!
the
Greeks
with
longing
eyes
Behold
at
distance,
but
forbear
the
prize.
Then
fierce
Tydides
stoops;
and
from
the
fields
Heaved
with
vast
force,
a
rocky
fragment
wields.
Not
two
strong
men
the
enormous
weight
could
raise,
Such
men
as
live
in
these
degenerate
days:(147)
He
swung
it
round;
and,
gathering
strength
to
throw,
Discharged
the
ponderous
ruin
at
the
foe.
Where
to
the
hip
the
inserted
thigh
unites,
Full
on
the
bone
the
pointed
marble
lights;
Through
both
the
tendons
broke
the
rugged
stone,
And
stripp'd
the
skin,
and
crack'd
the
solid
bone.
Sunk
on
his
knees,
and
staggering
with
his
pains,
His
falling
bulk
his
bended
arm
sustains;
Lost
in
a
dizzy
mist
the
warrior
lies;
A
sudden
cloud
comes
swimming
o'er
his
eyes.
There
the
brave
chief,
who
mighty
numbers
sway'd,
Oppress'd
had
sunk
to
death's
eternal
shade,
But
heavenly
Venus,
mindful
of
the
love
She
bore
Anchises
in
the
Idaean
grove,
His
danger
views
with
anguish
and
despair,
And
guards
her
offspring
with
a
mother's
care.
About
her
much-loved
son
her
arms
she
throws,
Her
arms
whose
whiteness
match
the
falling
snows.
Screen'd
from
the
foe
behind
her
shining
veil,
The
swords
wave
harmless,
and
the
javelins
fail;
Safe
through
the
rushing
horse,
and
feather'd
flight
Of
sounding
shafts,
she
bears
him
from
the
fight.
Nor
Sthenelus,
with
unassisting
hands,
Remain'd
unheedful
of
his
lord's
commands:
His
panting
steeds,
removed
from
out
the
war,
He
fix'd
with
straiten'd
traces
to
the
car,
Next,
rushing
to
the
Dardan
spoil,
detains
The
heavenly
coursers
with
the
flowing
manes:
These
in
proud
triumph
to
the
fleet
convey'd,
No
longer
now
a
Trojan
lord
obey'd.
That
charge
to
bold
Deipylus
he
gave,
(Whom
most
he
loved,
as
brave
men
love
the
brave,)
Then
mounting
on
his
car,
resumed
the
rein,
And
follow'd
where
Tydides
swept
the
plain.
Meanwhile
(his
conquest
ravished
from
his
eyes)
The
raging
chief
in
chase
of
Venus
flies:
No
goddess
she,
commission'd
to
the
field,
Like
Pallas
dreadful
with
her
sable
shield,
Or
fierce
Bellona
thundering
at
the
wall,
While
flames
ascend,
and
mighty
ruins
fall;
He
knew
soft
combats
suit
the
tender
dame,
New
to
the
field,
and
still
a
foe
to
fame.
Through
breaking
ranks
his
furious
course
he
bends,
And
at
the
goddess
his
broad
lance
extends;
Through
her
bright
veil
the
daring
weapon
drove,
The
ambrosial
veil
which
all
the
Graces
wove;
Her
snowy
hand
the
razing
steel
profaned,
And
the
transparent
skin
with
crimson
stain'd,
From
the
clear
vein
a
stream
immortal
flow'd,
Such
stream
as
issues
from
a
wounded
god;(148)
Pure
emanation!
uncorrupted
flood!
Unlike
our
gross,
diseased,
terrestrial
blood:
(For
not
the
bread
of
man
their
life
sustains,
Nor
wine's
inflaming
juice
supplies
their
veins:)
With
tender
shrieks
the
goddess
fill'd
the
place,
And
dropp'd
her
offspring
from
her
weak
embrace.
Him
Phoebus
took:
he
casts
a
cloud
around
The
fainting
chief,
and
wards
the
mortal
wound.
Then
with
a
voice
that
shook
the
vaulted
skies,
The
king
insults
the
goddess
as
she
flies:
"Ill
with
Jove's
daughter
bloody
fights
agree,
The
field
of
combat
is
no
scene
for
thee:
Go,
let
thy
own
soft
sex
employ
thy
care,
Go,
lull
the
coward,
or
delude
the
fair.
Taught
by
this
stroke
renounce
the
war's
alarms,
And
learn
to
tremble
at
the
name
of
arms."
Tydides
thus.
The
goddess,
seized
with
dread,
Confused,
distracted,
from
the
conflict
fled.
To
aid
her,
swift
the
winged
Iris
flew,
Wrapt
in
a
mist
above
the
warring
crew.
The
queen
of
love
with
faded
charms
she
found.
Pale
was
her
cheek,
and
livid
look'd
the
wound.
To
Mars,
who
sat
remote,
they
bent
their
way:
Far,
on
the
left,
with
clouds
involved
he
lay;
Beside
him
stood
his
lance,
distain'd
with
gore,
And,
rein'd
with
gold,
his
foaming
steeds
before.
Low
at
his
knee,
she
begg'd
with
streaming
eyes
Her
brother's
car,
to
mount
the
distant
skies,
And
show'd
the
wound
by
fierce
Tydides
given,
A
mortal
man,
who
dares
encounter
heaven.
Stern
Mars
attentive
hears
the
queen
complain,
And
to
her
hand
commits
the
golden
rein;
She
mounts
the
seat,
oppress'd
with
silent
woe,
Driven
by
the
goddess
of
the
painted
bow.
The
lash
resounds,
the
rapid
chariot
flies,
And
in
a
moment
scales
the
lofty
skies:
They
stopp'd
the
car,
and
there
the
coursers
stood,
Fed
by
fair
Iris
with
ambrosial
food;
Before
her
mother,
love's
bright
queen
appears,
O'erwhelmed
with
anguish,
and
dissolved
in
tears:
She
raised
her
in
her
arms,
beheld
her
bleed,
And
ask'd
what
god
had
wrought
this
guilty
deed?
[Illustration:
VENUS,
WOUNDED
IN
THE
HAND,
CONDUCTED
BY
IRIS
TO
MARS.]
VENUS,
WOUNDED
IN
THE
HAND,
CONDUCTED
BY
IRIS
TO
MARS.
Then
she:
"This
insult
from
no
god
I
found,
An
impious
mortal
gave
the
daring
wound!
Behold
the
deed
of
haughty
Diomed!
'Twas
in
the
son's
defence
the
mother
bled.
The
war
with
Troy
no
more
the
Grecians
wage;
But
with
the
gods
(the
immortal
gods)
engage."
Dione
then:
"Thy
wrongs
with
patience
bear,
And
share
those
griefs
inferior
powers
must
share:
Unnumber'd
woes
mankind
from
us
sustain,
And
men
with
woes
afflict
the
gods
again.
The
mighty
Mars
in
mortal
fetters
bound,(149)
And
lodged
in
brazen
dungeons
underground,
Full
thirteen
moons
imprison'd
roar'd
in
vain;
Otus
and
Ephialtes
held
the
chain:
Perhaps
had
perish'd
had
not
Hermes'
care
Restored
the
groaning
god
to
upper
air.
Great
Juno's
self
has
borne
her
weight
of
pain,
The
imperial
partner
of
the
heavenly
reign;
Amphitryon's
son
infix'd
the
deadly
dart,(150)
And
fill'd
with
anguish
her
immortal
heart.
E'en
hell's
grim
king
Alcides'
power
confess'd,
The
shaft
found
entrance
in
his
iron
breast;
To
Jove's
high
palace
for
a
cure
he
fled,
Pierced
in
his
own
dominions
of
the
dead;
Where
Paeon,
sprinkling
heavenly
balm
around,
Assuaged
the
glowing
pangs,
and
closed
the
wound.
Rash,
impious
man!
to
stain
the
bless'd
abodes,
And
drench
his
arrows
in
the
blood
of
gods!
[Illustration:
OTUS
AND
EPHIALTES
HOLDING
MARS
CAPTIVE.]
OTUS
AND
EPHIALTES
HOLDING
MARS
CAPTIVE.
"But
thou
(though
Pallas
urged
thy
frantic
deed),
Whose
spear
ill-fated
makes
a
goddess
bleed,
Know
thou,
whoe'er
with
heavenly
power
contends,
Short
is
his
date,
and
soon
his
glory
ends;
From
fields
of
death
when
late
he
shall
retire,
No
infant
on
his
knees
shall
call
him
sire.
Strong
as
thou
art,
some
god
may
yet
be
found,
To
stretch
thee
pale
and
gasping
on
the
ground;
Thy
distant
wife,
Ęgiale
the
fair,(151)
Starting
from
sleep
with
a
distracted
air,
Shall
rouse
thy
slaves,
and
her
lost
lord
deplore,
The
brave,
the
great,
the
glorious
now
no
more!"
This
said,
she
wiped
from
Venus'
wounded
palm
The
sacred
ichor,
and
infused
the
balm.
Juno
and
Pallas
with
a
smile
survey'd,
And
thus
to
Jove
began
the
blue-eyed
maid:
"Permit
thy
daughter,
gracious
Jove!
to
tell
How
this
mischance
the
Cyprian
queen
befell,
As
late
she
tried
with
passion
to
inflame
The
tender
bosom
of
a
Grecian
dame;
Allured
the
fair,
with
moving
thoughts
of
joy,
To
quit
her
country
for
some
youth
of
Troy;
The
clasping
zone,
with
golden
buckles
bound,
Razed
her
soft
hand
with
this
lamented
wound."
The
sire
of
gods
and
men
superior
smiled,
And,
calling
Venus,
thus
address'd
his
child:
"Not
these,
O
daughter
are
thy
proper
cares,
Thee
milder
arts
befit,
and
softer
wars;
Sweet
smiles
are
thine,
and
kind
endearing
charms;
To
Mars
and
Pallas
leave
the
deeds
of
arms."
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.
"O
son
of
Tydeus,
cease!
be
wise
and
see
How
vast
the
difference
of
the
gods
and
thee;
Distance
immense!
between
the
powers
that
shine
Above,
eternal,
deathless,
and
divine,
And
mortal
man!
a
wretch
of
humble
birth,
A
short-lived
reptile
in
the
dust
of
earth."
So
spoke
the
god
who
darts
celestial
fires:
He
dreads
his
fury,
and
some
steps
retires.
Then
Phoebus
bore
the
chief
of
Venus'
race
To
Troy's
high
fane,
and
to
his
holy
place;
Latona
there
and
Phoebe
heal'd
the
wound,
With
vigour
arm'd
him,
and
with
glory
crown'd.
This
done,
the
patron
of
the
silver
bow
A
phantom
raised,
the
same
in
shape
and
show
With
great
Ęneas;
such
the
form
he
bore,
And
such
in
fight
the
radiant
arms
he
wore.
Around
the
spectre
bloody
wars
are
waged,
And
Greece
and
Troy
with
clashing
shields
engaged.
Meantime
on
Ilion's
tower
Apollo
stood,
And
calling
Mars,
thus
urged
the
raging
god:
"Stern
power
of
arms,
by
whom
the
mighty
fall;
Who
bathest
in
blood,
and
shakest
the
embattled
wall,
Rise
in
thy
wrath!
to
hell's
abhorr'd
abodes
Despatch
yon
Greek,
and
vindicate
the
gods.
First
rosy
Venus
felt
his
brutal
rage;
Me
next
he
charged,
and
dares
all
heaven
engage:
The
wretch
would
brave
high
heaven's
immortal
sire,
His
triple
thunder,
and
his
bolts
of
fire."
The
god
of
battle
issues
on
the
plain,
Stirs
all
the
ranks,
and
fires
the
Trojan
train;
In
form
like
Acamas,
the
Thracian
guide,
Enraged
to
Troy's
retiring
chiefs
he
cried:
"How
long,
ye
sons
of
Priam!
will
ye
fly,
And
unrevenged
see
Priam's
people
die?
Still
unresisted
shall
the
foe
destroy,
And
stretch
the
slaughter
to
the
gates
of
Troy?
Lo,
brave
Ęneas
sinks
beneath
his
wound,
Not
godlike
Hector
more
in
arms
renown'd:
Haste
all,
and
take
the
generous
warrior's
part.
He
said;--new
courage
swell'd
each
hero's
heart.
Sarpedon
first
his
ardent
soul
express'd,
And,
turn'd
to
Hector,
these
bold
words
address'd:
"Say,
chief,
is
all
thy
ancient
valour
lost?
Where
are
thy
threats,
and
where
thy
glorious
boast,
That
propp'd
alone
by
Priam's
race
should
stand
Troy's
sacred
walls,
nor
need
a
foreign
hand?
Now,
now
thy
country
calls
her
wonted
friends,
And
the
proud
vaunt
in
just
derision
ends.
Remote
they
stand
while
alien
troops
engage,
Like
trembling
hounds
before
the
lion's
rage.
Far
distant
hence
I
held
my
wide
command,
Where
foaming
Xanthus
laves
the
Lycian
land;
With
ample
wealth
(the
wish
of
mortals)
bless'd,
A
beauteous
wife,
and
infant
at
her
breast;
With
those
I
left
whatever
dear
could
be:
Greece,
if
she
conquers,
nothing
wins
from
me;
Yet
first
in
fight
my
Lycian
bands
I
cheer,
And
long
to
meet
this
mighty
man
ye
fear;
While
Hector
idle
stands,
nor
bids
the
brave
Their
wives,
their
infants,
and
their
altars
save.
Haste,
warrior,
haste!
preserve
thy
threaten'd
state,
Or
one
vast
burst
of
all-involving
fate
Full
o'er
your
towers
shall
fall,
and
sweep
away
Sons,
sires,
and
wives,
an
undistinguish'd
prey.
Rouse
all
thy
Trojans,
urge
thy
aids
to
fight;
These
claim
thy
thoughts
by
day,
thy
watch
by
night;
With
force
incessant
the
brave
Greeks
oppose;
Such
cares
thy
friends
deserve,
and
such
thy
foes."
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.
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
Ęneas
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.
Stern
Diomed
with
either
Ajax
stood,
And
great
Ulysses,
bathed
in
hostile
blood.
Embodied
close,
the
labouring
Grecian
train
The
fiercest
shock
of
charging
hosts
sustain.
Unmoved
and
silent,
the
whole
war
they
wait
Serenely
dreadful,
and
as
fix'd
as
fate.
So
when
the
embattled
clouds
in
dark
array,
Along
the
skies
their
gloomy
lines
display;
When
now
the
North
his
boisterous
rage
has
spent,
And
peaceful
sleeps
the
liquid
element:
The
low-hung
vapours,
motionless
and
still,
Rest
on
the
summits
of
the
shaded
hill;
Till
the
mass
scatters
as
the
winds
arise,
Dispersed
and
broken
through
the
ruffled
skies.
Nor
was
the
general
wanting
to
his
train;
From
troop
to
troop
he
toils
through
all
the
plain,
"Ye
Greeks,
be
men!
the
charge
of
battle
bear;
Your
brave
associates
and
yourselves
revere!
Let
glorious
acts
more
glorious
acts
inspire,
And
catch
from
breast
to
breast
the
noble
fire!
On
valour's
side
the
odds
of
combat
lie,
The
brave
live
glorious,
or
lamented
die;
The
wretch
who
trembles
in
the
field
of
fame,
Meets
death,
and
worse
than
death,
eternal
shame!"
These
words
he
seconds
with
his
flying
lance,
To
meet
whose
point
was
strong
Deicoon's
chance:
Ęneas'
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.
Then
fierce
Ęneas,
brandishing
his
blade,
In
dust
Orsilochus
and
Crethon
laid,
Whose
sire
Diocleus,
wealthy,
brave
and
great,
In
well-built
Pherae
held
his
lofty
seat:(152)
Sprung
from
Alpheus'
plenteous
stream,
that
yields
Increase
of
harvests
to
the
Pylian
fields.
He
got
Orsilochus,
Diocleus
he,
And
these
descended
in
the
third
degree.
Too
early
expert
in
the
martial
toil,
In
sable
ships
they
left
their
native
soil,
To
avenge
Atrides:
now,
untimely
slain,
They
fell
with
glory
on
the
Phrygian
plain.
So
two
young
mountain
lions,
nursed
with
blood
In
deep
recesses
of
the
gloomy
wood,
Rush
fearless
to
the
plains,
and
uncontroll'd
Depopulate
the
stalls
and
waste
the
fold:
Till
pierced
at
distance
from
their
native
den,
O'erpowered
they
fall
beneath
the
force
of
men.
Prostrate
on
earth
their
beauteous
bodies
lay,
Like
mountain
firs,
as
tall
and
straight
as
they.
Great
Menelaus
views
with
pitying
eyes,
Lifts
his
bright
lance,
and
at
the
victor
flies;
Mars
urged
him
on;
yet,
ruthless
in
his
hate,
The
god
but
urged
him
to
provoke
his
fate.
He
thus
advancing,
Nestor's
valiant
son
Shakes
for
his
danger,
and
neglects
his
own;
Struck
with
the
thought,
should
Helen's
lord
be
slain,
And
all
his
country's
glorious
labours
vain.
Already
met,
the
threatening
heroes
stand;
The
spears
already
tremble
in
their
hand:
In
rush'd
Antilochus,
his
aid
to
bring,
And
fall
or
conquer
by
the
Spartan
king.
These
seen,
the
Dardan
backward
turn'd
his
course,
Brave
as
he
was,
and
shunn'd
unequal
force.
The
breathless
bodies
to
the
Greeks
they
drew,
Then
mix
in
combat,
and
their
toils
renew.
First,
Pylaemenes,
great
in
battle,
bled,
Who
sheathed
in
brass
the
Paphlagonians
led.
Atrides
mark'd
him
where
sublime
he
stood;
Fix'd
in
his
throat
the
javelin
drank
his
blood.
The
faithful
Mydon,
as
he
turn'd
from
fight
His
flying
coursers,
sunk
to
endless
night;
A
broken
rock
by
Nestor's
son
was
thrown:
His
bended
arm
received
the
falling
stone;
From
his
numb'd
hand
the
ivory-studded
reins,
Dropp'd
in
the
dust,
are
trail'd
along
the
plains:
Meanwhile
his
temples
feel
a
deadly
wound;
He
groans
in
death,
and
ponderous
sinks
to
ground:
Deep
drove
his
helmet
in
the
sands,
and
there
The
head
stood
fix'd,
the
quivering
legs
in
air,
Till
trampled
flat
beneath
the
coursers'
feet:
The
youthful
victor
mounts
his
empty
seat,
And
bears
the
prize
in
triumph
to
the
fleet.
Great
Hector
saw,
and,
raging
at
the
view,
Pours
on
the
Greeks:
the
Trojan
troops
pursue:
He
fires
his
host
with
animating
cries,
And
brings
along
the
furies
of
the
skies,
Mars,
stern
destroyer!
and
Bellona
dread,
Flame
in
the
front,
and
thunder
at
their
head:
This
swells
the
tumult
and
the
rage
of
fight;
That
shakes
a
spear
that
casts
a
dreadful
light.
Where
Hector
march'd,
the
god
of
battles
shined,
Now
storm'd
before
him,
and
now
raged
behind.
Tydides
paused
amidst
his
full
career;
Then
first
the
hero's
manly
breast
knew
fear.
As
when
some
simple
swain
his
cot
forsakes,
And
wide
through
fens
an
unknown
journey
takes:
If
chance
a
swelling
brook
his
passage
stay,
And
foam
impervious
'cross
the
wanderer's
way,
Confused
he
stops,
a
length
of
country
pass'd,
Eyes
the
rough
waves,
and
tired,
returns
at
last.
Amazed
no
less
the
great
Tydides
stands:
He
stay'd,
and
turning
thus
address'd
his
bands:
"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."
Now
near
the
Greeks
the
black
battalions
drew;
And
first
two
leaders
valiant
Hector
slew:
His
force
Anchialus
and
Mnesthes
found,
In
every
art
of
glorious
war
renown'd;
In
the
same
car
the
chiefs
to
combat
ride,
And
fought
united,
and
united
died.
Struck
at
the
sight,
the
mighty
Ajax
glows
With
thirst
of
vengeance,
and
assaults
the
foes.
His
massy
spear
with
matchless
fury
sent,
Through
Amphius'
belt
and
heaving
belly
went;
Amphius
Apaesus'
happy
soil
possess'd,
With
herds
abounding,
and
with
treasure
bless'd;
But
fate
resistless
from
his
country
led
The
chief,
to
perish
at
his
people's
head.
Shook
with
his
fall
his
brazen
armour
rung,
And
fierce,
to
seize
it,
conquering
Ajax
sprung;
Around
his
head
an
iron
tempest
rain'd;
A
wood
of
spears
his
ample
shield
sustain'd:
Beneath
one
foot
the
yet
warm
corpse
he
press'd,
And
drew
his
javelin
from
the
bleeding
breast:
He
could
no
more;
the
showering
darts
denied
To
spoil
his
glittering
arms,
and
plumy
pride.
Now
foes
on
foes
came
pouring
on
the
fields,
With
bristling
lances,
and
compacted
shields;
Till
in
the
steely
circle
straiten'd
round,
Forced
he
gives
way,
and
sternly
quits
the
ground.
While
thus
they
strive,
Tlepolemus
the
great,(153)
Urged
by
the
force
of
unresisted
fate,
Burns
with
desire
Sarpedon's
strength
to
prove;
Alcides'
offspring
meets
the
son
of
Jove.
Sheathed
in
bright
arms
each
adverse
chief
came
on.
Jove's
great
descendant,
and
his
greater
son.
Prepared
for
combat,
ere
the
lance
he
toss'd,
The
daring
Rhodian
vents
his
haughty
boast:
"What
brings
this
Lycian
counsellor
so
far,
To
tremble
at
our
arms,
not
mix
in
war!
Know
thy
vain
self,
nor
let
their
flattery
move,
Who
style
thee
son
of
cloud-compelling
Jove.
How
far
unlike
those
chiefs
of
race
divine,
How
vast
the
difference
of
their
deeds
and
thine!
Jove
got
such
heroes
as
my
sire,
whose
soul
No
fear
could
daunt,
nor
earth
nor
hell
control.
Troy
felt
his
arm,
and
yon
proud
ramparts
stand
Raised
on
the
ruins
of
his
vengeful
hand:
With
six
small
ships,
and
but
a
slender
train,
lie
left
the
town
a
wide-deserted
plain.
But
what
art
thou,
who
deedless
look'st
around,
While
unrevenged
thy
Lycians
bite
the
ground!
Small
aid
to
Troy
thy
feeble
force
can
be;
But
wert
thou
greater,
thou
must
yield
to
me.
Pierced
by
my
spear,
to
endless
darkness
go!
I
make
this
present
to
the
shades
below."
The
son
of
Hercules,
the
Rhodian
guide,
Thus
haughty
spoke.
The
Lycian
king
replied:
"Thy
sire,
O
prince!
o'erturn'd
the
Trojan
state,
Whose
perjured
monarch
well
deserved
his
fate;
Those
heavenly
steeds
the
hero
sought
so
far,
False
he
detain'd,
the
just
reward
of
war.
Nor
so
content,
the
generous
chief
defied,
With
base
reproaches
and
unmanly
pride.
But
you,
unworthy
the
high
race
you
boast,
Shall
raise
my
glory
when
thy
own
is
lost:
Now
meet
thy
fate,
and
by
Sarpedon
slain,
Add
one
more
ghost
to
Pluto's
gloomy
reign."
He
said:
both
javelins
at
an
instant
flew;
Both
struck,
both
wounded,
but
Sarpedon's
slew:
Full
in
the
boaster's
neck
the
weapon
stood,
Transfix'd
his
throat,
and
drank
the
vital
blood;
The
soul
disdainful
seeks
the
caves
of
night,
And
his
seal'd
eyes
for
ever
lose
the
light.
Yet
not
in
vain,
Tlepolemus,
was
thrown
Thy
angry
lance;
which
piercing
to
the
bone
Sarpedon's
thigh,
had
robb'd
the
chief
of
breath;
But
Jove
was
present,
and
forbade
the
death.
Borne
from
the
conflict
by
his
Lycian
throng,
The
wounded
hero
dragg'd
the
lance
along.
(His
friends,
each
busied
in
his
several
part,
Through
haste,
or
danger,
had
not
drawn
the
dart.)
The
Greeks
with
slain
Tlepolemus
retired;
Whose
fall
Ulysses
view'd,
with
fury
fired;
Doubtful
if
Jove's
great
son
he
should
pursue,
Or
pour
his
vengeance
on
the
Lycian
crew.
But
heaven
and
fate
the
first
design
withstand,
Nor
this
great
death
must
grace
Ulysses'
hand.
Minerva
drives
him
on
the
Lycian
train;
Alastor,
Cronius,
Halius,
strew'd
the
plain,
Alcander,
Prytanis,
Noemon
fell:(154)
And
numbers
more
his
sword
had
sent
to
hell,
But
Hector
saw;
and,
furious
at
the
sight,
Rush'd
terrible
amidst
the
ranks
of
fight.
With
joy
Sarpedon
view'd
the
wish'd
relief,
And,
faint,
lamenting,
thus
implored
the
chief:
"O
suffer
not
the
foe
to
bear
away
My
helpless
corpse,
an
unassisted
prey;
If
I,
unbless'd,
must
see
my
son
no
more,
My
much-loved
consort,
and
my
native
shore,
Yet
let
me
die
in
Ilion's
sacred
wall;
Troy,
in
whose
cause
I
fell,
shall
mourn
my
fall."
He
said,
nor
Hector
to
the
chief
replies,
But
shakes
his
plume,
and
fierce
to
combat
flies;
Swift
as
a
whirlwind,
drives
the
scattering
foes;
And
dyes
the
ground
with
purple
as
he
goes.
Beneath
a
beech,
Jove's
consecrated
shade,
His
mournful
friends
divine
Sarpedon
laid:
Brave
Pelagon,
his
favourite
chief,
was
nigh,
Who
wrench'd
the
javelin
from
his
sinewy
thigh.
The
fainting
soul
stood
ready
wing'd
for
flight,
And
o'er
his
eye-balls
swam
the
shades
of
night;
But
Boreas
rising
fresh,
with
gentle
breath,
Recall'd
his
spirit
from
the
gates
of
death.
The
generous
Greeks
recede
with
tardy
pace,
Though
Mars
and
Hector
thunder
in
their
face;
None
turn
their
backs
to
mean
ignoble
flight,
Slow
they
retreat,
and
even
retreating
fight.
Who
first,
who
last,
by
Mars'
and
Hector's
hand,
Stretch'd
in
their
blood,
lay
gasping
on
the
sand?
Tenthras
the
great,
Orestes
the
renown'd
For
managed
steeds,
and
Trechus
press'd
the
ground;,
Next
OEnomaus
and
OEnops'
offspring
died;
Oresbius
last
fell
groaning
at
their
side:
Oresbius,
in
his
painted
mitre
gay,
In
fat
Boeotia
held
his
wealthy
sway,
Where
lakes
surround
low
Hyle's
watery
plain;
A
prince
and
people
studious
of
their
gain.
The
carnage
Juno
from
the
skies
survey'd,
And
touch'd
with
grief
bespoke
the
blue-eyed
maid:
"Oh,
sight
accursed!
Shall
faithless
Troy
prevail,
And
shall
our
promise
to
our
people
fail?
How
vain
the
word
to
Menelaus
given
By
Jove's
great
daughter
and
the
queen
of
heaven,
Beneath
his
arms
that
Priam's
towers
should
fall,
If
warring
gods
for
ever
guard
the
wall!
Mars,
red
with
slaughter,
aids
our
hated
foes:
Haste,
let
us
arm,
and
force
with
force
oppose!"
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.
Pallas
disrobes;
her
radiant
veil
untied,
With
flowers
adorn'd,
with
art
diversified,
(The
laboured
veil
her
heavenly
fingers
wove,)
Flows
on
the
pavement
of
the
court
of
Jove.
Now
heaven's
dread
arms
her
mighty
limbs
invest,
Jove's
cuirass
blazes
on
her
ample
breast;
Deck'd
in
sad
triumph
for
the
mournful
field,
O'er
her
broad
shoulders
hangs
his
horrid
shield,
Dire,
black,
tremendous!
Round
the
margin
roll'd,
A
fringe
of
serpents
hissing
guards
the
gold:
Here
all
the
terrors
of
grim
War
appear,
Here
rages
Force,
here
tremble
Flight
and
Fear,
Here
storm'd
Contention,
and
here
Fury
frown'd,
And
the
dire
orb
portentous
Gorgon
crown'd.
The
massy
golden
helm
she
next
assumes,
That
dreadful
nods
with
four
o'ershading
plumes;
So
vast,
the
broad
circumference
contains
A
hundred
armies
on
a
hundred
plains.
The
goddess
thus
the
imperial
car
ascends;
Shook
by
her
arm
the
mighty
javelin
bends,
Ponderous
and
huge;
that
when
her
fury
burns,
Proud
tyrants
humbles,
and
whole
hosts
o'erturns.
Swift
at
the
scourge
the
ethereal
coursers
fly,
While
the
smooth
chariot
cuts
the
liquid
sky.
Heaven's
gates
spontaneous
open
to
the
powers,(155)
Heaven's
golden
gates,
kept
by
the
winged
Hours;(156)
Commission'd
in
alternate
watch
they
stand,
The
sun's
bright
portals
and
the
skies
command,
Involve
in
clouds
the
eternal
gates
of
day,
Or
the
dark
barrier
roll
with
ease
away.
The
sounding
hinges
ring
on
either
side
The
gloomy
volumes,
pierced
with
light,
divide.
The
chariot
mounts,
where
deep
in
ambient
skies,
Confused,
Olympus'
hundred
heads
arise;
Where
far
apart
the
Thunderer
fills
his
throne,
O'er
all
the
gods
superior
and
alone.
There
with
her
snowy
hand
the
queen
restrains
The
fiery
steeds,
and
thus
to
Jove
complains:
"O
sire!
can
no
resentment
touch
thy
soul?
Can
Mars
rebel,
and
does
no
thunder
roll?
What
lawless
rage
on
yon
forbidden
plain,
What
rash
destruction!
and
what
heroes
slain!
Venus,
and
Phoebus
with
the
dreadful
bow,
Smile
on
the
slaughter,
and
enjoy
my
woe.
Mad,
furious
power!
whose
unrelenting
mind
No
god
can
govern,
and
no
justice
bind.
Say,
mighty
father!
shall
we
scourge
this
pride,
And
drive
from
fight
the
impetuous
homicide?"
To
whom
assenting,
thus
the
Thunderer
said:
"Go!
and
the
great
Minerva
be
thy
aid.
To
tame
the
monster-god
Minerva
knows,
And
oft
afflicts
his
brutal
breast
with
woes."
He
said;
Saturnia,
ardent
to
obey,
Lash'd
her
white
steeds
along
the
aerial
way
Swift
down
the
steep
of
heaven
the
chariot
rolls,
Between
the
expanded
earth
and
starry
poles
Far
as
a
shepherd,
from
some
point
on
high,(157)
O'er
the
wide
main
extends
his
boundless
eye,
Through
such
a
space
of
air,
with
thundering
sound,
At
every
leap
the
immortal
coursers
bound
Troy
now
they
reach'd
and
touch'd
those
banks
divine,
Where
silver
Simois
and
Scamander
join
There
Juno
stopp'd,
and
(her
fair
steeds
unloosed)
Of
air
condensed
a
vapour
circumfused
For
these,
impregnate
with
celestial
dew,
On
Simois,
brink
ambrosial
herbage
grew.
Thence
to
relieve
the
fainting
Argive
throng,
Smooth
as
the
sailing
doves
they
glide
along.
The
best
and
bravest
of
the
Grecian
band
(A
warlike
circle)
round
Tydides
stand.
Such
was
their
look
as
lions
bathed
in
blood,
Or
foaming
boars,
the
terror
of
the
wood
Heaven's
empress
mingles
with
the
mortal
crowd,
And
shouts,
in
Stentor's
sounding
voice,
aloud;
Stentor
the
strong,
endued
with
brazen
lungs,(158)
Whose
throats
surpass'd
the
force
of
fifty
tongues.
"Inglorious
Argives!
to
your
race
a
shame,
And
only
men
in
figure
and
in
name!
Once
from
the
walls
your
timorous
foes
engaged,
While
fierce
in
war
divine
Achilles
raged;
Now
issuing
fearless
they
possess
the
plain,
Now
win
the
shores,
and
scarce
the
seas
remain."
Her
speech
new
fury
to
their
hearts
convey'd;
While
near
Tydides
stood
the
Athenian
maid;
The
king
beside
his
panting
steeds
she
found,
O'erspent
with
toil
reposing
on
the
ground;
To
cool
his
glowing
wound
he
sat
apart,
(The
wound
inflicted
by
the
Lycian
dart.)
Large
drops
of
sweat
from
all
his
limbs
descend,
Beneath
his
ponderous
shield
his
sinews
bend,
Whose
ample
belt,
that
o'er
his
shoulder
lay,
He
eased;
and
wash'd
the
clotted
gore
away.
The
goddess
leaning
o'er
the
bending
yoke,
Beside
his
coursers,
thus
her
silence
broke:
"Degenerate
prince!
and
not
of
Tydeus'
kind,
Whose
little
body
lodged
a
mighty
mind;
Foremost
he
press'd
in
glorious
toils
to
share,
And
scarce
refrain'd
when
I
forbade
the
war.
Alone,
unguarded,
once
he
dared
to
go,
And
feast,
incircled
by
the
Theban
foe;
There
braved,
and
vanquish'd,
many
a
hardy
knight;
Such
nerves
I
gave
him,
and
such
force
in
fight.
Thou
too
no
less
hast
been
my
constant
care;
Thy
hands
I
arm'd,
and
sent
thee
forth
to
war:
But
thee
or
fear
deters,
or
sloth
detains;
No
drop
of
all
thy
father
warms
thy
veins."
The
chief
thus
answered
mild:
"Immortal
maid!
I
own
thy
presence,
and
confess
thy
aid.
Not
fear,
thou
know'st,
withholds
me
from
the
plains,
Nor
sloth
hath
seized
me,
but
thy
word
restrains:
From
warring
gods
thou
bad'st
me
turn
my
spear,
And
Venus
only
found
resistance
here.
Hence,
goddess!
heedful
of
thy
high
commands,
Loth
I
gave
way,
and
warn'd
our
Argive
bands:
For
Mars,
the
homicide,
these
eyes
beheld,
With
slaughter
red,
and
raging
round
the
field."
Then
thus
Minerva:--"Brave
Tydides,
hear!
Not
Mars
himself,
nor
aught
immortal,
fear.
Full
on
the
god
impel
thy
foaming
horse:
Pallas
commands,
and
Pallas
lends
thee
force.
Rash,
furious,
blind,
from
these
to
those
he
flies,
And
every
side
of
wavering
combat
tries;
Large
promise
makes,
and
breaks
the
promise
made:
Now
gives
the
Grecians,
now
the
Trojans
aid."(159)
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.
[Illustration:
DIOMED
CASTING
HIS
SPEAR
AT
MARS.]
DIOMED
CASTING
HIS
SPEAR
AT
MARS.
Just
then
gigantic
Periphas
lay
slain,
The
strongest
warrior
of
the
Ętolian
train;
The
god,
who
slew
him,
leaves
his
prostrate
prize
Stretch'd
where
he
fell,
and
at
Tydides
flies.
Now
rushing
fierce,
in
equal
arms
appear
The
daring
Greek,
the
dreadful
god
of
war!
Full
at
the
chief,
above
his
courser's
head,
From
Mars's
arm
the
enormous
weapon
fled:
Pallas
opposed
her
hand,
and
caused
to
glance
Far
from
the
car
the
strong
immortal
lance.
Then
threw
the
force
of
Tydeus'
warlike
son;
The
javelin
hiss'd;
the
goddess
urged
it
on:
Where
the
broad
cincture
girt
his
armour
round,
It
pierced
the
god:
his
groin
received
the
wound.
From
the
rent
skin
the
warrior
tugs
again
The
smoking
steel.
Mars
bellows
with
the
pain:
Loud
as
the
roar
encountering
armies
yield,
When
shouting
millions
shake
the
thundering
field.
Both
armies
start,
and
trembling
gaze
around;
And
earth
and
heaven
re-bellow
to
the
sound.
As
vapours
blown
by
Auster's
sultry
breath,
Pregnant
with
plagues,
and
shedding
seeds
of
death,
Beneath
the
rage
of
burning
Sirius
rise,
Choke
the
parch'd
earth,
and
blacken
all
the
skies;
In
such
a
cloud
the
god
from
combat
driven,
High
o'er
the
dusky
whirlwind
scales
the
heaven.
Wild
with
his
pain,
he
sought
the
bright
abodes,
There
sullen
sat
beneath
the
sire
of
gods,
Show'd
the
celestial
blood,
and
with
a
groan
Thus
pour'd
his
plaints
before
the
immortal
throne:
"Can
Jove,
supine,
flagitious
facts
survey,
And
brook
the
furies
of
this
daring
day?
For
mortal
men
celestial
powers
engage,
And
gods
on
gods
exert
eternal
rage:
From
thee,
O
father!
all
these
ills
we
bear,
And
thy
fell
daughter
with
the
shield
and
spear;
Thou
gavest
that
fury
to
the
realms
of
light,
Pernicious,
wild,
regardless
of
the
right.
All
heaven
beside
reveres
thy
sovereign
sway,
Thy
voice
we
hear,
and
thy
behests
obey:
'Tis
hers
to
offend,
and
even
offending
share
Thy
breast,
thy
counsels,
thy
distinguish'd
care:
So
boundless
she,
and
thou
so
partial
grown,
Well
may
we
deem
the
wondrous
birth
thy
own.
Now
frantic
Diomed,
at
her
command,
Against
the
immortals
lifts
his
raging
hand:
The
heavenly
Venus
first
his
fury
found,
Me
next
encountering,
me
he
dared
to
wound;
Vanquish'd
I
fled;
even
I,
the
god
of
fight,
From
mortal
madness
scarce
was
saved
by
flight.
Else
hadst
thou
seen
me
sink
on
yonder
plain,
Heap'd
round,
and
heaving
under
loads
of
slain!
Or
pierced
with
Grecian
darts,
for
ages
lie,
Condemn'd
to
pain,
though
fated
not
to
die."
Him
thus
upbraiding,
with
a
wrathful
look
The
lord
of
thunders
view'd,
and
stern
bespoke:
"To
me,
perfidious!
this
lamenting
strain?
Of
lawless
force
shall
lawless
Mars
complain?
Of
all
the
gods
who
tread
the
spangled
skies,
Thou
most
unjust,
most
odious
in
our
eyes!
Inhuman
discord
is
thy
dire
delight,
The
waste
of
slaughter,
and
the
rage
of
fight.
No
bounds,
no
law,
thy
fiery
temper
quells,
And
all
thy
mother
in
thy
soul
rebels.
In
vain
our
threats,
in
vain
our
power
we
use;
She
gives
the
example,
and
her
son
pursues.
Yet
long
the
inflicted
pangs
thou
shall
not
mourn,
Sprung
since
thou
art
from
Jove,
and
heavenly-born.
Else,
singed
with
lightning,
hadst
thou
hence
been
thrown,
Where
chain'd
on
burning
rocks
the
Titans
groan."
Thus
he
who
shakes
Olympus
with
his
nod;
Then
gave
to
Paeon's
care
the
bleeding
god.(160)
With
gentle
hand
the
balm
he
pour'd
around,
And
heal'd
the
immortal
flesh,
and
closed
the
wound.
As
when
the
fig's
press'd
juice,
infused
in
cream,
To
curds
coagulates
the
liquid
stream,
Sudden
the
fluids
fix
the
parts
combined;
Such,
and
so
soon,
the
ethereal
texture
join'd.
Cleansed
from
the
dust
and
gore,
fair
Hebe
dress'd
His
mighty
limbs
in
an
immortal
vest.
Glorious
he
sat,
in
majesty
restored,
Fast
by
the
throne
of
heaven's
superior
lord.
Juno
and
Pallas
mount
the
bless'd
abodes,
Their
task
perform'd,
and
mix
among
the
gods.
[Illustration:
JUNO.]
JUNO.
BOOK
VI.
ARGUMENT.
THE
EPISODES
OF
GLAUCUS
AND
DIOMED,
AND
OF
HECTOR
AND
ANDROMACHE.
The
gods
having
left
the
field,
the
Grecians
prevail.
Helenus,
the
chief
augur
of
Troy,
commands
Hector
to
return
to
the
city,
in
order
to
appoint
a
solemn
procession
of
the
queen
and
the
Trojan
matrons
to
the
temple
of
Minerva,
to
entreat
her
to
remove
Diomed
from
the
fight.
The
battle
relaxing
during
the
absence
of
Hector,
Glaucus
and
Diomed
have
an
interview
between
the
two
armies;
where,
coming
to
the
knowledge,
of
the
friendship
and
hospitality
passed
between
their
ancestors,
they
make
exchange
of
their
arms.
Hector,
having
performed
the
orders
of
Helenus,
prevails
upon
Paris
to
return
to
the
battle,
and,
taking
a
tender
leave
of
his
wife
Andromache,
hastens
again
to
the
field.
The
scene
is
first
in
the
field
of
battle,
between
the
rivers
Simois
and
Scamander,
and
then
changes
to
Troy.
Now
heaven
forsakes
the
fight:
the
immortals
yield
To
human
force
and
human
skill
the
field:
Dark
showers
of
javelins
fly
from
foes
to
foes;
Now
here,
now
there,
the
tide
of
combat
flows;
While
Troy's
famed
streams,
that
bound
the
deathful
plain
On
either
side,
run
purple
to
the
main.
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.
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.
Astyalus
by
Polypoetes
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.
Unbless'd
Adrastus
next
at
mercy
lies
Beneath
the
Spartan
spear,
a
living
prize.
Scared
with
the
din
and
tumult
of
the
fight,
His
headlong
steeds,
precipitate
in
flight,
Rush'd
on
a
tamarisk's
strong
trunk,
and
broke
The
shatter'd
chariot
from
the
crooked
yoke;
Wide
o'er
the
field,
resistless
as
the
wind,
For
Troy
they
fly,
and
leave
their
lord
behind.
Prone
on
his
face
he
sinks
beside
the
wheel:
Atrides
o'er
him
shakes
his
vengeful
steel;
The
fallen
chief
in
suppliant
posture
press'd
The
victor's
knees,
and
thus
his
prayer
address'd:
"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
said:
compassion
touch'd
the
hero's
heart
He
stood,
suspended
with
the
lifted
dart:
As
pity
pleaded
for
his
vanquish'd
prize,
Stern
Agamemnon
swift
to
vengeance
flies,
And,
furious,
thus:
"Oh
impotent
of
mind!(164)
Shall
these,
shall
these
Atrides'
mercy
find?
Well
hast
thou
known
proud
Troy's
perfidious
land,
And
well
her
natives
merit
at
thy
hand!
Not
one
of
all
the
race,
nor
sex,
nor
age,
Shall
save
a
Trojan
from
our
boundless
rage:
Ilion
shall
perish
whole,
and
bury
all;
Her
babes,
her
infants
at
the
breast,
shall
fall;(165)
A
dreadful
lesson
of
exampled
fate,
To
warn
the
nations,
and
to
curb
the
great!"
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."
And
now
had
Greece
eternal
fame
acquired,
And
frighted
Troy
within
her
walls,
retired,
Had
not
sage
Helenus
her
state
redress'd,
Taught
by
the
gods
that
moved
his
sacred
breast.
Where
Hector
stood,
with
great
Ęneas
join'd,
The
seer
reveal'd
the
counsels
of
his
mind:
"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."
Hector
obedient
heard:
and,
with
a
bound,
Leap'd
from
his
trembling
chariot
to
the
ground;
Through
all
his
host
inspiring
force
he
flies,
And
bids
the
thunder
of
the
battle
rise.
With
rage
recruited
the
bold
Trojans
glow,
And
turn
the
tide
of
conflict
on
the
foe:
Fierce
in
the
front
he
shakes
two
dazzling
spears;
All
Greece
recedes,
and
'midst
her
triumphs
fears;
Some
god,
they
thought,
who
ruled
the
fate
of
wars,
Shot
down
avenging
from
the
vault
of
stars.
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."
This
said,
with
ample
strides
the
hero
pass'd;
The
shield's
large
orb
behind
his
shoulder
cast,
His
neck
o'ershading,
to
his
ankle
hung;
And
as
he
march'd
the
brazen
buckler
rung.
Now
paused
the
battle
(godlike
Hector
gone),(167)
Where
daring
Glaucus
and
great
Tydeus'
son
Between
both
armies
met:
the
chiefs
from
far
Observed
each
other,
and
had
mark'd
for
war.
Near
as
they
drew,
Tydides
thus
began:
"What
art
thou,
boldest
of
the
race
of
man?
Our
eyes
till
now
that
aspect
ne'er
beheld,
Where
fame
is
reap'd
amid
the
embattled
field;
Yet
far
before
the
troops
thou
dar'st
appear,
And
meet
a
lance
the
fiercest
heroes
fear.
Unhappy
they,
and
born
of
luckless
sires,
Who
tempt
our
fury
when
Minerva
fires!
But
if
from
heaven,
celestial,
thou
descend,
Know
with
immortals
we
no
more
contend.
Not
long
Lycurgus
view'd
the
golden
light,
That
daring
man
who
mix'd
with
gods
in
fight.
Bacchus,
and
Bacchus'
votaries,
he
drove,
With
brandish'd
steel,
from
Nyssa's
sacred
grove:
Their
consecrated
spears
lay
scatter'd
round,
With
curling
vines
and
twisted
ivy
bound;
While
Bacchus
headlong
sought
the
briny
flood,
And
Thetis'
arms
received
the
trembling
god.
Nor
fail'd
the
crime
the
immortals'
wrath
to
move;
(The
immortals
bless'd
with
endless
ease
above;)
Deprived
of
sight
by
their
avenging
doom,
Cheerless
he
breathed,
and
wander'd
in
the
gloom,
Then
sunk
unpitied
to
the
dire
abodes,
A
wretch
accursed,
and
hated
by
the
gods!
I
brave
not
heaven:
but
if
the
fruits
of
earth
Sustain
thy
life,
and
human
be
thy
birth,
Bold
as
thou
art,
too
prodigal
of
breath,
Approach,
and
enter
the
dark
gates
of
death."
"What,
or
from
whence
I
am,
or
who
my
sire,
(Replied
the
chief,)
can
Tydeus'
son
inquire?
Like
leaves
on
trees
the
race
of
man
is
found,
Now
green
in
youth,
now
withering
on
the
ground;
Another
race
the
following
spring
supplies;
They
fall
successive,
and
successive
rise:
So
generations
in
their
course
decay;
So
flourish
these,
when
those
are
pass'd
away.
But
if
thou
still
persist
to
search
my
birth,
Then
hear
a
tale
that
fills
the
spacious
earth.
"A
city
stands
on
Argos'
utmost
bound,
(Argos
the
fair,
for
warlike
steeds
renown'd,)
Aeolian
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.
"This
pest
he
slaughter'd,
(for
he
read
the
skies,
And
trusted
heaven's
informing
prodigies,)
Then
met
in
arms
the
Solymaean
crew,(169)
(Fiercest
of
men,)
and
those
the
warrior
slew;
Next
the
bold
Amazons'
whole
force
defied;
And
conquer'd
still,
for
heaven
was
on
his
side.
"Nor
ended
here
his
toils:
his
Lycian
foes,
At
his
return,
a
treacherous
ambush
rose,
With
levell'd
spears
along
the
winding
shore:
There
fell
they
breathless,
and
return'd
no
more.
"At
length
the
monarch,
with
repentant
grief,
Confess'd
the
gods,
and
god-descended
chief;
His
daughter
gave,
the
stranger
to
detain,
With
half
the
honours
of
his
ample
reign:
The
Lycians
grant
a
chosen
space
of
ground,
With
woods,
with
vineyards,
and
with
harvests
crown'd.
There
long
the
chief
his
happy
lot
possess'd,
With
two
brave
sons
and
one
fair
daughter
bless'd;
(Fair
e'en
in
heavenly
eyes:
her
fruitful
love
Crown'd
with
Sarpedon's
birth
the
embrace
of
Jove;)
But
when
at
last,
distracted
in
his
mind,
Forsook
by
heaven,
forsaking
humankind,
Wide
o'er
the
Aleian
field
he
chose
to
stray,
A
long,
forlorn,
uncomfortable
way!(170)
Woes
heap'd
on
woes
consumed
his
wasted
heart:
His
beauteous
daughter
fell
by
Phoebe's
dart;
His
eldest
born
by
raging
Mars
was
slain,
In
combat
on
the
Solymaean
plain.
Hippolochus
survived:
from
him
I
came,
The
honour'd
author
of
my
birth
and
name;
By
his
decree
I
sought
the
Trojan
town;
By
his
instructions
learn
to
win
renown,
To
stand
the
first
in
worth
as
in
command,
To
add
new
honours
to
my
native
land,
Before
my
eyes
my
mighty
sires
to
place,
And
emulate
the
glories
of
our
race."
He
spoke,
and
transport
fill'd
Tydides'
heart;
In
earth
the
generous
warrior
fix'd
his
dart,
Then
friendly,
thus
the
Lycian
prince
address'd:
"Welcome,
my
brave
hereditary
guest!
Thus
ever
let
us
meet,
with
kind
embrace,
Nor
stain
the
sacred
friendship
of
our
race.
Know,
chief,
our
grandsires
have
been
guests
of
old;
OEneus
the
strong,
Bellerophon
the
bold:
Our
ancient
seat
his
honour'd
presence
graced,
Where
twenty
days
in
genial
rites
he
pass'd.
The
parting
heroes
mutual
presents
left;
A
golden
goblet
was
thy
grandsire's
gift;
OEneus
a
belt
of
matchless
work
bestowed,
That
rich
with
Tyrian
dye
refulgent
glow'd.
(This
from
his
pledge
I
learn'd,
which,
safely
stored
Among
my
treasures,
still
adorns
my
board:
For
Tydeus
left
me
young,
when
Thebe's
wall
Beheld
the
sons
of
Greece
untimely
fall.)
Mindful
of
this,
in
friendship
let
us
join;
If
heaven
our
steps
to
foreign
lands
incline,
My
guest
in
Argos
thou,
and
I
in
Lycia
thine.
Enough
of
Trojans
to
this
lance
shall
yield,
In
the
full
harvest
of
yon
ample
field;
Enough
of
Greeks
shall
dye
thy
spear
with
gore;
But
thou
and
Diomed
be
foes
no
more.
Now
change
we
arms,
and
prove
to
either
host
We
guard
the
friendship
of
the
line
we
boast."
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.
Meantime
the
guardian
of
the
Trojan
state,
Great
Hector,
enter'd
at
the
Scaean
gate.(172)
Beneath
the
beech-tree's
consecrated
shades,
The
Trojan
matrons
and
the
Trojan
maids
Around
him
flock'd,
all
press'd
with
pious
care
For
husbands,
brothers,
sons,
engaged
in
war.
He
bids
the
train
in
long
procession
go,
And
seek
the
gods,
to
avert
the
impending
woe.
And
now
to
Priam's
stately
courts
he
came,
Rais'd
on
arch'd
columns
of
stupendous
frame;
O'er
these
a
range
of
marble
structure
runs,
The
rich
pavilions
of
his
fifty
sons,
In
fifty
chambers
lodged:
and
rooms
of
state,(173)
Opposed
to
those,
where
Priam's
daughters
sate.
Twelve
domes
for
them
and
their
loved
spouses
shone,
Of
equal
beauty,
and
of
polish'd
stone.
Hither
great
Hector
pass'd,
nor
pass'd
unseen
Of
royal
Hecuba,
his
mother-queen.
(With
her
Laodice,
whose
beauteous
face
Surpass'd
the
nymphs
of
Troy's
illustrious
race.)
Long
in
a
strict
embrace
she
held
her
son,
And
press'd
his
hand,
and
tender
thus
begun:
"O
Hector!
say,
what
great
occasion
calls
My
son
from
fight,
when
Greece
surrounds
our
walls;
Com'st
thou
to
supplicate
the
almighty
power
With
lifted
hands,
from
Ilion's
lofty
tower?
Stay,
till
I
bring
the
cup
with
Bacchus
crown'd,
In
Jove's
high
name,
to
sprinkle
on
the
ground,
And
pay
due
vows
to
all
the
gods
around.
Then
with
a
plenteous
draught
refresh
thy
soul,
And
draw
new
spirits
from
the
generous
bowl;
Spent
as
thou
art
with
long
laborious
fight,
The
brave
defender
of
thy
country's
right."
"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."
This
heard,
she
gave
command:
and
summon'd
came
Each
noble
matron
and
illustrious
dame.
The
Phrygian
queen
to
her
rich
wardrobe
went,
Where
treasured
odours
breathed
a
costly
scent.
There
lay
the
vestures
of
no
vulgar
art,
Sidonian
maids
embroider'd
every
part,
Whom
from
soft
Sidon
youthful
Paris
bore,
With
Helen
touching
on
the
Tyrian
shore.
Here,
as
the
queen
revolved
with
careful
eyes
The
various
textures
and
the
various
dyes,
She
chose
a
veil
that
shone
superior
far,
And
glow'd
refulgent
as
the
morning
star.
Herself
with
this
the
long
procession
leads;
The
train
majestically
slow
proceeds.
Soon
as
to
Ilion's
topmost
tower
they
come,
And
awful
reach
the
high
Palladian
dome,
Antenor's
consort,
fair
Theano,
waits
As
Pallas'
priestess,
and
unbars
the
gates.
With
hands
uplifted
and
imploring
eyes,
They
fill
the
dome
with
supplicating
cries.
The
priestess
then
the
shining
veil
displays,
Placed
on
Minerva's
knees,
and
thus
she
prays:
"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.
While
these
appear
before
the
power
with
prayers,
Hector
to
Paris'
lofty
dome
repairs.(175)
Himself
the
mansion
raised,
from
every
part
Assembling
architects
of
matchless
art.
Near
Priam's
court
and
Hector's
palace
stands
The
pompous
structure,
and
the
town
commands.
A
spear
the
hero
bore
of
wondrous
strength,
Of
full
ten
cubits
was
the
lance's
length,
The
steely
point
with
golden
ringlets
join'd,
Before
him
brandish'd,
at
each
motion
shined
Thus
entering,
in
the
glittering
rooms
he
found
His
brother-chief,
whose
useless
arms
lay
round,
His
eyes
delighting
with
their
splendid
show,
Brightening
the
shield,
and
polishing
the
bow.
Beside
him
Helen
with
her
virgins
stands,
Guides
their
rich
labours,
and
instructs
their
hands.
Him
thus
inactive,
with
an
ardent
look
The
prince
beheld,
and
high-resenting
spoke.
"Thy
hate
to
Troy,
is
this
the
time
to
show?
(O
wretch
ill-fated,
and
thy
country's
foe!)
Paris
and
Greece
against
us
both
conspire,
Thy
close
resentment,
and
their
vengeful
ire.
For
thee
great
Ilion's
guardian
heroes
fall,
Till
heaps
of
dead
alone
defend
her
wall,
For
thee
the
soldier
bleeds,
the
matron
mourns,
And
wasteful
war
in
all
its
fury
burns.
Ungrateful
man!
deserves
not
this
thy
care,
Our
troops
to
hearten,
and
our
toils
to
share?
Rise,
or
behold
the
conquering
flames
ascend,
And
all
the
Phrygian
glories
at
an
end."
"Brother,
'tis
just,
(replied
the
beauteous
youth,)
Thy
free
remonstrance
proves
thy
worth
and
truth:
Yet
charge
my
absence
less,
O
generous
chief!
On
hate
to
Troy,
than
conscious
shame
and
grief:
Here,
hid
from
human
eyes,
thy
brother
sate,
And
mourn'd,
in
secret,
his
and
Ilion's
fate.
'Tis
now
enough;
now
glory
spreads
her
charms,
And
beauteous
Helen
calls
her
chief
to
arms.
Conquest
to-day
my
happier
sword
may
bless,
'Tis
man's
to
fight,
but
heaven's
to
give
success.
But
while
I
arm,
contain
thy
ardent
mind;
Or
go,
and
Paris
shall
not
lag
behind."
[Illustration:
HECTOR
CHIDING
PARIS.]
HECTOR
CHIDING
PARIS.
He
said,
nor
answer'd
Priam's
warlike
son;
When
Helen
thus
with
lowly
grace
begun:
"Oh,
generous
brother!
(if
the
guilty
dame
That
caused
these
woes
deserve
a
sister's
name!)
Would
heaven,
ere
all
these
dreadful
deeds
were
done,
The
day
that
show'd
me
to
the
golden
sun
Had
seen
my
death!
why
did
not
whirlwinds
bear
The
fatal
infant
to
the
fowls
of
air?
Why
sunk
I
not
beneath
the
whelming
tide,
And
midst
the
roarings
of
the
waters
died?
Heaven
fill'd
up
all
my
ills,
and
I
accursed
Bore
all,
and
Paris
of
those
ills
the
worst.
Helen
at
least
a
braver
spouse
might
claim,
Warm'd
with
some
virtue,
some
regard
of
fame!
Now
tired
with
toils,
thy
fainting
limbs
recline,
With
toils,
sustain'd
for
Paris'
sake
and
mine
The
gods
have
link'd
our
miserable
doom,
Our
present
woe,
and
infamy
to
come:
Wide
shall
it
spread,
and
last
through
ages
long,
Example
sad!
and
theme
of
future
song."
The
chief
replied:
"This
time
forbids
to
rest;
The
Trojan
bands,
by
hostile
fury
press'd,
Demand
their
Hector,
and
his
arm
require;
The
combat
urges,
and
my
soul's
on
fire.
Urge
thou
thy
knight
to
march
where
glory
calls,
And
timely
join
me,
ere
I
leave
the
walls.
Ere
yet
I
mingle
in
the
direful
fray,
My
wife,
my
infant,
claim
a
moment's
stay;
This
day
(perhaps
the
last
that
sees
me
here)
Demands
a
parting
word,
a
tender
tear:
This
day,
some
god
who
hates
our
Trojan
land
May
vanquish
Hector
by
a
Grecian
hand."
He
said,
and
pass'd
with
sad
presaging
heart
To
seek
his
spouse,
his
soul's
far
dearer
part;
At
home
he
sought
her,
but
he
sought
in
vain;
She,
with
one
maid
of
all
her
menial
train,
Had
hence
retired;
and
with
her
second
joy,
The
young
Astyanax,
the
hope
of
Troy,
Pensive
she
stood
on
Ilion's
towery
height,
Beheld
the
war,
and
sicken'd
at
the
sight;
There
her
sad
eyes
in
vain
her
lord
explore,
Or
weep
the
wounds
her
bleeding
country
bore.
But
he
who
found
not
whom
his
soul
desired,
Whose
virtue
charm'd
him
as
her
beauty
fired,
Stood
in
the
gates,
and
ask'd
"what
way
she
bent
Her
parting
step?
If
to
the
fane
she
went,
Where
late
the
mourning
matrons
made
resort;
Or
sought
her
sisters
in
the
Trojan
court?"
"Not
to
the
court,
(replied
the
attendant
train,)
Nor
mix'd
with
matrons
to
Minerva's
fane:
To
Ilion's
steepy
tower
she
bent
her
way,
To
mark
the
fortunes
of
the
doubtful
day.
Troy
fled,
she
heard,
before
the
Grecian
sword;
She
heard,
and
trembled
for
her
absent
lord:
Distracted
with
surprise,
she
seem'd
to
fly,
Fear
on
her
cheek,
and
sorrow
m
her
eye.
The
nurse
attended
with
her
infant
boy,
The
young
Astyanax,
the
hope
of
Troy."
Hector
this
heard,
return'd
without
delay;
Swift
through
the
town
he
trod
his
former
way,
Through
streets
of
palaces,
and
walks
of
state;
And
met
the
mourner
at
the
Scaean
gate.
With
haste
to
meet
him
sprung
the
joyful
fair.
His
blameless
wife,
Aetion's
wealthy
heir:
(Cilician
Thebe
great
Aetion
sway'd,
And
Hippoplacus'
wide
extended
shade:)
The
nurse
stood
near,
in
whose
embraces
press'd,
His
only
hope
hung
smiling
at
her
breast,
Whom
each
soft
charm
and
early
grace
adorn,
Fair
as
the
new-born
star
that
gilds
the
morn.
To
this
loved
infant
Hector
gave
the
name
Scamandrius,
from
Scamander's
honour'd
stream;
Astyanax
the
Trojans
call'd
the
boy,
From
his
great
father,
the
defence
of
Troy.
Silent
the
warrior
smiled,
and
pleased
resign'd
To
tender
passions
all
his
mighty
mind;
His
beauteous
princess
cast
a
mournful
look,
Hung
on
his
hand,
and
then
dejected
spoke;
Her
bosom
laboured
with
a
boding
sigh,
And
the
big
tear
stood
trembling
in
her
eye.
[Illustration:
THE
MEETING
OF
HECTOR
AND
ANDROMACHE.]
THE
MEETING
OF
HECTOR
AND
ANDROMACHE.
"Too
daring
prince!
ah,
whither
dost
thou
run?
Ah,
too
forgetful
of
thy
wife
and
son!
And
think'st
thou
not
how
wretched
we
shall
be,
A
widow
I,
a
helpless
orphan
he?
For
sure
such
courage
length
of
life
denies,
And
thou
must
fall,
thy
virtue's
sacrifice.
Greece
in
her
single
heroes
strove
in
vain;
Now
hosts
oppose
thee,
and
thou
must
be
slain.
O
grant
me,
gods,
ere
Hector
meets
his
doom,
All
I
can
ask
of
heaven,
an
early
tomb!
So
shall
my
days
in
one
sad
tenor
run,
And
end
with
sorrows
as
they
first
begun.
No
parent
now
remains
my
griefs
to
share,
No
father's
aid,
no
mother's
tender
care.
The
fierce
Achilles
wrapt
our
walls
in
fire,
Laid
Thebe
waste,
and
slew
my
warlike
sire!
His
fate
compassion
in
the
victor
bred;
Stern
as
he
was,
he
yet
revered
the
dead,
His
radiant
arms
preserved
from
hostile
spoil,
And
laid
him
decent
on
the
funeral
pile;
Then
raised
a
mountain
where
his
bones
were
burn'd,
The
mountain-nymphs
the
rural
tomb
adorn'd,
Jove's
sylvan
daughters
bade
their
elms
bestow
A
barren
shade,
and
in
his
honour
grow.
"By
the
same
arm
my
seven
brave
brothers
fell;
In
one
sad
day
beheld
the
gates
of
hell;
While
the
fat
herds
and
snowy
flocks
they
fed,
Amid
their
fields
the
hapless
heroes
bled!
My
mother
lived
to
wear
the
victor's
bands,
The
queen
of
Hippoplacia's
sylvan
lands:
Redeem'd
too
late,
she
scarce
beheld
again
Her
pleasing
empire
and
her
native
plain,
When
ah!
oppress'd
by
life-consuming
woe,
She
fell
a
victim
to
Diana's
bow.
"Yet
while
my
Hector
still
survives,
I
see
My
father,
mother,
brethren,
all,
in
thee:
Alas!
my
parents,
brothers,
kindred,
all
Once
more
will
perish,
if
my
Hector
fall,
Thy
wife,
thy
infant,
in
thy
danger
share:
Oh,
prove
a
husband's
and
a
father's
care!
That
quarter
most
the
skilful
Greeks
annoy,
Where
yon
wild
fig-trees
join
the
wall
of
Troy;
Thou,
from
this
tower
defend
the
important
post;
There
Agamemnon
points
his
dreadful
host,
That
pass
Tydides,
Ajax,
strive
to
gain,
And
there
the
vengeful
Spartan
fires
his
train.
Thrice
our
bold
foes
the
fierce
attack
have
given,
Or
led
by
hopes,
or
dictated
from
heaven.
Let
others
in
the
field
their
arms
employ,
But
stay
my
Hector
here,
and
guard
his
Troy."
The
chief
replied:
"That
post
shall
be
my
care,
Not
that
alone,
but
all
the
works
of
war.
How
would
the
sons
of
Troy,
in
arms
renown'd,
And
Troy's
proud
dames,
whose
garments
sweep
the
ground
Attaint
the
lustre
of
my
former
name,
Should
Hector
basely
quit
the
field
of
fame?
My
early
youth
was
bred
to
martial
pains,
My
soul
impels
me
to
the
embattled
plains!
Let
me
be
foremost
to
defend
the
throne,
And
guard
my
father's
glories,
and
my
own.
"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."
Thus
having
spoke,
the
illustrious
chief
of
Troy
Stretch'd
his
fond
arms
to
clasp
the
lovely
boy.
The
babe
clung
crying
to
his
nurse's
breast,
Scared
at
the
dazzling
helm,
and
nodding
crest.
With
secret
pleasure
each
fond
parent
smiled,
And
Hector
hasted
to
relieve
his
child,
The
glittering
terrors
from
his
brows
unbound,
And
placed
the
beaming
helmet
on
the
ground;
Then
kiss'd
the
child,
and,
lifting
high
in
air,
Thus
to
the
gods
preferr'd
a
father's
prayer:
"O
thou!
whose
glory
fills
the
ethereal
throne,
And
all
ye
deathless
powers!
protect
my
son!
Grant
him,
like
me,
to
purchase
just
renown,
To
guard
the
Trojans,
to
defend
the
crown,
Against
his
country's
foes
the
war
to
wage,
And
rise
the
Hector
of
the
future
age!
So
when
triumphant
from
successful
toils
Of
heroes
slain
he
bears
the
reeking
spoils,
Whole
hosts
may
hail
him
with
deserved
acclaim,
And
say,
'This
chief
transcends
his
father's
fame:'
While
pleased
amidst
the
general
shouts
of
Troy,
His
mother's
conscious
heart
o'erflows
with
joy."
He
spoke,
and
fondly
gazing
on
her
charms,
Restored
the
pleasing
burden
to
her
arms;
Soft
on
her
fragrant
breast
the
babe
she
laid,
Hush'd
to
repose,
and
with
a
smile
survey'd.
The
troubled
pleasure
soon
chastised
by
fear,
She
mingled
with
a
smile
a
tender
tear.
The
soften'd
chief
with
kind
compassion
view'd,
And
dried
the
falling
drops,
and
thus
pursued:
"Andromache!
my
soul's
far
better
part,
Why
with
untimely
sorrows
heaves
thy
heart?
No
hostile
hand
can
antedate
my
doom,
Till
fate
condemns
me
to
the
silent
tomb.
Fix'd
is
the
term
to
all
the
race
of
earth;
And
such
the
hard
condition
of
our
birth:
No
force
can
then
resist,
no
flight
can
save,
All
sink
alike,
the
fearful
and
the
brave.
No
more--but
hasten
to
thy
tasks
at
home,
There
guide
the
spindle,
and
direct
the
loom:
Me
glory
summons
to
the
martial
scene,
The
field
of
combat
is
the
sphere
for
men.
Where
heroes
war,
the
foremost
place
I
claim,
The
first
in
danger
as
the
first
in
fame."
Thus
having
said,
the
glorious
chief
resumes
His
towery
helmet,
black
with
shading
plumes.
His
princess
parts
with
a
prophetic
sigh,
Unwilling
parts,
and
oft
reverts
her
eye
That
stream'd
at
every
look;
then,
moving
slow,
Sought
her
own
palace,
and
indulged
her
woe.
There,
while
her
tears
deplored
the
godlike
man,
Through
all
her
train
the
soft
infection
ran;
The
pious
maids
their
mingled
sorrows
shed,
And
mourn
the
living
Hector,
as
the
dead.
But
now,
no
longer
deaf
to
honour's
call,
Forth
issues
Paris
from
the
palace
wall.
In
brazen
arms
that
cast
a
gleamy
ray,
Swift
through
the
town
the
warrior
bends
his
way.
The
wanton
courser
thus
with
reins
unbound(176)
Breaks
from
his
stall,
and
beats
the
trembling
ground;
Pamper'd
and
proud,
he
seeks
the
wonted
tides,
And
laves,
in
height
of
blood
his
shining
sides;
His
head
now
freed,
he
tosses
to
the
skies;
His
mane
dishevell'd
o'er
his
shoulders
flies;
He
snuffs
the
females
in
the
distant
plain,
And
springs,
exulting,
to
his
fields
again.
With
equal
triumph,
sprightly,
bold,
and
gay,
In
arms
refulgent
as
the
god
of
day,
The
son
of
Priam,
glorying
in
his
might,
Rush'd
forth
with
Hector
to
the
fields
of
fight.
And
now,
the
warriors
passing
on
the
way,
The
graceful
Paris
first
excused
his
stay.
To
whom
the
noble
Hector
thus
replied:
"O
chief!
in
blood,
and
now
in
arms,
allied!
Thy
power
in
war
with
justice
none
contest;
Known
is
thy
courage,
and
thy
strength
confess'd.
What
pity
sloth
should
seize
a
soul
so
brave,
Or
godlike
Paris
live
a
woman's
slave!
My
heart
weeps
blood
at
what
the
Trojans
say,
And
hopes
thy
deeds
shall
wipe
the
stain
away.
Haste
then,
in
all
their
glorious
labours
share,
For
much
they
suffer,
for
thy
sake,
in
war.
These
ills
shall
cease,
whene'er
by
Jove's
decree
We
crown
the
bowl
to
heaven
and
liberty:
While
the
proud
foe
his
frustrate
triumphs
mourns,
And
Greece
indignant
through
her
seas
returns."
[Illustration:
BOWS
AND
BOW
CASE.]
BOWS
AND
BOW
CASE.
[Illustration:
IRIS.]
IRIS.
BOOK
VII.
ARGUMENT
THE
SINGLE
COMBAT
OF
HECTOR
AND
AJAX.
The
battle
renewing
with
double
ardour
upon
the
return
of
Hector,
Minerva
is
under
apprehensions
for
the
Greeks.
Apollo,
seeing
her
descend
from
Olympus,
joins
her
near
the
Scaean
gate.
They
agree
to
put
off
the
general
engagement
for
that
day,
and
incite
Hector
to
challenge
the
Greeks
to
a
single
combat.
Nine
of
the
princes
accepting
the
challenge,
the
lot
is
cast
and
falls
upon
Ajax.
These
heroes,
after
several
attacks,
are
parted
by
the
night.
The
Trojans
calling
a
council,
Antenor
purposes
the
delivery
of
Helen
to
the
Greeks,
to
which
Paris
will
not
consent,
but
offers
to
restore
them
her
riches.
Priam
sends
a
herald
to
make
this
offer,
and
to
demand
a
truce
for
burning
the
dead,
the
last
of
which
only
is
agreed
to
by
Agamemnon.
When
the
funerals
are
performed,
the
Greeks,
pursuant
to
the
advice
of
Nestor,
erect
a
fortification
to
protect
their
fleet
and
camp,
flanked
with
towers,
and
defended
by
a
ditch
and
palisades.
Neptune
testifies
his
jealousy
at
this
work,
but
is
pacified
by
a
promise
from
Jupiter.
Both
armies
pass
the
night
in
feasting
but
Jupiter
disheartens
the
Trojans
with
thunder,
and
other
signs
of
his
wrath.
The
three
and
twentieth
day
ends
with
the
duel
of
Hector
and
Ajax,
the
next
day
the
truce
is
agreed;
another
is
taken
up
in
the
funeral
rites
of
the
slain
and
one
more
in
building
the
fortification
before
the
ships.
So
that
somewhat
about
three
days
is
employed
in
this
book.
The
scene
lies
wholly
in
the
field.
So
spoke
the
guardian
of
the
Trojan
state,
Then
rush'd
impetuous
through
the
Scaean
gate.
Him
Paris
follow'd
to
the
dire
alarms;
Both
breathing
slaughter,
both
resolved
in
arms.
As
when
to
sailors
labouring
through
the
main,
That
long
have
heaved
the
weary
oar
in
vain,
Jove
bids
at
length
the
expected
gales
arise;
The
gales
blow
grateful,
and
the
vessel
flies.
So
welcome
these
to
Troy's
desiring
train,
The
bands
are
cheer'd,
the
war
awakes
again.
Bold
Paris
first
the
work
of
death
begun
On
great
Menestheus,
Areithous'
son,
Sprung
from
the
fair
Philomeda's
embrace,
The
pleasing
Arne
was
his
native
place.
Then
sunk
Eioneus
to
the
shades
below,
Beneath
his
steely
casque
he
felt
the
blow(177)
Full
on
his
neck,
from
Hector's
weighty
hand;
And
roll'd,
with
limbs
relax'd,
along
the
land.
By
Glaucus'
spear
the
bold
Iphmous
bleeds,
Fix'd
in
the
shoulder
as
he
mounts
his
steeds;
Headlong
he
tumbles:
his
slack
nerves
unbound,
Drop
the
cold
useless
members
on
the
ground.
When
now
Minerva
saw
her
Argives
slain,
From
vast
Olympus
to
the
gleaming
plain
Fierce
she
descends:
Apollo
marked
her
flight,
Nor
shot
less
swift
from
Ilion's
towery
height.
Radiant
they
met,
beneath
the
beechen
shade;
When
thus
Apollo
to
the
blue-eyed
maid:
"What
cause,
O
daughter
of
Almighty
Jove!
Thus
wings
thy
progress
from
the
realms
above?
Once
more
impetuous
dost
thou
bend
thy
way,
To
give
to
Greece
the
long
divided
day?
Too
much
has
Troy
already
felt
thy
hate,
Now
breathe
thy
rage,
and
hush
the
stern
debate;
This
day,
the
business
of
the
field
suspend;
War
soon
shall
kindle,
and
great
Ilion
bend;
Since
vengeful
goddesses
confederate
join
To
raze
her
walls,
though
built
by
hands
divine."
To
whom
the
progeny
of
Jove
replies:
"I
left,
for
this,
the
council
of
the
skies:
But
who
shall
bid
conflicting
hosts
forbear,
What
art
shall
calm
the
furious
sons
of
war?"
To
her
the
god:
"Great
Hector's
soul
incite
To
dare
the
boldest
Greek
to
single
fight,
Till
Greece,
provoked,
from
all
her
numbers
show
A
warrior
worthy
to
be
Hector's
foe."
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."
He
said:
the
warrior
heard
the
word
with
joy;
Then
with
his
spear
restrain'd
the
youth
of
Troy,
Held
by
the
midst
athwart.
On
either
hand
The
squadrons
part;
the
expecting
Trojans
stand;
Great
Agamemnon
bids
the
Greeks
forbear:
They
breathe,
and
hush
the
tumult
of
the
war.
The
Athenian
maid,
and
glorious
god
of
day,(178)
With
silent
joy
the
settling
hosts
survey:
In
form
of
vultures,
on
the
beech's
height
They
sit
conceal'd,
and
wait
the
future
fight.
The
thronging
troops
obscure
the
dusky
fields,
Horrid
with
bristling
spears,
and
gleaming
shields.
As
when
a
general
darkness
veils
the
main,
(Soft
Zephyr
curling
the
wide
wat'ry
plain,)
The
waves
scarce
heave,
the
face
of
ocean
sleeps,
And
a
still
horror
saddens
all
the
deeps;
Thus
in
thick
orders
settling
wide
around,
At
length
composed
they
sit,
and
shade
the
ground.
Great
Hector
first
amidst
both
armies
broke
The
solemn
silence,
and
their
powers
bespoke:
"Hear,
all
ye
Trojan,
all
ye
Grecian
bands,
What
my
soul
prompts,
and
what
some
god
commands.
Great
Jove,
averse
our
warfare
to
compose,
O'erwhelms
the
nations
with
new
toils
and
woes;
War
with
a
fiercer
tide
once
more
returns,
Till
Ilion
falls,
or
till
yon
navy
burns.
You
then,
O
princes
of
the
Greeks!
appear;
'Tis
Hector
speaks,
and
calls
the
gods
to
hear:
From
all
your
troops
select
the
boldest
knight,
And
him,
the
boldest,
Hector
dares
to
fight.
Here
if
I
fall,
by
chance
of
battle
slain,
Be
his
my
spoil,
and
his
these
arms
remain;
But
let
my
body,
to
my
friends
return'd,
By
Trojan
hands
and
Trojan
flames
be
burn'd.
And
if
Apollo,
in
whose
aid
I
trust,
Shall
stretch
your
daring
champion
in
the
dust;
If
mine
the
glory
to
despoil
the
foe;
On
Phoebus'
temple
I'll
his
arms
bestow:
The
breathless
carcase
to
your
navy
sent,
Greece
on
the
shore
shall
raise
a
monument;
Which
when
some
future
mariner
surveys,
Wash'd
by
broad
Hellespont's
resounding
seas,
Thus
shall
he
say,
'A
valiant
Greek
lies
there,
By
Hector
slain,
the
mighty
man
of
war,'
The
stone
shall
tell
your
vanquish'd
hero's
name.
And
distant
ages
learn
the
victor's
fame."
This
fierce
defiance
Greece
astonish'd
heard,
Blush'd
to
refuse,
and
to
accept
it
fear'd.
Stern
Menelaus
first
the
silence
broke,
And,
inly
groaning,
thus
opprobrious
spoke:
"Women
of
Greece!
O
scandal
of
your
race,
Whose
coward
souls
your
manly
form
disgrace,
How
great
the
shame,
when
every
age
shall
know
That
not
a
Grecian
met
this
noble
foe!
Go
then!
resolve
to
earth,
from
whence
ye
grew,
A
heartless,
spiritless,
inglorious
crew!
Be
what
ye
seem,
unanimated
clay,
Myself
will
dare
the
danger
of
the
day;
'Tis
man's
bold
task
the
generous
strife
to
try,
But
in
the
hands
of
God
is
victory."
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
Hectors
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."
He
said,
and
turn'd
his
brother's
vengeful
mind;
He
stoop'd
to
reason,
and
his
rage
resign'd,
No
longer
bent
to
rush
on
certain
harms;
His
joyful
friends
unbrace
his
azure
arms.
He
from
whose
lips
divine
persuasion
flows,
Grave
Nestor,
then,
in
graceful
act
arose;
Thus
to
the
kings
he
spoke:
"What
grief,
what
shame
Attend
on
Greece,
and
all
the
Grecian
name!
How
shall,
alas!
her
hoary
heroes
mourn
Their
sons
degenerate,
and
their
race
a
scorn!
What
tears
shall
down
thy
silvery
beard
be
roll'd,
O
Peleus,
old
in
arms,
in
wisdom
old!
Once
with
what
joy
the
generous
prince
would
hear
Of
every
chief
who
fought
this
glorious
war,
Participate
their
fame,
and
pleased
inquire
Each
name,
each
action,
and
each
hero's
sire!
Gods!
should
he
see
our
warriors
trembling
stand,
And
trembling
all
before
one
hostile
hand;
How
would
he
lift
his
aged
arms
on
high,
Lament
inglorious
Greece,
and
beg
to
die!
Oh!
would
to
all
the
immortal
powers
above,
Minerva,
Phoebus,
and
almighty
Jove!
Years
might
again
roll
back,
my
youth
renew,
And
give
this
arm
the
spring
which
once
it
knew
When
fierce
in
war,
where
Jardan's
waters
fall,
I
led
my
troops
to
Phea's
trembling
wall,
And
with
the
Arcadian
spears
my
prowess
tried,
Where
Celadon
rolls
down
his
rapid
tide.(179)
There
Ereuthalion
braved
us
in
the
field,
Proud
Areithous'
dreadful
arms
to
wield;
Great
Areithous,
known
from
shore
to
shore
By
the
huge,
knotted,
iron
mace
he
bore;
No
lance
he
shook,
nor
bent
the
twanging
bow,
But
broke,
with
this,
the
battle
of
the
foe.
Him
not
by
manly
force
Lycurgus
slew,
Whose
guileful
javelin
from
the
thicket
flew,
Deep
in
a
winding
way
his
breast
assailed,
Nor
aught
the
warrior's
thundering
mace
avail'd.
Supine
he
fell:
those
arms
which
Mars
before
Had
given
the
vanquish'd,
now
the
victor
bore:
But
when
old
age
had
dimm'd
Lycurgus'
eyes,
To
Ereuthalion
he
consign'd
the
prize.
Furious
with
this
he
crush'd
our
levell'd
bands,
And
dared
the
trial
of
the
strongest
hands;
Nor
could
the
strongest
hands
his
fury
stay:
All
saw,
and
fear'd,
his
huge
tempestuous
sway
Till
I,
the
youngest
of
the
host,
appear'd,
And,
youngest,
met
whom
all
our
army
fear'd.
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?"
His
warm
reproofs
the
listening
kings
inflame;
And
nine,
the
noblest
of
the
Grecian
name,
Up-started
fierce:
but
far
before
the
rest
The
king
of
men
advanced
his
dauntless
breast:
Then
bold
Tydides,
great
in
arms,
appear'd;
And
next
his
bulk
gigantic
Ajax
rear'd;
Oileus
follow'd;
Idomen
was
there,(180)
And
Merion,
dreadful
as
the
god
of
war:
With
these
Eurypylus
and
Thoas
stand,
And
wise
Ulysses
closed
the
daring
band.
All
these,
alike
inspired
with
noble
rage,
Demand
the
fight.
To
whom
the
Pylian
sage:
"Lest
thirst
of
glory
your
brave
souls
divide,
What
chief
shall
combat,
let
the
gods
decide.
Whom
heaven
shall
choose,
be
his
the
chance
to
raise
His
country's
fame,
his
own
immortal
praise."
The
lots
produced,
each
hero
signs
his
own:
Then
in
the
general's
helm
the
fates
are
thrown,(181)
The
people
pray,
with
lifted
eyes
and
hands,
And
vows
like
these
ascend
from
all
the
bands:
"Grant,
thou
Almighty!
in
whose
hand
is
fate,
A
worthy
champion
for
the
Grecian
state:
This
task
let
Ajax
or
Tydides
prove,
Or
he,
the
king
of
kings,
beloved
by
Jove."
Old
Nestor
shook
the
casque.
By
heaven
inspired,
Leap'd
forth
the
lot,
of
every
Greek
desired.
This
from
the
right
to
left
the
herald
bears,
Held
out
in
order
to
the
Grecian
peers;
Each
to
his
rival
yields
the
mark
unknown,
Till
godlike
Ajax
finds
the
lot
his
own;
Surveys
the
inscription
with
rejoicing
eyes,
Then
casts
before
him,
and
with
transport
cries:
"Warriors!
I
claim
the
lot,
and
arm
with
joy;
Be
mine
the
conquest
of
this
chief
of
Troy.
Now
while
my
brightest
arms
my
limbs
invest,
To
Saturn's
son
be
all
your
vows
address'd:
But
pray
in
secret,
lest
the
foes
should
hear,
And
deem
your
prayers
the
mean
effect
of
fear.
Said
I
in
secret?
No,
your
vows
declare
In
such
a
voice
as
fills
the
earth
and
air,
Lives
there
a
chief
whom
Ajax
ought
to
dread?
Ajax,
in
all
the
toils
of
battle
bred!
From
warlike
Salamis
I
drew
my
birth,
And,
born
to
combats,
fear
no
force
on
earth."
He
said.
The
troops
with
elevated
eyes,
Implore
the
god
whose
thunder
rends
the
skies:
"O
father
of
mankind,
superior
lord!
On
lofty
Ida's
holy
hill
adored:
Who
in
the
highest
heaven
hast
fix'd
thy
throne,
Supreme
of
gods!
unbounded
and
alone:
Grant
thou,
that
Telamon
may
bear
away
The
praise
and
conquest
of
this
doubtful
day;
Or,
if
illustrious
Hector
be
thy
care,
That
both
may
claim
it,
and
that
both
may
share."
Now
Ajax
braced
his
dazzling
armour
on;
Sheathed
in
bright
steel
the
giant-warrior
shone:
He
moves
to
combat
with
majestic
pace;
So
stalks
in
arms
the
grisly
god
of
Thrace,(182)
When
Jove
to
punish
faithless
men
prepares,
And
gives
whole
nations
to
the
waste
of
wars,
Thus
march'd
the
chief,
tremendous
as
a
god;
Grimly
he
smiled;
earth
trembled
as
he
strode:(183)
His
massy
javelin
quivering
in
his
hand,
He
stood,
the
bulwark
of
the
Grecian
band.
Through
every
Argive
heart
new
transport
ran;
All
Troy
stood
trembling
at
the
mighty
man:
Even
Hector
paused;
and
with
new
doubt
oppress'd,
Felt
his
great
heart
suspended
in
his
breast:
'Twas
vain
to
seek
retreat,
and
vain
to
fear;
Himself
had
challenged,
and
the
foe
drew
near.
Stern
Telamon
behind
his
ample
shield,
As
from
a
brazen
tower,
o'erlook'd
the
field.
Huge
was
its
orb,
with
seven
thick
folds
o'ercast,
Of
tough
bull-hides;
of
solid
brass
the
last,
(The
work
of
Tychius,
who
in
Hyle
dwell'd
And
in
all
arts
of
armoury
excell'd,)
This
Ajax
bore
before
his
manly
breast,
And,
threatening,
thus
his
adverse
chief
address'd:
"Hector!
approach
my
arm,
and
singly
know
What
strength
thou
hast,
and
what
the
Grecian
foe.
Achilles
shuns
the
fight;
yet
some
there
are,
Not
void
of
soul,
and
not
unskill'd
in
war:
Let
him,
unactive
on
the
sea-beat
shore,
Indulge
his
wrath,
and
aid
our
arms
no
more;
Whole
troops
of
heroes
Greece
has
yet
to
boast,
And
sends
thee
one,
a
sample
of
her
host,
Such
as
I
am,
I
come
to
prove
thy
might;
No
more--be
sudden,
and
begin
the
fight."
"O
son
of
Telamon,
thy
country's
pride!
(To
Ajax
thus
the
Trojan
prince
replied)
Me,
as
a
boy,
or
woman,
wouldst
thou
fright,
New
to
the
field,
and
trembling
at
the
fight?
Thou
meet'st
a
chief
deserving
of
thy
arms,
To
combat
born,
and
bred
amidst
alarms:
I
know
to
shift
my
ground,
remount
the
car,
Turn,
charge,
and
answer
every
call
of
war;
To
right,
to
left,
the
dexterous
lance
I
wield,
And
bear
thick
battle
on
my
sounding
shield
But
open
be
our
fight,
and
bold
each
blow;
I
steal
no
conquest
from
a
noble
foe."
He
said,
and
rising,
high
above
the
field
Whirl'd
the
long
lance
against
the
sevenfold
shield.
Full
on
the
brass
descending
from
above
Through
six
bull-hides
the
furious
weapon
drove,
Till
in
the
seventh
it
fix'd.
Then
Ajax
threw;
Through
Hector's
shield
the
forceful
javelin
flew,
His
corslet
enters,
and
his
garment
rends,
And
glancing
downwards,
near
his
flank
descends.
The
wary
Trojan
shrinks,
and
bending
low
Beneath
his
buckler,
disappoints
the
blow.
From
their
bored
shields
the
chiefs
their
javelins
drew,
Then
close
impetuous,
and
the
charge
renew;
Fierce
as
the
mountain-lions
bathed
in
blood,
Or
foaming
boars,
the
terror
of
the
wood.
At
Ajax,
Hector
his
long
lance
extends;
The
blunted
point
against
the
buckler
bends;
But
Ajax,
watchful
as
his
foe
drew
near,
Drove
through
the
Trojan
targe
the
knotty
spear;
It
reach'd
his
neck,
with
matchless
strength
impell'd!
Spouts
the
black
gore,
and
dims
his
shining
shield.
Yet
ceased
not
Hector
thus;
but
stooping
down,
In
his
strong
hand
up-heaved
a
flinty
stone,
Black,
craggy,
vast:
to
this
his
force
he
bends;
Full
on
the
brazen
boss
the
stone
descends;
The
hollow
brass
resounded
with
the
shock:
Then
Ajax
seized
the
fragment
of
a
rock,
Applied
each
nerve,
and
swinging
round
on
high,
With
force
tempestuous,
let
the
ruin
fly;
The
huge
stone
thundering
through
his
buckler
broke:
His
slacken'd
knees
received
the
numbing
stroke;
Great
Hector
falls
extended
on
the
field,
His
bulk
supporting
on
the
shatter'd
shield:
Nor
wanted
heavenly
aid:
Apollo's
might
Confirm'd
his
sinews,
and
restored
to
fight.
And
now
both
heroes
their
broad
falchions
drew
In
flaming
circles
round
their
heads
they
flew;
But
then
by
heralds'
voice
the
word
was
given.
The
sacred
ministers
of
earth
and
heaven:
Divine
Talthybius,
whom
the
Greeks
employ.
And
sage
Idaeus
on
the
part
of
Troy,
Between
the
swords
their
peaceful
sceptres
rear'd;
And
first
Idaeus'
awful
voice
was
heard:
[Illustration:
HECTOR
AND
AJAX
SEPARATED
BY
THE
HERALDS.]
HECTOR
AND
AJAX
SEPARATED
BY
THE
HERALDS.
"Forbear,
my
sons!
your
further
force
to
prove,
Both
dear
to
men,
and
both
beloved
of
Jove.
To
either
host
your
matchless
worth
is
known,
Each
sounds
your
praise,
and
war
is
all
your
own.
But
now
the
Night
extends
her
awful
shade;
The
goddess
parts
you;
be
the
night
obey'd."(184)
To
whom
great
Ajax
his
high
soul
express'd:
"O
sage!
to
Hector
be
these
words
address'd.
Let
him,
who
first
provoked
our
chiefs
to
fight,
Let
him
demand
the
sanction
of
the
night;
If
first
he
ask'd
it,
I
content
obey,
And
cease
the
strife
when
Hector
shows
the
way."
"O
first
of
Greeks!
(his
noble
foe
rejoin'd)
Whom
heaven
adorns,
superior
to
thy
kind,
With
strength
of
body,
and
with
worth
of
mind!
Now
martial
law
commands
us
to
forbear;
Hereafter
we
shall
meet
in
glorious
war,
Some
future
day
shall
lengthen
out
the
strife,
And
let
the
gods
decide
of
death
or
life!
Since,
then,
the
night
extends
her
gloomy
shade,
And
heaven
enjoins
it,
be
the
night
obey'd.
Return,
brave
Ajax,
to
thy
Grecian
friends,
And
joy
the
nations
whom
thy
arm
defends;
As
I
shall
glad
each
chief,
and
Trojan
wife,
Who
wearies
heaven
with
vows
for
Hector's
life.
But
let
us,
on
this
memorable
day,
Exchange
some
gift:
that
Greece
and
Troy
may
say,
'Not
hate,
but
glory,
made
these
chiefs
contend;
And
each
brave
foe
was
in
his
soul
a
friend.'"
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
Trojan
bands
returning
Hector
wait,
And
hail
with
joy
the
Champion
of
their
state;
Escaped
great
Ajax,
they
survey
him
round,
Alive,
unarm'd,
and
vigorous
from
his
wound;
To
Troy's
high
gates
the
godlike
man
they
bear
Their
present
triumph,
as
their
late
despair.
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:
"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.
Meanwhile,
convened
at
Priam's
palace-gate,
The
Trojan
peers
in
nightly
council
sate;
A
senate
void
of
order,
as
of
choice:
Their
hearts
were
fearful,
and
confused
their
voice.
Antenor,
rising,
thus
demands
their
ear:
"Ye
Trojans,
Dardans,
and
auxiliars,
hear!
'Tis
heaven
the
counsel
of
my
breast
inspires,
And
I
but
move
what
every
god
requires:
Let
Sparta's
treasures
be
this
hour
restored,
And
Argive
Helen
own
her
ancient
lord.
The
ties
of
faith,
the
sworn
alliance,
broke,
Our
impious
battles
the
just
gods
provoke.
As
this
advice
ye
practise,
or
reject,
So
hope
success,
or
dread
the
dire
effect."
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."
'Twas
then,
the
growing
discord
to
compose,
Slow
from
his
seat
the
reverend
Priam
rose:
His
godlike
aspect
deep
attention
drew:
He
paused,
and
these
pacific
words
ensue:
"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!"
The
monarch
spoke:
the
warriors
snatch'd
with
haste
(Each
at
his
post
in
arms)
a
short
repast.
Soon
as
the
rosy
morn
had
waked
the
day,
To
the
black
ships
Idaeus
bent
his
way;
There,
to
the
sons
of
Mars,
in
council
found,
He
raised
his
voice:
the
host
stood
listening
round.
"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!"
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."
The
admiring
chiefs,
and
all
the
Grecian
name,
With
general
shouts
return'd
him
loud
acclaim.
Then
thus
the
king
of
kings
rejects
the
peace:
"Herald!
in
him
thou
hear'st
the
voice
of
Greece
For
what
remains;
let
funeral
flames
be
fed
With
heroes'
corps:
I
war
not
with
the
dead:
Go
search
your
slaughtered
chiefs
on
yonder
plain,
And
gratify
the
manes
of
the
slain.
Be
witness,
Jove,
whose
thunder
rolls
on
high!"
He
said,
and
rear'd
his
sceptre
to
the
sky.
To
sacred
Troy,
where
all
her
princes
lay
To
wait
the
event,
the
herald
bent
his
way.
He
came,
and
standing
in
the
midst,
explain'd
The
peace
rejected,
but
the
truce
obtain'd.
Straight
to
their
several
cares
the
Trojans
move,
Some
search
the
plains,
some
fell
the
sounding
grove:
Nor
less
the
Greeks,
descending
on
the
shore,
Hew'd
the
green
forests,
and
the
bodies
bore.
And
now
from
forth
the
chambers
of
the
main,
To
shed
his
sacred
light
on
earth
again,
Arose
the
golden
chariot
of
the
day,
And
tipp'd
the
mountains
with
a
purple
ray.
In
mingled
throngs
the
Greek
and
Trojan
train
Through
heaps
of
carnage
search'd
the
mournful
plain.
Scarce
could
the
friend
his
slaughter'd
friend
explore,
With
dust
dishonour'd,
and
deformed
with
gore.
The
wounds
they
wash'd,
their
pious
tears
they
shed,
And,
laid
along
their
cars,
deplored
the
dead.
Sage
Priam
check'd
their
grief:
with
silent
haste
The
bodies
decent
on
the
piles
were
placed:
With
melting
hearts
the
cold
remains
they
burn'd,
And,
sadly
slow,
to
sacred
Troy
return'd.
Nor
less
the
Greeks
their
pious
sorrows
shed,
And
decent
on
the
pile
dispose
the
dead;
The
cold
remains
consume
with
equal
care;
And
slowly,
sadly,
to
their
fleet
repair.
Now,
ere
the
morn
had
streak'd
with
reddening
light
The
doubtful
confines
of
the
day
and
night,
About
the
dying
flames
the
Greeks
appear'd,
And
round
the
pile
a
general
tomb
they
rear'd.
Then,
to
secure
the
camp
and
naval
powers,
They
raised
embattled
walls
with
lofty
towers:(186)
From
space
to
space
were
ample
gates
around,
For
passing
chariots,
and
a
trench
profound
Of
large
extent;
and
deep
in
earth
below,
Strong
piles
infix'd
stood
adverse
to
the
foe.
So
toil'd
the
Greeks:
meanwhile
the
gods
above,
In
shining
circle
round
their
father
Jove,
Amazed
beheld
the
wondrous
works
of
man:
Then
he,
whose
trident
shakes
the
earth,
began:
"What
mortals
henceforth
shall
our
power
adore,
Our
fanes
frequent,
our
oracles
implore,
If
the
proud
Grecians
thus
successful
boast
Their
rising
bulwarks
on
the
sea-beat
coast?
See
the
long
walls
extending
to
the
main,
No
god
consulted,
and
no
victim
slain!
Their
fame
shall
fill
the
world's
remotest
ends,
Wide
as
the
morn
her
golden
beam
extends;
While
old
Laomedon's
divine
abodes,
Those
radiant
structures
raised
by
labouring
gods,
Shall,
razed
and
lost,
in
long
oblivion
sleep."
Thus
spoke
the
hoary
monarch
of
the
deep.
The
almighty
Thunderer
with
a
frown
replies,
That
clouds
the
world,
and
blackens
half
the
skies:
"Strong
god
of
ocean!
thou,
whose
rage
can
make
The
solid
earth's
eternal
basis
shake!
What
cause
of
fear
from
mortal
works
could
move(187)
The
meanest
subject
of
our
realms
above?
Where'er
the
sun's
refulgent
rays
are
cast,
Thy
power
is
honour'd,
and
thy
fame
shall
last.
But
yon
proud
work
no
future
age
shall
view,
No
trace
remain
where
once
the
glory
grew.
The
sapp'd
foundations
by
thy
force
shall
fall,
And,
whelm'd
beneath
the
waves,
drop
the
huge
wall:
Vast
drifts
of
sand
shall
change
the
former
shore:
The
ruin
vanish'd,
and
the
name
no
more."
Thus
they
in
heaven:
while,
o'er
the
Grecian
train,
The
rolling
sun
descending
to
the
main
Beheld
the
finish'd
work.
Their
bulls
they
slew;
Back
from
the
tents
the
savoury
vapour
flew.
And
now
the
fleet,
arrived
from
Lemnos'
strands,
With
Bacchus'
blessings
cheered
the
generous
bands.
Of
fragrant
wines
the
rich
Eunaeus
sent
A
thousant
measures
to
the
royal
tent.
(Eunaeus,
whom
Hypsipyle
of
yore
To
Jason,
shepherd
of
his
people,
bore,)
The
rest
they
purchased
at
their
proper
cost,
And
well
the
plenteous
freight
supplied
the
host:
Each,
in
exchange,
proportion'd
treasures
gave;(188)
Some,
brass
or
iron;
some,
an
ox,
or
slave.
All
night
they
feast,
the
Greek
and
Trojan
powers:
Those
on
the
fields,
and
these
within
their
towers.
But
Jove
averse
the
signs
of
wrath
display'd,
And
shot
red
lightnings
through
the
gloomy
shade:
Humbled
they
stood;
pale
horror
seized
on
all,
While
the
deep
thunder
shook
the
aerial
hall.
Each
pour'd
to
Jove
before
the
bowl
was
crown'd;
And
large
libations
drench'd
the
thirsty
ground:
Then
late,
refresh'd
with
sleep
from
toils
of
fight,
Enjoy'd
the
balmy
blessings
of
the
night.
[Illustration:
GREEK
AMPHORA--WINE
VESSELS.]
GREEK
AMPHORA--WINE
VESSELS.
BOOK
VIII.
ARGUMENT.
THE
SECOND
BATTLE,
AND
THE
DISTRESS
OF
THE
GREEKS.
Jupiter
assembles
a
council
of
the
deities,
and
threatens
them
with
the
pains
of
Tartarus
if
they
assist
either
side:
Minerva
only
obtains
of
him
that
she
may
direct
the
Greeks
by
her
counsels.(189)
his
balances
the
fates
of
both,
and
affrights
the
Greeks
with
his
thunders
and
lightnings.
Nestor
alone
continues
in
the
field
in
great
danger:
Diomed
relieves
him;
whose
exploits,
and
those
of
Hector,
are
excellently
described.
Juno
endeavours
to
animate
Neptune
to
the
assistance
of
the
Greeks,
but
in
vain.
The
acts
of
Teucer,
who
is
at
length
wounded
by
Hector,
and
carried
off.
Juno
and
Minerva
prepare
to
aid
the
Grecians,
but
are
restrained
by
Iris,
sent
from
Jupiter.
The
night
puts
an
end
to
the
battle.
Hector
continues
in
the
field,
(the
Greeks
being
driven
to
their
fortifications
before
the
ships,)
and
gives
orders
to
keep
the
watch
all
night
in
the
camp,
to
prevent
the
enemy
from
re-embarking
and
escaping
by
flight.
They
kindle
fires
through
all
the
fields,
and
pass
the
night
under
arms.
The
time
of
seven
and
twenty
days
is
employed
from
the
opening
of
the
poem
to
the
end
of
this
book.
The
scene
here
(except
of
the
celestial
machines)
lies
in
the
field
towards
the
seashore.
Aurora
now,
fair
daughter
of
the
dawn,
Sprinkled
with
rosy
light
the
dewy
lawn;
When
Jove
convened
the
senate
of
the
skies,
Where
high
Olympus'
cloudy
tops
arise,
The
sire
of
gods
his
awful
silence
broke;
The
heavens
attentive
trembled
as
he
spoke:
"Celestial
states!
immortal
gods!
give
ear,
Hear
our
decree,
and
reverence
what
ye
hear;
The
fix'd
decree
which
not
all
heaven
can
move;
Thou,
fate!
fulfil
it!
and,
ye
powers,
approve!
What
god
but
enters
yon
forbidden
field,
Who
yields
assistance,
or
but
wills
to
yield,
Back
to
the
skies
with
shame
he
shall
be
driven,
Gash'd
with
dishonest
wounds,
the
scorn
of
heaven;
Or
far,
oh
far,
from
steep
Olympus
thrown,
Low
in
the
dark
Tartarean
gulf
shall
groan,
With
burning
chains
fix'd
to
the
brazen
floors,
And
lock'd
by
hell's
inexorable
doors;
As
deep
beneath
the
infernal
centre
hurl'd,(190)
As
from
that
centre
to
the
ethereal
world.
Let
him
who
tempts
me,
dread
those
dire
abodes:
And
know,
the
Almighty
is
the
god
of
gods.
League
all
your
forces,
then,
ye
powers
above,
Join
all,
and
try
the
omnipotence
of
Jove.
Let
down
our
golden
everlasting
chain(191)
Whose
strong
embrace
holds
heaven,
and
earth,
and
main
Strive
all,
of
mortal
and
immortal
birth,
To
drag,
by
this,
the
Thunderer
down
to
earth
Ye
strive
in
vain!
if
I
but
stretch
this
hand,
I
heave
the
gods,
the
ocean,
and
the
land;
I
fix
the
chain
to
great
Olympus'
height,
And
the
vast
world
hangs
trembling
in
my
sight!
For
such
I
reign,
unbounded
and
above;
And
such
are
men,
and
gods,
compared
to
Jove."
The
all-mighty
spoke,
nor
durst
the
powers
reply:
A
reverend
horror
silenced
all
the
sky;
Trembling
they
stood
before
their
sovereign's
look;
At
length
his
best-beloved,
the
power
of
wisdom,
spoke:
"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."
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.
Now
had
the
Grecians
snatch'd
a
short
repast,
And
buckled
on
their
shining
arms
with
haste.
Troy
roused
as
soon;
for
on
this
dreadful
day
The
fate
of
fathers,
wives,
and
infants
lay.
The
gates
unfolding
pour
forth
all
their
train;
Squadrons
on
squadrons
cloud
the
dusky
plain:
Men,
steeds,
and
chariots
shake
the
trembling
ground,
The
tumult
thickens,
and
the
skies
resound;
And
now
with
shouts
the
shocking
armies
closed,
To
lances
lances,
shields
to
shields
opposed,
Host
against
host
with
shadowy
legends
drew,
The
sounding
darts
in
iron
tempests
flew;
Victors
and
vanquish'd
join
promiscuous
cries,
Triumphant
shouts
and
dying
groans
arise;
With
streaming
blood
the
slippery
fields
are
dyed,
And
slaughter'd
heroes
swell
the
dreadful
tide.
Long
as
the
morning
beams,
increasing
bright,
O'er
heaven's
clear
azure
spread
the
sacred
light,
Commutual
death
the
fate
of
war
confounds,
Each
adverse
battle
gored
with
equal
wounds.
But
when
the
sun
the
height
of
heaven
ascends,
The
sire
of
gods
his
golden
scales
suspends,(192)
With
equal
hand:
in
these
explored
the
fate
Of
Greece
and
Troy,
and
poised
the
mighty
weight:
Press'd
with
its
load,
the
Grecian
balance
lies
Low
sunk
on
earth,
the
Trojan
strikes
the
skies.
Then
Jove
from
Ida's
top
his
horrors
spreads;
The
clouds
burst
dreadful
o'er
the
Grecian
heads;
Thick
lightnings
flash;
the
muttering
thunder
rolls;
Their
strength
he
withers,
and
unmans
their
souls.
Before
his
wrath
the
trembling
hosts
retire;
The
gods
in
terrors,
and
the
skies
on
fire.
Nor
great
Idomeneus
that
sight
could
bear,
Nor
each
stern
Ajax,
thunderbolts
of
war:
Nor
he,
the
king
of
war,
the
alarm
sustain'd
Nestor
alone,
amidst
the
storm
remain'd.
Unwilling
he
remain'd,
for
Paris'
dart
Had
pierced
his
courser
in
a
mortal
part;
Fix'd
in
the
forehead,
where
the
springing
man
Curl'd
o'er
the
brow,
it
stung
him
to
the
brain;
Mad
with
his
anguish,
he
begins
to
rear,
Paw
with
his
hoofs
aloft,
and
lash
the
air.
Scarce
had
his
falchion
cut
the
reins,
and
freed
The
encumber'd
chariot
from
the
dying
steed,
When
dreadful
Hector,
thundering
through
the
war,
Pour'd
to
the
tumult
on
his
whirling
car.
That
day
had
stretch'd
beneath
his
matchless
hand
The
hoary
monarch
of
the
Pylian
band,
But
Diomed
beheld;
from
forth
the
crowd
He
rush'd,
and
on
Ulysses
call'd
aloud:
"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:
"Great
perils,
father!
wait
the
unequal
fight;
These
younger
champions
will
oppress
thy
might.
Thy
veins
no
more
with
ancient
vigour
glow,
Weak
is
thy
servant,
and
thy
coursers
slow.
Then
haste,
ascend
my
seat,
and
from
the
car
Observe
the
steeds
of
Tros,
renown'd
in
war.
Practised
alike
to
turn,
to
stop,
to
chase,
To
dare
the
fight,
or
urge
the
rapid
race:
These
late
obey'd
Ęneas'
guiding
rein;
Leave
thou
thy
chariot
to
our
faithful
train;
With
these
against
yon
Trojans
will
we
go,
Nor
shall
great
Hector
want
an
equal
foe;
Fierce
as
he
is,
even
he
may
learn
to
fear
The
thirsty
fury
of
my
flying
spear."
Thus
said
the
chief;
and
Nestor,
skill'd
in
war,
Approves
his
counsel,
and
ascends
the
car:
The
steeds
he
left,
their
trusty
servants
hold;
Eurymedon,
and
Sthenelus
the
bold:
The
reverend
charioteer
directs
the
course,
And
strains
his
aged
arm
to
lash
the
horse.
Hector
they
face;
unknowing
how
to
fear,
Fierce
he
drove
on;
Tydides
whirl'd
his
spear.
The
spear
with
erring
haste
mistook
its
way,
But
plunged
in
Eniopeus'
bosom
lay.
His
opening
hand
in
death
forsakes
the
rein;
The
steeds
fly
back:
he
falls,
and
spurns
the
plain.
Great
Hector
sorrows
for
his
servant
kill'd,
Yet
unrevenged
permits
to
press
the
field;
Till,
to
supply
his
place
and
rule
the
car,
Rose
Archeptolemus,
the
fierce
in
war.
And
now
had
death
and
horror
cover'd
all;(193)
Like
timorous
flocks
the
Trojans
in
their
wall
Inclosed
had
bled:
but
Jove
with
awful
sound
Roll'd
the
big
thunder
o'er
the
vast
profound:
Full
in
Tydides'
face
the
lightning
flew;
The
ground
before
him
flamed
with
sulphur
blue;
The
quivering
steeds
fell
prostrate
at
the
sight;
And
Nestor's
trembling
hand
confess'd
his
fright:
He
dropp'd
the
reins:
and,
shook
with
sacred
dread,
Thus,
turning,
warn'd
the
intrepid
Diomed:
"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."
"O
reverend
prince!
(Tydides
thus
replies)
Thy
years
are
awful,
and
thy
words
are
wise.
But
ah,
what
grief!
should
haughty
Hector
boast
I
fled
inglorious
to
the
guarded
coast.
Before
that
dire
disgrace
shall
blast
my
fame,
O'erwhelm
me,
earth;
and
hide
a
warrior's
shame!"
To
whom
Gerenian
Nestor
thus
replied:(194)
"Gods!
can
thy
courage
fear
the
Phrygian's
pride?
Hector
may
vaunt,
but
who
shall
heed
the
boast?
Not
those
who
felt
thy
arm,
the
Dardan
host,
Nor
Troy,
yet
bleeding
in
her
heroes
lost;
Not
even
a
Phrygian
dame,
who
dreads
the
sword
That
laid
in
dust
her
loved,
lamented
lord."
He
said,
and,
hasty,
o'er
the
gasping
throng
Drives
the
swift
steeds:
the
chariot
smokes
along;
The
shouts
of
Trojans
thicken
in
the
wind;
The
storm
of
hissing
javelins
pours
behind.
Then
with
a
voice
that
shakes
the
solid
skies,
Pleased,
Hector
braves
the
warrior
as
he
flies.
"Go,
mighty
hero!
graced
above
the
rest
In
seats
of
council
and
the
sumptuous
feast:
Now
hope
no
more
those
honours
from
thy
train;
Go
less
than
woman,
in
the
form
of
man!
To
scale
our
walls,
to
wrap
our
towers
in
flames,
To
lead
in
exile
the
fair
Phrygian
dames,
Thy
once
proud
hopes,
presumptuous
prince!
are
fled;
This
arm
shall
reach
thy
heart,
and
stretch
thee
dead."
Now
fears
dissuade
him,
and
now
hopes
invite.
To
stop
his
coursers,
and
to
stand
the
fight;
Thrice
turn'd
the
chief,
and
thrice
imperial
Jove
On
Ida's
summits
thunder'd
from
above.
Great
Hector
heard;
he
saw
the
flashing
light,
(The
sign
of
conquest,)
and
thus
urged
the
fight:
"Hear,
every
Trojan,
Lycian,
Dardan
band,
All
famed
in
war,
and
dreadful
hand
to
hand.
Be
mindful
of
the
wreaths
your
arms
have
won,
Your
great
forefathers'
glories,
and
your
own.
Heard
ye
the
voice
of
Jove?
Success
and
fame
Await
on
Troy,
on
Greece
eternal
shame.
In
vain
they
skulk
behind
their
boasted
wall,
Weak
bulwarks;
destined
by
this
arm
to
fall.
High
o'er
their
slighted
trench
our
steeds
shall
bound,
And
pass
victorious
o'er
the
levell'd
mound.
Soon
as
before
yon
hollow
ships
we
stand,
Fight
each
with
flames,
and
toss
the
blazing
brand;
Till,
their
proud
navy
wrapt
in
smoke
and
fires,
All
Greece,
encompass'd,
in
one
blaze
expires."
Furious
he
said;
then
bending
o'er
the
yoke,
Encouraged
his
proud
steeds,
while
thus
he
spoke:
"Now,
Xanthus,
Ęthon,
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
Aetion'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!"
That
heard,
deep
anguish
stung
Saturnia's
soul;
She
shook
her
throne,
that
shook
the
starry
pole:
And
thus
to
Neptune:
"Thou,
whose
force
can
make
The
stedfast
earth
from
her
foundations
shake,
Seest
thou
the
Greeks
by
fates
unjust
oppress'd,
Nor
swells
thy
heart
in
that
immortal
breast?
Yet
Ęgae,
Helice,
thy
power
obey,(195)
And
gifts
unceasing
on
thine
altars
lay.
Would
all
the
deities
of
Greece
combine,
In
vain
the
gloomy
Thunderer
might
repine:
Sole
should
he
sit,
with
scarce
a
god
to
friend,
And
see
his
Trojans
to
the
shades
descend:
Such
be
the
scene
from
his
Idaean
bower;
Ungrateful
prospect
to
the
sullen
power!"
Neptune
with
wrath
rejects
the
rash
design:
"What
rage,
what
madness,
furious
queen!
is
thine?
I
war
not
with
the
highest.
All
above
Submit
and
tremble
at
the
hand
of
Jove."
Now
godlike
Hector,
to
whose
matchless
might
Jove
gave
the
glory
of
the
destined
fight,
Squadrons
on
squadrons
drives,
and
fills
the
fields
With
close-ranged
chariots,
and
with
thicken'd
shields.
Where
the
deep
trench
in
length
extended
lay,
Compacted
troops
stand
wedged
in
firm
array,
A
dreadful
front!
they
shake
the
brands,
and
threat
With
long-destroying
flames
the
hostile
fleet.
The
king
of
men,
by
Juno's
self
inspired,
Toil'd
through
the
tents,
and
all
his
army
fired.
Swift
as
he
moved,
he
lifted
in
his
hand
His
purple
robe,
bright
ensign
of
command.
High
on
the
midmost
bark
the
king
appear'd:
There,
from
Ulysses'
deck,
his
voice
was
heard:
To
Ajax
and
Achilles
reach'd
the
sound,
Whose
distant
ships
the
guarded
navy
bound.
"O
Argives!
shame
of
human
race!
(he
cried:
The
hollow
vessels
to
his
voice
replied,)
Where
now
are
all
your
glorious
boasts
of
yore,
Your
hasty
triumphs
on
the
Lemnian
shore?
Each
fearless
hero
dares
a
hundred
foes,
While
the
feast
lasts,
and
while
the
goblet
flows;
But
who
to
meet
one
martial
man
is
found,
When
the
fight
rages,
and
the
flames
surround?
O
mighty
Jove!
O
sire
of
the
distress'd!
Was
ever
king
like
me,
like
me
oppress'd?
With
power
immense,
with
justice
arm'd
in
vain;
My
glory
ravish'd,
and
my
people
slain!
To
thee
my
vows
were
breathed
from
every
shore;
What
altar
smoked
not
with
our
victims'
gore?
With
fat
of
bulls
I
fed
the
constant
flame,
And
ask'd
destruction
to
the
Trojan
name.
Now,
gracious
god!
far
humbler
our
demand;
Give
these
at
least
to
'scape
from
Hector's
hand,
And
save
the
relics
of
the
Grecian
land!"
Thus
pray'd
the
king,
and
heaven's
great
father
heard
His
vows,
in
bitterness
of
soul
preferr'd:
The
wrath
appeased,
by
happy
signs
declares,
And
gives
the
people
to
their
monarch's
prayers.
His
eagle,
sacred
bird
of
heaven!
he
sent,
A
fawn
his
talons
truss'd,
(divine
portent!)
High
o'er
the
wondering
hosts
he
soar'd
above,
Who
paid
their
vows
to
Panomphaean
Jove;
Then
let
the
prey
before
his
altar
fall;
The
Greeks
beheld,
and
transport
seized
on
all:
Encouraged
by
the
sign,
the
troops
revive,
And
fierce
on
Troy
with
doubled
fury
drive.
Tydides
first,
of
all
the
Grecian
force,
O'er
the
broad
ditch
impell'd
his
foaming
horse,
Pierced
the
deep
ranks,
their
strongest
battle
tore,
And
dyed
his
javelin
red
with
Trojan
gore.
Young
Agelaus
(Phradmon
was
his
sire)
With
flying
coursers
shunn'd
his
dreadful
ire;
Struck
through
the
back,
the
Phrygian
fell
oppress'd;
The
dart
drove
on,
and
issued
at
his
breast:
Headlong
he
quits
the
car:
his
arms
resound;
His
ponderous
buckler
thunders
on
the
ground.
Forth
rush
a
tide
of
Greeks,
the
passage
freed;
The
Atridae
first,
the
Ajaces
next
succeed:
Meriones,
like
Mars
in
arms
renown'd,
And
godlike
Idomen,
now
passed
the
mound;
Evaemon's
son
next
issues
to
the
foe,
And
last
young
Teucer
with
his
bended
bow.
Secure
behind
the
Telamonian
shield
The
skilful
archer
wide
survey'd
the
field,
With
every
shaft
some
hostile
victim
slew,
Then
close
beneath
the
sevenfold
orb
withdrew:
The
conscious
infant
so,
when
fear
alarms,
Retires
for
safety
to
the
mother's
arms.
Thus
Ajax
guards
his
brother
in
the
field,
Moves
as
he
moves,
and
turns
the
shining
shield.
Who
first
by
Teucer's
mortal
arrows
bled?
Orsilochus;
then
fell
Ormenus
dead:
The
godlike
Lycophon
next
press'd
the
plain,
With
Chromius,
Daetor,
Ophelestes
slain:
Bold
Hamopaon
breathless
sunk
to
ground;
The
bloody
pile
great
Melanippus
crown'd.
Heaps
fell
on
heaps,
sad
trophies
of
his
art,
A
Trojan
ghost
attending
every
dart.
Great
Agamemnon
views
with
joyful
eye
The
ranks
grow
thinner
as
his
arrows
fly:
"O
youth
forever
dear!
(the
monarch
cried)
Thus,
always
thus,
thy
early
worth
be
tried;
Thy
brave
example
shall
retrieve
our
host,
Thy
country's
saviour,
and
thy
father's
boast!
Sprung
from
an
alien's
bed
thy
sire
to
grace,
The
vigorous
offspring
of
a
stolen
embrace:
Proud
of
his
boy,
he
own'd
the
generous
flame,
And
the
brave
son
repays
his
cares
with
fame.
Now
hear
a
monarch's
vow:
If
heaven's
high
powers
Give
me
to
raze
Troy's
long-defended
towers;
Whatever
treasures
Greece
for
me
design,
The
next
rich
honorary
gift
be
thine:
Some
golden
tripod,
or
distinguished
car,
With
coursers
dreadful
in
the
ranks
of
war:
Or
some
fair
captive,
whom
thy
eyes
approve,
Shall
recompense
the
warrior's
toils
with
love."
To
this
the
chief:
"With
praise
the
rest
inspire,
Nor
urge
a
soul
already
fill'd
with
fire.
What
strength
I
have,
be
now
in
battle
tried,
Till
every
shaft
in
Phrygian
blood
be
dyed.
Since
rallying
from
our
wall
we
forced
the
foe,
Still
aim'd
at
Hector
have
I
bent
my
bow:
Eight
forky
arrows
from
this
hand
have
fled,
And
eight
bold
heroes
by
their
points
lie
dead:
But
sure
some
god
denies
me
to
destroy
This
fury
of
the
field,
this
dog
of
Troy."
He
said,
and
twang'd
the
string.
The
weapon
flies
At
Hector's
breast,
and
sings
along
the
skies:
He
miss'd
the
mark;
but
pierced
Gorgythio's
heart,
And
drench'd
in
royal
blood
the
thirsty
dart.
(Fair
Castianira,
nymph
of
form
divine,
This
offspring
added
to
king
Priam's
line.)
As
full-blown
poppies,
overcharged
with
rain,(196)
Decline
the
head,
and
drooping
kiss
the
plain;
So
sinks
the
youth:
his
beauteous
head,
depress'd
Beneath
his
helmet,
drops
upon
his
breast.
Another
shaft
the
raging
archer
drew,
That
other
shaft
with
erring
fury
flew,
(From
Hector,
Phoebus
turn'd
the
flying
wound,)
Yet
fell
not
dry
or
guiltless
to
the
ground:
Thy
breast,
brave
Archeptolemus!
it
tore,
And
dipp'd
its
feathers
in
no
vulgar
gore.
Headlong
he
falls:
his
sudden
fall
alarms
The
steeds,
that
startle
at
his
sounding
arms.
Hector
with
grief
his
charioteer
beheld
All
pale
and
breathless
on
the
sanguine
field:
Then
bids
Cebriones
direct
the
rein,
Quits
his
bright
car,
and
issues
on
the
plain.
Dreadful
he
shouts:
from
earth
a
stone
he
took,
And
rush'd
on
Teucer
with
the
lifted
rock.
The
youth
already
strain'd
the
forceful
yew;
The
shaft
already
to
his
shoulder
drew;
The
feather
in
his
hand,
just
wing'd
for
flight,
Touch'd
where
the
neck
and
hollow
chest
unite;
There,
where
the
juncture
knits
the
channel
bone,
The
furious
chief
discharged
the
craggy
stone:
The
bow-string
burst
beneath
the
ponderous
blow,
And
his
numb'd
hand
dismiss'd
his
useless
bow.
He
fell:
but
Ajax
his
broad
shield
display'd,
And
screen'd
his
brother
with
the
mighty
shade;
Till
great
Alaster,
and
Mecistheus,
bore
The
batter'd
archer
groaning
to
the
shore.
Troy
yet
found
grace
before
the
Olympian
sire,
He
arm'd
their
hands,
and
fill'd
their
breasts
with
fire.
The
Greeks
repulsed,
retreat
behind
their
wall,
Or
in
the
trench
on
heaps
confusedly
fall.
First
of
the
foe,
great
Hector
march'd
along,
With
terror
clothed,
and
more
than
mortal
strong.
As
the
bold
hound,
that
gives
the
lion
chase,
With
beating
bosom,
and
with
eager
pace,
Hangs
on
his
haunch,
or
fastens
on
his
heels,
Guards
as
he
turns,
and
circles
as
he
wheels;
Thus
oft
the
Grecians
turn'd,
but
still
they
flew;
Thus
following,
Hector
still
the
hindmost
slew.
When
flying
they
had
pass'd
the
trench
profound,
And
many
a
chief
lay
gasping
on
the
ground;
Before
the
ships
a
desperate
stand
they
made,
And
fired
the
troops,
and
called
the
gods
to
aid.
Fierce
on
his
rattling
chariot
Hector
came:
His
eyes
like
Gorgon
shot
a
sanguine
flame
That
wither'd
all
their
host:
like
Mars
he
stood:
Dire
as
the
monster,
dreadful
as
the
god!
Their
strong
distress
the
wife
of
Jove
survey'd;
Then
pensive
thus,
to
war's
triumphant
maid:
"O
daughter
of
that
god,
whose
arm
can
wield
The
avenging
bolt,
and
shake
the
sable
shield!
Now,
in
this
moment
of
her
last
despair,
Shall
wretched
Greece
no
more
confess
our
care,
Condemn'd
to
suffer
the
full
force
of
fate,
And
drain
the
dregs
of
heaven's
relentless
hate?
Gods!
shall
one
raging
hand
thus
level
all?
What
numbers
fell!
what
numbers
yet
shall
fall!
What
power
divine
shall
Hector's
wrath
assuage?
Still
swells
the
slaughter,
and
still
grows
the
rage!"
So
spake
the
imperial
regent
of
the
skies;
To
whom
the
goddess
with
the
azure
eyes:
"Long
since
had
Hector
stain'd
these
fields
with
gore,
Stretch'd
by
some
Argive
on
his
native
shore:
But
he
above,
the
sire
of
heaven,
withstands,
Mocks
our
attempts,
and
slights
our
just
demands;
The
stubborn
god,
inflexible
and
hard,
Forgets
my
service
and
deserved
reward:
Saved
I,
for
this,
his
favourite
son
distress'd,
By
stern
Eurystheus
with
long
labours
press'd?
He
begg'd,
with
tears
he
begg'd,
in
deep
dismay;
I
shot
from
heaven,
and
gave
his
arm
the
day.
Oh
had
my
wisdom
known
this
dire
event,
When
to
grim
Pluto's
gloomy
gates
he
went;
The
triple
dog
had
never
felt
his
chain,
Nor
Styx
been
cross'd,
nor
hell
explored
in
vain.
Averse
to
me
of
all
his
heaven
of
gods,
At
Thetis'
suit
the
partial
Thunderer
nods;
To
grace
her
gloomy,
fierce,
resenting
son,
My
hopes
are
frustrate,
and
my
Greeks
undone.
Some
future
day,
perhaps,
he
may
be
moved
To
call
his
blue-eyed
maid
his
best
beloved.
Haste,
launch
thy
chariot,
through
yon
ranks
to
ride;
Myself
will
arm,
and
thunder
at
thy
side.
Then,
goddess!
say,
shall
Hector
glory
then?
(That
terror
of
the
Greeks,
that
man
of
men)
When
Juno's
self,
and
Pallas
shall
appear,
All
dreadful
in
the
crimson
walks
of
war!
What
mighty
Trojan
then,
on
yonder
shore,
Expiring,
pale,
and
terrible
no
more,
Shall
feast
the
fowls,
and
glut
the
dogs
with
gore?"
She
ceased,
and
Juno
rein'd
the
steeds
with
care:
(Heaven's
awful
empress,
Saturn's
other
heir:)
Pallas,
meanwhile,
her
various
veil
unbound,
With
flowers
adorn'd,
with
art
immortal
crown'd;
The
radiant
robe
her
sacred
fingers
wove
Floats
in
rich
waves,
and
spreads
the
court
of
Jove.
Her
father's
arms
her
mighty
limbs
invest,
His
cuirass
blazes
on
her
ample
breast.
The
vigorous
power
the
trembling
car
ascends:
Shook
by
her
arm,
the
massy
javelin
bends:
Huge,
ponderous,
strong!
that
when
her
fury
burns
Proud
tyrants
humbles,
and
whole
hosts
o'erturns.
Saturnia
lends
the
lash;
the
coursers
fly;
Smooth
glides
the
chariot
through
the
liquid
sky.
Heaven's
gates
spontaneous
open
to
the
powers,
Heaven's
golden
gates,
kept
by
the
winged
Hours.
Commission'd
in
alternate
watch
they
stand,
The
sun's
bright
portals
and
the
skies
command;
Close,
or
unfold,
the
eternal
gates
of
day
Bar
heaven
with
clouds,
or
roll
those
clouds
away.
The
sounding
hinges
ring,
the
clouds
divide.
Prone
down
the
steep
of
heaven
their
course
they
guide.
But
Jove,
incensed,
from
Ida's
top
survey'd,
And
thus
enjoin'd
the
many-colour'd
maid.
[Illustration:
JUNO
AND
MINERVA
GOING
TO
ASSIST
THE
GREEKS.]
JUNO
AND
MINERVA
GOING
TO
ASSIST
THE
GREEKS.
"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."
Swift
as
the
wind,
the
various-colour'd
maid
From
Ida's
top
her
golden
wings
display'd;
To
great
Olympus'
shining
gate
she
flies,
There
meets
the
chariot
rushing
down
the
skies,
Restrains
their
progress
from
the
bright
abodes,
And
speaks
the
mandate
of
the
sire
of
gods.
"What
frenzy
goddesses!
what
rage
can
move
Celestial
minds
to
tempt
the
wrath
of
Jove?
Desist,
obedient
to
his
high
command:
This
is
his
word;
and
know
his
word
shall
stand:
His
lightning
your
rebellion
shall
confound,
And
hurl
ye
headlong,
flaming,
to
the
ground;
Your
horses
crush'd
beneath
the
wheels
shall
lie,
Your
car
in
fragments
scatter'd
o'er
the
sky;
Yourselves
condemn'd
ten
rolling
years
to
weep
The
wounds
impress'd
by
burning
thunder
deep.
So
shall
Minerva
learn
to
fear
his
ire,
Nor
dare
to
combat
hers
and
nature's
sire.
For
Juno,
headstrong
and
imperious
still,
She
claims
some
title
to
transgress
his
will:
But
thee,
what
desperate
insolence
has
driven
To
lift
thy
lance
against
the
king
of
heaven?"
Then,
mounting
on
the
pinions
of
the
wind,
She
flew;
and
Juno
thus
her
rage
resign'd:
"O
daughter
of
that
god,
whose
arm
can
wield
The
avenging
bolt,
and
shake
the
dreadful
shield
No
more
let
beings
of
superior
birth
Contend
with
Jove
for
this
low
race
of
earth;
Triumphant
now,
now
miserably
slain,
They
breathe
or
perish
as
the
fates
ordain:
But
Jove's
high
counsels
full
effect
shall
find;
And,
ever
constant,
ever
rule
mankind."
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.
[Illustration:
THE
HOURS
TAKING
THE
HORSES
FROM
JUNO'S
CAR.]
THE
HOURS
TAKING
THE
HORSES
FROM
JUNO'S
CAR.
And
now
the
Thunderer
meditates
his
flight
From
Ida's
summits
to
the
Olympian
height.
Swifter
than
thought,
the
wheels
instinctive
fly,
Flame
through
the
vast
of
air,
and
reach
the
sky.
'Twas
Neptune's
charge
his
coursers
to
unbrace,
And
fix
the
car
on
its
immortal
base;
There
stood
the
chariot,
beaming
forth
its
rays,
Till
with
a
snowy
veil
he
screen'd
the
blaze.
He,
whose
all-conscious
eyes
the
world
behold,
The
eternal
Thunderer
sat,
enthroned
in
gold.
High
heaven
the
footstool
of
his
feet
he
makes,
And
wide
beneath
him
all
Olympus
shakes.
Trembling
afar
the
offending
powers
appear'd,
Confused
and
silent,
for
his
frown
they
fear'd.
He
saw
their
soul,
and
thus
his
word
imparts:
"Pallas
and
Juno!
say,
why
heave
your
hearts?
Soon
was
your
battle
o'er:
proud
Troy
retired
Before
your
face,
and
in
your
wrath
expired.
But
know,
whoe'er
almighty
power
withstand!
Unmatch'd
our
force,
unconquer'd
is
our
hand:
Who
shall
the
sovereign
of
the
skies
control?
Not
all
the
gods
that
crown
the
starry
pole.
Your
hearts
shall
tremble,
if
our
arms
we
take,
And
each
immortal
nerve
with
horror
shake.
For
thus
I
speak,
and
what
I
speak
shall
stand;
What
power
soe'er
provokes
our
lifted
hand,
On
this
our
hill
no
more
shall
hold
his
place;
Cut
off,
and
exiled
from
the
ethereal
race."
Juno
and
Pallas
grieving
hear
the
doom,
But
feast
their
souls
on
Ilion's
woes
to
come.
Though
secret
anger
swell'd
Minerva's
breast,
The
prudent
goddess
yet
her
wrath
repress'd;
But
Juno,
impotent
of
rage,
replies:
"What
hast
thou
said,
O
tyrant
of
the
skies!
Strength
and
omnipotence
invest
thy
throne;
'Tis
thine
to
punish;
ours
to
grieve
alone.
For
Greece
we
grieve,
abandon'd
by
her
fate
To
drink
the
dregs
of
thy
unmeasured
hate.
From
fields
forbidden
we
submiss
refrain,
With
arms
unaiding
see
our
Argives
slain;
Yet
grant
our
counsels
still
their
breasts
may
move,
Lest
all
should
perish
in
the
rage
of
Jove."
The
goddess
thus;
and
thus
the
god
replies,
Who
swells
the
clouds,
and
blackens
all
the
skies:
"The
morning
sun,
awaked
by
loud
alarms,
Shall
see
the
almighty
Thunderer
in
arms.
What
heaps
of
Argives
then
shall
load
the
plain,
Those
radiant
eyes
shall
view,
and
view
in
vain.
Nor
shall
great
Hector
cease
the
rage
of
fight,
The
navy
flaming,
and
thy
Greeks
in
flight,
Even
till
the
day
when
certain
fates
ordain
That
stern
Achilles
(his
Patroclus
slain)
Shall
rise
in
vengeance,
and
lay
waste
the
plain.
For
such
is
fate,
nor
canst
thou
turn
its
course
With
all
thy
rage,
with
all
thy
rebel
force.
Fly,
if
thy
wilt,
to
earth's
remotest
bound,
Where
on
her
utmost
verge
the
seas
resound;
Where
cursed
Iapetus
and
Saturn
dwell,
Fast
by
the
brink,
within
the
streams
of
hell;
No
sun
e'er
gilds
the
gloomy
horrors
there;
No
cheerful
gales
refresh
the
lazy
air:
There
arm
once
more
the
bold
Titanian
band;
And
arm
in
vain;
for
what
I
will,
shall
stand."
Now
deep
in
ocean
sunk
the
lamp
of
light,
And
drew
behind
the
cloudy
veil
of
night:
The
conquering
Trojans
mourn
his
beams
decay'd;
The
Greeks
rejoicing
bless
the
friendly
shade.
The
victors
keep
the
field;
and
Hector
calls
A
martial
council
near
the
navy
walls;
These
to
Scamander's
bank
apart
he
led,
Where
thinly
scatter'd
lay
the
heaps
of
dead.
The
assembled
chiefs,
descending
on
the
ground,
Attend
his
order,
and
their
prince
surround.
A
massy
spear
he
bore
of
mighty
strength,
Of
full
ten
cubits
was
the
lance's
length;
The
point
was
brass,
refulgent
to
behold,
Fix'd
to
the
wood
with
circling
rings
of
gold:
The
noble
Hector
on
his
lance
reclined,
And,
bending
forward,
thus
reveal'd
his
mind:
"Ye
valiant
Trojans,
with
attention
hear!
Ye
Dardan
bands,
and
generous
aids,
give
ear!
This
day,
we
hoped,
would
wrap
in
conquering
flame
Greece
with
her
ships,
and
crown
our
toils
with
fame.
But
darkness
now,
to
save
the
cowards,
falls,
And
guards
them
trembling
in
their
wooden
walls.
Obey
the
night,
and
use
her
peaceful
hours
Our
steeds
to
forage,
and
refresh
our
powers.
Straight
from
the
town
be
sheep
and
oxen
sought,
And
strengthening
bread
and
generous
wine
be
brought
Wide
o'er
the
field,
high
blazing
to
the
sky,
Let
numerous
fires
the
absent
sun
supply,
The
flaming
piles
with
plenteous
fuel
raise,
Till
the
bright
morn
her
purple
beam
displays;
Lest,
in
the
silence
and
the
shades
of
night,
Greece
on
her
sable
ships
attempt
her
flight.
Not
unmolested
let
the
wretches
gain
Their
lofty
decks,
or
safely
cleave
the
main;
Some
hostile
wound
let
every
dart
bestow,
Some
lasting
token
of
the
Phrygian
foe,
Wounds,
that
long
hence
may
ask
their
spouses'
care.
And
warn
their
children
from
a
Trojan
war.
Now
through
the
circuit
of
our
Ilion
wall,
Let
sacred
heralds
sound
the
solemn
call;
To
bid
the
sires
with
hoary
honours
crown'd,
And
beardless
youths,
our
battlements
surround.
Firm
be
the
guard,
while
distant
lie
our
powers,
And
let
the
matrons
hang
with
lights
the
towers;
Lest,
under
covert
of
the
midnight
shade,
The
insidious
foe
the
naked
town
invade.
Suffice,
to-night,
these
orders
to
obey;
A
nobler
charge
shall
rouse
the
dawning
day.
The
gods,
I
trust,
shall
give
to
Hector's
hand
From
these
detested
foes
to
free
the
land,
Who
plough'd,
with
fates
averse,
the
watery
way:
For
Trojan
vultures
a
predestined
prey.
Our
common
safety
must
be
now
the
care;
But
soon
as
morning
paints
the
fields
of
air,
Sheathed
in
bright
arms
let
every
troop
engage,
And
the
fired
fleet
behold
the
battle
rage.
Then,
then
shall
Hector
and
Tydides
prove
Whose
fates
are
heaviest
in
the
scales
of
Jove.
To-morrow's
light
(O
haste
the
glorious
morn!)
Shall
see
his
bloody
spoils
in
triumph
borne,
With
this
keen
javelin
shall
his
breast
be
gored,
And
prostrate
heroes
bleed
around
their
lord.
Certain
as
this,
oh!
might
my
days
endure,
From
age
inglorious,
and
black
death
secure;
So
might
my
life
and
glory
know
no
bound,
Like
Pallas
worshipp'd,
like
the
sun
renown'd!
As
the
next
dawn,
the
last
they
shall
enjoy,
Shall
crush
the
Greeks,
and
end
the
woes
of
Troy."
The
leader
spoke.
From
all
his
host
around
Shouts
of
applause
along
the
shores
resound.
Each
from
the
yoke
the
smoking
steeds
untied,
And
fix'd
their
headstalls
to
his
chariot-side.
Fat
sheep
and
oxen
from
the
town
are
led,
With
generous
wine,
and
all-sustaining
bread,
Full
hecatombs
lay
burning
on
the
shore:
The
winds
to
heaven
the
curling
vapours
bore.
Ungrateful
offering
to
the
immortal
powers!(197)
Whose
wrath
hung
heavy
o'er
the
Trojan
towers:
Nor
Priam
nor
his
sons
obtain'd
their
grace;
Proud
Troy
they
hated,
and
her
guilty
race.
The
troops
exulting
sat
in
order
round,
And
beaming
fires
illumined
all
the
ground.
As
when
the
moon,
refulgent
lamp
of
night,(198)
O'er
heaven's
pure
azure
spreads
her
sacred
light,
When
not
a
breath
disturbs
the
deep
serene,
And
not
a
cloud
o'ercasts
the
solemn
scene,
Around
her
throne
the
vivid
planets
roll,
And
stars
unnumber'd
gild
the
glowing
pole,
O'er
the
dark
trees
a
yellower
verdure
shed,
And
tip
with
silver
every
mountain's
head:
Then
shine
the
vales,
the
rocks
in
prospect
rise,
A
flood
of
glory
bursts
from
all
the
skies:
The
conscious
swains,
rejoicing
in
the
sight,
Eye
the
blue
vault,
and
bless
the
useful
light.
So
many
flames
before
proud
Ilion
blaze,
And
lighten
glimmering
Xanthus
with
their
rays.
The
long
reflections
of
the
distant
fires
Gleam
on
the
walls,
and
tremble
on
the
spires.
A
thousand
piles
the
dusky
horrors
gild,
And
shoot
a
shady
lustre
o'er
the
field.
Full
fifty
guards
each
flaming
pile
attend,
Whose
umber'd
arms,
by
fits,
thick
flashes
send,
Loud
neigh
the
coursers
o'er
their
heaps
of
corn,
And
ardent
warriors
wait
the
rising
morn.
[Illustration:
THE
SHIELD
OF
ACHILLES.]
THE
SHIELD
OF
ACHILLES.
BOOK
IX.
ARGUMENT.
THE
EMBASSY
TO
ACHILLES.
Agamemnon,
after
the
last
day's
defeat,
proposes
to
the
Greeks
to
quit
the
siege,
and
return
to
their
country.
Diomed
opposes
this,
and
Nestor
seconds
him,
praising
his
wisdom
and
resolution.
He
orders
the
guard
to
be
strengthened,
and
a
council
summoned
to
deliberate
what
measures
are
to
be
followed
in
this
emergency.
Agamemnon
pursues
this
advice,
and
Nestor
further
prevails
upon
him
to
send
ambassadors
to
Achilles,
in
order
to
move
him
to
a
reconciliation.
Ulysses
and
Ajax
are
made
choice
of,
who
are
accompanied
by
old
Phoenix.
They
make,
each
of
them,
very
moving
and
pressing
speeches,
but
are
rejected
with
roughness
by
Achilles,
who
notwithstanding
retains
Phoenix
in
his
tent.
The
ambassadors
return
unsuccessfully
to
the
camp,
and
the
troops
betake
themselves
to
sleep.
This
book,
and
the
next
following,
take
up
the
space
of
one
night,
which
is
the
twenty-seventh
from
the
beginning
of
the
poem.
The
scene
lies
on
the
sea-shore,
the
station
of
the
Grecian
ships.
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
Ęgean
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:
"Ye
sons
of
Greece!
partake
your
leader's
care;
Fellows
in
arms
and
princes
of
the
war!
Of
partial
Jove
too
justly
we
complain,
And
heavenly
oracles
believed
in
vain.
A
safe
return
was
promised
to
our
toils,
With
conquest
honour'd
and
enrich'd
with
spoils:
Now
shameful
flight
alone
can
save
the
host;
Our
wealth,
our
people,
and
our
glory
lost.
So
Jove
decrees,
almighty
lord
of
all!
Jove,
at
whose
nod
whole
empires
rise
or
fall,
Who
shakes
the
feeble
props
of
human
trust,
And
towers
and
armies
humbles
to
the
dust.
Haste
then,
for
ever
quit
these
fatal
fields,
Haste
to
the
joys
our
native
country
yields;
Spread
all
your
canvas,
all
your
oars
employ,
Nor
hope
the
fall
of
heaven-defended
Troy."
He
said:
deep
silence
held
the
Grecian
band;
Silent,
unmov'd
in
dire
dismay
they
stand;
A
pensive
scene!
till
Tydeus'
warlike
son
Roll'd
on
the
king
his
eyes,
and
thus
begun:
"When
kings
advise
us
to
renounce
our
fame,
First
let
him
speak
who
first
has
suffer'd
shame.
If
I
oppose
thee,
prince!
thy
wrath
withhold,
The
laws
of
council
bid
my
tongue
be
bold.
Thou
first,
and
thou
alone,
in
fields
of
fight,
Durst
brand
my
courage,
and
defame
my
might:
Nor
from
a
friend
the
unkind
reproach
appear'd,
The
Greeks
stood
witness,
all
our
army
heard.
The
gods,
O
chief!
from
whom
our
honours
spring,
The
gods
have
made
thee
but
by
halves
a
king:
They
gave
thee
sceptres,
and
a
wide
command;
They
gave
dominion
o'er
the
seas
and
land;
The
noblest
power
that
might
the
world
control
They
gave
thee
not--a
brave
and
virtuous
soul.
Is
this
a
general's
voice,
that
would
suggest
Fears
like
his
own
to
every
Grecian
breast?
Confiding
in
our
want
of
worth,
he
stands;
And
if
we
fly,
'tis
what
our
king
commands.
Go
thou,
inglorious!
from
the
embattled
plain;
Ships
thou
hast
store,
and
nearest
to
the
main;
A
noble
care
the
Grecians
shall
employ,
To
combat,
conquer,
and
extirpate
Troy.
Here
Greece
shall
stay;
or,
if
all
Greece
retire,
Myself
shall
stay,
till
Troy
or
I
expire;
Myself,
and
Sthenelus,
will
fight
for
fame;
God
bade
us
fight,
and
'twas
with
God
we
came."
He
ceased;
the
Greeks
loud
acclamations
raise,
And
voice
to
voice
resounds
Tydides'
praise.
Wise
Nestor
then
his
reverend
figure
rear'd;
He
spoke:
the
host
in
still
attention
heard:(200)
"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:
"Cursed
is
the
man,
and
void
of
law
and
right,
Unworthy
property,
unworthy
light,
Unfit
for
public
rule,
or
private
care,
That
wretch,
that
monster,
who
delights
in
war;
Whose
lust
is
murder,
and
whose
horrid
joy,
To
tear
his
country,
and
his
kind
destroy!
This
night,
refresh
and
fortify
thy
train;
Between
the
trench
and
wall
let
guards
remain:
Be
that
the
duty
of
the
young
and
bold;
But
thou,
O
king,
to
council
call
the
old;
Great
is
thy
sway,
and
weighty
are
thy
cares;
Thy
high
commands
must
spirit
all
our
wars.
With
Thracian
wines
recruit
thy
honour'd
guests,
For
happy
counsels
flow
from
sober
feasts.
Wise,
weighty
counsels
aid
a
state
distress'd,
And
such
a
monarch
as
can
choose
the
best.
See
what
a
blaze
from
hostile
tents
aspires,
How
near
our
fleet
approach
the
Trojan
fires!
Who
can,
unmoved,
behold
the
dreadful
light?
What
eye
beholds
them,
and
can
close
to-night?
This
dreadful
interval
determines
all;
To-morrow,
Troy
must
flame,
or
Greece
must
fall."
Thus
spoke
the
hoary
sage:
the
rest
obey;
Swift
through
the
gates
the
guards
direct
their
way.
His
son
was
first
to
pass
the
lofty
mound,
The
generous
Thrasymed,
in
arms
renown'd:
Next
him,
Ascalaphus,
Ialmen,
stood,
The
double
offspring
of
the
warrior-god:
Deipyrus,
Aphareus,
Merion
join,
And
Lycomed
of
Creon's
noble
line.
Seven
were
the
leaders
of
the
nightly
bands,
And
each
bold
chief
a
hundred
spears
commands.
The
fires
they
light,
to
short
repasts
they
fall,
Some
line
the
trench,
and
others
man
the
wall.
The
king
of
men,
on
public
counsels
bent,
Convened
the
princes
in
his
ample
tent,
Each
seized
a
portion
of
the
kingly
feast,
But
stay'd
his
hand
when
thirst
and
hunger
ceased.
Then
Nestor
spoke,
for
wisdom
long
approved,
And
slowly
rising,
thus
the
council
moved.
"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."
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,
Briseis
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.
Yet
more--three
daughters
in
my
court
are
bred,
And
each
well
worthy
of
a
royal
bed;
Laodice
and
Iphigenia
fair,(203)
And
bright
Chrysothemis
with
golden
hair;
Her
let
him
choose
whom
most
his
eyes
approve,
I
ask
no
presents,
no
reward
for
love:
Myself
will
give
the
dower;
so
vast
a
store
As
never
father
gave
a
child
before.
Seven
ample
cities
shall
confess
his
sway,
Him
Enope,
and
Pherae
him
obey,
Cardamyle
with
ample
turrets
crown'd,
And
sacred
Pedasus
for
vines
renown'd;
Ępea
fair,
the
pastures
Hira
yields,
And
rich
Antheia
with
her
flowery
fields:(204)
The
whole
extent
to
Pylos'
sandy
plain,
Along
the
verdant
margin
of
the
main
There
heifers
graze,
and
labouring
oxen
toil;
Bold
are
the
men,
and
generous
is
the
soil;
There
shall
he
reign,
with
power
and
justice
crown'd,
And
rule
the
tributary
realms
around.
All
this
I
give,
his
vengeance
to
control,
And
sure
all
this
may
move
his
mighty
soul.
Pluto,
the
grisly
god,
who
never
spares,
Who
feels
no
mercy,
and
who
hears
no
prayers,
Lives
dark
and
dreadful
in
deep
hell's
abodes,
And
mortals
hate
him,
as
the
worst
of
gods
Great
though
he
be,
it
fits
him
to
obey,
Since
more
than
his
my
years,
and
more
my
sway."
[Illustration:
PLUTO.]
PLUTO.
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
Phoenix
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)
[Illustration:
THE
EMBASSY
TO
ACHILLES.]
THE
EMBASSY
TO
ACHILLES.
He
said;
and
all
approved.
The
heralds
bring
The
cleansing
water
from
the
living
spring.
The
youth
with
wine
the
sacred
goblets
crown'd,
And
large
libations
drench'd
the
sands
around.
The
rite
perform'd,
the
chiefs
their
thirst
allay,
Then
from
the
royal
tent
they
take
their
way;
Wise
Nestor
turns
on
each
his
careful
eye,
Forbids
to
offend,
instructs
them
to
apply;
Much
he
advised
them
all,
Ulysses
most,
To
deprecate
the
chief,
and
save
the
host.
Through
the
still
night
they
march,
and
hear
the
roar
Of
murmuring
billows
on
the
sounding
shore.
To
Neptune,
ruler
of
the
seas
profound,
Whose
liquid
arms
the
mighty
globe
surround,
They
pour
forth
vows,
their
embassy
to
bless,
And
calm
the
rage
of
stern
Ęacides.
And
now,
arrived,
where
on
the
sandy
bay
The
Myrmidonian
tents
and
vessels
lay;
Amused
at
ease,
the
godlike
man
they
found,
Pleased
with
the
solemn
harp's
harmonious
sound.
(The
well
wrought
harp
from
conquered
Thebae
came;
Of
polish'd
silver
was
its
costly
frame.)
With
this
he
soothes
his
angry
soul,
and
sings
The
immortal
deeds
of
heroes
and
of
kings.
Patroclus
only
of
the
royal
train,
Placed
in
his
tent,
attends
the
lofty
strain:
Full
opposite
he
sat,
and
listen'd
long,
In
silence
waiting
till
he
ceased
the
song.
Unseen
the
Grecian
embassy
proceeds
To
his
high
tent;
the
great
Ulysses
leads.
Achilles
starting,
as
the
chiefs
he
spied,
Leap'd
from
his
seat,
and
laid
the
harp
aside.
With
like
surprise
arose
Menoetius'
son:
Pelides
grasp'd
their
hands,
and
thus
begun:
"Princes,
all
hail!
whatever
brought
you
here.
Or
strong
necessity,
or
urgent
fear;
Welcome,
though
Greeks!
for
not
as
foes
ye
came;
To
me
more
dear
than
all
that
bear
the
name."
With
that,
the
chiefs
beneath
his
roof
he
led,
And
placed
in
seats
with
purple
carpets
spread.
Then
thus--"Patroclus,
crown
a
larger
bowl,
Mix
purer
wine,
and
open
every
soul.
Of
all
the
warriors
yonder
host
can
send,
Thy
friend
most
honours
these,
and
these
thy
friend."
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
Phoenix
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.
"Health
to
Achilles!
happy
are
thy
guests!
Not
those
more
honour'd
whom
Atrides
feasts:
Though
generous
plenty
crown
thy
loaded
boards,
That,
Agamemnon's
regal
tent
affords;
But
greater
cares
sit
heavy
on
our
souls,
Nor
eased
by
banquets
or
by
flowing
bowls.
What
scenes
of
slaughter
in
yon
fields
appear!
The
dead
we
mourn,
and
for
the
living
fear;
Greece
on
the
brink
of
fate
all
doubtful
stands,
And
owns
no
help
but
from
thy
saving
hands:
Troy
and
her
aids
for
ready
vengeance
call;
Their
threatening
tents
already
shade
our
wall:
Hear
how
with
shouts
their
conquest
they
proclaim,
And
point
at
every
ship
their
vengeful
flame!
For
them
the
father
of
the
gods
declares,
Theirs
are
his
omens,
and
his
thunder
theirs.
See,
full
of
Jove,
avenging
Hector
rise!
See!
heaven
and
earth
the
raging
chief
defies;
What
fury
in
his
breast,
what
lightning
in
his
eyes!
He
waits
but
for
the
morn,
to
sink
in
flame
The
ships,
the
Greeks,
and
all
the
Grecian
name.
Heavens!
how
my
country's
woes
distract
my
mind,
Lest
Fate
accomplish
all
his
rage
design'd!
And
must
we,
gods!
our
heads
inglorious
lay
In
Trojan
dust,
and
this
the
fatal
day?
Return,
Achilles:
oh
return,
though
late,
To
save
thy
Greeks,
and
stop
the
course
of
Fate;
If
in
that
heart
or
grief
or
courage
lies,
Rise
to
redeem;
ah,
yet
to
conquer,
rise!
The
day
may
come,
when,
all
our
warriors
slain,
That
heart
shall
melt,
that
courage
rise
in
vain:
Regard
in
time,
O
prince
divinely
brave!
Those
wholesome
counsels
which
thy
father
gave.
When
Peleus
in
his
aged
arms
embraced
His
parting
son,
these
accents
were
his
last:
"'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,
Briseis
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.
Yet
more--three
daughters
in
his
court
are
bred,
And
each
well
worthy
of
a
royal
bed:
Laodice
and
Iphigenia
fair,
And
bright
Chrysothemis
with
golden
hair:
Her
shalt
thou
wed
whom
most
thy
eyes
approve;
He
asks
no
presents,
no
reward
for
love:
Himself
will
give
the
dower;
so
vast
a
store
As
never
father
gave
a
child
before.
Seven
ample
cities
shall
confess
thy
sway,
The
Enope
and
Pherae
thee
obey,
Cardamyle
with
ample
turrets
crown'd,
And
sacred
Pedasus,
for
vines
renown'd:
Ępea
fair,
the
pastures
Hira
yields,
And
rich
Antheia
with
her
flowery
fields;
The
whole
extent
to
Pylos'
sandy
plain,
Along
the
verdant
margin
of
the
main.
There
heifers
graze,
and
labouring
oxen
toil;
Bold
are
the
men,
and
generous
is
the
soil.
There
shalt
thou
reign,
with
power
and
justice
crown'd,
And
rule
the
tributary
realms
around.
Such
are
the
proffers
which
this
day
we
bring,
Such
the
repentance
of
a
suppliant
king.
But
if
all
this,
relentless,
thou
disdain,
If
honour
and
if
interest
plead
in
vain,
Yet
some
redress
to
suppliant
Greece
afford,
And
be,
amongst
her
guardian
gods,
adored.
If
no
regard
thy
suffering
country
claim,
Hear
thy
own
glory,
and
the
voice
of
fame:
For
now
that
chief,
whose
unresisted
ire
Made
nations
tremble,
and
whole
hosts
retire,
Proud
Hector,
now,
the
unequal
fight
demands,
And
only
triumphs
to
deserve
thy
hands."
Then
thus
the
goddess-born:
"Ulysses,
hear
A
faithful
speech,
that
knows
nor
art
nor
fear;
What
in
my
secret
soul
is
understood,
My
tongue
shall
utter,
and
my
deeds
make
good.
Let
Greece
then
know,
my
purpose
I
retain:
Nor
with
new
treaties
vex
my
peace
in
vain.
Who
dares
think
one
thing,
and
another
tell,
My
heart
detests
him
as
the
gates
of
hell.
"Then
thus
in
short
my
fix'd
resolves
attend,
Which
nor
Atrides
nor
his
Greeks
can
bend;
Long
toils,
long
perils
in
their
cause
I
bore,
But
now
the
unfruitful
glories
charm
no
more.
Fight
or
not
fight,
a
like
reward
we
claim,
The
wretch
and
hero
find
their
prize
the
same.
Alike
regretted
in
the
dust
he
lies,
Who
yields
ignobly,
or
who
bravely
dies.
Of
all
my
dangers,
all
my
glorious
pains,
A
life
of
labours,
lo!
what
fruit
remains?
As
the
bold
bird
her
helpless
young
attends,
From
danger
guards
them,
and
from
want
defends;
In
search
of
prey
she
wings
the
spacious
air,
And
with
the
untasted
food
supplies
her
care:
For
thankless
Greece
such
hardships
have
I
braved,
Her
wives,
her
infants,
by
my
labours
saved;
Long
sleepless
nights
in
heavy
arms
I
stood,
And
sweat
laborious
days
in
dust
and
blood.
I
sack'd
twelve
ample
cities
on
the
main,(207)
And
twelve
lay
smoking
on
the
Trojan
plain:
Then
at
Atrides'
haughty
feet
were
laid
The
wealth
I
gathered,
and
the
spoils
I
made.
Your
mighty
monarch
these
in
peace
possess'd;
Some
few
my
soldiers
had,
himself
the
rest.
Some
present,
too,
to
every
prince
was
paid;
And
every
prince
enjoys
the
gift
he
made:
I
only
must
refund,
of
all
his
train;
See
what
pre-eminence
our
merits
gain!
My
spoil
alone
his
greedy
soul
delights:
My
spouse
alone
must
bless
his
lustful
nights:
The
woman,
let
him
(as
he
may)
enjoy;
But
what's
the
quarrel,
then,
of
Greece
to
Troy?
What
to
these
shores
the
assembled
nations
draws,
What
calls
for
vengeance
but
a
woman's
cause?
Are
fair
endowments
and
a
beauteous
face
Beloved
by
none
but
those
of
Atreus'
race?
The
wife
whom
choice
and
passion
doth
approve,
Sure
every
wise
and
worthy
man
will
love.
Nor
did
my
fair
one
less
distinction
claim;
Slave
as
she
was,
my
soul
adored
the
dame.
Wrong'd
in
my
love,
all
proffers
I
disdain;
Deceived
for
once,
I
trust
not
kings
again.
Ye
have
my
answer--what
remains
to
do,
Your
king,
Ulysses,
may
consult
with
you.
What
needs
he
the
defence
this
arm
can
make?
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
Scaean
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
Pthia
greet
our
sails,(208)
If
mighty
Neptune
send
propitious
gales;
Pthia
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.
Then
tell
him:
loud,
that
all
the
Greeks
may
hear,
And
learn
to
scorn
the
wretch
they
basely
fear;
(For
arm'd
in
impudence,
mankind
he
braves,
And
meditates
new
cheats
on
all
his
slaves;
Though
shameless
as
he
is,
to
face
these
eyes
Is
what
he
dares
not:
if
he
dares
he
dies;)
Tell
him,
all
terms,
all
commerce
I
decline,
Nor
share
his
council,
nor
his
battle
join;
For
once
deceiv'd,
was
his;
but
twice
were
mine,
No--let
the
stupid
prince,
whom
Jove
deprives
Of
sense
and
justice,
run
where
frenzy
drives;
His
gifts
are
hateful:
kings
of
such
a
kind
Stand
but
as
slaves
before
a
noble
mind,
Not
though
he
proffer'd
all
himself
possess'd,
And
all
his
rapine
could
from
others
wrest:
Not
all
the
golden
tides
of
wealth
that
crown
The
many-peopled
Orchomenian
town;(209)
Not
all
proud
Thebes'
unrivall'd
walls
contain,
The
world's
great
empress
on
the
Egyptian
plain
(That
spreads
her
conquests
o'er
a
thousand
states,
And
pours
her
heroes
through
a
hundred
gates,
Two
hundred
horsemen
and
two
hundred
cars
From
each
wide
portal
issuing
to
the
wars);(210)
Though
bribes
were
heap'd
on
bribes,
in
number
more
Than
dust
in
fields,
or
sands
along
the
shore;
Should
all
these
offers
for
my
friendship
call,
'Tis
he
that
offers,
and
I
scorn
them
all.
Atrides'
daughter
never
shall
be
led
(An
ill-match'd
consort)
to
Achilles'
bed;
Like
golden
Venus
though
she
charm'd
the
heart,
And
vied
with
Pallas
in
the
works
of
art;
Some
greater
Greek
let
those
high
nuptials
grace,
I
hate
alliance
with
a
tyrant's
race.
If
heaven
restore
me
to
my
realms
with
life,
The
reverend
Peleus
shall
elect
my
wife;
Thessalian
nymphs
there
are
of
form
divine,
And
kings
that
sue
to
mix
their
blood
with
mine.
Bless'd
in
kind
love,
my
years
shall
glide
away,
Content
with
just
hereditary
sway;
There,
deaf
for
ever
to
the
martial
strife,
Enjoy
the
dear
prerogative
of
life.
Life
is
not
to
be
bought
with
heaps
of
gold.
Not
all
Apollo's
Pythian
treasures
hold,
Or
Troy
once
held,
in
peace
and
pride
of
sway,
Can
bribe
the
poor
possession
of
a
day!
Lost
herds
and
treasures
we
by
arms
regain,
And
steeds
unrivall'd
on
the
dusty
plain:
But
from
our
lips
the
vital
spirit
fled,
Returns
no
more
to
wake
the
silent
dead.
My
fates
long
since
by
Thetis
were
disclosed,
And
each
alternate,
life
or
fame,
proposed;
Here,
if
I
stay,
before
the
Trojan
town,
Short
is
my
date,
but
deathless
my
renown:
If
I
return,
I
quit
immortal
praise
For
years
on
years,
and
long-extended
days.
Convinced,
though
late,
I
find
my
fond
mistake,
And
warn
the
Greeks
the
wiser
choice
to
make;
To
quit
these
shores,
their
native
seats
enjoy,
Nor
hope
the
fall
of
heaven-defended
Troy.
Jove's
arm
display'd
asserts
her
from
the
skies!
Her
hearts
are
strengthen'd,
and
her
glories
rise.
Go
then
to
Greece,
report
our
fix'd
design;
Bid
all
your
counsels,
all
your
armies
join,
Let
all
your
forces,
all
your
arts
conspire,
To
save
the
ships,
the
troops,
the
chiefs,
from
fire.
One
stratagem
has
fail'd,
and
others
will:
Ye
find,
Achilles
is
unconquer'd
still.
Go
then--digest
my
message
as
ye
may--
But
here
this
night
let
reverend
Phoenix
stay:
His
tedious
toils
and
hoary
hairs
demand
A
peaceful
death
in
Pthia's
friendly
land.
But
whether
he
remain
or
sail
with
me,
His
age
be
sacred,
and
his
will
be
free."
[Illustration:
GREEK
GALLEY.]
GREEK
GALLEY.
The
son
of
Peleus
ceased:
the
chiefs
around
In
silence
wrapt,
in
consternation
drown'd,
Attend
the
stern
reply.
Then
Phoenix
rose;
(Down
his
white
beard
a
stream
of
sorrow
flows;)
And
while
the
fate
of
suffering
Greece
he
mourn'd,
With
accent
weak
these
tender
words
return'd.
[Illustration:
PROSERPINE.]
PROSERPINE.
"Divine
Achilles!
wilt
thou
then
retire,
And
leave
our
hosts
in
blood,
our
fleets
on
fire?
If
wrath
so
dreadful
fill
thy
ruthless
mind,
How
shall
thy
friend,
thy
Phoenix,
stay
behind?
The
royal
Peleus,
when
from
Pthia's
coast
He
sent
thee
early
to
the
Achaian
host;
Thy
youth
as
then
in
sage
debates
unskill'd,
And
new
to
perils
of
the
direful
field:
He
bade
me
teach
thee
all
the
ways
of
war,
To
shine
in
councils,
and
in
camps
to
dare.
Never,
ah,
never
let
me
leave
thy
side!
No
time
shall
part
us,
and
no
fate
divide,
Not
though
the
god,
that
breathed
my
life,
restore
The
bloom
I
boasted,
and
the
port
I
bore,
When
Greece
of
old
beheld
my
youthful
flames
(Delightful
Greece,
the
land
of
lovely
dames),
My
father
faithless
to
my
mother's
arms,
Old
as
he
was,
adored
a
stranger's
charms.
I
tried
what
youth
could
do
(at
her
desire)
To
win
the
damsel,
and
prevent
my
sire.
My
sire
with
curses
loads
my
hated
head,
And
cries,
'Ye
furies!
barren
be
his
bed.'
Infernal
Jove,
the
vengeful
fiends
below,
And
ruthless
Proserpine,
confirm'd
his
vow.
Despair
and
grief
distract
my
labouring
mind!
Gods!
what
a
crime
my
impious
heart
design'd!
I
thought
(but
some
kind
god
that
thought
suppress'd)
To
plunge
the
poniard
in
my
father's
breast;
Then
meditate
my
flight:
my
friends
in
vain
With
prayers
entreat
me,
and
with
force
detain.
On
fat
of
rams,
black
bulls,
and
brawny
swine,
They
daily
feast,
with
draughts
of
fragrant
wine;
Strong
guards
they
placed,
and
watch'd
nine
nights
entire;
The
roofs
and
porches
flamed
with
constant
fire.
The
tenth,
I
forced
the
gates,
unseen
of
all:
And,
favour'd
by
the
night,
o'erleap'd
the
wall,
My
travels
thence
through
spacious
Greece
extend;
In
Phthia's
court
at
last
my
labours
end.
Your
sire
received
me,
as
his
son
caress'd,
With
gifts
enrich'd,
and
with
possessions
bless'd.
The
strong
Dolopians
thenceforth
own'd
my
reign,
And
all
the
coast
that
runs
along
the
main.
By
love
to
thee
his
bounties
I
repaid,
And
early
wisdom
to
thy
soul
convey'd:
Great
as
thou
art,
my
lessons
made
thee
brave:
A
child
I
took
thee,
but
a
hero
gave.
Thy
infant
breast
a
like
affection
show'd;
Still
in
my
arms
(an
ever-pleasing
load)
Or
at
my
knee,
by
Phoenix
wouldst
thou
stand;
No
food
was
grateful
but
from
Phoenix'
hand.(211)
I
pass
my
watchings
o'er
thy
helpless
years,
The
tender
labours,
the
compliant
cares,
The
gods
(I
thought)
reversed
their
hard
decree,
And
Phoenix
felt
a
father's
joys
in
thee:
Thy
growing
virtues
justified
my
cares,
And
promised
comfort
to
my
silver
hairs.
Now
be
thy
rage,
thy
fatal
rage,
resign'd;
A
cruel
heart
ill
suits
a
manly
mind:
The
gods
(the
only
great,
and
only
wise)
Are
moved
by
offerings,
vows,
and
sacrifice;
Offending
man
their
high
compassion
wins,
And
daily
prayers
atone
for
daily
sins.
Prayers
are
Jove's
daughters,
of
celestial
race,
Lame
are
their
feet,
and
wrinkled
is
their
face;
With
humble
mien,
and
with
dejected
eyes,
Constant
they
follow,
where
injustice
flies.
Injustice
swift,
erect,
and
unconfined,
Sweeps
the
wide
earth,
and
tramples
o'er
mankind,
While
Prayers,
to
heal
her
wrongs,
move
slow
behind.
Who
hears
these
daughters
of
almighty
Jove,
For
him
they
mediate
to
the
throne
above
When
man
rejects
the
humble
suit
they
make,
The
sire
revenges
for
the
daughters'
sake;
From
Jove
commission'd,
fierce
injustice
then
Descends
to
punish
unrelenting
men.
O
let
not
headlong
passion
bear
the
sway
These
reconciling
goddesses
obey
Due
honours
to
the
seed
of
Jove
belong,
Due
honours
calm
the
fierce,
and
bend
the
strong.
Were
these
not
paid
thee
by
the
terms
we
bring,
Were
rage
still
harbour'd
in
the
haughty
king;
Nor
Greece
nor
all
her
fortunes
should
engage
Thy
friend
to
plead
against
so
just
a
rage.
But
since
what
honour
asks
the
general
sends,
And
sends
by
those
whom
most
thy
heart
commends;
The
best
and
noblest
of
the
Grecian
train;
Permit
not
these
to
sue,
and
sue
in
vain!
Let
me
(my
son)
an
ancient
fact
unfold,
A
great
example
drawn
from
times
of
old;
Hear
what
our
fathers
were,
and
what
their
praise,
Who
conquer'd
their
revenge
in
former
days.
"Where
Calydon
on
rocky
mountains
stands(212)
Once
fought
the
Ętolian
and
Curetian
bands;
To
guard
it
those;
to
conquer,
these
advance;
And
mutual
deaths
were
dealt
with
mutual
chance.
The
silver
Cynthia
bade
contention
rise,
In
vengeance
of
neglected
sacrifice;
On
OEneus
fields
she
sent
a
monstrous
boar,
That
levell'd
harvests,
and
whole
forests
tore:
This
beast
(when
many
a
chief
his
tusks
had
slain)
Great
Meleager
stretch'd
along
the
plain,
Then,
for
his
spoils,
a
new
debate
arose,
The
neighbour
nations
thence
commencing
foes.
Strong
as
they
were,
the
bold
Curetes
fail'd,
While
Meleager's
thundering
arm
prevail'd:
Till
rage
at
length
inflamed
his
lofty
breast
(For
rage
invades
the
wisest
and
the
best).
"Cursed
by
Althaea,
to
his
wrath
he
yields,
And
in
his
wife's
embrace
forgets
the
fields.
(She
from
Marpessa
sprung,
divinely
fair,
And
matchless
Idas,
more
than
man
in
war:
The
god
of
day
adored
the
mother's
charms;
Against
the
god
the
father
bent
his
arms:
The
afflicted
pair,
their
sorrows
to
proclaim,
From
Cleopatra
changed
their
daughter's
name,
And
call'd
Alcyone;
a
name
to
show
The
father's
grief,
the
mourning
mother's
woe.)
To
her
the
chief
retired
from
stern
debate,
But
found
no
peace
from
fierce
Althaea's
hate:
Althaea's
hate
the
unhappy
warrior
drew,
Whose
luckless
hand
his
royal
uncle
slew;
She
beat
the
ground,
and
call'd
the
powers
beneath
On
her
own
son
to
wreak
her
brother's
death;
Hell
heard
her
curses
from
the
realms
profound,
And
the
red
fiends
that
walk
the
nightly
round.
In
vain
Ętolia
her
deliverer
waits,
War
shakes
her
walls,
and
thunders
at
her
gates.
She
sent
ambassadors,
a
chosen
band,
Priests
of
the
gods,
and
elders
of
the
land;
Besought
the
chief
to
save
the
sinking
state:
Their
prayers
were
urgent,
and
their
proffers
great:
(Full
fifty
acres
of
the
richest
ground,
Half
pasture
green,
and
half
with
vineyards
crown'd:)
His
suppliant
father,
aged
OEneus,
came;
His
sisters
follow'd;
even
the
vengeful
dame,
Althaea,
sues;
his
friends
before
him
fall:
He
stands
relentless,
and
rejects
them
all.
Meanwhile
the
victor's
shouts
ascend
the
skies;
The
walls
are
scaled;
the
rolling
flames
arise;
At
length
his
wife
(a
form
divine)
appears,
With
piercing
cries,
and
supplicating
tears;
She
paints
the
horrors
of
a
conquer'd
town,
The
heroes
slain,
the
palaces
o'erthrown,
The
matrons
ravish'd,
the
whole
race
enslaved:
The
warrior
heard,
he
vanquish'd,
and
he
saved.
The
Ętolians,
long
disdain'd,
now
took
their
turn,
And
left
the
chief
their
broken
faith
to
mourn.
Learn
hence,
betimes
to
curb
pernicious
ire,
Nor
stay
till
yonder
fleets
ascend
in
fire;
Accept
the
presents;
draw
thy
conquering
sword;
And
be
amongst
our
guardian
gods
adored."
Thus
he:
the
stern
Achilles
thus
replied:
"My
second
father,
and
my
reverend
guide:
Thy
friend,
believe
me,
no
such
gifts
demands,
And
asks
no
honours
from
a
mortal's
hands;
Jove
honours
me,
and
favours
my
designs;
His
pleasure
guides
me,
and
his
will
confines;
And
here
I
stay
(if
such
his
high
behest)
While
life's
warm
spirit
beats
within
my
breast.
Yet
hear
one
word,
and
lodge
it
in
thy
heart:
No
more
molest
me
on
Atrides'
part:
Is
it
for
him
these
tears
are
taught
to
flow,
For
him
these
sorrows?
for
my
mortal
foe?
A
generous
friendship
no
cold
medium
knows,
Burns
with
one
love,
with
one
resentment
glows;
One
should
our
interests
and
our
passions
be;
My
friend
must
hate
the
man
that
injures
me.
Do
this,
my
Phoenix,
'tis
a
generous
part;
And
share
my
realms,
my
honours,
and
my
heart.
Let
these
return:
our
voyage,
or
our
stay,
Rest
undetermined
till
the
dawning
day."
He
ceased;
then
order'd
for
the
sage's
bed
A
warmer
couch
with
numerous
carpets
spread.
With
that,
stern
Ajax
his
long
silence
broke,
And
thus,
impatient,
to
Ulysses
spoke:
"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."
"O
soul
of
battles,
and
thy
people's
guide!
(To
Ajax
thus
the
first
of
Greeks
replied)
Well
hast
thou
spoke;
but
at
the
tyrant's
name
My
rage
rekindles,
and
my
soul's
on
flame:
'Tis
just
resentment,
and
becomes
the
brave:
Disgraced,
dishonour'd,
like
the
vilest
slave!
Return,
then,
heroes!
and
our
answer
bear,
The
glorious
combat
is
no
more
my
care;
Not
till,
amidst
yon
sinking
navy
slain,
The
blood
of
Greeks
shall
dye
the
sable
main;
Not
till
the
flames,
by
Hector's
fury
thrown,
Consume
your
vessels,
and
approach
my
own;
Just
there,
the
impetuous
homicide
shall
stand,
There
cease
his
battle,
and
there
feel
our
hand."
This
said,
each
prince
a
double
goblet
crown'd,
And
cast
a
large
libation
on
the
ground;
Then
to
their
vessels,
through
the
gloomy
shades,
The
chiefs
return;
divine
Ulysses
leads.
Meantime
Achilles'
slaves
prepared
a
bed,
With
fleeces,
carpets,
and
soft
linen
spread:
There,
till
the
sacred
morn
restored
the
day,
In
slumber
sweet
the
reverend
Phoenix
lay.
But
in
his
inner
tent,
an
ampler
space,
Achilles
slept;
and
in
his
warm
embrace
Fair
Diomede
of
the
Lesbian
race.
Last,
for
Patroclus
was
the
couch
prepared,
Whose
nightly
joys
the
beauteous
Iphis
shared;
Achilles
to
his
friend
consign'd
her
charms
When
Scyros
fell
before
his
conquering
arms.
And
now
the
elected
chiefs
whom
Greece
had
sent,
Pass'd
through
the
hosts,
and
reach'd
the
royal
tent.
Then
rising
all,
with
goblets
in
their
hands,
The
peers
and
leaders
of
the
Achaian
bands
Hail'd
their
return:
Atrides
first
begun:
"Say
what
success?
divine
Laertes'
son!
Achilles'
high
resolves
declare
to
all:
"Returns
the
chief,
or
must
our
navy
fall?"
"Great
king
of
nations!
(Ithacus
replied)
Fix'd
is
his
wrath,
unconquer'd
is
his
pride;
He
slights
thy
friendship,
thy
proposals
scorns,
And,
thus
implored,
with
fiercer
fury
burns.
To
save
our
army,
and
our
fleets
to
free,
Is
not
his
care;
but
left
to
Greece
and
thee.
Your
eyes
shall
view,
when
morning
paints
the
sky,
Beneath
his
oars
the
whitening
billows
fly;
Us
too
he
bids
our
oars
and
sails
employ,
Nor
hope
the
fall
of
heaven-protected
Troy;
For
Jove
o'ershades
her
with
his
arm
divine,
Inspires
her
war,
and
bids
her
glory
shine.
Such
was
his
word:
what
further
he
declared,
These
sacred
heralds
and
great
Ajax
heard.
But
Phoenix
in
his
tent
the
chief
retains,
Safe
to
transport
him
to
his
native
plains
When
morning
dawns;
if
other
he
decree,
His
age
is
sacred,
and
his
choice
is
free."
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."
Shouts
of
acclaim
the
listening
heroes
raise,
Then
each
to
Heaven
the
due
libations
pays;
Till
sleep,
descending
o'er
the
tents,
bestows
The
grateful
blessings
of
desired
repose."(214)
[Illustration:
ACHILLES.]
ACHILLES.
BOOK
X.
ARGUMENT.
THE
NIGHT-ADVENTURE
OF
DIOMED
AND
ULYSSES.
Upon
the
refusal
of
Achilles
to
return
to
the
army,
the
distress
of
Agamemnon
is
described
in
the
most
lively
manner.
He
takes
no
rest
that
night,
but
passes
through
the
camp,
awaking
the
leaders,
and
contriving
all
possible
methods
for
the
public
safety.
Menelaus,
Nestor,
Ulysses,
and
Diomed
are
employed
in
raising
the
rest
of
the
captains.
They
call
a
council
of
war,
and
determine
to
send
scouts
into
the
enemies'
camp,
to
learn
their
posture,
and
discover
their
intentions.
Diomed
undertakes
this
hazardous
enterprise,
and
makes
choice
of
Ulysses
for
his
companion.
In
their
passage
they
surprise
Dolon,
whom
Hector
had
sent
on
a
like
design
to
the
camp
of
the
Grecians.
From
him
they
are
informed
of
the
situation
of
the
Trojan
and
auxiliary
forces,
and
particularly
of
Rhesus,
and
the
Thracians
who
were
lately
arrived.
They
pass
on
with
success;
kill
Rhesus,
with
several
of
his
officers,
and
seize
the
famous
horses
of
that
prince,
with
which
they
return
in
triumph
to
the
camp.
The
same
night
continues;
the
scene
lies
in
the
two
camps.
All
night
the
chiefs
before
their
vessels
lay,
And
lost
in
sleep
the
labours
of
the
day:
All
but
the
king:
with
various
thoughts
oppress'd,(215)
His
country's
cares
lay
rolling
in
his
breast.
As
when
by
lightnings
Jove's
ethereal
power
Foretels
the
rattling
hail,
or
weighty
shower,
Or
sends
soft
snows
to
whiten
all
the
shore,
Or
bids
the
brazen
throat
of
war
to
roar;
By
fits
one
flash
succeeds
as
one
expires,
And
heaven
flames
thick
with
momentary
fires:
So
bursting
frequent
from
Atrides'
breast,
Sighs
following
sighs
his
inward
fears
confess'd.
Now
o'er
the
fields,
dejected,
he
surveys
From
thousand
Trojan
fires
the
mounting
blaze;
Hears
in
the
passing
wind
their
music
blow,
And
marks
distinct
the
voices
of
the
foe.
Now
looking
backwards
to
the
fleet
and
coast,
Anxious
he
sorrows
for
the
endangered
host.
He
rends
his
hair,
in
sacrifice
to
Jove,
And
sues
to
him
that
ever
lives
above:
Inly
he
groans;
while
glory
and
despair
Divide
his
heart,
and
wage
a
double
war.
A
thousand
cares
his
labouring
breast
revolves;
To
seek
sage
Nestor
now
the
chief
resolves,
With
him,
in
wholesome
counsels,
to
debate
What
yet
remains
to
save
the
afflicted
state.
He
rose,
and
first
he
cast
his
mantle
round,
Next
on
his
feet
the
shining
sandals
bound;
A
lion's
yellow
spoils
his
back
conceal'd;
His
warlike
hand
a
pointed
javelin
held.
Meanwhile
his
brother,
press'd
with
equal
woes,
Alike
denied
the
gifts
of
soft
repose,
Laments
for
Greece,
that
in
his
cause
before
So
much
had
suffer'd
and
must
suffer
more.
A
leopard's
spotted
hide
his
shoulders
spread:
A
brazen
helmet
glitter'd
on
his
head:
Thus
(with
a
javelin
in
his
hand)
he
went
To
wake
Atrides
in
the
royal
tent.
Already
waked,
Atrides
he
descried,
His
armour
buckling
at
his
vessel's
side.
Joyful
they
met;
the
Spartan
thus
begun:
"Why
puts
my
brother
his
bright
armour
on?
Sends
he
some
spy,
amidst
these
silent
hours,
To
try
yon
camp,
and
watch
the
Trojan
powers?
But
say,
what
hero
shall
sustain
that
task?
Such
bold
exploits
uncommon
courage
ask;
Guideless,
alone,
through
night's
dark
shade
to
go,
And
midst
a
hostile
camp
explore
the
foe."
To
whom
the
king:
"In
such
distress
we
stand,
No
vulgar
counsel
our
affairs
demand;
Greece
to
preserve,
is
now
no
easy
part,
But
asks
high
wisdom,
deep
design,
and
art.
For
Jove,
averse,
our
humble
prayer
denies,
And
bows
his
head
to
Hector's
sacrifice.
What
eye
has
witness'd,
or
what
ear
believed,
In
one
great
day,
by
one
great
arm
achieved,
Such
wondrous
deeds
as
Hector's
hand
has
done,
And
we
beheld,
the
last
revolving
sun
What
honours
the
beloved
of
Jove
adorn!
Sprung
from
no
god,
and
of
no
goddess
born;
Yet
such
his
acts,
as
Greeks
unborn
shall
tell,
And
curse
the
battle
where
their
fathers
fell.
"Now
speed
thy
hasty
course
along
the
fleet,
There
call
great
Ajax,
and
the
prince
of
Crete;
Ourself
to
hoary
Nestor
will
repair;
To
keep
the
guards
on
duty
be
his
care,
(For
Nestor's
influence
best
that
quarter
guides,
Whose
son
with
Merion,
o'er
the
watch
presides.")
To
whom
the
Spartan:
"These
thy
orders
borne,
Say,
shall
I
stay,
or
with
despatch
return?"
"There
shall
thou
stay,
(the
king
of
men
replied,)
Else
may
we
miss
to
meet,
without
a
guide,
The
paths
so
many,
and
the
camp
so
wide.
Still,
with
your
voice
the
slothful
soldiers
raise,
Urge
by
their
fathers'
fame
their
future
praise.
Forget
we
now
our
state
and
lofty
birth;
Not
titles
here,
but
works,
must
prove
our
worth.
To
labour
is
the
lot
of
man
below;
And
when
Jove
gave
us
life,
he
gave
us
woe."
This
said,
each
parted
to
his
several
cares:
The
king
to
Nestor's
sable
ship
repairs;
The
sage
protector
of
the
Greeks
he
found
Stretch'd
in
his
bed
with
all
his
arms
around
The
various-colour'd
scarf,
the
shield
he
rears,
The
shining
helmet,
and
the
pointed
spears;
The
dreadful
weapons
of
the
warrior's
rage,
That,
old
in
arms,
disdain'd
the
peace
of
age.
Then,
leaning
on
his
hand
his
watchful
head,
The
hoary
monarch
raised
his
eyes
and
said:
"What
art
thou,
speak,
that
on
designs
unknown,
While
others
sleep,
thus
range
the
camp
alone;
Seek'st
thou
some
friend
or
nightly
sentinel?
Stand
off,
approach
not,
but
thy
purpose
tell."
"O
son
of
Neleus,
(thus
the
king
rejoin'd,)
Pride
of
the
Greeks,
and
glory
of
thy
kind!
Lo,
here
the
wretched
Agamemnon
stands,
The
unhappy
general
of
the
Grecian
bands,
Whom
Jove
decrees
with
daily
cares
to
bend,
And
woes,
that
only
with
his
life
shall
end!
Scarce
can
my
knees
these
trembling
limbs
sustain,
And
scarce
my
heart
support
its
load
of
pain.
No
taste
of
sleep
these
heavy
eyes
have
known,
Confused,
and
sad,
I
wander
thus
alone,
With
fears
distracted,
with
no
fix'd
design;
And
all
my
people's
miseries
are
mine.
If
aught
of
use
thy
waking
thoughts
suggest,
(Since
cares,
like
mine,
deprive
thy
soul
of
rest,)
Impart
thy
counsel,
and
assist
thy
friend;
Now
let
us
jointly
to
the
trench
descend,
At
every
gate
the
fainting
guard
excite,
Tired
with
the
toils
of
day
and
watch
of
night;
Else
may
the
sudden
foe
our
works
invade,
So
near,
and
favour'd
by
the
gloomy
shade."
To
him
thus
Nestor:
"Trust
the
powers
above,
Nor
think
proud
Hector's
hopes
confirm'd
by
Jove:
How
ill
agree
the
views
of
vain
mankind,
And
the
wise
counsels
of
the
eternal
mind!
Audacious
Hector,
if
the
gods
ordain
That
great
Achilles
rise
and
rage
again,
What
toils
attend
thee,
and
what
woes
remain!
Lo,
faithful
Nestor
thy
command
obeys;
The
care
is
next
our
other
chiefs
to
raise:
Ulysses,
Diomed,
we
chiefly
need;
Meges
for
strength,
Oileus
famed
for
speed.
Some
other
be
despatch'd
of
nimbler
feet,
To
those
tall
ships,
remotest
of
the
fleet,
Where
lie
great
Ajax
and
the
king
of
Crete.(216)
To
rouse
the
Spartan
I
myself
decree;
Dear
as
he
is
to
us,
and
dear
to
thee,
Yet
must
I
tax
his
sloth,
that
claims
no
share
With
his
great
brother
in
his
martial
care:
Him
it
behoved
to
every
chief
to
sue,
Preventing
every
part
perform'd
by
you;
For
strong
necessity
our
toils
demands,
Claims
all
our
hearts,
and
urges
all
our
hands."
To
whom
the
king:
"With
reverence
we
allow
Thy
just
rebukes,
yet
learn
to
spare
them
now:
My
generous
brother
is
of
gentle
kind,
He
seems
remiss,
but
bears
a
valiant
mind;
Through
too
much
deference
to
our
sovereign
sway,
Content
to
follow
when
we
lead
the
way:
But
now,
our
ills
industrious
to
prevent,
Long
ere
the
rest
he
rose,
and
sought
my
tent.
The
chiefs
you
named,
already
at
his
call,
Prepare
to
meet
us
near
the
navy-wall;
Assembling
there,
between
the
trench
and
gates,
Near
the
night-guards,
our
chosen
council
waits."
"Then
none
(said
Nestor)
shall
his
rule
withstand,
For
great
examples
justify
command."
With
that,
the
venerable
warrior
rose;
The
shining
greaves
his
manly
legs
enclose;
His
purple
mantle
golden
buckles
join'd,
Warm
with
the
softest
wool,
and
doubly
lined.
Then
rushing
from
his
tent,
he
snatch'd
in
haste
His
steely
lance,
that
lighten'd
as
he
pass'd.
The
camp
he
traversed
through
the
sleeping
crowd,
Stopp'd
at
Ulysses'
tent,
and
call'd
aloud.
Ulysses,
sudden
as
the
voice
was
sent,
Awakes,
starts
up,
and
issues
from
his
tent.
"What
new
distress,
what
sudden
cause
of
fright,
Thus
leads
you
wandering
in
the
silent
night?"
"O
prudent
chief!
(the
Pylian
sage
replied)
Wise
as
thou
art,
be
now
thy
wisdom
tried:
Whatever
means
of
safety
can
be
sought,
Whatever
counsels
can
inspire
our
thought,
Whatever
methods,
or
to
fly
or
fight;
All,
all
depend
on
this
important
night!"
He
heard,
return'd,
and
took
his
painted
shield;
Then
join'd
the
chiefs,
and
follow'd
through
the
field.
Without
his
tent,
bold
Diomed
they
found,
All
sheathed
in
arms,
his
brave
companions
round:
Each
sunk
in
sleep,
extended
on
the
field,
His
head
reclining
on
his
bossy
shield.
A
wood
of
spears
stood
by,
that,
fix'd
upright,
Shot
from
their
flashing
points
a
quivering
light.
A
bull's
black
hide
composed
the
hero's
bed;
A
splendid
carpet
roll'd
beneath
his
head.
Then,
with
his
foot,
old
Nestor
gently
shakes
The
slumbering
chief,
and
in
these
words
awakes:
"Rise,
son
of
Tydeus!
to
the
brave
and
strong
Rest
seems
inglorious,
and
the
night
too
long.
But
sleep'st
thou
now,
when
from
yon
hill
the
foe
Hangs
o'er
the
fleet,
and
shades
our
walls
below?"
At
this,
soft
slumber
from
his
eyelids
fled;
The
warrior
saw
the
hoary
chief,
and
said:
"Wondrous
old
man!
whose
soul
no
respite
knows,
Though
years
and
honours
bid
thee
seek
repose,
Let
younger
Greeks
our
sleeping
warriors
wake;
Ill
fits
thy
age
these
toils
to
undertake."
"My
friend,
(he
answered,)
generous
is
thy
care;
These
toils,
my
subjects
and
my
sons
might
bear;
Their
loyal
thoughts
and
pious
love
conspire
To
ease
a
sovereign
and
relieve
a
sire:
But
now
the
last
despair
surrounds
our
host;
No
hour
must
pass,
no
moment
must
be
lost;
Each
single
Greek,
in
this
conclusive
strife,
Stands
on
the
sharpest
edge
of
death
or
life:
Yet,
if
my
years
thy
kind
regard
engage,
Employ
thy
youth
as
I
employ
my
age;
Succeed
to
these
my
cares,
and
rouse
the
rest;
He
serves
me
most,
who
serves
his
country
best."
This
said,
the
hero
o'er
his
shoulders
flung
A
lion's
spoils,
that
to
his
ankles
hung;
Then
seized
his
ponderous
lance,
and
strode
along.
Meges
the
bold,
with
Ajax
famed
for
speed,
The
warrior
roused,
and
to
the
entrenchments
lead.
And
now
the
chiefs
approach
the
nightly
guard;
A
wakeful
squadron,
each
in
arms
prepared:
The
unwearied
watch
their
listening
leaders
keep,
And,
couching
close,
repel
invading
sleep.
So
faithful
dogs
their
fleecy
charge
maintain,
With
toil
protected
from
the
prowling
train;
When
the
gaunt
lioness,
with
hunger
bold,
Springs
from
the
mountains
toward
the
guarded
fold:
Through
breaking
woods
her
rustling
course
they
hear;
Loud,
and
more
loud,
the
clamours
strike
their
ear
Of
hounds
and
men:
they
start,
they
gaze
around,
Watch
every
side,
and
turn
to
every
sound.
Thus
watch'd
the
Grecians,
cautious
of
surprise,
Each
voice,
each
motion,
drew
their
ears
and
eyes:
Each
step
of
passing
feet
increased
the
affright;
And
hostile
Troy
was
ever
full
in
sight.
Nestor
with
joy
the
wakeful
band
survey'd,
And
thus
accosted
through
the
gloomy
shade.
"'Tis
well,
my
sons!
your
nightly
cares
employ;
Else
must
our
host
become
the
scorn
of
Troy.
Watch
thus,
and
Greece
shall
live."
The
hero
said;
Then
o'er
the
trench
the
following
chieftains
led.
His
son,
and
godlike
Merion,
march'd
behind
(For
these
the
princes
to
their
council
join'd).
The
trenches
pass'd,
the
assembled
kings
around
In
silent
state
the
consistory
crown'd.
A
place
there
was,
yet
undefiled
with
gore,
The
spot
where
Hector
stopp'd
his
rage
before;
When
night
descending,
from
his
vengeful
hand
Reprieved
the
relics
of
the
Grecian
band:
(The
plain
beside
with
mangled
corps
was
spread,
And
all
his
progress
mark'd
by
heaps
of
dead:)
There
sat
the
mournful
kings:
when
Neleus'
son,
The
council
opening,
in
these
words
begun:
"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
Phoebus
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."
Fear
held
them
mute:
alone,
untaught
to
fear,
Tydides
spoke--"The
man
you
seek
is
here.
Through
yon
black
camps
to
bend
my
dangerous
way,
Some
god
within
commands,
and
I
obey.
But
let
some
other
chosen
warrior
join,
To
raise
my
hopes,
and
second
my
design.
By
mutual
confidence
and
mutual
aid,
Great
deeds
are
done,
and
great
discoveries
made;
The
wise
new
prudence
from
the
wise
acquire,
And
one
brave
hero
fans
another's
fire."
Contending
leaders
at
the
word
arose;
Each
generous
breast
with
emulation
glows;
So
brave
a
task
each
Ajax
strove
to
share,
Bold
Merion
strove,
and
Nestor's
valiant
heir;
The
Spartan
wish'd
the
second
place
to
gain,
And
great
Ulysses
wish'd,
nor
wish'd
in
vain.
Then
thus
the
king
of
men
the
contest
ends:
"Thou
first
of
warriors,
and
thou
best
of
friends,
Undaunted
Diomed!
what
chief
to
join
In
this
great
enterprise,
is
only
thine.
Just
be
thy
choice,
without
affection
made;
To
birth,
or
office,
no
respect
be
paid;
Let
worth
determine
here."
The
monarch
spake,
And
inly
trembled
for
his
brother's
sake.
"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."
"It
fits
thee
not,
before
these
chiefs
of
fame,
(Replied
the
sage,)
to
praise
me,
or
to
blame:
Praise
from
a
friend,
or
censure
from
a
foe,
Are
lost
on
hearers
that
our
merits
know.
But
let
us
haste--Night
rolls
the
hours
away,
The
reddening
orient
shows
the
coming
day,
The
stars
shine
fainter
on
the
ethereal
plains,
And
of
night's
empire
but
a
third
remains."
Thus
having
spoke,
with
generous
ardour
press'd,
In
arms
terrific
their
huge
limbs
they
dress'd.
A
two-edged
falchion
Thrasymed
the
brave,
And
ample
buckler,
to
Tydides
gave:
Then
in
a
leathern
helm
he
cased
his
head,
Short
of
its
crest,
and
with
no
plume
o'erspread:
(Such
as
by
youths
unused
to
arms
are
worn:)
No
spoils
enrich
it,
and
no
studs
adorn.
Next
him
Ulysses
took
a
shining
sword,
A
bow
and
quiver,
with
bright
arrows
stored:
A
well-proved
casque,
with
leather
braces
bound,
(Thy
gift,
Meriones,)
his
temples
crown'd;
Soft
wool
within;
without,
in
order
spread,(217)
A
boar's
white
teeth
grinn'd
horrid
o'er
his
head.
This
from
Amyntor,
rich
Ormenus'
son,
Autolycus
by
fraudful
rapine
won,
And
gave
Amphidamas;
from
him
the
prize
Molus
received,
the
pledge
of
social
ties;
The
helmet
next
by
Merion
was
possess'd,
And
now
Ulysses'
thoughtful
temples
press'd.
Thus
sheathed
in
arms,
the
council
they
forsake,
And
dark
through
paths
oblique
their
progress
take.
Just
then,
in
sign
she
favour'd
their
intent,
A
long-wing'd
heron
great
Minerva
sent:
This,
though
surrounding
shades
obscured
their
view.
By
the
shrill
clang
and
whistling
wings
they
knew.
As
from
the
right
she
soar'd,
Ulysses
pray'd,
Hail'd
the
glad
omen,
and
address'd
the
maid:
"O
daughter
of
that
god
whose
arm
can
wield
The
avenging
bolt,
and
shake
the
dreadful
shield!
O
thou!
for
ever
present
in
my
way,
Who
all
my
motions,
all
my
toils
survey!
Safe
may
we
pass
beneath
the
gloomy
shade,
Safe
by
thy
succour
to
our
ships
convey'd,
And
let
some
deed
this
signal
night
adorn,
To
claim
the
tears
of
Trojans
yet
unborn."
Then
godlike
Diomed
preferr'd
his
prayer:
"Daughter
of
Jove,
unconquer'd
Pallas!
hear.
Great
queen
of
arms,
whose
favour
Tydeus
won,
As
thou
defend'st
the
sire,
defend
the
son.
When
on
Ęsopus'
banks
the
banded
powers
Of
Greece
he
left,
and
sought
the
Theban
towers,
Peace
was
his
charge;
received
with
peaceful
show,
He
went
a
legate,
but
return'd
a
foe:
Then
help'd
by
thee,
and
cover'd
by
thy
shield,
He
fought
with
numbers,
and
made
numbers
yield.
So
now
be
present,
O
celestial
maid!
So
still
continue
to
the
race
thine
aid!
A
youthful
steer
shall
fall
beneath
the
stroke,
Untamed,
unconscious
of
the
galling
yoke,
With
ample
forehead,
and
with
spreading
horns,
Whose
taper
tops
refulgent
gold
adorns."
The
heroes
pray'd,
and
Pallas
from
the
skies
Accords
their
vow,
succeeds
their
enterprise.
Now,
like
two
lions
panting
for
the
prey,
With
dreadful
thoughts
they
trace
the
dreary
way,
Through
the
black
horrors
of
the
ensanguined
plain,
Through
dust,
through
blood,
o'er
arms,
and
hills
of
slain.
Nor
less
bold
Hector,
and
the
sons
of
Troy,
On
high
designs
the
wakeful
hours
employ;
The
assembled
peers
their
lofty
chief
enclosed;
Who
thus
the
counsels
of
his
breast
proposed:
"What
glorious
man,
for
high
attempts
prepared,
Dares
greatly
venture
for
a
rich
reward?
Of
yonder
fleet
a
bold
discovery
make,
What
watch
they
keep,
and
what
resolves
they
take?
If
now
subdued
they
meditate
their
flight,
And,
spent
with
toil,
neglect
the
watch
of
night?
His
be
the
chariot
that
shall
please
him
most,
Of
all
the
plunder
of
the
vanquish'd
host;
His
the
fair
steeds
that
all
the
rest
excel,
And
his
the
glory
to
have
served
so
well."
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."
The
chief
then
heaved
the
golden
sceptre
high,
Attesting
thus
the
monarch
of
the
sky:
"Be
witness
thou!
immortal
lord
of
all!
Whose
thunder
shakes
the
dark
aerial
hall:
By
none
but
Dolon
shall
this
prize
be
borne,
And
him
alone
the
immortal
steeds
adorn."
Thus
Hector
swore:
the
gods
were
call'd
in
vain,
But
the
rash
youth
prepares
to
scour
the
plain:
Across
his
back
the
bended
bow
he
flung,
A
wolf's
grey
hide
around
his
shoulders
hung,
A
ferret's
downy
fur
his
helmet
lined,
And
in
his
hand
a
pointed
javelin
shined.
Then
(never
to
return)
he
sought
the
shore,
And
trod
the
path
his
feet
must
tread
no
more.
Scarce
had
he
pass'd
the
steeds
and
Trojan
throng,
(Still
bending
forward
as
he
coursed
along,)
When,
on
the
hollow
way,
the
approaching
tread
Ulysses
mark'd,
and
thus
to
Diomed;
"O
friend!
I
hear
some
step
of
hostile
feet,
Moving
this
way,
or
hastening
to
the
fleet;
Some
spy,
perhaps,
to
lurk
beside
the
main;
Or
nightly
pillager
that
strips
the
slain.
Yet
let
him
pass,
and
win
a
little
space;
Then
rush
behind
him,
and
prevent
his
pace.
But
if
too
swift
of
foot
he
flies
before,
Confine
his
course
along
the
fleet
and
shore,
Betwixt
the
camp
and
him
our
spears
employ,
And
intercept
his
hoped
return
to
Troy."
With
that
they
stepp'd
aside,
and
stoop'd
their
head,
(As
Dolon
pass'd,)
behind
a
heap
of
dead:
Along
the
path
the
spy
unwary
flew;
Soft,
at
just
distance,
both
the
chiefs
pursue.
So
distant
they,
and
such
the
space
between,
As
when
two
teams
of
mules
divide
the
green,
(To
whom
the
hind
like
shares
of
land
allows,)
When
now
new
furrows
part
the
approaching
ploughs.
Now
Dolon,
listening,
heard
them
as
they
pass'd;
Hector
(he
thought)
had
sent,
and
check'd
his
haste,
Till
scarce
at
distance
of
a
javelin's
throw,
No
voice
succeeding,
he
perceived
the
foe.
As
when
two
skilful
hounds
the
leveret
wind;
Or
chase
through
woods
obscure
the
trembling
hind;
Now
lost,
now
seen,
they
intercept
his
way,
And
from
the
herd
still
turn
the
flying
prey:
So
fast,
and
with
such
fears,
the
Trojan
flew;
So
close,
so
constant,
the
bold
Greeks
pursue.
Now
almost
on
the
fleet
the
dastard
falls,
And
mingles
with
the
guards
that
watch
the
walls;
When
brave
Tydides
stopp'd;
a
gen'rous
thought
(Inspired
by
Pallas)
in
his
bosom
wrought,
Lest
on
the
foe
some
forward
Greek
advance,
And
snatch
the
glory
from
his
lifted
lance.
Then
thus
aloud:
"Whoe'er
thou
art,
remain;
This
javelin
else
shall
fix
thee
to
the
plain."
He
said,
and
high
in
air
the
weapon
cast,
Which
wilful
err'd,
and
o'er
his
shoulder
pass'd;
Then
fix'd
in
earth.
Against
the
trembling
wood
The
wretch
stood
propp'd,
and
quiver'd
as
he
stood;
A
sudden
palsy
seized
his
turning
head;
His
loose
teeth
chatter'd,
and
his
colour
fled;
The
panting
warriors
seize
him
as
he
stands,
And
with
unmanly
tears
his
life
demands.
"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."
To
whom
Ulysses
made
this
wise
reply:
"Whoe'er
thou
art,
be
bold,
nor
fear
to
die.
What
moves
thee,
say,
when
sleep
has
closed
the
sight,
To
roam
the
silent
fields
in
dead
of
night?
Cam'st
thou
the
secrets
of
our
camp
to
find,
By
Hector
prompted,
or
thy
daring
mind?
Or
art
some
wretch
by
hopes
of
plunder
led,
Through
heaps
of
carnage,
to
despoil
the
dead?"
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."
"Bold
was
thy
aim,
and
glorious
was
the
prize,
(Ulysses,
with
a
scornful
smile,
replies,)
Far
other
rulers
those
proud
steeds
demand,
And
scorn
the
guidance
of
a
vulgar
hand;
Even
great
Achilles
scarce
their
rage
can
tame,
Achilles
sprung
from
an
immortal
dame.
But
say,
be
faithful,
and
the
truth
recite!
Where
lies
encamp'd
the
Trojan
chief
to-night?
Where
stand
his
coursers?
in
what
quarter
sleep
Their
other
princes?
tell
what
watch
they
keep:
Say,
since
this
conquest,
what
their
counsels
are;
Or
here
to
combat,
from
their
city
far,
Or
back
to
Ilion's
walls
transfer
the
war?"
Ulysses
thus,
and
thus
Eumedes'
son:
"What
Dolon
knows,
his
faithful
tongue
shall
own.
Hector,
the
peers
assembling
in
his
tent,
A
council
holds
at
Ilus'
monument.
No
certain
guards
the
nightly
watch
partake;
Where'er
yon
fires
ascend,
the
Trojans
wake:
Anxious
for
Troy,
the
guard
the
natives
keep;
Safe
in
their
cares,
the
auxiliar
forces
sleep,
Whose
wives
and
infants,
from
the
danger
far,
Discharge
their
souls
of
half
the
fears
of
war."
"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
Maeonian
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."
To
this
Tydides,
with
a
gloomy
frown:
"Think
not
to
live,
though
all
the
truth
be
shown:
Shall
we
dismiss
thee,
in
some
future
strife
To
risk
more
bravely
thy
now
forfeit
life?
Or
that
again
our
camps
thou
may'st
explore?
No--once
a
traitor,
thou
betray'st
no
more."
Sternly
he
spoke,
and
as
the
wretch
prepared
With
humble
blandishment
to
stroke
his
beard,
Like
lightning
swift
the
wrathful
falchion
flew,
Divides
the
neck,
and
cuts
the
nerves
in
two;
One
instant
snatch'd
his
trembling
soul
to
hell,
The
head,
yet
speaking,
mutter'd
as
it
fell.
The
furry
helmet
from
his
brow
they
tear,
The
wolf's
grey
hide,
the
unbended
bow
and
spear;
These
great
Ulysses
lifting
to
the
skies,
To
favouring
Pallas
dedicates
the
prize:
"Great
queen
of
arms,
receive
this
hostile
spoil,
And
let
the
Thracian
steeds
reward
our
toil;
Thee,
first
of
all
the
heavenly
host,
we
praise;
O
speed
our
labours,
and
direct
our
ways!"
This
said,
the
spoils,
with
dropping
gore
defaced,
High
on
a
spreading
tamarisk
he
placed;
Then
heap'd
with
reeds
and
gathered
boughs
the
plain,
To
guide
their
footsteps
to
the
place
again.
Through
the
still
night
they
cross
the
devious
fields,
Slippery
with
blood,
o'er
arms
and
heaps
of
shields,
Arriving
where
the
Thracian
squadrons
lay,
And
eased
in
sleep
the
labours
of
the
day.
Ranged
in
three
lines
they
view
the
prostrate
band:
The
horses
yoked
beside
each
warrior
stand.
Their
arms
in
order
on
the
ground
reclined,
Through
the
brown
shade
the
fulgid
weapons
shined:
Amidst
lay
Rhesus,
stretch'd
in
sleep
profound,
And
the
white
steeds
behind
his
chariot
bound.
The
welcome
sight
Ulysses
first
descries,
And
points
to
Diomed
the
tempting
prize.
"The
man,
the
coursers,
and
the
car
behold!
Described
by
Dolon,
with
the
arms
of
gold.
Now,
brave
Tydides!
now
thy
courage
try,
Approach
the
chariot,
and
the
steeds
untie;
Or
if
thy
soul
aspire
to
fiercer
deeds,
Urge
thou
the
slaughter,
while
I
seize
the
steeds."
Pallas
(this
said)
her
hero's
bosom
warms,
Breathed
in
his
heart,
and
strung
his
nervous
arms;
Where'er
he
pass'd,
a
purple
stream
pursued
His
thirsty
falchion,
fat
with
hostile
blood,
Bathed
all
his
footsteps,
dyed
the
fields
with
gore,
And
a
low
groan
remurmur'd
through
the
shore.
So
the
grim
lion,
from
his
nightly
den,
O'erleaps
the
fences,
and
invades
the
pen,
On
sheep
or
goats,
resistless
in
his
way,
He
falls,
and
foaming
rends
the
guardless
prey;
Nor
stopp'd
the
fury
of
his
vengeful
hand,
Till
twelve
lay
breathless
of
the
Thracian
band.
Ulysses
following,
as
his
partner
slew,
Back
by
the
foot
each
slaughter'd
warrior
drew;
The
milk-white
coursers
studious
to
convey
Safe
to
the
ships,
he
wisely
cleared
the
way:
Lest
the
fierce
steeds,
not
yet
to
battles
bred,
Should
start,
and
tremble
at
the
heaps
of
dead.
Now
twelve
despatch'd,
the
monarch
last
they
found;
Tydides'
falchion
fix'd
him
to
the
ground.
Just
then
a
deathful
dream
Minerva
sent,
A
warlike
form
appear'd
before
his
tent,
Whose
visionary
steel
his
bosom
tore:
So
dream'd
the
monarch,
and
awaked
no
more.(218)
Ulysses
now
the
snowy
steeds
detains,
And
leads
them,
fasten'd
by
the
silver
reins;
These,
with
his
bow
unbent,
he
lash'd
along;
(The
scourge
forgot,
on
Rhesus'
chariot
hung;)
Then
gave
his
friend
the
signal
to
retire;
But
him,
new
dangers,
new
achievements
fire;
Doubtful
he
stood,
or
with
his
reeking
blade
To
send
more
heroes
to
the
infernal
shade,
Drag
off
the
car
where
Rhesus'
armour
lay,
Or
heave
with
manly
force,
and
lift
away.
While
unresolved
the
son
of
Tydeus
stands,
Pallas
appears,
and
thus
her
chief
commands:
"Enough,
my
son;
from
further
slaughter
cease,
Regard
thy
safety,
and
depart
in
peace;
Haste
to
the
ships,
the
gotten
spoils
enjoy,
Nor
tempt
too
far
the
hostile
gods
of
Troy."
The
voice
divine
confess'd
the
martial
maid;
In
haste
he
mounted,
and
her
word
obey'd;
The
coursers
fly
before
Ulysses'
bow,
Swift
as
the
wind,
and
white
as
winter-snow.
Not
unobserved
they
pass'd:
the
god
of
light
Had
watch'd
his
Troy,
and
mark'd
Minerva's
flight,
Saw
Tydeus'
son
with
heavenly
succour
bless'd,
And
vengeful
anger
fill'd
his
sacred
breast.
Swift
to
the
Trojan
camp
descends
the
power,
And
wakes
Hippocoon
in
the
morning-hour;
(On
Rhesus'
side
accustom'd
to
attend,
A
faithful
kinsman,
and
instructive
friend;)
He
rose,
and
saw
the
field
deform'd
with
blood,
An
empty
space
where
late
the
coursers
stood,
The
yet-warm
Thracians
panting
on
the
coast;
For
each
he
wept,
but
for
his
Rhesus
most:
Now
while
on
Rhesus'
name
he
calls
in
vain,
The
gathering
tumult
spreads
o'er
all
the
plain;
On
heaps
the
Trojans
rush,
with
wild
affright,
And
wondering
view
the
slaughters
of
the
night.
Meanwhile
the
chiefs,
arriving
at
the
shade
Where
late
the
spoils
of
Hector's
spy
were
laid,
Ulysses
stopp'd;
to
him
Tydides
bore
The
trophy,
dropping
yet
with
Dolon's
gore:
Then
mounts
again;
again
their
nimbler
feet
The
coursers
ply,
and
thunder
towards
the
fleet.
[Illustration:
DIOMED
AND
ULYSSES
RETURNING
WITH
THE
SPOILS
OF
RHESUS.]
DIOMED
AND
ULYSSES
RETURNING
WITH
THE
SPOILS
OF
RHESUS.
Old
Nestor
first
perceived
the
approaching
sound,
Bespeaking
thus
the
Grecian
peers
around:
"Methinks
the
noise
of
trampling
steeds
I
hear,
Thickening
this
way,
and
gathering
on
my
ear;
Perhaps
some
horses
of
the
Trojan
breed
(So
may,
ye
gods!
my
pious
hopes
succeed)
The
great
Tydides
and
Ulysses
bear,
Return'd
triumphant
with
this
prize
of
war.
Yet
much
I
fear
(ah,
may
that
fear
be
vain!)
The
chiefs
outnumber'd
by
the
Trojan
train;
Perhaps,
even
now
pursued,
they
seek
the
shore;
Or,
oh!
perhaps
those
heroes
are
no
more."
Scarce
had
he
spoke,
when,
lo!
the
chiefs
appear,
And
spring
to
earth;
the
Greeks
dismiss
their
fear:
With
words
of
friendship
and
extended
hands
They
greet
the
kings;
and
Nestor
first
demands:
"Say
thou,
whose
praises
all
our
host
proclaim,
Thou
living
glory
of
the
Grecian
name!
Say
whence
these
coursers?
by
what
chance
bestow'd,
The
spoil
of
foes,
or
present
of
a
god?
Not
those
fair
steeds,
so
radiant
and
so
gay,
That
draw
the
burning
chariot
of
the
day.
Old
as
I
am,
to
age
I
scorn
to
yield,
And
daily
mingle
in
the
martial
field;
But
sure
till
now
no
coursers
struck
my
sight
Like
these,
conspicuous
through
the
ranks
of
fight.
Some
god,
I
deem,
conferred
the
glorious
prize,
Bless'd
as
ye
are,
and
favourites
of
the
skies;
The
care
of
him
who
bids
the
thunder
roar,
And
her,
whose
fury
bathes
the
world
with
gore."
"Father!
not
so,
(sage
Ithacus
rejoin'd,)
The
gifts
of
heaven
are
of
a
nobler
kind.
Of
Thracian
lineage
are
the
steeds
ye
view,
Whose
hostile
king
the
brave
Tydides
slew;
Sleeping
he
died,
with
all
his
guards
around,
And
twelve
beside
lay
gasping
on
the
ground.
These
other
spoils
from
conquer'd
Dolon
came,
A
wretch,
whose
swiftness
was
his
only
fame;
By
Hector
sent
our
forces
to
explore,
He
now
lies
headless
on
the
sandy
shore."
Then
o'er
the
trench
the
bounding
coursers
flew;
The
joyful
Greeks
with
loud
acclaim
pursue.
Straight
to
Tydides'
high
pavilion
borne,
The
matchless
steeds
his
ample
stalls
adorn:
The
neighing
coursers
their
new
fellows
greet,
And
the
full
racks
are
heap'd
with
generous
wheat.
But
Dolon's
armour,
to
his
ships
convey'd,
High
on
the
painted
stern
Ulysses
laid,
A
trophy
destin'd
to
the
blue-eyed
maid.
Now
from
nocturnal
sweat
and
sanguine
stain
They
cleanse
their
bodies
in
the
neighb'ring
main:
Then
in
the
polished
bath,
refresh'd
from
toil,
Their
joints
they
supple
with
dissolving
oil,
In
due
repast
indulge
the
genial
hour,
And
first
to
Pallas
the
libations
pour:
They
sit,
rejoicing
in
her
aid
divine,
And
the
crown'd
goblet
foams
with
floods
of
wine.
BOOK
XI.
ARGUMENT
THE
THIRD
BATTLE,
AND
THE
ACTS
OF
AGAMEMNON.
Agamemnon,
having
armed
himself,
leads
the
Grecians
to
battle;
Hector
prepares
the
Trojans
to
receive
them,
while
Jupiter,
Juno,
and
Minerva
give
the
signals
of
war.
Agamemnon
bears
all
before
him
and
Hector
is
commanded
by
Jupiter
(who
sends
Iris
for
that
purpose)
to
decline
the
engagement,
till
the
king
shall
be
wounded
and
retire
from
the
field.
He
then
makes
a
great
slaughter
of
the
enemy.
Ulysses
and
Diomed
put
a
stop
to
him
for
a
time
but
the
latter,
being
wounded
by
Paris,
is
obliged
to
desert
his
companion,
who
is
encompassed
by
the
Trojans,
wounded,
and
in
the
utmost
danger,
till
Menelaus
and
Ajax
rescue
him.
Hector
comes
against
Ajax,
but
that
hero
alone
opposes
multitudes,
and
rallies
the
Greeks.
In
the
meantime
Machaon,
in
the
other
wing
of
the
army,
is
pierced
with
an
arrow
by
Paris,
and
carried
from
the
fight
in
Nestor's
chariot.
Achilles
(who
overlooked
the
action
from
his
ship)
sent
Patroclus
to
inquire
which
of
the
Greeks
was
wounded
in
that
manner;
Nestor
entertains
him
in
his
tent
with
an
account
of
the
accidents
of
the
day,
and
a
long
recital
of
some
former
wars
which
he
remembered,
tending
to
put
Patroclus
upon
persuading
Achilles
to
fight
for
his
countrymen,
or
at
least
to
permit
him
to
do
it,
clad
in
Achilles'
armour.
Patroclus,
on
his
return,
meets
Eurypylus
also
wounded,
and
assists
him
in
that
distress.
This
book
opens
with
the
eight
and-twentieth
day
of
the
poem,
and
the
same
day,
with
its
various
actions
and
adventures
is
extended
through
the
twelfth,
thirteenth,
fourteenth,
fifteenth,
sixteenth,
seventeenth,
and
part
of
the
eighteenth
books.
The
scene
lies
in
the
field
near
the
monument
of
Ilus.
The
saffron
morn,
with
early
blushes
spread,(219)
Now
rose
refulgent
from
Tithonus'
bed;
With
new-born
day
to
gladden
mortal
sight,
And
gild
the
courts
of
heaven
with
sacred
light:
When
baleful
Eris,
sent
by
Jove's
command,
The
torch
of
discord
blazing
in
her
hand,
Through
the
red
skies
her
bloody
sign
extends,
And,
wrapt
in
tempests,
o'er
the
fleet
descends.
High
on
Ulysses'
bark
her
horrid
stand
She
took,
and
thunder'd
through
the
seas
and
land.
Even
Ajax
and
Achilles
heard
the
sound,
Whose
ships,
remote,
the
guarded
navy
bound,
Thence
the
black
fury
through
the
Grecian
throng
With
horror
sounds
the
loud
Orthian
song:
The
navy
shakes,
and
at
the
dire
alarms
Each
bosom
boils,
each
warrior
starts
to
arms.
No
more
they
sigh,
inglorious
to
return,
But
breathe
revenge,
and
for
the
combat
burn.
[Illustration:
THE
DESCENT
OF
DISCORD.]
THE
DESCENT
OF
DISCORD.
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.
That
instant
Juno,
and
the
martial
maid,
In
happy
thunders
promised
Greece
their
aid;
High
o'er
the
chief
they
clash'd
their
arms
in
air,
And,
leaning
from
the
clouds,
expect
the
war.
Close
to
the
limits
of
the
trench
and
mound,
The
fiery
coursers
to
their
chariots
bound
The
squires
restrain'd:
the
foot,
with
those
who
wield
The
lighter
arms,
rush
forward
to
the
field.
To
second
these,
in
close
array
combined,
The
squadrons
spread
their
sable
wings
behind.
Now
shouts
and
tumults
wake
the
tardy
sun,
As
with
the
light
the
warriors'
toils
begun.
Even
Jove,
whose
thunder
spoke
his
wrath,
distill'd
Red
drops
of
blood
o'er
all
the
fatal
field;(220)
The
woes
of
men
unwilling
to
survey,
And
all
the
slaughters
that
must
stain
the
day.
Near
Ilus'
tomb,
in
order
ranged
around,
The
Trojan
lines
possess'd
the
rising
ground:
There
wise
Polydamas
and
Hector
stood;
Ęneas,
honour'd
as
a
guardian
god;
Bold
Polybus,
Agenor
the
divine;
The
brother-warriors
of
Antenor's
line:
With
youthful
Acamas,
whose
beauteous
face
And
fair
proportion
match'd
the
ethereal
race.
Great
Hector,
cover'd
with
his
spacious
shield,
Plies
all
the
troops,
and
orders
all
the
field.
As
the
red
star
now
shows
his
sanguine
fires
Through
the
dark
clouds,
and
now
in
night
retires,
Thus
through
the
ranks
appear'd
the
godlike
man,
Plunged
in
the
rear,
or
blazing
in
the
van;
While
streamy
sparkles,
restless
as
he
flies,
Flash
from
his
arms,
as
lightning
from
the
skies.
As
sweating
reapers
in
some
wealthy
field,
Ranged
in
two
bands,
their
crooked
weapons
wield,
Bear
down
the
furrows,
till
their
labours
meet;
Thick
fall
the
heapy
harvests
at
their
feet:
So
Greece
and
Troy
the
field
of
war
divide,
And
falling
ranks
are
strow'd
on
every
side.
None
stoop'd
a
thought
to
base
inglorious
flight;(221)
But
horse
to
horse,
and
man
to
man
they
fight,
Not
rabid
wolves
more
fierce
contest
their
prey;
Each
wounds,
each
bleeds,
but
none
resign
the
day.
Discord
with
joy
the
scene
of
death
descries,
And
drinks
large
slaughter
at
her
sanguine
eyes:
Discord
alone,
of
all
the
immortal
train,
Swells
the
red
horrors
of
this
direful
plain:
The
gods
in
peace
their
golden
mansions
fill,
Ranged
in
bright
order
on
the
Olympian
hill:
But
general
murmurs
told
their
griefs
above,
And
each
accused
the
partial
will
of
Jove.
Meanwhile
apart,
superior,
and
alone,
The
eternal
Monarch,
on
his
awful
throne,
Wrapt
in
the
blaze
of
boundless
glory
sate;
And
fix'd,
fulfill'd
the
just
decrees
of
fate.
On
earth
he
turn'd
his
all-considering
eyes,
And
mark'd
the
spot
where
Ilion's
towers
arise;
The
sea
with
ships,
the
fields
with
armies
spread,
The
victor's
rage,
the
dying,
and
the
dead.
Thus
while
the
morning-beams,
increasing
bright,
O'er
heaven's
pure
azure
spread
the
glowing
light,
Commutual
death
the
fate
of
war
confounds,
Each
adverse
battle
gored
with
equal
wounds.
But
now
(what
time
in
some
sequester'd
vale
The
weary
woodman
spreads
his
sparing
meal,
When
his
tired
arms
refuse
the
axe
to
rear,
And
claim
a
respite
from
the
sylvan
war;
But
not
till
half
the
prostrate
forests
lay
Stretch'd
in
long
ruin,
and
exposed
to
day)
Then,
nor
till
then,
the
Greeks'
impulsive
might
Pierced
the
black
phalanx,
and
let
in
the
light.
Great
Agamemnon
then
the
slaughter
led,
And
slew
Bienor
at
his
people's
head:
Whose
squire
Oileus,
with
a
sudden
spring,
Leap'd
from
the
chariot
to
revenge
his
king;
But
in
his
front
he
felt
the
fatal
wound,
Which
pierced
his
brain,
and
stretch'd
him
on
the
ground.
Atrides
spoil'd,
and
left
them
on
the
plain:
Vain
was
their
youth,
their
glittering
armour
vain:
Now
soil'd
with
dust,
and
naked
to
the
sky,
Their
snowy
limbs
and
beauteous
bodies
lie.
Two
sons
of
Priam
next
to
battle
move,
The
product,
one
of
marriage,
one
of
love:(222)
In
the
same
car
the
brother-warriors
ride;
This
took
the
charge
to
combat,
that
to
guide:
Far
other
task,
than
when
they
wont
to
keep,
On
Ida's
tops,
their
father's
fleecy
sheep.
These
on
the
mountains
once
Achilles
found,
And
captive
led,
with
pliant
osiers
bound;
Then
to
their
sire
for
ample
sums
restored;
But
now
to
perish
by
Atrides'
sword:
Pierced
in
the
breast
the
base-born
Isus
bleeds:
Cleft
through
the
head
his
brother's
fate
succeeds,
Swift
to
the
spoil
the
hasty
victor
falls,
And,
stript,
their
features
to
his
mind
recalls.
The
Trojans
see
the
youths
untimely
die,
But
helpless
tremble
for
themselves,
and
fly.
So
when
a
lion
ranging
o'er
the
lawns.
Finds,
on
some
grassy
lair,
the
couching
fawns,
Their
bones
he
cracks,
their
reeking
vitals
draws,
And
grinds
the
quivering
flesh
with
bloody
jaws;
The
frighted
hind
beholds,
and
dares
not
stay,
But
swift
through
rustling
thickets
bursts
her
way;
All
drown'd
in
sweat,
the
panting
mother
flies,
And
the
big
tears
roll
trickling
from
her
eyes.
Amidst
the
tumult
of
the
routed
train,
The
sons
of
false
Antimachus
were
slain;
He
who
for
bribes
his
faithless
counsels
sold,
And
voted
Helen's
stay
for
Paris'
gold.
Atrides
mark'd,
as
these
their
safety
sought,
And
slew
the
children
for
the
father's
fault;
Their
headstrong
horse
unable
to
restrain,
They
shook
with
fear,
and
dropp'd
the
silken
rein;
Then
in
the
chariot
on
their
knees
they
fall,
And
thus
with
lifted
hands
for
mercy
call:
"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."
These
words,
attended
with
the
flood
of
tears,
The
youths
address'd
to
unrelenting
ears:
The
vengeful
monarch
gave
this
stern
reply:
"If
from
Antimachus
ye
spring,
ye
die;
The
daring
wretch
who
once
in
council
stood
To
shed
Ulysses'
and
my
brother's
blood,
For
proffer'd
peace!
and
sues
his
seed
for
grace?
No,
die,
and
pay
the
forfeit
of
your
race."
This
said,
Pisander
from
the
car
he
cast,
And
pierced
his
breast:
supine
he
breathed
his
last.
His
brother
leap'd
to
earth;
but,
as
he
lay,
The
trenchant
falchion
lopp'd
his
hands
away;
His
sever'd
head
was
toss'd
among
the
throng,
And,
rolling,
drew
a
bloody
train
along.
Then,
where
the
thickest
fought,
the
victor
flew;
The
king's
example
all
his
Greeks
pursue.
Now
by
the
foot
the
flying
foot
were
slain,
Horse
trod
by
horse,
lay
foaming
on
the
plain.
From
the
dry
fields
thick
clouds
of
dust
arise,
Shade
the
black
host,
and
intercept
the
skies.
The
brass-hoof'd
steeds
tumultuous
plunge
and
bound,
And
the
thick
thunder
beats
the
labouring
ground,
Still
slaughtering
on,
the
king
of
men
proceeds;
The
distanced
army
wonders
at
his
deeds,
As
when
the
winds
with
raging
flames
conspire,
And
o'er
the
forests
roll
the
flood
of
fire,
In
blazing
heaps
the
grove's
old
honours
fall,
And
one
refulgent
ruin
levels
all:
Before
Atrides'
rage
so
sinks
the
foe,
Whole
squadrons
vanish,
and
proud
heads
lie
low.
The
steeds
fly
trembling
from
his
waving
sword,
And
many
a
car,
now
lighted
of
its
lord,
Wide
o'er
the
field
with
guideless
fury
rolls,
Breaking
their
ranks,
and
crushing
out
their
souls;
While
his
keen
falchion
drinks
the
warriors'
lives;
More
grateful,
now,
to
vultures
than
their
wives!
Perhaps
great
Hector
then
had
found
his
fate,
But
Jove
and
destiny
prolong'd
his
date.
Safe
from
the
darts,
the
care
of
heaven
he
stood,
Amidst
alarms,
and
death,
and
dust,
and
blood.
Now
past
the
tomb
where
ancient
Ilus
lay,
Through
the
mid
field
the
routed
urge
their
way:
Where
the
wild
figs
the
adjoining
summit
crown,
The
path
they
take,
and
speed
to
reach
the
town.
As
swift,
Atrides
with
loud
shouts
pursued,
Hot
with
his
toil,
and
bathed
in
hostile
blood.
Now
near
the
beech-tree,
and
the
Scaean
gates,
The
hero
halts,
and
his
associates
waits.
Meanwhile
on
every
side
around
the
plain,
Dispersed,
disorder'd,
fly
the
Trojan
train.
So
flies
a
herd
of
beeves,
that
hear
dismay'd
The
lion's
roaring
through
the
midnight
shade;
On
heaps
they
tumble
with
successless
haste;
The
savage
seizes,
draws,
and
rends
the
last.
Not
with
less
fury
stem
Atrides
flew,
Still
press'd
the
rout,
and
still
the
hindmost
slew;
Hurl'd
from
their
cars
the
bravest
chiefs
are
kill'd,
And
rage,
and
death,
and
carnage
load
the
field.
Now
storms
the
victor
at
the
Trojan
wall;
Surveys
the
towers,
and
meditates
their
fall.
But
Jove
descending
shook
the
Idaean
hills,
And
down
their
summits
pour'd
a
hundred
rills:
The
unkindled
lightning
in
his
hand
he
took,
And
thus
the
many-coloured
maid
bespoke:
"Iris,
with
haste
thy
golden
wings
display,
To
godlike
Hector
this
our
word
convey--
While
Agamemnon
wastes
the
ranks
around,
Fights
in
the
front,
and
bathes
with
blood
the
ground,
Bid
him
give
way;
but
issue
forth
commands,
And
trust
the
war
to
less
important
hands:
But
when,
or
wounded
by
the
spear
or
dart,
That
chief
shall
mount
his
chariot,
and
depart,
Then
Jove
shall
string
his
arm,
and
fire
his
breast,
Then
to
her
ships
shall
flying
Greece
be
press'd,
Till
to
the
main
the
burning
sun
descend,
And
sacred
night
her
awful
shade
extend."
He
spoke,
and
Iris
at
his
word
obey'd;
On
wings
of
winds
descends
the
various
maid.
The
chief
she
found
amidst
the
ranks
of
war,
Close
to
the
bulwarks,
on
his
glittering
car.
The
goddess
then:
"O
son
of
Priam,
hear!
From
Jove
I
come,
and
his
high
mandate
bear.
While
Agamemnon
wastes
the
ranks
around,
Fights
in
the
front,
and
bathes
with
blood
the
ground,
Abstain
from
fight;
yet
issue
forth
commands,
And
trust
the
war
to
less
important
hands:
But
when,
or
wounded
by
the
spear
or
dart,
The
chief
shall
mount
his
chariot,
and
depart,
Then
Jove
shall
string
thy
arm,
and
fire
thy
breast,
Then
to
her
ships
shall
flying
Greece
be
press'd,
Till
to
the
main
the
burning
sun
descend,
And
sacred
night
her
awful
shade
extend."
She
said,
and
vanish'd.
Hector,
with
a
bound,
Springs
from
his
chariot
on
the
trembling
ground,
In
clanging
arms:
he
grasps
in
either
hand
A
pointed
lance,
and
speeds
from
band
to
band;
Revives
their
ardour,
turns
their
steps
from
flight,
And
wakes
anew
the
dying
flames
of
fight.
They
stand
to
arms:
the
Greeks
their
onset
dare,
Condense
their
powers,
and
wait
the
coming
war.
New
force,
new
spirit,
to
each
breast
returns;
The
fight
renew'd
with
fiercer
fury
burns:
The
king
leads
on:
all
fix
on
him
their
eye,
And
learn
from
him
to
conquer,
or
to
die.
Ye
sacred
nine!
celestial
Muses!
tell,
Who
faced
him
first,
and
by
his
prowess
fell?
The
great
Iphidamas,
the
bold
and
young,
From
sage
Antenor
and
Theano
sprung;
Whom
from
his
youth
his
grandsire
Cisseus
bred,
And
nursed
in
Thrace
where
snowy
flocks
are
fed.
Scarce
did
the
down
his
rosy
cheeks
invest,
And
early
honour
warm
his
generous
breast,
When
the
kind
sire
consign'd
his
daughter's
charms
(Theano's
sister)
to
his
youthful
arms.
But
call'd
by
glory
to
the
wars
of
Troy,
He
leaves
untasted
the
first
fruits
of
joy;
From
his
loved
bride
departs
with
melting
eyes,
And
swift
to
aid
his
dearer
country
flies.
With
twelve
black
ships
he
reach'd
Percope's
strand,
Thence
took
the
long
laborious
march
by
land.
Now
fierce
for
fame,
before
the
ranks
he
springs,
Towering
in
arms,
and
braves
the
king
of
kings.
Atrides
first
discharged
the
missive
spear;
The
Trojan
stoop'd,
the
javelin
pass'd
in
air.
Then
near
the
corslet,
at
the
monarch's
heart,
With
all
his
strength,
the
youth
directs
his
dart:
But
the
broad
belt,
with
plates
of
silver
bound,
The
point
rebated,
and
repell'd
the
wound.
Encumber'd
with
the
dart,
Atrides
stands,
Till,
grasp'd
with
force,
he
wrench'd
it
from
his
hands;
At
once
his
weighty
sword
discharged
a
wound
Full
on
his
neck,
that
fell'd
him
to
the
ground.
Stretch'd
in
the
dust
the
unhappy
warrior
lies,
And
sleep
eternal
seals
his
swimming
eyes.
Oh
worthy
better
fate!
oh
early
slain!
Thy
country's
friend;
and
virtuous,
though
in
vain!
No
more
the
youth
shall
join
his
consort's
side,
At
once
a
virgin,
and
at
once
a
bride!
No
more
with
presents
her
embraces
meet,
Or
lay
the
spoils
of
conquest
at
her
feet,
On
whom
his
passion,
lavish
of
his
store,
Bestow'd
so
much,
and
vainly
promised
more!
Unwept,
uncover'd,
on
the
plain
he
lay,
While
the
proud
victor
bore
his
arms
away.
Coon,
Antenor's
eldest
hope,
was
nigh:
Tears,
at
the
sight,
came
starting
from
his
eye,
While
pierced
with
grief
the
much-loved
youth
he
view'd,
And
the
pale
features
now
deform'd
with
blood.
Then,
with
his
spear,
unseen,
his
time
he
took,
Aim'd
at
the
king,
and
near
his
elbow
strook.
The
thrilling
steel
transpierced
the
brawny
part,
And
through
his
arm
stood
forth
the
barbed
dart.
Surprised
the
monarch
feels,
yet
void
of
fear
On
Coon
rushes
with
his
lifted
spear:
His
brother's
corpse
the
pious
Trojan
draws,
And
calls
his
country
to
assert
his
cause;
Defends
him
breathless
on
the
sanguine
field,
And
o'er
the
body
spreads
his
ample
shield.
Atrides,
marking
an
unguarded
part,
Transfix'd
the
warrior
with
his
brazen
dart;
Prone
on
his
brother's
bleeding
breast
he
lay,
The
monarch's
falchion
lopp'd
his
head
away:
The
social
shades
the
same
dark
journey
go,
And
join
each
other
in
the
realms
below.
The
vengeful
victor
rages
round
the
fields,
With
every
weapon
art
or
fury
yields:
By
the
long
lance,
the
sword,
or
ponderous
stone,
Whole
ranks
are
broken,
and
whole
troops
o'erthrown.
This,
while
yet
warm
distill'd
the
purple
flood;
But
when
the
wound
grew
stiff
with
clotted
blood,
Then
grinding
tortures
his
strong
bosom
rend,
Less
keen
those
darts
the
fierce
Ilythiae
send:
(The
powers
that
cause
the
teeming
matron's
throes,
Sad
mothers
of
unutterable
woes!)
Stung
with
the
smart,
all-panting
with
the
pain,
He
mounts
the
car,
and
gives
his
squire
the
rein;
Then
with
a
voice
which
fury
made
more
strong,
And
pain
augmented,
thus
exhorts
the
throng:
"O
friends!
O
Greeks!
assert
your
honours
won;
Proceed,
and
finish
what
this
arm
begun:
Lo!
angry
Jove
forbids
your
chief
to
stay,
And
envies
half
the
glories
of
the
day."
He
said:
the
driver
whirls
his
lengthful
thong;
The
horses
fly;
the
chariot
smokes
along.
Clouds
from
their
nostrils
the
fierce
coursers
blow,
And
from
their
sides
the
foam
descends
in
snow;
Shot
through
the
battle
in
a
moment's
space,
The
wounded
monarch
at
his
tent
they
place.
No
sooner
Hector
saw
the
king
retired,
But
thus
his
Trojans
and
his
aids
he
fired:
"Hear,
all
ye
Dardan,
all
ye
Lycian
race!
Famed
in
close
fight,
and
dreadful
face
to
face:
Now
call
to
mind
your
ancient
trophies
won,
Your
great
forefathers'
virtues,
and
your
own.
Behold,
the
general
flies!
deserts
his
powers!
Lo,
Jove
himself
declares
the
conquest
ours!
Now
on
yon
ranks
impel
your
foaming
steeds;
And,
sure
of
glory,
dare
immortal
deeds."
Writh
words
like
these
the
fiery
chief
alarms
His
fainting
host,
and
every
bosom
warms.
As
the
bold
hunter
cheers
his
hounds
to
tear
The
brindled
lion,
or
the
tusky
bear:
With
voice
and
hand
provokes
their
doubting
heart,
And
springs
the
foremost
with
his
lifted
dart:
So
godlike
Hector
prompts
his
troops
to
dare;
Nor
prompts
alone,
but
leads
himself
the
war.
On
the
black
body
of
the
foe
he
pours;
As
from
the
cloud's
deep
bosom,
swell'd
with
showers,
A
sudden
storm
the
purple
ocean
sweeps,
Drives
the
wild
waves,
and
tosses
all
the
deeps.
Say,
Muse!
when
Jove
the
Trojan's
glory
crown'd,
Beneath
his
arm
what
heroes
bit
the
ground?
Assaeus,
Dolops,
and
Autonous
died,
Opites
next
was
added
to
their
side;
Then
brave
Hipponous,
famed
in
many
a
fight,
Opheltius,
Orus,
sunk
to
endless
night;
Ęsymnus,
Agelaus;
all
chiefs
of
name;
The
rest
were
vulgar
deaths
unknown
to
fame.
As
when
a
western
whirlwind,
charged
with
storms,
Dispels
the
gather'd
clouds
that
Notus
forms:
The
gust
continued,
violent
and
strong,
Rolls
sable
clouds
in
heaps
on
heaps
along;
Now
to
the
skies
the
foaming
billows
rears,
Now
breaks
the
surge,
and
wide
the
bottom
bares:
Thus,
raging
Hector,
with
resistless
hands,
O'erturns,
confounds,
and
scatters
all
their
bands.
Now
the
last
ruin
the
whole
host
appals;
Now
Greece
had
trembled
in
her
wooden
walls;
But
wise
Ulysses
call'd
Tydides
forth,
His
soul
rekindled,
and
awaked
his
worth.
"And
stand
we
deedless,
O
eternal
shame!
Till
Hector's
arm
involve
the
ships
in
flame?
Haste,
let
us
join,
and
combat
side
by
side."
The
warrior
thus,
and
thus
the
friend
replied:
"No
martial
toil
I
shun,
no
danger
fear;
Let
Hector
come;
I
wait
his
fury
here.
But
Jove
with
conquest
crowns
the
Trojan
train:
And,
Jove
our
foe,
all
human
force
is
vain."
He
sigh'd;
but,
sighing,
raised
his
vengeful
steel,
And
from
his
car
the
proud
Thymbraeus
fell:
Molion,
the
charioteer,
pursued
his
lord,
His
death
ennobled
by
Ulysses'
sword.
There
slain,
they
left
them
in
eternal
night,
Then
plunged
amidst
the
thickest
ranks
of
fight.
So
two
wild
boars
outstrip
the
following
hounds,
Then
swift
revert,
and
wounds
return
for
wounds.
Stern
Hector's
conquests
in
the
middle
plain
Stood
check'd
awhile,
and
Greece
respired
again.
The
sons
of
Merops
shone
amidst
the
war;
Towering
they
rode
in
one
refulgent
car:
In
deep
prophetic
arts
their
father
skill'd,
Had
warn'd
his
children
from
the
Trojan
field.
Fate
urged
them
on:
the
father
warn'd
in
vain;
They
rush'd
to
fight,
and
perish'd
on
the
plain;
Their
breasts
no
more
the
vital
spirit
warms;
The
stern
Tydides
strips
their
shining
arms.
Hypirochus
by
great
Ulysses
dies,
And
rich
Hippodamus
becomes
his
prize.
Great
Jove
from
Ide
with
slaughter
fills
his
sight,
And
level
hangs
the
doubtful
scale
of
fight.
By
Tydeus'
lance
Agastrophus
was
slain,
The
far-famed
hero
of
Paeonian
strain;
Wing'd
with
his
fears,
on
foot
he
strove
to
fly,
His
steeds
too
distant,
and
the
foe
too
nigh:
Through
broken
orders,
swifter
than
the
wind,
He
fled,
but
flying
left
his
life
behind.
This
Hector
sees,
as
his
experienced
eyes
Traverse
the
files,
and
to
the
rescue
flies;
Shouts,
as
he
pass'd,
the
crystal
regions
rend,
And
moving
armies
on
his
march
attend.
Great
Diomed
himself
was
seized
with
fear,
And
thus
bespoke
his
brother
of
the
war:
"Mark
how
this
way
yon
bending
squadrons
yield!
The
storm
rolls
on,
and
Hector
rules
the
field:
Here
stand
his
utmost
force."--The
warrior
said;
Swift
at
the
word
his
ponderous
javelin
fled;
Nor
miss'd
its
aim,
but
where
the
plumage
danced
Razed
the
smooth
cone,
and
thence
obliquely
glanced.
Safe
in
his
helm
(the
gift
of
Phoebus'
hands)
Without
a
wound
the
Trojan
hero
stands;
But
yet
so
stunn'd,
that,
staggering
on
the
plain.
His
arm
and
knee
his
sinking
bulk
sustain;
O'er
his
dim
sight
the
misty
vapours
rise,
And
a
short
darkness
shades
his
swimming
eyes.
Tydides
followed
to
regain
his
lance;
While
Hector
rose,
recover'd
from
the
trance,
Remounts
his
car,
and
herds
amidst
the
crowd:
The
Greek
pursues
him,
and
exults
aloud:
"Once
more
thank
Phoebus
for
thy
forfeit
breath,
Or
thank
that
swiftness
which
outstrips
the
death.
Well
by
Apollo
are
thy
prayers
repaid,
And
oft
that
partial
power
has
lent
his
aid.
Thou
shall
not
long
the
death
deserved
withstand,
If
any
god
assist
Tydides'
hand.
Fly
then,
inglorious!
but
thy
flight,
this
day,
Whole
hecatombs
of
Trojan
ghosts
shall
pay,"
Him,
while
he
triumph'd,
Paris
eyed
from
far,
(The
spouse
of
Helen,
the
fair
cause
of
war;)
Around
the
fields
his
feather'd
shafts
he
sent,
From
ancient
Ilus'
ruin'd
monument:
Behind
the
column
placed,
he
bent
his
bow,
And
wing'd
an
arrow
at
the
unwary
foe;
Just
as
he
stoop'd,
Agastrophus's
crest
To
seize,
and
drew
the
corslet
from
his
breast,
The
bowstring
twang'd;
nor
flew
the
shaft
in
vain,
But
pierced
his
foot,
and
nail'd
it
to
the
plain.
The
laughing
Trojan,
with
a
joyful
spring.
Leaps
from
his
ambush,
and
insults
the
king.
"He
bleeds!
(he
cries)
some
god
has
sped
my
dart!
Would
the
same
god
had
fix'd
it
in
his
heart!
So
Troy,
relieved
from
that
wide-wasting
hand,
Should
breathe
from
slaughter
and
in
combat
stand:
Whose
sons
now
tremble
at
his
darted
spear,
As
scatter'd
lambs
the
rushing
lion
fear."
He
dauntless
thus:
"Thou
conqueror
of
the
fair,
Thou
woman-warrior
with
the
curling
hair;
Vain
archer!
trusting
to
the
distant
dart,
Unskill'd
in
arms
to
act
a
manly
part!
Thou
hast
but
done
what
boys
or
women
can;
Such
hands
may
wound,
but
not
incense
a
man.
Nor
boast
the
scratch
thy
feeble
arrow
gave,
A
coward's
weapon
never
hurts
the
brave.
Not
so
this
dart,
which
thou
may'st
one
day
feel;
Fate
wings
its
flight,
and
death
is
on
the
steel:
Where
this
but
lights,
some
noble
life
expires;
Its
touch
makes
orphans,
bathes
the
cheeks
of
sires,
Steeps
earth
in
purple,
gluts
the
birds
of
air,
And
leaves
such
objects
as
distract
the
fair."
Ulysses
hastens
with
a
trembling
heart,
Before
him
steps,
and
bending
draws
the
dart:
Forth
flows
the
blood;
an
eager
pang
succeeds;
Tydides
mounts,
and
to
the
navy
speeds.
Now
on
the
field
Ulysses
stands
alone,
The
Greeks
all
fled,
the
Trojans
pouring
on;
But
stands
collected
in
himself,
and
whole,
And
questions
thus
his
own
unconquer'd
soul:
"What
further
subterfuge,
what
hopes
remain?
What
shame,
inglorious
if
I
quit
the
plain?
What
danger,
singly
if
I
stand
the
ground,
My
friends
all
scatter'd,
all
the
foes
around?
Yet
wherefore
doubtful?
let
this
truth
suffice,
The
brave
meets
danger,
and
the
coward
flies.
To
die
or
conquer,
proves
a
hero's
heart;
And,
knowing
this,
I
know
a
soldier's
part."
Such
thoughts
revolving
in
his
careful
breast,
Near,
and
more
near,
the
shady
cohorts
press'd;
These,
in
the
warrior,
their
own
fate
enclose;
And
round
him
deep
the
steely
circle
grows.
So
fares
a
boar
whom
all
the
troop
surrounds
Of
shouting
huntsmen
and
of
clamorous
hounds;
He
grinds
his
ivory
tusks;
he
foams
with
ire;
His
sanguine
eye-balls
glare
with
living
fire;
By
these,
by
those,
on
every
part
is
plied;
And
the
red
slaughter
spreads
on
every
side.
Pierced
through
the
shoulder,
first
Deiopis
fell;
Next
Ennomus
and
Thoon
sank
to
hell;
Chersidamas,
beneath
the
navel
thrust,
Falls
prone
to
earth,
and
grasps
the
bloody
dust.
Charops,
the
son
of
Hippasus,
was
near;
Ulysses
reach'd
him
with
the
fatal
spear;
But
to
his
aid
his
brother
Socus
flies,
Socus
the
brave,
the
generous,
and
the
wise.
Near
as
he
drew,
the
warrior
thus
began:
"O
great
Ulysses!
much-enduring
man!
Not
deeper
skill'd
in
every
martial
sleight,
Than
worn
to
toils,
and
active
in
the
fight!
This
day
two
brothers
shall
thy
conquest
grace,
And
end
at
once
the
great
Hippasian
race,
Or
thou
beneath
this
lance
must
press
the
field."
He
said,
and
forceful
pierced
his
spacious
shield:
Through
the
strong
brass
the
ringing
javelin
thrown,
Plough'd
half
his
side,
and
bared
it
to
the
bone.
By
Pallas'
care,
the
spear,
though
deep
infix'd,
Stopp'd
short
of
life,
nor
with
his
entrails
mix'd.
The
wound
not
mortal
wise
Ulysses
knew,
Then
furious
thus
(but
first
some
steps
withdrew):
"Unhappy
man!
whose
death
our
hands
shall
grace,
Fate
calls
thee
hence
and
finish'd
is
thy
race.
Nor
longer
check
my
conquests
on
the
foe;
But,
pierced
by
this,
to
endless
darkness
go,
And
add
one
spectre
to
the
realms
below!"
He
spoke,
while
Socus,
seized
with
sudden
fright,
Trembling
gave
way,
and
turn'd
his
back
to
flight;
Between
his
shoulders
pierced
the
following
dart,
And
held
its
passage
through
the
panting
heart:
Wide
in
his
breast
appear'd
the
grisly
wound;
He
falls;
his
armour
rings
against
the
ground.
Then
thus
Ulysses,
gazing
on
the
slain:
"Famed
son
of
Hippasus!
there
press
the
plain;
There
ends
thy
narrow
span
assign'd
by
fate,
Heaven
owes
Ulysses
yet
a
longer
date.
Ah,
wretch!
no
father
shall
thy
corpse
compose;
Thy
dying
eyes
no
tender
mother
close;
But
hungry
birds
shall
tear
those
balls
away,
And
hovering
vultures
scream
around
their
prey.
Me
Greece
shall
honour,
when
I
meet
my
doom,
With
solemn
funerals
and
a
lasting
tomb."
Then
raging
with
intolerable
smart,
He
writhes
his
body,
and
extracts
the
dart.
The
dart
a
tide
of
spouting
gore
pursued,
And
gladden'd
Troy
with
sight
of
hostile
blood.
Now
troops
on
troops
the
fainting
chief
invade,
Forced
he
recedes,
and
loudly
calls
for
aid.
Thrice
to
its
pitch
his
lofty
voice
he
rears;
The
well-known
voice
thrice
Menelaus
hears:
Alarm'd,
to
Ajax
Telamon
he
cried,
Who
shares
his
labours,
and
defends
his
side:
"O
friend!
Ulysses'
shouts
invade
my
ear;
Distressed
he
seems,
and
no
assistance
near;
Strong
as
he
is,
yet
one
opposed
to
all,
Oppress'd
by
multitudes,
the
best
may
fall.
Greece
robb'd
of
him
must
bid
her
host
despair,
And
feel
a
loss
not
ages
can
repair."
Then,
where
the
cry
directs,
his
course
he
bends;
Great
Ajax,
like
the
god
of
war,
attends,
The
prudent
chief
in
sore
distress
they
found,
With
bands
of
furious
Trojans
compass'd
round.(223)
As
when
some
huntsman,
with
a
flying
spear,
From
the
blind
thicket
wounds
a
stately
deer;
Down
his
cleft
side,
while
fresh
the
blood
distils,
He
bounds
aloft,
and
scuds
from
hills
to
hills,
Till
life's
warm
vapour
issuing
through
the
wound,
Wild
mountain-wolves
the
fainting
beast
surround:
Just
as
their
jaws
his
prostrate
limbs
invade,
The
lion
rushes
through
the
woodland
shade,
The
wolves,
though
hungry,
scour
dispersed
away;
The
lordly
savage
vindicates
his
prey.
Ulysses
thus,
unconquer'd
by
his
pains,
A
single
warrior
half
a
host
sustains:
But
soon
as
Ajax
leaves
his
tower-like
shield,
The
scattered
crowds
fly
frighted
o'er
the
field;
Atrides'
arm
the
sinking
hero
stays,
And,
saved
from
numbers,
to
his
car
conveys.
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.
But
Hector,
from
this
scene
of
slaughter
far,
Raged
on
the
left,
and
ruled
the
tide
of
war:
Loud
groans
proclaim
his
progress
through
the
plain,
And
deep
Scamander
swells
with
heaps
of
slain.
There
Nestor
and
Idomeneus
oppose
The
warrior's
fury;
there
the
battle
glows;
There
fierce
on
foot,
or
from
the
chariot's
height,
His
sword
deforms
the
beauteous
ranks
of
fight.
The
spouse
of
Helen,
dealing
darts
around,
Had
pierced
Machaon
with
a
distant
wound:
In
his
right
shoulder
the
broad
shaft
appear'd,
And
trembling
Greece
for
her
physician
fear'd.
To
Nestor
then
Idomeneus
begun:
"Glory
of
Greece,
old
Neleus'
valiant
son!
Ascend
thy
chariot,
haste
with
speed
away,
And
great
Machaon
to
the
ships
convey;
A
wise
physician
skill'd
our
wounds
to
heal,
Is
more
than
armies
to
the
public
weal."
Old
Nestor
mounts
the
seat;
beside
him
rode
The
wounded
offspring
of
the
healing
god.
He
lends
the
lash;
the
steeds
with
sounding
feet
Shake
the
dry
field,
and
thunder
toward
the
fleet.
But
now
Cebriones,
from
Hector's
car,
Survey'd
the
various
fortune
of
the
war:
"While
here
(he
cried)
the
flying
Greeks
are
slain,
Trojans
on
Trojans
yonder
load
the
plain.
Before
great
Ajax
see
the
mingled
throng
Of
men
and
chariots
driven
in
heaps
along!
I
know
him
well,
distinguish'd
o'er
the
field
By
the
broad
glittering
of
the
sevenfold
shield.
Thither,
O
Hector,
thither
urge
thy
steeds,
There
danger
calls,
and
there
the
combat
bleeds;
There
horse
and
foot
in
mingled
deaths
unite,
And
groans
of
slaughter
mix
with
shouts
of
fight."
Thus
having
spoke,
the
driver's
lash
resounds;
Swift
through
the
ranks
the
rapid
chariot
bounds;
Stung
by
the
stroke,
the
coursers
scour
the
fields,
O'er
heaps
of
carcases,
and
hills
of
shields.
The
horses'
hoofs
are
bathed
in
heroes'
gore,
And,
dashing,
purple
all
the
car
before;
The
groaning
axle
sable
drops
distils,
And
mangled
carnage
clogs
the
rapid
wheels.
Here
Hector,
plunging
through
the
thickest
fight,
Broke
the
dark
phalanx,
and
let
in
the
light:
(By
the
long
lance,
the
sword,
or
ponderous
stone.
The
ranks
he
scatter'd
and
the
troops
o'erthrown:)
Ajax
he
shuns,
through
all
the
dire
debate,
And
fears
that
arm
whose
force
he
felt
so
late.
But
partial
Jove,
espousing
Hector's
part,
Shot
heaven-bred
horror
through
the
Grecian's
heart;
Confused,
unnerved
in
Hector's
presence
grown,
Amazed
he
stood,
with
terrors
not
his
own.
O'er
his
broad
back
his
moony
shield
he
threw,
And,
glaring
round,
by
tardy
steps
withdrew.
Thus
the
grim
lion
his
retreat
maintains,
Beset
with
watchful
dogs,
and
shouting
swains;
Repulsed
by
numbers
from
the
nightly
stalls,
Though
rage
impels
him,
and
though
hunger
calls,
Long
stands
the
showering
darts,
and
missile
fires;
Then
sourly
slow
the
indignant
beast
retires:
So
turn'd
stern
Ajax,
by
whole
hosts
repell'd,
While
his
swoln
heart
at
every
step
rebell'd.
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:
"What
god,
O
Grecians!
has
your
hearts
dismay'd?
Oh,
turn
to
arms;
'tis
Ajax
claims
your
aid.
This
hour
he
stands
the
mark
of
hostile
rage,
And
this
the
last
brave
battle
he
shall
wage:
Haste,
join
your
forces;
from
the
gloomy
grave
The
warrior
rescue,
and
your
country
save."
Thus
urged
the
chief:
a
generous
troop
appears,
Who
spread
their
bucklers,
and
advance
their
spears,
To
guard
their
wounded
friend:
while
thus
they
stand
With
pious
care,
great
Ajax
joins
the
band:
Each
takes
new
courage
at
the
hero's
sight;
The
hero
rallies,
and
renews
the
fight.
Thus
raged
both
armies
like
conflicting
fires,
While
Nestor's
chariot
far
from
fight
retires:
His
coursers
steep'd
in
sweat,
and
stain'd
with
gore,
The
Greeks'
preserver,
great
Machaon,
bore.
That
hour
Achilles,
from
the
topmost
height
Of
his
proud
fleet,
o'erlook'd
the
fields
of
fight;
His
feasted
eyes
beheld
around
the
plain
The
Grecian
rout,
the
slaying,
and
the
slain.
His
friend
Machaon
singled
from
the
rest,
A
transient
pity
touch'd
his
vengeful
breast.
Straight
to
Menoetius'
much-loved
son
he
sent:
Graceful
as
Mars,
Patroclus
quits
his
tent;
In
evil
hour!
Then
fate
decreed
his
doom,
And
fix'd
the
date
of
all
his
woes
to
come.
"Why
calls
my
friend?
thy
loved
injunctions
lay;
Whate'er
thy
will,
Patroclus
shall
obey."
"O
first
of
friends!
(Pelides
thus
replied)
Still
at
my
heart,
and
ever
at
my
side!
The
time
is
come,
when
yon
despairing
host
Shall
learn
the
value
of
the
man
they
lost:
Now
at
my
knees
the
Greeks
shall
pour
their
moan,
And
proud
Atrides
tremble
on
his
throne.
Go
now
to
Nestor,
and
from
him
be
taught
What
wounded
warrior
late
his
chariot
brought:
For,
seen
at
distance,
and
but
seen
behind,
His
form
recall'd
Machaon
to
my
mind;
Nor
could
I,
through
yon
cloud,
discern
his
face,
The
coursers
pass'd
me
with
so
swift
a
pace."
The
hero
said.
His
friend
obey'd
with
haste,
Through
intermingled
ships
and
tents
he
pass'd;
The
chiefs
descending
from
their
car
he
found:
The
panting
steeds
Eurymedon
unbound.
The
warriors
standing
on
the
breezy
shore,
To
dry
their
sweat,
and
wash
away
the
gore,
Here
paused
a
moment,
while
the
gentle
gale
Convey'd
that
freshness
the
cool
seas
exhale;
Then
to
consult
on
farther
methods
went,
And
took
their
seats
beneath
the
shady
tent.
The
draught
prescribed,
fair
Hecamede
prepares,
Arsinous'
daughter,
graced
with
golden
hairs:
(Whom
to
his
aged
arms,
a
royal
slave,
Greece,
as
the
prize
of
Nestor's
wisdom
gave:)
A
table
first
with
azure
feet
she
placed;
Whose
ample
orb
a
brazen
charger
graced;
Honey
new-press'd,
the
sacred
flour
of
wheat,
And
wholesome
garlic,
crown'd
the
savoury
treat,
Next
her
white
hand
an
antique
goblet
brings,
A
goblet
sacred
to
the
Pylian
kings
From
eldest
times:
emboss'd
with
studs
of
gold,
Two
feet
support
it,
and
four
handles
hold;
On
each
bright
handle,
bending
o'er
the
brink,
In
sculptured
gold,
two
turtles
seem
to
drink:
A
massy
weight,
yet
heaved
with
ease
by
him,
When
the
brisk
nectar
overlook'd
the
brim.
Temper'd
in
this,
the
nymph
of
form
divine
Pours
a
large
portion
of
the
Pramnian
wine;
With
goat's-milk
cheese
a
flavourous
taste
bestows,
And
last
with
flour
the
smiling
surface
strows:
This
for
the
wounded
prince
the
dame
prepares:
The
cordial
beverage
reverend
Nestor
shares:
Salubrious
draughts
the
warriors'
thirst
allay,
And
pleasing
conference
beguiles
the
day.
Meantime
Patroclus,
by
Achilles
sent,
Unheard
approached,
and
stood
before
the
tent.
Old
Nestor,
rising
then,
the
hero
led
To
his
high
seat:
the
chief
refused
and
said:
"'Tis
now
no
season
for
these
kind
delays;
The
great
Achilles
with
impatience
stays.
To
great
Achilles
this
respect
I
owe;
Who
asks,
what
hero,
wounded
by
the
foe,
Was
borne
from
combat
by
thy
foaming
steeds?
With
grief
I
see
the
great
Machaon
bleeds.
This
to
report,
my
hasty
course
I
bend;
Thou
know'st
the
fiery
temper
of
my
friend."
"Can
then
the
sons
of
Greece
(the
sage
rejoin'd)
Excite
compassion
in
Achilles'
mind?
Seeks
he
the
sorrows
of
our
host
to
know?
This
is
not
half
the
story
of
our
woe.
Tell
him,
not
great
Machaon
bleeds
alone,
Our
bravest
heroes
in
the
navy
groan,
Ulysses,
Agamemnon,
Diomed,
And
stern
Eurypylus,
already
bleed.
But,
ah!
what
flattering
hopes
I
entertain!
Achilles
heeds
not,
but
derides
our
pain:
Even
till
the
flames
consume
our
fleet
he
stays,
And
waits
the
rising
of
the
fatal
blaze.
Chief
after
chief
the
raging
foe
destroys;
Calm
he
looks
on,
and
every
death
enjoys.
Now
the
slow
course
of
all-impairing
time
Unstrings
my
nerves,
and
ends
my
manly
prime;
Oh!
had
I
still
that
strength
my
youth
possess'd,
When
this
bold
arm
the
Epeian
powers
oppress'd,
The
bulls
of
Elis
in
glad
triumph
led,
And
stretch'd
the
great
Itymonaeus
dead!
Then
from
my
fury
fled
the
trembling
swains,
And
ours
was
all
the
plunder
of
the
plains:
Fifty
white
flocks,
full
fifty
herds
of
swine,
As
many
goats,
as
many
lowing
kine:
And
thrice
the
number
of
unrivall'd
steeds,
All
teeming
females,
and
of
generous
breeds.
These,
as
my
first
essay
of
arms,
I
won;
Old
Neleus
gloried
in
his
conquering
son.
Thus
Elis
forced,
her
long
arrears
restored,
And
shares
were
parted
to
each
Pylian
lord.
The
state
of
Pyle
was
sunk
to
last
despair,
When
the
proud
Elians
first
commenced
the
war:
For
Neleus'
sons
Alcides'
rage
had
slain;
Of
twelve
bold
brothers,
I
alone
remain!
Oppress'd,
we
arm'd;
and
now
this
conquest
gain'd,
My
sire
three
hundred
chosen
sheep
obtain'd.
(That
large
reprisal
he
might
justly
claim,
For
prize
defrauded,
and
insulted
fame,
When
Elis'
monarch,
at
the
public
course,
Detain'd
his
chariot,
and
victorious
horse.)
The
rest
the
people
shared;
myself
survey'd
The
just
partition,
and
due
victims
paid.
Three
days
were
past,
when
Elis
rose
to
war,
With
many
a
courser,
and
with
many
a
car;
The
sons
of
Actor
at
their
army's
head
(Young
as
they
were)
the
vengeful
squadrons
led.
High
on
the
rock
fair
Thryoessa
stands,
Our
utmost
frontier
on
the
Pylian
lands:
Not
far
the
streams
of
famed
Alphaeus
flow:
The
stream
they
pass'd,
and
pitch'd
their
tents
below.
Pallas,
descending
in
the
shades
of
night,
Alarms
the
Pylians
and
commands
the
fight.
Each
burns
for
fame,
and
swells
with
martial
pride,
Myself
the
foremost;
but
my
sire
denied;
Fear'd
for
my
youth,
exposed
to
stern
alarms;
And
stopp'd
my
chariot,
and
detain'd
my
arms.
My
sire
denied
in
vain:
on
foot
I
fled
Amidst
our
chariots;
for
the
goddess
led.
"Along
fair
Arene's
delightful
plain
Soft
Minyas
rolls
his
waters
to
the
main:
There,
horse
and
foot,
the
Pylian
troops
unite,
And
sheathed
in
arms,
expect
the
dawning
light.
Thence,
ere
the
sun
advanced
his
noon-day
flame,
To
great
Alphaeus'
sacred
source
we
came.
There
first
to
Jove
our
solemn
rites
were
paid;
An
untamed
heifer
pleased
the
blue-eyed
maid;
A
bull,
Alphaeus;
and
a
bull
was
slain
To
the
blue
monarch
of
the
watery
main.
In
arms
we
slept,
beside
the
winding
flood,
While
round
the
town
the
fierce
Epeians
stood.
Soon
as
the
sun,
with
all-revealing
ray,
Flamed
in
the
front
of
Heaven,
and
gave
the
day.
Bright
scenes
of
arms,
and
works
of
war
appear;
The
nations
meet;
there
Pylos,
Elis
here.
The
first
who
fell,
beneath
my
javelin
bled;
King
Augias'
son,
and
spouse
of
Agamede:
(She
that
all
simples'
healing
virtues
knew,
And
every
herb
that
drinks
the
morning
dew:)
I
seized
his
car,
the
van
of
battle
led;
The
Epeians
saw,
they
trembled,
and
they
fled.
The
foe
dispersed,
their
bravest
warrior
kill'd,
Fierce
as
the
whirlwind
now
I
swept
the
field:
Full
fifty
captive
chariots
graced
my
train;
Two
chiefs
from
each
fell
breathless
to
the
plain.
Then
Actor's
sons
had
died,
but
Neptune
shrouds
The
youthful
heroes
in
a
veil
of
clouds.
O'er
heapy
shields,
and
o'er
the
prostrate
throng,
Collecting
spoils,
and
slaughtering
all
along,
Through
wide
Buprasian
fields
we
forced
the
foes,
Where
o'er
the
vales
the
Olenian
rocks
arose;
Till
Pallas
stopp'd
us
where
Alisium
flows.
Even
there
the
hindmost
of
the
rear
I
slay,
And
the
same
arm
that
led
concludes
the
day;
Then
back
to
Pyle
triumphant
take
my
way.
There
to
high
Jove
were
public
thanks
assign'd,
As
first
of
gods;
to
Nestor,
of
mankind.
Such
then
I
was,
impell'd
by
youthful
blood;
So
proved
my
valour
for
my
country's
good.
"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!
0
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."
This
touch'd
his
generous
heart,
and
from
the
tent
Along
the
shore
with
hasty
strides
he
went;
Soon
as
he
came,
where,
on
the
crowded
strand,
The
public
mart
and
courts
of
justice
stand,
Where
the
tall
fleet
of
great
Ulysses
lies,
And
altars
to
the
guardian
gods
arise;
There,
sad,
he
met
the
brave
Euaemon's
son,
Large
painful
drops
from
all
his
members
run;
An
arrow's
head
yet
rooted
in
his
wound,
The
sable
blood
in
circles
mark'd
the
ground.
As
faintly
reeling
he
confess'd
the
smart,
Weak
was
his
pace,
but
dauntless
was
his
heart.
Divine
compassion
touch'd
Patroclus'
breast,
Who,
sighing,
thus
his
bleeding
friend
address'd:
"Ah,
hapless
leaders
of
the
Grecian
host!
Thus
must
ye
perish
on
a
barbarous
coast?
Is
this
your
fate,
to
glut
the
dogs
with
gore,
Far
from
your
friends,
and
from
your
native
shore?
Say,
great
Eurypylus!
shall
Greece
yet
stand?
Resists
she
yet
the
raging
Hector's
hand?
Or
are
her
heroes
doom'd
to
die
with
shame,
And
this
the
period
of
our
wars
and
fame?"
Eurypylus
replies:
"No
more,
my
friend;
Greece
is
no
more!
this
day
her
glories
end;
Even
to
the
ships
victorious
Troy
pursues,
Her
force
increasing
as
her
toil
renews.
Those
chiefs,
that
used
her
utmost
rage
to
meet,
Lie
pierced
with
wounds,
and
bleeding
in
the
fleet.
But,
thou,
Patroclus!
act
a
friendly
part,
Lead
to
my
ships,
and
draw
this
deadly
dart;
With
lukewarm
water
wash
the
gore
away;
With
healing
balms
the
raging
smart
allay,
Such
as
sage
Chiron,
sire
of
pharmacy,
Once
taught
Achilles,
and
Achilles
thee.
Of
two
famed
surgeons,
Podalirius
stands
This
hour
surrounded
by
the
Trojan
bands;
And
great
Machaon,
wounded
in
his
tent,
Now
wants
that
succour
which
so
oft
he
lent."
To
him
the
chief:
"What
then
remains
to
do?
The
event
of
things
the
gods
alone
can
view.
Charged
by
Achilles'
great
command
I
fly,
And
bear
with
haste
the
Pylian
king's
reply:
But
thy
distress
this
instant
claims
relief."
He
said,
and
in
his
arms
upheld
the
chief.
The
slaves
their
master's
slow
approach
survey'd,
And
hides
of
oxen
on
the
floor
display'd:
There
stretch'd
at
length
the
wounded
hero
lay;
Patroclus
cut
the
forky
steel
away:
Then
in
his
hands
a
bitter
root
he
bruised;
The
wound
he
wash'd,
the
styptic
juice
infused.
The
closing
flesh
that
instant
ceased
to
glow,
The
wound
to
torture,
and
the
blood
to
flow.
[Illustration:
HERCULES.]
HERCULES.
BOOK
XII.
ARGUMENT.
THE
BATTLE
AT
THE
GRECIAN
WALL.
The
Greeks
having
retired
into
their
intrenchments,
Hector
attempts
to
force
them;
but
it
proving
impossible
to
pass
the
ditch,
Polydamas
advises
to
quit
their
chariots,
and
manage
the
attack
on
foot.
The
Trojans
follow
his
counsel;
and
having
divided
their
army
into
five
bodies
of
foot,
begin
the
assault.
But
upon
the
signal
of
an
eagle
with
a
serpent
in
his
talons,
which
appeared
on
the
left
hand
of
the
Trojans,
Polydamas
endeavours
to
withdraw
them
again.
This
Hector
opposes,
and
continues
the
attack;
in
which,
after
many
actions,
Sarpedon
makes
the
first
breach
in
the
wall.
Hector
also,
casting
a
stone
of
vast
size,
forces
open
one
of
the
gates,
and
enters
at
the
head
of
his
troops,
who
victoriously
pursue
the
Grecians
even
to
their
ships.
While
thus
the
hero's
pious
cares
attend
The
cure
and
safety
of
his
wounded
friend,
Trojans
and
Greeks
with
clashing
shields
engage,
And
mutual
deaths
are
dealt
with
mutual
rage.
Nor
long
the
trench
or
lofty
walls
oppose;
With
gods
averse
the
ill-fated
works
arose;
Their
powers
neglected,
and
no
victim
slain,
The
walls
were
raised,
the
trenches
sunk
in
vain.
Without
the
gods,
how
short
a
period
stands
The
proudest
monument
of
mortal
hands!
This
stood
while
Hector
and
Achilles
raged.
While
sacred
Troy
the
warring
hosts
engaged;
But
when
her
sons
were
slain,
her
city
burn'd,
And
what
survived
of
Greece
to
Greece
return'd;
Then
Neptune
and
Apollo
shook
the
shore,
Then
Ida's
summits
pour'd
their
watery
store;
Rhesus
and
Rhodius
then
unite
their
rills,
Caresus
roaring
down
the
stony
hills,
Ęsepus,
Granicus,
with
mingled
force,
And
Xanthus
foaming
from
his
fruitful
source;
And
gulfy
Simois,
rolling
to
the
main(224)
Helmets,
and
shields,
and
godlike
heroes
slain:
These,
turn'd
by
Phoebus
from
their
wonted
ways,
Deluged
the
rampire
nine
continual
days;
The
weight
of
waters
saps
the
yielding
wall,
And
to
the
sea
the
floating
bulwarks
fall.
Incessant
cataracts
the
Thunderer
pours,
And
half
the
skies
descend
in
sluicy
showers.
The
god
of
ocean,
marching
stern
before,
With
his
huge
trident
wounds
the
trembling
shore,
Vast
stones
and
piles
from
their
foundation
heaves,
And
whelms
the
smoky
ruin
in
the
waves.
Now
smooth'd
with
sand,
and
levell'd
by
the
flood,
No
fragment
tells
where
once
the
wonder
stood;
In
their
old
bounds
the
rivers
roll
again,
Shine
'twixt
the
hills,
or
wander
o'er
the
plain.(225)
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:
"O
thou,
bold
leader
of
the
Trojan
bands!
And
you,
confederate
chiefs
from
foreign
lands!
What
entrance
here
can
cumbrous
chariots
find,
The
stakes
beneath,
the
Grecian
walls
behind?
No
pass
through
those,
without
a
thousand
wounds,
No
space
for
combat
in
yon
narrow
bounds.
Proud
of
the
favours
mighty
Jove
has
shown,
On
certain
dangers
we
too
rashly
run:
If
'tis
will
our
haughty
foes
to
tame,
Oh
may
this
instant
end
the
Grecian
name!
Here,
far
from
Argos,
let
their
heroes
fall,
And
one
great
day
destroy
and
bury
all!
But
should
they
turn,
and
here
oppress
our
train,
What
hopes,
what
methods
of
retreat
remain?
Wedged
in
the
trench,
by
our
own
troops
confused,
In
one
promiscuous
carnage
crush'd
and
bruised,
All
Troy
must
perish,
if
their
arms
prevail,
Nor
shall
a
Trojan
live
to
tell
the
tale.
Hear
then,
ye
warriors!
and
obey
with
speed;
Back
from
the
trenches
let
your
steeds
be
led;
Then
all
alighting,
wedged
in
firm
array,
Proceed
on
foot,
and
Hector
lead
the
way.
So
Greece
shall
stoop
before
our
conquering
power,
And
this
(if
Jove
consent)
her
fatal
hour."
[Illustration:
POLYDAMAS
ADVISING
HECTOR.]
POLYDAMAS
ADVISING
HECTOR.
This
counsel
pleased:
the
godlike
Hector
sprung
Swift
from
his
seat;
his
clanging
armour
rung.
The
chief's
example
follow'd
by
his
train,
Each
quits
his
car,
and
issues
on
the
plain,
By
orders
strict
the
charioteers
enjoin'd
Compel
the
coursers
to
their
ranks
behind.
The
forces
part
in
five
distinguish'd
bands,
And
all
obey
their
several
chiefs'
commands.
The
best
and
bravest
in
the
first
conspire,
Pant
for
the
fight,
and
threat
the
fleet
with
fire:
Great
Hector
glorious
in
the
van
of
these,
Polydamas,
and
brave
Cebriones.
Before
the
next
the
graceful
Paris
shines,
And
bold
Alcathous,
and
Agenor
joins.
The
sons
of
Priam
with
the
third
appear,
Deiphobus,
and
Helenas
the
seer;
In
arms
with
these
the
mighty
Asius
stood,
Who
drew
from
Hyrtacus
his
noble
blood,
And
whom
Arisba's
yellow
coursers
bore,
The
coursers
fed
on
Selle's
winding
shore.
Antenor's
sons
the
fourth
battalion
guide,
And
great
Ęneas,
born
on
fountful
Ide.
Divine
Sarpedon
the
last
band
obey'd,
Whom
Glaucus
and
Asteropaeus
aid.
Next
him,
the
bravest,
at
their
army's
head,
But
he
more
brave
than
all
the
hosts
he
led.
Now
with
compacted
shields
in
close
array,
The
moving
legions
speed
their
headlong
way:
Already
in
their
hopes
they
fire
the
fleet,
And
see
the
Grecians
gasping
at
their
feet.
While
every
Trojan
thus,
and
every
aid,
The
advice
of
wise
Polydamas
obey'd,
Asius
alone,
confiding
in
his
car,
His
vaunted
coursers
urged
to
meet
the
war.
Unhappy
hero!
and
advised
in
vain;
Those
wheels
returning
ne'er
shall
mark
the
plain;
No
more
those
coursers
with
triumphant
joy
Restore
their
master
to
the
gates
of
Troy!
Black
death
attends
behind
the
Grecian
wall,
And
great
Idomeneus
shall
boast
thy
fall!
Fierce
to
the
left
he
drives,
where
from
the
plain
The
flying
Grecians
strove
their
ships
to
gain;
Swift
through
the
wall
their
horse
and
chariots
pass'd,
The
gates
half-open'd
to
receive
the
last.
Thither,
exulting
in
his
force,
he
flies:
His
following
host
with
clamours
rend
the
skies:
To
plunge
the
Grecians
headlong
in
the
main,
Such
their
proud
hopes;
but
all
their
hopes
were
vain!
To
guard
the
gates,
two
mighty
chiefs
attend,
Who
from
the
Lapiths'
warlike
race
descend;
This
Polypoetes,
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
OEnomaus
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.
As
when
sharp
Boreas
blows
abroad,
and
brings
The
dreary
winter
on
his
frozen
wings;
Beneath
the
low-hung
clouds
the
sheets
of
snow
Descend,
and
whiten
all
the
fields
below:
So
fast
the
darts
on
either
army
pour,
So
down
the
rampires
rolls
the
rocky
shower:
Heavy,
and
thick,
resound
the
batter'd
shields,
And
the
deaf
echo
rattles
round
the
fields.
With
shame
repulsed,
with
grief
and
fury
driven,
The
frantic
Asius
thus
accuses
Heaven:
"In
powers
immortal
who
shall
now
believe?
Can
those
too
flatter,
and
can
Jove
deceive?
What
man
could
doubt
but
Troy's
victorious
power
Should
humble
Greece,
and
this
her
fatal
hour?
But
like
when
wasps
from
hollow
crannies
drive,
To
guard
the
entrance
of
their
common
hive,
Darkening
the
rock,
while
with
unwearied
wings
They
strike
the
assailants,
and
infix
their
stings;
A
race
determined,
that
to
death
contend:
So
fierce
these
Greeks
their
last
retreats
defend.
Gods!
shall
two
warriors
only
guard
their
gates,
Repel
an
army,
and
defraud
the
fates?"
These
empty
accents
mingled
with
the
wind,
Nor
moved
great
Jove's
unalterable
mind;
To
godlike
Hector
and
his
matchless
might
Was
owed
the
glory
of
the
destined
fight.
Like
deeds
of
arms
through
all
the
forts
were
tried,
And
all
the
gates
sustain'd
an
equal
tide;
Through
the
long
walls
the
stony
showers
were
heard,
The
blaze
of
flames,
the
flash
of
arms
appear'd.
The
spirit
of
a
god
my
breast
inspire,
To
raise
each
act
to
life,
and
sing
with
fire!
While
Greece
unconquer'd
kept
alive
the
war,
Secure
of
death,
confiding
in
despair;
And
all
her
guardian
gods,
in
deep
dismay,
With
unassisting
arms
deplored
the
day.
Even
yet
the
dauntless
Lapithae
maintain
The
dreadful
pass,
and
round
them
heap
the
slain.
First
Damasus,
by
Polypoetes'
steel,
Pierced
through
his
helmet's
brazen
visor,
fell;
The
weapon
drank
the
mingled
brains
and
gore!
The
warrior
sinks,
tremendous
now
no
more!
Next
Ormenus
and
Pylon
yield
their
breath:
Nor
less
Leonteus
strews
the
field
with
death;
First
through
the
belt
Hippomachus
he
gored,
Then
sudden
waved
his
unresisted
sword:
Antiphates,
as
through
the
ranks
he
broke,
The
falchion
struck,
and
fate
pursued
the
stroke:
Iamenus,
Orestes,
Menon,
bled;
And
round
him
rose
a
monument
of
dead.
Meantime,
the
bravest
of
the
Trojan
crew,
Bold
Hector
and
Polydamas,
pursue;
Fierce
with
impatience
on
the
works
to
fall,
And
wrap
in
rolling
flames
the
fleet
and
wall.
These
on
the
farther
bank
now
stood
and
gazed,
By
Heaven
alarm'd,
by
prodigies
amazed:
A
signal
omen
stopp'd
the
passing
host,
Their
martial
fury
in
their
wonder
lost.
Jove's
bird
on
sounding
pinions
beat
the
skies;
A
bleeding
serpent
of
enormous
size,
His
talons
truss'd;
alive,
and
curling
round,
He
stung
the
bird,
whose
throat
received
the
wound:
Mad
with
the
smart,
he
drops
the
fatal
prey,
In
airy
circles
wings
his
painful
way,
Floats
on
the
winds,
and
rends
the
heaven
with
cries:
Amidst
the
host
the
fallen
serpent
lies.
They,
pale
with
terror,
mark
its
spires
unroll'd,
And
Jove's
portent
with
beating
hearts
behold.
Then
first
Polydamas
the
silence
broke,
Long
weigh'd
the
signal,
and
to
Hector
spoke:
"How
oft,
my
brother,
thy
reproach
I
bear,
For
words
well
meant,
and
sentiments
sincere?
True
to
those
counsels
which
I
judge
the
best,
I
tell
the
faithful
dictates
of
my
breast.
To
speak
his
thoughts
is
every
freeman's
right,
In
peace,
in
war,
in
council,
and
in
fight;
And
all
I
move,
deferring
to
thy
sway,
But
tends
to
raise
that
power
which
I
obey.
Then
hear
my
words,
nor
may
my
words
be
vain!
Seek
not
this
day
the
Grecian
ships
to
gain;
For
sure,
to
warn
us,
Jove
his
omen
sent,
And
thus
my
mind
explains
its
clear
event:
The
victor
eagle,
whose
sinister
flight
Retards
our
host,
and
fills
our
hearts
with
fright,
Dismiss'd
his
conquest
in
the
middle
skies,
Allow'd
to
seize,
but
not
possess
the
prize;
Thus,
though
we
gird
with
fires
the
Grecian
fleet,
Though
these
proud
bulwalks
tumble
at
our
feet,
Toils
unforeseen,
and
fiercer,
are
decreed;
More
woes
shall
follow,
and
more
heroes
bleed.
So
bodes
my
soul,
and
bids
me
thus
advise;
For
thus
a
skilful
seer
would
read
the
skies."
To
him
then
Hector
with
disdain
return'd:
(Fierce
as
he
spoke,
his
eyes
with
fury
burn'd:)
"Are
these
the
faithful
counsels
of
thy
tongue?
Thy
will
is
partial,
not
thy
reason
wrong:
Or
if
the
purpose
of
thy
heart
thou
vent,
Sure
heaven
resumes
the
little
sense
it
lent.
What
coward
counsels
would
thy
madness
move
Against
the
word,
the
will
reveal'd
of
Jove?
The
leading
sign,
the
irrevocable
nod,
And
happy
thunders
of
the
favouring
god,
These
shall
I
slight,
and
guide
my
wavering
mind
By
wandering
birds
that
flit
with
every
wind?
Ye
vagrants
of
the
sky!
your
wings
extend,
Or
where
the
suns
arise,
or
where
descend;
To
right,
to
left,
unheeded
take
your
way,
While
I
the
dictates
of
high
heaven
obey.
Without
a
sign
his
sword
the
brave
man
draws,
And
asks
no
omen
but
his
country's
cause.
But
why
should'st
thou
suspect
the
war's
success?
None
fears
it
more,
as
none
promotes
it
less:
Though
all
our
chiefs
amidst
yon
ships
expire,
Trust
thy
own
cowardice
to
escape
their
fire.
Troy
and
her
sons
may
find
a
general
grave,
But
thou
canst
live,
for
thou
canst
be
a
slave.
Yet
should
the
fears
that
wary
mind
suggests
Spread
their
cold
poison
through
our
soldiers'
breasts,
My
javelin
can
revenge
so
base
a
part,
And
free
the
soul
that
quivers
in
thy
heart."
Furious
he
spoke,
and,
rushing
to
the
wall,
Calls
on
his
host;
his
host
obey
the
call;
With
ardour
follow
where
their
leader
flies:
Redoubling
clamours
thunder
in
the
skies.
Jove
breathes
a
whirlwind
from
the
hills
of
Ide,
And
drifts
of
dust
the
clouded
navy
hide;
He
fills
the
Greeks
with
terror
and
dismay,
And
gives
great
Hector
the
predestined
day.
Strong
in
themselves,
but
stronger
in
his
aid,
Close
to
the
works
their
rigid
siege
they
laid.
In
vain
the
mounds
and
massy
beams
defend,
While
these
they
undermine,
and
those
they
rend;
Upheaved
the
piles
that
prop
the
solid
wall;
And
heaps
on
heaps
the
smoky
ruins
fall.
Greece
on
her
ramparts
stands
the
fierce
alarms;
The
crowded
bulwarks
blaze
with
waving
arms,
Shield
touching
shield,
a
long
refulgent
row;
Whence
hissing
darts,
incessant,
rain
below.
The
bold
Ajaces
fly
from
tower
to
tower,
And
rouse,
with
flame
divine,
the
Grecian
power.
The
generous
impulse
every
Greek
obeys;
Threats
urge
the
fearful;
and
the
valiant,
praise.
"Fellows
in
arms!
whose
deeds
are
known
to
fame,
And
you,
whose
ardour
hopes
an
equal
name!
Since
not
alike
endued
with
force
or
art;
Behold
a
day
when
each
may
act
his
part!
A
day
to
fire
the
brave,
and
warm
the
cold,
To
gain
new
glories,
or
augment
the
old.
Urge
those
who
stand,
and
those
who
faint,
excite;
Drown
Hector's
vaunts
in
loud
exhorts
of
fight;
Conquest,
not
safety,
fill
the
thoughts
of
all;
Seek
not
your
fleet,
but
sally
from
the
wall;
So
Jove
once
more
may
drive
their
routed
train,
And
Troy
lie
trembling
in
her
walls
again."
Their
ardour
kindles
all
the
Grecian
powers;
And
now
the
stones
descend
in
heavier
showers.
As
when
high
Jove
his
sharp
artillery
forms,
And
opes
his
cloudy
magazine
of
storms;
In
winter's
bleak
un
comfortable
reign,
A
snowy
inundation
hides
the
plain;
He
stills
the
winds,
and
bids
the
skies
to
sleep;
Then
pours
the
silent
tempest
thick
and
deep;
And
first
the
mountain-tops
are
cover'd
o'er,
Then
the
green
fields,
and
then
the
sandy
shore;
Bent
with
the
weight,
the
nodding
woods
are
seen,
And
one
bright
waste
hides
all
the
works
of
men:
The
circling
seas,
alone
absorbing
all,
Drink
the
dissolving
fleeces
as
they
fall:
So
from
each
side
increased
the
stony
rain,
And
the
white
ruin
rises
o'er
the
plain.
Thus
godlike
Hector
and
his
troops
contend
To
force
the
ramparts,
and
the
gates
to
rend:
Nor
Troy
could
conquer,
nor
the
Greeks
would
yield,
Till
great
Sarpedon
tower'd
amid
the
field;
For
mighty
Jove
inspired
with
martial
flame
His
matchless
son,
and
urged
him
on
to
fame.
In
arms
he
shines,
conspicuous
from
afar,
And
bears
aloft
his
ample
shield
in
air;
Within
whose
orb
the
thick
bull-hides
were
roll'd,
Ponderous
with
brass,
and
bound
with
ductile
gold:
And
while
two
pointed
javelins
arm
his
hands,
Majestic
moves
along,
and
leads
his
Lycian
bands.
So
press'd
with
hunger,
from
the
mountain's
brow
Descends
a
lion
on
the
flocks
below;
So
stalks
the
lordly
savage
o'er
the
plain,
In
sullen
majesty,
and
stern
disdain:
In
vain
loud
mastiffs
bay
him
from
afar,
And
shepherds
gall
him
with
an
iron
war;
Regardless,
furious,
he
pursues
his
way;
He
foams,
he
roars,
he
rends
the
panting
prey.
Resolved
alike,
divine
Sarpedon
glows
With
generous
rage
that
drives
him
on
the
foes.
He
views
the
towers,
and
meditates
their
fall,
To
sure
destruction
dooms
the
aspiring
wall;
Then
casting
on
his
friend
an
ardent
look,
Fired
with
the
thirst
of
glory,
thus
he
spoke:
"Why
boast
we,
Glaucus!
our
extended
reign,(226)
Where
Xanthus'
streams
enrich
the
Lycian
plain,
Our
numerous
herds
that
range
the
fruitful
field,
And
hills
where
vines
their
purple
harvest
yield,
Our
foaming
bowls
with
purer
nectar
crown'd,
Our
feasts
enhanced
with
music's
sprightly
sound?
Why
on
those
shores
are
we
with
joy
survey'd,
Admired
as
heroes,
and
as
gods
obey'd,
Unless
great
acts
superior
merit
prove,
And
vindicate
the
bounteous
powers
above?
'Tis
ours,
the
dignity
they
give
to
grace;
The
first
in
valour,
as
the
first
in
place;
That
when
with
wondering
eyes
our
martial
bands
Behold
our
deeds
transcending
our
commands,
Such,
they
may
cry,
deserve
the
sovereign
state,
Whom
those
that
envy
dare
not
imitate!
Could
all
our
care
elude
the
gloomy
grave,
Which
claims
no
less
the
fearful
and
the
brave,
For
lust
of
fame
I
should
not
vainly
dare
In
fighting
fields,
nor
urge
thy
soul
to
war.
But
since,
alas!
ignoble
age
must
come,
Disease,
and
death's
inexorable
doom
The
life,
which
others
pay,
let
us
bestow,
And
give
to
fame
what
we
to
nature
owe;
Brave
though
we
fall,
and
honour'd
if
we
live,
Or
let
us
glory
gain,
or
glory
give!"
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."
Swift,
at
the
word,
the
herald
speeds
along
The
lofty
ramparts,
through
the
martial
throng,
And
finds
the
heroes
bathed
in
sweat
and
gore,
Opposed
in
combat
on
the
dusty
shore.
"Ye
valiant
leaders
of
our
warlike
bands!
Your
aid
(said
Thoos)
Peteus'
son
demands;
Your
strength,
united,
best
may
help
to
bear
The
bloody
labours
of
the
doubtful
war:
Thither
the
Lycian
princes
bend
their
course,
The
best
and
bravest
of
the
hostile
force.
But
if
too
fiercely,
here,
the
foes
contend,
At
least,
let
Telamon
those
towers
defend,
And
Teucer
haste
with
his
unerring
bow
To
share
the
danger,
and
repel
the
foe."
Straight
to
the
fort
great
Ajax
turn'd
his
care,
And
thus
bespoke
his
brothers
of
the
war:
"Now,
valiant
Lycomede!
exert
your
might,
And,
brave
Oileus,
prove
your
force
in
fight;
To
you
I
trust
the
fortune
of
the
field,
Till
by
this
arm
the
foe
shall
be
repell'd:
That
done,
expect
me
to
complete
the
day
Then
with
his
sevenfold
shield
he
strode
away.
With
equal
steps
bold
Teucer
press'd
the
shore,
Whose
fatal
bow
the
strong
Pandion
bore.
High
on
the
walls
appear'd
the
Lycian
powers,
Like
some
black
tempest
gathering
round
the
towers:
The
Greeks,
oppress'd,
their
utmost
force
unite,
Prepared
to
labour
in
the
unequal
fight:
The
war
renews,
mix'd
shouts
and
groans
arise;
Tumultuous
clamour
mounts,
and
thickens
in
the
skies.
Fierce
Ajax
first
the
advancing
host
invades,
And
sends
the
brave
Epicles
to
the
shades,
Sarpedon's
friend.
Across
the
warrior's
way,
Rent
from
the
walls,
a
rocky
fragment
lay;
In
modern
ages
not
the
strongest
swain
Could
heave
the
unwieldy
burden
from
the
plain:
He
poised,
and
swung
it
round;
then
toss'd
on
high,
It
flew
with
force,
and
labour'd
up
the
sky;
Full
on
the
Lycian's
helmet
thundering
down,
The
ponderous
ruin
crush'd
his
batter'd
crown.
As
skilful
divers
from
some
airy
steep
Headlong
descend,
and
shoot
into
the
deep,
So
falls
Epicles;
then
in
groans
expires,
And
murmuring
to
the
shades
the
soul
retires.
While
to
the
ramparts
daring
Glaucus
drew,
From
Teucer's
hand
a
winged
arrow
flew;
The
bearded
shaft
the
destined
passage
found,
And
on
his
naked
arm
inflicts
a
wound.
The
chief,
who
fear'd
some
foe's
insulting
boast
Might
stop
the
progress
of
his
warlike
host,
Conceal'd
the
wound,
and,
leaping
from
his
height
Retired
reluctant
from
the
unfinish'd
fight.
Divine
Sarpedon
with
regret
beheld
Disabled
Glaucus
slowly
quit
the
field;
His
beating
breast
with
generous
ardour
glows,
He
springs
to
fight,
and
flies
upon
the
foes.
Alcmaon
first
was
doom'd
his
force
to
feel;
Deep
in
his
breast
he
plunged
the
pointed
steel;
Then
from
the
yawning
wound
with
fury
tore
The
spear,
pursued
by
gushing
streams
of
gore:
Down
sinks
the
warrior
with
a
thundering
sound,
His
brazen
armour
rings
against
the
ground.
Swift
to
the
battlement
the
victor
flies,
Tugs
with
full
force,
and
every
nerve
applies:
It
shakes;
the
ponderous
stones
disjointed
yield;
The
rolling
ruins
smoke
along
the
field.
A
mighty
breach
appears;
the
walls
lie
bare;
And,
like
a
deluge,
rushes
in
the
war.
At
once
bold
Teucer
draws
the
twanging
bow,
And
Ajax
sends
his
javelin
at
the
foe;
Fix'd
in
his
belt
the
feather'd
weapon
stood,
And
through
his
buckler
drove
the
trembling
wood;
But
Jove
was
present
in
the
dire
debate,
To
shield
his
offspring,
and
avert
his
fate.
The
prince
gave
back,
not
meditating
flight,
But
urging
vengeance,
and
severer
fight;
Then
raised
with
hope,
and
fired
with
glory's
charms,
His
fainting
squadrons
to
new
fury
warms.
"O
where,
ye
Lycians,
is
the
strength
you
boast?
Your
former
fame
and
ancient
virtue
lost!
The
breach
lies
open,
but
your
chief
in
vain
Attempts
alone
the
guarded
pass
to
gain:
Unite,
and
soon
that
hostile
fleet
shall
fall:
The
force
of
powerful
union
conquers
all."
This
just
rebuke
inflamed
the
Lycian
crew;
They
join,
they
thicken,
and
the
assault
renew:
Unmoved
the
embodied
Greeks
their
fury
dare,
And
fix'd
support
the
weight
of
all
the
war;
Nor
could
the
Greeks
repel
the
Lycian
powers,
Nor
the
bold
Lycians
force
the
Grecian
towers.
As
on
the
confines
of
adjoining
grounds,
Two
stubborn
swains
with
blows
dispute
their
bounds;
They
tug,
they
sweat;
but
neither
gain,
nor
yield,
One
foot,
one
inch,
of
the
contended
field;
Thus
obstinate
to
death,
they
fight,
they
fall;
Nor
these
can
keep,
nor
those
can
win
the
wall.
Their
manly
breasts
are
pierced
with
many
a
wound,
Loud
strokes
are
heard,
and
rattling
arms
resound;
The
copious
slaughter
covers
all
the
shore,
And
the
high
ramparts
drip
with
human
gore.
As
when
two
scales
are
charged
with
doubtful
loads,
From
side
to
side
the
trembling
balance
nods,
(While
some
laborious
matron,
just
and
poor,
With
nice
exactness
weighs
her
woolly
store,)
Till
poised
aloft,
the
resting
beam
suspends
Each
equal
weight;
nor
this,
nor
that,
descends:(227)
So
stood
the
war,
till
Hector's
matchless
might,
With
fates
prevailing,
turn'd
the
scale
of
fight.
Fierce
as
a
whirlwind
up
the
walls
he
flies,
And
fires
his
host
with
loud
repeated
cries.
"Advance,
ye
Trojans!
lend
your
valiant
hands,
Haste
to
the
fleet,
and
toss
the
blazing
brands!"
They
hear,
they
run;
and,
gathering
at
his
call,
Raise
scaling
engines,
and
ascend
the
wall:
Around
the
works
a
wood
of
glittering
spears
Shoots
up,
and
all
the
rising
host
appears.
A
ponderous
stone
bold
Hector
heaved
to
throw,
Pointed
above,
and
rough
and
gross
below:
Not
two
strong
men
the
enormous
weight
could
raise,
Such
men
as
live
in
these
degenerate
days:
Yet
this,
as
easy
as
a
swain
could
bear
The
snowy
fleece,
he
toss'd,
and
shook
in
air;
For
Jove
upheld,
and
lighten'd
of
its
load
The
unwieldy
rock,
the
labour
of
a
god.
Thus
arm'd,
before
the
folded
gates
he
came,
Of
massy
substance,
and
stupendous
frame;
With
iron
bars
and
brazen
hinges
strong,
On
lofty
beams
of
solid
timber
hung:
Then
thundering
through
the
planks
with
forceful
sway,
Drives
the
sharp
rock;
the
solid
beams
give
way,
The
folds
are
shatter'd;
from
the
crackling
door
Leap
the
resounding
bars,
the
flying
hinges
roar.
Now
rushing
in,
the
furious
chief
appears,
Gloomy
as
night!
and
shakes
two
shining
spears:(228)
A
dreadful
gleam
from
his
bright
armour
came,
And
from
his
eye-balls
flash'd
the
living
flame.
He
moves
a
god,
resistless
in
his
course,
And
seems
a
match
for
more
than
mortal
force.
Then
pouring
after,
through
the
gaping
space,
A
tide
of
Trojans
flows,
and
fills
the
place;
The
Greeks
behold,
they
tremble,
and
they
fly;
The
shore
is
heap'd
with
death,
and
tumult
rends
the
sky.
[Illustration:
GREEK
ALTAR.]
GREEK
ALTAR.
BOOK
XIII.
ARGUMENT.
THE
FOURTH
BATTLE
CONTINUED,
IN
WHICH
NEPTUNE
ASSISTS
THE
GREEKS:
THE
ACTS
OF
IDOMENEUS.
Neptune,
concerned
for
the
loss
of
the
Grecians,
upon
seeing
the
fortification
forced
by
Hector,
(who
had
entered
the
gate
near
the
station
of
the
Ajaces,)
assumes
the
shape
of
Calchas,
and
inspires
those
heroes
to
oppose
him:
then,
in
the
form
of
one
of
the
generals,
encourages
the
other
Greeks
who
had
retired
to
their
vessels.
The
Ajaces
form
their
troops
in
a
close
phalanx,
and
put
a
stop
to
Hector
and
the
Trojans.
Several
deeds
of
valour
are
performed;
Meriones,
losing
his
spear
in
the
encounter,
repairs
to
seek
another
at
the
tent
of
Idomeneus:
this
occasions
a
conversation
between
those
two
warriors,
who
return
together
to
the
battle.
Idomeneus
signalizes
his
courage
above
the
rest;
he
kills
Othryoneus,
Asius,
and
Alcathous:
Deiphobus
and
Ęneas
march
against
him,
and
at
length
Idomeneus
retires.
Menelaus
wounds
Helenus,
and
kills
Pisander.
The
Trojans
are
repulsed
on
the
left
wing;
Hector
still
keeps
his
ground
against
the
Ajaces,
till,
being
galled
by
the
Locrian
slingers
and
archers,
Polydamas
advises
to
call
a
council
of
war:
Hector
approves
of
his
advice,
but
goes
first
to
rally
the
Trojans;
upbraids
Paris,
rejoins
Polydamas,
meets
Ajax
again,
and
renews
the
attack.
The
eight-and-twentieth
day
still
continues.
The
scene
is
between
the
Grecian
wall
and
the
sea-shore.
When
now
the
Thunderer
on
the
sea-beat
coast
Had
fix'd
great
Hector
and
his
conquering
host,
He
left
them
to
the
fates,
in
bloody
fray
To
toil
and
struggle
through
the
well-fought
day.
Then
turn'd
to
Thracia
from
the
field
of
fight
Those
eyes
that
shed
insufferable
light,
To
where
the
Mysians
prove
their
martial
force,
And
hardy
Thracians
tame
the
savage
horse;
And
where
the
far-famed
Hippomolgian
strays,
Renown'd
for
justice
and
for
length
of
days;(229)
Thrice
happy
race!
that,
innocent
of
blood,
From
milk,
innoxious,
seek
their
simple
food:
Jove
sees
delighted;
and
avoids
the
scene
Of
guilty
Troy,
of
arms,
and
dying
men:
No
aid,
he
deems,
to
either
host
is
given,
While
his
high
law
suspends
the
powers
of
Heaven.
Meantime
the
monarch
of
the
watery
main
Observed
the
Thunderer,
nor
observed
in
vain.
In
Samothracia,
on
a
mountain's
brow,
Whose
waving
woods
o'erhung
the
deeps
below,
He
sat;
and
round
him
cast
his
azure
eyes
Where
Ida's
misty
tops
confusedly
rise;
Below,
fair
Ilion's
glittering
spires
were
seen;
The
crowded
ships
and
sable
seas
between.
There,
from
the
crystal
chambers
of
the
main
Emerged,
he
sat,
and
mourn'd
his
Argives
slain.
At
Jove
incensed,
with
grief
and
fury
stung,
Prone
down
the
rocky
steep
he
rush'd
along;
Fierce
as
he
pass'd,
the
lofty
mountains
nod,
The
forest
shakes;
earth
trembled
as
he
trod,
And
felt
the
footsteps
of
the
immortal
god.
From
realm
to
realm
three
ample
strides
he
took,
And,
at
the
fourth,
the
distant
Ęgae
shook.
Far
in
the
bay
his
shining
palace
stands,
Eternal
frame!
not
raised
by
mortal
hands:
This
having
reach'd,
his
brass-hoof'd
steeds
he
reins,
Fleet
as
the
winds,
and
deck'd
with
golden
manes.
Refulgent
arms
his
mighty
limbs
infold,
Immortal
arms
of
adamant
and
gold.
He
mounts
the
car,
the
golden
scourge
applies,
He
sits
superior,
and
the
chariot
flies:
His
whirling
wheels
the
glassy
surface
sweep;
The
enormous
monsters
rolling
o'er
the
deep
Gambol
around
him
on
the
watery
way,
And
heavy
whales
in
awkward
measures
play;
The
sea
subsiding
spreads
a
level
plain,
Exults,
and
owns
the
monarch
of
the
main;
The
parting
waves
before
his
coursers
fly;
The
wondering
waters
leave
his
axle
dry.
Deep
in
the
liquid
regions
lies
a
cave,
Between
where
Tenedos
the
surges
lave,
And
rocky
Imbrus
breaks
the
rolling
wave:
There
the
great
ruler
of
the
azure
round
Stopp'd
his
swift
chariot,
and
his
steeds
unbound,
Fed
with
ambrosial
herbage
from
his
hand,
And
link'd
their
fetlocks
with
a
golden
band,
Infrangible,
immortal:
there
they
stay:
The
father
of
the
floods
pursues
his
way:
Where,
like
a
tempest,
darkening
heaven
around,
Or
fiery
deluge
that
devours
the
ground,
The
impatient
Trojans,
in
a
gloomy
throng,
Embattled
roll'd,
as
Hector
rush'd
along:
To
the
loud
tumult
and
the
barbarous
cry
The
heavens
re-echo,
and
the
shores
reply:
They
vow
destruction
to
the
Grecian
name,
And
in
their
hopes
the
fleets
already
flame.
But
Neptune,
rising
from
the
seas
profound,
The
god
whose
earthquakes
rock
the
solid
ground,
Now
wears
a
mortal
form;
like
Calchas
seen,
Such
his
loud
voice,
and
such
his
manly
mien;
His
shouts
incessant
every
Greek
inspire,
But
most
the
Ajaces,
adding
fire
to
fire.
[Illustration:
NEPTUNE
RISING
FROM
THE
SEA.]
NEPTUNE
RISING
FROM
THE
SEA.
"'Tis
yours,
O
warriors,
all
our
hopes
to
raise:
Oh
recollect
your
ancient
worth
and
praise!
'Tis
yours
to
save
us,
if
you
cease
to
fear;
Flight,
more
than
shameful,
is
destructive
here.
On
other
works
though
Troy
with
fury
fall,
And
pour
her
armies
o'er
our
batter'd
wall:
There
Greece
has
strength:
but
this,
this
part
o'erthrown,
Her
strength
were
vain;
I
dread
for
you
alone:
Here
Hector
rages
like
the
force
of
fire,
Vaunts
of
his
gods,
and
calls
high
Jove
his
sire:
If
yet
some
heavenly
power
your
breast
excite,
Breathe
in
your
hearts,
and
string
your
arms
to
fight,
Greece
yet
may
live,
her
threaten'd
fleet
maintain:
And
Hector's
force,
and
Jove's
own
aid,
be
vain."
Then
with
his
sceptre,
that
the
deep
controls,
He
touch'd
the
chiefs,
and
steel'd
their
manly
souls:
Strength,
not
their
own,
the
touch
divine
imparts,
Prompts
their
light
limbs,
and
swells
their
daring
hearts.
Then,
as
a
falcon
from
the
rocky
height,
Her
quarry
seen,
impetuous
at
the
sight,
Forth-springing
instant,
darts
herself
from
high,
Shoots
on
the
wing,
and
skims
along
the
sky:
Such,
and
so
swift,
the
power
of
ocean
flew;
The
wide
horizon
shut
him
from
their
view.
The
inspiring
god
Oileus'
active
son
Perceived
the
first,
and
thus
to
Telamon:
"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!"
"With
equal
ardour
(Telamon
returns)
My
soul
is
kindled,
and
my
bosom
burns;
New
rising
spirits
all
my
force
alarm,
Lift
each
impatient
limb,
and
brace
my
arm.
This
ready
arm,
unthinking,
shakes
the
dart;
The
blood
pours
back,
and
fortifies
my
heart:
Singly,
methinks,
yon
towering
chief
I
meet,
And
stretch
the
dreadful
Hector
at
my
feet."
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:
"Oh
lasting
infamy,
oh
dire
disgrace
To
chiefs
of
vigorous
youth,
and
manly
race!
I
trusted
in
the
gods,
and
you,
to
see
Brave
Greece
victorious,
and
her
navy
free:
Ah,
no--the
glorious
combat
you
disclaim,
And
one
black
day
clouds
all
her
former
fame.
Heavens!
what
a
prodigy
these
eyes
survey,
Unseen,
unthought,
till
this
amazing
day!
Fly
we
at
length
from
Troy's
oft-conquer'd
bands?
And
falls
our
fleet
by
such
inglorious
hands?
A
rout
undisciplined,
a
straggling
train,
Not
born
to
glories
of
the
dusty
plain;
Like
frighted
fawns
from
hill
to
hill
pursued,
A
prey
to
every
savage
of
the
wood:
Shall
these,
so
late
who
trembled
at
your
name,
Invade
your
camps,
involve
your
ships
in
flame?
A
change
so
shameful,
say,
what
cause
has
wrought?
The
soldiers'
baseness,
or
the
general's
fault?
Fools!
will
ye
perish
for
your
leader's
vice;
The
purchase
infamy,
and
life
the
price?
'Tis
not
your
cause,
Achilles'
injured
fame:
Another's
is
the
crime,
but
yours
the
shame.
Grant
that
our
chief
offend
through
rage
or
lust,
Must
you
be
cowards,
if
your
king's
unjust?
Prevent
this
evil,
and
your
country
save:
Small
thought
retrieves
the
spirits
of
the
brave.
Think,
and
subdue!
on
dastards
dead
to
fame
I
waste
no
anger,
for
they
feel
no
shame:
But
you,
the
pride,
the
flower
of
all
our
host,
My
heart
weeps
blood
to
see
your
glory
lost!
Nor
deem
this
day,
this
battle,
all
you
lose;
A
day
more
black,
a
fate
more
vile,
ensues.
Let
each
reflect,
who
prizes
fame
or
breath,
On
endless
infamy,
on
instant
death:
For,
lo!
the
fated
time,
the
appointed
shore:
Hark!
the
gates
burst,
the
brazen
barriers
roar!
Impetuous
Hector
thunders
at
the
wall;
The
hour,
the
spot,
to
conquer,
or
to
fall."
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.
Thus
breathing
death,
in
terrible
array,
The
close
compacted
legions
urged
their
way:
Fierce
they
drove
on,
impatient
to
destroy;
Troy
charged
the
first,
and
Hector
first
of
Troy.
As
from
some
mountain's
craggy
forehead
torn,
A
rock's
round
fragment
flies,
with
fury
borne,
(Which
from
the
stubborn
stone
a
torrent
rends,)
Precipitate
the
ponderous
mass
descends:
From
steep
to
steep
the
rolling
ruin
bounds;
At
every
shock
the
crackling
wood
resounds;
Still
gathering
force,
it
smokes;
and
urged
amain,
Whirls,
leaps,
and
thunders
down,
impetuous
to
the
plain:
There
stops--so
Hector.
Their
whole
force
he
proved,(230)
Resistless
when
he
raged,
and,
when
he
stopp'd,
unmoved.
On
him
the
war
is
bent,
the
darts
are
shed,
And
all
their
falchions
wave
around
his
head:
Repulsed
he
stands,
nor
from
his
stand
retires;
But
with
repeated
shouts
his
army
fires.
"Trojans!
be
firm;
this
arm
shall
make
your
way
Through
yon
square
body,
and
that
black
array:
Stand,
and
my
spear
shall
rout
their
scattering
power,
Strong
as
they
seem,
embattled
like
a
tower;
For
he
that
Juno's
heavenly
bosom
warms,
The
first
of
gods,
this
day
inspires
our
arms."
He
said;
and
roused
the
soul
in
every
breast:
Urged
with
desire
of
fame,
beyond
the
rest,
Forth
march'd
Deiphobus;
but,
marching,
held
Before
his
wary
steps
his
ample
shield.
Bold
Merion
aim'd
a
stroke
(nor
aim'd
it
wide);
The
glittering
javelin
pierced
the
tough
bull-hide;
But
pierced
not
through:
unfaithful
to
his
hand,
The
point
broke
short,
and
sparkled
in
the
sand.
The
Trojan
warrior,
touch'd
with
timely
fear,
On
the
raised
orb
to
distance
bore
the
spear.
The
Greek,
retreating,
mourn'd
his
frustrate
blow,
And
cursed
the
treacherous
lance
that
spared
a
foe;
Then
to
the
ships
with
surly
speed
he
went,
To
seek
a
surer
javelin
in
his
tent.
Meanwhile
with
rising
rage
the
battle
glows,
The
tumult
thickens,
and
the
clamour
grows.
By
Teucer's
arm
the
warlike
Imbrius
bleeds,
The
son
of
Mentor,
rich
in
generous
steeds.
Ere
yet
to
Troy
the
sons
of
Greece
were
led,
In
fair
Pedaeus'
verdant
pastures
bred,
The
youth
had
dwelt,
remote
from
war's
alarms,
And
blest
in
bright
Medesicaste's
arms:
(This
nymph,
the
fruit
of
Priam's
ravish'd
joy,
Allied
the
warrior
to
the
house
of
Troy:)
To
Troy,
when
glory
call'd
his
arms,
he
came,
And
match'd
the
bravest
of
her
chiefs
in
fame:
With
Priam's
sons,
a
guardian
of
the
throne,
He
lived,
beloved
and
honour'd
as
his
own.
Him
Teucer
pierced
between
the
throat
and
ear:
He
groans
beneath
the
Telamonian
spear.
As
from
some
far-seen
mountain's
airy
crown,
Subdued
by
steel,
a
tall
ash
tumbles
down,
And
soils
its
verdant
tresses
on
the
ground;
So
falls
the
youth;
his
arms
the
fall
resound.
Then
Teucer
rushing
to
despoil
the
dead,
From
Hector's
hand
a
shining
javelin
fled:
He
saw,
and
shunn'd
the
death;
the
forceful
dart
Sung
on,
and
pierced
Amphimachus's
heart,
Cteatus'
son,
of
Neptune's
forceful
line;
Vain
was
his
courage,
and
his
race
divine!
Prostrate
he
falls;
his
clanging
arms
resound,
And
his
broad
buckler
thunders
on
the
ground.
To
seize
his
beamy
helm
the
victor
flies,
And
just
had
fastened
on
the
dazzling
prize,
When
Ajax'
manly
arm
a
javelin
flung;
Full
on
the
shield's
round
boss
the
weapon
rung;
He
felt
the
shock,
nor
more
was
doom'd
to
feel,
Secure
in
mail,
and
sheath'd
in
shining
steel.
Repulsed
he
yields;
the
victor
Greeks
obtain
The
spoils
contested,
and
bear
off
the
slain.
Between
the
leaders
of
the
Athenian
line,
(Stichius
the
brave,
Menestheus
the
divine,)
Deplored
Amphimachus,
sad
object!
lies;
Imbrius
remains
the
fierce
Ajaces'
prize.
As
two
grim
lions
bear
across
the
lawn,
Snatch'd
from
devouring
hounds,
a
slaughter'd
fawn.
In
their
fell
jaws
high-lifting
through
the
wood,
And
sprinkling
all
the
shrubs
with
drops
of
blood;
So
these,
the
chief:
great
Ajax
from
the
dead
Strips
his
bright
arms;
Oileus
lops
his
head:
Toss'd
like
a
ball,
and
whirl'd
in
air
away,
At
Hector's
feet
the
gory
visage
lay.
The
god
of
ocean,
fired
with
stern
disdain,
And
pierced
with
sorrow
for
his
grandson
slain,
Inspires
the
Grecian
hearts,
confirms
their
hands,
And
breathes
destruction
on
the
Trojan
bands.
Swift
as
a
whirlwind
rushing
to
the
fleet,
He
finds
the
lance-famed
Idomen
of
Crete,
His
pensive
brow
the
generous
care
express'd
With
which
a
wounded
soldier
touch'd
his
breast,
Whom
in
the
chance
of
war
a
javelin
tore,
And
his
sad
comrades
from
the
battle
bore;
Him
to
the
surgeons
of
the
camp
he
sent:
That
office
paid,
he
issued
from
his
tent
Fierce
for
the
fight:
to
whom
the
god
begun,
In
Thoas'
voice,
Andraemon's
valiant
son,
Who
ruled
where
Calydon's
white
rocks
arise,
And
Pleuron's
chalky
cliffs
emblaze
the
skies:
"Where's
now
the
imperious
vaunt,
the
daring
boast,
Of
Greece
victorious,
and
proud
Ilion
lost?"
To
whom
the
king:
"On
Greece
no
blame
be
thrown;
Arms
are
her
trade,
and
war
is
all
her
own.
Her
hardy
heroes
from
the
well-fought
plains
Nor
fear
withholds,
nor
shameful
sloth
detains:
'Tis
heaven,
alas!
and
Jove's
all-powerful
doom,
That
far,
far
distant
from
our
native
home
Wills
us
to
fall
inglorious!
Oh,
my
friend!
Once
foremost
in
the
fight,
still
prone
to
lend
Or
arms
or
counsels,
now
perform
thy
best,
And
what
thou
canst
not
singly,
urge
the
rest."
Thus
he:
and
thus
the
god
whose
force
can
make
The
solid
globe's
eternal
basis
shake:
"Ah!
never
may
he
see
his
native
land,
But
feed
the
vultures
on
this
hateful
strand,
Who
seeks
ignobly
in
his
ships
to
stay,
Nor
dares
to
combat
on
this
signal
day!
For
this,
behold!
in
horrid
arms
I
shine,
And
urge
thy
soul
to
rival
acts
with
mine.
Together
let
us
battle
on
the
plain;
Two,
not
the
worst;
nor
even
this
succour
vain:
Not
vain
the
weakest,
if
their
force
unite;
But
ours,
the
bravest
have
confess'd
in
fight."
This
said,
he
rushes
where
the
combat
burns;
Swift
to
his
tent
the
Cretan
king
returns:
From
thence,
two
javelins
glittering
in
his
hand,
And
clad
in
arms
that
lighten'd
all
the
strand,
Fierce
on
the
foe
the
impetuous
hero
drove,
Like
lightning
bursting
from
the
arm
of
Jove,
Which
to
pale
man
the
wrath
of
heaven
declares,
Or
terrifies
the
offending
world
with
wars;
In
streamy
sparkles,
kindling
all
the
skies,
From
pole
to
pole
the
trail
of
glory
flies:
Thus
his
bright
armour
o'er
the
dazzled
throng
Gleam'd
dreadful,
as
the
monarch
flash'd
along.
Him,
near
his
tent,
Meriones
attends;
Whom
thus
he
questions:
"Ever
best
of
friends!
O
say,
in
every
art
of
battle
skill'd,
What
holds
thy
courage
from
so
brave
a
field?
On
some
important
message
art
thou
bound,
Or
bleeds
my
friend
by
some
unhappy
wound?
Inglorious
here,
my
soul
abhors
to
stay,
And
glows
with
prospects
of
th'
approaching
day."
"O
prince!
(Meriones
replies)
whose
care
Leads
forth
the
embattled
sons
of
Crete
to
war;
This
speaks
my
grief:
this
headless
lance
I
wield;
The
rest
lies
rooted
in
a
Trojan
shield."
To
whom
the
Cretan:
"Enter,
and
receive
The
wonted
weapons;
those
my
tent
can
give;
Spears
I
have
store,
(and
Trojan
lances
all,)
That
shed
a
lustre
round
the
illumined
wall,
Though
I,
disdainful
of
the
distant
war,
Nor
trust
the
dart,
nor
aim
the
uncertain
spear,
Yet
hand
to
hand
I
fight,
and
spoil
the
slain;
And
thence
these
trophies,
and
these
arms
I
gain.
Enter,
and
see
on
heaps
the
helmets
roll'd,
And
high-hung
spears,
and
shields
that
flame
with
gold."
"Nor
vain
(said
Merion)
are
our
martial
toils;
We
too
can
boast
of
no
ignoble
spoils:
But
those
my
ship
contains;
whence
distant
far,
I
fight
conspicuous
in
the
van
of
war,
What
need
I
more?
If
any
Greek
there
be
Who
knows
not
Merion,
I
appeal
to
thee."
To
this,
Idomeneus:
"The
fields
of
fight
Have
proved
thy
valour,
and
unconquer'd
might:
And
were
some
ambush
for
the
foes
design'd,
Even
there
thy
courage
would
not
lag
behind:
In
that
sharp
service,
singled
from
the
rest,
The
fear
of
each,
or
valour,
stands
confess'd.
No
force,
no
firmness,
the
pale
coward
shows;
He
shifts
his
place:
his
colour
comes
and
goes:
A
dropping
sweat
creeps
cold
on
every
part;
Against
his
bosom
beats
his
quivering
heart;
Terror
and
death
in
his
wild
eye-balls
stare;
With
chattering
teeth
he
stands,
and
stiffening
hair,
And
looks
a
bloodless
image
of
despair!
Not
so
the
brave--still
dauntless,
still
the
same,
Unchanged
his
colour,
and
unmoved
his
frame:
Composed
his
thought,
determined
is
his
eye,
And
fix'd
his
soul,
to
conquer
or
to
die:
If
aught
disturb
the
tenour
of
his
breast,
'Tis
but
the
wish
to
strike
before
the
rest.
"In
such
assays
thy
blameless
worth
is
known,
And
every
art
of
dangerous
war
thy
own.
By
chance
of
fight
whatever
wounds
you
bore,
Those
wounds
were
glorious
all,
and
all
before;
Such
as
may
teach,
'twas
still
thy
brave
delight
T'oppose
thy
bosom
where
thy
foremost
fight.
But
why,
like
infants,
cold
to
honour's
charms,
Stand
we
to
talk,
when
glory
calls
to
arms?
Go--from
my
conquer'd
spears
the
choicest
take,
And
to
their
owners
send
them
nobly
back."
Swift
at
the
word
bold
Merion
snatch'd
a
spear
And,
breathing
slaughter,
follow'd
to
the
war.
So
Mars
armipotent
invades
the
plain,
(The
wide
destroyer
of
the
race
of
man,)
Terror,
his
best-beloved
son,
attends
his
course,
Arm'd
with
stern
boldness,
and
enormous
force;
The
pride
of
haughty
warriors
to
confound,
And
lay
the
strength
of
tyrants
on
the
ground:
From
Thrace
they
fly,
call'd
to
the
dire
alarms
Of
warring
Phlegyans,
and
Ephyrian
arms;
Invoked
by
both,
relentless
they
dispose,
To
these
glad
conquest,
murderous
rout
to
those.
So
march'd
the
leaders
of
the
Cretan
train,
And
their
bright
arms
shot
horror
o'er
the
plain.
Then
first
spake
Merion:
"Shall
we
join
the
right,
Or
combat
in
the
centre
of
the
fight?
Or
to
the
left
our
wonted
succour
lend?
Hazard
and
fame
all
parts
alike
attend."
"Not
in
the
centre
(Idomen
replied:)
Our
ablest
chieftains
the
main
battle
guide;
Each
godlike
Ajax
makes
that
post
his
care,
And
gallant
Teucer
deals
destruction
there,
Skill'd
or
with
shafts
to
gall
the
distant
field,
Or
bear
close
battle
on
the
sounding
shield.
These
can
the
rage
of
haughty
Hector
tame:
Safe
in
their
arms,
the
navy
fears
no
flame,
Till
Jove
himself
descends,
his
bolts
to
shed,
And
hurl
the
blazing
ruin
at
our
head.
Great
must
he
be,
of
more
than
human
birth,
Nor
feed
like
mortals
on
the
fruits
of
earth.
Him
neither
rocks
can
crush,
nor
steel
can
wound,
Whom
Ajax
fells
not
on
the
ensanguined
ground.
In
standing
fight
he
mates
Achilles'
force,
Excell'd
alone
in
swiftness
in
the
course.
Then
to
the
left
our
ready
arms
apply,
And
live
with
glory,
or
with
glory
die."
He
said:
and
Merion
to
th'
appointed
place,
Fierce
as
the
god
of
battles,
urged
his
pace.
Soon
as
the
foe
the
shining
chiefs
beheld
Rush
like
a
fiery
torrent
o'er
the
field,
Their
force
embodied
in
a
tide
they
pour;
The
rising
combat
sounds
along
the
shore.
As
warring
winds,
in
Sirius'
sultry
reign,
From
different
quarters
sweep
the
sandy
plain;
On
every
side
the
dusty
whirlwinds
rise,
And
the
dry
fields
are
lifted
to
the
skies:
Thus
by
despair,
hope,
rage,
together
driven,
Met
the
black
hosts,
and,
meeting,
darken'd
heaven.
All
dreadful
glared
the
iron
face
of
war,
Bristled
with
upright
spears,
that
flash'd
afar;
Dire
was
the
gleam
of
breastplates,
helms,
and
shields,
And
polish'd
arms
emblazed
the
flaming
fields:
Tremendous
scene!
that
general
horror
gave,
But
touch'd
with
joy
the
bosoms
of
the
brave.
Saturn's
great
sons
in
fierce
contention
vied,
And
crowds
of
heroes
in
their
anger
died.
The
sire
of
earth
and
heaven,
by
Thetis
won
To
crown
with
glory
Peleus'
godlike
son,
Will'd
not
destruction
to
the
Grecian
powers,
But
spared
awhile
the
destined
Trojan
towers;
While
Neptune,
rising
from
his
azure
main,
Warr'd
on
the
king
of
heaven
with
stern
disdain,
And
breathed
revenge,
and
fired
the
Grecian
train.
Gods
of
one
source,
of
one
ethereal
race,
Alike
divine,
and
heaven
their
native
place;
But
Jove
the
greater;
first-born
of
the
skies,
And
more
than
men,
or
gods,
supremely
wise.
For
this,
of
Jove's
superior
might
afraid,
Neptune
in
human
form
conceal'd
his
aid.
These
powers
enfold
the
Greek
and
Trojan
train
In
war
and
discord's
adamantine
chain,
Indissolubly
strong:
the
fatal
tie
Is
stretch'd
on
both,
and
close
compell'd
they
die.
Dreadful
in
arms,
and
grown
in
combats
grey,
The
bold
Idomeneus
controls
the
day.
First
by
his
hand
Othryoneus
was
slain,
Swell'd
with
false
hopes,
with
mad
ambition
vain;
Call'd
by
the
voice
of
war
to
martial
fame,
From
high
Cabesus'
distant
walls
he
came;
Cassandra's
love
he
sought,
with
boasts
of
power,
And
promised
conquest
was
the
proffer'd
dower.
The
king
consented,
by
his
vaunts
abused;
The
king
consented,
but
the
fates
refused.
Proud
of
himself,
and
of
the
imagined
bride,
The
field
he
measured
with
a
larger
stride.
Him
as
he
stalk'd,
the
Cretan
javelin
found;
Vain
was
his
breastplate
to
repel
the
wound:
His
dream
of
glory
lost,
he
plunged
to
hell;
His
arms
resounded
as
the
boaster
fell.
The
great
Idomeneus
bestrides
the
dead;
"And
thus
(he
cries)
behold
thy
promise
sped!
Such
is
the
help
thy
arms
to
Ilion
bring,
And
such
the
contract
of
the
Phrygian
king!
Our
offers
now,
illustrious
prince!
receive;
For
such
an
aid
what
will
not
Argos
give?
To
conquer
Troy,
with
ours
thy
forces
join,
And
count
Atrides'
fairest
daughter
thine.
Meantime,
on
further
methods
to
advise,
Come,
follow
to
the
fleet
thy
new
allies;
There
hear
what
Greece
has
on
her
part
to
say."
He
spoke,
and
dragg'd
the
gory
corse
away.
This
Asius
view'd,
unable
to
contain,
Before
his
chariot
warring
on
the
plain:
(His
crowded
coursers,
to
his
squire
consign'd,
Impatient
panted
on
his
neck
behind:)
To
vengeance
rising
with
a
sudden
spring,
He
hoped
the
conquest
of
the
Cretan
king.
The
wary
Cretan,
as
his
foe
drew
near,
Full
on
his
throat
discharged
the
forceful
spear:
Beneath
the
chin
the
point
was
seen
to
glide,
And
glitter'd,
extant
at
the
further
side.
As
when
the
mountain-oak,
or
poplar
tall,
Or
pine,
fit
mast
for
some
great
admiral,
Groans
to
the
oft-heaved
axe,
with
many
a
wound,
Then
spreads
a
length
of
ruin
o'er
the
ground:
So
sunk
proud
Asius
in
that
dreadful
day,
And
stretch'd
before
his
much-loved
coursers
lay.
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.
Stabb'd
at
the
sight,
Deiphobus
drew
nigh,
And
made,
with
force,
the
vengeful
weapon
fly.
The
Cretan
saw;
and,
stooping,
caused
to
glance
From
his
slope
shield
the
disappointed
lance.
Beneath
the
spacious
targe,
(a
blazing
round,
Thick
with
bull-hides
and
brazen
orbits
bound,
On
his
raised
arm
by
two
strong
braces
stay'd,)
He
lay
collected
in
defensive
shade.
O'er
his
safe
head
the
javelin
idly
sung,
And
on
the
tinkling
verge
more
faintly
rung.
Even
then
the
spear
the
vigorous
arm
confess'd,
And
pierced,
obliquely,
king
Hypsenor's
breast:
Warm'd
in
his
liver,
to
the
ground
it
bore
The
chief,
his
people's
guardian
now
no
more!
"Not
unattended
(the
proud
Trojan
cries)
Nor
unrevenged,
lamented
Asius
lies:
For
thee,
through
hell's
black
portals
stand
display'd,
This
mate
shall
joy
thy
melancholy
shade."
Heart-piercing
anguish,
at
the
haughty
boast,
Touch'd
every
Greek,
but
Nestor's
son
the
most.
Grieved
as
he
was,
his
pious
arms
attend,
And
his
broad
buckler
shields
his
slaughter'd
friend:
Till
sad
Mecistheus
and
Alastor
bore
His
honour'd
body
to
the
tented
shore.
Nor
yet
from
fight
Idomeneus
withdraws;
Resolved
to
perish
in
his
country's
cause,
Or
find
some
foe,
whom
heaven
and
he
shall
doom
To
wail
his
fate
in
death's
eternal
gloom.
He
sees
Alcathous
in
the
front
aspire:
Great
Ęsyetes
was
the
hero's
sire;
His
spouse
Hippodame,
divinely
fair,
Anchises'
eldest
hope,
and
darling
care:
Who
charm'd
her
parents'
and
her
husband's
heart
With
beauty,
sense,
and
every
work
of
art:
He
once
of
Ilion's
youth
the
loveliest
boy,
The
fairest
she
of
all
the
fair
of
Troy.
By
Neptune
now
the
hapless
hero
dies,
Who
covers
with
a
cloud
those
beauteous
eyes,
And
fetters
every
limb:
yet
bent
to
meet
His
fate
he
stands;
nor
shuns
the
lance
of
Crete.
Fix'd
as
some
column,
or
deep-rooted
oak,
While
the
winds
sleep;
his
breast
received
the
stroke.
Before
the
ponderous
stroke
his
corslet
yields,
Long
used
to
ward
the
death
in
fighting
fields.
The
riven
armour
sends
a
jarring
sound;
His
labouring
heart
heaves
with
so
strong
a
bound,
The
long
lance
shakes,
and
vibrates
in
the
wound;
Fast
flowing
from
its
source,
as
prone
he
lay,
Life's
purple
tide
impetuous
gush'd
away.
Then
Idomen,
insulting
o'er
the
slain:
"Behold,
Deiphobus!
nor
vaunt
in
vain:
See!
on
one
Greek
three
Trojan
ghosts
attend;
This,
my
third
victim,
to
the
shades
I
send.
Approaching
now
thy
boasted
might
approve,
And
try
the
prowess
of
the
seed
of
Jove.
From
Jove,
enamour'd
of
a
mortal
dame,
Great
Minos,
guardian
of
his
country,
came:
Deucalion,
blameless
prince,
was
Minos'
heir;
His
first-born
I,
the
third
from
Jupiter:
O'er
spacious
Crete,
and
her
bold
sons,
I
reign,
And
thence
my
ships
transport
me
through
the
main:
Lord
of
a
host,
o'er
all
my
host
I
shine,
A
scourge
to
thee,
thy
father,
and
thy
line."
The
Trojan
heard;
uncertain
or
to
meet,
Alone,
with
venturous
arms
the
king
of
Crete,
Or
seek
auxiliar
force;
at
length
decreed
To
call
some
hero
to
partake
the
deed,
Forthwith
Ęneas
rises
to
his
thought:
For
him
in
Troy's
remotest
lines
he
sought,
Where
he,
incensed
at
partial
Priam,
stands,
And
sees
superior
posts
in
meaner
hands.
To
him,
ambitious
of
so
great
an
aid,
The
bold
Deiphobus
approach'd,
and
said:
"Now,
Trojan
prince,
employ
thy
pious
arms,
If
e'er
thy
bosom
felt
fair
honour's
charms.
Alcathous
dies,
thy
brother
and
thy
friend;
Come,
and
the
warrior's
loved
remains
defend.
Beneath
his
cares
thy
early
youth
was
train'd,
One
table
fed
you,
and
one
roof
contain'd.
This
deed
to
fierce
Idomeneus
we
owe;
Haste,
and
revenge
it
on
th'
insulting
foe."
Ęneas
heard,
and
for
a
space
resign'd
To
tender
pity
all
his
manly
mind;
Then
rising
in
his
rage,
he
burns
to
fight:
The
Greek
awaits
him
with
collected
might.
As
the
fell
boar,
on
some
rough
mountain's
head,
Arm'd
with
wild
terrors,
and
to
slaughter
bred,
When
the
loud
rustics
rise,
and
shout
from
far,
Attends
the
tumult,
and
expects
the
war;
O'er
his
bent
back
the
bristly
horrors
rise;
Fires
stream
in
lightning
from
his
sanguine
eyes,
His
foaming
tusks
both
dogs
and
men
engage;
But
most
his
hunters
rouse
his
mighty
rage:
So
stood
Idomeneus,
his
javelin
shook,
And
met
the
Trojan
with
a
lowering
look.
Antilochus,
Deipyrus,
were
near,
The
youthful
offspring
of
the
god
of
war,
Merion,
and
Aphareus,
in
field
renown'd:
To
these
the
warrior
sent
his
voice
around.
"Fellows
in
arms!
your
timely
aid
unite;
Lo,
great
Ęneas
rushes
to
the
fight:
Sprung
from
a
god,
and
more
than
mortal
bold;
He
fresh
in
youth,
and
I
in
arms
grown
old.
Else
should
this
hand,
this
hour
decide
the
strife,
The
great
dispute,
of
glory,
or
of
life."
He
spoke,
and
all,
as
with
one
soul,
obey'd;
Their
lifted
bucklers
cast
a
dreadful
shade
Around
the
chief.
Ęneas
too
demands
Th'
assisting
forces
of
his
native
bands;
Paris,
Deiphobus,
Agenor,
join;
(Co-aids
and
captains
of
the
Trojan
line;)
In
order
follow
all
th'
embodied
train,
Like
Ida's
flocks
proceeding
o'er
the
plain;
Before
his
fleecy
care,
erect
and
bold,
Stalks
the
proud
ram,
the
father
of
the
bold.
With
joy
the
swain
surveys
them,
as
he
leads
To
the
cool
fountains,
through
the
well-known
meads:
So
joys
Ęneas,
as
his
native
band
Moves
on
in
rank,
and
stretches
o'er
the
land.
Round
dread
Alcathous
now
the
battle
rose;
On
every
side
the
steely
circle
grows;
Now
batter'd
breast-plates
and
hack'd
helmets
ring,
And
o'er
their
heads
unheeded
javelins
sing.
Above
the
rest,
two
towering
chiefs
appear,
There
great
Idomeneus,
Ęneas
here.
Like
gods
of
war,
dispensing
fate,
they
stood,
And
burn'd
to
drench
the
ground
with
mutual
blood.
The
Trojan
weapon
whizz'd
along
in
air;
The
Cretan
saw,
and
shunn'd
the
brazen
spear:
Sent
from
an
arm
so
strong,
the
missive
wood
Stuck
deep
in
earth,
and
quiver'd
where
it
stood.
But
OEnomas
received
the
Cretan's
stroke;
The
forceful
spear
his
hollow
corslet
broke,
It
ripp'd
his
belly
with
a
ghastly
wound,
And
roll'd
the
smoking
entrails
on
the
ground.
Stretch'd
on
the
plain,
he
sobs
away
his
breath,
And,
furious,
grasps
the
bloody
dust
in
death.
The
victor
from
his
breast
the
weapon
tears;
His
spoils
he
could
not,
for
the
shower
of
spears.
Though
now
unfit
an
active
war
to
wage,
Heavy
with
cumbrous
arms,
stiff
with
cold
age,
His
listless
limbs
unable
for
the
course,
In
standing
fight
he
yet
maintains
his
force;
Till
faint
with
labour,
and
by
foes
repell'd,
His
tired
slow
steps
he
drags
from
off
the
field.
Deiphobus
beheld
him
as
he
pass'd,
And,
fired
with
hate,
a
parting
javelin
cast:
The
javelin
err'd,
but
held
its
course
along,
And
pierced
Ascalaphus,
the
brave
and
young:
The
son
of
Mars
fell
gasping
on
the
ground,
And
gnash'd
the
dust,
all
bloody
with
his
wound.
Nor
knew
the
furious
father
of
his
fall;
High-throned
amidst
the
great
Olympian
hall,
On
golden
clouds
th'
immortal
synod
sate;
Detain'd
from
bloody
war
by
Jove
and
Fate.
Now,
where
in
dust
the
breathless
hero
lay,
For
slain
Ascalaphus
commenced
the
fray,
Deiphobus
to
seize
his
helmet
flies,
And
from
his
temples
rends
the
glittering
prize;
Valiant
as
Mars,
Meriones
drew
near,
And
on
his
loaded
arm
discharged
his
spear:
He
drops
the
weight,
disabled
with
the
pain;
The
hollow
helmet
rings
against
the
plain.
Swift
as
a
vulture
leaping
on
his
prey,
From
his
torn
arm
the
Grecian
rent
away
The
reeking
javelin,
and
rejoin'd
his
friends.
His
wounded
brother
good
Polites
tends;
Around
his
waist
his
pious
arms
he
threw,
And
from
the
rage
of
battle
gently
drew:
Him
his
swift
coursers,
on
his
splendid
car,
Rapt
from
the
lessening
thunder
of
the
war;
To
Troy
they
drove
him,
groaning
from
the
shore,
And
sprinkling,
as
he
pass'd,
the
sands
with
gore.
Meanwhile
fresh
slaughter
bathes
the
sanguine
ground,
Heaps
fall
on
heaps,
and
heaven
and
earth
resound.
Bold
Aphareus
by
great
Ęneas
bled;
As
toward
the
chief
he
turn'd
his
daring
head,
He
pierced
his
throat;
the
bending
head,
depress'd
Beneath
his
helmet,
nods
upon
his
breast;
His
shield
reversed
o'er
the
fallen
warrior
lies,
And
everlasting
slumber
seals
his
eyes.
Antilochus,
as
Thoon
turn'd
him
round,
Transpierced
his
back
with
a
dishonest
wound:
The
hollow
vein,
that
to
the
neck
extends
Along
the
chine,
his
eager
javelin
rends:
Supine
he
falls,
and
to
his
social
train
Spreads
his
imploring
arms,
but
spreads
in
vain.
Th'
exulting
victor,
leaping
where
he
lay,
From
his
broad
shoulders
tore
the
spoils
away;
His
time
observed;
for
closed
by
foes
around,
On
all
sides
thick
the
peals
of
arms
resound.
His
shield
emboss'd
the
ringing
storm
sustains,
But
he
impervious
and
untouch'd
remains.
(Great
Neptune's
care
preserved
from
hostile
rage
This
youth,
the
joy
of
Nestor's
glorious
age.)
In
arms
intrepid,
with
the
first
he
fought,
Faced
every
foe,
and
every
danger
sought;
His
winged
lance,
resistless
as
the
wind,
Obeys
each
motion
of
the
master's
mind!
Restless
it
flies,
impatient
to
be
free,
And
meditates
the
distant
enemy.
The
son
of
Asius,
Adamas,
drew
near,
And
struck
his
target
with
the
brazen
spear
Fierce
in
his
front:
but
Neptune
wards
the
blow,
And
blunts
the
javelin
of
th'
eluded
foe:
In
the
broad
buckler
half
the
weapon
stood,
Splinter'd
on
earth
flew
half
the
broken
wood.
Disarm'd,
he
mingled
in
the
Trojan
crew;
But
Merion's
spear
o'ertook
him
as
he
flew,
Deep
in
the
belly's
rim
an
entrance
found,
Where
sharp
the
pang,
and
mortal
is
the
wound.
Bending
he
fell,
and
doubled
to
the
ground,
Lay
panting.
Thus
an
ox
in
fetters
tied,
While
death's
strong
pangs
distend
his
labouring
side,
His
bulk
enormous
on
the
field
displays;
His
heaving
heart
beats
thick
as
ebbing
life
decays.
The
spear
the
conqueror
from
his
body
drew,
And
death's
dim
shadows
swarm
before
his
view.
Next
brave
Deipyrus
in
dust
was
laid:
King
Helenus
waved
high
the
Thracian
blade,
And
smote
his
temples
with
an
arm
so
strong,
The
helm
fell
off,
and
roll'd
amid
the
throng:
There
for
some
luckier
Greek
it
rests
a
prize;
For
dark
in
death
the
godlike
owner
lies!
Raging
with
grief,
great
Menelaus
burns,
And
fraught
with
vengeance,
to
the
victor
turns:
That
shook
the
ponderous
lance,
in
act
to
throw;
And
this
stood
adverse
with
the
bended
bow:
Full
on
his
breast
the
Trojan
arrow
fell,
But
harmless
bounded
from
the
plated
steel.
As
on
some
ample
barn's
well
harden'd
floor,
(The
winds
collected
at
each
open
door,)
While
the
broad
fan
with
force
is
whirl'd
around,
Light
leaps
the
golden
grain,
resulting
from
the
ground:
So
from
the
steel
that
guards
Atrides'
heart,
Repell'd
to
distance
flies
the
bounding
dart.
Atrides,
watchful
of
the
unwary
foe,
Pierced
with
his
lance
the
hand
that
grasp'd
the
bow.
And
nailed
it
to
the
yew:
the
wounded
hand
Trail'd
the
long
lance
that
mark'd
with
blood
the
sand:
But
good
Agenor
gently
from
the
wound
The
spear
solicits,
and
the
bandage
bound;
A
sling's
soft
wool,
snatch'd
from
a
soldier's
side,
At
once
the
tent
and
ligature
supplied.
Behold!
Pisander,
urged
by
fate's
decree,
Springs
through
the
ranks
to
fall,
and
fall
by
thee,
Great
Menelaus!
to
enchance
thy
fame:
High-towering
in
the
front,
the
warrior
came.
First
the
sharp
lance
was
by
Atrides
thrown;
The
lance
far
distant
by
the
winds
was
blown.
Nor
pierced
Pisander
through
Atrides'
shield:
Pisander's
spear
fell
shiver'd
on
the
field.
Not
so
discouraged,
to
the
future
blind,
Vain
dreams
of
conquest
swell
his
haughty
mind;
Dauntless
he
rushes
where
the
Spartan
lord
Like
lightning
brandish'd
his
far
beaming
sword.
His
left
arm
high
opposed
the
shining
shield:
His
right
beneath,
the
cover'd
pole-axe
held;
(An
olive's
cloudy
grain
the
handle
made,
Distinct
with
studs,
and
brazen
was
the
blade;)
This
on
the
helm
discharged
a
noble
blow;
The
plume
dropp'd
nodding
to
the
plain
below,
Shorn
from
the
crest.
Atrides
waved
his
steel:
Deep
through
his
front
the
weighty
falchion
fell;
The
crashing
bones
before
its
force
gave
way;
In
dust
and
blood
the
groaning
hero
lay:
Forced
from
their
ghastly
orbs,
and
spouting
gore,
The
clotted
eye-balls
tumble
on
the
shore.
And
fierce
Atrides
spurn'd
him
as
he
bled,
Tore
off
his
arms,
and,
loud-exulting,
said:
"Thus,
Trojans,
thus,
at
length
be
taught
to
fear;
O
race
perfidious,
who
delight
in
war!
Already
noble
deeds
ye
have
perform'd;
A
princess
raped
transcends
a
navy
storm'd:
In
such
bold
feats
your
impious
might
approve,
Without
th'
assistance,
or
the
fear
of
Jove.
The
violated
rites,
the
ravish'd
dame;
Our
heroes
slaughter'd
and
our
ships
on
flame,
Crimes
heap'd
on
crimes,
shall
bend
your
glory
down,
And
whelm
in
ruins
yon
flagitious
town.
O
thou,
great
father!
lord
of
earth
and
skies,
Above
the
thought
of
man,
supremely
wise!
If
from
thy
hand
the
fates
of
mortals
flow,
From
whence
this
favour
to
an
impious
foe?
A
godless
crew,
abandon'd
and
unjust,
Still
breathing
rapine,
violence,
and
lust?
The
best
of
things,
beyond
their
measure,
cloy;
Sleep's
balmy
blessing,
love's
endearing
joy;
The
feast,
the
dance;
whate'er
mankind
desire,
Even
the
sweet
charms
of
sacred
numbers
tire.
But
Troy
for
ever
reaps
a
dire
delight
In
thirst
of
slaughter,
and
in
lust
of
fight."
This
said,
he
seized
(while
yet
the
carcase
heaved)
The
bloody
armour,
which
his
train
received:
Then
sudden
mix'd
among
the
warring
crew,
And
the
bold
son
of
Pylaemenes
slew.
Harpalion
had
through
Asia
travell'd
far,
Following
his
martial
father
to
the
war:
Through
filial
love
he
left
his
native
shore,
Never,
ah,
never
to
behold
it
more!
His
unsuccessful
spear
he
chanced
to
fling
Against
the
target
of
the
Spartan
king;
Thus
of
his
lance
disarm'd,
from
death
he
flies,
And
turns
around
his
apprehensive
eyes.
Him,
through
the
hip
transpiercing
as
he
fled,
The
shaft
of
Merion
mingled
with
the
dead.
Beneath
the
bone
the
glancing
point
descends,
And,
driving
down,
the
swelling
bladder
rends:
Sunk
in
his
sad
companions'
arms
he
lay,
And
in
short
pantings
sobb'd
his
soul
away;
(Like
some
vile
worm
extended
on
the
ground;)
While
life's
red
torrent
gush'd
from
out
the
wound.
Him
on
his
car
the
Paphlagonian
train
In
slow
procession
bore
from
off
the
plain.
The
pensive
father,
father
now
no
more!
Attends
the
mournful
pomp
along
the
shore;
And
unavailing
tears
profusely
shed;
And,
unrevenged,
deplored
his
offspring
dead.
Paris
from
far
the
moving
sight
beheld,
With
pity
soften'd
and
with
fury
swell'd:
His
honour'd
host,
a
youth
of
matchless
grace,
And
loved
of
all
the
Paphlagonian
race!
With
his
full
strength
he
bent
his
angry
bow,
And
wing'd
the
feather'd
vengeance
at
the
foe.
A
chief
there
was,
the
brave
Euchenor
named,
For
riches
much,
and
more
for
virtue
famed.
Who
held
his
seat
in
Corinth's
stately
town;
Polydus'
son,
a
seer
of
old
renown.
Oft
had
the
father
told
his
early
doom,
By
arms
abroad,
or
slow
disease
at
home:
He
climb'd
his
vessel,
prodigal
of
breath,
And
chose
the
certain
glorious
path
to
death.
Beneath
his
ear
the
pointed
arrow
went;
The
soul
came
issuing
at
the
narrow
vent:
His
limbs,
unnerved,
drop
useless
on
the
ground,
And
everlasting
darkness
shades
him
round.
Nor
knew
great
Hector
how
his
legions
yield,
(Wrapp'd
in
the
cloud
and
tumult
of
the
field:)
Wide
on
the
left
the
force
of
Greece
commands,
And
conquest
hovers
o'er
th'
Achaian
bands;
With
such
a
tide
superior
virtue
sway'd,
And
he
that
shakes
the
solid
earth
gave
aid.
But
in
the
centre
Hector
fix'd
remain'd,
Where
first
the
gates
were
forced,
and
bulwarks
gain'd;
There,
on
the
margin
of
the
hoary
deep,
(Their
naval
station
where
the
Ajaces
keep.
And
where
low
walls
confine
the
beating
tides,
Whose
humble
barrier
scarce
the
foe
divides;
Where
late
in
fight
both
foot
and
horse
engaged,
And
all
the
thunder
of
the
battle
raged,)
There
join'd,
the
whole
Boeotian
strength
remains,
The
proud
Iaonians
with
their
sweeping
trains,
Locrians
and
Phthians,
and
th'
Epaean
force;
But
join'd,
repel
not
Hector's
fiery
course.
The
flower
of
Athens,
Stichius,
Phidas,
led;
Bias
and
great
Menestheus
at
their
head:
Meges
the
strong
the
Epaean
bands
controll'd,
And
Dracius
prudent,
and
Amphion
bold:
The
Phthians,
Medon,
famed
for
martial
might,
And
brave
Podarces,
active
in
the
fight.
This
drew
from
Phylacus
his
noble
line;
Iphiclus'
son:
and
that
(Oileus)
thine:
(Young
Ajax'
brother,
by
a
stolen
embrace;
He
dwelt
far
distant
from
his
native
place,
By
his
fierce
step-dame
from
his
father's
reign
Expell'd
and
exiled
for
her
brother
slain:)
These
rule
the
Phthians,
and
their
arms
employ,
Mix'd
with
Boeotians,
on
the
shores
of
Troy.
Now
side
by
side,
with
like
unwearied
care,
Each
Ajax
laboured
through
the
field
of
war:
So
when
two
lordly
bulls,
with
equal
toil,
Force
the
bright
ploughshare
through
the
fallow
soil,
Join'd
to
one
yoke,
the
stubborn
earth
they
tear,
And
trace
large
furrows
with
the
shining
share;
O'er
their
huge
limbs
the
foam
descends
in
snow,
And
streams
of
sweat
down
their
sour
foreheads
flow.
A
train
of
heroes
followed
through
the
field,
Who
bore
by
turns
great
Ajax'
sevenfold
shield;
Whene'er
he
breathed,
remissive
of
his
might,
Tired
with
the
incessant
slaughters
of
the
fight.
No
following
troops
his
brave
associate
grace:
In
close
engagement
an
unpractised
race,
The
Locrian
squadrons
nor
the
javelin
wield,
Nor
bear
the
helm,
nor
lift
the
moony
shield;
But
skill'd
from
far
the
flying
shaft
to
wing,
Or
whirl
the
sounding
pebble
from
the
sling,
Dexterous
with
these
they
aim
a
certain
wound,
Or
fell
the
distant
warrior
to
the
ground.
Thus
in
the
van
the
Telamonian
train,
Throng'd
in
bright
arms,
a
pressing
fight
maintain:
Far
in
the
rear
the
Locrian
archers
lie,
Whose
stones
and
arrows
intercept
the
sky,
The
mingled
tempest
on
the
foes
they
pour;
Troy's
scattering
orders
open
to
the
shower.
Now
had
the
Greeks
eternal
fame
acquired,
And
the
gall'd
Ilians
to
their
walls
retired;
But
sage
Polydamas,
discreetly
brave,
Address'd
great
Hector,
and
this
counsel
gave:
"Though
great
in
all,
thou
seem'st
averse
to
lend
Impartial
audience
to
a
faithful
friend;
To
gods
and
men
thy
matchless
worth
is
known,
And
every
art
of
glorious
war
thy
own;
But
in
cool
thought
and
counsel
to
excel,
How
widely
differs
this
from
warring
well!
Content
with
what
the
bounteous
gods
have
given,
Seek
not
alone
to
engross
the
gifts
of
Heaven.
To
some
the
powers
of
bloody
war
belong,
To
some
sweet
music
and
the
charm
of
song;
To
few,
and
wondrous
few,
has
Jove
assign'd
A
wise,
extensive,
all-considering
mind;
Their
guardians
these,
the
nations
round
confess,
And
towns
and
empires
for
their
safety
bless.
If
Heaven
have
lodged
this
virtue
in
my
breast,
Attend,
O
Hector!
what
I
judge
the
best,
See,
as
thou
mov'st,
on
dangers
dangers
spread,
And
war's
whole
fury
burns
around
thy
head.
Behold!
distress'd
within
yon
hostile
wall,
How
many
Trojans
yield,
disperse,
or
fall!
What
troops,
out-number'd,
scarce
the
war
maintain!
And
what
brave
heroes
at
the
ships
lie
slain!
Here
cease
thy
fury:
and,
the
chiefs
and
kings
Convoked
to
council,
weigh
the
sum
of
things.
Whether
(the
gods
succeeding
our
desires)
To
yon
tall
ships
to
bear
the
Trojan
fires;
Or
quit
the
fleet,
and
pass
unhurt
away,
Contented
with
the
conquest
of
the
day.
I
fear,
I
fear,
lest
Greece,
not
yet
undone,
Pay
the
large
debt
of
last
revolving
sun;
Achilles,
great
Achilles,
yet
remains
On
yonder
decks,
and
yet
o'erlooks
the
plains!"
The
counsel
pleased;
and
Hector,
with
a
bound,
Leap'd
from
his
chariot
on
the
trembling
ground;
Swift
as
he
leap'd
his
clanging
arms
resound.
"To
guard
this
post
(he
cried)
thy
art
employ,
And
here
detain
the
scatter'd
youth
of
Troy;
Where
yonder
heroes
faint,
I
bend
my
way,
And
hasten
back
to
end
the
doubtful
day."
This
said,
the
towering
chief
prepares
to
go,
Shakes
his
white
plumes
that
to
the
breezes
flow,
And
seems
a
moving
mountain
topp'd
with
snow.
Through
all
his
host,
inspiring
force,
he
flies,
And
bids
anew
the
martial
thunder
rise.
To
Panthus'
son,
at
Hector's
high
command
Haste
the
bold
leaders
of
the
Trojan
band:
But
round
the
battlements,
and
round
the
plain,
For
many
a
chief
he
look'd,
but
look'd
in
vain;
Deiphobus,
nor
Helenus
the
seer,
Nor
Asius'
son,
nor
Asius'
self
appear:
For
these
were
pierced
with
many
a
ghastly
wound,
Some
cold
in
death,
some
groaning
on
the
ground;
Some
low
in
dust,
(a
mournful
object)
lay;
High
on
the
wall
some
breathed
their
souls
away.
Far
on
the
left,
amid
the
throng
he
found
(Cheering
the
troops,
and
dealing
deaths
around)
The
graceful
Paris;
whom,
with
fury
moved,
Opprobrious
thus,
th'
impatient
chief
reproved:
"Ill-fated
Paris!
slave
to
womankind,
As
smooth
of
face
as
fraudulent
of
mind!
Where
is
Deiphobus,
where
Asius
gone?
The
godlike
father,
and
th'
intrepid
son?
The
force
of
Helenus,
dispensing
fate;
And
great
Othryoneus,
so
fear'd
of
late?
Black
fate
hang's
o'er
thee
from
th'
avenging
gods,
Imperial
Troy
from
her
foundations
nods;
Whelm'd
in
thy
country's
ruin
shalt
thou
fall,
And
one
devouring
vengeance
swallow
all."
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
Polypoetes
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.
Thus
stalk'd
he,
dreadful;
death
was
in
his
look:
Whole
nations
fear'd;
but
not
an
Argive
shook.
The
towering
Ajax,
with
an
ample
stride,
Advanced
the
first,
and
thus
the
chief
defied:
"Hector!
come
on;
thy
empty
threats
forbear;
'Tis
not
thy
arm,
'tis
thundering
Jove
we
fear:
The
skill
of
war
to
us
not
idly
given,
Lo!
Greece
is
humbled,
not
by
Troy,
but
Heaven.
Vain
are
the
hopes
that
haughty
mind
imparts,
To
force
our
fleet:
the
Greeks
have
hands
and
hearts.
Long
ere
in
flames
our
lofty
navy
fall,
Your
boasted
city,
and
your
god-built
wall,
Shall
sink
beneath
us,
smoking
on
the
ground;
And
spread
a
long
unmeasured
ruin
round.
The
time
shall
come,
when,
chased
along
the
plain,
Even
thou
shalt
call
on
Jove,
and
call
in
vain;
Even
thou
shalt
wish,
to
aid
thy
desperate
course,
The
wings
of
falcons
for
thy
flying
horse;
Shalt
run,
forgetful
of
a
warrior's
fame,
While
clouds
of
friendly
dust
conceal
thy
shame."
As
thus
he
spoke,
behold,
in
open
view,
On
sounding
wings
a
dexter
eagle
flew.
To
Jove's
glad
omen
all
the
Grecians
rise,
And
hail,
with
shouts,
his
progress
through
the
skies:
Far-echoing
clamours
bound
from
side
to
side;
They
ceased;
and
thus
the
chief
of
Troy
replied:
"From
whence
this
menace,
this
insulting
strain?
Enormous
boaster!
doom'd
to
vaunt
in
vain.
So
may
the
gods
on
Hector
life
bestow,
(Not
that
short
life
which
mortals
lead
below,
But
such
as
those
of
Jove's
high
lineage
born,
The
blue-eyed
maid,
or
he
that
gilds
the
morn,)
As
this
decisive
day
shall
end
the
fame
Of
Greece,
and
Argos
be
no
more
a
name.
And
thou,
imperious!
if
thy
madness
wait
The
lance
of
Hector,
thou
shalt
meet
thy
fate:
That
giant-corse,
extended
on
the
shore,
Shall
largely
feast
the
fowls
with
fat
and
gore."
He
said;
and
like
a
lion
stalk'd
along:
With
shouts
incessant
earth
and
ocean
rung,
Sent
from
his
following
host:
the
Grecian
train
With
answering
thunders
fill'd
the
echoing
plain;
A
shout
that
tore
heaven's
concave,
and,
above,
Shook
the
fix'd
splendours
of
the
throne
of
Jove.
[Illustration:
GREEK
EARRINGS.]
GREEK
EARRINGS.
BOOK
XIV.
ARGUMENT.(231)
JUNO
DECEIVES
JUPITER
BY
THE
GIRDLE
OF
VENUS.
Nestor,
sitting
at
the
table
with
Machaon,
is
alarmed
with
the
increasing
clamour
of
war,
and
hastens
to
Agamemnon;
on
his
way
he
meets
that
prince
with
Diomed
and
Ulysses,
whom
he
informs
of
the
extremity
of
the
danger.
Agamemnon
proposes
to
make
their
escape
by
night,
which
Ulysses
withstands;
to
which
Diomed
adds
his
advice,
that,
wounded
as
they
were,
they
should
go
forth
and
encourage
the
army
with
their
presence,
which
advice
is
pursued.
Juno,
seeing
the
partiality
of
Jupiter
to
the
Trojans,
forms
a
design
to
over-reach
him:
she
sets
off
her
charms
with
the
utmost
care,
and
(the
more
surely
to
enchant
him)
obtains
the
magic
girdle
of
Venus.
She
then
applies
herself
to
the
god
of
sleep,
and,
with
some
difficulty,
persuades
him
to
seal
the
eyes
of
Jupiter:
this
done,
she
goes
to
mount
Ida,
where
the
god,
at
first
sight,
is
ravished
with
her
beauty,
sinks
in
her
embraces,
and
is
laid
asleep.
Neptune
takes
advantage
of
his
slumber,
and
succours
the
Greeks:
Hector
is
struck
to
the
ground
with
a
prodigious
stone
by
Ajax,
and
carried
off
from
the
battle:
several
actions
succeed,
till
the
Trojans,
much
distressed,
are
obliged
to
give
way:
the
lesser
Ajax
signalizes
himself
in
a
particular
manner.
But
not
the
genial
feast,
nor
flowing
bowl,
Could
charm
the
cares
of
Nestor's
watchful
soul;
His
startled
ears
the
increasing
cries
attend;
Then
thus,
impatient,
to
his
wounded
friend:
"What
new
alarm,
divine
Machaon,
say,
What
mix'd
events
attend
this
mighty
day?
Hark!
how
the
shouts
divide,
and
how
they
meet,
And
now
come
full,
and
thicken
to
the
fleet!
Here
with
the
cordial
draught
dispel
thy
care,
Let
Hecamede
the
strengthening
bath
prepare,
Refresh
thy
wound,
and
cleanse
the
clotted
gore;
While
I
the
adventures
of
the
day
explore."
He
said:
and,
seizing
Thrasymedes'
shield,
(His
valiant
offspring,)
hasten'd
to
the
field;
(That
day
the
son
his
father's
buckler
bore;)
Then
snatch'd
a
lance,
and
issued
from
the
door.
Soon
as
the
prospect
open'd
to
his
view,
His
wounded
eyes
the
scene
of
sorrow
knew;
Dire
disarray!
the
tumult
of
the
fight,
The
wall
in
ruins,
and
the
Greeks
in
flight.
As
when
old
ocean's
silent
surface
sleeps,
The
waves
just
heaving
on
the
purple
deeps:
While
yet
the
expected
tempest
hangs
on
high,
Weighs
down
the
cloud,
and
blackens
in
the
sky,
The
mass
of
waters
will
no
wind
obey;
Jove
sends
one
gust,
and
bids
them
roll
away.
While
wavering
counsels
thus
his
mind
engage,
Fluctuates
in
doubtful
thought
the
Pylian
sage,
To
join
the
host,
or
to
the
general
haste;
Debating
long,
he
fixes
on
the
last:
Yet,
as
he
moves,
the
sight
his
bosom
warms,
The
field
rings
dreadful
with
the
clang
of
arms,
The
gleaming
falchions
flash,
the
javelins
fly;
Blows
echo
blows,
and
all
or
kill
or
die.
Him,
in
his
march,
the
wounded
princes
meet,
By
tardy
steps
ascending
from
the
fleet:
The
king
of
men,
Ulysses
the
divine,
And
who
to
Tydeus
owes
his
noble
line.(232)
(Their
ships
at
distance
from
the
battle
stand,
In
lines
advanced
along
the
shelving
strand:
Whose
bay,
the
fleet
unable
to
contain
At
length;
beside
the
margin
of
the
main,
Rank
above
rank,
the
crowded
ships
they
moor:
Who
landed
first,
lay
highest
on
the
shore.)
Supported
on
the
spears,
they
took
their
way,
Unfit
to
fight,
but
anxious
for
the
day.
Nestor's
approach
alarm'd
each
Grecian
breast,
Whom
thus
the
general
of
the
host
address'd:
"O
grace
and
glory
of
the
Achaian
name;
What
drives
thee,
Nestor,
from
the
field
of
fame?
Shall
then
proud
Hector
see
his
boast
fulfill'd,
Our
fleets
in
ashes,
and
our
heroes
kill'd?
Such
was
his
threat,
ah!
now
too
soon
made
good,
On
many
a
Grecian
bosom
writ
in
blood.
Is
every
heart
inflamed
with
equal
rage
Against
your
king,
nor
will
one
chief
engage?
And
have
I
lived
to
see
with
mournful
eyes
In
every
Greek
a
new
Achilles
rise?"
Gerenian
Nestor
then:
"So
fate
has
will'd;
And
all-confirming
time
has
fate
fulfill'd.
Not
he
that
thunders
from
the
aerial
bower,
Not
Jove
himself,
upon
the
past
has
power.
The
wall,
our
late
inviolable
bound,
And
best
defence,
lies
smoking
on
the
ground:
Even
to
the
ships
their
conquering
arms
extend,
And
groans
of
slaughter'd
Greeks
to
heaven
ascend.
On
speedy
measures
then
employ
your
thought
In
such
distress!
if
counsel
profit
aught:
Arms
cannot
much:
though
Mars
our
souls
incite,
These
gaping
wounds
withhold
us
from
the
fight."
To
him
the
monarch:
"That
our
army
bends,
That
Troy
triumphant
our
high
fleet
ascends,
And
that
the
rampart,
late
our
surest
trust
And
best
defence,
lies
smoking
in
the
dust;
All
this
from
Jove's
afflictive
hand
we
bear,
Who,
far
from
Argos,
wills
our
ruin
here.
Past
are
the
days
when
happier
Greece
was
blest,
And
all
his
favour,
all
his
aid
confess'd;
Now
heaven
averse,
our
hands
from
battle
ties,
And
lifts
the
Trojan
glory
to
the
skies.
Cease
we
at
length
to
waste
our
blood
in
vain,
And
launch
what
ships
lie
nearest
to
the
main;
Leave
these
at
anchor,
till
the
coming
night:
Then,
if
impetuous
Troy
forbear
the
fight,
Bring
all
to
sea,
and
hoist
each
sail
for
flight.
Better
from
evils,
well
foreseen,
to
run,
Than
perish
in
the
danger
we
may
shun."
Thus
he.
The
sage
Ulysses
thus
replied,
While
anger
flash'd
from
his
disdainful
eyes:
"What
shameful
words
(unkingly
as
thou
art)
Fall
from
that
trembling
tongue
and
timorous
heart?
Oh
were
thy
sway
the
curse
of
meaner
powers,
And
thou
the
shame
of
any
host
but
ours!
A
host,
by
Jove
endued
with
martial
might,
And
taught
to
conquer,
or
to
fall
in
fight:
Adventurous
combats
and
bold
wars
to
wage,
Employ'd
our
youth,
and
yet
employs
our
age.
And
wilt
thou
thus
desert
the
Trojan
plain?
And
have
whole
streams
of
blood
been
spilt
in
vain?
In
such
base
sentence
if
thou
couch
thy
fear,
Speak
it
in
whispers,
lest
a
Greek
should
hear.
Lives
there
a
man
so
dead
to
fame,
who
dares
To
think
such
meanness,
or
the
thought
declares?
And
comes
it
even
from
him
whose
sovereign
sway
The
banded
legions
of
all
Greece
obey?
Is
this
a
general's
voice
that
calls
to
flight,
While
war
hangs
doubtful,
while
his
soldiers
fight?
What
more
could
Troy?
What
yet
their
fate
denies
Thou
givest
the
foe:
all
Greece
becomes
their
prize.
No
more
the
troops
(our
hoisted
sails
in
view,
Themselves
abandon'd)
shall
the
fight
pursue;
But
thy
ships
flying,
with
despair
shall
see;
And
owe
destruction
to
a
prince
like
thee."
"Thy
just
reproofs
(Atrides
calm
replies)
Like
arrows
pierce
me,
for
thy
words
are
wise.
Unwilling
as
I
am
to
lose
the
host,
I
force
not
Greece
to
quit
this
hateful
coast;
Glad
I
submit,
whoe'er,
or
young,
or
old,
Aught,
more
conducive
to
our
weal,
unfold."
Tydides
cut
him
short,
and
thus
began:
"Such
counsel
if
you
seek,
behold
the
man
Who
boldly
gives
it,
and
what
he
shall
say,
Young
though
he
be,
disdain
not
to
obey:
A
youth,
who
from
the
mighty
Tydeus
springs,
May
speak
to
councils
and
assembled
kings.
Hear
then
in
me
the
great
OEnides'
son,
Whose
honoured
dust
(his
race
of
glory
run)
Lies
whelm'd
in
ruins
of
the
Theban
wall;
Brave
in
his
life,
and
glorious
in
his
fall.
With
three
bold
sons
was
generous
Prothous
bless'd,
Who
Pleuron's
walls
and
Calydon
possess'd;
Melas
and
Agrius,
but
(who
far
surpass'd
The
rest
in
courage)
OEneus
was
the
last.
From
him,
my
sire.
From
Calydon
expell'd,
He
pass'd
to
Argos,
and
in
exile
dwell'd;
The
monarch's
daughter
there
(so
Jove
ordain'd)
He
won,
and
flourish'd
where
Adrastus
reign'd;
There,
rich
in
fortune's
gifts,
his
acres
till'd,
Beheld
his
vines
their
liquid
harvest
yield,
And
numerous
flocks
that
whiten'd
all
the
field.
Such
Tydeus
was,
the
foremost
once
in
fame!
Nor
lives
in
Greece
a
stranger
to
his
name.
Then,
what
for
common
good
my
thoughts
inspire,
Attend,
and
in
the
son
respect
the
sire.
Though
sore
of
battle,
though
with
wounds
oppress'd,
Let
each
go
forth,
and
animate
the
rest,
Advance
the
glory
which
he
cannot
share,
Though
not
partaker,
witness
of
the
war.
But
lest
new
wounds
on
wounds
o'erpower
us
quite,
Beyond
the
missile
javelin's
sounding
flight,
Safe
let
us
stand;
and,
from
the
tumult
far,
Inspire
the
ranks,
and
rule
the
distant
war."
He
added
not:
the
listening
kings
obey,
Slow
moving
on;
Atrides
leads
the
way.
The
god
of
ocean
(to
inflame
their
rage)
Appears
a
warrior
furrowed
o'er
with
age;
Press'd
in
his
own,
the
general's
hand
he
took,
And
thus
the
venerable
hero
spoke:
"Atrides!
lo!
with
what
disdainful
eye
Achilles
sees
his
country's
forces
fly;
Blind,
impious
man!
whose
anger
is
his
guide,
Who
glories
in
unutterable
pride.
So
may
he
perish,
so
may
Jove
disclaim
The
wretch
relentless,
and
o'erwhelm
with
shame!
But
Heaven
forsakes
not
thee:
o'er
yonder
sands
Soon
shall
thou
view
the
scattered
Trojan
bands
Fly
diverse;
while
proud
kings,
and
chiefs
renown'd,
Driven
heaps
on
heaps,
with
clouds
involved
around
Of
rolling
dust,
their
winged
wheels
employ
To
hide
their
ignominious
heads
in
Troy."
He
spoke,
then
rush'd
amid
the
warrior
crew,
And
sent
his
voice
before
him
as
he
flew,
Loud,
as
the
shout
encountering
armies
yield
When
twice
ten
thousand
shake
the
labouring
field;
Such
was
the
voice,
and
such
the
thundering
sound
Of
him
whose
trident
rends
the
solid
ground.
Each
Argive
bosom
beats
to
meet
the
fight,
And
grisly
war
appears
a
pleasing
sight.
Meantime
Saturnia
from
Olympus'
brow,
High-throned
in
gold,
beheld
the
fields
below;
With
joy
the
glorious
conflict
she
survey'd,
Where
her
great
brother
gave
the
Grecians
aid.
But
placed
aloft,
on
Ida's
shady
height
She
sees
her
Jove,
and
trembles
at
the
sight.
Jove
to
deceive,
what
methods
shall
she
try,
What
arts,
to
blind
his
all-beholding
eye?
At
length
she
trusts
her
power;
resolved
to
prove
The
old,
yet
still
successful,
cheat
of
love;
Against
his
wisdom
to
oppose
her
charms,
And
lull
the
lord
of
thunders
in
her
arms.
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.
"How
long
(to
Venus
thus
apart
she
cried)
Shall
human
strife
celestial
minds
divide?
Ah
yet,
will
Venus
aid
Saturnia's
joy,
And
set
aside
the
cause
of
Greece
and
Troy?"
"Let
heaven's
dread
empress
(Cytheraea
said)
Speak
her
request,
and
deem
her
will
obey'd."
"Then
grant
me
(said
the
queen)
those
conquering
charms,
That
power,
which
mortals
and
immortals
warms,
That
love,
which
melts
mankind
in
fierce
desires,
And
burns
the
sons
of
heaven
with
sacred
fires!
"For
lo!
I
haste
to
those
remote
abodes,
Where
the
great
parents,
(sacred
source
of
gods!)
Ocean
and
Tethys
their
old
empire
keep,
On
the
last
limits
of
the
land
and
deep.
In
their
kind
arms
my
tender
years
were
past;
What
time
old
Saturn,
from
Olympus
cast,
Of
upper
heaven
to
Jove
resign'd
the
reign,
Whelm'd
under
the
huge
mass
of
earth
and
main.
For
strife,
I
hear,
has
made
the
union
cease,
Which
held
so
long
that
ancient
pair
in
peace.
What
honour,
and
what
love,
shall
I
obtain,
If
I
compose
those
fatal
feuds
again;
Once
more
their
minds
in
mutual
ties
engage,
And,
what
my
youth
has
owed,
repay
their
age!"
She
said.
With
awe
divine,
the
queen
of
love
Obey'd
the
sister
and
the
wife
of
Jove;
And
from
her
fragrant
breast
the
zone
embraced,(233)
With
various
skill
and
high
embroidery
graced.
In
this
was
every
art,
and
every
charm,
To
win
the
wisest,
and
the
coldest
warm:
Fond
love,
the
gentle
vow,
the
gay
desire,
The
kind
deceit,
the
still-reviving
fire,
Persuasive
speech,
and
the
more
persuasive
sighs,
Silence
that
spoke,
and
eloquence
of
eyes.
This
on
her
hand
the
Cyprian
Goddess
laid:
"Take
this,
and
with
it
all
thy
wish;"
she
said.
With
smiles
she
took
the
charm;
and
smiling
press'd
The
powerful
cestus
to
her
snowy
breast.
Then
Venus
to
the
courts
of
Jove
withdrew;
Whilst
from
Olympus
pleased
Saturnia
flew.
O'er
high
Pieria
thence
her
course
she
bore,
O'er
fair
Emathia's
ever-pleasing
shore,
O'er
Hemus'
hills
with
snows
eternal
crown'd;
Nor
once
her
flying
foot
approach'd
the
ground.
Then
taking
wing
from
Athos'
lofty
steep,
She
speeds
to
Lemnos
o'er
the
rolling
deep,
And
seeks
the
cave
of
Death's
half-brother,
Sleep.(234)
"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."
"Imperial
dame
(the
balmy
power
replies),
Great
Saturn's
heir,
and
empress
of
the
skies!
O'er
other
gods
I
spread
my
easy
chain;
The
sire
of
all,
old
Ocean,
owns
my
reign.
And
his
hush'd
waves
lie
silent
on
the
main.
But
how,
unbidden,
shall
I
dare
to
steep
Jove's
awful
temples
in
the
dew
of
sleep?
Long
since,
too
venturous,
at
thy
bold
command,
On
those
eternal
lids
I
laid
my
hand;
What
time,
deserting
Ilion's
wasted
plain,
His
conquering
son,
Alcides,
plough'd
the
main.
When
lo!
the
deeps
arise,
the
tempests
roar,
And
drive
the
hero
to
the
Coan
shore:
Great
Jove,
awaking,
shook
the
blest
abodes
With
rising
wrath,
and
tumbled
gods
on
gods;
Me
chief
he
sought,
and
from
the
realms
on
high
Had
hurl'd
indignant
to
the
nether
sky,
But
gentle
Night,
to
whom
I
fled
for
aid,
(The
friend
of
earth
and
heaven,)
her
wings
display'd;
Impower'd
the
wrath
of
gods
and
men
to
tame,
Even
Jove
revered
the
venerable
dame."
"Vain
are
thy
fears
(the
queen
of
heaven
replies,
And,
speaking,
rolls
her
large
majestic
eyes);
Think'st
thou
that
Troy
has
Jove's
high
favour
won,
Like
great
Alcides,
his
all-conquering
son?
Hear,
and
obey
the
mistress
of
the
skies,
Nor
for
the
deed
expect
a
vulgar
prize;
For
know,
thy
loved-one
shall
be
ever
thine,
The
youngest
Grace,
Pasithae
the
divine."(235)
"Swear
then
(he
said)
by
those
tremendous
floods
That
roar
through
hell,
and
bind
the
invoking
gods:
Let
the
great
parent
earth
one
hand
sustain,
And
stretch
the
other
o'er
the
sacred
main:
Call
the
black
Titans,
that
with
Chronos
dwell,
To
hear
and
witness
from
the
depths
of
hell;
That
she,
my
loved-one,
shall
be
ever
mine,
The
youngest
Grace,
Pasithae
the
divine."
The
queen
assents,
and
from
the
infernal
bowers
Invokes
the
sable
subtartarean
powers,
And
those
who
rule
the
inviolable
floods,
Whom
mortals
name
the
dread
Titanian
gods.
[Illustration:
SLEEP
ESCAPING
FROM
THE
WRATH
OF
JUPITER.]
SLEEP
ESCAPING
FROM
THE
WRATH
OF
JUPITER.
Then
swift
as
wind,
o'er
Lemnos'
smoky
isle
They
wing
their
way,
and
Imbrus'
sea-beat
soil;
Through
air,
unseen,
involved
in
darkness
glide,
And
light
on
Lectos,
on
the
point
of
Ide:
(Mother
of
savages,
whose
echoing
hills
Are
heard
resounding
with
a
hundred
rills:)
Fair
Ida
trembles
underneath
the
god;
Hush'd
are
her
mountains,
and
her
forests
nod.
There
on
a
fir,
whose
spiry
branches
rise
To
join
its
summit
to
the
neighbouring
skies;
Dark
in
embowering
shade,
conceal'd
from
sight,
Sat
Sleep,
in
likeness
of
the
bird
of
night.
(Chalcis
his
name
by
those
of
heavenly
birth,
But
call'd
Cymindis
by
the
race
of
earth.)
To
Ida's
top
successful
Juno
flies;
Great
Jove
surveys
her
with
desiring
eyes:
The
god,
whose
lightning
sets
the
heavens
on
fire,
Through
all
his
bosom
feels
the
fierce
desire;
Fierce
as
when
first
by
stealth
he
seized
her
charms,
Mix'd
with
her
soul,
and
melted
in
her
arms:
Fix'd
on
her
eyes
he
fed
his
eager
look,
Then
press'd
her
hand,
and
thus
with
transport
spoke:
"Why
comes
my
goddess
from
the
ethereal
sky,
And
not
her
steeds
and
flaming
chariot
nigh?"
Then
she--"I
haste
to
those
remote
abodes
Where
the
great
parents
of
the
deathless
gods,
The
reverend
Ocean
and
gray
Tethys,
reign,
On
the
last
limits
of
the
land
and
main.
I
visit
these,
to
whose
indulgent
cares
I
owe
the
nursing
of
my
tender
years:
For
strife,
I
hear,
has
made
that
union
cease
Which
held
so
long
that
ancient
pair
in
peace.
The
steeds,
prepared
my
chariot
to
convey
O'er
earth
and
seas,
and
through
the
aerial
way,
Wait
under
Ide:
of
thy
superior
power
To
ask
consent,
I
leave
the
Olympian
bower;
Nor
seek,
unknown
to
thee,
the
sacred
cells
Deep
under
seas,
where
hoary
Ocean
dwells."
"For
that
(said
Jove)
suffice
another
day!
But
eager
love
denies
the
least
delay.
Let
softer
cares
the
present
hour
employ,
And
be
these
moments
sacred
all
to
joy.
Ne'er
did
my
soul
so
strong
a
passion
prove,
Or
for
an
earthly,
or
a
heavenly
love:
Not
when
I
press'd
Ixion's
matchless
dame,
Whence
rose
Pirithous
like
the
gods
in
fame:
Not
when
fair
Danae
felt
the
shower
of
gold
Stream
into
life,
whence
Perseus
brave
and
bold.
Not
thus
I
burn'd
for
either
Theban
dame:
(Bacchus
from
this,
from
that
Alcides
came:)
Nor
Phoenix'
daughter,
beautiful
and
young,
Whence
godlike
Rhadamanth
and
Minos
sprung.(236)
Not
thus
I
burn'd
for
fair
Latona's
face,
Nor
comelier
Ceres'
more
majestic
grace.
Not
thus
even
for
thyself
I
felt
desire,
As
now
my
veins
receive
the
pleasing
fire."
He
spoke;
the
goddess
with
the
charming
eyes
Glows
with
celestial
red,
and
thus
replies:
"Is
this
a
scene
for
love?
On
Ida's
height,
Exposed
to
mortal
and
immortal
sight!
Our
joys
profaned
by
each
familiar
eye;
The
sport
of
heaven,
and
fable
of
the
sky:
How
shall
I
e'er
review
the
blest
abodes,
Or
mix
among
the
senate
of
the
gods?
Shall
I
not
think,
that,
with
disorder'd
charms,
All
heaven
beholds
me
recent
from
thy
arms?
With
skill
divine
has
Vulcan
form'd
thy
bower,
Sacred
to
love
and
to
the
genial
hour;
If
such
thy
will,
to
that
recess
retire,
In
secret
there
indulge
thy
soft
desire."
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."
Gazing
he
spoke,
and,
kindling
at
the
view,
His
eager
arms
around
the
goddess
threw.
Glad
Earth
perceives,
and
from
her
bosom
pours
Unbidden
herbs
and
voluntary
flowers:
Thick
new-born
violets
a
soft
carpet
spread,
And
clustering
lotos
swell'd
the
rising
bed,
And
sudden
hyacinths
the
turf
bestrow,(237)
And
flamy
crocus
made
the
mountain
glow
There
golden
clouds
conceal
the
heavenly
pair,
Steep'd
in
soft
joys
and
circumfused
with
air;
Celestial
dews,
descending
o'er
the
ground,
Perfume
the
mount,
and
breathe
ambrosia
round:
At
length,
with
love
and
sleep's
soft
power
oppress'd,
The
panting
thunderer
nods,
and
sinks
to
rest.
Now
to
the
navy
borne
on
silent
wings,
To
Neptune's
ear
soft
Sleep
his
message
brings;
Beside
him
sudden,
unperceived,
he
stood,
And
thus
with
gentle
words
address'd
the
god:
"Now,
Neptune!
now,
the
important
hour
employ,
To
check
a
while
the
haughty
hopes
of
Troy:
While
Jove
yet
rests,
while
yet
my
vapours
shed
The
golden
vision
round
his
sacred
head;
For
Juno's
love,
and
Somnus'
pleasing
ties,
Have
closed
those
awful
and
eternal
eyes."
Thus
having
said,
the
power
of
slumber
flew,
On
human
lids
to
drop
the
balmy
dew.
Neptune,
with
zeal
increased,
renews
his
care,
And
towering
in
the
foremost
ranks
of
war,
Indignant
thus--"Oh
once
of
martial
fame!
O
Greeks!
if
yet
ye
can
deserve
the
name!
This
half-recover'd
day
shall
Troy
obtain?
Shall
Hector
thunder
at
your
ships
again?
Lo!
still
he
vaunts,
and
threats
the
fleet
with
fires,
While
stern
Achilles
in
his
wrath
retires.
One
hero's
loss
too
tamely
you
deplore,
Be
still
yourselves,
and
ye
shall
need
no
more.
Oh
yet,
if
glory
any
bosom
warms,
Brace
on
your
firmest
helms,
and
stand
to
arms:
His
strongest
spear
each
valiant
Grecian
wield,
Each
valiant
Grecian
seize
his
broadest
shield;
Let
to
the
weak
the
lighter
arms
belong,
The
ponderous
targe
be
wielded
by
the
strong.
Thus
arm'd,
not
Hector
shall
our
presence
stay;
Myself,
ye
Greeks!
myself
will
lead
the
way."
[Illustration:
GREEK
SHIELD.]
GREEK
SHIELD.
The
troops
assent;
their
martial
arms
they
change:
The
busy
chiefs
their
banded
legions
range.
The
kings,
though
wounded,
and
oppress'd
with
pain,
With
helpful
hands
themselves
assist
the
train.
The
strong
and
cumbrous
arms
the
valiant
wield,
The
weaker
warrior
takes
a
lighter
shield.
Thus
sheath'd
in
shining
brass,
in
bright
array
The
legions
march,
and
Neptune
leads
the
way:
His
brandish'd
falchion
flames
before
their
eyes,
Like
lightning
flashing
through
the
frighted
skies.
Clad
in
his
might,
the
earth-shaking
power
appears;
Pale
mortals
tremble,
and
confess
their
fears.
Troy's
great
defender
stands
alone
unawed,
Arms
his
proud
host,
and
dares
oppose
a
god:
And
lo!
the
god,
and
wondrous
man,
appear:
The
sea's
stern
ruler
there,
and
Hector
here.
The
roaring
main,
at
her
great
master's
call,
Rose
in
huge
ranks,
and
form'd
a
watery
wall
Around
the
ships:
seas
hanging
o'er
the
shores,
Both
armies
join:
earth
thunders,
ocean
roars.
Not
half
so
loud
the
bellowing
deeps
resound,
When
stormy
winds
disclose
the
dark
profound;
Less
loud
the
winds
that
from
the
Ęolian
hall
Roar
through
the
woods,
and
make
whole
forests
fall;
Less
loud
the
woods,
when
flames
in
torrents
pour,
Catch
the
dry
mountain,
and
its
shades
devour;
With
such
a
rage
the
meeting
hosts
are
driven,
And
such
a
clamour
shakes
the
sounding
heaven.
The
first
bold
javelin,
urged
by
Hector's
force,
Direct
at
Ajax'
bosom
winged
its
course;
But
there
no
pass
the
crossing
belts
afford,
(One
braced
his
shield,
and
one
sustain'd
his
sword.)
Then
back
the
disappointed
Trojan
drew,
And
cursed
the
lance
that
unavailing
flew:
But
'scaped
not
Ajax;
his
tempestuous
hand
A
ponderous
stone
upheaving
from
the
sand,
(Where
heaps
laid
loose
beneath
the
warrior's
feet,
Or
served
to
ballast,
or
to
prop
the
fleet,)
Toss'd
round
and
round,
the
missive
marble
flings;
On
the
razed
shield
the
fallen
ruin
rings,
Full
on
his
breast
and
throat
with
force
descends;
Nor
deaden'd
there
its
giddy
fury
spends,
But
whirling
on,
with
many
a
fiery
round,
Smokes
in
the
dust,
and
ploughs
into
the
ground.
As
when
the
bolt,
red-hissing
from
above,
Darts
on
the
consecrated
plant
of
Jove,
The
mountain-oak
in
flaming
ruin
lies,
Black
from
the
blow,
and
smokes
of
sulphur
rise;
Stiff
with
amaze
the
pale
beholders
stand,
And
own
the
terrors
of
the
almighty
hand!
So
lies
great
Hector
prostrate
on
the
shore;
His
slacken'd
hand
deserts
the
lance
it
bore;
His
following
shield
the
fallen
chief
o'erspread;
Beneath
his
helmet
dropp'd
his
fainting
head;
His
load
of
armour,
sinking
to
the
ground,
Clanks
on
the
field,
a
dead
and
hollow
sound.
Loud
shouts
of
triumph
fill
the
crowded
plain;
Greece
sees,
in
hope,
Troy's
great
defender
slain:
All
spring
to
seize
him;
storms
of
arrows
fly,
And
thicker
javelins
intercept
the
sky.
In
vain
an
iron
tempest
hisses
round;
He
lies
protected,
and
without
a
wound.(238)
Polydamas,
Agenor
the
divine,
The
pious
warrior
of
Anchises'
line,
And
each
bold
leader
of
the
Lycian
band,
With
covering
shields
(a
friendly
circle)
stand,
His
mournful
followers,
with
assistant
care,
The
groaning
hero
to
his
chariot
bear;
His
foaming
coursers,
swifter
than
the
wind,
Speed
to
the
town,
and
leave
the
war
behind.
When
now
they
touch'd
the
mead's
enamell'd
side,
Where
gentle
Xanthus
rolls
his
easy
tide,
With
watery
drops
the
chief
they
sprinkle
round,
Placed
on
the
margin
of
the
flowery
ground.
Raised
on
his
knees,
he
now
ejects
the
gore;
Now
faints
anew,
low-sinking
on
the
shore;
By
fits
he
breathes,
half
views
the
fleeting
skies,
And
seals
again,
by
fits,
his
swimming
eyes.
Soon
as
the
Greeks
the
chief's
retreat
beheld,
With
double
fury
each
invades
the
field.
Oilean
Ajax
first
his
javelin
sped,
Pierced
by
whose
point
the
son
of
Enops
bled;
(Satnius
the
brave,
whom
beauteous
Neis
bore
Amidst
her
flocks
on
Satnio's
silver
shore;)
Struck
through
the
belly's
rim,
the
warrior
lies
Supine,
and
shades
eternal
veil
his
eyes.
An
arduous
battle
rose
around
the
dead;
By
turns
the
Greeks,
by
turns
the
Trojans
bled.
Fired
with
revenge,
Polydamas
drew
near,
And
at
Prothoenor
shook
the
trembling
spear;
The
driving
javelin
through
his
shoulder
thrust,
He
sinks
to
earth,
and
grasps
the
bloody
dust.
"Lo
thus
(the
victor
cries)
we
rule
the
field,
And
thus
their
arms
the
race
of
Panthus
wield:
From
this
unerring
hand
there
flies
no
dart
But
bathes
its
point
within
a
Grecian
heart.
Propp'd
on
that
spear
to
which
thou
owest
thy
fall,
Go,
guide
thy
darksome
steps
to
Pluto's
dreary
hall."
He
said,
and
sorrow
touch'd
each
Argive
breast:
The
soul
of
Ajax
burn'd
above
the
rest.
As
by
his
side
the
groaning
warrior
fell,
At
the
fierce
foe
he
launch'd
his
piercing
steel;
The
foe,
reclining,
shunn'd
the
flying
death;
But
fate,
Archilochus,
demands
thy
breath:
Thy
lofty
birth
no
succour
could
impart,
The
wings
of
death
o'ertook
thee
on
the
dart;
Swift
to
perform
heaven's
fatal
will,
it
fled
Full
on
the
juncture
of
the
neck
and
head,
And
took
the
joint,
and
cut
the
nerves
in
twain:
The
dropping
head
first
tumbled
on
the
plain.
So
just
the
stroke,
that
yet
the
body
stood
Erect,
then
roll'd
along
the
sands
in
blood.
"Here,
proud
Polydamas,
here
turn
thy
eyes!
(The
towering
Ajax
loud-insulting
cries:)
Say,
is
this
chief
extended
on
the
plain
A
worthy
vengeance
for
Prothoenor
slain?
Mark
well
his
port!
his
figure
and
his
face
Nor
speak
him
vulgar,
nor
of
vulgar
race;
Some
lines,
methinks,
may
make
his
lineage
known,
Antenor's
brother,
or
perhaps
his
son."
He
spake,
and
smiled
severe,
for
well
he
knew
The
bleeding
youth:
Troy
sadden'd
at
the
view.
But
furious
Acamas
avenged
his
cause;
As
Promachus
his
slaughtered
brother
draws,
He
pierced
his
heart--"Such
fate
attends
you
all,
Proud
Argives!
destined
by
our
arms
to
fall.
Not
Troy
alone,
but
haughty
Greece,
shall
share
The
toils,
the
sorrows,
and
the
wounds
of
war.
Behold
your
Promachus
deprived
of
breath,
A
victim
owed
to
my
brave
brother's
death.
Not
unappeased
he
enters
Pluto's
gate,
Who
leaves
a
brother
to
revenge
his
fate."
Heart-piercing
anguish
struck
the
Grecian
host,
But
touch'd
the
breast
of
bold
Peneleus
most;
At
the
proud
boaster
he
directs
his
course;
The
boaster
flies,
and
shuns
superior
force.
But
young
Ilioneus
received
the
spear;
Ilioneus,
his
father's
only
care:
(Phorbas
the
rich,
of
all
the
Trojan
train
Whom
Hermes
loved,
and
taught
the
arts
of
gain:)
Full
in
his
eye
the
weapon
chanced
to
fall,
And
from
the
fibres
scoop'd
the
rooted
ball,
Drove
through
the
neck,
and
hurl'd
him
to
the
plain;
He
lifts
his
miserable
arms
in
vain!
Swift
his
broad
falchion
fierce
Peneleus
spread,
And
from
the
spouting
shoulders
struck
his
head;
To
earth
at
once
the
head
and
helmet
fly;
The
lance,
yet
sticking
through
the
bleeding
eye,
The
victor
seized;
and,
as
aloft
he
shook
The
gory
visage,
thus
insulting
spoke:
"Trojans!
your
great
Ilioneus
behold!
Haste,
to
his
father
let
the
tale
be
told:
Let
his
high
roofs
resound
with
frantic
woe,
Such
as
the
house
of
Promachus
must
know;
Let
doleful
tidings
greet
his
mother's
ear,
Such
as
to
Promachus'
sad
spouse
we
bear,
When
we
victorious
shall
to
Greece
return,
And
the
pale
matron
in
our
triumphs
mourn."
Dreadful
he
spoke,
then
toss'd
the
head
on
high;
The
Trojans
hear,
they
tremble,
and
they
fly:
Aghast
they
gaze
around
the
fleet
and
wall,
And
dread
the
ruin
that
impends
on
all.
Daughters
of
Jove!
that
on
Olympus
shine,
Ye
all-beholding,
all-recording
nine!
O
say,
when
Neptune
made
proud
Ilion
yield,
What
chief,
what
hero
first
embrued
the
field?
Of
all
the
Grecians
what
immortal
name,
And
whose
bless'd
trophies,
will
ye
raise
to
fame?
Thou
first,
great
Ajax!
on
the
unsanguined
plain
Laid
Hyrtius,
leader
of
the
Mysian
train.
Phalces
and
Mermer,
Nestor's
son
o'erthrew,
Bold
Merion,
Morys
and
Hippotion
slew.
Strong
Periphaetes
and
Prothoon
bled,
By
Teucer's
arrows
mingled
with
the
dead,
Pierced
in
the
flank
by
Menelaus'
steel,
His
people's
pastor,
Hyperenor
fell;
Eternal
darkness
wrapp'd
the
warrior
round,
And
the
fierce
soul
came
rushing
through
the
wound.
But
stretch'd
in
heaps
before
Oileus'
son,
Fall
mighty
numbers,
mighty
numbers
run;
Ajax
the
less,
of
all
the
Grecian
race
Skill'd
in
pursuit,
and
swiftest
in
the
chase.
[Illustration:
BACCHUS.]
BACCHUS.
BOOK
XV.
ARGUMENT.
THE
FIFTH
BATTLE
AT
THE
SHIPS;
AND
THE
ACTS
OF
AJAX.
Jupiter,
awaking,
sees
the
Trojans
repulsed
from
the
trenches,
Hector
in
a
swoon,
and
Neptune
at
the
head
of
the
Greeks:
he
is
highly
incensed
at
the
artifice
of
Juno,
who
appeases
him
by
her
submissions;
she
is
then
sent
to
Iris
and
Apollo.
Juno,
repairing
to
the
assembly
of
the
gods,
attempts,
with
extraordinary
address,
to
incense
them
against
Jupiter;
in
particular
she
touches
Mars
with
a
violent
resentment;
he
is
ready
to
take
arms,
but
is
prevented
by
Minerva.
Iris
and
Apollo
obey
the
orders
of
Jupiter;
Iris
commands
Neptune
to
leave
the
battle,
to
which,
after
much
reluctance
and
passion,
he
consents.
Apollo
reinspires
Hector
with
vigour,
brings
him
back
to
the
battle,
marches
before
him
with
his
aegis,
and
turns
the
fortune
of
the
fight.
He
breaks
down
great
part
of
the
Grecian
wall:
the
Trojans
rush
in,
and
attempt
to
fire
the
first
line
of
the
fleet,
but
are,
as
yet,
repelled
by
the
greater
Ajax
with
a
prodigious
slaughter.
Now
in
swift
flight
they
pass
the
trench
profound,
And
many
a
chief
lay
gasping
on
the
ground:
Then
stopp'd
and
panted,
where
the
chariots
lie
Fear
on
their
cheek,
and
horror
in
their
eye.
Meanwhile,
awaken'd
from
his
dream
of
love,
On
Ida's
summit
sat
imperial
Jove:
Round
the
wide
fields
he
cast
a
careful
view,
There
saw
the
Trojans
fly,
the
Greeks
pursue;
These
proud
in
arms,
those
scatter'd
o'er
the
plain
And,
'midst
the
war,
the
monarch
of
the
main.
Not
far,
great
Hector
on
the
dust
he
spies,
(His
sad
associates
round
with
weeping
eyes,)
Ejecting
blood,
and
panting
yet
for
breath,
His
senses
wandering
to
the
verge
of
death.
The
god
beheld
him
with
a
pitying
look,
And
thus,
incensed,
to
fraudful
Juno
spoke:
"O
thou,
still
adverse
to
the
eternal
will,
For
ever
studious
in
promoting
ill!
Thy
arts
have
made
the
godlike
Hector
yield,
And
driven
his
conquering
squadrons
from
the
field.
Canst
thou,
unhappy
in
thy
wiles,
withstand
Our
power
immense,
and
brave
the
almighty
hand?
Hast
thou
forgot,
when,
bound
and
fix'd
on
high,
From
the
vast
concave
of
the
spangled
sky,
I
hung
thee
trembling
in
a
golden
chain,
And
all
the
raging
gods
opposed
in
vain?
Headlong
I
hurl'd
them
from
the
Olympian
hall,
Stunn'd
in
the
whirl,
and
breathless
with
the
fall.
For
godlike
Hercules
these
deeds
were
done,
Nor
seem'd
the
vengeance
worthy
such
a
son:
When,
by
thy
wiles
induced,
fierce
Boreas
toss'd
The
shipwreck'd
hero
on
the
Coan
coast,
Him
through
a
thousand
forms
of
death
I
bore,
And
sent
to
Argos,
and
his
native
shore.
Hear
this,
remember,
and
our
fury
dread,
Nor
pull
the
unwilling
vengeance
on
thy
head;
Lest
arts
and
blandishments
successless
prove,
Thy
soft
deceits,
and
well-dissembled
love."
The
Thunderer
spoke:
imperial
Juno
mourn'd,
And,
trembling,
these
submissive
words
return'd:
"By
every
oath
that
powers
immortal
ties,
The
foodful
earth
and
all-infolding
skies;
By
thy
black
waves,
tremendous
Styx!
that
flow
Through
the
drear
realms
of
gliding
ghosts
below;
By
the
dread
honours
of
thy
sacred
head,
And
that
unbroken
vow,
our
virgin
bed!
Not
by
my
arts
the
ruler
of
the
main
Steeps
Troy
in
blood,
and
ranges
round
the
plain:
By
his
own
ardour,
his
own
pity
sway'd,
To
help
his
Greeks,
he
fought
and
disobey'd:
Else
had
thy
Juno
better
counsels
given,
And
taught
submission
to
the
sire
of
heaven."
"Think'st
thou
with
me?
fair
empress
of
the
skies!
(The
immortal
father
with
a
smile
replies;)
Then
soon
the
haughty
sea-god
shall
obey,
Nor
dare
to
act
but
when
we
point
the
way.
If
truth
inspires
thy
tongue,
proclaim
our
will
To
yon
bright
synod
on
the
Olympian
hill;
Our
high
decree
let
various
Iris
know,
And
call
the
god
that
bears
the
silver
bow.
Let
her
descend,
and
from
the
embattled
plain
Command
the
sea-god
to
his
watery
reign:
While
Phoebus
hastes
great
Hector
to
prepare
To
rise
afresh,
and
once
more
wake
the
war:
His
labouring
bosom
re-inspires
with
breath,
And
calls
his
senses
from
the
verge
of
death.
Greece
chased
by
Troy,
even
to
Achilles'
fleet,
Shall
fall
by
thousands
at
the
hero's
feet.
He,
not
untouch'd
with
pity,
to
the
plain
Shall
send
Patroclus,
but
shall
send
in
vain.
What
youths
he
slaughters
under
Ilion's
walls!
Even
my
loved
son,
divine
Sarpedon,
falls!
Vanquish'd
at
last
by
Hector's
lance
he
lies.
Then,
nor
till
then,
shall
great
Achilles
rise:
And
lo!
that
instant,
godlike
Hector
dies.
From
that
great
hour
the
war's
whole
fortune
turns,
Pallas
assists,
and
lofty
Ilion
burns.
Not
till
that
day
shall
Jove
relax
his
rage,
Nor
one
of
all
the
heavenly
host
engage
In
aid
of
Greece.
The
promise
of
a
god
I
gave,
and
seal'd
it
with
the
almighty
nod,
Achilles'
glory
to
the
stars
to
raise;
Such
was
our
word,
and
fate
the
word
obeys."
The
trembling
queen
(the
almighty
order
given)
Swift
from
the
Idaean
summit
shot
to
heaven.
As
some
wayfaring
man,
who
wanders
o'er
In
thought
a
length
of
lands
he
trod
before,
Sends
forth
his
active
mind
from
place
to
place,
Joins
hill
to
dale,
and
measures
space
with
space:
So
swift
flew
Juno
to
the
bless'd
abodes,
If
thought
of
man
can
match
the
speed
of
gods.
There
sat
the
powers
in
awful
synod
placed;
They
bow'd,
and
made
obeisance
as
she
pass'd
Through
all
the
brazen
dome:
with
goblets
crown'd(239)
They
hail
her
queen;
the
nectar
streams
around.
Fair
Themis
first
presents
the
golden
bowl,
And
anxious
asks
what
cares
disturb
her
soul?
To
whom
the
white-arm'd
goddess
thus
replies:
"Enough
thou
know'st
the
tyrant
of
the
skies,
Severely
bent
his
purpose
to
fulfil,
Unmoved
his
mind,
and
unrestrain'd
his
will.
Go
thou,
the
feasts
of
heaven
attend
thy
call;
Bid
the
crown'd
nectar
circle
round
the
hall:
But
Jove
shall
thunder
through
the
ethereal
dome
Such
stern
decrees,
such
threaten'd
woes
to
come,
As
soon
shall
freeze
mankind
with
dire
surprise,
And
damp
the
eternal
banquets
of
the
skies."
The
goddess
said,
and
sullen
took
her
place;
Black
horror
sadden'd
each
celestial
face.
To
see
the
gathering
grudge
in
every
breast,
Smiles
on
her
lips
a
spleenful
joy
express'd;
While
on
her
wrinkled
front,
and
eyebrow
bent,
Sat
stedfast
care,
and
lowering
discontent.
Thus
she
proceeds--"Attend,
ye
powers
above!
But
know,
'tis
madness
to
contest
with
Jove:
Supreme
he
sits;
and
sees,
in
pride
of
sway.
Your
vassal
godheads
grudgingly
obey:
Fierce
in
the
majesty
of
power
controls;
Shakes
all
the
thrones
of
heaven,
and
bends
the
poles.
Submiss,
immortals!
all
he
wills,
obey:
And
thou,
great
Mars,
begin
and
show
the
way.
Behold
Ascalaphus!
behold
him
die,
But
dare
not
murmur,
dare
not
vent
a
sigh;
Thy
own
loved
boasted
offspring
lies
o'erthrown,
If
that
loved
boasted
offspring
be
thy
own."
Stern
Mars,
with
anguish
for
his
slaughter'd
son,
Smote
his
rebelling
breast,
and
fierce
begun:
"Thus
then,
immortals!
thus
shall
Mars
obey;
Forgive
me,
gods,
and
yield
my
vengeance
way:
Descending
first
to
yon
forbidden
plain,
The
god
of
battles
dares
avenge
the
slain;
Dares,
though
the
thunder
bursting
o'er
my
head
Should
hurl
me
blazing
on
those
heaps
of
dead."
With
that
he
gives
command
to
Fear
and
Flight
To
join
his
rapid
coursers
for
the
fight:
Then
grim
in
arms,
with
hasty
vengeance
flies;
Arms
that
reflect
a
radiance
through
the
skies.
And
now
had
Jove,
by
bold
rebellion
driven,
Discharged
his
wrath
on
half
the
host
of
heaven;
But
Pallas,
springing
through
the
bright
abode,
Starts
from
her
azure
throne
to
calm
the
god.
Struck
for
the
immortal
race
with
timely
fear,
From
frantic
Mars
she
snatch'd
the
shield
and
spear;
Then
the
huge
helmet
lifting
from
his
head,
Thus
to
the
impetuous
homicide
she
said:
"By
what
wild
passion,
furious!
art
thou
toss'd?
Striv'st
thou
with
Jove?
thou
art
already
lost.
Shall
not
the
Thunderer's
dread
command
restrain,
And
was
imperial
Juno
heard
in
vain?
Back
to
the
skies
wouldst
thou
with
shame
be
driven,
And
in
thy
guilt
involve
the
host
of
heaven?
Ilion
and
Greece
no
more
should
Jove
engage,
The
skies
would
yield
an
ampler
scene
of
rage;
Guilty
and
guiltless
find
an
equal
fate
And
one
vast
ruin
whelm
the
Olympian
state.
Cease
then
thy
offspring's
death
unjust
to
call;
Heroes
as
great
have
died,
and
yet
shall
fall.
Why
should
heaven's
law
with
foolish
man
comply
Exempted
from
the
race
ordain'd
to
die?"
This
menace
fix'd
the
warrior
to
his
throne;
Sullen
he
sat,
and
curb'd
the
rising
groan.
Then
Juno
call'd
(Jove's
orders
to
obey)
The
winged
Iris,
and
the
god
of
day.
"Go
wait
the
Thunderer's
will
(Saturnia
cried)
On
yon
tall
summit
of
the
fountful
Ide:
There
in
the
father's
awful
presence
stand,
Receive,
and
execute
his
dread
command."
She
said,
and
sat;
the
god
that
gilds
the
day,
And
various
Iris,
wing
their
airy
way.
Swift
as
the
wind,
to
Ida's
hills
they
came,
(Fair
nurse
of
fountains,
and
of
savage
game)
There
sat
the
eternal;
he
whose
nod
controls
The
trembling
world,
and
shakes
the
steady
poles.
Veil'd
in
a
mist
of
fragrance
him
they
found,
With
clouds
of
gold
and
purple
circled
round.
Well-pleased
the
Thunderer
saw
their
earnest
care,
And
prompt
obedience
to
the
queen
of
air;
Then
(while
a
smile
serenes
his
awful
brow)
Commands
the
goddess
of
the
showery
bow:
"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?"
The
all-mighty
spoke;
the
goddess
wing'd
her
flight
To
sacred
Ilion
from
the
Idaean
height.
Swift
as
the
rattling
hail,
or
fleecy
snows,
Drive
through
the
skies,
when
Boreas
fiercely
blows;
So
from
the
clouds
descending
Iris
falls,
And
to
blue
Neptune
thus
the
goddess
calls:
"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?"
"What
means
the
haughty
sovereign
of
the
skies?
(The
king
of
ocean
thus,
incensed,
replies;)
Rule
as
he
will
his
portion'd
realms
on
high;
No
vassal
god,
nor
of
his
train,
am
I.
Three
brother
deities
from
Saturn
came,
And
ancient
Rhea,
earth's
immortal
dame:
Assign'd
by
lot,
our
triple
rule
we
know;
Infernal
Pluto
sways
the
shades
below;
O'er
the
wide
clouds,
and
o'er
the
starry
plain,
Ethereal
Jove
extends
his
high
domain;
My
court
beneath
the
hoary
waves
I
keep,
And
hush
the
roarings
of
the
sacred
deep;
Olympus,
and
this
earth,
in
common
lie:
What
claim
has
here
the
tyrant
of
the
sky?
Far
in
the
distant
clouds
let
him
control,
And
awe
the
younger
brothers
of
the
pole;
There
to
his
children
his
commands
be
given,
The
trembling,
servile,
second
race
of
heaven."
"And
must
I
then
(said
she),
O
sire
of
floods!
Bear
this
fierce
answer
to
the
king
of
gods?
Correct
it
yet,
and
change
thy
rash
intent;
A
noble
mind
disdains
not
to
repent.
To
elder
brothers
guardian
fiends
are
given,
To
scourge
the
wretch
insulting
them
and
heaven."
"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."
Thus
speaking,
furious
from
the
field
he
strode,
And
plunged
into
the
bosom
of
the
flood.
The
lord
of
thunders,
from
his
lofty
height
Beheld,
and
thus
bespoke
the
source
of
light:
"Behold!
the
god
whose
liquid
arms
are
hurl'd
Around
the
globe,
whose
earthquakes
rock
the
world,
Desists
at
length
his
rebel-war
to
wage,
Seeks
his
own
seas,
and
trembles
at
our
rage;
Else
had
my
wrath,
heaven's
thrones
all
shaking
round,
Burn'd
to
the
bottom
of
his
seas
profound;
And
all
the
gods
that
round
old
Saturn
dwell
Had
heard
the
thunders
to
the
deeps
of
hell.
Well
was
the
crime,
and
well
the
vengeance
spared;
Even
power
immense
had
found
such
battle
hard.
Go
thou,
my
son!
the
trembling
Greeks
alarm,
Shake
my
broad
aegis
on
thy
active
arm,
Be
godlike
Hector
thy
peculiar
care,
Swell
his
bold
heart,
and
urge
his
strength
to
war:
Let
Ilion
conquer,
till
the
Achaian
train
Fly
to
their
ships
and
Hellespont
again:
Then
Greece
shall
breathe
from
toils."
The
godhead
said;
His
will
divine
the
son
of
Jove
obey'd.
Not
half
so
swift
the
sailing
falcon
flies,
That
drives
a
turtle
through
the
liquid
skies,
As
Phoebus,
shooting
from
the
Idaean
brow,
Glides
down
the
mountain
to
the
plain
below.
There
Hector
seated
by
the
stream
he
sees,
His
sense
returning
with
the
coming
breeze;
Again
his
pulses
beat,
his
spirits
rise;
Again
his
loved
companions
meet
his
eyes;
Jove
thinking
of
his
pains,
they
pass'd
away,
To
whom
the
god
who
gives
the
golden
day:
"Why
sits
great
Hector
from
the
field
so
far?
What
grief,
what
wound,
withholds
thee
from
the
war?"
The
fainting
hero,
as
the
vision
bright
Stood
shining
o'er
him,
half
unseal'd
his
sight:
"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."
To
him
Apollo:
"Be
no
more
dismay'd;
See,
and
be
strong!
the
Thunderer
sends
thee
aid.
Behold!
thy
Phoebus
shall
his
arms
employ,
Phoebus,
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."
Thus
to
bold
Hector
spoke
the
son
of
Jove,
And
breathed
immortal
ardour
from
above.
As
when
the
pamper'd
steed,
with
reins
unbound,
Breaks
from
his
stall,
and
pours
along
the
ground;
With
ample
strokes
he
rushes
to
the
flood,
To
bathe
his
sides,
and
cool
his
fiery
blood;
His
head,
now
freed,
he
tosses
to
the
skies;
His
mane
dishevell'd
o'er
his
shoulders
flies:
He
snuffs
the
females
in
the
well-known
plain,
And
springs,
exulting,
to
his
fields
again:
Urged
by
the
voice
divine,
thus
Hector
flew,
Full
of
the
god;
and
all
his
hosts
pursue.
As
when
the
force
of
men
and
dogs
combined
Invade
the
mountain
goat,
or
branching
hind;
Far
from
the
hunter's
rage
secure
they
lie
Close
in
the
rock,
(not
fated
yet
to
die)
When
lo!
a
lion
shoots
across
the
way!
They
fly:
at
once
the
chasers
and
the
prey.
So
Greece,
that
late
in
conquering
troops
pursued,
And
mark'd
their
progress
through
the
ranks
in
blood,
Soon
as
they
see
the
furious
chief
appear,
Forget
to
vanquish,
and
consent
to
fear.
Thoas
with
grief
observed
his
dreadful
course,
Thoas,
the
bravest
of
the
Ętolian
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."
The
warrior
spoke;
the
listening
Greeks
obey,
Thickening
their
ranks,
and
form
a
deep
array.
Each
Ajax,
Teucer,
Merion
gave
command,
The
valiant
leader
of
the
Cretan
band;
And
Mars-like
Meges:
these
the
chiefs
excite,
Approach
the
foe,
and
meet
the
coming
fight.
Behind,
unnumber'd
multitudes
attend,
To
flank
the
navy,
and
the
shores
defend.
Full
on
the
front
the
pressing
Trojans
bear,
And
Hector
first
came
towering
to
the
war.
Phoebus
himself
the
rushing
battle
led;
A
veil
of
clouds
involved
his
radiant
head:
High
held
before
him,
Jove's
enormous
shield
Portentous
shone,
and
shaded
all
the
field;
Vulcan
to
Jove
the
immortal
gift
consign'd,
To
scatter
hosts
and
terrify
mankind,
The
Greeks
expect
the
shock,
the
clamours
rise
From
different
parts,
and
mingle
in
the
skies.
Dire
was
the
hiss
of
darts,
by
heroes
flung,
And
arrows
leaping
from
the
bow-string
sung;
These
drink
the
life
of
generous
warriors
slain:
Those
guiltless
fall,
and
thirst
for
blood
in
vain.
As
long
as
Phoebus
bore
unmoved
the
shield,
Sat
doubtful
conquest
hovering
o'er
the
field;
But
when
aloft
he
shakes
it
in
the
skies,
Shouts
in
their
ears,
and
lightens
in
their
eyes,
Deep
horror
seizes
every
Grecian
breast,
Their
force
is
humbled,
and
their
fear
confess'd.
So
flies
a
herd
of
oxen,
scatter'd
wide,
No
swain
to
guard
them,
and
no
day
to
guide,
When
two
fell
lions
from
the
mountain
come,
And
spread
the
carnage
through
the
shady
gloom.
Impending
Phoebus
pours
around
them
fear,
And
Troy
and
Hector
thunder
in
the
rear.
Heaps
fall
on
heaps:
the
slaughter
Hector
leads,
First
great
Arcesilas,
then
Stichius
bleeds;
One
to
the
bold
Boeotians
ever
dear,
And
one
Menestheus'
friend
and
famed
compeer.
Medon
and
Iasus,
Ęneas
sped;
This
sprang
from
Phelus,
and
the
Athenians
led;
But
hapless
Medon
from
Oileus
came;
Him
Ajax
honour'd
with
a
brother's
name,
Though
born
of
lawless
love:
from
home
expell'd,
A
banish'd
man,
in
Phylace
he
dwell'd,
Press'd
by
the
vengeance
of
an
angry
wife;
Troy
ends
at
last
his
labours
and
his
life.
Mecystes
next
Polydamas
o'erthrew;
And
thee,
brave
Clonius,
great
Agenor
slew.
By
Paris,
Deiochus
inglorious
dies,
Pierced
through
the
shoulder
as
he
basely
flies.
Polites'
arm
laid
Echius
on
the
plain;
Stretch'd
on
one
heap,
the
victors
spoil
the
slain.
The
Greeks
dismay'd,
confused,
disperse
or
fall,
Some
seek
the
trench,
some
skulk
behind
the
wall.
While
these
fly
trembling,
others
pant
for
breath,
And
o'er
the
slaughter
stalks
gigantic
death.
On
rush'd
bold
Hector,
gloomy
as
the
night;
Forbids
to
plunder,
animates
the
fight,
Points
to
the
fleet:
"For,
by
the
gods!
who
flies,(240)
Who
dares
but
linger,
by
this
hand
he
dies;
No
weeping
sister
his
cold
eye
shall
close,
No
friendly
hand
his
funeral
pyre
compose.
Who
stops
to
plunder
at
this
signal
hour,
The
birds
shall
tear
him,
and
the
dogs
devour."
Furious
he
said;
the
smarting
scourge
resounds;
The
coursers
fly;
the
smoking
chariot
bounds;
The
hosts
rush
on;
loud
clamours
shake
the
shore;
The
horses
thunder,
earth
and
ocean
roar!
Apollo,
planted
at
the
trench's
bound,
Push'd
at
the
bank:
down
sank
the
enormous
mound:
Roll'd
in
the
ditch
the
heapy
ruin
lay;
A
sudden
road!
a
long
and
ample
way.
O'er
the
dread
fosse
(a
late
impervious
space)
Now
steeds,
and
men,
and
cars
tumultuous
pass.
The
wondering
crowds
the
downward
level
trod;
Before
them
flamed
the
shield,
and
march'd
the
god.
Then
with
his
hand
he
shook
the
mighty
wall;
And
lo!
the
turrets
nod,
the
bulwarks
fall:
Easy
as
when
ashore
an
infant
stands,
And
draws
imagined
houses
in
the
sands;
The
sportive
wanton,
pleased
with
some
new
play,
Sweeps
the
slight
works
and
fashion'd
domes
away:
Thus
vanish'd
at
thy
touch,
the
towers
and
walls;
The
toil
of
thousands
in
a
moment
falls.
The
Grecians
gaze
around
with
wild
despair,
Confused,
and
weary
all
the
powers
with
prayer:
Exhort
their
men,
with
praises,
threats,
commands;
And
urge
the
gods,
with
voices,
eyes,
and
hands.
Experienced
Nestor
chief
obtests
the
skies,
And
weeps
his
country
with
a
father's
eyes.
"O
Jove!
if
ever,
on
his
native
shore,
One
Greek
enrich'd
thy
shrine
with
offer'd
gore;
If
e'er,
in
hope
our
country
to
behold,
We
paid
the
fattest
firstlings
of
the
fold;
If
e'er
thou
sign'st
our
wishes
with
thy
nod:
Perform
the
promise
of
a
gracious
god!
This
day
preserve
our
navies
from
the
flame,
And
save
the
relics
of
the
Grecian
name."
Thus
prayed
the
sage:
the
eternal
gave
consent,
And
peals
of
thunder
shook
the
firmament.
Presumptuous
Troy
mistook
the
accepting
sign,
And
catch'd
new
fury
at
the
voice
divine.
As,
when
black
tempests
mix
the
seas
and
skies,
The
roaring
deeps
in
watery
mountains
rise,
Above
the
sides
of
some
tall
ship
ascend,
Its
womb
they
deluge,
and
its
ribs
they
rend:
Thus
loudly
roaring,
and
o'erpowering
all,
Mount
the
thick
Trojans
up
the
Grecian
wall;
Legions
on
legions
from
each
side
arise:
Thick
sound
the
keels;
the
storm
of
arrows
flies.
Fierce
on
the
ships
above,
the
cars
below,
These
wield
the
mace,
and
those
the
javelin
throw.
While
thus
the
thunder
of
the
battle
raged,
And
labouring
armies
round
the
works
engaged,
Still
in
the
tent
Patroclus
sat
to
tend
The
good
Eurypylus,
his
wounded
friend.
He
sprinkles
healing
balms,
to
anguish
kind,
And
adds
discourse,
the
medicine
of
the
mind.
But
when
he
saw,
ascending
up
the
fleet,
Victorious
Troy;
then,
starting
from
his
seat,
With
bitter
groans
his
sorrows
he
express'd,
He
wrings
his
hands,
he
beats
his
manly
breast.
"Though
yet
thy
state
require
redress
(he
cries)
Depart
I
must:
what
horrors
strike
my
eyes!
Charged
with
Achilles'
high
command
I
go,
A
mournful
witness
of
this
scene
of
woe;
I
haste
to
urge
him
by
his
country's
care
To
rise
in
arms,
and
shine
again
in
war.
Perhaps
some
favouring
god
his
soul
may
bend;
The
voice
is
powerful
of
a
faithful
friend."
He
spoke;
and,
speaking,
swifter
than
the
wind
Sprung
from
the
tent,
and
left
the
war
behind.
The
embodied
Greeks
the
fierce
attack
sustain,
But
strive,
though
numerous,
to
repulse
in
vain:
Nor
could
the
Trojans,
through
that
firm
array,
Force
to
the
fleet
and
tents
the
impervious
way.
As
when
a
shipwright,
with
Palladian
art,
Smooths
the
rough
wood,
and
levels
every
part;
With
equal
hand
he
guides
his
whole
design,
By
the
just
rule,
and
the
directing
line:
The
martial
leaders,
with
like
skill
and
care,
Preserved
their
line,
and
equal
kept
the
war.
Brave
deeds
of
arms
through
all
the
ranks
were
tried,
And
every
ship
sustained
an
equal
tide.
At
one
proud
bark,
high-towering
o'er
the
fleet,
Ajax
the
great,
and
godlike
Hector
meet;
For
one
bright
prize
the
matchless
chiefs
contend,
Nor
this
the
ships
can
fire,
nor
that
defend:
One
kept
the
shore,
and
one
the
vessel
trod;
That
fix'd
as
fate,
this
acted
by
a
god.
The
son
of
Clytius
in
his
daring
hand,
The
deck
approaching,
shakes
a
flaming
brand;
But,
pierced
by
Telamon's
huge
lance,
expires:
Thundering
he
falls,
and
drops
the
extinguish'd
fires.
Great
Hector
view'd
him
with
a
sad
survey,
As
stretch'd
in
dust
before
the
stern
he
lay.
"Oh!
all
of
Trojan,
all
of
Lycian
race!
Stand
to
your
arms,
maintain
this
arduous
space:
Lo!
where
the
son
of
royal
Clytius
lies;
Ah,
save
his
arms,
secure
his
obsequies!"
This
said,
his
eager
javelin
sought
the
foe:
But
Ajax
shunn'd
the
meditated
blow.
Not
vainly
yet
the
forceful
lance
was
thrown;
It
stretch'd
in
dust
unhappy
Lycophron:
An
exile
long,
sustain'd
at
Ajax'
board,
A
faithful
servant
to
a
foreign
lord;
In
peace,
and
war,
for
ever
at
his
side,
Near
his
loved
master,
as
he
lived,
he
died.
From
the
high
poop
he
tumbles
on
the
sand,
And
lies
a
lifeless
load
along
the
land.
With
anguish
Ajax
views
the
piercing
sight,
And
thus
inflames
his
brother
to
the
fight:
"Teucer,
behold!
extended
on
the
shore
Our
friend,
our
loved
companion!
now
no
more!
Dear
as
a
parent,
with
a
parent's
care
To
fight
our
wars
he
left
his
native
air.
This
death
deplored,
to
Hector's
rage
we
owe;
Revenge,
revenge
it
on
the
cruel
foe.
Where
are
those
darts
on
which
the
fates
attend?
And
where
the
bow
which
Phoebus
taught
to
bend?"
Impatient
Teucer,
hastening
to
his
aid,
Before
the
chief
his
ample
bow
display'd;
The
well-stored
quiver
on
his
shoulders
hung:
Then
hiss'd
his
arrow,
and
the
bowstring
sung.
Clytus,
Pisenor's
son,
renown'd
in
fame,
(To
thee,
Polydamas!
an
honour'd
name)
Drove
through
the
thickest
of
the
embattled
plains
The
startling
steeds,
and
shook
his
eager
reins.
As
all
on
glory
ran
his
ardent
mind,
The
pointed
death
arrests
him
from
behind:
Through
his
fair
neck
the
thrilling
arrow
flies;
In
youth's
first
bloom
reluctantly
he
dies.
Hurl'd
from
the
lofty
seat,
at
distance
far,
The
headlong
coursers
spurn
his
empty
car;
Till
sad
Polydamas
the
steeds
restrain'd,
And
gave,
Astynous,
to
thy
careful
hand;
Then,
fired
to
vengeance,
rush'd
amidst
the
foe:
Rage
edged
his
sword,
and
strengthen'd
every
blow.
Once
more
bold
Teucer,
in
his
country's
cause,
At
Hector's
breast
a
chosen
arrow
draws:
And
had
the
weapon
found
the
destined
way,
Thy
fall,
great
Trojan!
had
renown'd
that
day.
But
Hector
was
not
doom'd
to
perish
then:
The
all-wise
disposer
of
the
fates
of
men
(Imperial
Jove)
his
present
death
withstands;
Nor
was
such
glory
due
to
Teucer's
hands.
At
its
full
stretch
as
the
tough
string
he
drew,
Struck
by
an
arm
unseen,
it
burst
in
two;
Down
dropp'd
the
bow:
the
shaft
with
brazen
head
Fell
innocent,
and
on
the
dust
lay
dead.
The
astonish'd
archer
to
great
Ajax
cries;
"Some
god
prevents
our
destined
enterprise:
Some
god,
propitious
to
the
Trojan
foe,
Has,
from
my
arm
unfailing,
struck
the
bow,
And
broke
the
nerve
my
hands
had
twined
with
art,
Strong
to
impel
the
flight
of
many
a
dart."
"Since
heaven
commands
it
(Ajax
made
reply)
Dismiss
the
bow,
and
lay
thy
arrows
by:
Thy
arms
no
less
suffice
the
lance
to
wield,
And
quit
the
quiver
for
the
ponderous
shield.
In
the
first
ranks
indulge
thy
thirst
of
fame,
Thy
brave
example
shall
the
rest
inflame.
Fierce
as
they
are,
by
long
successes
vain;
To
force
our
fleet,
or
even
a
ship
to
gain,
Asks
toil,
and
sweat,
and
blood:
their
utmost
might
Shall
find
its
match--No
more:
'tis
ours
to
fight."
Then
Teucer
laid
his
faithless
bow
aside;
The
fourfold
buckler
o'er
his
shoulder
tied;
On
his
brave
head
a
crested
helm
he
placed,
With
nodding
horse-hair
formidably
graced;
A
dart,
whose
point
with
brass
refulgent
shines,
The
warrior
wields;
and
his
great
brother
joins.
This
Hector
saw,
and
thus
express'd
his
joy:
"Ye
troops
of
Lycia,
Dardanus,
and
Troy!
Be
mindful
of
yourselves,
your
ancient
fame,
And
spread
your
glory
with
the
navy's
flame.
Jove
is
with
us;
I
saw
his
hand,
but
now,
From
the
proud
archer
strike
his
vaunted
bow:
Indulgent
Jove!
how
plain
thy
favours
shine,
When
happy
nations
bear
the
marks
divine!
How
easy
then,
to
see
the
sinking
state
Of
realms
accursed,
deserted,
reprobate!
Such
is
the
fate
of
Greece,
and
such
is
ours:
Behold,
ye
warriors,
and
exert
your
powers.
Death
is
the
worst;
a
fate
which
all
must
try;
And
for
our
country,
'tis
a
bliss
to
die.
The
gallant
man,
though
slain
in
fight
he
be,
Yet
leaves
his
nation
safe,
his
children
free;
Entails
a
debt
on
all
the
grateful
state;
His
own
brave
friends
shall
glory
in
his
fate;
His
wife
live
honour'd,
all
his
race
succeed,
And
late
posterity
enjoy
the
deed!"
This
roused
the
soul
in
every
Trojan
breast:
The
godlike
Ajax
next
his
Greeks
address'd:
"How
long,
ye
warriors
of
the
Argive
race,
(To
generous
Argos
what
a
dire
disgrace!)
How
long
on
these
cursed
confines
will
ye
lie,
Yet
undetermined,
or
to
live
or
die?
What
hopes
remain,
what
methods
to
retire,
If
once
your
vessels
catch
the
Trojan
fire?
Make
how
the
flames
approach,
how
near
they
fall,
How
Hector
calls,
and
Troy
obeys
his
call!
Not
to
the
dance
that
dreadful
voice
invites,
It
calls
to
death,
and
all
the
rage
of
fights.
'Tis
now
no
time
for
wisdom
or
debates;
To
your
own
hands
are
trusted
all
your
fates;
And
better
far
in
one
decisive
strife,
One
day
should
end
our
labour
or
our
life,
Than
keep
this
hard-got
inch
of
barren
sands,
Still
press'd,
and
press'd
by
such
inglorious
hands."
The
listening
Grecians
feel
their
leader's
flame,
And
every
kindling
bosom
pants
for
fame.
Then
mutual
slaughters
spread
on
either
side;
By
Hector
here
the
Phocian
Schedius
died;
There,
pierced
by
Ajax,
sunk
Laodamas,
Chief
of
the
foot,
of
old
Antenor's
race.
Polydamas
laid
Otus
on
the
sand,
The
fierce
commander
of
the
Epeian
band.
His
lance
bold
Meges
at
the
victor
threw;
The
victor,
stooping,
from
the
death
withdrew;
(That
valued
life,
O
Phoebus!
was
thy
care)
But
Croesmus'
bosom
took
the
flying
spear:
His
corpse
fell
bleeding
on
the
slippery
shore;
His
radiant
arms
triumphant
Meges
bore.
Dolops,
the
son
of
Lampus,
rushes
on,
Sprung
from
the
race
of
old
Laomedon,
And
famed
for
prowess
in
a
well-fought
field,
He
pierced
the
centre
of
his
sounding
shield:
But
Meges,
Phyleus'
ample
breastplate
wore,
(Well-known
in
fight
on
Selle's
winding
shore;
For
king
Euphetes
gave
the
golden
mail,
Compact,
and
firm
with
many
a
jointed
scale)
Which
oft,
in
cities
storm'd,
and
battles
won,
Had
saved
the
father,
and
now
saves
the
son.
Full
at
the
Trojan's
head
he
urged
his
lance,
Where
the
high
plumes
above
the
helmet
dance,
New
ting'd
with
Tyrian
dye:
in
dust
below,
Shorn
from
the
crest,
the
purple
honours
glow.
Meantime
their
fight
the
Spartan
king
survey'd,
And
stood
by
Meges'
side
a
sudden
aid.
Through
Dolops'
shoulder
urged
his
forceful
dart,
Which
held
its
passage
through
the
panting
heart,
And
issued
at
his
breast.
With
thundering
sound
The
warrior
falls,
extended
on
the
ground.
In
rush
the
conquering
Greeks
to
spoil
the
slain:
But
Hector's
voice
excites
his
kindred
train;
The
hero
most,
from
Hicetaon
sprung,
Fierce
Melanippus,
gallant,
brave,
and
young.
He
(ere
to
Troy
the
Grecians
cross'd
the
main)
Fed
his
large
oxen
on
Percote's
plain;
But
when
oppress'd,
his
country
claim'd
his
care,
Return'd
to
Ilion,
and
excell'd
in
war;
For
this,
in
Priam's
court,
he
held
his
place,
Beloved
no
less
than
Priam's
royal
race.
Him
Hector
singled,
as
his
troops
he
led,
And
thus
inflamed
him,
pointing
to
the
dead.
"Lo,
Melanippus!
lo,
where
Dolops
lies;
And
is
it
thus
our
royal
kinsman
dies?
O'ermatch'd
he
falls;
to
two
at
once
a
prey,
And
lo!
they
bear
the
bloody
arms
away!
Come
on--a
distant
war
no
longer
wage,
But
hand
to
hand
thy
country's
foes
engage:
Till
Greece
at
once,
and
all
her
glory
end;
Or
Ilion
from
her
towery
height
descend,
Heaved
from
the
lowest
stone;
and
bury
all
In
one
sad
sepulchre,
one
common
fall."
Hector
(this
said)
rush'd
forward
on
the
foes:
With
equal
ardour
Melanippus
glows:
Then
Ajax
thus--"O
Greeks!
respect
your
fame,
Respect
yourselves,
and
learn
an
honest
shame:
Let
mutual
reverence
mutual
warmth
inspire,
And
catch
from
breast
to
breast
the
noble
fire,
On
valour's
side
the
odds
of
combat
lie;
The
brave
live
glorious,
or
lamented
die;
The
wretch
that
trembles
in
the
field
of
fame,
Meets
death,
and
worse
than
death,
eternal
shame."
His
generous
sense
he
not
in
vain
imparts;
It
sunk,
and
rooted
in
the
Grecian
hearts:
They
join,
they
throng,
they
thicken
at
his
call,
And
flank
the
navy
with
a
brazen
wall;
Shields
touching
shields,
in
order
blaze
above,
And
stop
the
Trojans,
though
impell'd
by
Jove.
The
fiery
Spartan
first,
with
loud
applause.
Warms
the
bold
son
of
Nestor
in
his
cause.
"Is
there
(he
said)
in
arms
a
youth
like
you,
So
strong
to
fight,
so
active
to
pursue?
Why
stand
you
distant,
nor
attempt
a
deed?
Lift
the
bold
lance,
and
make
some
Trojan
bleed."
He
said;
and
backward
to
the
lines
retired;
Forth
rush'd
the
youth
with
martial
fury
fired,
Beyond
the
foremost
ranks;
his
lance
he
threw,
And
round
the
black
battalions
cast
his
view.
The
troops
of
Troy
recede
with
sudden
fear,
While
the
swift
javelin
hiss'd
along
in
air.
Advancing
Melanippus
met
the
dart
With
his
bold
breast,
and
felt
it
in
his
heart:
Thundering
he
falls;
his
falling
arms
resound,
And
his
broad
buckler
rings
against
the
ground.
The
victor
leaps
upon
his
prostrate
prize:
Thus
on
a
roe
the
well-breath'd
beagle
flies,
And
rends
his
side,
fresh-bleeding
with
the
dart
The
distant
hunter
sent
into
his
heart.
Observing
Hector
to
the
rescue
flew;
Bold
as
he
was,
Antilochus
withdrew.
So
when
a
savage,
ranging
o'er
the
plain,
Has
torn
the
shepherd's
dog,
or
shepherd's
swain,
While
conscious
of
the
deed,
he
glares
around,
And
hears
the
gathering
multitude
resound,
Timely
he
flies
the
yet-untasted
food,
And
gains
the
friendly
shelter
of
the
wood:
So
fears
the
youth;
all
Troy
with
shouts
pursue,
While
stones
and
darts
in
mingled
tempest
flew;
But
enter'd
in
the
Grecian
ranks,
he
turns
His
manly
breast,
and
with
new
fury
burns.
Now
on
the
fleet
the
tides
of
Trojans
drove,
Fierce
to
fulfil
the
stern
decrees
of
Jove:
The
sire
of
gods,
confirming
Thetis'
prayer,
The
Grecian
ardour
quench'd
in
deep
despair;
But
lifts
to
glory
Troy's
prevailing
bands,
Swells
all
their
hearts,
and
strengthens
all
their
hands.
On
Ida's
top
he
waits
with
longing
eyes,
To
view
the
navy
blazing
to
the
skies;
Then,
nor
till
then,
the
scale
of
war
shall
turn,
The
Trojans
fly,
and
conquer'd
Ilion
burn.
These
fates
revolved
in
his
almighty
mind,
He
raises
Hector
to
the
work
design'd,
Bids
him
with
more
than
mortal
fury
glow,
And
drives
him,
like
a
lightning,
on
the
foe.
So
Mars,
when
human
crimes
for
vengeance
call,
Shakes
his
huge
javelin,
and
whole
armies
fall.
Not
with
more
rage
a
conflagration
rolls,
Wraps
the
vast
mountains,
and
involves
the
poles.
He
foams
with
wrath;
beneath
his
gloomy
brow
Like
fiery
meteors
his
red
eye-balls
glow:
The
radiant
helmet
on
his
temple
burns,
Waves
when
he
nods,
and
lightens
as
he
turns:
For
Jove
his
splendour
round
the
chief
had
thrown,
And
cast
the
blaze
of
both
the
hosts
on
one.
Unhappy
glories!
for
his
fate
was
near,
Due
to
stern
Pallas,
and
Pelides'
spear:
Yet
Jove
deferr'd
the
death
he
was
to
pay,
And
gave
what
fate
allow'd,
the
honours
of
a
day!
Now
all
on
fire
for
fame,
his
breast,
his
eyes
Burn
at
each
foe,
and
single
every
prize;
Still
at
the
closest
ranks,
the
thickest
fight,
He
points
his
ardour,
and
exerts
his
might.
The
Grecian
phalanx,
moveless
as
a
tower,
On
all
sides
batter'd,
yet
resists
his
power:
So
some
tall
rock
o'erhangs
the
hoary
main,(241)
By
winds
assail'd,
by
billows
beat
in
vain,
Unmoved
it
hears,
above,
the
tempest
blow,
And
sees
the
watery
mountains
break
below.
Girt
in
surrounding
flames,
he
seems
to
fall
Like
fire
from
Jove,
and
bursts
upon
them
all:
Bursts
as
a
wave
that
from
the
cloud
impends,
And,
swell'd
with
tempests,
on
the
ship
descends;
White
are
the
decks
with
foam;
the
winds
aloud
Howl
o'er
the
masts,
and
sing
through
every
shroud:
Pale,
trembling,
tired,
the
sailors
freeze
with
fears;
And
instant
death
on
every
wave
appears.
So
pale
the
Greeks
the
eyes
of
Hector
meet,
The
chief
so
thunders,
and
so
shakes
the
fleet.
As
when
a
lion,
rushing
from
his
den,
Amidst
the
plain
of
some
wide-water'd
fen,
(Where
numerous
oxen,
as
at
ease
they
feed,
At
large
expatiate
o'er
the
ranker
mead)
Leaps
on
the
herds
before
the
herdsman's
eyes;
The
trembling
herdsman
far
to
distance
flies;
Some
lordly
bull
(the
rest
dispersed
and
fled)
He
singles
out;
arrests,
and
lays
him
dead.
Thus
from
the
rage
of
Jove-like
Hector
flew
All
Greece
in
heaps;
but
one
he
seized,
and
slew:
Mycenian
Periphes,
a
mighty
name,
In
wisdom
great,
in
arms
well
known
to
fame;
The
minister
of
stern
Eurystheus'
ire
Against
Alcides,
Copreus
was
his
sire:
The
son
redeem'd
the
honours
of
the
race,
A
son
as
generous
as
the
sire
was
base;
O'er
all
his
country's
youth
conspicuous
far
In
every
virtue,
or
of
peace
or
war:
But
doom'd
to
Hector's
stronger
force
to
yield!
Against
the
margin
of
his
ample
shield
He
struck
his
hasty
foot:
his
heels
up-sprung;
Supine
he
fell;
his
brazen
helmet
rung.
On
the
fallen
chief
the
invading
Trojan
press'd,
And
plunged
the
pointed
javelin
in
his
breast.
His
circling
friends,
who
strove
to
guard
too
late
The
unhappy
hero,
fled,
or
shared
his
fate.
Chased
from
the
foremost
line,
the
Grecian
train
Now
man
the
next,
receding
toward
the
main:
Wedged
in
one
body
at
the
tents
they
stand,
Wall'd
round
with
sterns,
a
gloomy,
desperate
band.
Now
manly
shame
forbids
the
inglorious
flight;
Now
fear
itself
confines
them
to
the
fight:
Man
courage
breathes
in
man;
but
Nestor
most
(The
sage
preserver
of
the
Grecian
host)
Exhorts,
adjures,
to
guard
these
utmost
shores;
And
by
their
parents,
by
themselves
implores.
"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."
He
spoke,
and
round
him
breathed
heroic
fires;
Minerva
seconds
what
the
sage
inspires.
The
mist
of
darkness
Jove
around
them
threw
She
clear'd,
restoring
all
the
war
to
view;
A
sudden
ray
shot
beaming
o'er
the
plain,
And
show'd
the
shores,
the
navy,
and
the
main:
Hector
they
saw,
and
all
who
fly,
or
fight,
The
scene
wide-opening
to
the
blaze
of
light,
First
of
the
field
great
Ajax
strikes
their
eyes,
His
port
majestic,
and
his
ample
size:
A
ponderous
mace
with
studs
of
iron
crown'd,
Full
twenty
cubits
long,
he
swings
around;
Nor
fights,
like
others,
fix'd
to
certain
stands
But
looks
a
moving
tower
above
the
bands;
High
on
the
decks
with
vast
gigantic
stride,
The
godlike
hero
stalks
from
side
to
side.
So
when
a
horseman
from
the
watery
mead
(Skill'd
in
the
manage
of
the
bounding
steed)
Drives
four
fair
coursers,
practised
to
obey,
To
some
great
city
through
the
public
way;
Safe
in
his
art,
as
side
by
side
they
run,
He
shifts
his
seat,
and
vaults
from
one
to
one;
And
now
to
this,
and
now
to
that
he
flies;
Admiring
numbers
follow
with
their
eyes.
From
ship
to
ship
thus
Ajax
swiftly
flew,
No
less
the
wonder
of
the
warring
crew.
As
furious,
Hector
thunder'd
threats
aloud,
And
rush'd
enraged
before
the
Trojan
crowd;
Then
swift
invades
the
ships,
whose
beaky
prores
Lay
rank'd
contiguous
on
the
bending
shores;
So
the
strong
eagle
from
his
airy
height,
Who
marks
the
swans'
or
cranes'
embodied
flight,
Stoops
down
impetuous,
while
they
light
for
food,
And,
stooping,
darkens
with
his
wings
the
flood.
Jove
leads
him
on
with
his
almighty
hand,
And
breathes
fierce
spirits
in
his
following
band.
The
warring
nations
meet,
the
battle
roars,
Thick
beats
the
combat
on
the
sounding
prores.
Thou
wouldst
have
thought,
so
furious
was
their
fire,
No
force
could
tame
them,
and
no
toil
could
tire;
As
if
new
vigour
from
new
fights
they
won,
And
the
long
battle
was
but
then
begun.
Greece,
yet
unconquer'd,
kept
alive
the
war,
Secure
of
death,
confiding
in
despair:
Troy
in
proud
hopes
already
view'd
the
main
Bright
with
the
blaze,
and
red
with
heroes
slain:
Like
strength
is
felt
from
hope,
and
from
despair,
And
each
contends,
as
his
were
all
the
war.
"Twas
thou,
bold
Hector!
whose
resistless
hand
First
seized
a
ship
on
that
contested
strand;
The
same
which
dead
Protesilaus
bore,(242)
The
first
that
touch'd
the
unhappy
Trojan
shore:
For
this
in
arms
the
warring
nations
stood,
And
bathed
their
generous
breasts
with
mutual
blood.
No
room
to
poise
the
lance
or
bend
the
bow;
But
hand
to
hand,
and
man
to
man,
they
grow:
Wounded,
they
wound;
and
seek
each
other's
hearts
With
falchions,
axes,
swords,
and
shorten'd
darts.
The
falchions
ring,
shields
rattle,
axes
sound,
Swords
flash
in
air,
or
glitter
on
the
ground;
With
streaming
blood
the
slippery
shores
are
dyed,
And
slaughter'd
heroes
swell
the
dreadful
tide.
Still
raging,
Hector
with
his
ample
hand
Grasps
the
high
stern,
and
gives
this
loud
command:
[Illustration:
AJAX
DEFENDING
THE
GREEK
SHIPS.]
AJAX
DEFENDING
THE
GREEK
SHIPS.
"Haste,
bring
the
flames!
that
toil
of
ten
long
years
Is
finished;
and
the
day
desired
appears!
This
happy
day
with
acclamations
greet,
Bright
with
destruction
of
yon
hostile
fleet.
The
coward-counsels
of
a
timorous
throng
Of
reverend
dotards
check'd
our
glory
long:
Too
long
Jove
lull'd
us
with
lethargic
charms,
But
now
in
peals
of
thunder
calls
to
arms:
In
this
great
day
he
crowns
our
full
desires,
Wakes
all
our
force,
and
seconds
all
our
fires."
He
spoke--the
warriors
at
his
fierce
command
Pour
a
new
deluge
on
the
Grecian
band.
Even
Ajax
paused,
(so
thick
the
javelins
fly,)
Stepp'd
back,
and
doubted
or
to
live
or
die.
Yet,
where
the
oars
are
placed,
he
stands
to
wait
What
chief
approaching
dares
attempt
his
fate:
Even
to
the
last
his
naval
charge
defends,
Now
shakes
his
spear,
now
lifts,
and
now
protends;
Even
yet,
the
Greeks
with
piercing
shouts
inspires,
Amidst
attacks,
and
deaths,
and
darts,
and
fires.
"O
friends!
O
heroes!
names
for
ever
dear,
Once
sons
of
Mars,
and
thunderbolts
of
war!
Ah!
yet
be
mindful
of
your
old
renown,
Your
great
forefathers'
virtues
and
your
own.
What
aids
expect
you
in
this
utmost
strait?
What
bulwarks
rising
between
you
and
fate?
No
aids,
no
bulwarks
your
retreat
attend,
No
friends
to
help,
no
city
to
defend.
This
spot
is
all
you
have,
to
lose
or
keep;
There
stand
the
Trojans,
and
here
rolls
the
deep.
'Tis
hostile
ground
you
tread;
your
native
lands
Far,
far
from
hence:
your
fates
are
in
your
hands."
Raging
he
spoke;
nor
further
wastes
his
breath,
But
turns
his
javelin
to
the
work
of
death.
Whate'er
bold
Trojan
arm'd
his
daring
hands,
Against
the
sable
ships,
with
flaming
brands,
So
well
the
chief
his
naval
weapon
sped,
The
luckless
warrior
at
his
stern
lay
dead:
Full
twelve,
the
boldest,
in
a
moment
fell,
Sent
by
great
Ajax
to
the
shades
of
hell.
[Illustration:
CASTOR
AND
POLLUX.]
CASTOR
AND
POLLUX.
BOOK
XVI.
ARGUMENT
THE
SIXTH
BATTLE,
THE
ACTS
AND
DEATH
OF
PATROCLUS
Patroclus
(in
pursuance
of
the
request
of
Nestor
in
the
eleventh
book)
entreats
Achilles
to
suffer
him
to
go
to
the
assistance
of
the
Greeks
with
Achilles'
troops
and
armour.
He
agrees
to
it,
but
at
the
same
time
charges
him
to
content
himself
with
rescuing
the
fleet,
without
further
pursuit
of
the
enemy.
The
armour,
horses,
soldiers,
and
officers
are
described.
Achilles
offers
a
libation
for
the
success
of
his
friend,
after
which
Patroclus
leads
the
Myrmidons
to
battle.
The
Trojans,
at
the
sight
of
Patroclus
in
Achilles'
armour,
taking
him
for
that
hero,
are
cast
into
the
uttermost
consternation;
he
beats
them
off
from
the
vessels,
Hector
himself
flies,
Sarpedon
is
killed,
though
Jupiter
was
averse
to
his
fate.
Several
other
particulars
of
the
battle
are
described;
in
the
heat
of
which,
Patroclus,
neglecting
the
orders
of
Achilles,
pursues
the
foe
to
the
walls
of
Troy,
where
Apollo
repulses
and
disarms
him,
Euphorbus
wounds
him,
and
Hector
kills
him,
which
concludes
the
book.
So
warr'd
both
armies
on
the
ensanguined
shore,
While
the
black
vessels
smoked
with
human
gore.
Meantime
Patroclus
to
Achilles
flies;
The
streaming
tears
fall
copious
from
his
eyes
Not
faster,
trickling
to
the
plains
below,
From
the
tall
rock
the
sable
waters
flow.
Divine
Pelides,
with
compassion
moved.
Thus
spoke,
indulgent,
to
his
best
beloved:(243)
"Patroclus,
say,
what
grief
thy
bosom
bears,
That
flows
so
fast
in
these
unmanly
tears?
No
girl,
no
infant
whom
the
mother
keeps
From
her
loved
breast,
with
fonder
passion
weeps;
Not
more
the
mother's
soul,
that
infant
warms,
Clung
to
her
knees,
and
reaching
at
her
arms,
Than
thou
hast
mine!
Oh
tell
me,
to
what
end
Thy
melting
sorrows
thus
pursue
thy
friend?
"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:
"Let
Greece
at
length
with
pity
touch
thy
breast,
Thyself
a
Greek;
and,
once,
of
Greeks
the
best!
Lo!
every
chief
that
might
her
fate
prevent,
Lies
pierced
with
wounds,
and
bleeding
in
his
tent:
Eurypylus,
Tydides,
Atreus'
son,
And
wise
Ulysses,
at
the
navy
groan,
More
for
their
country's
wounds
than
for
their
own.
Their
pain
soft
arts
of
pharmacy
can
ease,
Thy
breast
alone
no
lenitives
appease.
May
never
rage
like
thine
my
soul
enslave,
O
great
in
vain!
unprofitably
brave!
Thy
country
slighted
in
her
last
distress,
What
friend,
what
man,
from
thee
shall
hope
redress?
No--men
unborn,
and
ages
yet
behind,
Shall
curse
that
fierce,
that
unforgiving
mind.
"O
man
unpitying!
if
of
man
thy
race;
But
sure
thou
spring'st
not
from
a
soft
embrace,
Nor
ever
amorous
hero
caused
thy
birth,
Nor
ever
tender
goddess
brought
thee
forth:
Some
rugged
rock's
hard
entrails
gave
thee
form,
And
raging
seas
produced
thee
in
a
storm,
A
soul
well
suiting
that
tempestuous
kind,
So
rough
thy
manners,
so
untamed
thy
mind.
"If
some
dire
oracle
thy
breast
alarm,
If
aught
from
Jove,
or
Thetis,
stop
thy
arm,
Some
beam
of
comfort
yet
on
Greece
may
shine,
If
I
but
lead
the
Myrmidonian
line:
Clad
in
thy
dreadful
arms
if
I
appear,
Proud
Troy
shall
tremble,
and
desert
the
war;
Without
thy
person
Greece
shall
win
the
day,
And
thy
mere
image
chase
her
foes
away.
Press'd
by
fresh
forces,
her
o'erlabour'd
train
Shall
quit
the
ships,
and
Greece
respire
again."
Thus,
blind
to
fate!
with
supplicating
breath,
Thou
begg'st
his
arms,
and
in
his
arms
thy
death.
Unfortunately
good!
a
boding
sigh
Thy
friend
return'd;
and
with
it,
this
reply:
"Patroclus!
thy
Achilles
knows
no
fears;
Nor
words
from
Jove
nor
oracles
he
hears;
Nor
aught
a
mother's
caution
can
suggest;
The
tyrant's
pride
lies
rooted
in
my
breast.
My
wrongs,
my
wrongs,
my
constant
thought
engage,
Those,
my
sole
oracles,
inspire
my
rage:
I
made
him
tyrant:
gave
him
power
to
wrong
Even
my:
I
felt
it;
and
shall
feel
it
long.
The
maid,
my
black-eyed
maid,
he
forced
away,
Due
to
the
toils
of
many
a
well-fought
day;
Due
to
my
conquest
of
her
father's
reign;
Due
to
the
votes
of
all
the
Grecian
train.
From
me
he
forced
her;
me,
the
bold
and
brave,
Disgraced,
dishonour'd,
like
the
meanest
slave.
But
bear
we
this--the
wrongs
I
grieve
are
past;
'Tis
time
our
fury
should
relent
at
last:
I
fix'd
its
date;
the
day
I
wish'd
appears:
How
Hector
to
my
ships
his
battle
bears,
The
flames
my
eyes,
the
shouts
invade
my
ears.
Go
then,
Patroclus!
court
fair
honour's
charms
In
Troy's
famed
fields,
and
in
Achilles'
arms:
Lead
forth
my
martial
Myrmidons
to
fight,
Go
save
the
fleets,
and
conquer
in
my
right.
See
the
thin
relics
of
their
baffled
band
At
the
last
edge
of
yon
deserted
land!
Behold
all
Ilion
on
their
ships
descends;
How
the
cloud
blackens,
how
the
storm
impends!
It
was
not
thus,
when,
at
my
sight
amazed,
Troy
saw
and
trembled,
as
this
helmet
blazed:
Had
not
the
injurious
king
our
friendship
lost,
Yon
ample
trench
had
buried
half
her
host.
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
Phoebus,
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.
Say,
Muses,
throned
above
the
starry
frame,
How
first
the
navy
blazed
with
Trojan
flame?
Stern
Hector
waved
his
sword,
and
standing
near,
Where
furious
Ajax
plied
his
ashen
spear,
Full
on
the
lance
a
stroke
so
justly
sped,
That
the
broad
falchion
lopp'd
its
brazen
head;
His
pointless
spear
the
warrior
shakes
in
vain;
The
brazen
head
falls
sounding
on
the
plain.
Great
Ajax
saw,
and
own'd
the
hand
divine;
Confessing
Jove,
and
trembling
at
the
sign,
Warn'd
he
retreats.
Then
swift
from
all
sides
pour
The
hissing
brands;
thick
streams
the
fiery
shower;
O'er
the
high
stern
the
curling
volumes
rise,
And
sheets
of
rolling
smoke
involve
the
skies.
Divine
Achilles
view'd
the
rising
flames,
And
smote
his
thigh,
and
thus
aloud
exclaims:
"Arm,
arm,
Patroclus!
Lo,
the
blaze
aspires!
The
glowing
ocean
reddens
with
the
fires.
Arm,
ere
our
vessels
catch
the
spreading
flame;
Arm,
ere
the
Grecians
be
no
more
a
name;
I
haste
to
bring
the
troops."--The
hero
said;
The
friend
with
ardour
and
with
joy
obey'd.
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.
[Illustration:
Buckles.]
Buckles.
The
brave
Automedon
(an
honour'd
name,
The
second
to
his
lord
in
love
and
fame,
In
peace
his
friend,
and
partner
of
the
war)
The
winged
coursers
harness'd
to
the
car;
Xanthus
and
Balius,
of
immortal
breed,
Sprung
from
the
wind,
and
like
the
wind
in
speed.
Whom
the
wing'd
harpy,
swift
Podarge,
bore,
By
Zephyr
pregnant
on
the
breezy
shore:
Swift
Pedasus
was
added
to
their
side,
(Once
great
Aetion's,
now
Achilles'
pride)
Who,
like
in
strength,
in
swiftness,
and
in
grace,
A
mortal
courser
match'd
the
immortal
race.
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.
High
in
the
midst
the
great
Achilles
stands,
Directs
their
order,
and
the
war
commands.
He,
loved
of
Jove,
had
launch'd
for
Ilion's
shores
Full
fifty
vessels,
mann'd
with
fifty
oars:
Five
chosen
leaders
the
fierce
bands
obey,
Himself
supreme
in
valour,
as
in
sway.
First
march'd
Menestheus,
of
celestial
birth,
Derived
from
thee,
whose
waters
wash
the
earth,
Divine
Sperchius!
Jove-descended
flood!
A
mortal
mother
mixing
with
a
god.
Such
was
Menestheus,
but
miscall'd
by
fame
The
son
of
Borus,
that
espoused
the
dame.
Eudorus
next;
whom
Polymele
the
gay,
Famed
in
the
graceful
dance,
produced
to-day.
Her,
sly
Cellenius
loved:
on
her
would
gaze,
As
with
swift
step
she
form'd
the
running
maze:
To
her
high
chamber
from
Diana's
quire,
The
god
pursued
her,
urged,
and
crown'd
his
fire.
The
son
confess'd
his
father's
heavenly
race,
And
heir'd
his
mother's
swiftness
in
the
chase.
Strong
Echecleus,
bless'd
in
all
those
charms
That
pleased
a
god,
succeeded
to
her
arms;
Not
conscious
of
those
loves,
long
hid
from
fame,
With
gifts
of
price
he
sought
and
won
the
dame;
Her
secret
offspring
to
her
sire
she
bare;
Her
sire
caress'd
him
with
a
parent's
care.
Pisander
follow'd;
matchless
in
his
art
To
wing
the
spear,
or
aim
the
distant
dart;
No
hand
so
sure
of
all
the
Emathian
line,
Or
if
a
surer,
great
Patroclus!
thine.
The
fourth
by
Phoenix'
grave
command
was
graced,
Laerces'
valiant
offspring
led
the
last.
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!"
[Illustration:
DIANA.]
DIANA.
Thus
while
he
roused
the
fire
in
every
breast,
Close
and
more
close
the
listening
cohorts
press'd;
Ranks
wedged
in
ranks;
of
arms
a
steely
ring
Still
grows,
and
spreads,
and
thickens
round
the
king.
As
when
a
circling
wall
the
builder
forms,
Of
strength
defensive
against
wind
and
storms,
Compacted
stones
the
thickening
work
compose,
And
round
him
wide
the
rising
structure
grows:
So
helm
to
helm,
and
crest
to
crest
they
throng,
Shield
urged
on
shield,
and
man
drove
man
along;
Thick,
undistinguish'd
plumes,
together
join'd,
Float
in
one
sea,
and
wave
before
the
wind.
Far
o'er
the
rest
in
glittering
pomp
appear,
There
bold
Automedon,
Patroclus
here;
Brothers
in
arms,
with
equal
fury
fired;
Two
friends,
two
bodies
with
one
soul
inspired.
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:
"O
thou
supreme!
high-throned
all
height
above!
O
great
Pelasgic,
Dodonaean
Jove!
Who
'midst
surrounding
frosts,
and
vapours
chill,
Presid'st
on
bleak
Dodona's
vocal
hill:
(Whose
groves
the
Selli,
race
austere!
surround,
Their
feet
unwash'd,
their
slumbers
on
the
ground;
Who
hear,
from
rustling
oaks,
thy
dark
decrees;
And
catch
the
fates,
low-whispered
in
the
breeze;)
Hear,
as
of
old!
Thou
gav'st,
at
Thetis'
prayer,
Glory
to
me,
and
to
the
Greeks
despair.
Lo,
to
the
dangers
of
the
fighting
field
The
best,
the
dearest
of
my
friends,
I
yield,
Though
still
determined,
to
my
ships
confined;
Patroclus
gone,
I
stay
but
half
behind.
Oh!
be
his
guard
thy
providential
care,
Confirm
his
heart,
and
string
his
arm
to
war:
Press'd
by
his
single
force
let
Hector
see
His
fame
in
arms
not
owing
all
to
me.
But
when
the
fleets
are
saved
from
foes
and
fire,
Let
him
with
conquest
and
renown
retire;
Preserve
his
arms,
preserve
his
social
train,
And
safe
return
him
to
these
eyes
again!"
Great
Jove
consents
to
half
the
chief's
request,
But
heaven's
eternal
doom
denies
the
rest;
To
free
the
fleet
was
granted
to
his
prayer;
His
safe
return,
the
winds
dispersed
in
air.
Back
to
his
tent
the
stern
Achilles
flies,
And
waits
the
combat
with
impatient
eyes.
Meanwhile
the
troops
beneath
Patroclus'
care,
Invade
the
Trojans,
and
commence
the
war.
As
wasps,
provoked
by
children
in
their
play,
Pour
from
their
mansions
by
the
broad
highway,
In
swarms
the
guiltless
traveller
engage,
Whet
all
their
stings,
and
call
forth
all
their
rage:
All
rise
in
arms,
and,
with
a
general
cry,
Assert
their
waxen
domes,
and
buzzing
progeny.
Thus
from
the
tents
the
fervent
legion
swarms,
So
loud
their
clamours,
and
so
keen
their
arms:
Their
rising
rage
Patroclus'
breath
inspires,
Who
thus
inflames
them
with
heroic
fires:
"O
warriors,
partners
of
Achilles'
praise!
Be
mindful
of
your
deeds
in
ancient
days;
Your
godlike
master
let
your
acts
proclaim,
And
add
new
glories
to
his
mighty
name.
Think
your
Achilles
sees
you
fight:
be
brave,
And
humble
the
proud
monarch
whom
you
save."
Joyful
they
heard,
and
kindling
as
he
spoke,
Flew
to
the
fleet,
involved
in
fire
and
smoke.
From
shore
to
shore
the
doubling
shouts
resound,
The
hollow
ships
return
a
deeper
sound.
The
war
stood
still,
and
all
around
them
gazed,
When
great
Achilles'
shining
armour
blazed:
Troy
saw,
and
thought
the
dread
Achilles
nigh,
At
once
they
see,
they
tremble,
and
they
fly.
Then
first
thy
spear,
divine
Patroclus!
flew,
Where
the
war
raged,
and
where
the
tumult
grew.
Close
to
the
stern
of
that
famed
ship
which
bore
Unbless'd
Protesilaus
to
Ilion's
shore,
The
great
Paeonian,
bold
Pyrechmes
stood;
(Who
led
his
bands
from
Axius'
winding
flood;)
His
shoulder-blade
receives
the
fatal
wound;
The
groaning
warrior
pants
upon
the
ground.
His
troops,
that
see
their
country's
glory
slain,
Fly
diverse,
scatter'd
o'er
the
distant
plain.
Patroclus'
arm
forbids
the
spreading
fires,
And
from
the
half-burn'd
ship
proud
Troy
retires;
Clear'd
from
the
smoke
the
joyful
navy
lies;
In
heaps
on
heaps
the
foe
tumultuous
flies;
Triumphant
Greece
her
rescued
decks
ascends,
And
loud
acclaim
the
starry
region
rends.
So
when
thick
clouds
enwrap
the
mountain's
head,
O'er
heaven's
expanse
like
one
black
ceiling
spread;
Sudden
the
Thunderer,
with
a
flashing
ray,
Bursts
through
the
darkness,
and
lets
down
the
day:
The
hills
shine
out,
the
rocks
in
prospect
rise,
And
streams,
and
vales,
and
forests,
strike
the
eyes;
The
smiling
scene
wide
opens
to
the
sight,
And
all
the
unmeasured
ether
flames
with
light.
But
Troy
repulsed,
and
scatter'd
o'er
the
plains,
Forced
from
the
navy,
yet
the
fight
maintains.
Now
every
Greek
some
hostile
hero
slew,
But
still
the
foremost,
bold
Patroclus
flew:
As
Areilycus
had
turn'd
him
round,
Sharp
in
his
thigh
he
felt
the
piercing
wound;
The
brazen-pointed
spear,
with
vigour
thrown,
The
thigh
transfix'd,
and
broke
the
brittle
bone:
Headlong
he
fell.
Next,
Thoas
was
thy
chance;
Thy
breast,
unarm'd,
received
the
Spartan
lance.
Phylides'
dart
(as
Amphidus
drew
nigh)
His
blow
prevented,
and
transpierced
his
thigh,
Tore
all
the
brawn,
and
rent
the
nerves
away;
In
darkness,
and
in
death,
the
warrior
lay.
In
equal
arms
two
sons
of
Nestor
stand,
And
two
bold
brothers
of
the
Lycian
band:
By
great
Antilochus,
Atymnius
dies,
Pierced
in
the
flank,
lamented
youth!
he
lies,
Kind
Maris,
bleeding
in
his
brother's
wound,
Defends
the
breathless
carcase
on
the
ground;
Furious
he
flies,
his
murderer
to
engage:
But
godlike
Thrasimed
prevents
his
rage,
Between
his
arm
and
shoulder
aims
a
blow;
His
arm
falls
spouting
on
the
dust
below:
He
sinks,
with
endless
darkness
cover'd
o'er:
And
vents
his
soul,
effused
with
gushing
gore.
Slain
by
two
brothers,
thus
two
brothers
bleed,
Sarpedon's
friends,
Amisodarus'
seed;
Amisodarus,
who,
by
Furies
led,
The
bane
of
men,
abhorr'd
Chimaera
bred;
Skill'd
in
the
dart
in
vain,
his
sons
expire,
And
pay
the
forfeit
of
their
guilty
sire.
Stopp'd
in
the
tumult
Cleobulus
lies,
Beneath
Oileus'
arm,
a
living
prize;
A
living
prize
not
long
the
Trojan
stood;
The
thirsty
falchion
drank
his
reeking
blood:
Plunged
in
his
throat
the
smoking
weapon
lies;
Black
death,
and
fate
unpitying,
seal
his
eyes.
Amid
the
ranks,
with
mutual
thirst
of
fame,
Lycon
the
brave,
and
fierce
Peneleus
came;
In
vain
their
javelins
at
each
other
flew,
Now,
met
in
arms,
their
eager
swords
they
drew.
On
the
plumed
crest
of
his
Boeotian
foe
The
daring
Lycon
aim'd
a
noble
blow;
The
sword
broke
short;
but
his,
Peneleus
sped
Full
on
the
juncture
of
the
neck
and
head:
The
head,
divided
by
a
stroke
so
just,
Hung
by
the
skin;
the
body
sunk
to
dust.
O'ertaken
Neamas
by
Merion
bleeds,
Pierced
through
the
shoulder
as
he
mounts
his
steeds;
Back
from
the
car
he
tumbles
to
the
ground:
His
swimming
eyes
eternal
shades
surround.
Next
Erymas
was
doom'd
his
fate
to
feel,
His
open'd
mouth
received
the
Cretan
steel:
Beneath
the
brain
the
point
a
passage
tore,
Crash'd
the
thin
bones,
and
drown'd
the
teeth
in
gore:
His
mouth,
his
eyes,
his
nostrils,
pour
a
flood;
He
sobs
his
soul
out
in
the
gush
of
blood.
As
when
the
flocks
neglected
by
the
swain,
Or
kids,
or
lambs,
lie
scatter'd
o'er
the
plain,
A
troop
of
wolves
the
unguarded
charge
survey,
And
rend
the
trembling,
unresisting
prey:
Thus
on
the
foe
the
Greeks
impetuous
came;
Troy
fled,
unmindful
of
her
former
fame.
But
still
at
Hector
godlike
Ajax
aim'd,
Still,
pointed
at
his
breast,
his
javelin
flamed.
The
Trojan
chief,
experienced
in
the
field,
O'er
his
broad
shoulders
spread
the
massy
shield,
Observed
the
storm
of
darts
the
Grecians
pour,
And
on
his
buckler
caught
the
ringing
shower:
He
sees
for
Greece
the
scale
of
conquest
rise,
Yet
stops,
and
turns,
and
saves
his
loved
allies.
As
when
the
hand
of
Jove
a
tempest
forms,
And
rolls
the
cloud
to
blacken
heaven
with
storms,
Dark
o'er
the
fields
the
ascending
vapour
flies,
And
shades
the
sun,
and
blots
the
golden
skies:
So
from
the
ships,
along
the
dusky
plain,
Dire
Flight
and
Terror
drove
the
Trojan
train.
Even
Hector
fled;
through
heads
of
disarray
The
fiery
coursers
forced
their
lord
away:
While
far
behind
his
Trojans
fall
confused;
Wedged
in
the
trench,
in
one
vast
carnage
bruised:
Chariots
on
chariots
roll:
the
clashing
spokes
Shock;
while
the
madding
steeds
break
short
their
yokes.
In
vain
they
labour
up
the
steepy
mound;
Their
charioteers
lie
foaming
on
the
ground.
Fierce
on
the
rear,
with
shouts
Patroclus
flies;
Tumultuous
clamour
fills
the
fields
and
skies;
Thick
drifts
of
dust
involve
their
rapid
flight;
Clouds
rise
on
clouds,
and
heaven
is
snatch'd
from
sight.
The
affrighted
steeds
their
dying
lords
cast
down,
Scour
o'er
the
fields,
and
stretch
to
reach
the
town.
Loud
o'er
the
rout
was
heard
the
victor's
cry,
Where
the
war
bleeds,
and
where
the
thickest
die,
Where
horse
and
arms,
and
chariots
he
o'erthrown,
And
bleeding
heroes
under
axles
groan.
No
stop,
no
check,
the
steeds
of
Peleus
knew:
From
bank
to
bank
the
immortal
coursers
flew.
High-bounding
o'er
the
fosse,
the
whirling
car
Smokes
through
the
ranks,
o'ertakes
the
flying
war,
And
thunders
after
Hector;
Hector
flies,
Patroclus
shakes
his
lance;
but
fate
denies.
Not
with
less
noise,
with
less
impetuous
force,
The
tide
of
Trojans
urge
their
desperate
course,
Than
when
in
autumn
Jove
his
fury
pours,
And
earth
is
loaden
with
incessant
showers;
(When
guilty
mortals
break
the
eternal
laws,
Or
judges,
bribed,
betray
the
righteous
cause;)
From
their
deep
beds
he
bids
the
rivers
rise,
And
opens
all
the
flood-gates
of
the
skies:
The
impetuous
torrents
from
their
hills
obey,
Whole
fields
are
drown'd,
and
mountains
swept
away;
Loud
roars
the
deluge
till
it
meets
the
main;
And
trembling
man
sees
all
his
labours
vain!
And
now
the
chief
(the
foremost
troops
repell'd)
Back
to
the
ships
his
destined
progress
held,
Bore
down
half
Troy
in
his
resistless
way,
And
forced
the
routed
ranks
to
stand
the
day.
Between
the
space
where
silver
Simois
flows,
Where
lay
the
fleets,
and
where
the
rampires
rose,
All
grim
in
dust
and
blood
Patroclus
stands,
And
turns
the
slaughter
on
the
conquering
bands.
First
Pronous
died
beneath
his
fiery
dart,
Which
pierced
below
the
shield
his
valiant
heart.
Thestor
was
next,
who
saw
the
chief
appear,
And
fell
the
victim
of
his
coward
fear;
Shrunk
up
he
sat,
with
wild
and
haggard
eye,
Nor
stood
to
combat,
nor
had
force
to
fly;
Patroclus
mark'd
him
as
he
shunn'd
the
war,
And
with
unmanly
tremblings
shook
the
car,
And
dropp'd
the
flowing
reins.
Him
'twixt
the
jaws,
The
javelin
sticks,
and
from
the
chariot
draws.
As
on
a
rock
that
overhangs
the
main,
An
angler,
studious
of
the
line
and
cane,
Some
mighty
fish
draws
panting
to
the
shore:
Not
with
less
ease
the
barbed
javelin
bore
The
gaping
dastard;
as
the
spear
was
shook,
He
fell,
and
life
his
heartless
breast
forsook.
Next
on
Eryalus
he
flies;
a
stone,
Large
as
a
rock,
was
by
his
fury
thrown:
Full
on
his
crown
the
ponderous
fragment
flew,
And
burst
the
helm,
and
cleft
the
head
in
two:
Prone
to
the
ground
the
breathless
warrior
fell,
And
death
involved
him
with
the
shades
of
hell.
Then
low
in
dust
Epaltes,
Echius,
lie;
Ipheas,
Evippus,
Polymelus,
die;
Amphoterus
and
Erymas
succeed;
And
last
Tlepolemus
and
Pyres
bleed.
Where'er
he
moves,
the
growing
slaughters
spread
In
heaps
on
heaps
a
monument
of
dead.
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."
He
spake:
and,
speaking,
leaps
from
off
the
car:
Patroclus
lights,
and
sternly
waits
the
war.
As
when
two
vultures
on
the
mountain's
height
Stoop
with
resounding
pinions
to
the
fight;
They
cuff,
they
tear,
they
raise
a
screaming
cry;
The
desert
echoes,
and
the
rocks
reply:
The
warriors
thus
opposed
in
arms,
engage
With
equal
clamours,
and
with
equal
rage.
Jove
view'd
the
combat:
whose
event
foreseen,
He
thus
bespoke
his
sister
and
his
queen:
"The
hour
draws
on;
the
destinies
ordain,(245)
My
godlike
son
shall
press
the
Phrygian
plain:
Already
on
the
verge
of
death
he
stands,
His
life
is
owed
to
fierce
Patroclus'
hands,
What
passions
in
a
parent's
breast
debate!
Say,
shall
I
snatch
him
from
impending
fate,
And
send
him
safe
to
Lycia,
distant
far
From
all
the
dangers
and
the
toils
of
war;
Or
to
his
doom
my
bravest
offspring
yield,
And
fatten,
with
celestial
blood,
the
field?"
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."
She
said:
the
cloud-compeller,
overcome,
Assents
to
fate,
and
ratifies
the
doom.
Then
touch'd
with
grief,
the
weeping
heavens
distill'd
A
shower
of
blood
o'er
all
the
fatal
field:
The
god,
his
eyes
averting
from
the
plain,
Laments
his
son,
predestined
to
be
slain,
Far
from
the
Lycian
shores,
his
happy
native
reign.
Now
met
in
arms,
the
combatants
appear;
Each
heaved
the
shield,
and
poised
the
lifted
spear;
From
strong
Patroclus'
hand
the
javelin
fled,
And
pass'd
the
groin
of
valiant
Thrasymed;
The
nerves
unbraced
no
more
his
bulk
sustain,
He
falls,
and
falling
bites
the
bloody
plain.
Two
sounding
darts
the
Lycian
leader
threw:
The
first
aloof
with
erring
fury
flew,
The
next
transpierced
Achilles'
mortal
steed,
The
generous
Pedasus
of
Theban
breed:
Fix'd
in
the
shoulder's
joint,
he
reel'd
around,
Roll'd
in
the
bloody
dust,
and
paw'd
the
slippery
ground.
His
sudden
fall
the
entangled
harness
broke;
Each
axle
crackled,
and
the
chariot
shook:
When
bold
Automedon,
to
disengage
The
starting
coursers,
and
restrain
their
rage,
Divides
the
traces
with
his
sword,
and
freed
The
encumbered
chariot
from
the
dying
steed:
The
rest
move
on,
obedient
to
the
rein:
The
car
rolls
slowly
o'er
the
dusty
plain.
The
towering
chiefs
to
fiercer
fight
advance:
And
first
Sarpedon
whirl'd
his
weighty
lance,
Which
o'er
the
warrior's
shoulder
took
its
course,
And
spent
in
empty
air
its
dying
force.
Not
so
Patroclus'
never-erring
dart;
Aim'd
at
his
breast
it
pierced
a
mortal
part,
Where
the
strong
fibres
bind
the
solid
heart.
Then
as
the
mountain
oak,
or
poplar
tall,
Or
pine
(fit
mast
for
some
great
admiral)
Nods
to
the
axe,
till
with
a
groaning
sound
It
sinks,
and
spreads
its
honours
on
the
ground,
Thus
fell
the
king;
and
laid
on
earth
supine,
Before
his
chariot
stretch'd
his
form
divine:
He
grasp'd
the
dust
distain'd
with
streaming
gore,
And,
pale
in
death,
lay
groaning
on
the
shore.
So
lies
a
bull
beneath
the
lion's
paws,
While
the
grim
savage
grinds
with
foamy
jaws
The
trembling
limbs,
and
sucks
the
smoking
blood;
Deep
groans,
and
hollow
roars,
rebellow
through
the
wood.
Then
to
the
leader
of
the
Lycian
band
The
dying
chief
address'd
his
last
command;
"Glaucus,
be
bold;
thy
task
be
first
to
dare
The
glorious
dangers
of
destructive
war,
To
lead
my
troops,
to
combat
at
their
head,
Incite
the
living,
and
supply
the
dead.
Tell
them,
I
charged
them
with
my
latest
breath
Not
unrevenged
to
bear
Sarpedon's
death.
What
grief,
what
shame,
must
Glaucus
undergo,
If
these
spoil'd
arms
adorn
a
Grecian
foe!
Then
as
a
friend,
and
as
a
warrior
fight;
Defend
my
body,
conquer
in
my
right:
That,
taught
by
great
examples,
all
may
try
Like
thee
to
vanquish,
or
like
me
to
die."
He
ceased;
the
Fates
suppress'd
his
labouring
breath,
And
his
eyes
darken'd
with
the
shades
of
death.
The
insulting
victor
with
disdain
bestrode
The
prostrate
prince,
and
on
his
bosom
trod;
Then
drew
the
weapon
from
his
panting
heart,
The
reeking
fibres
clinging
to
the
dart;
From
the
wide
wound
gush'd
out
a
stream
of
blood,
And
the
soul
issued
in
the
purple
flood.
His
flying
steeds
the
Myrmidons
detain,
Unguided
now,
their
mighty
master
slain.
All-impotent
of
aid,
transfix'd
with
grief,
Unhappy
Glaucus
heard
the
dying
chief:
His
painful
arm,
yet
useless
with
the
smart
Inflicted
late
by
Teucer's
deadly
dart,
Supported
on
his
better
hand
he
stay'd:
To
Phoebus
then
('twas
all
he
could)
he
pray'd:
"All-seeing
monarch!
whether
Lycia's
coast,
Or
sacred
Ilion,
thy
bright
presence
boast,
Powerful
alike
to
ease
the
wretch's
smart;
O
hear
me!
god
of
every
healing
art!
Lo!
stiff
with
clotted
blood,
and
pierced
with
pain,
That
thrills
my
arm,
and
shoots
through
every
vein,
I
stand
unable
to
sustain
the
spear,
And
sigh,
at
distance
from
the
glorious
war.
Low
in
the
dust
is
great
Sarpedon
laid,
Nor
Jove
vouchsafed
his
hapless
offspring
aid;
But
thou,
O
god
of
health!
thy
succour
lend,
To
guard
the
relics
of
my
slaughter'd
friend:
For
thou,
though
distant,
canst
restore
my
might,
To
head
my
Lycians,
and
support
the
fight."
Apollo
heard;
and,
suppliant
as
he
stood,
His
heavenly
hand
restrain'd
the
flux
of
blood;
He
drew
the
dolours
from
the
wounded
part,
And
breathed
a
spirit
in
his
rising
heart.
Renew'd
by
art
divine,
the
hero
stands,
And
owns
the
assistance
of
immortal
hands.
First
to
the
fight
his
native
troops
he
warms,
Then
loudly
calls
on
Troy's
vindictive
arms;
With
ample
strides
he
stalks
from
place
to
place;
Now
fires
Agenor,
now
Polydamas:
Ęneas
next,
and
Hector
he
accosts;
Inflaming
thus
the
rage
of
all
their
hosts.
"What
thoughts,
regardless
chief!
thy
breast
employ?
Oh
too
forgetful
of
the
friends
of
Troy!
Those
generous
friends,
who,
from
their
country
far,
Breathe
their
brave
souls
out
in
another's
war.
See!
where
in
dust
the
great
Sarpedon
lies,
In
action
valiant,
and
in
council
wise,
Who
guarded
right,
and
kept
his
people
free;
To
all
his
Lycians
lost,
and
lost
to
thee!
Stretch'd
by
Patroclus'
arm
on
yonder
plains,
O
save
from
hostile
rage
his
loved
remains!
Ah
let
not
Greece
his
conquer'd
trophies
boast,
Nor
on
his
corse
revenge
her
heroes
lost!"
He
spoke:
each
leader
in
his
grief
partook:
Troy,
at
the
loss,
through
all
her
legions
shook.
Transfix'd
with
deep
regret,
they
view
o'erthrown
At
once
his
country's
pillar,
and
their
own;
A
chief,
who
led
to
Troy's
beleaguer'd
wall
A
host
of
heroes,
and
outshined
them
all.
Fired,
they
rush
on;
first
Hector
seeks
the
foes,
And
with
superior
vengeance
greatly
glows.
But
o'er
the
dead
the
fierce
Patroclus
stands,
And
rousing
Ajax,
roused
the
listening
bands:
"Heroes,
be
men;
be
what
you
were
before;
Or
weigh
the
great
occasion,
and
be
more.
The
chief
who
taught
our
lofty
walls
to
yield,
Lies
pale
in
death,
extended
on
the
field.
To
guard
his
body
Troy
in
numbers
flies;
Tis
half
the
glory
to
maintain
our
prize.
Haste,
strip
his
arms,
the
slaughter
round
him
spread,
And
send
the
living
Lycians
to
the
dead."
The
heroes
kindle
at
his
fierce
command;
The
martial
squadrons
close
on
either
hand:
Here
Troy
and
Lycia
charge
with
loud
alarms,
Thessalia
there,
and
Greece,
oppose
their
arms.
With
horrid
shouts
they
circle
round
the
slain;
The
clash
of
armour
rings
o'er
all
the
plain.
Great
Jove,
to
swell
the
horrors
of
the
fight,
O'er
the
fierce
armies
pours
pernicious
night,
And
round
his
son
confounds
the
warring
hosts,
His
fate
ennobling
with
a
crowd
of
ghosts.
Now
Greece
gives
way,
and
great
Epigeus
falls;
Agacleus'
son,
from
Budium's
lofty
walls;
Who
chased
for
murder
thence
a
suppliant
came
To
Peleus,
and
the
silver-footed
dame;
Now
sent
to
Troy,
Achilles'
arms
to
aid,
He
pays
due
vengeance
to
his
kinsman's
shade.
Soon
as
his
luckless
hand
had
touch'd
the
dead,
A
rock's
large
fragment
thunder'd
on
his
head;
Hurl'd
by
Hectorean
force
it
cleft
in
twain
His
shatter'd
helm,
and
stretch'd
him
o'er
the
slain.
Fierce
to
the
van
of
fight
Patroclus
came,
And,
like
an
eagle
darting
at
his
game,
Sprung
on
the
Trojan
and
the
Lycian
band.
What
grief
thy
heart,
what
fury
urged
thy
hand,
O
generous
Greek!
when
with
full
vigour
thrown,
At
Sthenelaus
flew
the
weighty
stone,
Which
sunk
him
to
the
dead:
when
Troy,
too
near
That
arm,
drew
back;
and
Hector
learn'd
to
fear.
Far
as
an
able
hand
a
lance
can
throw,
Or
at
the
lists,
or
at
the
fighting
foe;
So
far
the
Trojans
from
their
lines
retired;
Till
Glaucus,
turning,
all
the
rest
inspired.
Then
Bathyclaeus
fell
beneath
his
rage,
The
only
hope
of
Chalcon's
trembling
age;
Wide
o'er
the
land
was
stretch'd
his
large
domain,
With
stately
seats,
and
riches
blest
in
vain:
Him,
bold
with
youth,
and
eager
to
pursue
The
flying
Lycians,
Glaucus
met
and
slew;
Pierced
through
the
bosom
with
a
sudden
wound,
He
fell,
and
falling
made
the
fields
resound.
The
Achaians
sorrow
for
their
heroes
slain;
With
conquering
shouts
the
Trojans
shake
the
plain,
And
crowd
to
spoil
the
dead:
the
Greeks
oppose;
An
iron
circle
round
the
carcase
grows.
Then
brave
Laogonus
resign'd
his
breath,
Despatch'd
by
Merion
to
the
shades
of
death:
On
Ida's
holy
hill
he
made
abode,
The
priest
of
Jove,
and
honour'd
like
his
god.
Between
the
jaw
and
ear
the
javelin
went;
The
soul,
exhaling,
issued
at
the
vent.
His
spear
Aeneas
at
the
victor
threw,
Who
stooping
forward
from
the
death
withdrew;
The
lance
hiss'd
harmless
o'er
his
covering
shield,
And
trembling
struck,
and
rooted
in
the
field;
There
yet
scarce
spent,
it
quivers
on
the
plain,
Sent
by
the
great
Aeneas'
arm
in
vain.
"Swift
as
thou
art
(the
raging
hero
cries)
And
skill'd
in
dancing
to
dispute
the
prize,
My
spear,
the
destined
passage
had
it
found,
Had
fix'd
thy
active
vigour
to
the
ground."
"O
valiant
leader
of
the
Dardan
host!
(Insulted
Merion
thus
retorts
the
boast)
Strong
as
you
are,
'tis
mortal
force
you
trust,
An
arm
as
strong
may
stretch
thee
in
the
dust.
And
if
to
this
my
lance
thy
fate
be
given,
Vain
are
thy
vaunts;
success
is
still
from
heaven:
This,
instant,
sends
thee
down
to
Pluto's
coast;
Mine
is
the
glory,
his
thy
parting
ghost."
"O
friend
(Menoetius'
son
this
answer
gave)
With
words
to
combat,
ill
befits
the
brave;
Not
empty
boasts
the
sons
of
Troy
repel,
Your
swords
must
plunge
them
to
the
shades
of
hell.
To
speak,
beseems
the
council;
but
to
dare
In
glorious
action,
is
the
task
of
war."
This
said,
Patroclus
to
the
battle
flies;
Great
Merion
follows,
and
new
shouts
arise:
Shields,
helmets
rattle,
as
the
warriors
close;
And
thick
and
heavy
sounds
the
storm
of
blows.
As
through
the
shrilling
vale,
or
mountain
ground,
The
labours
of
the
woodman's
axe
resound;
Blows
following
blows
are
heard
re-echoing
wide,
While
crackling
forests
fall
on
every
side:
Thus
echoed
all
the
fields
with
loud
alarms,
So
fell
the
warriors,
and
so
rung
their
arms.
Now
great
Sarpedon
on
the
sandy
shore,
His
heavenly
form
defaced
with
dust
and
gore,
And
stuck
with
darts
by
warring
heroes
shed,
Lies
undistinguish'd
from
the
vulgar
dead.
His
long-disputed
corse
the
chiefs
enclose,
On
every
side
the
busy
combat
grows;
Thick
as
beneath
some
shepherd's
thatch'd
abode
(The
pails
high
foaming
with
a
milky
flood)
The
buzzing
flies,
a
persevering
train,
Incessant
swarm,
and
chased
return
again.
Jove
view'd
the
combat
with
a
stern
survey,
And
eyes
that
flash'd
intolerable
day.
Fix'd
on
the
field
his
sight,
his
breast
debates
The
vengeance
due,
and
meditates
the
fates:
Whether
to
urge
their
prompt
effect,
and
call
The
force
of
Hector
to
Patroclus'
fall,
This
instant
see
his
short-lived
trophies
won,
And
stretch
him
breathless
on
his
slaughter'd
son;
Or
yet,
with
many
a
soul's
untimely
flight,
Augment
the
fame
and
horror
of
the
fight.
To
crown
Achilles'
valiant
friend
with
praise
At
length
he
dooms;
and,
that
his
last
of
days
Shall
set
in
glory,
bids
him
drive
the
foe;
Nor
unattended
see
the
shades
below.
Then
Hector's
mind
he
fills
with
dire
dismay;
He
mounts
his
car,
and
calls
his
hosts
away;
Sunk
with
Troy's
heavy
fates,
he
sees
decline
The
scales
of
Jove,
and
pants
with
awe
divine.
Then,
nor
before,
the
hardy
Lycians
fled,
And
left
their
monarch
with
the
common
dead:
Around,
in
heaps
on
heaps,
a
dreadful
wall
Of
carnage
rises,
as
the
heroes
fall.
(So
Jove
decreed!)
At
length
the
Greeks
obtain
The
prize
contested,
and
despoil
the
slain.
The
radiant
arms
are
by
Patroclus
borne;
Patroclus'
ships
the
glorious
spoils
adorn.
Then
thus
to
Phoebus,
in
the
realms
above,
Spoke
from
his
throne
the
cloud-compelling
Jove:
"Descend,
my
Phoebus!
on
the
Phrygian
plain,
And
from
the
fight
convey
Sarpedon
slain;
Then
bathe
his
body
in
the
crystal
flood,
With
dust
dishonour'd,
and
deform'd
with
blood;
O'er
all
his
limbs
ambrosial
odours
shed,
And
with
celestial
robes
adorn
the
dead.
Those
rites
discharged,
his
sacred
corse
bequeath
To
the
soft
arms
of
silent
Sleep
and
Death.
They
to
his
friends
the
immortal
charge
shall
bear;
His
friends
a
tomb
and
pyramid
shall
rear:
What
honour
mortals
after
death
receive,
Those
unavailing
honours
we
may
give!"
[Illustration:
SLEEP
AND
DEATH
CONVEYING
THE
BODY
OF
SARPEDON
TO
LYCIA.]
SLEEP
AND
DEATH
CONVEYING
THE
BODY
OF
SARPEDON
TO
LYCIA.
Apollo
bows,
and
from
mount
Ida's
height,
Swift
to
the
field
precipitates
his
flight;
Thence
from
the
war
the
breathless
hero
bore,
Veil'd
in
a
cloud,
to
silver
Simois'
shore;
There
bathed
his
honourable
wounds,
and
dress'd
His
manly
members
in
the
immortal
vest;
And
with
perfumes
of
sweet
ambrosial
dews
Restores
his
freshness,
and
his
form
renews.
Then
Sleep
and
Death,
two
twins
of
winged
race,
Of
matchless
swiftness,
but
of
silent
pace,
Received
Sarpedon,
at
the
god's
command,
And
in
a
moment
reach'd
the
Lycian
land;
The
corse
amidst
his
weeping
friends
they
laid,
Where
endless
honours
wait
the
sacred
shade.
Meanwhile
Patroclus
pours
along
the
plains,
With
foaming
coursers,
and
with
loosen'd
reins.
Fierce
on
the
Trojan
and
the
Lycian
crew,
Ah
blind
to
fate!
thy
headlong
fury
flew
Against
what
fate
and
powerful
Jove
ordain,
Vain
was
thy
friend's
command,
thy
courage
vain.
For
he,
the
god,
whose
counsels
uncontroll'd
Dismay
the
mighty,
and
confound
the
bold;
The
god
who
gives,
resumes,
and
orders
all,
He
urged
thee
on,
and
urged
thee
on
to
fall.
Who
first,
brave
hero!
by
that
arm
was
slain,
Who
last
beneath
thy
vengeance
press'd
the
plain;
When
heaven
itself
thy
fatal
fury
led,
And
call'd
to
fill
the
number
of
the
dead?
Adrestus
first;
Autonous
then
succeeds;
Echeclus
follows;
next
young
Megas
bleeds,
Epistor,
Melanippus,
bite
the
ground;
The
slaughter,
Elasus
and
Mulius
crown'd:
Then
sunk
Pylartes
to
eternal
night;
The
rest,
dispersing,
trust
their
fates
to
flight.
Now
Troy
had
stoop'd
beneath
his
matchless
power,
But
flaming
Phoebus
kept
the
sacred
tower
Thrice
at
the
battlements
Patroclus
strook;(246)
His
blazing
aegis
thrice
Apollo
shook;
He
tried
the
fourth;
when,
bursting
from
the
cloud,
A
more
than
mortal
voice
was
heard
aloud.
"Patroclus!
cease;
this
heaven-defended
wall
Defies
thy
lance;
not
fated
yet
to
fall;
Thy
friend,
thy
greater
far,
it
shall
withstand,
Troy
shall
not
stoop
even
to
Achilles'
hand."
So
spoke
the
god
who
darts
celestial
fires;
The
Greek
obeys
him,
and
with
awe
retires.
While
Hector,
checking
at
the
Scaean
gates
His
panting
coursers,
in
his
breast
debates,
Or
in
the
field
his
forces
to
employ,
Or
draw
the
troops
within
the
walls
of
Troy.
Thus
while
he
thought,
beside
him
Phoebus
stood,
In
Asius'
shape,
who
reigned
by
Sangar's
flood;
(Thy
brother,
Hecuba!
from
Dymas
sprung,
A
valiant
warrior,
haughty,
bold,
and
young;)
Thus
he
accosts
him.
"What
a
shameful
sight!
God!
is
it
Hector
that
forbears
the
fight?
Were
thine
my
vigour
this
successful
spear
Should
soon
convince
thee
of
so
false
a
fear.
Turn
thee,
ah
turn
thee
to
the
field
of
fame,
And
in
Patroclus'
blood
efface
thy
shame.
Perhaps
Apollo
shall
thy
arms
succeed,
And
heaven
ordains
him
by
thy
lance
to
bleed."
So
spoke
the
inspiring
god;
then
took
his
flight,
And
plunged
amidst
the
tumult
of
the
fight.
He
bids
Cebrion
drive
the
rapid
car;
The
lash
resounds,
the
coursers
rush
to
war.
The
god
the
Grecians'
sinking
souls
depress'd,
And
pour'd
swift
spirits
through
each
Trojan
breast.
Patroclus
lights,
impatient
for
the
fight;
A
spear
his
left,
a
stone
employs
his
right:
With
all
his
nerves
he
drives
it
at
the
foe.
Pointed
above,
and
rough
and
gross
below:
The
falling
ruin
crush'd
Cebrion's
head,
The
lawless
offspring
of
king
Priam's
bed;
His
front,
brows,
eyes,
one
undistinguish'd
wound:
The
bursting
balls
drop
sightless
to
the
ground.
The
charioteer,
while
yet
he
held
the
rein,
Struck
from
the
car,
falls
headlong
on
the
plain.
To
the
dark
shades
the
soul
unwilling
glides,
While
the
proud
victor
thus
his
fall
derides.
"Good
heaven!
what
active
feats
yon
artist
shows!
What
skilful
divers
are
our
Phrygian
foes!
Mark
with
what
ease
they
sink
into
the
sand!
Pity
that
all
their
practice
is
by
land!"
Then
rushing
sudden
on
his
prostrate
prize,
To
spoil
the
carcase
fierce
Patroclus
flies:
Swift
as
a
lion,
terrible
and
bold,
That
sweeps
the
field,
depopulates
the
fold;
Pierced
through
the
dauntless
heart,
then
tumbles
slain,
And
from
his
fatal
courage
finds
his
bane.
At
once
bold
Hector
leaping
from
his
car,
Defends
the
body,
and
provokes
the
war.
Thus
for
some
slaughter'd
hind,
with
equal
rage,
Two
lordly
rulers
of
the
wood
engage;
Stung
with
fierce
hunger,
each
the
prey
invades,
And
echoing
roars
rebellow
through
the
shades.
Stern
Hector
fastens
on
the
warrior's
head,
And
by
the
foot
Patroclus
drags
the
dead:
While
all
around,
confusion,
rage,
and
fright,
Mix
the
contending
hosts
in
mortal
fight.
So
pent
by
hills,
the
wild
winds
roar
aloud
In
the
deep
bosom
of
some
gloomy
wood;
Leaves,
arms,
and
trees,
aloft
in
air
are
blown,
The
broad
oaks
crackle,
and
the
Sylvans
groan;
This
way
and
that,
the
rattling
thicket
bends,
And
the
whole
forest
in
one
crash
descends.
Not
with
less
noise,
with
less
tumultuous
rage,
In
dreadful
shock
the
mingled
hosts
engage.
Darts
shower'd
on
darts,
now
round
the
carcase
ring;
Now
flights
of
arrows
bounding
from
the
string:
Stones
follow
stones;
some
clatter
on
the
fields,
Some
hard,
and
heavy,
shake
the
sounding
shields.
But
where
the
rising
whirlwind
clouds
the
plains,
Sunk
in
soft
dust
the
mighty
chief
remains,
And,
stretch'd
in
death,
forgets
the
guiding
reins!
Now
flaming
from
the
zenith,
Sol
had
driven
His
fervid
orb
through
half
the
vault
of
heaven;
While
on
each
host
with
equal
tempests
fell
The
showering
darts,
and
numbers
sank
to
hell.
But
when
his
evening
wheels
o'erhung
the
main,
Glad
conquest
rested
on
the
Grecian
train.
Then
from
amidst
the
tumult
and
alarms,
They
draw
the
conquer'd
corse
and
radiant
arms.
Then
rash
Patroclus
with
new
fury
glows,
And
breathing
slaughter,
pours
amid
the
foes.
Thrice
on
the
press
like
Mars
himself
he
flew,
And
thrice
three
heroes
at
each
onset
slew.
There
ends
thy
glory!
there
the
Fates
untwine
The
last,
black
remnant
of
so
bright
a
line:
Apollo
dreadful
stops
thy
middle
way;
Death
calls,
and
heaven
allows
no
longer
day!
For
lo!
the
god
in
dusky
clouds
enshrined,
Approaching
dealt
a
staggering
blow
behind.
The
weighty
shock
his
neck
and
shoulders
feel;
His
eyes
flash
sparkles,
his
stunn'd
senses
reel
In
giddy
darkness;
far
to
distance
flung,
His
bounding
helmet
on
the
champaign
rung.
Achilles'
plume
is
stain'd
with
dust
and
gore;
That
plume
which
never
stoop'd
to
earth
before;
Long
used,
untouch'd,
in
fighting
fields
to
shine,
And
shade
the
temples
of
the
mad
divine.
Jove
dooms
it
now
on
Hector's
helm
to
nod;
Not
long--for
fate
pursues
him,
and
the
god.
His
spear
in
shivers
falls;
his
ample
shield
Drops
from
his
arm:
his
baldric
strows
the
field:
The
corslet
his
astonish'd
breast
forsakes:
Loose
is
each
joint;
each
nerve
with
horror
shakes;
Stupid
he
stares,
and
all-assistless
stands:
Such
is
the
force
of
more
than
mortal
hands!
A
Dardan
youth
there
was,
well
known
to
fame,
From
Panthus
sprung,
Euphorbus
was
his
name;
Famed
for
the
manage
of
the
foaming
horse,
Skill'd
in
the
dart,
and
matchless
in
the
course:
Full
twenty
knights
he
tumbled
from
the
car,
While
yet
he
learn'd
his
rudiments
of
war.
His
venturous
spear
first
drew
the
hero's
gore;
He
struck,
he
wounded,
but
he
durst
no
more.
Nor,
though
disarm'd,
Patroclus'
fury
stood:
But
swift
withdrew
the
long-protended
wood.
And
turn'd
him
short,
and
herded
in
the
crowd.
Thus,
by
an
arm
divine,
and
mortal
spear,
Wounded,
at
once,
Patroclus
yields
to
fear,
Retires
for
succour
to
his
social
train,
And
flies
the
fate,
which
heaven
decreed,
in
vain.
Stern
Hector,
as
the
bleeding
chief
he
views,
Breaks
through
the
ranks,
and
his
retreat
pursues:
The
lance
arrests
him
with
a
mortal
wound;
He
falls,
earth
thunders,
and
his
arms
resound.
With
him
all
Greece
was
sunk;
that
moment
all
Her
yet-surviving
heroes
seem'd
to
fall.
So,
scorch'd
with
heat,
along
the
desert
score,
The
roaming
lion
meets
a
bristly
boar,
Fast
by
the
spring;
they
both
dispute
the
flood,
With
flaming
eyes,
and
jaws
besmear'd
with
blood;
At
length
the
sovereign
savage
wins
the
strife;
And
the
torn
boar
resigns
his
thirst
and
life.
Patroclus
thus,
so
many
chiefs
o'erthrown,
So
many
lives
effused,
expires
his
own.
As
dying
now
at
Hector's
feet
he
lies,
He
sternly
views
him,
and
triumphant
cries:
"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.
'Return
not,
my
brave
friend
(perhaps
he
said),
Without
the
bloody
arms
of
Hector
dead.'
He
spoke,
Patroclus
march'd,
and
thus
he
sped."
Supine,
and
wildly
gazing
on
the
skies,
With
faint,
expiring
breath,
the
chief
replies:
"Vain
boaster!
cease,
and
know
the
powers
divine!
Jove's
and
Apollo's
is
this
deed,
not
thine;
To
heaven
is
owed
whate'er
your
own
you
call,
And
heaven
itself
disarm'd
me
ere
my
fall.
Had
twenty
mortals,
each
thy
match
in
might,
Opposed
me
fairly,
they
had
sunk
in
fight:
By
fate
and
Phoebus
was
I
first
o'erthrown,
Euphorbus
next;
the
third
mean
part
thy
own.
But
thou,
imperious!
hear
my
latest
breath;
The
gods
inspire
it,
and
it
sounds
thy
death:
Insulting
man,
thou
shalt
be
soon
as
I;
Black
fate
o'erhangs
thee,
and
thy
hour
draws
nigh;
Even
now
on
life's
last
verge
I
see
thee
stand,
I
see
thee
fall,
and
by
Achilles'
hand."
He
faints:
the
soul
unwilling
wings
her
way,
(The
beauteous
body
left
a
load
of
clay)
Flits
to
the
lone,
uncomfortable
coast;
A
naked,
wandering,
melancholy
ghost!
Then
Hector
pausing,
as
his
eyes
he
fed
On
the
pale
carcase,
thus
address'd
the
dead:
"From
whence
this
boding
speech,
the
stern
decree
Of
death
denounced,
or
why
denounced
to
me?
Why
not
as
well
Achilles'
fate
be
given
To
Hector's
lance?
Who
knows
the
will
of
heaven?"
Pensive
he
said;
then
pressing
as
he
lay
His
breathless
bosom,
tore
the
lance
away;
And
upwards
cast
the
corse:
the
reeking
spear
He
shakes,
and
charges
the
bold
charioteer.
But
swift
Automedon
with
loosen'd
reins
Rapt
in
the
chariot
o'er
the
distant
plains,
Far
from
his
rage
the
immortal
coursers
drove;
The
immortal
coursers
were
the
gift
of
Jove.
[Illustration:
ĘSCULAPIUS.]
ĘSCULAPIUS.
BOOK
XVII.
ARGUMENT.
THE
SEVENTH
BATTLE,
FOR
THE
BODY
OF
PATROCLUS.--THE
ACTS
OF
MENELAUS.
Menelaus,
upon
the
death
of
Patroclus,
defends
his
body
from
the
enemy:
Euphorbus,
who
attempts
it,
is
slain.
Hector
advancing,
Menelaus
retires;
but
soon
returns
with
Ajax,
and
drives
him
off.
This,
Glaucus
objects
to
Hector
as
a
flight,
who
thereupon
puts
on
the
armour
he
had
won
from
Patroclus,
and
renews
the
battle.
The
Greeks
give
way,
till
Ajax
rallies
them:
Aeneas
sustains
the
Trojans.
Aeneas
and
Hector
Attempt
the
chariot
of
Achilles,
which
is
borne
off
by
Automedon.
The
horses
of
Achilles
deplore
the
loss
of
Patroclus:
Jupiter
covers
his
body
with
a
thick
darkness:
the
noble
prayer
of
Ajax
on
that
occasion.
Menelaus
sends
Antilochus
to
Achilles,
with
the
news
of
Patroclus'
death:
then
returns
to
the
fight,
where,
though
attacked
with
the
utmost
fury,
he
and
Meriones,
assisted
by
the
Ajaces,
bear
off
the
body
to
the
ships.
The
time
is
the
evening
of
the
eight-and-twentieth
day.
The
scene
lies
in
the
fields
before
Troy.
On
the
cold
earth
divine
Patroclus
spread,
Lies
pierced
with
wounds
among
the
vulgar
dead.
Great
Menelaus,
touch'd
with
generous
woe,
Springs
to
the
front,
and
guards
him
from
the
foe.
Thus
round
her
new-fallen
young
the
heifer
moves,
Fruit
of
her
throes,
and
first-born
of
her
loves;
And
anxious
(helpless
as
he
lies,
and
bare)
Turns,
and
re-turns
her,
with
a
mother's
care,
Opposed
to
each
that
near
the
carcase
came,
His
broad
shield
glimmers,
and
his
lances
flame.
The
son
of
Panthus,
skill'd
the
dart
to
send,
Eyes
the
dead
hero,
and
insults
the
friend.
"This
hand,
Atrides,
laid
Patroclus
low;
Warrior!
desist,
nor
tempt
an
equal
blow:
To
me
the
spoils
my
prowess
won,
resign:
Depart
with
life,
and
leave
the
glory
mine"
The
Trojan
thus:
the
Spartan
monarch
burn'd
With
generous
anguish,
and
in
scorn
return'd:
"Laugh'st
thou
not,
Jove!
from
thy
superior
throne,
When
mortals
boast
of
prowess
not
their
own?
Not
thus
the
lion
glories
in
his
might,
Nor
panther
braves
his
spotted
foe
in
fight,
Nor
thus
the
boar
(those
terrors
of
the
plain;)
Man
only
vaunts
his
force,
and
vaunts
in
vain.
But
far
the
vainest
of
the
boastful
kind,
These
sons
of
Panthus
vent
their
haughty
mind.
Yet
'twas
but
late,
beneath
my
conquering
steel
This
boaster's
brother,
Hyperenor,
fell;
Against
our
arm
which
rashly
he
defied,
Vain
was
his
vigour,
and
as
vain
his
pride.
These
eyes
beheld
him
on
the
dust
expire,
No
more
to
cheer
his
spouse,
or
glad
his
sire.
Presumptuous
youth!
like
his
shall
be
thy
doom,
Go,
wait
thy
brother
to
the
Stygian
gloom;
Or,
while
thou
may'st,
avoid
the
threaten'd
fate;
Fools
stay
to
feel
it,
and
are
wise
too
late."
Unmoved,
Euphorbus
thus:
"That
action
known,
Come,
for
my
brother's
blood
repay
thy
own.
His
weeping
father
claims
thy
destined
head,
And
spouse,
a
widow
in
her
bridal
bed.
On
these
thy
conquer'd
spoils
I
shall
bestow,
To
soothe
a
consort's
and
a
parent's
woe.
No
longer
then
defer
the
glorious
strife,
Let
heaven
decide
our
fortune,
fame,
and
life."
Swift
as
the
word
the
missile
lance
he
flings;
The
well-aim'd
weapon
on
the
buckler
rings,
But
blunted
by
the
brass,
innoxious
falls.
On
Jove
the
father
great
Atrides
calls,
Nor
flies
the
javelin
from
his
arm
in
vain,
It
pierced
his
throat,
and
bent
him
to
the
plain;
Wide
through
the
neck
appears
the
grisly
wound,
Prone
sinks
the
warrior,
and
his
arms
resound.
The
shining
circlets
of
his
golden
hair,
Which
even
the
Graces
might
be
proud
to
wear,
Instarr'd
with
gems
and
gold,
bestrow
the
shore,
With
dust
dishonour'd,
and
deform'd
with
gore.
As
the
young
olive,
in
some
sylvan
scene,
Crown'd
by
fresh
fountains
with
eternal
green,
Lifts
the
gay
head,
in
snowy
flowerets
fair,
And
plays
and
dances
to
the
gentle
air;
When
lo!
a
whirlwind
from
high
heaven
invades
The
tender
plant,
and
withers
all
its
shades;
It
lies
uprooted
from
its
genial
bed,
A
lovely
ruin
now
defaced
and
dead:
Thus
young,
thus
beautiful,
Euphorbus
lay,
While
the
fierce
Spartan
tore
his
arms
away.
Proud
of
his
deed,
and
glorious
in
the
prize,
Affrighted
Troy
the
towering
victor
flies:
Flies,
as
before
some
mountain
lion's
ire
The
village
curs
and
trembling
swains
retire,
When
o'er
the
slaughter'd
bull
they
hear
him
roar,
And
see
his
jaws
distil
with
smoking
gore:
All
pale
with
fear,
at
distance
scatter'd
round,
They
shout
incessant,
and
the
vales
resound.
Meanwhile
Apollo
view'd
with
envious
eyes,
And
urged
great
Hector
to
dispute
the
prize;
(In
Mentes'
shape,
beneath
whose
martial
care
The
rough
Ciconians
learn'd
the
trade
of
war;)(247)
"Forbear
(he
cried)
with
fruitless
speed
to
chase
Achilles'
coursers,
of
ethereal
race;
They
stoop
not,
these,
to
mortal
man's
command,
Or
stoop
to
none
but
great
Achilles'
hand.
Too
long
amused
with
a
pursuit
so
vain,
Turn,
and
behold
the
brave
Euphorbus
slain;
By
Sparta
slain!
for
ever
now
suppress'd
The
fire
which
burn'd
in
that
undaunted
breast!"
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:
"Then
shall
I
quit
Patroclus
on
the
plain,
Slain
in
my
cause,
and
for
my
honour
slain!
Desert
the
arms,
the
relics,
of
my
friend?
Or
singly,
Hector
and
his
troops
attend?
Sure
where
such
partial
favour
heaven
bestow'd,
To
brave
the
hero
were
to
brave
the
god:
Forgive
me,
Greece,
if
once
I
quit
the
field;
'Tis
not
to
Hector,
but
to
heaven
I
yield.
Yet,
nor
the
god,
nor
heaven,
should
give
me
fear,
Did
but
the
voice
of
Ajax
reach
my
ear:
Still
would
we
turn,
still
battle
on
the
plains,
And
give
Achilles
all
that
yet
remains
Of
his
and
our
Patroclus--"
This,
no
more
The
time
allow'd:
Troy
thicken'd
on
the
shore.
A
sable
scene!
The
terrors
Hector
led.
Slow
he
recedes,
and
sighing
quits
the
dead.
So
from
the
fold
the
unwilling
lion
parts,
Forced
by
loud
clamours,
and
a
storm
of
darts;
He
flies
indeed,
but
threatens
as
he
flies,
With
heart
indignant
and
retorted
eyes.
Now
enter'd
in
the
Spartan
ranks,
he
turn'd
His
manly
breast,
and
with
new
fury
burn'd;
O'er
all
the
black
battalions
sent
his
view,
And
through
the
cloud
the
godlike
Ajax
knew;
Where
labouring
on
the
left
the
warrior
stood,
All
grim
in
arms,
and
cover'd
o'er
with
blood;
There
breathing
courage,
where
the
god
of
day
Had
sunk
each
heart
with
terror
and
dismay.
To
him
the
king:
"Oh
Ajax,
oh
my
friend!
Haste,
and
Patroclus'
loved
remains
defend:
The
body
to
Achilles
to
restore
Demands
our
care;
alas,
we
can
no
more!
For
naked
now,
despoiled
of
arms,
he
lies;
And
Hector
glories
in
the
dazzling
prize."
He
said,
and
touch'd
his
heart.
The
raging
pair
Pierced
the
thick
battle,
and
provoke
the
war.
Already
had
stern
Hector
seized
his
head,
And
doom'd
to
Trojan
gods
the
unhappy
dead;
But
soon
as
Ajax
rear'd
his
tower-like
shield,
Sprung
to
his
car,
and
measured
back
the
field,
His
train
to
Troy
the
radiant
armour
bear,
To
stand
a
trophy
of
his
fame
in
war.
Meanwhile
great
Ajax
(his
broad
shield
display'd)
Guards
the
dead
hero
with
the
dreadful
shade;
And
now
before,
and
now
behind
he
stood:
Thus
in
the
centre
of
some
gloomy
wood,
With
many
a
step,
the
lioness
surrounds
Her
tawny
young,
beset
by
men
and
hounds;
Elate
her
heart,
and
rousing
all
her
powers,
Dark
o'er
the
fiery
balls
each
hanging
eyebrow
lours.
Fast
by
his
side
the
generous
Spartan
glows
With
great
revenge,
and
feeds
his
inward
woes.
But
Glaucus,
leader
of
the
Lycian
aids,
On
Hector
frowning,
thus
his
flight
upbraids:
"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."
The
Trojan
chief
with
fix'd
resentment
eyed
The
Lycian
leader,
and
sedate
replied:
"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."
Then
turning
to
the
martial
hosts,
he
cries:
"Ye
Trojans,
Dardans,
Lycians,
and
allies!
Be
men,
my
friends,
in
action
as
in
name,
And
yet
be
mindful
of
your
ancient
fame.
Hector
in
proud
Achilles'
arms
shall
shine,
Torn
from
his
friend,
by
right
of
conquest
mine."
He
strode
along
the
field,
as
thus
he
said:
(The
sable
plumage
nodded
o'er
his
head:)
Swift
through
the
spacious
plain
he
sent
a
look;
One
instant
saw,
one
instant
overtook
The
distant
band,
that
on
the
sandy
shore
The
radiant
spoils
to
sacred
Ilion
bore.
There
his
own
mail
unbraced
the
field
bestrow'd;
His
train
to
Troy
convey'd
the
massy
load.
Now
blazing
in
the
immortal
arms
he
stands;
The
work
and
present
of
celestial
hands;
By
aged
Peleus
to
Achilles
given,
As
first
to
Peleus
by
the
court
of
heaven:
His
father's
arms
not
long
Achilles
wears,
Forbid
by
fate
to
reach
his
father's
years.
Him,
proud
in
triumph,
glittering
from
afar,
The
god
whose
thunder
rends
the
troubled
air
Beheld
with
pity;
as
apart
he
sat,
And,
conscious,
look'd
through
all
the
scene
of
fate.
He
shook
the
sacred
honours
of
his
head;
Olympus
trembled,
and
the
godhead
said;
"Ah,
wretched
man!
unmindful
of
thy
end!
A
moment's
glory;
and
what
fates
attend!
In
heavenly
panoply
divinely
bright
Thou
stand'st,
and
armies
tremble
at
thy
sight,
As
at
Achilles'
self!
beneath
thy
dart
Lies
slain
the
great
Achilles'
dearer
part.
Thou
from
the
mighty
dead
those
arms
hast
torn,
Which
once
the
greatest
of
mankind
had
worn.
Yet
live!
I
give
thee
one
illustrious
day,
A
blaze
of
glory
ere
thou
fad'st
away.
For
ah!
no
more
Andromache
shall
come
With
joyful
tears
to
welcome
Hector
home;
No
more
officious,
with
endearing
charms,
From
thy
tired
limbs
unbrace
Pelides'
arms!"
Then
with
his
sable
brow
he
gave
the
nod
That
seals
his
word;
the
sanction
of
the
god.
The
stubborn
arms
(by
Jove's
command
disposed)
Conform'd
spontaneous,
and
around
him
closed:
Fill'd
with
the
god,
enlarged
his
members
grew,
Through
all
his
veins
a
sudden
vigour
flew,
The
blood
in
brisker
tides
began
to
roll,
And
Mars
himself
came
rushing
on
his
soul.
Exhorting
loud
through
all
the
field
he
strode,
And
look'd,
and
moved,
Achilles,
or
a
god.
Now
Mesthles,
Glaucus,
Medon,
he
inspires,
Now
Phorcys,
Chromius,
and
Hippothous
fires;
The
great
Thersilochus
like
fury
found,
Asteropaeus
kindled
at
the
sound,
And
Ennomus,
in
augury
renown'd.
"Hear,
all
ye
hosts,
and
hear,
unnumber'd
bands
Of
neighbouring
nations,
or
of
distant
lands!
'Twas
not
for
state
we
summon'd
you
so
far,
To
boast
our
numbers,
and
the
pomp
of
war:
Ye
came
to
fight;
a
valiant
foe
to
chase,
To
save
our
present,
and
our
future
race.
Tor
this,
our
wealth,
our
products,
you
enjoy,
And
glean
the
relics
of
exhausted
Troy.
Now
then,
to
conquer
or
to
die
prepare;
To
die
or
conquer
are
the
terms
of
war.
Whatever
hand
shall
win
Patroclus
slain,
Whoe'er
shall
drag
him
to
the
Trojan
train,
With
Hector's
self
shall
equal
honours
claim;
With
Hector
part
the
spoil,
and
share
the
fame."
Fired
by
his
words,
the
troops
dismiss
their
fears,
They
join,
they
thicken,
they
protend
their
spears;
Full
on
the
Greeks
they
drive
in
firm
array,
And
each
from
Ajax
hopes
the
glorious
prey:
Vain
hope!
what
numbers
shall
the
field
o'erspread,
What
victims
perish
round
the
mighty
dead!
Great
Ajax
mark'd
the
growing
storm
from
far,
And
thus
bespoke
his
brother
of
the
war:
"Our
fatal
day,
alas!
is
come,
my
friend;
And
all
our
wars
and
glories
at
an
end!
'Tis
not
this
corse
alone
we
guard
in
vain,
Condemn'd
to
vultures
on
the
Trojan
plain;
We
too
must
yield:
the
same
sad
fate
must
fall
On
thee,
on
me,
perhaps,
my
friend,
on
all.
See
what
a
tempest
direful
Hector
spreads,
And
lo!
it
bursts,
it
thunders
on
our
heads!
Call
on
our
Greeks,
if
any
hear
the
call,
The
bravest
Greeks:
this
hour
demands
them
all."
The
warrior
raised
his
voice,
and
wide
around
The
field
re-echoed
the
distressful
sound.
"O
chiefs!
O
princes,
to
whose
hand
is
given
The
rule
of
men;
whose
glory
is
from
heaven!
Whom
with
due
honours
both
Atrides
grace:
Ye
guides
and
guardians
of
our
Argive
race!
All,
whom
this
well-known
voice
shall
reach
from
far,
All,
whom
I
see
not
through
this
cloud
of
war;
Come
all!
let
generous
rage
your
arms
employ,
And
save
Patroclus
from
the
dogs
of
Troy."
Oilean
Ajax
first
the
voice
obey'd,
Swift
was
his
pace,
and
ready
was
his
aid:
Next
him
Idomeneus,
more
slow
with
age,
And
Merion,
burning
with
a
hero's
rage.
The
long-succeeding
numbers
who
can
name?
But
all
were
Greeks,
and
eager
all
for
fame.
Fierce
to
the
charge
great
Hector
led
the
throng;
Whole
Troy
embodied
rush'd
with
shouts
along.
Thus,
when
a
mountain
billow
foams
and
raves,
Where
some
swoln
river
disembogues
his
waves,
Full
in
the
mouth
is
stopp'd
the
rushing
tide,
The
boiling
ocean
works
from
side
to
side,
The
river
trembles
to
his
utmost
shore,
And
distant
rocks
re-bellow
to
the
roar.
Nor
less
resolved,
the
firm
Achaian
band
With
brazen
shields
in
horrid
circle
stand.
Jove,
pouring
darkness
o'er
the
mingled
fight,
Conceals
the
warriors'
shining
helms
in
night:
To
him,
the
chief
for
whom
the
hosts
contend
Had
lived
not
hateful,
for
he
lived
a
friend:
Dead
he
protects
him
with
superior
care.
Nor
dooms
his
carcase
to
the
birds
of
air.
[Illustration:
FIGHT
FOR
THE
BODY
OF
PATROCLUS.]
FIGHT
FOR
THE
BODY
OF
PATROCLUS.
The
first
attack
the
Grecians
scarce
sustain,
Repulsed,
they
yield;
the
Trojans
seize
the
slain.
Then
fierce
they
rally,
to
revenge
led
on
By
the
swift
rage
of
Ajax
Telamon.
(Ajax
to
Peleus'
son
the
second
name,
In
graceful
stature
next,
and
next
in
fame)
With
headlong
force
the
foremost
ranks
he
tore;
So
through
the
thicket
bursts
the
mountain
boar,
And
rudely
scatters,
for
a
distance
round,
The
frighted
hunter
and
the
baying
hound.
The
son
of
Lethus,
brave
Pelasgus'
heir,
Hippothous,
dragg'd
the
carcase
through
the
war;
The
sinewy
ankles
bored,
the
feet
he
bound
With
thongs
inserted
through
the
double
wound:
Inevitable
fate
o'ertakes
the
deed;
Doom'd
by
great
Ajax'
vengeful
lance
to
bleed:
It
cleft
the
helmet's
brazen
cheeks
in
twain;
The
shatter'd
crest
and
horse-hair
strow
the
plain:
With
nerves
relax'd
he
tumbles
to
the
ground:
The
brain
comes
gushing
through
the
ghastly
wound:
He
drops
Patroclus'
foot,
and
o'er
him
spread,
Now
lies
a
sad
companion
of
the
dead:
Far
from
Larissa
lies,
his
native
air,
And
ill
requites
his
parents'
tender
care.
Lamented
youth!
in
life's
first
bloom
he
fell,
Sent
by
great
Ajax
to
the
shades
of
hell.
Once
more
at
Ajax
Hector's
javelin
flies;
The
Grecian
marking,
as
it
cut
the
skies,
Shunn'd
the
descending
death;
which
hissing
on,
Stretch'd
in
the
dust
the
great
Iphytus'
son,
Schedius
the
brave,
of
all
the
Phocian
kind
The
boldest
warrior
and
the
noblest
mind:
In
little
Panope,
for
strength
renown'd,
He
held
his
seat,
and
ruled
the
realms
around.
Plunged
in
his
throat,
the
weapon
drank
his
blood,
And
deep
transpiercing
through
the
shoulder
stood;
In
clanging
arms
the
hero
fell
and
all
The
fields
resounded
with
his
weighty
fall.
Phorcys,
as
slain
Hippothous
he
defends,
The
Telamonian
lance
his
belly
rends;
The
hollow
armour
burst
before
the
stroke,
And
through
the
wound
the
rushing
entrails
broke:
In
strong
convulsions
panting
on
the
sands
He
lies,
and
grasps
the
dust
with
dying
hands.
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
Phoebus
urged
Ęneas
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.)
Thus
he--"What
methods
yet,
O
chief!
remain,
To
save
your
Troy,
though
heaven
its
fall
ordain?
There
have
been
heroes,
who,
by
virtuous
care,
By
valour,
numbers,
and
by
arts
of
war,
Have
forced
the
powers
to
spare
a
sinking
state,
And
gain'd
at
length
the
glorious
odds
of
fate:
But
you,
when
fortune
smiles,
when
Jove
declares
His
partial
favour,
and
assists
your
wars,
Your
shameful
efforts
'gainst
yourselves
employ,
And
force
the
unwilling
god
to
ruin
Troy."
Ęneas
through
the
form
assumed
descries
The
power
conceal'd,
and
thus
to
Hector
cries:
"Oh
lasting
shame!
to
our
own
fears
a
prey,
We
seek
our
ramparts,
and
desert
the
day.
A
god,
nor
is
he
less,
my
bosom
warms,
And
tells
me,
Jove
asserts
the
Trojan
arms."
He
spoke,
and
foremost
to
the
combat
flew:
The
bold
example
all
his
hosts
pursue.
Then,
first,
Leocritus
beneath
him
bled,
In
vain
beloved
by
valiant
Lycomede;
Who
view'd
his
fall,
and,
grieving
at
the
chance,
Swift
to
revenge
it
sent
his
angry
lance;
The
whirling
lance,
with
vigorous
force
address'd,
Descends,
and
pants
in
Apisaon's
breast;
From
rich
Paeonia's
vales
the
warrior
came,
Next
thee,
Asteropeus!
in
place
and
fame.
Asteropeus
with
grief
beheld
the
slain,
And
rush'd
to
combat,
but
he
rush'd
in
vain:
Indissolubly
firm,
around
the
dead,
Rank
within
rank,
on
buckler
buckler
spread,
And
hemm'd
with
bristled
spears,
the
Grecians
stood,
A
brazen
bulwark,
and
an
iron
wood.
Great
Ajax
eyes
them
with
incessant
care,
And
in
an
orb
contracts
the
crowded
war,
Close
in
their
ranks
commands
to
fight
or
fall,
And
stands
the
centre
and
the
soul
of
all:
Fix'd
on
the
spot
they
war,
and
wounded,
wound
A
sanguine
torrent
steeps
the
reeking
ground:
On
heaps
the
Greeks,
on
heaps
the
Trojans
bled,
And,
thickening
round
them,
rise
the
hills
of
dead.
Greece,
in
close
order,
and
collected
might,
Yet
suffers
least,
and
sways
the
wavering
fight;
Fierce
as
conflicting
fires
the
combat
burns,
And
now
it
rises,
now
it
sinks
by
turns.
In
one
thick
darkness
all
the
fight
was
lost;
The
sun,
the
moon,
and
all
the
ethereal
host
Seem'd
as
extinct:
day
ravish'd
from
their
eyes,
And
all
heaven's
splendours
blotted
from
the
skies.
Such
o'er
Patroclus'
body
hung
the
night,
The
rest
in
sunshine
fought,
and
open
light;
Unclouded
there,
the
aerial
azure
spread,
No
vapour
rested
on
the
mountain's
head,
The
golden
sun
pour'd
forth
a
stronger
ray,
And
all
the
broad
expansion
flamed
with
day.
Dispersed
around
the
plain,
by
fits
they
fight,
And
here
and
there
their
scatter'd
arrows
light:
But
death
and
darkness
o'er
the
carcase
spread,
There
burn'd
the
war,
and
there
the
mighty
bled.
Meanwhile
the
sons
of
Nestor,
in
the
rear,
(Their
fellows
routed,)
toss
the
distant
spear,
And
skirmish
wide:
so
Nestor
gave
command,
When
from
the
ships
he
sent
the
Pylian
band.
The
youthful
brothers
thus
for
fame
contend,
Nor
knew
the
fortune
of
Achilles'
friend;
In
thought
they
view'd
him
still,
with
martial
joy,
Glorious
in
arms,
and
dealing
death
to
Troy.
But
round
the
corse
the
heroes
pant
for
breath,
And
thick
and
heavy
grows
the
work
of
death:
O'erlabour'd
now,
with
dust,
and
sweat,
and
gore,
Their
knees,
their
legs,
their
feet,
are
covered
o'er;
Drops
follow
drops,
the
clouds
on
clouds
arise,
And
carnage
clogs
their
hands,
and
darkness
fills
their
eyes.
As
when
a
slaughter'd
bull's
yet
reeking
hide,
Strain'd
with
full
force,
and
tugg'd
from
side
to
side,
The
brawny
curriers
stretch;
and
labour
o'er
The
extended
surface,
drunk
with
fat
and
gore:
So
tugging
round
the
corse
both
armies
stood;
The
mangled
body
bathed
in
sweat
and
blood;
While
Greeks
and
Ilians
equal
strength
employ,
Now
to
the
ships
to
force
it,
now
to
Troy.
Not
Pallas'
self,
her
breast
when
fury
warms,
Nor
he
whose
anger
sets
the
world
in
arms,
Could
blame
this
scene;
such
rage,
such
horror
reign'd;
Such,
Jove
to
honour
the
great
dead
ordain'd.
Achilles
in
his
ships
at
distance
lay,
Nor
knew
the
fatal
fortune
of
the
day;
He,
yet
unconscious
of
Patroclus'
fall,
In
dust
extended
under
Ilion's
wall,
Expects
him
glorious
from
the
conquered
plain,
And
for
his
wish'd
return
prepares
in
vain;
Though
well
he
knew,
to
make
proud
Ilion
bend
Was
more
than
heaven
had
destined
to
his
friend.
Perhaps
to
him:
this
Thetis
had
reveal'd;
The
rest,
in
pity
to
her
son,
conceal'd.
Still
raged
the
conflict
round
the
hero
dead,
And
heaps
on
heaps
by
mutual
wounds
they
bled.
"Cursed
be
the
man
(even
private
Greeks
would
say)
Who
dares
desert
this
well-disputed
day!
First
may
the
cleaving
earth
before
our
eyes
Gape
wide,
and
drink
our
blood
for
sacrifice;
First
perish
all,
ere
haughty
Troy
shall
boast
We
lost
Patroclus,
and
our
glory
lost!"
Thus
they:
while
with
one
voice
the
Trojans
said,
"Grant
this
day,
Jove!
or
heap
us
on
the
dead!"
Then
clash
their
sounding
arms;
the
clangours
rise,
And
shake
the
brazen
concave
of
the
skies.
Meantime,
at
distance
from
the
scene
of
blood,
The
pensive
steeds
of
great
Achilles
stood:
Their
godlike
master
slain
before
their
eyes,
They
wept,
and
shared
in
human
miseries.(248)
In
vain
Automedon
now
shakes
the
rein,
Now
plies
the
lash,
and
soothes
and
threats
in
vain;
Nor
to
the
fight
nor
Hellespont
they
go,
Restive
they
stood,
and
obstinate
in
woe:
Still
as
a
tombstone,
never
to
be
moved,
On
some
good
man
or
woman
unreproved
Lays
its
eternal
weight;
or
fix'd,
as
stands
A
marble
courser
by
the
sculptor's
hands,
Placed
on
the
hero's
grave.
Along
their
face
The
big
round
drops
coursed
down
with
silent
pace,
Conglobing
on
the
dust.
Their
manes,
that
late
Circled
their
arched
necks,
and
waved
in
state,
Trail'd
on
the
dust
beneath
the
yoke
were
spread,
And
prone
to
earth
was
hung
their
languid
head:
Nor
Jove
disdain'd
to
cast
a
pitying
look,
While
thus
relenting
to
the
steeds
he
spoke:
"Unhappy
coursers
of
immortal
strain,
Exempt
from
age,
and
deathless,
now
in
vain;
Did
we
your
race
on
mortal
man
bestow,
Only,
alas!
to
share
in
mortal
woe?
For
ah!
what
is
there
of
inferior
birth,
That
breathes
or
creeps
upon
the
dust
of
earth;
What
wretched
creature
of
what
wretched
kind,
Than
man
more
weak,
calamitous,
and
blind?
A
miserable
race!
but
cease
to
mourn:
For
not
by
you
shall
Priam's
son
be
borne
High
on
the
splendid
car:
one
glorious
prize
He
rashly
boasts:
the
rest
our
will
denies.
Ourself
will
swiftness
to
your
nerves
impart,
Ourself
with
rising
spirits
swell
your
heart.
Automedon
your
rapid
flight
shall
bear
Safe
to
the
navy
through
the
storm
of
war.
For
yet
'tis
given
to
Troy
to
ravage
o'er
The
field,
and
spread
her
slaughters
to
the
shore;
The
sun
shall
see
her
conquer,
till
his
fall
With
sacred
darkness
shades
the
face
of
all."
He
said;
and
breathing
in
the
immortal
horse
Excessive
spirit,
urged
them
to
the
course;
From
their
high
manes
they
shake
the
dust,
and
bear
The
kindling
chariot
through
the
parted
war:
So
flies
a
vulture
through
the
clamorous
train
Of
geese,
that
scream,
and
scatter
round
the
plain.
From
danger
now
with
swiftest
speed
they
flew,
And
now
to
conquest
with
like
speed
pursue;
Sole
in
the
seat
the
charioteer
remains,
Now
plies
the
javelin,
now
directs
the
reins:
Him
brave
Alcimedon
beheld
distress'd,
Approach'd
the
chariot,
and
the
chief
address'd:
"What
god
provokes
thee
rashly
thus
to
dare,
Alone,
unaided,
in
the
thickest
war?
Alas!
thy
friend
is
slain,
and
Hector
wields
Achilles'
arms
triumphant
in
the
fields."
"In
happy
time
(the
charioteer
replies)
The
bold
Alcimedon
now
greets
my
eyes;
No
Greek
like
him
the
heavenly
steeds
restrains,
Or
holds
their
fury
in
suspended
reins:
Patroclus,
while
he
lived,
their
rage
could
tame,
But
now
Patroclus
is
an
empty
name!
To
thee
I
yield
the
seat,
to
thee
resign
The
ruling
charge:
the
task
of
fight
be
mine."
He
said.
Alcimedon,
with
active
heat,
Snatches
the
reins,
and
vaults
into
the
seat.
His
friend
descends.
The
chief
of
Troy
descried,
And
call'd
Ęneas
fighting
near
his
side.
"Lo,
to
my
sight,
beyond
our
hope
restored,
Achilles'
car,
deserted
of
its
lord!
The
glorious
steeds
our
ready
arms
invite,
Scarce
their
weak
drivers
guide
them
through
the
fight.
Can
such
opponents
stand
when
we
assail?
Unite
thy
force,
my
friend,
and
we
prevail."
The
son
of
Venus
to
the
counsel
yields;
Then
o'er
their
backs
they
spread
their
solid
shields:
With
brass
refulgent
the
broad
surface
shined,
And
thick
bull-hides
the
spacious
concave
lined.
Them
Chromius
follows,
Aretus
succeeds;
Each
hopes
the
conquest
of
the
lofty
steeds:
In
vain,
brave
youths,
with
glorious
hopes
ye
burn,
In
vain
advance!
not
fated
to
return.
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."
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
Ęneas'
rage:
Yet
mighty
as
they
are,
my
force
to
prove
Is
only
mine:
the
event
belongs
to
Jove."
He
spoke,
and
high
the
sounding
javelin
flung,
Which
pass'd
the
shield
of
Aretus
the
young:
It
pierced
his
belt,
emboss'd
with
curious
art,
Then
in
the
lower
belly
struck
the
dart.
As
when
a
ponderous
axe,
descending
full,
Cleaves
the
broad
forehead
of
some
brawny
bull:(249)
Struck
'twixt
the
horns,
he
springs
with
many
a
bound,
Then
tumbling
rolls
enormous
on
the
ground:
Thus
fell
the
youth;
the
air
his
soul
received,
And
the
spear
trembled
as
his
entrails
heaved.
Now
at
Automedon
the
Trojan
foe
Discharged
his
lance;
the
meditated
blow,
Stooping,
he
shunn'd;
the
javelin
idly
fled,
And
hiss'd
innoxious
o'er
the
hero's
head;
Deep
rooted
in
the
ground,
the
forceful
spear
In
long
vibrations
spent
its
fury
there.
With
clashing
falchions
now
the
chiefs
had
closed,
But
each
brave
Ajax
heard,
and
interposed;
Nor
longer
Hector
with
his
Trojans
stood,
But
left
their
slain
companion
in
his
blood:
His
arms
Automedon
divests,
and
cries,
"Accept,
Patroclus,
this
mean
sacrifice:
Thus
have
I
soothed
my
griefs,
and
thus
have
paid,
Poor
as
it
is,
some
offering
to
thy
shade."
So
looks
the
lion
o'er
a
mangled
boar,
All
grim
with
rage,
and
horrible
with
gore;
High
on
the
chariot
at
one
bound
he
sprung,
And
o'er
his
seat
the
bloody
trophies
hung.
And
now
Minerva
from
the
realms
of
air
Descends
impetuous,
and
renews
the
war;
For,
pleased
at
length
the
Grecian
arms
to
aid,
The
lord
of
thunders
sent
the
blue-eyed
maid.
As
when
high
Jove
denouncing
future
woe,
O'er
the
dark
clouds
extends
his
purple
bow,
(In
sign
of
tempests
from
the
troubled
air,
Or
from
the
rage
of
man,
destructive
war,)
The
drooping
cattle
dread
the
impending
skies,
And
from
his
half-till'd
field
the
labourer
flies:
In
such
a
form
the
goddess
round
her
drew
A
livid
cloud,
and
to
the
battle
flew.
Assuming
Phoenix'
shape
on
earth
she
falls,
And
in
his
well-known
voice
to
Sparta
calls:
"And
lies
Achilles'
friend,
beloved
by
all,
A
prey
to
dogs
beneath
the
Trojan
wall?
What
shame
'o
Greece
for
future
times
to
tell,
To
thee
the
greatest
in
whose
cause
he
fell!"
"O
chief,
O
father!
(Atreus'
son
replies)
O
full
of
days!
by
long
experience
wise!
What
more
desires
my
soul,
than
here
unmoved
To
guard
the
body
of
the
man
I
loved?
Ah,
would
Minerva
send
me
strength
to
rear
This
wearied
arm,
and
ward
the
storm
of
war!
But
Hector,
like
the
rage
of
fire,
we
dread,
And
Jove's
own
glories
blaze
around
his
head!"
Pleased
to
be
first
of
all
the
powers
address'd,
She
breathes
new
vigour
in
her
hero's
breast,
And
fills
with
keen
revenge,
with
fell
despite,
Desire
of
blood,
and
rage,
and
lust
of
fight.
So
burns
the
vengeful
hornet
(soul
all
o'er),
Repulsed
in
vain,
and
thirsty
still
of
gore;
(Bold
son
of
air
and
heat)
on
angry
wings
Untamed,
untired,
he
turns,
attacks,
and
stings.
Fired
with
like
ardour
fierce
Atrides
flew,
And
sent
his
soul
with
every
lance
he
threw.
There
stood
a
Trojan,
not
unknown
to
fame,
Aetion'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.)
"Oh
prince!
(he
cried)
Oh
foremost
once
in
fame!
What
Grecian
now
shall
tremble
at
thy
name?
Dost
thou
at
length
to
Menelaus
yield,
A
chief
once
thought
no
terror
of
the
field?
Yet
singly,
now,
the
long-disputed
prize
He
bears
victorious,
while
our
army
flies:
By
the
same
arm
illustrious
Podes
bled;
The
friend
of
Hector,
unrevenged,
is
dead!"
This
heard,
o'er
Hector
spreads
a
cloud
of
woe,
Rage
lifts
his
lance,
and
drives
him
on
the
foe.
But
now
the
Eternal
shook
his
sable
shield,
That
shaded
Ide
and
all
the
subject
field
Beneath
its
ample
verge.
A
rolling
cloud
Involved
the
mount;
the
thunder
roar'd
aloud;
The
affrighted
hills
from
their
foundations
nod,
And
blaze
beneath
the
lightnings
of
the
god:
At
one
regard
of
his
all-seeing
eye
The
vanquish'd
triumph,
and
the
victors
fly.
Then
trembled
Greece:
the
flight
Peneleus
led;
For
as
the
brave
Boeotian
turn'd
his
head
To
face
the
foe,
Polydamas
drew
near,
And
razed
his
shoulder
with
a
shorten'd
spear:
By
Hector
wounded,
Leitus
quits
the
plain,
Pierced
through
the
wrist;
and
raging
with
the
pain,
Grasps
his
once
formidable
lance
in
vain.
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.
Not
Ajax
less
the
will
of
heaven
descried,
And
conquest
shifting
to
the
Trojan
side,
Turn'd
by
the
hand
of
Jove.
Then
thus
begun,
To
Atreus's
seed,
the
godlike
Telamon:
"Alas!
who
sees
not
Jove's
almighty
hand
Transfers
the
glory
to
the
Trojan
band?
Whether
the
weak
or
strong
discharge
the
dart,
He
guides
each
arrow
to
a
Grecian
heart:
Not
so
our
spears;
incessant
though
they
rain,
He
suffers
every
lance
to
fall
in
vain.
Deserted
of
the
god,
yet
let
us
try
What
human
strength
and
prudence
can
supply;
If
yet
this
honour'd
corse,
in
triumph
borne,
May
glad
the
fleets
that
hope
not
our
return,
Who
tremble
yet,
scarce
rescued
from
their
fates,
And
still
hear
Hector
thundering
at
their
gates.
Some
hero
too
must
be
despatch'd
to
bear
The
mournful
message
to
Pelides'
ear;
For
sure
he
knows
not,
distant
on
the
shore,
His
friend,
his
loved
Patroclus,
is
no
more.
But
such
a
chief
I
spy
not
through
the
host:
The
men,
the
steeds,
the
armies,
all
are
lost
In
general
darkness--Lord
of
earth
and
air!
Oh
king!
Oh
father!
hear
my
humble
prayer:
Dispel
this
cloud,
the
light
of
heaven
restore;
Give
me
to
see,
and
Ajax
asks
no
more:
If
Greece
must
perish,
we
thy
will
obey,
But
let
us
perish
in
the
face
of
day!"
With
tears
the
hero
spoke,
and
at
his
prayer
The
god
relenting
clear'd
the
clouded
air;
Forth
burst
the
sun
with
all-enlightening
ray;
The
blaze
of
armour
flash'd
against
the
day.
"Now,
now,
Atrides!
cast
around
thy
sight;
If
yet
Antilochus
survives
the
fight,
Let
him
to
great
Achilles'
ear
convey
The
fatal
news"--Atrides
hastes
away.
So
turns
the
lion
from
the
nightly
fold,
Though
high
in
courage,
and
with
hunger
bold,
Long
gall'd
by
herdsmen,
and
long
vex'd
by
hounds,
Stiff
with
fatigue,
and
fretted
sore
with
wounds;
The
darts
fly
round
him
from
a
hundred
hands,
And
the
red
terrors
of
the
blazing
brands:
Till
late,
reluctant,
at
the
dawn
of
day
Sour
he
departs,
and
quits
the
untasted
prey,
So
moved
Atrides
from
his
dangerous
place
With
weary
limbs,
but
with
unwilling
pace;
The
foe,
he
fear'd,
might
yet
Patroclus
gain,
And
much
admonish'd,
much
adjured
his
train:
"O
guard
these
relics
to
your
charge
consign'd,
And
bear
the
merits
of
the
dead
in
mind;
How
skill'd
he
was
in
each
obliging
art;
The
mildest
manners,
and
the
gentlest
heart:
He
was,
alas!
but
fate
decreed
his
end,
In
death
a
hero,
as
in
life
a
friend!"
So
parts
the
chief;
from
rank
to
rank
he
flew,
And
round
on
all
sides
sent
his
piercing
view.
As
the
bold
bird,
endued
with
sharpest
eye
Of
all
that
wings
the
mid
aerial
sky,
The
sacred
eagle,
from
his
walks
above
Looks
down,
and
sees
the
distant
thicket
move;
Then
stoops,
and
sousing
on
the
quivering
hare,
Snatches
his
life
amid
the
clouds
of
air.
Not
with
less
quickness,
his
exerted
sight
Pass'd
this
and
that
way,
through
the
ranks
of
fight:
Till
on
the
left
the
chief
he
sought,
he
found,
Cheering
his
men,
and
spreading
deaths
around:
To
him
the
king:
"Beloved
of
Jove!
draw
near,
For
sadder
tidings
never
touch'd
thy
ear;
Thy
eyes
have
witness'd
what
a
fatal
turn!
How
Ilion
triumphs,
and
the
Achaians
mourn.
This
is
not
all:
Patroclus,
on
the
shore
Now
pale
and
dead,
shall
succour
Greece
no
more.
Fly
to
the
fleet,
this
instant
fly,
and
tell
The
sad
Achilles,
how
his
loved-one
fell:
He
too
may
haste
the
naked
corse
to
gain:
The
arms
are
Hector's,
who
despoil'd
the
slain."
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.
Swift
fled
the
youth:
nor
Menelaus
stands
(Though
sore
distress'd)
to
aid
the
Pylian
bands;
But
bids
bold
Thrasymede
those
troops
sustain;
Himself
returns
to
his
Patroclus
slain.
"Gone
is
Antilochus
(the
hero
said);
But
hope
not,
warriors,
for
Achilles'
aid:
Though
fierce
his
rage,
unbounded
be
his
woe,
Unarm'd,
he
fights
not
with
the
Trojan
foe.
'Tis
in
our
hands
alone
our
hopes
remain,
'Tis
our
own
vigour
must
the
dead
regain,
And
save
ourselves,
while
with
impetuous
hate
Troy
pours
along,
and
this
way
rolls
our
fate."
"'Tis
well
(said
Ajax),
be
it
then
thy
care,
With
Merion's
aid,
the
weighty
corse
to
rear;
Myself,
and
my
bold
brother
will
sustain
The
shock
of
Hector
and
his
charging
train:
Nor
fear
we
armies,
fighting
side
by
side;
What
Troy
can
dare,
we
have
already
tried,
Have
tried
it,
and
have
stood."
The
hero
said.
High
from
the
ground
the
warriors
heave
the
dead.
A
general
clamour
rises
at
the
sight:
Loud
shout
the
Trojans,
and
renew
the
fight.
Not
fiercer
rush
along
the
gloomy
wood,
With
rage
insatiate,
and
with
thirst
of
blood,
Voracious
hounds,
that
many
a
length
before
Their
furious
hunters,
drive
the
wounded
boar;
But
if
the
savage
turns
his
glaring
eye,
They
howl
aloof,
and
round
the
forest
fly.
Thus
on
retreating
Greece
the
Trojans
pour,
Wave
their
thick
falchions,
and
their
javelins
shower:
But
Ajax
turning,
to
their
fears
they
yield,
All
pale
they
tremble
and
forsake
the
field.
While
thus
aloft
the
hero's
corse
they
bear,
Behind
them
rages
all
the
storm
of
war:
Confusion,
tumult,
horror,
o'er
the
throng
Of
men,
steeds,
chariots,
urged
the
rout
along:
Less
fierce
the
winds
with
rising
flames
conspire
To
whelm
some
city
under
waves
of
fire;
Now
sink
in
gloomy
clouds
the
proud
abodes,
Now
crack
the
blazing
temples
of
the
gods;
The
rumbling
torrent
through
the
ruin
rolls,
And
sheets
of
smoke
mount
heavy
to
the
poles.
The
heroes
sweat
beneath
their
honour'd
load:
As
when
two
mules,
along
the
rugged
road,
From
the
steep
mountain
with
exerted
strength
Drag
some
vast
beam,
or
mast's
unwieldy
length;
Inly
they
groan,
big
drops
of
sweat
distil,
The
enormous
timber
lumbering
down
the
hill:
So
these--Behind,
the
bulk
of
Ajax
stands,
And
breaks
the
torrent
of
the
rushing
bands.
Thus
when
a
river
swell'd
with
sudden
rains
Spreads
his
broad
waters
o'er
the
level
plains,
Some
interposing
hill
the
stream
divides.
And
breaks
its
force,
and
turns
the
winding
tides.
Still
close
they
follow,
close
the
rear
engage;
Aeneas
storms,
and
Hector
foams
with
rage:
While
Greece
a
heavy,
thick
retreat
maintains,
Wedged
in
one
body,
like
a
flight
of
cranes,
That
shriek
incessant,
while
the
falcon,
hung
High
on
poised
pinions,
threats
their
callow
young.
So
from
the
Trojan
chiefs
the
Grecians
fly,
Such
the
wild
terror,
and
the
mingled
cry:
Within,
without
the
trench,
and
all
the
way,
Strow'd
in
bright
heaps,
their
arms
and
armour
lay;
Such
horror
Jove
impress'd!
yet
still
proceeds
The
work
of
death,
and
still
the
battle
bleeds.
[Illustration:
VULCAN
FROM
AN
ANTIQUE
GEM.]
VULCAN
FROM
AN
ANTIQUE
GEM.
BOOK
XVIII.
ARGUMENT.
THE
GRIEF
OF
ACHILLES,
AND
NEW
ARMOUR
MADE
HIM
BY
VULCAN.
The
news
of
the
death
of
Patroclus
is
brought
to
Achilles
by
Antilochus.
Thetis,
hearing
his
lamentations,
comes
with
all
her
sea-
nymphs
to
comfort
him.
The
speeches
of
the
mother
and
son
on
this
occasion.
Iris
appears
to
Achilles
by
the
command
of
Juno,
and
orders
him
to
show
himself
at
the
head
of
the
intrenchments.
The
sight
of
him
turns
the
fortunes
of
the
day,
and
the
body
of
Patroclus
is
carried
off
by
the
Greeks.
The
Trojans
call
a
council,
where
Hector
and
Polydamas
disagree
in
their
opinions:
but
the
advice
of
the
former
prevails,
to
remain
encamped
in
the
field.
The
grief
of
Achilles
over
the
body
of
Patroclus.
Thetis
goes
to
the
palace
of
Vulcan
to
obtain
new
arms
for
her
son.
The
description
of
the
wonderful
works
of
Vulcan:
and,
lastly,
that
noble
one
of
the
shield
of
Achilles.
The
latter
part
of
the
nine-and-twentieth
day,
and
the
night
ensuing,
take
up
this
book:
the
scene
is
at
Achilles'
tent
on
the
sea-shore,
from
whence
it
changes
to
the
palace
of
Vulcan.
Thus
like
the
rage
of
fire
the
combat
burns,(250)
And
now
it
rises,
now
it
sinks
by
turns.
Meanwhile,
where
Hellespont's
broad
waters
flow,
Stood
Nestor's
son,
the
messenger
of
woe:
There
sat
Achilles,
shaded
by
his
sails,
On
hoisted
yards
extended
to
the
gales;
Pensive
he
sat;
for
all
that
fate
design'd
Rose
in
sad
prospect
to
his
boding
mind.
Thus
to
his
soul
he
said:
"Ah!
what
constrains
The
Greeks,
late
victors,
now
to
quit
the
plains?
Is
this
the
day,
which
heaven
so
long
ago
Ordain'd,
to
sink
me
with
the
weight
of
woe?
(So
Thetis
warn'd;)
when
by
a
Trojan
hand
The
bravest
of
the
Myrmidonian
band
Should
lose
the
light!
Fulfilled
is
that
decree;
Fallen
is
the
warrior,
and
Patroclus
he!
In
vain
I
charged
him
soon
to
quit
the
plain,
And
warn'd
to
shun
Hectorean
force
in
vain!"
Thus
while
he
thinks,
Antilochus
appears,
And
tells
the
melancholy
tale
with
tears.
"Sad
tidings,
son
of
Peleus!
thou
must
hear;
And
wretched
I,
the
unwilling
messenger!
Dead
is
Patroclus!
For
his
corse
they
fight;
His
naked
corse:
his
arms
are
Hector's
right."
A
sudden
horror
shot
through
all
the
chief,
And
wrapp'd
his
senses
in
the
cloud
of
grief;
Cast
on
the
ground,
with
furious
hands
he
spread
The
scorching
ashes
o'er
his
graceful
head;
His
purple
garments,
and
his
golden
hairs,
Those
he
deforms
with
dust,
and
these
he
tears;
On
the
hard
soil
his
groaning
breast
he
threw,
And
roll'd
and
grovell'd,
as
to
earth
he
grew.
The
virgin
captives,
with
disorder'd
charms,
(Won
by
his
own,
or
by
Patroclus'
arms,)
Rush'd
from
their
tents
with
cries;
and
gathering
round,
Beat
their
white
breasts,
and
fainted
on
the
ground:
While
Nestor's
son
sustains
a
manlier
part,
And
mourns
the
warrior
with
a
warrior's
heart;
Hangs
on
his
arms,
amidst
his
frantic
woe,
And
oft
prevents
the
meditated
blow.
Far
in
the
deep
abysses
of
the
main,(251)
With
hoary
Nereus,
and
the
watery
train,
The
mother-goddess
from
her
crystal
throne
Heard
his
loud
cries,
and
answer'd
groan
for
groan.
The
circling
Nereids
with
their
mistress
weep,
And
all
the
sea-green
sisters
of
the
deep.
Thalia,
Glauce
(every
watery
name),
Nesaea
mild,
and
silver
Spio
came:
Cymothoe
and
Cymodoce
were
nigh,
And
the
blue
languish
of
soft
Alia's
eye.
Their
locks
Actaea
and
Limnoria
rear,
Then
Proto,
Doris,
Panope
appear,
Thoa,
Pherusa,
Doto,
Melita;
Agave
gentle,
and
Amphithoe
gay:
Next
Callianira,
Callianassa
show
Their
sister
looks;
Dexamene
the
slow,
And
swift
Dynamene,
now
cut
the
tides:
Iaera
now
the
verdant
wave
divides:
Nemertes
with
Apseudes
lifts
the
head,
Bright
Galatea
quits
her
pearly
bed;
These
Orythia,
Clymene,
attend,
Maera,
Amphinome,
the
train
extend;
And
black
Janira,
and
Janassa
fair,
And
Amatheia
with
her
amber
hair.
All
these,
and
all
that
deep
in
ocean
held
Their
sacred
seats,
the
glimmering
grotto
fill'd;
Each
beat
her
ivory
breast
with
silent
woe,
Till
Thetis'
sorrows
thus
began
to
flow:
"Hear
me,
and
judge,
ye
sisters
of
the
main!
How
just
a
cause
has
Thetis
to
complain!
How
wretched,
were
I
mortal,
were
my
fate!
How
more
than
wretched
in
the
immortal
state!
Sprung
from
my
bed
a
godlike
hero
came,
The
bravest
far
that
ever
bore
the
name;
Like
some
fair
olive,
by
my
careful
hand
He
grew,
he
flourish'd
and
adorn'd
the
land
To
Troy
I
sent
him:
but
the
fates
ordain
He
never,
never
must
return
again.
So
short
a
space
the
light
of
heaven
to
view,
So
short,
alas!
and
fill'd
with
anguish
too!
Hear
how
his
sorrows
echo
through
the
shore!
I
cannot
ease
them,
but
I
must
deplore;
I
go
at
least
to
bear
a
tender
part,
And
mourn
my
loved-one
with
a
mother's
heart."
She
said,
and
left
the
caverns
of
the
main,
All
bathed
in
tears;
the
melancholy
train
Attend
her
way.
Wide-opening
part
the
tides,
While
the
long
pomp
the
silver
wave
divides.
Approaching
now,
they
touch'd
the
Trojan
land;
Then,
two
by
two,
ascended
up
the
strand.
The
immortal
mother,
standing
close
beside
Her
mournful
offspring,
to
his
sighs
replied;
Along
the
coast
their
mingled
clamours
ran,
And
thus
the
silver-footed
dame
began:
"Why
mourns
my
son?
thy
late
preferr'd
request
The
god
has
granted,
and
the
Greeks
distress'd:
Why
mourns
my
son?
thy
anguish
let
me
share,
Reveal
the
cause,
and
trust
a
parent's
care."
He,
deeply
groaning--"To
this
cureless
grief,
Not
even
the
Thunderer's
favour
brings
relief.
Patroclus--Ah!--say,
goddess,
can
I
boast
A
pleasure
now?
revenge
itself
is
lost;
Patroclus,
loved
of
all
my
martial
train,
Beyond
mankind,
beyond
myself
is
slain!
Lost
are
those
arms
the
gods
themselves
bestow'd
On
Peleus;
Hector
bears
the
glorious
load.
Cursed
be
that
day,
when
all
the
powers
above
Thy
charms
submitted
to
a
mortal
love:
O
hadst
thou
still,
a
sister
of
the
main,
Pursued
the
pleasures
of
the
watery
reign:
And
happier
Peleus,
less
ambitious,
led
A
mortal
beauty
to
his
equal
bed!
Ere
the
sad
fruit
of
thy
unhappy
womb
Had
caused
such
sorrows
past,
and
woes
to
come.
For
soon,
alas!
that
wretched
offspring
slain,
New
woes,
new
sorrows,
shall
create
again.
'Tis
not
in
fate
the
alternate
now
to
give;
Patroclus
dead,
Achilles
hates
to
live.
Let
me
revenge
it
on
proud
Hector's
heart,
Let
his
last
spirit
smoke
upon
my
dart;
On
these
conditions
will
I
breathe:
till
then,
I
blush
to
walk
among
the
race
of
men."
A
flood
of
tears,
at
this,
the
goddess
shed:
"Ah
then,
I
see
thee
dying,
see
thee
dead!
When
Hector
falls,
thou
diest."--"Let
Hector
die,
And
let
me
fall!
(Achilles
made
reply)
Far
lies
Patroclus
from
his
native
plain!
He
fell,
and
falling,
wish'd
my
aid
in
vain.
Ah
then,
since
from
this
miserable
day
I
cast
all
hope
of
my
return
away;
Since,
unrevenged,
a
hundred
ghosts
demand
The
fate
of
Hector
from
Achilles'
hand;
Since
here,
for
brutal
courage
far
renown'd,
I
live
an
idle
burden
to
the
ground,
(Others
in
council
famed
for
nobler
skill,
More
useful
to
preserve,
than
I
to
kill,)
Let
me--But
oh!
ye
gracious
powers
above!
Wrath
and
revenge
from
men
and
gods
remove:
Far,
far
too
dear
to
every
mortal
breast,
Sweet
to
the
soul,
as
honey
to
the
taste:
Gathering
like
vapours
of
a
noxious
kind
From
fiery
blood,
and
darkening
all
the
mind.
Me
Agamemnon
urged
to
deadly
hate;
'Tis
past--I
quell
it;
I
resign
to
fate.
Yes--I
will
meet
the
murderer
of
my
friend;
Or
(if
the
gods
ordain
it)
meet
my
end.
The
stroke
of
fate
the
strongest
cannot
shun:
The
great
Alcides,
Jove's
unequall'd
son,
To
Juno's
hate,
at
length
resign'd
his
breath,
And
sunk
the
victim
of
all-conquering
death.
So
shall
Achilles
fall!
stretch'd
pale
and
dead,
No
more
the
Grecian
hope,
or
Trojan
dread!
Let
me,
this
instant,
rush
into
the
fields,
And
reap
what
glory
life's
short
harvest
yields.
Shall
I
not
force
some
widow'd
dame
to
tear
With
frantic
hands
her
long
dishevell'd
hair?
Shall
I
not
force
her
breast
to
heave
with
sighs,
And
the
soft
tears
to
trickle
from
her
eyes?
Yes,
I
shall
give
the
fair
those
mournful
charms--
In
vain
you
hold
me--Hence!
my
arms!
my
arms!--
Soon
shall
the
sanguine
torrent
spread
so
wide,
That
all
shall
know
Achilles
swells
the
tide."
"My
son
(coerulean
Thetis
made
reply,
To
fate
submitting
with
a
secret
sigh,)
The
host
to
succour,
and
thy
friends
to
save,
Is
worthy
thee;
the
duty
of
the
brave.
But
canst
thou,
naked,
issue
to
the
plains?
Thy
radiant
arms
the
Trojan
foe
detains.
Insulting
Hector
bears
the
spoils
on
high,
But
vainly
glories,
for
his
fate
is
nigh.
Yet,
yet
awhile
thy
generous
ardour
stay;
Assured,
I
meet
thee
at
the
dawn
of
day,
Charged
with
refulgent
arms
(a
glorious
load),
Vulcanian
arms,
the
labour
of
a
god."
Then
turning
to
the
daughters
of
the
main,
The
goddess
thus
dismiss'd
her
azure
train:
"Ye
sister
Nereids!
to
your
deeps
descend;
Haste,
and
our
father's
sacred
seat
attend;
I
go
to
find
the
architect
divine,
Where
vast
Olympus'
starry
summits
shine:
So
tell
our
hoary
sire"--This
charge
she
gave:
The
sea-green
sisters
plunge
beneath
the
wave:
Thetis
once
more
ascends
the
bless'd
abodes,
And
treads
the
brazen
threshold
of
the
gods.
[Illustration:
THETIS
ORDERING
THE
NEREIDS
TO
DESCEND
INTO
THE
SEA.]
THETIS
ORDERING
THE
NEREIDS
TO
DESCEND
INTO
THE
SEA.
And
now
the
Greeks
from
furious
Hector's
force,
Urge
to
broad
Hellespont
their
headlong
course;
Nor
yet
their
chiefs
Patroclus'
body
bore
Safe
through
the
tempest
to
the
tented
shore.
The
horse,
the
foot,
with
equal
fury
join'd,
Pour'd
on
the
rear,
and
thunder'd
close
behind:
And
like
a
flame
through
fields
of
ripen'd
corn,
The
rage
of
Hector
o'er
the
ranks
was
borne.
Thrice
the
slain
hero
by
the
foot
he
drew;
Thrice
to
the
skies
the
Trojan
clamours
flew:
As
oft
the
Ajaces
his
assault
sustain;
But
check'd,
he
turns;
repuls'd,
attacks
again.
With
fiercer
shouts
his
lingering
troops
he
fires,
Nor
yields
a
step,
nor
from
his
post
retires:
So
watchful
shepherds
strive
to
force,
in
vain,
The
hungry
lion
from
a
carcase
slain.
Even
yet
Patroclus
had
he
borne
away,
And
all
the
glories
of
the
extended
day,
Had
not
high
Juno
from
the
realms
of
air,
Secret,
despatch'd
her
trusty
messenger.
The
various
goddess
of
the
showery
bow,
Shot
in
a
whirlwind
to
the
shore
below;
To
great
Achilles
at
his
ships
she
came,
And
thus
began
the
many-colour'd
dame:
"Rise,
son
of
Peleus!
rise,
divinely
brave!
Assist
the
combat,
and
Patroclus
save:
For
him
the
slaughter
to
the
fleet
they
spread,
And
fall
by
mutual
wounds
around
the
dead.
To
drag
him
back
to
Troy
the
foe
contends:
Nor
with
his
death
the
rage
of
Hector
ends:
A
prey
to
dogs
he
dooms
the
corse
to
lie,
And
marks
the
place
to
fix
his
head
on
high.
Rise,
and
prevent
(if
yet
you
think
of
fame)
Thy
friend's
disgrace,
thy
own
eternal
shame!"
"Who
sends
thee,
goddess,
from
the
ethereal
skies?"
Achilles
thus.
And
Iris
thus
replies:
"I
come,
Pelides!
from
the
queen
of
Jove,
The
immortal
empress
of
the
realms
above;
Unknown
to
him
who
sits
remote
on
high,
Unknown
to
all
the
synod
of
the
sky."
"Thou
comest
in
vain
(he
cries,
with
fury
warm'd);
Arms
I
have
none,
and
can
I
fight
unarm'd?
Unwilling
as
I
am,
of
force
I
stay,
Till
Thetis
bring
me
at
the
dawn
of
day
Vulcanian
arms:
what
other
can
I
wield,
Except
the
mighty
Telamonian
shield?
That,
in
my
friend's
defence,
has
Ajax
spread,
While
his
strong
lance
around
him
heaps
the
dead:
The
gallant
chief
defends
Menoetius'
son,
And
does
what
his
Achilles
should
have
done."
"Thy
want
of
arms
(said
Iris)
well
we
know;
But
though
unarm'd,
yet
clad
in
terrors,
go!
Let
but
Achilles
o'er
yon
trench
appear,
Proud
Troy
shall
tremble,
and
consent
to
fear;
Greece
from
one
glance
of
that
tremendous
eye
Shall
take
new
courage,
and
disdain
to
fly."
She
spoke,
and
pass'd
in
air.
The
hero
rose:
Her
aegis
Pallas
o'er
his
shoulder
throws;
Around
his
brows
a
golden
cloud
she
spread;
A
stream
of
glory
flamed
above
his
head.
As
when
from
some
beleaguer'd
town
arise
The
smokes,
high
curling
to
the
shaded
skies;
(Seen
from
some
island,
o'er
the
main
afar,
When
men
distress'd
hang
out
the
sign
of
war;)
Soon
as
the
sun
in
ocean
hides
his
rays,
Thick
on
the
hills
the
flaming
beacons
blaze;
With
long-projected
beams
the
seas
are
bright,
And
heaven's
high
arch
reflects
the
ruddy
light:
So
from
Achilles'
head
the
splendours
rise,
Reflecting
blaze
on
blaze
against
the
skies.
Forth
march'd
the
chief,
and
distant
from
the
crowd,
High
on
the
rampart
raised
his
voice
aloud;
With
her
own
shout
Minerva
swells
the
sound;
Troy
starts
astonish'd,
and
the
shores
rebound.
As
the
loud
trumpet's
brazen
mouth
from
far
With
shrilling
clangour
sounds
the
alarm
of
war,
Struck
from
the
walls,
the
echoes
float
on
high,
And
the
round
bulwarks
and
thick
towers
reply;
So
high
his
brazen
voice
the
hero
rear'd:
Hosts
dropp'd
their
arms,
and
trembled
as
they
heard:
And
back
the
chariots
roll,
and
coursers
bound,
And
steeds
and
men
lie
mingled
on
the
ground.
Aghast
they
see
the
living
lightnings
play,
And
turn
their
eyeballs
from
the
flashing
ray.
Thrice
from
the
trench
his
dreadful
voice
he
raised,
And
thrice
they
fled,
confounded
and
amazed.
Twelve
in
the
tumult
wedged,
untimely
rush'd
On
their
own
spears,
by
their
own
chariots
crush'd:
While,
shielded
from
the
darts,
the
Greeks
obtain
The
long-contended
carcase
of
the
slain.
A
lofty
bier
the
breathless
warrior
bears:
Around,
his
sad
companions
melt
in
tears.
But
chief
Achilles,
bending
down
his
head,
Pours
unavailing
sorrows
o'er
the
dead,
Whom
late
triumphant,
with
his
steeds
and
car,
He
sent
refulgent
to
the
field
of
war;
(Unhappy
change!)
now
senseless,
pale,
he
found,
Stretch'd
forth,
and
gash'd
with
many
a
gaping
wound.
Meantime,
unwearied
with
his
heavenly
way,
In
ocean's
waves
the
unwilling
light
of
day
Quench'd
his
red
orb,
at
Juno's
high
command,
And
from
their
labours
eased
the
Achaian
band.
The
frighted
Trojans
(panting
from
the
war,
Their
steeds
unharness'd
from
the
weary
car)
A
sudden
council
call'd:
each
chief
appear'd
In
haste,
and
standing;
for
to
sit
they
fear'd.
'Twas
now
no
season
for
prolong'd
debate;
They
saw
Achilles,
and
in
him
their
fate.
Silent
they
stood:
Polydamas
at
last,
Skill'd
to
discern
the
future
by
the
past,
The
son
of
Panthus,
thus
express'd
his
fears
(The
friend
of
Hector,
and
of
equal
years;
The
self-same
night
to
both
a
being
gave,
One
wise
in
council,
one
in
action
brave):
[Illustration:
JUNO
COMMANDING
THE
SUN
TO
SET.]
JUNO
COMMANDING
THE
SUN
TO
SET.
"In
free
debate,
my
friends,
your
sentence
speak;
For
me,
I
move,
before
the
morning
break,
To
raise
our
camp:
too
dangerous
here
our
post,
Far
from
Troy
walls,
and
on
a
naked
coast.
I
deem'd
not
Greece
so
dreadful,
while
engaged
In
mutual
feuds
her
king
and
hero
raged;
Then,
while
we
hoped
our
armies
might
prevail
We
boldly
camp'd
beside
a
thousand
sail.
I
dread
Pelides
now:
his
rage
of
mind
Not
long
continues
to
the
shores
confined,
Nor
to
the
fields,
where
long
in
equal
fray
Contending
nations
won
and
lost
the
day;
For
Troy,
for
Troy,
shall
henceforth
be
the
strife,
And
the
hard
contest
not
for
fame,
but
life.
Haste
then
to
Ilion,
while
the
favouring
night
Detains
these
terrors,
keeps
that
arm
from
fight.
If
but
the
morrow's
sun
behold
us
here,
That
arm,
those
terrors,
we
shall
feel,
not
fear;
And
hearts
that
now
disdain,
shall
leap
with
joy,
If
heaven
permit
them
then
to
enter
Troy.
Let
not
my
fatal
prophecy
be
true,
Nor
what
I
tremble
but
to
think,
ensue.
Whatever
be
our
fate,
yet
let
us
try
What
force
of
thought
and
reason
can
supply;
Let
us
on
counsel
for
our
guard
depend;
The
town
her
gates
and
bulwarks
shall
defend.
When
morning
dawns,
our
well-appointed
powers,
Array'd
in
arms,
shall
line
the
lofty
towers.
Let
the
fierce
hero,
then,
when
fury
calls,
Vent
his
mad
vengeance
on
our
rocky
walls,
Or
fetch
a
thousand
circles
round
the
plain,
Till
his
spent
coursers
seek
the
fleet
again:
So
may
his
rage
be
tired,
and
labour'd
down!
And
dogs
shall
tear
him
ere
he
sack
the
town."
"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
Maeonia
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."
The
shouting
host
in
loud
applauses
join'd;
So
Pallas
robb'd
the
many
of
their
mind;
To
their
own
sense
condemn'd,
and
left
to
choose
The
worst
advice,
the
better
to
refuse.
While
the
long
night
extends
her
sable
reign,
Around
Patroclus
mourn'd
the
Grecian
train.
Stern
in
superior
grief
Pelides
stood;
Those
slaughtering
arms,
so
used
to
bathe
in
blood,
Now
clasp
his
clay-cold
limbs:
then
gushing
start
The
tears,
and
sighs
burst
from
his
swelling
heart.
The
lion
thus,
with
dreadful
anguish
stung,
Roars
through
the
desert,
and
demands
his
young;
When
the
grim
savage,
to
his
rifled
den
Too
late
returning,
snuffs
the
track
of
men,
And
o'er
the
vales
and
o'er
the
forest
bounds;
His
clamorous
grief
the
bellowing
wood
resounds.
So
grieves
Achilles;
and,
impetuous,
vents
To
all
his
Myrmidons
his
loud
laments.
"In
what
vain
promise,
gods!
did
I
engage,
When
to
console
Menoetius'
feeble
age,
I
vowed
his
much-loved
offspring
to
restore,
Charged
with
rich
spoils,
to
fair
Opuntia's
shore?(252)
But
mighty
Jove
cuts
short,
with
just
disdain,
The
long,
long
views
of
poor
designing
man!
One
fate
the
warrior
and
the
friend
shall
strike,
And
Troy's
black
sands
must
drink
our
blood
alike:
Me
too
a
wretched
mother
shall
deplore,
An
aged
father
never
see
me
more!
Yet,
my
Patroclus!
yet
a
space
I
stay,
Then
swift
pursue
thee
on
the
darksome
way.
Ere
thy
dear
relics
in
the
grave
are
laid,
Shall
Hector's
head
be
offer'd
to
thy
shade;
That,
with
his
arms,
shall
hang
before
thy
shrine;
And
twelve,
the
noblest
of
the
Trojan
line,
Sacred
to
vengeance,
by
this
hand
expire;
Their
lives
effused
around
thy
flaming
pyre.
Thus
let
me
lie
till
then!
thus,
closely
press'd,
Bathe
thy
cold
face,
and
sob
upon
thy
breast!
While
Trojan
captives
here
thy
mourners
stay,
Weep
all
the
night
and
murmur
all
the
day:
Spoils
of
my
arms,
and
thine;
when,
wasting
wide,
Our
swords
kept
time,
and
conquer'd
side
by
side."
He
spoke,
and
bade
the
sad
attendants
round
Cleanse
the
pale
corse,
and
wash
each
honour'd
wound.
A
massy
caldron
of
stupendous
frame
They
brought,
and
placed
it
o'er
the
rising
flame:
Then
heap'd
the
lighted
wood;
the
flame
divides
Beneath
the
vase,
and
climbs
around
the
sides:
In
its
wide
womb
they
pour
the
rushing
stream;
The
boiling
water
bubbles
to
the
brim.
The
body
then
they
bathe
with
pious
toil,
Embalm
the
wounds,
anoint
the
limbs
with
oil,
High
on
a
bed
of
state
extended
laid,
And
decent
cover'd
with
a
linen
shade;
Last
o'er
the
dead
the
milk-white
veil
they
threw;
That
done,
their
sorrows
and
their
sighs
renew.
Meanwhile
to
Juno,
in
the
realms
above,
(His
wife
and
sister,)
spoke
almighty
Jove.
"At
last
thy
will
prevails:
great
Peleus'
son
Rises
in
arms:
such
grace
thy
Greeks
have
won.
Say
(for
I
know
not),
is
their
race
divine,
And
thou
the
mother
of
that
martial
line?"
"What
words
are
these?
(the
imperial
dame
replies,
While
anger
flash'd
from
her
majestic
eyes)
Succour
like
this
a
mortal
arm
might
lend,
And
such
success
mere
human
wit
attend:
And
shall
not
I,
the
second
power
above,
Heaven's
queen,
and
consort
of
the
thundering
Jove,
Say,
shall
not
I
one
nation's
fate
command,
Not
wreak
my
vengeance
on
one
guilty
land?"
[Illustration:
TRIPOD.]
TRIPOD.
So
they.
Meanwhile
the
silver-footed
dame
Reach'd
the
Vulcanian
dome,
eternal
frame!
High-eminent
amid
the
works
divine,
Where
heaven's
far-beaming
brazen
mansions
shine.
There
the
lame
architect
the
goddess
found,
Obscure
in
smoke,
his
forges
flaming
round,
While
bathed
in
sweat
from
fire
to
fire
he
flew;
And
puffing
loud,
the
roaring
billows
blew.
That
day
no
common
task
his
labour
claim'd:
Full
twenty
tripods
for
his
hall
he
framed,
That
placed
on
living
wheels
of
massy
gold,
(Wondrous
to
tell,)
instinct
with
spirit
roll'd
From
place
to
place,
around
the
bless'd
abodes
Self-moved,
obedient
to
the
beck
of
gods:
For
their
fair
handles
now,
o'erwrought
with
flowers,
In
moulds
prepared,
the
glowing
ore
he
pours.
Just
as
responsive
to
his
thought
the
frame
Stood
prompt
to
move,
the
azure
goddess
came:
Charis,
his
spouse,
a
grace
divinely
fair,
(With
purple
fillets
round
her
braided
hair,)
Observed
her
entering;
her
soft
hand
she
press'd,
And,
smiling,
thus
the
watery
queen
address'd:
"What,
goddess!
this
unusual
favour
draws?
All
hail,
and
welcome!
whatsoe'er
the
cause;
Till
now
a
stranger,
in
a
happy
hour
Approach,
and
taste
the
dainties
of
the
bower."
[Illustration:
THETIS
AND
EURYNOME
RECEIVING
THE
INFANT
VULCAN.]
THETIS
AND
EURYNOME
RECEIVING
THE
INFANT
VULCAN.
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."
Then
from
his
anvil
the
lame
artist
rose;
Wide
with
distorted
legs
oblique
he
goes,
And
stills
the
bellows,
and
(in
order
laid)
Locks
in
their
chests
his
instruments
of
trade.
Then
with
a
sponge
the
sooty
workman
dress'd
His
brawny
arms
embrown'd,
and
hairy
breast.
With
his
huge
sceptre
graced,
and
red
attire,
Came
halting
forth
the
sovereign
of
the
fire:
The
monarch's
steps
two
female
forms
uphold,
That
moved
and
breathed
in
animated
gold;
To
whom
was
voice,
and
sense,
and
science
given
Of
works
divine
(such
wonders
are
in
heaven!)
On
these
supported,
with
unequal
gait,
He
reach'd
the
throne
where
pensive
Thetis
sate;
There
placed
beside
her
on
the
shining
frame,
He
thus
address'd
the
silver-footed
dame:
"Thee,
welcome,
goddess!
what
occasion
calls
(So
long
a
stranger)
to
these
honour'd
walls?
'Tis
thine,
fair
Thetis,
the
command
to
lay,
And
Vulcan's
joy
and
duty
to
obey."
[Illustration:
VULCAN
AND
CHARIS
RECEIVING
THETIS.]
VULCAN
AND
CHARIS
RECEIVING
THETIS.
To
whom
the
mournful
mother
thus
replies:
(The
crystal
drops
stood
trembling
in
her
eyes:)
"O
Vulcan!
say,
was
ever
breast
divine
So
pierced
with
sorrows,
so
o'erwhelm'd
as
mine?
Of
all
the
goddesses,
did
Jove
prepare
For
Thetis
only
such
a
weight
of
care?
I,
only
I,
of
all
the
watery
race
By
force
subjected
to
a
man's
embrace,
Who,
sinking
now
with
age
and
sorrow,
pays
The
mighty
fine
imposed
on
length
of
days.
Sprung
from
my
bed,
a
godlike
hero
came,
The
bravest
sure
that
ever
bore
the
name;
Like
some
fair
plant
beneath
my
careful
hand
He
grew,
he
flourish'd,
and
he
graced
the
land:
To
Troy
I
sent
him!
but
his
native
shore
Never,
ah
never,
shall
receive
him
more;
(Even
while
he
lives,
he
wastes
with
secret
woe;)
Nor
I,
a
goddess,
can
retard
the
blow!
Robb'd
of
the
prize
the
Grecian
suffrage
gave,
The
king
of
nations
forced
his
royal
slave:
For
this
he
grieved;
and,
till
the
Greeks
oppress'd
Required
his
arm,
he
sorrow'd
unredress'd.
Large
gifts
they
promise,
and
their
elders
send;
In
vain--he
arms
not,
but
permits
his
friend
His
arms,
his
steeds,
his
forces
to
employ:
He
marches,
combats,
almost
conquers
Troy:
Then
slain
by
Phoebus
(Hector
had
the
name)
At
once
resigns
his
armour,
life,
and
fame.
But
thou,
in
pity,
by
my
prayer
be
won:
Grace
with
immortal
arms
this
short-lived
son,
And
to
the
field
in
martial
pomp
restore,
To
shine
with
glory,
till
he
shines
no
more!"
To
her
the
artist-god:
"Thy
griefs
resign,
Secure,
what
Vulcan
can,
is
ever
thine.
O
could
I
hide
him
from
the
Fates,
as
well,
Or
with
these
hands
the
cruel
stroke
repel,
As
I
shall
forge
most
envied
arms,
the
gaze
Of
wondering
ages,
and
the
world's
amaze!"
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.
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.
Two
cities
radiant
on
the
shield
appear,
The
image
one
of
peace,
and
one
of
war.
Here
sacred
pomp
and
genial
feast
delight,
And
solemn
dance,
and
hymeneal
rite;
Along
the
street
the
new-made
brides
are
led,
With
torches
flaming,
to
the
nuptial
bed:
The
youthful
dancers
in
a
circle
bound
To
the
soft
flute,
and
cithern's
silver
sound:
Through
the
fair
streets
the
matrons
in
a
row
Stand
in
their
porches,
and
enjoy
the
show.
There
in
the
forum
swarm
a
numerous
train;
The
subject
of
debate,
a
townsman
slain:
One
pleads
the
fine
discharged,
which
one
denied,
And
bade
the
public
and
the
laws
decide:
The
witness
is
produced
on
either
hand:
For
this,
or
that,
the
partial
people
stand:
The
appointed
heralds
still
the
noisy
bands,
And
form
a
ring,
with
sceptres
in
their
hands:
On
seats
of
stone,
within
the
sacred
place,(254)
The
reverend
elders
nodded
o'er
the
case;
Alternate,
each
the
attesting
sceptre
took,
And
rising
solemn,
each
his
sentence
spoke
Two
golden
talents
lay
amidst,
in
sight,
The
prize
of
him
who
best
adjudged
the
right.
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.
A
field
deep
furrow'd
next
the
god
design'd,(256)
The
third
time
labour'd
by
the
sweating
hind;
The
shining
shares
full
many
ploughmen
guide,
And
turn
their
crooked
yokes
on
every
side.
Still
as
at
either
end
they
wheel
around,
The
master
meets
them
with
his
goblet
crown'd;
The
hearty
draught
rewards,
renews
their
toil,
Then
back
the
turning
ploughshares
cleave
the
soil:
Behind,
the
rising
earth
in
ridges
roll'd;
And
sable
look'd,
though
form'd
of
molten
gold.
Another
field
rose
high
with
waving
grain;
With
bended
sickles
stand
the
reaper
train:
Here
stretched
in
ranks
the
levell'd
swarths
are
found,
Sheaves
heap'd
on
sheaves
here
thicken
up
the
ground.
With
sweeping
stroke
the
mowers
strow
the
lands;
The
gatherers
follow,
and
collect
in
bands;
And
last
the
children,
in
whose
arms
are
borne
(Too
short
to
gripe
them)
the
brown
sheaves
of
corn.
The
rustic
monarch
of
the
field
descries,
With
silent
glee,
the
heaps
around
him
rise.
A
ready
banquet
on
the
turf
is
laid,
Beneath
an
ample
oak's
expanded
shade.
The
victim
ox
the
sturdy
youth
prepare;
The
reaper's
due
repast,
the
woman's
care.
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.
Here
herds
of
oxen
march,
erect
and
bold,
Rear
high
their
horns,
and
seem
to
low
in
gold,
And
speed
to
meadows
on
whose
sounding
shores
A
rapid
torrent
through
the
rushes
roars:
Four
golden
herdsmen
as
their
guardians
stand,
And
nine
sour
dogs
complete
the
rustic
band.
Two
lions
rushing
from
the
wood
appear'd;
And
seized
a
bull,
the
master
of
the
herd:
He
roar'd:
in
vain
the
dogs,
the
men
withstood;
They
tore
his
flesh,
and
drank
his
sable
blood.
The
dogs
(oft
cheer'd
in
vain)
desert
the
prey,
Dread
the
grim
terrors,
and
at
distance
bay.
Next
this,
the
eye
the
art
of
Vulcan
leads
Deep
through
fair
forests,
and
a
length
of
meads,
And
stalls,
and
folds,
and
scatter'd
cots
between;
And
fleecy
flocks,
that
whiten
all
the
scene.
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.
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.
This
done,
whate'er
a
warrior's
use
requires
He
forged;
the
cuirass
that
outshone
the
fires,
The
greaves
of
ductile
tin,
the
helm
impress'd
With
various
sculpture,
and
the
golden
crest.
At
Thetis'
feet
the
finished
labour
lay:
She,
as
a
falcon
cuts
the
aerial
way,
Swift
from
Olympus'
snowy
summit
flies,
And
bears
the
blazing
present
through
the
skies.(257)
BOOK
XIX.
ARGUMENT.
THE
RECONCILIATION
OF
ACHILLES
AND
AGAMEMNON.
Thetis
brings
to
her
son
the
armour
made
by
Vulcan.
She
preserves
the
body
of
his
friend
from
corruption,
and
commands
him
to
assemble
the
army,
to
declare
his
resentment
at
an
end.
Agamemnon
and
Achilles
are
solemnly
reconciled:
the
speeches,
presents,
and
ceremonies
on
that
occasion.
Achilles
is
with
great
difficulty
persuaded
to
refrain
from
the
battle
till
the
troops
have
refreshed
themselves
by
the
advice
of
Ulysses.
The
presents
are
conveyed
to
the
tent
of
Achilles,
where
Briseis
laments
over
the
body
of
Patroclus.
The
hero
obstinately
refuses
all
repast,
and
gives
himself
up
to
lamentations
for
his
friend.
Minerva
descends
to
strengthen
him,
by
the
order
of
Jupiter.
He
arms
for
the
fight:
his
appearance
described.
He
addresses
himself
to
his
horses,
and
reproaches
them
with
the
death
of
Patroclus.
One
of
them
is
miraculously
endued
with
voice,
and
inspired
to
prophesy
his
fate:
but
the
hero,
not
astonished
by
that
prodigy,
rushes
with
fury
to
the
combat.
The
thirteenth
day.
The
scene
is
on
the
sea-shore.
Soon
as
Aurora
heaved
her
Orient
head
Above
the
waves,
that
blush'd
with
early
red,
(With
new-born
day
to
gladden
mortal
sight,
And
gild
the
courts
of
heaven
with
sacred
light,)
The
immortal
arms
the
goddess-mother
bears
Swift
to
her
son:
her
son
she
finds
in
tears
Stretch'd
o'er
Patroclus'
corse;
while
all
the
rest
Their
sovereign's
sorrows
in
their
own
express'd.
A
ray
divine
her
heavenly
presence
shed,
And
thus,
his
hand
soft
touching,
Thetis
said:
"Suppress,
my
son,
this
rage
of
grief,
and
know
It
was
not
man,
but
heaven,
that
gave
the
blow;
Behold
what
arms
by
Vulcan
are
bestow'd,
Arms
worthy
thee,
or
fit
to
grace
a
god."
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.
"Goddess!
(he
cried,)
these
glorious
arms,
that
shine
With
matchless
art,
confess
the
hand
divine.
Now
to
the
bloody
battle
let
me
bend:
But
ah!
the
relics
of
my
slaughter'd
friend!
In
those
wide
wounds
through
which
his
spirit
fled,
Shall
flies,
and
worms
obscene,
pollute
the
dead?"
"That
unavailing
care
be
laid
aside,
(The
azure
goddess
to
her
son
replied,)
Whole
years
untouch'd,
uninjured
shall
remain,
Fresh
as
in
life,
the
carcase
of
the
slain.
But
go,
Achilles,
as
affairs
require,
Before
the
Grecian
peers
renounce
thine
ire:
Then
uncontroll'd
in
boundless
war
engage,
And
heaven
with
strength
supply
the
mighty
rage!"
[Illustration:
THETIS
BRINGING
THE
ARMOUR
TO
ACHILLES.]
THETIS
BRINGING
THE
ARMOUR
TO
ACHILLES.
Then
in
the
nostrils
of
the
slain
she
pour'd
Nectareous
drops,
and
rich
ambrosia
shower'd
O'er
all
the
corse.
The
flies
forbid
their
prey,
Untouch'd
it
rests,
and
sacred
from
decay.
Achilles
to
the
strand
obedient
went:
The
shores
resounded
with
the
voice
he
sent.
The
heroes
heard,
and
all
the
naval
train
That
tend
the
ships,
or
guide
them
o'er
the
main,
Alarm'd,
transported,
at
the
well-known
sound,
Frequent
and
full,
the
great
assembly
crown'd;
Studious
to
see
the
terror
of
the
plain,
Long
lost
to
battle,
shine
in
arms
again.
Tydides
and
Ulysses
first
appear,
Lame
with
their
wounds,
and
leaning
on
the
spear;
These
on
the
sacred
seats
of
council
placed,
The
king
of
men,
Atrides,
came
the
last:
He
too
sore
wounded
by
Agenor's
son.
Achilles
(rising
in
the
midst)
begun:
"O
monarch!
better
far
had
been
the
fate
Of
thee,
of
me,
of
all
the
Grecian
state,
If
(ere
the
day
when
by
mad
passion
sway'd,
Rash
we
contended
for
the
black-eyed
maid)
Preventing
Dian
had
despatch'd
her
dart,
And
shot
the
shining
mischief
to
the
heart!
Then
many
a
hero
had
not
press'd
the
shore,
Nor
Troy's
glad
fields
been
fatten'd
with
our
gore.
Long,
long
shall
Greece
the
woes
we
caused
bewail,
And
sad
posterity
repeat
the
tale.
But
this,
no
more
the
subject
of
debate,
Is
past,
forgotten,
and
resign'd
to
fate.
Why
should,
alas,
a
mortal
man,
as
I,
Burn
with
a
fury
that
can
never
die?
Here
then
my
anger
ends:
let
war
succeed,
And
even
as
Greece
has
bled,
let
Ilion
bleed.
Now
call
the
hosts,
and
try
if
in
our
sight
Troy
yet
shall
dare
to
camp
a
second
night!
I
deem,
their
mightiest,
when
this
arm
he
knows,
Shall
'scape
with
transport,
and
with
joy
repose."
He
said:
his
finish'd
wrath
with
loud
acclaim
The
Greeks
accept,
and
shout
Pelides'
name.
When
thus,
not
rising
from
his
lofty
throne,
In
state
unmoved,
the
king
of
men
begun:
"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.
From
his
ambrosial
head,
where
perch'd
she
sate,
He
snatch'd
the
fury-goddess
of
debate,
The
dread,
the
irrevocable
oath
he
swore,
The
immortal
seats
should
ne'er
behold
her
more;
And
whirl'd
her
headlong
down,
for
ever
driven
From
bright
Olympus
and
the
starry
heaven:
Thence
on
the
nether
world
the
fury
fell;
Ordain'd
with
man's
contentious
race
to
dwell.
Full
oft
the
god
his
son's
hard
toils
bemoan'd,
Cursed
the
dire
fury,
and
in
secret
groan'd.(258)
Even
thus,
like
Jove
himself,
was
I
misled,
While
raging
Hector
heap'd
our
camps
with
dead.
What
can
the
errors
of
my
rage
atone?
My
martial
troops,
my
treasures
are
thy
own:
This
instant
from
the
navy
shall
be
sent
Whate'er
Ulysses
promised
at
thy
tent:
But
thou!
appeased,
propitious
to
our
prayer,
Resume
thy
arms,
and
shine
again
in
war."
"
O
king
of
nations!
whose
superior
sway
(Returns
Achilles)
all
our
hosts
obey!
To
keep
or
send
the
presents,
be
thy
care;
To
us,
'tis
equal:
all
we
ask
is
war.
While
yet
we
talk,
or
but
an
instant
shun
The
fight,
our
glorious
work
remains
undone.
Let
every
Greek,
who
sees
my
spear
confound
The
Trojan
ranks,
and
deal
destruction
round,
With
emulation,
what
I
act
survey,
And
learn
from
thence
the
business
of
the
day.
The
son
of
Peleus
thus;
and
thus
replies
The
great
in
councils,
Ithacus
the
wise:
"Though,
godlike,
thou
art
by
no
toils
oppress'd,
At
least
our
armies
claim
repast
and
rest:
Long
and
laborious
must
the
combat
be,
When
by
the
gods
inspired,
and
led
by
thee.
Strength
is
derived
from
spirits
and
from
blood,
And
those
augment
by
generous
wine
and
food:
What
boastful
son
of
war,
without
that
stay,
Can
last
a
hero
through
a
single
day?
Courage
may
prompt;
but,
ebbing
out
his
strength,
Mere
unsupported
man
must
yield
at
length;
Shrunk
with
dry
famine,
and
with
toils
declined,
The
drooping
body
will
desert
the
mind:
But
built
anew
with
strength-conferring
fare,
With
limbs
and
soul
untamed,
he
tires
a
war.
Dismiss
the
people,
then,
and
give
command.
With
strong
repast
to
hearten
every
band;
But
let
the
presents
to
Achilles
made,
In
full
assembly
of
all
Greece
be
laid.
The
king
of
men
shall
rise
in
public
sight,
And
solemn
swear
(observant
of
the
rite)
That,
spotless,
as
she
came,
the
maid
removes,
Pure
from
his
arms,
and
guiltless
of
his
loves.
That
done,
a
sumptuous
banquet
shall
be
made,
And
the
full
price
of
injured
honour
paid.
Stretch
not
henceforth,
O
prince.!
thy
sovereign
might
Beyond
the
bounds
of
reason
and
of
right;
'Tis
the
chief
praise
that
e'er
to
kings
belong'd,
To
right
with
justice
whom
with
power
they
wrong'd."
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."
"For
this
(the
stern
Ęacides
replies)
Some
less
important
season
may
suffice,
When
the
stern
fury
of
the
war
is
o'er,
And
wrath,
extinguish'd,
burns
my
breast
no
more.
By
Hector
slain,
their
faces
to
the
sky,
All
grim
with
gaping
wounds,
our
heroes
lie:
Those
call
to
war!
and
might
my
voice
incite,
Now,
now,
this
instant,
shall
commence
the
fight:
Then,
when
the
day's
complete,
let
generous
bowls,
And
copious
banquets,
glad
your
weary
souls.
Let
not
my
palate
know
the
taste
of
food,
Till
my
insatiate
rage
be
cloy'd
with
blood:
Pale
lies
my
friend,
with
wounds
disfigured
o'er,
And
his
cold
feet
are
pointed
to
the
door.
Revenge
is
all
my
soul!
no
meaner
care,
Interest,
or
thought,
has
room
to
harbour
there;
Destruction
be
my
feast,
and
mortal
wounds,
And
scenes
of
blood,
and
agonizing
sounds."
"O
first
of
Greeks,
(Ulysses
thus
rejoin'd,)
The
best
and
bravest
of
the
warrior
kind!
Thy
praise
it
is
in
dreadful
camps
to
shine,
But
old
experience
and
calm
wisdom
mine.
Then
hear
my
counsel,
and
to
reason
yield,
The
bravest
soon
are
satiate
of
the
field;
Though
vast
the
heaps
that
strow
the
crimson
plain,
The
bloody
harvest
brings
but
little
gain:
The
scale
of
conquest
ever
wavering
lies,
Great
Jove
but
turns
it,
and
the
victor
dies!
The
great,
the
bold,
by
thousands
daily
fall,
And
endless
were
the
grief,
to
weep
for
all.
Eternal
sorrows
what
avails
to
shed?
Greece
honours
not
with
solemn
fasts
the
dead:
Enough,
when
death
demands
the
brave,
to
pay
The
tribute
of
a
melancholy
day.
One
chief
with
patience
to
the
grave
resign'd,
Our
care
devolves
on
others
left
behind.
Let
generous
food
supplies
of
strength
produce,
Let
rising
spirits
flow
from
sprightly
juice,
Let
their
warm
heads
with
scenes
of
battle
glow,
And
pour
new
furies
on
the
feebler
foe.
Yet
a
short
interval,
and
none
shall
dare
Expect
a
second
summons
to
the
war;
Who
waits
for
that,
the
dire
effects
shall
find,
If
trembling
in
the
ships
he
lags
behind.
Embodied,
to
the
battle
let
us
bend,
And
all
at
once
on
haughty
Troy
descend."
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
Briseis,
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.
"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!"
With
that,
his
weapon
deep
inflicts
the
wound;
The
bleeding
savage
tumbles
to
the
ground;
The
sacred
herald
rolls
the
victim
slain
(A
feast
for
fish)
into
the
foaming
main.
Then
thus
Achilles:
"Hear,
ye
Greeks!
and
know
Whate'er
we
feel,
'tis
Jove
inflicts
the
woe;
Not
else
Atrides
could
our
rage
inflame,
Nor
from
my
arms,
unwilling,
force
the
dame.
'Twas
Jove's
high
will
alone,
o'erruling
all,
That
doom'd
our
strife,
and
doom'd
the
Greeks
to
fall.
Go
then,
ye
chiefs!
indulge
the
genial
rite;
Achilles
waits
ye,
and
expects
the
fight."
The
speedy
council
at
his
word
adjourn'd:
To
their
black
vessels
all
the
Greeks
return'd.
Achilles
sought
his
tent.
His
train
before
March'd
onward,
bending
with
the
gifts
they
bore.
Those
in
the
tents
the
squires
industrious
spread:
The
foaming
coursers
to
the
stalls
they
led;
To
their
new
seats
the
female
captives
move
Briseis,
radiant
as
the
queen
of
love,
Slow
as
she
pass'd,
beheld
with
sad
survey
Where,
gash'd
with
cruel
wounds,
Patroclus
lay.
Prone
on
the
body
fell
the
heavenly
fair,
Beat
her
sad
breast,
and
tore
her
golden
hair;
All
beautiful
in
grief,
her
humid
eyes
Shining
with
tears
she
lifts,
and
thus
she
cries:
"Ah,
youth
for
ever
dear,
for
ever
kind,
Once
tender
friend
of
my
distracted
mind!
I
left
thee
fresh
in
life,
in
beauty
gay;
Now
find
thee
cold,
inanimated
clay!
What
woes
my
wretched
race
of
life
attend!
Sorrows
on
sorrows,
never
doom'd
to
end!
The
first
loved
consort
of
my
virgin
bed
Before
these
eyes
in
fatal
battle
bled:
My
three
brave
brothers
in
one
mournful
day
All
trod
the
dark,
irremeable
way:
Thy
friendly
hand
uprear'd
me
from
the
plain,
And
dried
my
sorrows
for
a
husband
slain;
Achilles'
care
you
promised
I
should
prove,
The
first,
the
dearest
partner
of
his
love;
That
rites
divine
should
ratify
the
band,
And
make
me
empress
in
his
native
land.
Accept
these
grateful
tears!
for
thee
they
flow,
For
thee,
that
ever
felt
another's
woe!"
Her
sister
captives
echoed
groan
for
groan,
Nor
mourn'd
Patroclus'
fortunes,
but
their
own.
The
leaders
press'd
the
chief
on
every
side;
Unmoved
he
heard
them,
and
with
sighs
denied.
"If
yet
Achilles
have
a
friend,
whose
care
Is
bent
to
please
him,
this
request
forbear;
Till
yonder
sun
descend,
ah,
let
me
pay
To
grief
and
anguish
one
abstemious
day."
He
spoke,
and
from
the
warriors
turn'd
his
face:
Yet
still
the
brother-kings
of
Atreus'
race,
Nestor,
Idomeneus,
Ulysses
sage,
And
Phoenix,
strive
to
calm
his
grief
and
rage:
His
rage
they
calm
not,
nor
his
grief
control;
He
groans,
he
raves,
he
sorrows
from
his
soul.
"Thou
too,
Patroclus!
(thus
his
heart
he
vents)
Once
spread
the
inviting
banquet
in
our
tents:
Thy
sweet
society,
thy
winning
care,
Once
stay'd
Achilles,
rushing
to
the
war.
But
now,
alas!
to
death's
cold
arms
resign'd,
What
banquet
but
revenge
can
glad
my
mind?
What
greater
sorrow
could
afflict
my
breast,
What
more
if
hoary
Peleus
were
deceased?
Who
now,
perhaps,
in
Phthia
dreads
to
hear
His
son's
sad
fate,
and
drops
a
tender
tear.
What
more,
should
Neoptolemus
the
brave,
My
only
offspring,
sink
into
the
grave?
If
yet
that
offspring
lives;
(I
distant
far,
Of
all
neglectful,
wage
a
hateful
war.)
I
could
not
this,
this
cruel
stroke
attend;
Fate
claim'd
Achilles,
but
might
spare
his
friend.
I
hoped
Patroclus
might
survive,
to
rear
My
tender
orphan
with
a
parent's
care,
From
Scyros'
isle
conduct
him
o'er
the
main,
And
glad
his
eyes
with
his
paternal
reign,
The
lofty
palace,
and
the
large
domain.
For
Peleus
breathes
no
more
the
vital
air;
Or
drags
a
wretched
life
of
age
and
care,
But
till
the
news
of
my
sad
fate
invades
His
hastening
soul,
and
sinks
him
to
the
shades."
Sighing
he
said:
his
grief
the
heroes
join'd,
Each
stole
a
tear
for
what
he
left
behind.
Their
mingled
grief
the
sire
of
heaven
survey'd,
And
thus
with
pity
to
his
blue-eyed
maid:
"Is
then
Achilles
now
no
more
thy
care,
And
dost
thou
thus
desert
the
great
in
war?
Lo,
where
yon
sails
their
canvas
wings
extend,
All
comfortless
he
sits,
and
wails
his
friend:
Ere
thirst
and
want
his
forces
have
oppress'd,
Haste
and
infuse
ambrosia
in
his
breast."
He
spoke;
and
sudden,
at
the
word
of
Jove,
Shot
the
descending
goddess
from
above.
So
swift
through
ether
the
shrill
harpy
springs,
The
wide
air
floating
to
her
ample
wings,
To
great
Achilles
she
her
flight
address'd,
And
pour'd
divine
ambrosia
in
his
breast,(259)
With
nectar
sweet,
(refection
of
the
gods!)
Then,
swift
ascending,
sought
the
bright
abodes.
Now
issued
from
the
ships
the
warrior-train,
And
like
a
deluge
pour'd
upon
the
plain.
As
when
the
piercing
blasts
of
Boreas
blow,
And
scatter
o'er
the
fields
the
driving
snow;
From
dusky
clouds
the
fleecy
winter
flies,
Whose
dazzling
lustre
whitens
all
the
skies:
So
helms
succeeding
helms,
so
shields
from
shields,
Catch
the
quick
beams,
and
brighten
all
the
fields;
Broad
glittering
breastplates,
spears
with
pointed
rays,
Mix
in
one
stream,
reflecting
blaze
on
blaze;
Thick
beats
the
centre
as
the
coursers
bound;
With
splendour
flame
the
skies,
and
laugh
the
fields
around,
Full
in
the
midst,
high-towering
o'er
the
rest,
His
limbs
in
arms
divine
Achilles
dress'd;
Arms
which
the
father
of
the
fire
bestow'd,
Forged
on
the
eternal
anvils
of
the
god.
Grief
and
revenge
his
furious
heart
inspire,
His
glowing
eyeballs
roll
with
living
fire;
He
grinds
his
teeth,
and
furious
with
delay
O'erlooks
the
embattled
host,
and
hopes
the
bloody
day.
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.
So
to
night-wandering
sailors,
pale
with
fears,
Wide
o'er
the
watery
waste,
a
light
appears,
Which
on
the
far-seen
mountain
blazing
high,
Streams
from
some
lonely
watch-tower
to
the
sky:
With
mournful
eyes
they
gaze,
and
gaze
again;
Loud
howls
the
storm,
and
drives
them
o'er
the
main.
Next,
his
high
head
the
helmet
graced;
behind
The
sweepy
crest
hung
floating
in
the
wind:
Like
the
red
star,
that
from
his
flaming
hair
Shakes
down
diseases,
pestilence,
and
war;
So
stream'd
the
golden
honours
from
his
head,
Trembled
the
sparkling
plumes,
and
the
loose
glories
shed.
The
chief
beholds
himself
with
wondering
eyes;
His
arms
he
poises,
and
his
motions
tries;
Buoy'd
by
some
inward
force,
he
seems
to
swim,
And
feels
a
pinion
lifting
every
limb.
And
now
he
shakes
his
great
paternal
spear,
Ponderous
and
huge,
which
not
a
Greek
could
rear,
From
Pelion's
cloudy
top
an
ash
entire
Old
Chiron
fell'd,
and
shaped
it
for
his
sire;
A
spear
which
stern
Achilles
only
wields,
The
death
of
heroes,
and
the
dread
of
fields.
Automedon
and
Alcimus
prepare
The
immortal
coursers,
and
the
radiant
car;
(The
silver
traces
sweeping
at
their
side;)
Their
fiery
mouths
resplendent
bridles
tied;
The
ivory-studded
reins,
return'd
behind,
Waved
o'er
their
backs,
and
to
the
chariot
join'd.
The
charioteer
then
whirl'd
the
lash
around,
And
swift
ascended
at
one
active
bound.
All
bright
in
heavenly
arms,
above
his
squire
Achilles
mounts,
and
sets
the
field
on
fire;
Not
brighter
Phoebus
in
the
ethereal
way
Flames
from
his
chariot,
and
restores
the
day.
High
o'er
the
host,
all
terrible
he
stands,
And
thunders
to
his
steeds
these
dread
commands:
"Xanthus
and
Balius!
of
Podarges'
strain,
(Unless
ye
boast
that
heavenly
race
in
vain,)
Be
swift,
be
mindful
of
the
load
ye
bear,
And
learn
to
make
your
master
more
your
care:
Through
falling
squadrons
bear
my
slaughtering
sword,
Nor,
as
ye
left
Patroclus,
leave
your
lord."
The
generous
Xanthus,
as
the
words
he
said,
Seem'd
sensible
of
woe,
and
droop'd
his
head:
Trembling
he
stood
before
the
golden
wain,
And
bow'd
to
dust
the
honours
of
his
mane.
When,
strange
to
tell!
(so
Juno
will'd)
he
broke
Eternal
silence,
and
portentous
spoke.
"Achilles!
yes!
this
day
at
least
we
bear
Thy
rage
in
safety
through
the
files
of
war:
But
come
it
will,
the
fatal
time
must
come,
Not
ours
the
fault,
but
God
decrees
thy
doom.
Not
through
our
crime,
or
slowness
in
the
course,
Fell
thy
Patroclus,
but
by
heavenly
force;
The
bright
far-shooting
god
who
gilds
the
day
(Confess'd
we
saw
him)
tore
his
arms
way.
No--could
our
swiftness
o'er
the
winds
prevail,
Or
beat
the
pinions
of
the
western
gale,
All
were
in
vain--the
Fates
thy
death
demand,
Due
to
a
mortal
and
immortal
hand."
Then
ceased
for
ever,
by
the
Furies
tied,
His
fateful
voice.
The
intrepid
chief
replied
With
unabated
rage--"So
let
it
be!
Portents
and
prodigies
are
lost
on
me.
I
know
my
fate:
to
die,
to
see
no
more
My
much-loved
parents,
and
my
native
shore--
Enough--when
heaven
ordains,
I
sink
in
night:
Now
perish
Troy!"
He
said,
and
rush'd
to
fight.
[Illustration:
HERCULES.]
HERCULES.
BOOK
XX.
ARGUMENT.
THE
BATTLE
OF
THE
GODS,
AND
THE
ACTS
OF
ACHILLES.
Jupiter,
upon
Achilles'
return
to
the
battle,
calls
a
council
of
the
gods,
and
permits
them
to
assist
either
party.
The
terrors
of
the
combat
described,
when
the
deities
are
engaged.
Apollo
encourages
Ęneas
to
meet
Achilles.
After
a
long
conversation,
these
two
heroes
encounter;
but
Ęneas
is
preserved
by
the
assistance
of
Neptune.
Achilles
falls
upon
the
rest
of
the
Trojans,
and
is
upon
the
point
of
killing
Hector,
but
Apollo
conveys
him
away
in
a
cloud.
Achilles
pursues
the
Trojans
with
a
great
slaughter.
The
same
day
continues.
The
scene
is
in
the
field
before
Troy.
Thus
round
Pelides
breathing
war
and
blood
Greece,
sheathed
in
arms,
beside
her
vessels
stood;
While
near
impending
from
a
neighbouring
height,
Troy's
black
battalions
wait
the
shock
of
fight.
Then
Jove
to
Themis
gives
command,
to
call
The
gods
to
council
in
the
starry
hall:
Swift
o'er
Olympus'
hundred
hills
she
flies,
And
summons
all
the
senate
of
the
skies.
These
shining
on,
in
long
procession
come
To
Jove's
eternal
adamantine
dome.
Not
one
was
absent,
not
a
rural
power
That
haunts
the
verdant
gloom,
or
rosy
bower;
Each
fair-hair'd
dryad
of
the
shady
wood,
Each
azure
sister
of
the
silver
flood;
All
but
old
Ocean,
hoary
sire!
who
keeps
His
ancient
seat
beneath
the
sacred
deeps.
On
marble
thrones,
with
lucid
columns
crown'd,
(The
work
of
Vulcan,)
sat
the
powers
around.
Even
he
whose
trident
sways
the
watery
reign
Heard
the
loud
summons,
and
forsook
the
main,
Assumed
his
throne
amid
the
bright
abodes,
And
question'd
thus
the
sire
of
men
and
gods:
"What
moves
the
god
who
heaven
and
earth
commands,
And
grasps
the
thunder
in
his
awful
hands,
Thus
to
convene
the
whole
ethereal
state?
Is
Greece
and
Troy
the
subject
in
debate?
Already
met,
the
louring
hosts
appear,
And
death
stands
ardent
on
the
edge
of
war."
"'Tis
true
(the
cloud-compelling
power
replies)
This
day
we
call
the
council
of
the
skies
In
care
of
human
race;
even
Jove's
own
eye
Sees
with
regret
unhappy
mortals
die.
Far
on
Olympus'
top
in
secret
state
Ourself
will
sit,
and
see
the
hand
of
fate
Work
out
our
will.
Celestial
powers!
descend,
And
as
your
minds
direct,
your
succour
lend
To
either
host.
Troy
soon
must
lie
o'erthrown,
If
uncontroll'd
Achilles
fights
alone:
Their
troops
but
lately
durst
not
meet
his
eyes;
What
can
they
now,
if
in
his
rage
he
rise?
Assist
them,
gods!
or
Ilion's
sacred
wall
May
fall
this
day,
though
fate
forbids
the
fall."
He
said,
and
fired
their
heavenly
breasts
with
rage.
On
adverse
parts
the
warring
gods
engage:
Heaven's
awful
queen;
and
he
whose
azure
round
Girds
the
vast
globe;
the
maid
in
arms
renown'd;
Hermes,
of
profitable
arts
the
sire;
And
Vulcan,
the
black
sovereign
of
the
fire:
These
to
the
fleet
repair
with
instant
flight;
The
vessels
tremble
as
the
gods
alight.
In
aid
of
Troy,
Latona,
Phoebus
came,
Mars
fiery-helm'd,
the
laughter-loving
dame,
Xanthus,
whose
streams
in
golden
currents
flow,
And
the
chaste
huntress
of
the
silver
bow.
Ere
yet
the
gods
their
various
aid
employ,
Each
Argive
bosom
swell'd
with
manly
joy,
While
great
Achilles
(terror
of
the
plain),
Long
lost
to
battle,
shone
in
arms
again.
Dreadful
he
stood
in
front
of
all
his
host;
Pale
Troy
beheld,
and
seem'd
already
lost;
Her
bravest
heroes
pant
with
inward
fear,
And
trembling
see
another
god
of
war.
But
when
the
powers
descending
swell'd
the
fight,
Then
tumult
rose:
fierce
rage
and
pale
affright
Varied
each
face:
then
Discord
sounds
alarms,
Earth
echoes,
and
the
nations
rush
to
arms.
Now
through
the
trembling
shores
Minerva
calls,
And
now
she
thunders
from
the
Grecian
walls.
Mars
hovering
o'er
his
Troy,
his
terror
shrouds
In
gloomy
tempests,
and
a
night
of
clouds:
Now
through
each
Trojan
heart
he
fury
pours
With
voice
divine,
from
Ilion's
topmost
towers:
Now
shouts
to
Simois,
from
her
beauteous
hill;
The
mountain
shook,
the
rapid
stream
stood
still.
Above,
the
sire
of
gods
his
thunder
rolls,
And
peals
on
peals
redoubled
rend
the
poles.
Beneath,
stern
Neptune
shakes
the
solid
ground;
The
forests
wave,
the
mountains
nod
around;
Through
all
their
summits
tremble
Ida's
woods,
And
from
their
sources
boil
her
hundred
floods.
Troy's
turrets
totter
on
the
rocking
plain,
And
the
toss'd
navies
beat
the
heaving
main.
Deep
in
the
dismal
regions
of
the
dead,(260)
The
infernal
monarch
rear'd
his
horrid
head,
Leap'd
from
his
throne,
lest
Neptune's
arm
should
lay
His
dark
dominions
open
to
the
day,
And
pour
in
light
on
Pluto's
drear
abodes,
Abhorr'd
by
men,
and
dreadful
even
to
gods.(261)
[Illustration:
THE
GODS
DESCENDING
TO
BATTLE.]
THE
GODS
DESCENDING
TO
BATTLE.
Such
war
the
immortals
wage;
such
horrors
rend
The
world's
vast
concave,
when
the
gods
contend
First
silver-shafted
Phoebus
took
the
plain
Against
blue
Neptune,
monarch
of
the
main.
The
god
of
arms
his
giant
bulk
display'd,
Opposed
to
Pallas,
war's
triumphant
maid.
Against
Latona
march'd
the
son
of
May.
The
quiver'd
Dian,
sister
of
the
day,
(Her
golden
arrows
sounding
at
her
side,)
Saturnia,
majesty
of
heaven,
defied.
With
fiery
Vulcan
last
in
battle
stands
The
sacred
flood
that
rolls
on
golden
sands;
Xanthus
his
name
with
those
of
heavenly
birth,
But
called
Scamander
by
the
sons
of
earth.
While
thus
the
gods
in
various
league
engage,
Achilles
glow'd
with
more
than
mortal
rage:
Hector
he
sought;
in
search
of
Hector
turn'd
His
eyes
around,
for
Hector
only
burn'd;
And
burst
like
lightning
through
the
ranks,
and
vow'd
To
glut
the
god
of
battles
with
his
blood.
Ęneas
was
the
first
who
dared
to
stay;
Apollo
wedged
him
in
the
warrior's
way,
But
swell'd
his
bosom
with
undaunted
might,
Half-forced
and
half-persuaded
to
the
fight.
Like
young
Lycaon,
of
the
royal
line,
In
voice
and
aspect,
seem'd
the
power
divine;
And
bade
the
chief
reflect,
how
late
with
scorn
In
distant
threats
he
braved
the
goddess-born.
Then
thus
the
hero
of
Anchises'
strain:
"To
meet
Pelides
you
persuade
in
vain:
Already
have
I
met,
nor
void
of
fear
Observed
the
fury
of
his
flying
spear;
From
Ida's
woods
he
chased
us
to
the
field,
Our
force
he
scattered,
and
our
herds
he
kill'd;
Lyrnessus,
Pedasus
in
ashes
lay;
But
(Jove
assisting)
I
survived
the
day:
Else
had
I
sunk
oppress'd
in
fatal
fight
By
fierce
Achilles
and
Minerva's
might.
Where'er
he
moved,
the
goddess
shone
before,
And
bathed
his
brazen
lance
in
hostile
gore.
What
mortal
man
Achilles
can
sustain?
The
immortals
guard
him
through
the
dreadful
plain,
And
suffer
not
his
dart
to
fall
in
vain.
Were
God
my
aid,
this
arm
should
check
his
power,
Though
strong
in
battle
as
a
brazen
tower."
To
whom
the
son
of
Jove:
"That
god
implore,
And
be
what
great
Achilles
was
before.
From
heavenly
Venus
thou
deriv'st
thy
strain,
And
he
but
from
a
sister
of
the
main;
An
aged
sea-god
father
of
his
line;
But
Jove
himself
the
sacred
source
of
thine.
Then
lift
thy
weapon
for
a
noble
blow,
Nor
fear
the
vaunting
of
a
mortal
foe."
This
said,
and
spirit
breathed
into
his
breast,
Through
the
thick
troops
the
embolden'd
hero
press'd:
His
venturous
act
the
white-arm'd
queen
survey'd,
And
thus,
assembling
all
the
powers,
she
said:
"Behold
an
action,
gods!
that
claims
your
care,
Lo
great
Ęneas
rushing
to
the
war!
Against
Pelides
he
directs
his
course,
Phoebus
impels,
and
Phoebus
gives
him
force.
Restrain
his
bold
career;
at
least,
to
attend
Our
favour'd
hero,
let
some
power
descend.
To
guard
his
life,
and
add
to
his
renown,
We,
the
great
armament
of
heaven,
came
down.
Hereafter
let
him
fall,
as
Fates
design,
That
spun
so
short
his
life's
illustrious
line:(262)
But
lest
some
adverse
god
now
cross
his
way,
Give
him
to
know
what
powers
assist
this
day:
For
how
shall
mortal
stand
the
dire
alarms,
When
heaven's
refulgent
host
appear
in
arms?"(263)
Thus
she;
and
thus
the
god
whose
force
can
make
The
solid
globe's
eternal
basis
shake:
"Against
the
might
of
man,
so
feeble
known,
Why
should
celestial
powers
exert
their
own?
Suffice
from
yonder
mount
to
view
the
scene,
And
leave
to
war
the
fates
of
mortal
men.
But
if
the
armipotent,
or
god
of
light,
Obstruct
Achilles,
or
commence
the
fight.
Thence
on
the
gods
of
Troy
we
swift
descend:
Full
soon,
I
doubt
not,
shall
the
conflict
end;
And
these,
in
ruin
and
confusion
hurl'd,
Yield
to
our
conquering
arms
the
lower
world."
Thus
having
said,
the
tyrant
of
the
sea,
Coerulean
Neptune,
rose,
and
led
the
way.
Advanced
upon
the
field
there
stood
a
mound
Of
earth
congested,
wall'd,
and
trench'd
around;
In
elder
times
to
guard
Alcides
made,
(The
work
of
Trojans,
with
Minerva's
aid,)
What
time
a
vengeful
monster
of
the
main
Swept
the
wide
shore,
and
drove
him
to
the
plain.
Here
Neptune
and
the
gods
of
Greece
repair,
With
clouds
encompass'd,
and
a
veil
of
air:
The
adverse
powers,
around
Apollo
laid,
Crown
the
fair
hills
that
silver
Simois
shade.
In
circle
close
each
heavenly
party
sat,
Intent
to
form
the
future
scheme
of
fate;
But
mix
not
yet
in
fight,
though
Jove
on
high
Gives
the
loud
signal,
and
the
heavens
reply.
Meanwhile
the
rushing
armies
hide
the
ground;
The
trampled
centre
yields
a
hollow
sound:
Steeds
cased
in
mail,
and
chiefs
in
armour
bright,
The
gleaming
champaign
glows
with
brazen
light.
Amid
both
hosts
(a
dreadful
space)
appear,
There
great
Achilles;
bold
Ęneas,
here.
With
towering
strides
Aeneas
first
advanced;
The
nodding
plumage
on
his
helmet
danced:
Spread
o'er
his
breast
the
fencing
shield
he
bore,
And,
so
he
moved,
his
javelin
flamed
before.
Not
so
Pelides;
furious
to
engage,
He
rush'd
impetuous.
Such
the
lion's
rage,
Who
viewing
first
his
foes
with
scornful
eyes,
Though
all
in
arms
the
peopled
city
rise,
Stalks
careless
on,
with
unregarding
pride;
Till
at
the
length,
by
some
brave
youth
defied,
To
his
bold
spear
the
savage
turns
alone,
He
murmurs
fury
with
a
hollow
groan;
He
grins,
he
foams,
he
rolls
his
eyes
around
Lash'd
by
his
tail
his
heaving
sides
resound;
He
calls
up
all
his
rage;
he
grinds
his
teeth,
Resolved
on
vengeance,
or
resolved
on
death.
So
fierce
Achilles
on
Ęneas
flies;
So
stands
Ęneas,
and
his
force
defies.
Ere
yet
the
stern
encounter
join'd,
begun
The
seed
of
Thetis
thus
to
Venus'
son:
"Why
comes
Ęneas
through
the
ranks
so
far?
Seeks
he
to
meet
Achilles'
arm
in
war,
In
hope
the
realms
of
Priam
to
enjoy,
And
prove
his
merits
to
the
throne
of
Troy?
Grant
that
beneath
thy
lance
Achilles
dies,
The
partial
monarch
may
refuse
the
prize;
Sons
he
has
many;
those
thy
pride
may
quell:
And
'tis
his
fault
to
love
those
sons
too
well,
Or,
in
reward
of
thy
victorious
hand,
Has
Troy
proposed
some
spacious
tract
of
land
An
ample
forest,
or
a
fair
domain,
Of
hills
for
vines,
and
arable
for
grain?
Even
this,
perhaps,
will
hardly
prove
thy
lot.
But
can
Achilles
be
so
soon
forgot?
Once
(as
I
think)
you
saw
this
brandish'd
spear
And
then
the
great
Ęneas
seem'd
to
fear:
With
hearty
haste
from
Ida's
mount
he
fled,
Nor,
till
he
reach'd
Lyrnessus,
turn'd
his
head.
Her
lofty
walls
not
long
our
progress
stay'd;
Those,
Pallas,
Jove,
and
we,
in
ruins
laid:
In
Grecian
chains
her
captive
race
were
cast;
'Tis
true,
the
great
Aeneas
fled
too
fast.
Defrauded
of
my
conquest
once
before,
What
then
I
lost,
the
gods
this
day
restore.
Go;
while
thou
may'st,
avoid
the
threaten'd
fate;
Fools
stay
to
feel
it,
and
are
wise
too
late."
To
this
Anchises'
son:
"Such
words
employ
To
one
that
fears
thee,
some
unwarlike
boy;
Such
we
disdain;
the
best
may
be
defied
With
mean
reproaches,
and
unmanly
pride;
Unworthy
the
high
race
from
which
we
came
Proclaim'd
so
loudly
by
the
voice
of
fame:
Each
from
illustrious
fathers
draws
his
line;
Each
goddess-born;
half
human,
half
divine.
Thetis'
this
day,
or
Venus'
offspring
dies,
And
tears
shall
trickle
from
celestial
eyes:
For
when
two
heroes,
thus
derived,
contend,
'Tis
not
in
words
the
glorious
strife
can
end.
If
yet
thou
further
seek
to
learn
my
birth
(A
tale
resounded
through
the
spacious
earth)
Hear
how
the
glorious
origin
we
prove
From
ancient
Dardanus,
the
first
from
Jove:
Dardania's
walls
he
raised;
for
Ilion,
then,
(The
city
since
of
many-languaged
men,)
Was
not.
The
natives
were
content
to
till
The
shady
foot
of
Ida's
fountful
hill.(264)
From
Dardanus
great
Erichthonius
springs,
The
richest,
once,
of
Asia's
wealthy
kings;
Three
thousand
mares
his
spacious
pastures
bred,
Three
thousand
foals
beside
their
mothers
fed.
Boreas,
enamour'd
of
the
sprightly
train,
Conceal'd
his
godhead
in
a
flowing
mane,
With
voice
dissembled
to
his
loves
he
neigh'd,
And
coursed
the
dappled
beauties
o'er
the
mead:
Hence
sprung
twelve
others
of
unrivall'd
kind,
Swift
as
their
mother
mares,
and
father
wind.
These
lightly
skimming,
when
they
swept
the
plain,
Nor
plied
the
grass,
nor
bent
the
tender
grain;
And
when
along
the
level
seas
they
flew,(265)
Scarce
on
the
surface
curl'd
the
briny
dew.
Such
Erichthonius
was:
from
him
there
came
The
sacred
Tros,
of
whom
the
Trojan
name.
Three
sons
renown'd
adorn'd
his
nuptial
bed,
Ilus,
Assaracus,
and
Ganymed:
The
matchless
Ganymed,
divinely
fair,
Whom
heaven,
enamour'd,
snatch'd
to
upper
air,
To
bear
the
cup
of
Jove
(ethereal
guest,
The
grace
and
glory
of
the
ambrosial
feast).
The
two
remaining
sons
the
line
divide:
First
rose
Laomedon
from
Ilus'
side;
From
him
Tithonus,
now
in
cares
grown
old,
And
Priam,
bless'd
with
Hector,
brave
and
bold;
Clytius
and
Lampus,
ever-honour'd
pair;
And
Hicetaon,
thunderbolt
of
war.
From
great
Assaracus
sprang
Capys,
he
Begat
Anchises,
and
Anchises
me.
Such
is
our
race:
'tis
fortune
gives
us
birth,
But
Jove
alone
endues
the
soul
with
worth:
He,
source
of
power
and
might!
with
boundless
sway,
All
human
courage
gives,
or
takes
away.
Long
in
the
field
of
words
we
may
contend,
Reproach
is
infinite,
and
knows
no
end,
Arm'd
or
with
truth
or
falsehood,
right
or
wrong;
So
voluble
a
weapon
is
the
tongue;
Wounded,
we
wound;
and
neither
side
can
fail,
For
every
man
has
equal
strength
to
rail:
Women
alone,
when
in
the
streets
they
jar,
Perhaps
excel
us
in
this
wordy
war;
Like
us
they
stand,
encompass'd
with
the
crowd,
And
vent
their
anger
impotent
and
loud.
Cease
then--Our
business
in
the
field
of
fight
Is
not
to
question,
but
to
prove
our
might.
To
all
those
insults
thou
hast
offer'd
here,
Receive
this
answer:
'tis
my
flying
spear."
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.
Ęneas
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
Ęneas
flies:
Ęneas
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:
"Lo!
on
the
brink
of
fate
Ęneas
stands,
An
instant
victim
to
Achilles'
hands;
By
Phoebus
urged;
but
Phoebus
has
bestow'd
His
aid
in
vain:
the
man
o'erpowers
the
god.
And
can
ye
see
this
righteous
chief
atone
With
guiltless
blood
for
vices
not
his
own?
To
all
the
gods
his
constant
vows
were
paid;
Sure,
though
he
wars
for
Troy,
he
claims
our
aid.
Fate
wills
not
this;
nor
thus
can
Jove
resign
The
future
father
of
the
Dardan
line:(266)
The
first
great
ancestor
obtain'd
his
grace,
And
still
his
love
descends
on
all
the
race:
For
Priam
now,
and
Priam's
faithless
kind,
At
length
are
odious
to
the
all-seeing
mind;
On
great
Ęneas
shall
devolve
the
reign,
And
sons
succeeding
sons
the
lasting
line
sustain."
The
great
earth-shaker
thus:
to
whom
replies
The
imperial
goddess
with
the
radiant
eyes:
"Good
as
he
is,
to
immolate
or
spare
The
Dardan
prince,
O
Neptune!
be
thy
care;
Pallas
and
I,
by
all
that
gods
can
bind,
Have
sworn
destruction
to
the
Trojan
kind;
Not
even
an
instant
to
protract
their
fate,
Or
save
one
member
of
the
sinking
state;
Till
her
last
flame
be
quench'd
with
her
last
gore,
And
even
her
crumbling
ruins
are
no
more."
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
Ęneas'
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:
"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."
With
that,
he
left
him
wondering
as
he
lay,
Then
from
Achilles
chased
the
mist
away:
Sudden,
returning
with
a
stream
of
light,
The
scene
of
war
came
rushing
on
his
sight.
Then
thus,
amazed;
"What
wonders
strike
my
mind!
My
spear,
that
parted
on
the
wings
of
wind,
Laid
here
before
me!
and
the
Dardan
lord,
That
fell
this
instant,
vanish'd
from
my
sword!
I
thought
alone
with
mortals
to
contend,
But
powers
celestial
sure
this
foe
defend.
Great
as
he
is,
our
arms
he
scarce
will
try,
Content
for
once,
with
all
his
gods,
to
fly.
Now
then
let
others
bleed."
This
said,
aloud
He
vents
his
fury
and
inflames
the
crowd:
"O
Greeks!
(he
cries,
and
every
rank
alarms)
Join
battle,
man
to
man,
and
arms
to
arms!
'Tis
not
in
me,
though
favour'd
by
the
sky,
To
mow
whole
troops,
and
make
whole
armies
fly:
No
god
can
singly
such
a
host
engage,
Not
Mars
himself,
nor
great
Minerva's
rage.
But
whatsoe'er
Achilles
can
inspire,
Whate'er
of
active
force,
or
acting
fire;
Whate'er
this
heart
can
prompt,
or
hand
obey;
All,
all
Achilles,
Greeks!
is
yours
to-day.
Through
yon
wide
host
this
arm
shall
scatter
fear,
And
thin
the
squadrons
with
my
single
spear."
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."
Thus
(breathing
rage
through
all)
the
hero
said;
A
wood
of
lances
rises
round
his
head,
Clamours
on
clamours
tempest
all
the
air,
They
join,
they
throng,
they
thicken
to
the
war.
But
Phoebus
warns
him
from
high
heaven
to
shun
The
single
fight
with
Thetis'
godlike
son;
More
safe
to
combat
in
the
mingled
band,
Nor
tempt
too
near
the
terrors
of
his
hand.
He
hears,
obedient
to
the
god
of
light,
And,
plunged
within
the
ranks,
awaits
the
fight.
Then
fierce
Achilles,
shouting
to
the
skies,
On
Troy's
whole
force
with
boundless
fury
flies.
First
falls
Iphytion,
at
his
army's
head;
Brave
was
the
chief,
and
brave
the
host
he
led;
From
great
Otrynteus
he
derived
his
blood,
His
mother
was
a
Nais,
of
the
flood;
Beneath
the
shades
of
Tmolus,
crown'd
with
snow,
From
Hyde's
walls
he
ruled
the
lands
below.
Fierce
as
he
springs,
the
sword
his
head
divides:
The
parted
visage
falls
on
equal
sides:
With
loud-resounding
arms
he
strikes
the
plain;
While
thus
Achilles
glories
o'er
the
slain:
"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.
Demoleon
next,
Antenor's
offspring,
laid
Breathless
in
dust,
the
price
of
rashness
paid.
The
impatient
steel
with
full-descending
sway
Forced
through
his
brazen
helm
its
furious
way,
Resistless
drove
the
batter'd
skull
before,
And
dash'd
and
mingled
all
the
brains
with
gore.
This
sees
Hippodamas,
and
seized
with
fright,
Deserts
his
chariot
for
a
swifter
flight:
The
lance
arrests
him:
an
ignoble
wound
The
panting
Trojan
rivets
to
the
ground.
He
groans
away
his
soul:
not
louder
roars,
At
Neptune's
shrine
on
Helice's
high
shores,
The
victim
bull;
the
rocks
re-bellow
round,
And
ocean
listens
to
the
grateful
sound.
Then
fell
on
Polydore
his
vengeful
rage,(268)
The
youngest
hope
of
Priam's
stooping
age:
(Whose
feet
for
swiftness
in
the
race
surpass'd:)
Of
all
his
sons,
the
dearest,
and
the
last.
To
the
forbidden
field
he
takes
his
flight,
In
the
first
folly
of
a
youthful
knight,
To
vaunt
his
swiftness
wheels
around
the
plain,
But
vaunts
not
long,
with
all
his
swiftness
slain:
Struck
where
the
crossing
belts
unite
behind,
And
golden
rings
the
double
back-plate
join'd
Forth
through
the
navel
burst
the
thrilling
steel;
And
on
his
knees
with
piercing
shrieks
he
fell;
The
rushing
entrails
pour'd
upon
the
ground
His
hands
collect;
and
darkness
wraps
him
round.
When
Hector
view'd,
all
ghastly
in
his
gore,
Thus
sadly
slain
the
unhappy
Polydore,
A
cloud
of
sorrow
overcast
his
sight,
His
soul
no
longer
brook'd
the
distant
fight:
Full
in
Achilles'
dreadful
front
he
came,
And
shook
his
javelin
like
a
waving
flame.
The
son
of
Peleus
sees,
with
joy
possess'd,
His
heart
high-bounding
in
his
rising
breast.
"And,
lo!
the
man
on
whom
black
fates
attend;
The
man,
that
slew
Achilles,
is
his
friend!
No
more
shall
Hector's
and
Pelides'
spear
Turn
from
each
other
in
the
walks
of
war."--
Then
with
revengeful
eyes
he
scann'd
him
o'er:
"Come,
and
receive
thy
fate!"
He
spake
no
more.
Hector,
undaunted,
thus:
"Such
words
employ
To
one
that
dreads
thee,
some
unwarlike
boy:
Such
we
could
give,
defying
and
defied,
Mean
intercourse
of
obloquy
and
pride!
I
know
thy
force
to
mine
superior
far;
But
heaven
alone
confers
success
in
war:
Mean
as
I
am,
the
gods
may
guide
my
dart,
And
give
it
entrance
in
a
braver
heart."
Then
parts
the
lance:
but
Pallas'
heavenly
breath
Far
from
Achilles
wafts
the
winged
death:
The
bidden
dart
again
to
Hector
flies,
And
at
the
feet
of
its
great
master
lies.
Achilles
closes
with
his
hated
foe,
His
heart
and
eyes
with
flaming
fury
glow:
But
present
to
his
aid,
Apollo
shrouds
The
favour'd
hero
in
a
veil
of
clouds.
Thrice
struck
Pelides
with
indignant
heart,
Thrice
in
impassive
air
he
plunged
the
dart;
The
spear
a
fourth
time
buried
in
the
cloud.
He
foams
with
fury,
and
exclaims
aloud:
"Wretch!
thou
hast
'scaped
again;
once
more
thy
flight
Has
saved
thee,
and
the
partial
god
of
light.
But
long
thou
shalt
not
thy
just
fate
withstand,
If
any
power
assist
Achilles'
hand.
Fly
then
inglorious!
but
thy
flight
this
day
Whole
hecatombs
of
Trojan
ghosts
shall
pay."
With
that,
he
gluts
his
rage
on
numbers
slain:
Then
Dryops
tumbled
to
the
ensanguined
plain,
Pierced
through
the
neck:
he
left
him
panting
there,
And
stopp'd
Demuchus,
great
Philetor's
heir.
Gigantic
chief!
deep
gash'd
the
enormous
blade,
And
for
the
soul
an
ample
passage
made.
Laoganus
and
Dardanus
expire,
The
valiant
sons
of
an
unhappy
sire;
Both
in
one
instant
from
the
chariot
hurl'd,
Sunk
in
one
instant
to
the
nether
world:
This
difference
only
their
sad
fates
afford
That
one
the
spear
destroy'd,
and
one
the
sword.
Nor
less
unpitied,
young
Alastor
bleeds;
In
vain
his
youth,
in
vain
his
beauty
pleads;
In
vain
he
begs
thee,
with
a
suppliant's
moan,
To
spare
a
form,
an
age
so
like
thy
own!
Unhappy
boy!
no
prayer,
no
moving
art,
E'er
bent
that
fierce,
inexorable
heart!
While
yet
he
trembled
at
his
knees,
and
cried,
The
ruthless
falchion
oped
his
tender
side;
The
panting
liver
pours
a
flood
of
gore
That
drowns
his
bosom
till
he
pants
no
more.
Through
Mulius'
head
then
drove
the
impetuous
spear:
The
warrior
falls,
transfix'd
from
ear
to
ear.
Thy
life,
Echeclus!
next
the
sword
bereaves,
Deep
though
the
front
the
ponderous
falchion
cleaves;
Warm'd
in
the
brain
the
smoking
weapon
lies,
The
purple
death
comes
floating
o'er
his
eyes.
Then
brave
Deucalion
died:
the
dart
was
flung
Where
the
knit
nerves
the
pliant
elbow
strung;
He
dropp'd
his
arm,
an
unassisting
weight,
And
stood
all
impotent,
expecting
fate:
Full
on
his
neck
the
falling
falchion
sped,
From
his
broad
shoulders
hew'd
his
crested
head:
Forth
from
the
bone
the
spinal
marrow
flies,
And,
sunk
in
dust,
the
corpse
extended
lies.
Rhigmas,
whose
race
from
fruitful
Thracia
came,
(The
son
of
Pierus,
an
illustrious
name,)
Succeeds
to
fate:
the
spear
his
belly
rends;
Prone
from
his
car
the
thundering
chief
descends.
The
squire,
who
saw
expiring
on
the
ground
His
prostrate
master,
rein'd
the
steeds
around;
His
back,
scarce
turn'd,
the
Pelian
javelin
gored,
And
stretch'd
the
servant
o'er
his
dying
lord.
As
when
a
flame
the
winding
valley
fills,
And
runs
on
crackling
shrubs
between
the
hills;
Then
o'er
the
stubble
up
the
mountain
flies,
Fires
the
high
woods,
and
blazes
to
the
skies,
This
way
and
that,
the
spreading
torrent
roars:
So
sweeps
the
hero
through
the
wasted
shores;
Around
him
wide,
immense
destruction
pours
And
earth
is
deluged
with
the
sanguine
showers
As
with
autumnal
harvests
cover'd
o'er,
And
thick
bestrewn,
lies
Ceres'
sacred
floor;
When
round
and
round,
with
never-wearied
pain,
The
trampling
steers
beat
out
the
unnumber'd
grain:
So
the
fierce
coursers,
as
the
chariot
rolls,
Tread
down
whole
ranks,
and
crush
out
heroes'
souls,
Dash'd
from
their
hoofs
while
o'er
the
dead
they
fly,
Black,
bloody
drops
the
smoking
chariot
dye:
The
spiky
wheels
through
heaps
of
carnage
tore;
And
thick
the
groaning
axles
dropp'd
with
gore.
High
o'er
the
scene
of
death
Achilles
stood,
All
grim
with
dust,
all
horrible
in
blood:
Yet
still
insatiate,
still
with
rage
on
flame;
Such
is
the
lust
of
never-dying
fame!
[Illustration:
CENTAUR.]
CENTAUR.
BOOK
XXI.
ARGUMENT.
THE
BATTLE
IN
THE
RIVER
SCAMANDER.(269)
The
Trojans
fly
before
Achilles,
some
towards
the
town,
others
to
the
river
Scamander:
he
falls
upon
the
latter
with
great
slaughter:
takes
twelve
captives
alive,
to
sacrifice
to
the
shade
of
Patroclus;
and
kills
Lycaon
and
Asteropeus.
Scamander
attacks
him
with
all
his
waves:
Neptune
and
Pallas
assist
the
hero:
Simois
joins
Scamander:
at
length
Vulcan,
by
the
instigation
of
Juno,
almost
dries
up
the
river.
This
Combat
ended,
the
other
gods
engage
each
other.
Meanwhile
Achilles
continues
the
slaughter,
drives
the
rest
into
Troy:
Agenor
only
makes
a
stand,
and
is
conveyed
away
in
a
cloud
by
Apollo;
who
(to
delude
Achilles)
takes
upon
him
Agenor's
shape,
and
while
he
pursues
him
in
that
disguise,
gives
the
Trojans
an
opportunity
of
retiring
into
their
city.
The
same
day
continues.
The
scene
is
on
the
banks
and
in
the
stream
of
Scamander.
And
now
to
Xanthus'
gliding
stream
they
drove,
Xanthus,
immortal
progeny
of
Jove.
The
river
here
divides
the
flying
train,
Part
to
the
town
fly
diverse
o'er
the
plain,
Where
late
their
troops
triumphant
bore
the
fight,
Now
chased,
and
trembling
in
ignoble
flight:
(These
with
a
gathered
mist
Saturnia
shrouds,
And
rolls
behind
the
rout
a
heap
of
clouds:)
Part
plunge
into
the
stream:
old
Xanthus
roars,
The
flashing
billows
beat
the
whiten'd
shores:
With
cries
promiscuous
all
the
banks
resound,
And
here,
and
there,
in
eddies
whirling
round,
The
flouncing
steeds
and
shrieking
warriors
drown'd.
As
the
scorch'd
locusts
from
their
fields
retire,
While
fast
behind
them
runs
the
blaze
of
fire;
Driven
from
the
land
before
the
smoky
cloud,
The
clustering
legions
rush
into
the
flood:
So,
plunged
in
Xanthus
by
Achilles'
force,
Roars
the
resounding
surge
with
men
and
horse.
His
bloody
lance
the
hero
casts
aside,
(Which
spreading
tamarisks
on
the
margin
hide,)
Then,
like
a
god,
the
rapid
billows
braves,
Arm'd
with
his
sword,
high
brandish'd
o'er
the
waves:
Now
down
he
plunges,
now
he
whirls
it
round,
Deep
groan'd
the
waters
with
the
dying
sound;
Repeated
wounds
the
reddening
river
dyed,
And
the
warm
purple
circled
on
the
tide.
Swift
through
the
foamy
flood
the
Trojans
fly,
And
close
in
rocks
or
winding
caverns
lie:
So
the
huge
dolphin
tempesting
the
main,
In
shoals
before
him
fly
the
scaly
train,
Confusedly
heap'd
they
seek
their
inmost
caves,
Or
pant
and
heave
beneath
the
floating
waves.
Now,
tired
with
slaughter,
from
the
Trojan
band
Twelve
chosen
youths
he
drags
alive
to
land;
With
their
rich
belts
their
captive
arms
restrains
(Late
their
proud
ornaments,
but
now
their
chains).
These
his
attendants
to
the
ships
convey'd,
Sad
victims
destined
to
Patroclus'
shade;
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."
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:
"Thy
well-known
captive,
great
Achilles!
see,
Once
more
Lycaon
trembles
at
thy
knee.
Some
pity
to
a
suppliant's
name
afford,
Who
shared
the
gifts
of
Ceres
at
thy
board;
Whom
late
thy
conquering
arm
to
Lemnos
bore,
Far
from
his
father,
friends,
and
native
shore;
A
hundred
oxen
were
his
price
that
day,
Now
sums
immense
thy
mercy
shall
repay.
Scarce
respited
from
woes
I
yet
appear,
And
scarce
twelve
morning
suns
have
seen
me
here;
Lo!
Jove
again
submits
me
to
thy
hands,
Again,
her
victim
cruel
Fate
demands!
I
sprang
from
Priam,
and
Laothoe
fair,
(Old
Altes'
daughter,
and
Lelegia's
heir;
Who
held
in
Pedasus
his
famed
abode,
And
ruled
the
fields
where
silver
Satnio
flow'd,)
Two
sons
(alas!
unhappy
sons)
she
bore;
For
ah!
one
spear
shall
drink
each
brother's
gore,
And
I
succeed
to
slaughter'd
Polydore.
How
from
that
arm
of
terror
shall
I
fly?
Some
demon
urges!
'tis
my
doom
to
die!
If
ever
yet
soft
pity
touch'd
thy
mind,
Ah!
think
not
me
too
much
of
Hector's
kind!
Not
the
same
mother
gave
thy
suppliant
breath,
With
his,
who
wrought
thy
loved
Patroclus'
death."
These
words,
attended
with
a
shower
of
tears,
The
youth
address'd
to
unrelenting
ears:
"Talk
not
of
life,
or
ransom
(he
replies):
Patroclus
dead,
whoever
meets
me,
dies:
In
vain
a
single
Trojan
sues
for
grace;
But
least,
the
sons
of
Priam's
hateful
race.
Die
then,
my
friend!
what
boots
it
to
deplore?
The
great,
the
good
Patroclus
is
no
more!
He,
far
thy
better,
was
foredoom'd
to
die,
And
thou,
dost
thou
bewail
mortality?
Seest
thou
not
me,
whom
nature's
gifts
adorn,
Sprung
from
a
hero,
from
a
goddess
born?
The
day
shall
come
(which
nothing
can
avert)
When
by
the
spear,
the
arrow,
or
the
dart,
By
night,
or
day,
by
force,
or
by
design,
Impending
death
and
certain
fate
are
mine!
Die
then,"--He
said;
and
as
the
word
he
spoke,
The
fainting
stripling
sank
before
the
stroke:
His
hand
forgot
its
grasp,
and
left
the
spear,
While
all
his
trembling
frame
confess'd
his
fear:
Sudden,
Achilles
his
broad
sword
display'd,
And
buried
in
his
neck
the
reeking
blade.
Prone
fell
the
youth;
and
panting
on
the
land,
The
gushing
purple
dyed
the
thirsty
sand.
The
victor
to
the
stream
the
carcase
gave,
And
thus
insults
him,
floating
on
the
wave:
"Lie
there,
Lycaon!
let
the
fish
surround
Thy
bloated
corpse,
and
suck
thy
gory
wound:
There
no
sad
mother
shall
thy
funerals
weep,
But
swift
Scamander
roll
thee
to
the
deep,
Whose
every
wave
some
watery
monster
brings,
To
feast
unpunish'd
on
the
fat
of
kings.
So
perish
Troy,
and
all
the
Trojan
line!
Such
ruin
theirs,
and
such
compassion
mine.
What
boots
ye
now
Scamander's
worshipp'd
stream,
His
earthly
honours,
and
immortal
name?
In
vain
your
immolated
bulls
are
slain,
Your
living
coursers
glut
his
gulfs
in
vain!
Thus
he
rewards
you,
with
this
bitter
fate;
Thus,
till
the
Grecian
vengeance
is
complete:
Thus
is
atoned
Patroclus'
honour'd
shade,
And
the
short
absence
of
Achilles
paid."
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:
"What
art
thou,
boldest
of
the
race
of
man?
Who,
or
from
whence?
Unhappy
is
the
sire
Whose
son
encounters
our
resistless
ire."
"O
son
of
Peleus!
what
avails
to
trace
(Replied
the
warrior)
our
illustrious
race?
From
rich
Paeonia's
valleys
I
command,
Arm'd
with
protended
spears,
my
native
band;
Now
shines
the
tenth
bright
morning
since
I
came
In
aid
of
Ilion
to
the
fields
of
fame:
Axius,
who
swells
with
all
the
neighbouring
rills,
And
wide
around
the
floated
region
fills,
Begot
my
sire,
whose
spear
much
glory
won:
Now
lift
thy
arm,
and
try
that
hero's
son!"
Threatening
he
said:
the
hostile
chiefs
advance;
At
once
Asteropeus
discharged
each
lance,
(For
both
his
dexterous
hands
the
lance
could
wield,)
One
struck,
but
pierced
not,
the
Vulcanian
shield;
One
razed
Achilles'
hand;
the
spouting
blood
Spun
forth;
in
earth
the
fasten'd
weapon
stood.
Like
lightning
next
the
Pelean
javelin
flies:
Its
erring
fury
hiss'd
along
the
skies;
Deep
in
the
swelling
bank
was
driven
the
spear,
Even
to
the
middle
earth;
and
quiver'd
there.
Then
from
his
side
the
sword
Pelides
drew,
And
on
his
foe
with
double
fury
flew.
The
foe
thrice
tugg'd,
and
shook
the
rooted
wood;
Repulsive
of
his
might
the
weapon
stood:
The
fourth,
he
tries
to
break
the
spear
in
vain;
Bent
as
he
stands,
he
tumbles
to
the
plain;
His
belly
open'd
with
a
ghastly
wound,
The
reeking
entrails
pour
upon
the
ground.
Beneath
the
hero's
feet
he
panting
lies,
And
his
eye
darkens,
and
his
spirit
flies;
While
the
proud
victor
thus
triumphing
said,
His
radiant
armour
tearing
from
the
dead:
"So
ends
thy
glory!
Such
the
fate
they
prove,
Who
strive
presumptuous
with
the
sons
of
Jove!
Sprung
from
a
river,
didst
thou
boast
thy
line?
But
great
Saturnius
is
the
source
of
mine.
How
durst
thou
vaunt
thy
watery
progeny?
Of
Peleus,
Ęacus,
and
Jove,
am
I.
The
race
of
these
superior
far
to
those,
As
he
that
thunders
to
the
stream
that
flows.
What
rivers
can,
Scamander
might
have
shown;
But
Jove
he
dreads,
nor
wars
against
his
son.
Even
Achelous
might
contend
in
vain,
And
all
the
roaring
billows
of
the
main.
The
eternal
ocean,
from
whose
fountains
flow
The
seas,
the
rivers,
and
the
springs
below,
The
thundering
voice
of
Jove
abhors
to
hear,
And
in
his
deep
abysses
shakes
with
fear."
He
said:
then
from
the
bank
his
javelin
tore,
And
left
the
breathless
warrior
in
his
gore.
The
floating
tides
the
bloody
carcase
lave,
And
beat
against
it,
wave
succeeding
wave;
Till,
roll'd
between
the
banks,
it
lies
the
food
Of
curling
eels,
and
fishes
of
the
flood.
All
scatter'd
round
the
stream
(their
mightiest
slain)
The
amazed
Paeonians
scour
along
the
plain;
He
vents
his
fury
on
the
flying
crew,
Thrasius,
Astyplus,
and
Mnesus
slew;
Mydon,
Thersilochus,
with
Ęnius,
fell;
And
numbers
more
his
lance
had
plunged
to
hell,
But
from
the
bottom
of
his
gulfs
profound
Scamander
spoke;
the
shores
return'd
the
sound.
"O
first
of
mortals!
(for
the
gods
are
thine)
In
valour
matchless,
and
in
force
divine!
If
Jove
have
given
thee
every
Trojan
head,
'Tis
not
on
me
thy
rage
should
heap
the
dead.
See!
my
choked
streams
no
more
their
course
can
keep,
Nor
roll
their
wonted
tribute
to
the
deep.
Turn
then,
impetuous!
from
our
injured
flood;
Content,
thy
slaughters
could
amaze
a
god."
In
human
form,
confess'd
before
his
eyes,
The
river
thus;
and
thus
the
chief
replies:
"O
sacred
stream!
thy
word
we
shall
obey;
But
not
till
Troy
the
destined
vengeance
pay,
Not
till
within
her
towers
the
perjured
train
Shall
pant,
and
tremble
at
our
arms
again;
Not
till
proud
Hector,
guardian
of
her
wall,
Or
stain
this
lance,
or
see
Achilles
fall."
He
said;
and
drove
with
fury
on
the
foe.
Then
to
the
godhead
of
the
silver
bow
The
yellow
flood
began:
"O
son
of
Jove!
Was
not
the
mandate
of
the
sire
above
Full
and
express,
that
Phoebus
should
employ
His
sacred
arrows
in
defence
of
Troy,
And
make
her
conquer,
till
Hyperion's
fall
In
awful
darkness
hide
the
face
of
all?"
He
spoke
in
vain--The
chief
without
dismay
Ploughs
through
the
boiling
surge
his
desperate
way.
Then
rising
in
his
rage
above
the
shores,
From
all
his
deep
the
bellowing
river
roars,
Huge
heaps
of
slain
disgorges
on
the
coast,
And
round
the
banks
the
ghastly
dead
are
toss'd.
While
all
before,
the
billows
ranged
on
high,
(A
watery
bulwark,)
screen
the
bands
who
fly.
Now
bursting
on
his
head
with
thundering
sound,
The
falling
deluge
whelms
the
hero
round:
His
loaded
shield
bends
to
the
rushing
tide;
His
feet,
upborne,
scarce
the
strong
flood
divide,
Sliddering,
and
staggering.
On
the
border
stood
A
spreading
elm,
that
overhung
the
flood;
He
seized
a
bending
bough,
his
steps
to
stay;
The
plant
uprooted
to
his
weight
gave
way.(270)
Heaving
the
bank,
and
undermining
all;
Loud
flash
the
waters
to
the
rushing
fall
Of
the
thick
foliage.
The
large
trunk
display'd
Bridged
the
rough
flood
across:
the
hero
stay'd
On
this
his
weight,
and
raised
upon
his
hand,
Leap'd
from
the
channel,
and
regain'd
the
land.
Then
blacken'd
the
wild
waves:
the
murmur
rose:
The
god
pursues,
a
huger
billow
throws,
And
bursts
the
bank,
ambitious
to
destroy
The
man
whose
fury
is
the
fate
of
Troy.
He
like
the
warlike
eagle
speeds
his
pace
(Swiftest
and
strongest
of
the
aerial
race);
Far
as
a
spear
can
fly,
Achilles
springs;
At
every
bound
his
clanging
armour
rings:
Now
here,
now
there,
he
turns
on
every
side,
And
winds
his
course
before
the
following
tide;
The
waves
flow
after,
wheresoe'er
he
wheels,
And
gather
fast,
and
murmur
at
his
heels.
So
when
a
peasant
to
his
garden
brings
Soft
rills
of
water
from
the
bubbling
springs,
And
calls
the
floods
from
high,
to
bless
his
bowers,
And
feed
with
pregnant
streams
the
plants
and
flowers:
Soon
as
he
clears
whate'er
their
passage
stay'd,
And
marks
the
future
current
with
his
spade,
Swift
o'er
the
rolling
pebbles,
down
the
hills,
Louder
and
louder
purl
the
falling
rills;
Before
him
scattering,
they
prevent
his
pains,
And
shine
in
mazy
wanderings
o'er
the
plains.
Still
flies
Achilles,
but
before
his
eyes
Still
swift
Scamander
rolls
where'er
he
flies:
Not
all
his
speed
escapes
the
rapid
floods;
The
first
of
men,
but
not
a
match
for
gods.
Oft
as
he
turn'd
the
torrent
to
oppose,
And
bravely
try
if
all
the
powers
were
foes;
So
oft
the
surge,
in
watery
mountains
spread,
Beats
on
his
back,
or
bursts
upon
his
head.
Yet
dauntless
still
the
adverse
flood
he
braves,
And
still
indignant
bounds
above
the
waves.
Tired
by
the
tides,
his
knees
relax
with
toil;
Wash'd
from
beneath
him
slides
the
slimy
soil;
When
thus
(his
eyes
on
heaven's
expansion
thrown)
Forth
bursts
the
hero
with
an
angry
groan:
"Is
there
no
god
Achilles
to
befriend,
No
power
to
avert
his
miserable
end?
Prevent,
O
Jove!
this
ignominious
date,(271)
And
make
my
future
life
the
sport
of
fate.
Of
all
heaven's
oracles
believed
in
vain,
But
most
of
Thetis
must
her
son
complain;
By
Phoebus'
darts
she
prophesied
my
fall,
In
glorious
arms
before
the
Trojan
wall.
Oh!
had
I
died
in
fields
of
battle
warm,
Stretch'd
like
a
hero,
by
a
hero's
arm!
Might
Hector's
spear
this
dauntless
bosom
rend,
And
my
swift
soul
o'ertake
my
slaughter'd
friend.
Ah
no!
Achilles
meets
a
shameful
fate,
Oh
how
unworthy
of
the
brave
and
great!
Like
some
vile
swain,
whom
on
a
rainy
day,
Crossing
a
ford,
the
torrent
sweeps
away,
An
unregarded
carcase
to
the
sea."
Neptune
and
Pallas
haste
to
his
relief,
And
thus
in
human
form
address'd
the
chief:
The
power
of
ocean
first:
"Forbear
thy
fear,
O
son
of
Peleus!
Lo,
thy
gods
appear!
Behold!
from
Jove
descending
to
thy
aid,
Propitious
Neptune,
and
the
blue-eyed
maid.
Stay,
and
the
furious
flood
shall
cease
to
rave
'Tis
not
thy
fate
to
glut
his
angry
wave.
But
thou,
the
counsel
heaven
suggests,
attend!
Nor
breathe
from
combat,
nor
thy
sword
suspend,
Till
Troy
receive
her
flying
sons,
till
all
Her
routed
squadrons
pant
behind
their
wall:
Hector
alone
shall
stand
his
fatal
chance,
And
Hector's
blood
shall
smoke
upon
thy
lance.
Thine
is
the
glory
doom'd."
Thus
spake
the
gods:
Then
swift
ascended
to
the
bright
abodes.
Stung
with
new
ardour,
thus
by
heaven
impell'd,
He
springs
impetuous,
and
invades
the
field:
O'er
all
the
expanded
plain
the
waters
spread;
Heaved
on
the
bounding
billows
danced
the
dead,
Floating
'midst
scatter'd
arms;
while
casques
of
gold
And
turn'd-up
bucklers
glitter'd
as
they
roll'd.
High
o'er
the
surging
tide,
by
leaps
and
bounds,
He
wades,
and
mounts;
the
parted
wave
resounds.
Not
a
whole
river
stops
the
hero's
course,
While
Pallas
fills
him
with
immortal
force.
With
equal
rage,
indignant
Xanthus
roars,
And
lifts
his
billows,
and
o'erwhelms
his
shores.
Then
thus
to
Simois!
"Haste,
my
brother
flood;
And
check
this
mortal
that
controls
a
god;
Our
bravest
heroes
else
shall
quit
the
fight,
And
Ilion
tumble
from
her
towery
height.
Call
then
thy
subject
streams,
and
bid
them
roar,
From
all
thy
fountains
swell
thy
watery
store,
With
broken
rocks,
and
with
a
load
of
dead,
Charge
the
black
surge,
and
pour
it
on
his
head.
Mark
how
resistless
through
the
floods
he
goes,
And
boldly
bids
the
warring
gods
be
foes!
But
nor
that
force,
nor
form
divine
to
sight,
Shall
aught
avail
him,
if
our
rage
unite:
Whelm'd
under
our
dark
gulfs
those
arms
shall
lie,
That
blaze
so
dreadful
in
each
Trojan
eye;
And
deep
beneath
a
sandy
mountain
hurl'd,
Immersed
remain
this
terror
of
the
world.
Such
ponderous
ruin
shall
confound
the
place,
No
Greeks
shall
e'er
his
perish'd
relics
grace,
No
hand
his
bones
shall
gather,
or
inhume;
These
his
cold
rites,
and
this
his
watery
tomb."
[Illustration:
ACHILLES
CONTENDING
WITH
THE
RIVERS.]
ACHILLES
CONTENDING
WITH
THE
RIVERS.
He
said;
and
on
the
chief
descends
amain,
Increased
with
gore,
and
swelling
with
the
slain.
Then,
murmuring
from
his
beds,
he
boils,
he
raves,
And
a
foam
whitens
on
the
purple
waves:
At
every
step,
before
Achilles
stood
The
crimson
surge,
and
deluged
him
with
blood.
Fear
touch'd
the
queen
of
heaven:
she
saw
dismay'd,
She
call'd
aloud,
and
summon'd
Vulcan's
aid.
"Rise
to
the
war!
the
insulting
flood
requires
Thy
wasteful
arm!
assemble
all
thy
fires!
While
to
their
aid,
by
our
command
enjoin'd,
Rush
the
swift
eastern
and
the
western
wind:
These
from
old
ocean
at
my
word
shall
blow,
Pour
the
red
torrent
on
the
watery
foe,
Corses
and
arms
to
one
bright
ruin
turn,
And
hissing
rivers
to
their
bottoms
burn.
Go,
mighty
in
thy
rage!
display
thy
power,
Drink
the
whole
flood,
the
crackling
trees
devour.
Scorch
all
the
banks!
and
(till
our
voice
reclaim)
Exert
the
unwearied
furies
of
the
flame!"
The
power
ignipotent
her
word
obeys:
Wide
o'er
the
plain
he
pours
the
boundless
blaze;
At
once
consumes
the
dead,
and
dries
the
soil
And
the
shrunk
waters
in
their
channel
boil.
As
when
autumnal
Boreas
sweeps
the
sky,
And
instant
blows
the
water'd
gardens
dry:
So
look'd
the
field,
so
whiten'd
was
the
ground,
While
Vulcan
breathed
the
fiery
blast
around.
Swift
on
the
sedgy
reeds
the
ruin
preys;
Along
the
margin
winds
the
running
blaze:
The
trees
in
flaming
rows
to
ashes
turn,
The
flowering
lotos
and
the
tamarisk
burn,
Broad
elm,
and
cypress
rising
in
a
spire;
The
watery
willows
hiss
before
the
fire.
Now
glow
the
waves,
the
fishes
pant
for
breath,
The
eels
lie
twisting
in
the
pangs
of
death:
Now
flounce
aloft,
now
dive
the
scaly
fry,
Or,
gasping,
turn
their
bellies
to
the
sky.
At
length
the
river
rear'd
his
languid
head,
And
thus,
short-panting,
to
the
god
he
said:
"Oh
Vulcan!
oh!
what
power
resists
thy
might?
I
faint,
I
sink,
unequal
to
the
fight--
I
yield--Let
Ilion
fall;
if
fate
decree--
Ah--bend
no
more
thy
fiery
arms
on
me!"
He
ceased;
wide
conflagration
blazing
round;
The
bubbling
waters
yield
a
hissing
sound.
As
when
the
flames
beneath
a
cauldron
rise,(272)
To
melt
the
fat
of
some
rich
sacrifice,
Amid
the
fierce
embrace
of
circling
fires
The
waters
foam,
the
heavy
smoke
aspires:
So
boils
the
imprison'd
flood,
forbid
to
flow,
And
choked
with
vapours
feels
his
bottom
glow.
To
Juno
then,
imperial
queen
of
air,
The
burning
river
sends
his
earnest
prayer:
"Ah
why,
Saturnia;
must
thy
son
engage
Me,
only
me,
with
all
his
wasteful
rage?
On
other
gods
his
dreadful
arm
employ,
For
mightier
gods
assert
the
cause
of
Troy.
Submissive
I
desist,
if
thou
command;
But
ah!
withdraw
this
all-destroying
hand.
Hear
then
my
solemn
oath,
to
yield
to
fate
Unaided
Ilion,
and
her
destined
state,
Till
Greece
shall
gird
her
with
destructive
flame,
And
in
one
ruin
sink
the
Trojan
name."
His
warm
entreaty
touch'd
Saturnia's
ear:
She
bade
the
ignipotent
his
rage
forbear,
Recall
the
flame,
nor
in
a
mortal
cause
Infest
a
god:
the
obedient
flame
withdraws:
Again
the
branching
streams
begin
to
spread,
And
soft
remurmur
in
their
wonted
bed.
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:
"What
moved
thy
madness,
thus
to
disunite
Ethereal
minds,
and
mix
all
heaven
in
fight?
What
wonder
this,
when
in
thy
frantic
mood
Thou
drovest
a
mortal
to
insult
a
god?
Thy
impious
hand
Tydides'
javelin
bore,
And
madly
bathed
it
in
celestial
gore."
He
spoke,
and
smote
the
long-resounding
shield,
Which
bears
Jove's
thunder
on
its
dreadful
field:
The
adamantine
aegis
of
her
sire,
That
turns
the
glancing
bolt
and
forked
fire.
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:
"Hast
thou
not
yet,
insatiate
fury!
known
How
far
Minerva's
force
transcends
thy
own?
Juno,
whom
thou
rebellious
darest
withstand,
Corrects
thy
folly
thus
by
Pallas'
hand;
Thus
meets
thy
broken
faith
with
just
disgrace,
And
partial
aid
to
Troy's
perfidious
race."
The
goddess
spoke,
and
turn'd
her
eyes
away,
That,
beaming
round,
diffused
celestial
day.
Jove's
Cyprian
daughter,
stooping
on
the
land,
Lent
to
the
wounded
god
her
tender
hand:
Slowly
he
rises,
scarcely
breathes
with
pain,
And,
propp'd
on
her
fair
arm,
forsakes
the
plain.
This
the
bright
empress
of
the
heavens
survey'd,
And,
scoffing,
thus
to
war's
victorious
maid:
"Lo!
what
an
aid
on
Mars's
side
is
seen!
The
smiles'
and
loves'
unconquerable
queen!
Mark
with
what
insolence,
in
open
view,
She
moves:
let
Pallas,
if
she
dares,
pursue."
Minerva
smiling
heard,
the
pair
o'ertook,
And
slightly
on
her
breast
the
wanton
strook:
She,
unresisting,
fell
(her
spirits
fled);
On
earth
together
lay
the
lovers
spread.
"And
like
these
heroes
be
the
fate
of
all
(Minerva
cries)
who
guard
the
Trojan
wall!
To
Grecian
gods
such
let
the
Phrygian
be,
So
dread,
so
fierce,
as
Venus
is
to
me;
Then
from
the
lowest
stone
shall
Troy
be
moved."
Thus
she,
and
Juno
with
a
smile
approved.
Meantime,
to
mix
in
more
than
mortal
fight,
The
god
of
ocean
dares
the
god
of
light.
"What
sloth
has
seized
us,
when
the
fields
around
Ring
with
conflicting
powers,
and
heaven
returns
the
sound:
Shall,
ignominious,
we
with
shame
retire,
No
deed
perform'd,
to
our
Olympian
sire?
Come,
prove
thy
arm!
for
first
the
war
to
wage,
Suits
not
my
greatness,
or
superior
age:
Rash
as
thou
art
to
prop
the
Trojan
throne,
(Forgetful
of
my
wrongs,
and
of
thy
own,)
And
guard
the
race
of
proud
Laomedon!
Hast
thou
forgot,
how,
at
the
monarch's
prayer,
We
shared
the
lengthen'd
labours
of
a
year?
Troy
walls
I
raised
(for
such
were
Jove's
commands),
And
yon
proud
bulwarks
grew
beneath
my
hands:
Thy
task
it
was
to
feed
the
bellowing
droves
Along
fair
Ida's
vales
and
pendant
groves.
But
when
the
circling
seasons
in
their
train
Brought
back
the
grateful
day
that
crown'd
our
pain,
With
menace
stern
the
fraudful
king
defied
Our
latent
godhead,
and
the
prize
denied:
Mad
as
he
was,
he
threaten'd
servile
bands,
And
doom'd
us
exiles
far
in
barbarous
lands.(273)
Incensed,
we
heavenward
fled
with
swiftest
wing,
And
destined
vengeance
on
the
perjured
king.
Dost
thou,
for
this,
afford
proud
Ilion
grace,
And
not,
like
us,
infest
the
faithless
race;
Like
us,
their
present,
future
sons
destroy,
And
from
its
deep
foundations
heave
their
Troy?"
Apollo
thus:
"To
combat
for
mankind
Ill
suits
the
wisdom
of
celestial
mind;
For
what
is
man?
Calamitous
by
birth,
They
owe
their
life
and
nourishment
to
earth;
Like
yearly
leaves,
that
now,
with
beauty
crown'd,
Smile
on
the
sun;
now,
wither
on
the
ground.
To
their
own
hands
commit
the
frantic
scene,
Nor
mix
immortals
in
a
cause
so
mean."
Then
turns
his
face,
far-beaming
heavenly
fires,
And
from
the
senior
power
submiss
retires:
Him
thus
retreating,
Artemis
upbraids,
The
quiver'd
huntress
of
the
sylvan
shades:
"And
is
it
thus
the
youthful
Phoebus
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."
Silent
he
heard
the
queen
of
woods
upbraid:
Not
so
Saturnia
bore
the
vaunting
maid:
But
furious
thus:
"What
insolence
has
driven
Thy
pride
to
face
the
majesty
of
heaven?
What
though
by
Jove
the
female
plague
design'd,
Fierce
to
the
feeble
race
of
womankind,
The
wretched
matron
feels
thy
piercing
dart;
Thy
sex's
tyrant,
with
a
tiger's
heart?
What
though
tremendous
in
the
woodland
chase
Thy
certain
arrows
pierce
the
savage
race?
How
dares
thy
rashness
on
the
powers
divine
Employ
those
arms,
or
match
thy
force
with
mine?
Learn
hence,
no
more
unequal
war
to
wage--"
She
said,
and
seized
her
wrists
with
eager
rage;
These
in
her
left
hand
lock'd,
her
right
untied
The
bow,
the
quiver,
and
its
plumy
pride.
About
her
temples
flies
the
busy
bow;
Now
here,
now
there,
she
winds
her
from
the
blow;
The
scattering
arrows,
rattling
from
the
case,
Drop
round,
and
idly
mark
the
dusty
place.
Swift
from
the
field
the
baffled
huntress
flies,
And
scarce
restrains
the
torrent
in
her
eyes:
So,
when
the
falcon
wings
her
way
above,
To
the
cleft
cavern
speeds
the
gentle
dove;
(Not
fated
yet
to
die;)
there
safe
retreats,
Yet
still
her
heart
against
the
marble
beats.
To
her
Latona
hastes
with
tender
care;
Whom
Hermes
viewing,
thus
declines
the
war:
"How
shall
I
face
the
dame,
who
gives
delight
To
him
whose
thunders
blacken
heaven
with
night?
Go,
matchless
goddess!
triumph
in
the
skies,
And
boast
my
conquest,
while
I
yield
the
prize."
He
spoke;
and
pass'd:
Latona,
stooping
low,
Collects
the
scatter'd
shafts
and
fallen
bow,
That,
glittering
on
the
dust,
lay
here
and
there
Dishonour'd
relics
of
Diana's
war:
Then
swift
pursued
her
to
her
blest
abode,
Where,
all
confused,
she
sought
the
sovereign
god;
Weeping,
she
grasp'd
his
knees:
the
ambrosial
vest
Shook
with
her
sighs,
and
panted
on
her
breast.
The
sire
superior
smiled,
and
bade
her
show
What
heavenly
hand
had
caused
his
daughter's
woe?
Abash'd,
she
names
his
own
imperial
spouse;
And
the
pale
crescent
fades
upon
her
brows.
Thus
they
above:
while,
swiftly
gliding
down,
Apollo
enters
Ilion's
sacred
town;
The
guardian-god
now
trembled
for
her
wall,
And
fear'd
the
Greeks,
though
fate
forbade
her
fall.
Back
to
Olympus,
from
the
war's
alarms,
Return
the
shining
bands
of
gods
in
arms;
Some
proud
in
triumph,
some
with
rage
on
fire;
And
take
their
thrones
around
the
ethereal
sire.
Through
blood,
through
death,
Achilles
still
proceeds,
O'er
slaughter'd
heroes,
and
o'er
rolling
steeds.
As
when
avenging
flames
with
fury
driven
On
guilty
towns
exert
the
wrath
of
heaven;
The
pale
inhabitants,
some
fall,
some
fly;
And
the
red
vapours
purple
all
the
sky:
So
raged
Achilles:
death
and
dire
dismay,
And
toils,
and
terrors,
fill'd
the
dreadful
day.
High
on
a
turret
hoary
Priam
stands,
And
marks
the
waste
of
his
destructive
hands;
Views,
from
his
arm,
the
Trojans'
scatter'd
flight,
And
the
near
hero
rising
on
his
sight!
No
stop,
no
check,
no
aid!
With
feeble
pace,
And
settled
sorrow
on
his
aged
face,
Fast
as
he
could,
he
sighing
quits
the
walls;
And
thus
descending,
on
the
guards
he
calls:
"You
to
whose
care
our
city-gates
belong,
Set
wide
your
portals
to
the
flying
throng:
For
lo!
he
comes,
with
unresisted
sway;
He
comes,
and
desolation
marks
his
way!
But
when
within
the
walls
our
troops
take
breath,
Lock
fast
the
brazen
bars,
and
shut
out
death."
Thus
charged
the
reverend
monarch:
wide
were
flung
The
opening
folds;
the
sounding
hinges
rung.
Phoebus
rush'd
forth,
the
flying
bands
to
meet;
Struck
slaughter
back,
and
cover'd
the
retreat,
On
heaps
the
Trojans
crowd
to
gain
the
gate,
And
gladsome
see
their
last
escape
from
fate.
Thither,
all
parch'd
with
thirst,
a
heartless
train,
Hoary
with
dust,
they
beat
the
hollow
plain:
And
gasping,
panting,
fainting,
labour
on
With
heavier
strides,
that
lengthen
toward
the
town.
Enraged
Achilles
follows
with
his
spear;
Wild
with
revenge,
insatiable
of
war.
Then
had
the
Greeks
eternal
praise
acquired,
And
Troy
inglorious
to
her
walls
retired;
But
he,
the
god
who
darts
ethereal
flame,
Shot
down
to
save
her,
and
redeem
her
fame:
To
young
Agenor
force
divine
he
gave;
(Antenor's
offspring,
haughty,
bold,
and
brave;)
In
aid
of
him,
beside
the
beech
he
sate,
And
wrapt
in
clouds,
restrain'd
the
hand
of
fate.
When
now
the
generous
youth
Achilles
spies.
Thick
beats
his
heart,
the
troubled
motions
rise.
(So,
ere
a
storm,
the
waters
heave
and
roll.)
He
stops,
and
questions
thus
his
mighty
soul;
"What,
shall
I
fly
this
terror
of
the
plain!
Like
others
fly,
and
be
like
others
slain?
Vain
hope!
to
shun
him
by
the
self-same
road
Yon
line
of
slaughter'd
Trojans
lately
trod.
No:
with
the
common
heap
I
scorn
to
fall--
What
if
they
pass'd
me
to
the
Trojan
wall,
While
I
decline
to
yonder
path,
that
leads
To
Ida's
forests
and
surrounding
shades?
So
may
I
reach,
conceal'd,
the
cooling
flood,
From
my
tired
body
wash
the
dirt
and
blood,
As
soon
as
night
her
dusky
veil
extends,
Return
in
safety
to
my
Trojan
friends.
What
if?--But
wherefore
all
this
vain
debate?
Stand
I
to
doubt,
within
the
reach
of
fate?
Even
now
perhaps,
ere
yet
I
turn
the
wall,
The
fierce
Achilles
sees
me,
and
I
fall:
Such
is
his
swiftness,
'tis
in
vain
to
fly,
And
such
his
valour,
that
who
stands
must
die.
Howe'er
'tis
better,
fighting
for
the
state,
Here,
and
in
public
view,
to
meet
my
fate.
Yet
sure
he
too
is
mortal;
he
may
feel
(Like
all
the
sons
of
earth)
the
force
of
steel.
One
only
soul
informs
that
dreadful
frame:
And
Jove's
sole
favour
gives
him
all
his
fame."
He
said,
and
stood,
collected,
in
his
might;
And
all
his
beating
bosom
claim'd
the
fight.
So
from
some
deep-grown
wood
a
panther
starts,
Roused
from
his
thicket
by
a
storm
of
darts:
Untaught
to
fear
or
fly,
he
hears
the
sounds
Of
shouting
hunters,
and
of
clamorous
hounds;
Though
struck,
though
wounded,
scarce
perceives
the
pain;
And
the
barb'd
javelin
stings
his
breast
in
vain:
On
their
whole
war,
untamed,
the
savage
flies;
And
tears
his
hunter,
or
beneath
him
dies.
Not
less
resolved,
Antenor's
valiant
heir
Confronts
Achilles,
and
awaits
the
war,
Disdainful
of
retreat:
high
held
before,
His
shield
(a
broad
circumference)
he
bore;
Then
graceful
as
he
stood,
in
act
to
throw
The
lifted
javelin,
thus
bespoke
the
foe:
"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."
He
said:
with
matchless
force
the
javelin
flung
Smote
on
his
knee;
the
hollow
cuishes
rung
Beneath
the
pointed
steel;
but
safe
from
harms
He
stands
impassive
in
the
ethereal
arms.
Then
fiercely
rushing
on
the
daring
foe,
His
lifted
arm
prepares
the
fatal
blow:
But,
jealous
of
his
fame,
Apollo
shrouds
The
god-like
Trojan
in
a
veil
of
clouds.
Safe
from
pursuit,
and
shut
from
mortal
view,
Dismiss'd
with
fame,
the
favoured
youth
withdrew.
Meanwhile
the
god,
to
cover
their
escape,
Assumes
Agenor's
habit,
voice
and
shape,
Flies
from
the
furious
chief
in
this
disguise;
The
furious
chief
still
follows
where
he
flies.
Now
o'er
the
fields
they
stretch
with
lengthen'd
strides,
Now
urge
the
course
where
swift
Scamander
glides:
The
god,
now
distant
scarce
a
stride
before,
Tempts
his
pursuit,
and
wheels
about
the
shore;
While
all
the
flying
troops
their
speed
employ,
And
pour
on
heaps
into
the
walls
of
Troy:
No
stop,
no
stay;
no
thought
to
ask,
or
tell,
Who
'scaped
by
flight,
or
who
by
battle
fell.
'Twas
tumult
all,
and
violence
of
flight;
And
sudden
joy
confused,
and
mix'd
affright.
Pale
Troy
against
Achilles
shuts
her
gate:
And
nations
breathe,
deliver'd
from
their
fate.
BOOK
XXII.
ARGUMENT.
THE
DEATH
OF
HECTOR.
The
Trojans
being
safe
within
the
walls,
Hector
only
stays
to
oppose
Achilles.
Priam
is
struck
at
his
approach,
and
tries
to
persuade
his
son
to
re-enter
the
town.
Hecuba
joins
her
entreaties,
but
in
vain.
Hector
consults
within
himself
what
measures
to
take;
but
at
the
advance
of
Achilles,
his
resolution
fails
him,
and
he
flies.
Achilles
pursues
him
thrice
round
the
walls
of
Troy.
The
gods
debate
concerning
the
fate
of
Hector;
at
length
Minerva
descends
to
the
aid
of
Achilles.
She
deludes
Hector
in
the
shape
of
Deiphobus;
he
stands
the
combat,
and
is
slain.
Achilles
drags
the
dead
body
at
his
chariot
in
the
sight
of
Priam
and
Hecuba.
Their
lamentations,
tears,
and
despair.
Their
cries
reach
the
ears
of
Andromache,
who,
ignorant
of
this,
was
retired
into
the
inner
part
of
the
palace:
she
mounts
up
to
the
walls,
and
beholds
her
dead
husband.
She
swoons
at
the
spectacle.
Her
excess
of
grief
and
lamentation.
The
thirtieth
day
still
continues.
The
scene
lies
under
the
walls,
and
on
the
battlements
of
Troy.
Thus
to
their
bulwarks,
smit
with
panic
fear,
The
herded
Ilians
rush
like
driven
deer:
There
safe
they
wipe
the
briny
drops
away,
And
drown
in
bowls
the
labours
of
the
day.
Close
to
the
walls,
advancing
o'er
the
fields
Beneath
one
roof
of
well-compacted
shields,
March,
bending
on,
the
Greeks'
embodied
powers,
Far
stretching
in
the
shade
of
Trojan
towers.
Great
Hector
singly
stay'd:
chain'd
down
by
fate
There
fix'd
he
stood
before
the
Scaean
gate;
Still
his
bold
arms
determined
to
employ,
The
guardian
still
of
long-defended
Troy.
Apollo
now
to
tired
Achilles
turns:
(The
power
confess'd
in
all
his
glory
burns:)
"And
what
(he
cries)
has
Peleus'
son
in
view,
With
mortal
speed
a
godhead
to
pursue?
For
not
to
thee
to
know
the
gods
is
given,
Unskill'd
to
trace
the
latent
marks
of
heaven.
What
boots
thee
now,
that
Troy
forsook
the
plain?
Vain
thy
past
labour,
and
thy
present
vain:
Safe
in
their
walls
are
now
her
troops
bestow'd,
While
here
thy
frantic
rage
attacks
a
god."
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."
Then
to
the
city,
terrible
and
strong,
With
high
and
haughty
steps
he
tower'd
along,
So
the
proud
courser,
victor
of
the
prize,
To
the
near
goal
with
double
ardour
flies.
Him,
as
he
blazing
shot
across
the
field,
The
careful
eyes
of
Priam
first
beheld.
Not
half
so
dreadful
rises
to
the
sight,(274)
Through
the
thick
gloom
of
some
tempestuous
night,
Orion's
dog
(the
year
when
autumn
weighs),
And
o'er
the
feebler
stars
exerts
his
rays;
Terrific
glory!
for
his
burning
breath
Taints
the
red
air
with
fevers,
plagues,
and
death.
So
flamed
his
fiery
mail.
Then
wept
the
sage:
He
strikes
his
reverend
head,
now
white
with
age;
He
lifts
his
wither'd
arms;
obtests
the
skies;
He
calls
his
much-loved
son
with
feeble
cries:
The
son,
resolved
Achilles'
force
to
dare,
Full
at
the
Scaean
gates
expects
the
war;
While
the
sad
father
on
the
rampart
stands,
And
thus
adjures
him
with
extended
hands:
"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!)
must
fall,
And
stain
the
pavement
of
my
regal
hall;
Where
famish'd
dogs,
late
guardians
of
my
door,
Shall
lick
their
mangled
master's
spatter'd
gore.
Yet
for
my
sons
I
thank
ye,
gods!
'tis
well;
Well
have
they
perish'd,
for
in
fight
they
fell.
Who
dies
in
youth
and
vigour,
dies
the
best,
Struck
through
with
wounds,
all
honest
on
the
breast.
But
when
the
fates,
in
fulness
of
their
rage,
Spurn
the
hoar
head
of
unresisting
age,
In
dust
the
reverend
lineaments
deform,
And
pour
to
dogs
the
life-blood
scarcely
warm:
This,
this
is
misery!
the
last,
the
worse,
That
man
can
feel!
man,
fated
to
be
cursed!"
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:
"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."
So
they,
while
down
their
cheeks
the
torrents
roll;
But
fix'd
remains
the
purpose
of
his
soul;
Resolved
he
stands,
and
with
a
fiery
glance
Expects
the
hero's
terrible
advance.
So,
roll'd
up
in
his
den,
the
swelling
snake
Beholds
the
traveller
approach
the
brake;
When
fed
with
noxious
herbs
his
turgid
veins
Have
gather'd
half
the
poisons
of
the
plains;
He
burns,
he
stiffens
with
collected
ire,
And
his
red
eyeballs
glare
with
living
fire.
Beneath
a
turret,
on
his
shield
reclined,
He
stood,
and
question'd
thus
his
mighty
mind:(275)
"Where
lies
my
way?
to
enter
in
the
wall?
Honour
and
shame
the
ungenerous
thought
recall:
Shall
proud
Polydamas
before
the
gate
Proclaim,
his
counsels
are
obey'd
too
late,
Which
timely
follow'd
but
the
former
night,
What
numbers
had
been
saved
by
Hector's
flight?
That
wise
advice
rejected
with
disdain,
I
feel
my
folly
in
my
people
slain.
Methinks
my
suffering
country's
voice
I
hear,
But
most
her
worthless
sons
insult
my
ear,
On
my
rash
courage
charge
the
chance
of
war,
And
blame
those
virtues
which
they
cannot
share.
No--if
I
e'er
return,
return
I
must
Glorious,
my
country's
terror
laid
in
dust:
Or
if
I
perish,
let
her
see
me
fall
In
field
at
least,
and
fighting
for
her
wall.
And
yet
suppose
these
measures
I
forego,
Approach
unarm'd,
and
parley
with
the
foe,
The
warrior-shield,
the
helm,
and
lance,
lay
down.
And
treat
on
terms
of
peace
to
save
the
town:
The
wife
withheld,
the
treasure
ill-detain'd
(Cause
of
the
war,
and
grievance
of
the
land)
With
honourable
justice
to
restore:
And
add
half
Ilion's
yet
remaining
store,
Which
Troy
shall,
sworn,
produce;
that
injured
Greece
May
share
our
wealth,
and
leave
our
walls
in
peace.
But
why
this
thought?
Unarm'd
if
I
should
go,
What
hope
of
mercy
from
this
vengeful
foe,
But
woman-like
to
fall,
and
fall
without
a
blow?
We
greet
not
here,
as
man
conversing
man,
Met
at
an
oak,
or
journeying
o'er
a
plain;
No
season
now
for
calm
familiar
talk,
Like
youths
and
maidens
in
an
evening
walk:
War
is
our
business,
but
to
whom
is
given
To
die,
or
triumph,
that,
determine
Heaven!"
Thus
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.
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:
"Unworthy
sight!
the
man
beloved
of
heaven,
Behold,
inglorious
round
yon
city
driven!
My
heart
partakes
the
generous
Hector's
pain;
Hector,
whose
zeal
whole
hecatombs
has
slain,
Whose
grateful
fumes
the
gods
received
with
joy,
From
Ida's
summits,
and
the
towers
of
Troy:
Now
see
him
flying;
to
his
fears
resign'd,
And
fate,
and
fierce
Achilles,
close
behind.
Consult,
ye
powers!
('tis
worthy
your
debate)
Whether
to
snatch
him
from
impending
fate,
Or
let
him
bear,
by
stern
Pelides
slain,
(Good
as
he
is)
the
lot
imposed
on
man."
Then
Pallas
thus:
"Shall
he
whose
vengeance
forms
The
forky
bolt,
and
blackens
heaven
with
storms,
Shall
he
prolong
one
Trojan's
forfeit
breath?
A
man,
a
mortal,
pre-ordain'd
to
death!
And
will
no
murmurs
fill
the
courts
above?
No
gods
indignant
blame
their
partial
Jove?"
"Go
then
(return'd
the
sire)
without
delay,
Exert
thy
will:
I
give
the
Fates
their
way.
Swift
at
the
mandate
pleased
Tritonia
flies,
And
stoops
impetuous
from
the
cleaving
skies.
As
through
the
forest,
o'er
the
vale
and
lawn,
The
well-breath'd
beagle
drives
the
flying
fawn,
In
vain
he
tries
the
covert
of
the
brakes,
Or
deep
beneath
the
trembling
thicket
shakes;
Sure
of
the
vapour
in
the
tainted
dews,
The
certain
hound
his
various
maze
pursues.
Thus
step
by
step,
where'er
the
Trojan
wheel'd,
There
swift
Achilles
compass'd
round
the
field.
Oft
as
to
reach
the
Dardan
gates
he
bends,
And
hopes
the
assistance
of
his
pitying
friends,
(Whose
showering
arrows,
as
he
coursed
below,
From
the
high
turrets
might
oppress
the
foe,)
So
oft
Achilles
turns
him
to
the
plain:
He
eyes
the
city,
but
he
eyes
in
vain.
As
men
in
slumbers
seem
with
speedy
pace,
One
to
pursue,
and
one
to
lead
the
chase,
Their
sinking
limbs
the
fancied
course
forsake,
Nor
this
can
fly,
nor
that
can
overtake:
No
less
the
labouring
heroes
pant
and
strain:
While
that
but
flies,
and
this
pursues
in
vain.
What
god,
O
muse,
assisted
Hector's
force
With
fate
itself
so
long
to
hold
the
course?
Phoebus
it
was;
who,
in
his
latest
hour,
Endued
his
knees
with
strength,
his
nerves
with
power:
And
great
Achilles,
lest
some
Greek's
advance
Should
snatch
the
glory
from
his
lifted
lance,
Sign'd
to
the
troops
to
yield
his
foe
the
way,
And
leave
untouch'd
the
honours
of
the
day.
Jove
lifts
the
golden
balances,
that
show
The
fates
of
mortal
men,
and
things
below:
Here
each
contending
hero's
lot
he
tries,
And
weighs,
with
equal
hand,
their
destinies.
Low
sinks
the
scale
surcharged
with
Hector's
fate;
Heavy
with
death
it
sinks,
and
hell
receives
the
weight.
Then
Phoebus
left
him.
Fierce
Minerva
flies
To
stern
Pelides,
and
triumphing,
cries:
"O
loved
of
Jove!
this
day
our
labours
cease,
And
conquest
blazes
with
full
beams
on
Greece.
Great
Hector
falls;
that
Hector
famed
so
far,
Drunk
with
renown,
insatiable
of
war,
Falls
by
thy
hand,
and
mine!
nor
force,
nor
flight,
Shall
more
avail
him,
nor
his
god
of
light.
See,
where
in
vain
he
supplicates
above,
Roll'd
at
the
feet
of
unrelenting
Jove;
Rest
here:
myself
will
lead
the
Trojan
on,
And
urge
to
meet
the
fate
he
cannot
shun."
Her
voice
divine
the
chief
with
joyful
mind
Obey'd;
and
rested,
on
his
lance
reclined
While
like
Deiphobus
the
martial
dame
(Her
face,
her
gesture,
and
her
arms
the
same),
In
show
an
aid,
by
hapless
Hector's
side
Approach'd,
and
greets
him
thus
with
voice
belied:
"Too
long,
O
Hector!
have
I
borne
the
sight
Of
this
distress,
and
sorrow'd
in
thy
flight:
It
fits
us
now
a
noble
stand
to
make,
And
here,
as
brothers,
equal
fates
partake."
Then
he:
"O
prince!
allied
in
blood
and
fame,
Dearer
than
all
that
own
a
brother's
name;
Of
all
that
Hecuba
to
Priam
bore,
Long
tried,
long
loved:
much
loved,
but
honoured
more!
Since
you,
of
all
our
numerous
race
alone
Defend
my
life,
regardless
of
your
own."
Again
the
goddess:
"Much
my
father's
prayer,
And
much
my
mother's,
press'd
me
to
forbear:
My
friends
embraced
my
knees,
adjured
my
stay,
But
stronger
love
impell'd,
and
I
obey.
Come
then,
the
glorious
conflict
let
us
try,
Let
the
steel
sparkle,
and
the
javelin
fly;
Or
let
us
stretch
Achilles
on
the
field,
Or
to
his
arm
our
bloody
trophies
yield."
Fraudful
she
said;
then
swiftly
march'd
before:
The
Dardan
hero
shuns
his
foe
no
more.
Sternly
they
met.
The
silence
Hector
broke:
His
dreadful
plumage
nodded
as
he
spoke:
"Enough,
O
son
of
Peleus!
Troy
has
view'd
Her
walls
thrice
circled,
and
her
chief
pursued.
But
now
some
god
within
me
bids
me
try
Thine,
or
my
fate:
I
kill
thee,
or
I
die.
Yet
on
the
verge
of
battle
let
us
stay,
And
for
a
moment's
space
suspend
the
day;
Let
Heaven's
high
powers
be
call'd
to
arbitrate
The
just
conditions
of
this
stern
debate,
(Eternal
witnesses
of
all
below,
And
faithful
guardians
of
the
treasured
vow!)
To
them
I
swear;
if,
victor
in
the
strife,
Jove
by
these
hands
shall
shed
thy
noble
life,
No
vile
dishonour
shall
thy
corse
pursue;
Stripp'd
of
its
arms
alone
(the
conqueror's
due)
The
rest
to
Greece
uninjured
I'll
restore:
Now
plight
thy
mutual
oath,
I
ask
no
more."
"Talk
not
of
oaths
(the
dreadful
chief
replies,
While
anger
flash'd
from
his
disdainful
eyes),
Detested
as
thou
art,
and
ought
to
be,
Nor
oath
nor
pact
Achilles
plights
with
thee:
Such
pacts
as
lambs
and
rabid
wolves
combine,
Such
leagues
as
men
and
furious
lions
join,
To
such
I
call
the
gods!
one
constant
state
Of
lasting
rancour
and
eternal
hate:
No
thought
but
rage,
and
never-ceasing
strife,
Till
death
extinguish
rage,
and
thought,
and
life.
Rouse
then
thy
forces
this
important
hour,
Collect
thy
soul,
and
call
forth
all
thy
power.
No
further
subterfuge,
no
further
chance;
'Tis
Pallas,
Pallas
gives
thee
to
my
lance.
Each
Grecian
ghost,
by
thee
deprived
of
breath,
Now
hovers
round,
and
calls
thee
to
thy
death."
He
spoke,
and
launch'd
his
javelin
at
the
foe;
But
Hector
shunn'd
the
meditated
blow:
He
stoop'd,
while
o'er
his
head
the
flying
spear
Sang
innocent,
and
spent
its
force
in
air.
Minerva
watch'd
it
falling
on
the
land,
Then
drew,
and
gave
to
great
Achilles'
hand,
Unseen
of
Hector,
who,
elate
with
joy,
Now
shakes
his
lance,
and
braves
the
dread
of
Troy.
"The
life
you
boasted
to
that
javelin
given,
Prince!
you
have
miss'd.
My
fate
depends
on
Heaven,
To
thee,
presumptuous
as
thou
art,
unknown,
Or
what
must
prove
my
fortune,
or
thy
own.
Boasting
is
but
an
art,
our
fears
to
blind,
And
with
false
terrors
sink
another's
mind.
But
know,
whatever
fate
I
am
to
try,
By
no
dishonest
wound
shall
Hector
die.
I
shall
not
fall
a
fugitive
at
least,
My
soul
shall
bravely
issue
from
my
breast.
But
first,
try
thou
my
arm;
and
may
this
dart
End
all
my
country's
woes,
deep
buried
in
thy
heart."
The
weapon
flew,
its
course
unerring
held,
Unerring,
but
the
heavenly
shield
repell'd
The
mortal
dart;
resulting
with
a
bound
From
off
the
ringing
orb,
it
struck
the
ground.
Hector
beheld
his
javelin
fall
in
vain,
Nor
other
lance,
nor
other
hope
remain;
He
calls
Deiphobus,
demands
a
spear--
In
vain,
for
no
Deiphobus
was
there.
All
comfortless
he
stands:
then,
with
a
sigh;
"'Tis
so--Heaven
wills
it,
and
my
hour
is
nigh!
I
deem'd
Deiphobus
had
heard
my
call,
But
he
secure
lies
guarded
in
the
wall.
A
god
deceived
me;
Pallas,
'twas
thy
deed,
Death
and
black
fate
approach!
'tis
I
must
bleed.
No
refuge
now,
no
succour
from
above,
Great
Jove
deserts
me,
and
the
son
of
Jove,
Propitious
once,
and
kind!
Then
welcome
fate!
'Tis
true
I
perish,
yet
I
perish
great:
Yet
in
a
mighty
deed
I
shall
expire,
Let
future
ages
hear
it,
and
admire!"
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:
"At
last
is
Hector
stretch'd
upon
the
plain,
Who
fear'd
no
vengeance
for
Patroclus
slain:
Then,
prince!
you
should
have
fear'd,
what
now
you
feel;
Achilles
absent
was
Achilles
still:
Yet
a
short
space
the
great
avenger
stayed,
Then
low
in
dust
thy
strength
and
glory
laid.
Peaceful
he
sleeps,
with
all
our
rites
adorn'd,
For
ever
honour'd,
and
for
ever
mourn'd:
While
cast
to
all
the
rage
of
hostile
power,
Thee
birds
shall
mangle,
and
the
gods
devour."
Then
Hector,
fainting
at
the
approach
of
death:
"By
thy
own
soul!
by
those
who
gave
thee
breath!
By
all
the
sacred
prevalence
of
prayer;
Ah,
leave
me
not
for
Grecian
dogs
to
tear!
The
common
rites
of
sepulture
bestow,
To
soothe
a
father's
and
a
mother's
woe:
Let
their
large
gifts
procure
an
urn
at
least,
And
Hector's
ashes
in
his
country
rest."
"No,
wretch
accursed!
relentless
he
replies;
(Flames,
as
he
spoke,
shot
flashing
from
his
eyes;)
Not
those
who
gave
me
breath
should
bid
me
spare,
Nor
all
the
sacred
prevalence
of
prayer.
Could
I
myself
the
bloody
banquet
join!
No--to
the
dogs
that
carcase
I
resign.
Should
Troy,
to
bribe
me,
bring
forth
all
her
store,
And
giving
thousands,
offer
thousands
more;
Should
Dardan
Priam,
and
his
weeping
dame,
Drain
their
whole
realm
to
buy
one
funeral
flame:
Their
Hector
on
the
pile
they
should
not
see,
Nor
rob
the
vultures
of
one
limb
of
thee."
Then
thus
the
chief
his
dying
accents
drew:
"Thy
rage,
implacable!
too
well
I
knew:
The
Furies
that
relentless
breast
have
steel'd,
And
cursed
thee
with
a
heart
that
cannot
yield.
Yet
think,
a
day
will
come,
when
fate's
decree
And
angry
gods
shall
wreak
this
wrong
on
thee;
Phoebus
and
Paris
shall
avenge
my
fate,
And
stretch
thee
here
before
the
Scaean
gate."(278)
He
ceased.
The
Fates
suppress'd
his
labouring
breath,
And
his
eyes
stiffen'd
at
the
hand
of
death;
To
the
dark
realm
the
spirit
wings
its
way,
(The
manly
body
left
a
load
of
clay,)
And
plaintive
glides
along
the
dreary
coast,
A
naked,
wandering,
melancholy
ghost!
Achilles,
musing
as
he
roll'd
his
eyes
O'er
the
dead
hero,
thus
unheard,
replies:
"Die
thou
the
first!
When
Jove
and
heaven
ordain,
I
follow
thee"--He
said,
and
stripp'd
the
slain.
Then
forcing
backward
from
the
gaping
wound
The
reeking
javelin,
cast
it
on
the
ground.
The
thronging
Greeks
behold
with
wondering
eyes
His
manly
beauty
and
superior
size;
While
some,
ignobler,
the
great
dead
deface
With
wounds
ungenerous,
or
with
taunts
disgrace:
"How
changed
that
Hector,
who
like
Jove
of
late
Sent
lightning
on
our
fleets,
and
scatter'd
fate!"
High
o'er
the
slain
the
great
Achilles
stands,
Begirt
with
heroes
and
surrounding
bands;
And
thus
aloud,
while
all
the
host
attends:
"Princes
and
leaders!
countrymen
and
friends!
Since
now
at
length
the
powerful
will
of
heaven
The
dire
destroyer
to
our
arm
has
given,
Is
not
Troy
fallen
already?
Haste,
ye
powers!
See,
if
already
their
deserted
towers
Are
left
unmann'd;
or
if
they
yet
retain
The
souls
of
heroes,
their
great
Hector
slain.
But
what
is
Troy,
or
glory
what
to
me?
Or
why
reflects
my
mind
on
aught
but
thee,
Divine
Patroclus!
Death
hath
seal'd
his
eyes;
Unwept,
unhonour'd,
uninterr'd
he
lies!
Can
his
dear
image
from
my
soul
depart,
Long
as
the
vital
spirit
moves
my
heart?
If
in
the
melancholy
shades
below,
The
flames
of
friends
and
lovers
cease
to
glow,
Yet
mine
shall
sacred
last;
mine,
undecay'd,
Burn
on
through
death,
and
animate
my
shade.
Meanwhile,
ye
sons
of
Greece,
in
triumph
bring
The
corpse
of
Hector,
and
your
paeans
sing.
Be
this
the
song,
slow-moving
toward
the
shore,
"Hector
is
dead,
and
Ilion
is
no
more."
Then
his
fell
soul
a
thought
of
vengeance
bred;
(Unworthy
of
himself,
and
of
the
dead;)
The
nervous
ancles
bored,
his
feet
he
bound
With
thongs
inserted
through
the
double
wound;
These
fix'd
up
high
behind
the
rolling
wain,
His
graceful
head
was
trail'd
along
the
plain.
Proud
on
his
car
the
insulting
victor
stood,
And
bore
aloft
his
arms,
distilling
blood.
He
smites
the
steeds;
the
rapid
chariot
flies;
The
sudden
clouds
of
circling
dust
arise.
Now
lost
is
all
that
formidable
air;
The
face
divine,
and
long-descending
hair,
Purple
the
ground,
and
streak
the
sable
sand;
Deform'd,
dishonour'd,
in
his
native
land,
Given
to
the
rage
of
an
insulting
throng,
And,
in
his
parents'
sight,
now
dragg'd
along!
The
mother
first
beheld
with
sad
survey;
She
rent
her
tresses,
venerable
grey,
And
cast,
far
off,
the
regal
veils
away.
With
piercing
shrieks
his
bitter
fate
she
moans,
While
the
sad
father
answers
groans
with
groans
Tears
after
tears
his
mournful
cheeks
o'erflow,
And
the
whole
city
wears
one
face
of
woe:
No
less
than
if
the
rage
of
hostile
fires.
From
her
foundations
curling
to
her
spires,
O'er
the
proud
citadel
at
length
should
rise,
And
the
last
blaze
send
Ilion
to
the
skies.
The
wretched
monarch
of
the
falling
state,
Distracted,
presses
to
the
Dardan
gate.
Scarce
the
whole
people
stop
his
desperate
course,
While
strong
affliction
gives
the
feeble
force:
Grief
tears
his
heart,
and
drives
him
to
and
fro,
In
all
the
raging
impotence
of
woe.
At
length
he
roll'd
in
dust,
and
thus
begun,
Imploring
all,
and
naming
one
by
one:
"Ah!
let
me,
let
me
go
where
sorrow
calls;
I,
only
I,
will
issue
from
your
walls
(Guide
or
companion,
friends!
I
ask
ye
none),
And
bow
before
the
murderer
of
my
son.
My
grief
perhaps
his
pity
may
engage;
Perhaps
at
least
he
may
respect
my
age.
He
has
a
father
too;
a
man
like
me;
One,
not
exempt
from
age
and
misery
(Vigorous
no
more,
as
when
his
young
embrace
Begot
this
pest
of
me,
and
all
my
race).
How
many
valiant
sons,
in
early
bloom,
Has
that
cursed
hand
send
headlong
to
the
tomb!
Thee,
Hector!
last:
thy
loss
(divinely
brave)
Sinks
my
sad
soul
with
sorrow
to
the
grave.
O
had
thy
gentle
spirit
pass'd
in
peace,
The
son
expiring
in
the
sire's
embrace,
While
both
thy
parents
wept
the
fatal
hour,
And,
bending
o'er
thee,
mix'd
the
tender
shower!
Some
comfort
that
had
been,
some
sad
relief,
To
melt
in
full
satiety
of
grief!"
Thus
wail'd
the
father,
grovelling
on
the
ground,
And
all
the
eyes
of
Ilion
stream'd
around.
Amidst
her
matrons
Hecuba
appears:
(A
mourning
princess,
and
a
train
in
tears;)
"Ah
why
has
Heaven
prolong'd
this
hated
breath,
Patient
of
horrors,
to
behold
thy
death?
O
Hector!
late
thy
parents'
pride
and
joy,
The
boast
of
nations!
the
defence
of
Troy!
To
whom
her
safety
and
her
fame
she
owed;
Her
chief,
her
hero,
and
almost
her
god!
O
fatal
change!
become
in
one
sad
day
A
senseless
corse!
inanimated
clay!"
But
not
as
yet
the
fatal
news
had
spread
To
fair
Andromache,
of
Hector
dead;
As
yet
no
messenger
had
told
his
fate,
Not
e'en
his
stay
without
the
Scaean
gate.
Far
in
the
close
recesses
of
the
dome,
Pensive
she
plied
the
melancholy
loom;
A
growing
work
employ'd
her
secret
hours,
Confusedly
gay
with
intermingled
flowers.
Her
fair-haired
handmaids
heat
the
brazen
urn,
The
bath
preparing
for
her
lord's
return
In
vain;
alas!
her
lord
returns
no
more;
Unbathed
he
lies,
and
bleeds
along
the
shore!
Now
from
the
walls
the
clamours
reach
her
ear,
And
all
her
members
shake
with
sudden
fear:
Forth
from
her
ivory
hand
the
shuttle
falls,
And
thus,
astonish'd,
to
her
maids
she
calls:
[Illustration:
THE
BATH.]
THE
BATH.
"Ah
follow
me!
(she
cried)
what
plaintive
noise
Invades
my
ear?
'Tis
sure
my
mother's
voice.
My
faltering
knees
their
trembling
frame
desert,
A
pulse
unusual
flutters
at
my
heart;
Some
strange
disaster,
some
reverse
of
fate
(Ye
gods
avert
it!)
threats
the
Trojan
state.
Far
be
the
omen
which
my
thoughts
suggest!
But
much
I
fear
my
Hector's
dauntless
breast
Confronts
Achilles;
chased
along
the
plain,
Shut
from
our
walls!
I
fear,
I
fear
him
slain!
Safe
in
the
crowd
he
ever
scorn'd
to
wait,
And
sought
for
glory
in
the
jaws
of
fate:
Perhaps
that
noble
heat
has
cost
his
breath,
Now
quench'd
for
ever
in
the
arms
of
death."
She
spoke:
and
furious,
with
distracted
pace,
Fears
in
her
heart,
and
anguish
in
her
face,
Flies
through
the
dome
(the
maids
her
steps
pursue),
And
mounts
the
walls,
and
sends
around
her
view.
Too
soon
her
eyes
the
killing
object
found,
The
godlike
Hector
dragg'd
along
the
ground.
A
sudden
darkness
shades
her
swimming
eyes:
She
faints,
she
falls;
her
breath,
her
colour
flies.
Her
hair's
fair
ornaments,
the
braids
that
bound,
The
net
that
held
them,
and
the
wreath
that
crown'd,
The
veil
and
diadem
flew
far
away
(The
gift
of
Venus
on
her
bridal
day).
Around
a
train
of
weeping
sisters
stands,
To
raise
her
sinking
with
assistant
hands.
Scarce
from
the
verge
of
death
recall'd,
again
She
faints,
or
but
recovers
to
complain.
[Illustration:
ANDROMACHE
FAINTING
ON
THE
WALL.]
ANDROMACHE
FAINTING
ON
THE
WALL.
"O
wretched
husband
of
a
wretched
wife!
Born
with
one
fate,
to
one
unhappy
life!
For
sure
one
star
its
baneful
beam
display'd
On
Priam's
roof,
and
Hippoplacia's
shade.
From
different
parents,
different
climes
we
came.
At
different
periods,
yet
our
fate
the
same!
Why
was
my
birth
to
great
Aetion
owed,
And
why
was
all
that
tender
care
bestow'd?
Would
I
had
never
been!--O
thou,
the
ghost
Of
my
dead
husband!
miserably
lost!
Thou
to
the
dismal
realms
for
ever
gone!
And
I
abandon'd,
desolate,
alone!
An
only
child,
once
comfort
of
my
pains,
Sad
product
now
of
hapless
love,
remains!
No
more
to
smile
upon
his
sire;
no
friend
To
help
him
now!
no
father
to
defend!
For
should
he
'scape
the
sword,
the
common
doom,
What
wrongs
attend
him,
and
what
griefs
to
come!
Even
from
his
own
paternal
roof
expell'd,
Some
stranger
ploughs
his
patrimonial
field.
The
day,
that
to
the
shades
the
father
sends,
Robs
the
sad
orphan
of
his
father's
friends:
He,
wretched
outcast
of
mankind!
appears
For
ever
sad,
for
ever
bathed
in
tears;
Amongst
the
happy,
unregarded,
he
Hangs
on
the
robe,
or
trembles
at
the
knee,
While
those
his
father's
former
bounty
fed
Nor
reach
the
goblet,
nor
divide
the
bread:
The
kindest
but
his
present
wants
allay,
To
leave
him
wretched
the
succeeding
day.
Frugal
compassion!
Heedless,
they
who
boast
Both
parents
still,
nor
feel
what
he
has
lost,
Shall
cry,
'Begone!
thy
father
feasts
not
here:'
The
wretch
obeys,
retiring
with
a
tear.
Thus
wretched,
thus
retiring
all
in
tears,
To
my
sad
soul
Astyanax
appears!
Forced
by
repeated
insults
to
return,
And
to
his
widow'd
mother
vainly
mourn:
He,
who,
with
tender
delicacy
bred,
With
princes
sported,
and
on
dainties
fed,
And
when
still
evening
gave
him
up
to
rest,
Sunk
soft
in
down
upon
the
nurse's
breast,
Must--ah
what
must
he
not?
Whom
Ilion
calls
Astyanax,
from
her
well-guarded
walls,(279)
Is
now
that
name
no
more,
unhappy
boy!
Since
now
no
more
thy
father
guards
his
Troy.
But
thou,
my
Hector,
liest
exposed
in
air,
Far
from
thy
parents'
and
thy
consort's
care;
Whose
hand
in
vain,
directed
by
her
love,
The
martial
scarf
and
robe
of
triumph
wove.
Now
to
devouring
flames
be
these
a
prey,
Useless
to
thee,
from
this
accursed
day!
Yet
let
the
sacrifice
at
least
be
paid,
An
honour
to
the
living,
not
the
dead!"
So
spake
the
mournful
dame:
her
matrons
hear,
Sigh
back
her
sighs,
and
answer
tear
with
tear.
BOOK
XXIII.
ARGUMENT.
FUNERAL
GAMES
IN
HONOUR
OF
PATROCLUS.(280)
Achilles
and
the
Myrmidons
do
honours
to
the
body
of
Patroclus.
After
the
funeral
feast
he
retires
to
the
sea-shore,
where,
falling
asleep,
the
ghost
of
his
friend
appears
to
him,
and
demands
the
rites
of
burial;
the
next
morning
the
soldiers
are
sent
with
mules
and
waggons
to
fetch
wood
for
the
pyre.
The
funeral
procession,
and
the
offering
their
hair
to
the
dead.
Achilles
sacrifices
several
animals,
and
lastly
twelve
Trojan
captives,
at
the
pile;
then
sets
fire
to
it.
He
pays
libations
to
the
Winds,
which
(at
the
instance
of
Iris)
rise,
and
raise
the
flames.
When
the
pile
has
burned
all
night,
they
gather
the
bones,
place
them
in
an
urn
of
gold,
and
raise
the
tomb.
Achilles
institutes
the
funeral
games:
the
chariot-race,
the
fight
of
the
caestus,
the
wrestling,
the
foot-race,
the
single
combat,
the
discus,
the
shooting
with
arrows,
the
darting
the
javelin:
the
various
descriptions
of
which,
and
the
various
success
of
the
several
antagonists,
make
the
greatest
part
of
the
book.
In
this
book
ends
the
thirtieth
day.
The
night
following,
the
ghost
of
Patroclus
appears
to
Achilles:
the
one-and-thirtieth
day
is
employed
in
felling
the
timber
for
the
pile:
the
two-and-thirtieth
in
burning
it;
and
the
three-and-thirtieth
in
the
games.
The
scene
is
generally
on
the
sea-shore.
Thus
humbled
in
the
dust,
the
pensive
train
Through
the
sad
city
mourn'd
her
hero
slain.
The
body
soil'd
with
dust,
and
black
with
gore,
Lies
on
broad
Hellespont's
resounding
shore.
The
Grecians
seek
their
ships,
and
clear
the
strand,
All,
but
the
martial
Myrmidonian
band:
These
yet
assembled
great
Achilles
holds,
And
the
stern
purpose
of
his
mind
unfolds:
"Not
yet,
my
brave
companions
of
the
war,
Release
your
smoking
coursers
from
the
car;
But,
with
his
chariot
each
in
order
led,
Perform
due
honours
to
Patroclus
dead.
Ere
yet
from
rest
or
food
we
seek
relief,
Some
rites
remain,
to
glut
our
rage
of
grief."
The
troops
obey'd;
and
thrice
in
order
led(281)
(Achilles
first)
their
coursers
round
the
dead;
And
thrice
their
sorrows
and
laments
renew;
Tears
bathe
their
arms,
and
tears
the
sands
bedew.
For
such
a
warrior
Thetis
aids
their
woe,
Melts
their
strong
hearts,
and
bids
their
eyes
to
flow.
But
chief,
Pelides:
thick-succeeding
sighs
Burst
from
his
heart,
and
torrents
from
his
eyes:
His
slaughtering
hands,
yet
red
with
blood,
he
laid
On
his
dead
friend's
cold
breast,
and
thus
he
said:
"All
hail,
Patroclus!
let
thy
honour'd
ghost
Hear,
and
rejoice
on
Pluto's
dreary
coast;
Behold!
Achilles'
promise
is
complete;
The
bloody
Hector
stretch'd
before
thy
feet.
Lo!
to
the
dogs
his
carcase
I
resign;
And
twelve
sad
victims,
of
the
Trojan
line,
Sacred
to
vengeance,
instant
shall
expire;
Their
lives
effused
around
thy
funeral
pyre."
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)
"No
drop
shall
touch
me,
by
almighty
Jove!
The
first
and
greatest
of
the
gods
above!
Till
on
the
pyre
I
place
thee;
till
I
rear
The
grassy
mound,
and
clip
thy
sacred
hair.
Some
ease
at
least
those
pious
rites
may
give,
And
soothe
my
sorrows,
while
I
bear
to
live.
Howe'er,
reluctant
as
I
am,
I
stay
And
share
your
feast;
but
with
the
dawn
of
day,
(O
king
of
men!)
it
claims
thy
royal
care,
That
Greece
the
warrior's
funeral
pile
prepare,
And
bid
the
forests
fall:
(such
rites
are
paid
To
heroes
slumbering
in
eternal
shade:)
Then,
when
his
earthly
part
shall
mount
in
fire,
Let
the
leagued
squadrons
to
their
posts
retire."
He
spoke:
they
hear
him,
and
the
word
obey;
The
rage
of
hunger
and
of
thirst
allay,
Then
ease
in
sleep
the
labours
of
the
day.
But
great
Pelides,
stretch'd
along
the
shore,
Where,
dash'd
on
rocks,
the
broken
billows
roar,
Lies
inly
groaning;
while
on
either
hand
The
martial
Myrmidons
confusedly
stand.
Along
the
grass
his
languid
members
fall,
Tired
with
his
chase
around
the
Trojan
wall;
Hush'd
by
the
murmurs
of
the
rolling
deep,
At
length
he
sinks
in
the
soft
arms
of
sleep.
When
lo!
the
shade,
before
his
closing
eyes,
Of
sad
Patroclus
rose,
or
seem'd
to
rise:
In
the
same
robe
he
living
wore,
he
came:
In
stature,
voice,
and
pleasing
look,
the
same.
The
form
familiar
hover'd
o'er
his
head,
"And
sleeps
Achilles?
(thus
the
phantom
said:)
Sleeps
my
Achilles,
his
Patroclus
dead?
Living,
I
seem'd
his
dearest,
tenderest
care,
But
now
forgot,
I
wander
in
the
air.
Let
my
pale
corse
the
rites
of
burial
know,
And
give
me
entrance
in
the
realms
below:
Till
then
the
spirit
finds
no
resting-place,
But
here
and
there
the
unbodied
spectres
chase
The
vagrant
dead
around
the
dark
abode,
Forbid
to
cross
the
irremeable
flood.
Now
give
thy
hand;
for
to
the
farther
shore
When
once
we
pass,
the
soul
returns
no
more:
When
once
the
last
funereal
flames
ascend,
No
more
shall
meet
Achilles
and
his
friend;
No
more
our
thoughts
to
those
we
loved
make
known;
Or
quit
the
dearest,
to
converse
alone.
Me
fate
has
sever'd
from
the
sons
of
earth,
The
fate
fore-doom'd
that
waited
from
my
birth:
Thee
too
it
waits;
before
the
Trojan
wall
Even
great
and
godlike
thou
art
doom'd
to
fall.
Hear
then;
and
as
in
fate
and
love
we
join,
Ah
suffer
that
my
bones
may
rest
with
thine!
Together
have
we
lived;
together
bred,
One
house
received
us,
and
one
table
fed;
That
golden
urn,
thy
goddess-mother
gave,
May
mix
our
ashes
in
one
common
grave."
"And
is
it
thou?
(he
answers)
To
my
sight(283)
Once
more
return'st
thou
from
the
realms
of
night?
O
more
than
brother!
Think
each
office
paid,
Whate'er
can
rest
a
discontented
shade;
But
grant
one
last
embrace,
unhappy
boy!
Afford
at
least
that
melancholy
joy."
He
said,
and
with
his
longing
arms
essay'd
In
vain
to
grasp
the
visionary
shade!
Like
a
thin
smoke
he
sees
the
spirit
fly,(284)
And
hears
a
feeble,
lamentable
cry.
Confused
he
wakes;
amazement
breaks
the
bands
Of
golden
sleep,
and
starting
from
the
sands,
Pensive
he
muses
with
uplifted
hands:
"'Tis
true,
'tis
certain;
man,
though
dead,
retains
Part
of
himself;
the
immortal
mind
remains:
The
form
subsists
without
the
body's
aid,
Aerial
semblance,
and
an
empty
shade!
This
night
my
friend,
so
late
in
battle
lost,
Stood
at
my
side,
a
pensive,
plaintive
ghost:
Even
now
familiar,
as
in
life,
he
came;
Alas!
how
different!
yet
how
like
the
same!"
Thus
while
he
spoke,
each
eye
grew
big
with
tears:
And
now
the
rosy-finger'd
morn
appears,
Shows
every
mournful
face
with
tears
o'erspread,
And
glares
on
the
pale
visage
of
the
dead.
But
Agamemnon,
as
the
rites
demand,
With
mules
and
waggons
sends
a
chosen
band
To
load
the
timber,
and
the
pile
to
rear;
A
charge
consign'd
to
Merion's
faithful
care.
With
proper
instruments
they
take
the
road,
Axes
to
cut,
and
ropes
to
sling
the
load.
First
march
the
heavy
mules,
securely
slow,
O'er
hills,
o'er
dales,
o'er
crags,
o'er
rocks
they
go:(285)
Jumping,
high
o'er
the
shrubs
of
the
rough
ground,
Rattle
the
clattering
cars,
and
the
shock'd
axles
bound
But
when
arrived
at
Ida's
spreading
woods,(286)
(Fair
Ida,
water'd
with
descending
floods,)
Loud
sounds
the
axe,
redoubling
strokes
on
strokes;
On
all
sides
round
the
forest
hurls
her
oaks
Headlong.
Deep
echoing
groan
the
thickets
brown;
Then
rustling,
crackling,
crashing,
thunder
down.
The
wood
the
Grecians
cleave,
prepared
to
burn;
And
the
slow
mules
the
same
rough
road
return
The
sturdy
woodmen
equal
burdens
bore
(Such
charge
was
given
them)
to
the
sandy
shore;
There
on
the
spot
which
great
Achilles
show'd,
They
eased
their
shoulders,
and
disposed
the
load;
Circling
around
the
place,
where
times
to
come
Shall
view
Patroclus'
and
Achilles'
tomb.
The
hero
bids
his
martial
troops
appear
High
on
their
cars
in
all
the
pomp
of
war;
Each
in
refulgent
arms
his
limbs
attires,
All
mount
their
chariots,
combatants
and
squires.
The
chariots
first
proceed,
a
shining
train;
Then
clouds
of
foot
that
smoke
along
the
plain;
Next
these
the
melancholy
band
appear;
Amidst,
lay
dead
Patroclus
on
the
bier;
O'er
all
the
corse
their
scattered
locks
they
throw;
Achilles
next,
oppress'd
with
mighty
woe,
Supporting
with
his
hands
the
hero's
head,
Bends
o'er
the
extended
body
of
the
dead.
Patroclus
decent
on
the
appointed
ground
They
place,
and
heap
the
sylvan
pile
around.
But
great
Achilles
stands
apart
in
prayer,
And
from
his
head
divides
the
yellow
hair;
Those
curling
locks
which
from
his
youth
he
vow'd,(287)
And
sacred
grew,
to
Sperchius'
honour'd
flood:
Then
sighing,
to
the
deep
his
locks
he
cast,
And
roll'd
his
eyes
around
the
watery
waste:
"Sperchius!
whose
waves
in
mazy
errors
lost
Delightful
roll
along
my
native
coast!
To
whom
we
vainly
vow'd,
at
our
return,
These
locks
to
fall,
and
hecatombs
to
burn:
Full
fifty
rams
to
bleed
in
sacrifice,
Where
to
the
day
thy
silver
fountains
rise,
And
where
in
shade
of
consecrated
bowers
Thy
altars
stand,
perfumed
with
native
flowers!
So
vow'd
my
father,
but
he
vow'd
in
vain;
No
more
Achilles
sees
his
native
plain;
In
that
vain
hope
these
hairs
no
longer
grow,
Patroclus
bears
them
to
the
shades
below."
Thus
o'er
Patroclus
while
the
hero
pray'd,
On
his
cold
hand
the
sacred
lock
he
laid.
Once
more
afresh
the
Grecian
sorrows
flow:
And
now
the
sun
had
set
upon
their
woe;
But
to
the
king
of
men
thus
spoke
the
chief:
"Enough,
Atrides!
give
the
troops
relief:
Permit
the
mourning
legions
to
retire,
And
let
the
chiefs
alone
attend
the
pyre;
The
pious
care
be
ours,
the
dead
to
burn--"
He
said:
the
people
to
their
ships
return:
While
those
deputed
to
inter
the
slain
Heap
with
a
rising
pyramid
the
plain.(288)
A
hundred
foot
in
length,
a
hundred
wide,
The
growing
structure
spreads
on
every
side;
High
on
the
top
the
manly
corse
they
lay,
And
well-fed
sheep
and
sable
oxen
slay:
Achilles
covered
with
their
fat
the
dead,
And
the
piled
victims
round
the
body
spread;
Then
jars
of
honey,
and
of
fragrant
oil,
Suspends
around,
low-bending
o'er
the
pile.
Four
sprightly
coursers,
with
a
deadly
groan
Pour
forth
their
lives,
and
on
the
pyre
are
thrown.
Of
nine
large
dogs,
domestic
at
his
board,
Fall
two,
selected
to
attend
their
lord,
Then
last
of
all,
and
horrible
to
tell,
Sad
sacrifice!
twelve
Trojan
captives
fell.(289)
On
these
the
rage
of
fire
victorious
preys,
Involves
and
joins
them
in
one
common
blaze.
Smear'd
with
the
bloody
rites,
he
stands
on
high,
And
calls
the
spirit
with
a
dreadful
cry:(290)
"All
hail,
Patroclus!
let
thy
vengeful
ghost
Hear,
and
exult,
on
Pluto's
dreary
coast.
Behold
Achilles'
promise
fully
paid,
Twelve
Trojan
heroes
offer'd
to
thy
shade;
But
heavier
fates
on
Hector's
corse
attend,
Saved
from
the
flames,
for
hungry
dogs
to
rend."
So
spake
he,
threatening:
but
the
gods
made
vain
His
threat,
and
guard
inviolate
the
slain:
Celestial
Venus
hover'd
o'er
his
head,
And
roseate
unguents,
heavenly
fragrance!
shed:
She
watch'd
him
all
the
night
and
all
the
day,
And
drove
the
bloodhounds
from
their
destined
prey.
Nor
sacred
Phoebus
less
employ'd
his
care;
He
pour'd
around
a
veil
of
gather'd
air,
And
kept
the
nerves
undried,
the
flesh
entire,
Against
the
solar
beam
and
Sirian
fire.
[Illustration:
THE
FUNERAL
PILE
OF
PATROCLUS.]
THE
FUNERAL
PILE
OF
PATROCLUS.
Nor
yet
the
pile,
where
dead
Patroclus
lies,
Smokes,
nor
as
yet
the
sullen
flames
arise;
But,
fast
beside,
Achilles
stood
in
prayer,
Invoked
the
gods
whose
spirit
moves
the
air,
And
victims
promised,
and
libations
cast,
To
gentle
Zephyr
and
the
Boreal
blast:
He
call'd
the
aerial
powers,
along
the
skies
To
breathe,
and
whisper
to
the
fires
to
rise.
The
winged
Iris
heard
the
hero's
call,
And
instant
hasten'd
to
their
airy
hall,
Where
in
old
Zephyr's
open
courts
on
high,
Sat
all
the
blustering
brethren
of
the
sky.
She
shone
amidst
them,
on
her
painted
bow;
The
rocky
pavement
glitter'd
with
the
show.
All
from
the
banquet
rise,
and
each
invites
The
various
goddess
to
partake
the
rites.
"Not
so
(the
dame
replied),
I
haste
to
go
To
sacred
Ocean,
and
the
floods
below:
Even
now
our
solemn
hecatombs
attend,
And
heaven
is
feasting
on
the
world's
green
end
With
righteous
Ethiops
(uncorrupted
train!)
Far
on
the
extremest
limits
of
the
main.
But
Peleus'
son
entreats,
with
sacrifice,
The
western
spirit,
and
the
north,
to
rise!
Let
on
Patroclus'
pile
your
blast
be
driven,
And
bear
the
blazing
honours
high
to
heaven."
Swift
as
the
word
she
vanish'd
from
their
view;
Swift
as
the
word
the
winds
tumultuous
flew;
Forth
burst
the
stormy
band
with
thundering
roar,
And
heaps
on
heaps
the
clouds
are
toss'd
before.
To
the
wide
main
then
stooping
from
the
skies,
The
heaving
deeps
in
watery
mountains
rise:
Troy
feels
the
blast
along
her
shaking
walls,
Till
on
the
pile
the
gather'd
tempest
falls.
The
structure
crackles
in
the
roaring
fires,
And
all
the
night
the
plenteous
flame
aspires.
All
night
Achilles
hails
Patroclus'
soul,
With
large
libations
from
the
golden
bowl.
As
a
poor
father,
helpless
and
undone,
Mourns
o'er
the
ashes
of
an
only
son,
Takes
a
sad
pleasure
the
last
bones
to
burn,
And
pours
in
tears,
ere
yet
they
close
the
urn:
So
stay'd
Achilles,
circling
round
the
shore,
So
watch'd
the
flames,
till
now
they
flame
no
more.
'Twas
when,
emerging
through
the
shades
of
night.
The
morning
planet
told
the
approach
of
light;
And,
fast
behind,
Aurora's
warmer
ray
O'er
the
broad
ocean
pour'd
the
golden
day:
Then
sank
the
blaze,
the
pile
no
longer
burn'd,
And
to
their
caves
the
whistling
winds
return'd:
Across
the
Thracian
seas
their
course
they
bore;
The
ruffled
seas
beneath
their
passage
roar.
Then
parting
from
the
pile
he
ceased
to
weep,
And
sank
to
quiet
in
the
embrace
of
sleep,
Exhausted
with
his
grief:
meanwhile
the
crowd
Of
thronging
Grecians
round
Achilles
stood;
The
tumult
waked
him:
from
his
eyes
he
shook
Unwilling
slumber,
and
the
chiefs
bespoke:
"Ye
kings
and
princes
of
the
Achaian
name!
First
let
us
quench
the
yet
remaining
flame
With
sable
wine;
then,
as
the
rites
direct,
The
hero's
bones
with
careful
view
select:
(Apart,
and
easy
to
be
known
they
lie
Amidst
the
heap,
and
obvious
to
the
eye:
The
rest
around
the
margin
will
be
seen
Promiscuous,
steeds
and
immolated
men:)
These
wrapp'd
in
double
cauls
of
fat,
prepare;
And
in
the
golden
vase
dispose
with
care;
There
let
them
rest
with
decent
honour
laid,
Till
I
shall
follow
to
the
infernal
shade.
Meantime
erect
the
tomb
with
pious
hands,
A
common
structure
on
the
humble
sands:
Hereafter
Greece
some
nobler
work
may
raise,
And
late
posterity
record
our
praise!"
The
Greeks
obey;
where
yet
the
embers
glow,
Wide
o'er
the
pile
the
sable
wine
they
throw,
And
deep
subsides
the
ashy
heap
below.
Next
the
white
bones
his
sad
companions
place,
With
tears
collected,
in
the
golden
vase.
The
sacred
relics
to
the
tent
they
bore;
The
urn
a
veil
of
linen
covered
o'er.
That
done,
they
bid
the
sepulchre
aspire,
And
cast
the
deep
foundations
round
the
pyre;
High
in
the
midst
they
heap
the
swelling
bed
Of
rising
earth,
memorial
of
the
dead.
The
swarming
populace
the
chief
detains,
And
leads
amidst
a
wide
extent
of
plains;
There
placed
them
round:
then
from
the
ships
proceeds
A
train
of
oxen,
mules,
and
stately
steeds,
Vases
and
tripods
(for
the
funeral
games),
Resplendent
brass,
and
more
resplendent
dames.
First
stood
the
prizes
to
reward
the
force
Of
rapid
racers
in
the
dusty
course:
A
woman
for
the
first,
in
beauty's
bloom,
Skill'd
in
the
needle,
and
the
labouring
loom;
And
a
large
vase,
where
two
bright
handles
rise,
Of
twenty
measures
its
capacious
size.
The
second
victor
claims
a
mare
unbroke,
Big
with
a
mule,
unknowing
of
the
yoke:
The
third,
a
charger
yet
untouch'd
by
flame;
Four
ample
measures
held
the
shining
frame:
Two
golden
talents
for
the
fourth
were
placed:
An
ample
double
bowl
contents
the
last.
These
in
fair
order
ranged
upon
the
plain,
The
hero,
rising,
thus
address'd
the
train:
"Behold
the
prizes,
valiant
Greeks!
decreed
To
the
brave
rulers
of
the
racing
steed;
Prizes
which
none
beside
ourself
could
gain,
Should
our
immortal
coursers
take
the
plain;
(A
race
unrivall'd,
which
from
ocean's
god
Peleus
received,
and
on
his
son
bestow'd.)
But
this
no
time
our
vigour
to
display;
Nor
suit,
with
them,
the
games
of
this
sad
day:
Lost
is
Patroclus
now,
that
wont
to
deck
Their
flowing
manes,
and
sleek
their
glossy
neck.
Sad,
as
they
shared
in
human
grief,
they
stand,
And
trail
those
graceful
honours
on
the
sand!
Let
others
for
the
noble
task
prepare,
Who
trust
the
courser
and
the
flying
car."
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
chiefs
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,
(Ęthe
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.
"My
son!
though
youthful
ardour
fire
thy
breast,
The
gods
have
loved
thee,
and
with
arts
have
bless'd;
Neptune
and
Jove
on
thee
conferr'd
the
skill
Swift
round
the
goal
to
turn
the
flying
wheel.
To
guide
thy
conduct
little
precept
needs;
But
slow,
and
past
their
vigour,
are
my
steeds.
Fear
not
thy
rivals,
though
for
swiftness
known;
Compare
those
rivals'
judgment
and
thy
own:
It
is
not
strength,
but
art,
obtains
the
prize,
And
to
be
swift
is
less
than
to
be
wise.
'Tis
more
by
art
than
force
of
numerous
strokes
The
dexterous
woodman
shapes
the
stubborn
oaks;
By
art
the
pilot,
through
the
boiling
deep
And
howling
tempest,
steers
the
fearless
ship;
And
'tis
the
artist
wins
the
glorious
course;
Not
those
who
trust
in
chariots
and
in
horse.
In
vain,
unskilful
to
the
goal
they
strive,
And
short,
or
wide,
the
ungovern'd
courser
drive:
While
with
sure
skill,
though
with
inferior
steeds,
The
knowing
racer
to
his
end
proceeds;
Fix'd
on
the
goal
his
eye
foreruns
the
course,
His
hand
unerring
steers
the
steady
horse,
And
now
contracts,
or
now
extends
the
rein,
Observing
still
the
foremost
on
the
plain.
Mark
then
the
goal,
'tis
easy
to
be
found;
Yon
aged
trunk,
a
cubit
from
the
ground;
Of
some
once
stately
oak
the
last
remains,
Or
hardy
fir,
unperish'd
with
the
rains:
Inclosed
with
stones,
conspicuous
from
afar;
And
round,
a
circle
for
the
wheeling
car.
(Some
tomb
perhaps
of
old,
the
dead
to
grace;
Or
then,
as
now,
the
limit
of
a
race.)
Bear
close
to
this,
and
warily
proceed,
A
little
bending
to
the
left-hand
steed;
But
urge
the
right,
and
give
him
all
the
reins;
While
thy
strict
hand
his
fellow's
head
restrains,
And
turns
him
short;
till,
doubling
as
they
roll,
The
wheel's
round
naves
appear
to
brush
the
goal.
Yet
(not
to
break
the
car,
or
lame
the
horse)
Clear
of
the
stony
heap
direct
the
course;
Lest
through
incaution
failing,
thou
mayst
be
A
joy
to
others,
a
reproach
to
me.
So
shalt
thou
pass
the
goal,
secure
of
mind,
And
leave
unskilful
swiftness
far
behind:
Though
thy
fierce
rival
drove
the
matchless
steed
Which
bore
Adrastus,
of
celestial
breed;
Or
the
famed
race,
through
all
the
regions
known,
That
whirl'd
the
car
of
proud
Laomedon."
Thus
(nought
unsaid)
the
much-advising
sage
Concludes;
then
sat,
stiff
with
unwieldy
age.
Next
bold
Meriones
was
seen
to
rise,
The
last,
but
not
least
ardent
for
the
prize.
They
mount
their
seats;
the
lots
their
place
dispose
(Roll'd
in
his
helmet,
these
Achilles
throws).
Young
Nestor
leads
the
race:
Eumelus
then;
And
next
the
brother
of
the
king
of
men:
Thy
lot,
Meriones,
the
fourth
was
cast;
And,
far
the
bravest,
Diomed,
was
last.
They
stand
in
order,
an
impatient
train:
Pelides
points
the
barrier
on
the
plain,
And
sends
before
old
Phoenix
to
the
place,
To
mark
the
racers,
and
to
judge
the
race.
At
once
the
coursers
from
the
barrier
bound;
The
lifted
scourges
all
at
once
resound;
Their
heart,
their
eyes,
their
voice,
they
send
before;
And
up
the
champaign
thunder
from
the
shore:
Thick,
where
they
drive,
the
dusty
clouds
arise,
And
the
lost
courser
in
the
whirlwind
flies;
Loose
on
their
shoulders
the
long
manes
reclined,
Float
in
their
speed,
and
dance
upon
the
wind:
The
smoking
chariots,
rapid
as
they
bound,
Now
seem
to
touch
the
sky,
and
now
the
ground.
While
hot
for
fame,
and
conquest
all
their
care,
(Each
o'er
his
flying
courser
hung
in
air,)
Erect
with
ardour,
poised
upon
the
rein,
They
pant,
they
stretch,
they
shout
along
the
plain.
Now
(the
last
compass
fetch'd
around
the
goal)
At
the
near
prize
each
gathers
all
his
soul,
Each
burns
with
double
hope,
with
double
pain,
Tears
up
the
shore,
and
thunders
toward
the
main.
First
flew
Eumelus
on
Pheretian
steeds;
With
those
of
Tros
bold
Diomed
succeeds:
Close
on
Eumelus'
back
they
puff
the
wind,
And
seem
just
mounting
on
his
car
behind;
Full
on
his
neck
he
feels
the
sultry
breeze,
And,
hovering
o'er,
their
stretching
shadows
sees.
Then
had
he
lost,
or
left
a
doubtful
prize;
But
angry
Phoebus
to
Tydides
flies,
Strikes
from
his
hand
the
scourge,
and
renders
vain
His
matchless
horses'
labour
on
the
plain.
Rage
fills
his
eye
with
anguish,
to
survey
Snatch'd
from
his
hope
the
glories
of
the
day.
The
fraud
celestial
Pallas
sees
with
pain,
Springs
to
her
knight,
and
gives
the
scourge
again,
And
fills
his
steeds
with
vigour.
At
a
stroke
She
breaks
his
rival's
chariot
from
the
yoke:
No
more
their
way
the
startled
horses
held;
The
car
reversed
came
rattling
on
the
field;
Shot
headlong
from
his
seat,
beside
the
wheel,
Prone
on
the
dust
the
unhappy
master
fell;
His
batter'd
face
and
elbows
strike
the
ground;
Nose,
mouth,
and
front,
one
undistinguish'd
wound:
Grief
stops
his
voice,
a
torrent
drowns
his
eyes:
Before
him
far
the
glad
Tydides
flies;
Minerva's
spirit
drives
his
matchless
pace,
And
crowns
him
victor
of
the
labour'd
race.
The
next,
though
distant,
Menelaus
succeeds;
While
thus
young
Nestor
animates
his
steeds:
"Now,
now,
my
generous
pair,
exert
your
force;
Not
that
we
hope
to
match
Tydides'
horse,
Since
great
Minerva
wings
their
rapid
way,
And
gives
their
lord
the
honours
of
the
day;
But
reach
Atrides!
shall
his
mare
outgo
Your
swiftness?
vanquish'd
by
a
female
foe?
Through
your
neglect,
if
lagging
on
the
plain
The
last
ignoble
gift
be
all
we
gain,
No
more
shall
Nestor's
hand
your
food
supply,
The
old
man's
fury
rises,
and
ye
die.
Haste
then:
yon
narrow
road,
before
our
sight,
Presents
the
occasion,
could
we
use
it
right."
Thus
he.
The
coursers
at
their
master's
threat
With
quicker
steps
the
sounding
champaign
beat.
And
now
Antilochus
with
nice
survey
Observes
the
compass
of
the
hollow
way.
'Twas
where,
by
force
of
wintry
torrents
torn,
Fast
by
the
road
a
precipice
was
worn:
Here,
where
but
one
could
pass,
to
shun
the
throng
The
Spartan
hero's
chariot
smoked
along.
Close
up
the
venturous
youth
resolves
to
keep,
Still
edging
near,
and
bears
him
toward
the
steep.
Atrides,
trembling,
casts
his
eye
below,
And
wonders
at
the
rashness
of
his
foe.
"Hold,
stay
your
steeds--What
madness
thus
to
ride
This
narrow
way!
take
larger
field
(he
cried),
Or
both
must
fall."--Atrides
cried
in
vain;
He
flies
more
fast,
and
throws
up
all
the
rein.
Far
as
an
able
arm
the
disk
can
send,
When
youthful
rivals
their
full
force
extend,
So
far,
Antilochus!
thy
chariot
flew
Before
the
king:
he,
cautious,
backward
drew
His
horse
compell'd;
foreboding
in
his
fears
The
rattling
ruin
of
the
clashing
cars,
The
floundering
coursers
rolling
on
the
plain,
And
conquest
lost
through
frantic
haste
to
gain.
But
thus
upbraids
his
rival
as
he
flies:
"Go,
furious
youth!
ungenerous
and
unwise!
Go,
but
expect
not
I'll
the
prize
resign;
Add
perjury
to
fraud,
and
make
it
thine--"
Then
to
his
steeds
with
all
his
force
he
cries,
"Be
swift,
be
vigorous,
and
regain
the
prize!
Your
rivals,
destitute
of
youthful
force,
With
fainting
knees
shall
labour
in
the
course,
And
yield
the
glory
yours."--The
steeds
obey;
Already
at
their
heels
they
wing
their
way,
And
seem
already
to
retrieve
the
day.
Meantime
the
Grecians
in
a
ring
beheld
The
coursers
bounding
o'er
the
dusty
field.
The
first
who
mark'd
them
was
the
Cretan
king;
High
on
a
rising
ground,
above
the
ring,
The
monarch
sat:
from
whence
with
sure
survey
He
well
observed
the
chief
who
led
the
way,
And
heard
from
far
his
animating
cries,
And
saw
the
foremost
steed
with
sharpen'd
eyes;
On
whose
broad
front
a
blaze
of
shining
white,
Like
the
full
moon,
stood
obvious
to
the
sight.
He
saw;
and
rising,
to
the
Greeks
begun:
"Are
yonder
horse
discern'd
by
me
alone?
Or
can
ye,
all,
another
chief
survey,
And
other
steeds
than
lately
led
the
way?
Those,
though
the
swiftest,
by
some
god
withheld,
Lie
sure
disabled
in
the
middle
field:
For,
since
the
goal
they
doubled,
round
the
plain
I
search
to
find
them,
but
I
search
in
vain.
Perchance
the
reins
forsook
the
driver's
hand,
And,
turn'd
too
short,
he
tumbled
on
the
strand,
Shot
from
the
chariot;
while
his
coursers
stray
With
frantic
fury
from
the
destined
way.
Rise
then
some
other,
and
inform
my
sight,
For
these
dim
eyes,
perhaps,
discern
not
right;
Yet
sure
he
seems,
to
judge
by
shape
and
air,
The
great
Ętolian
chief,
renown'd
in
war."
"Old
man!
(Oileus
rashly
thus
replies)
Thy
tongue
too
hastily
confers
the
prize;
Of
those
who
view
the
course,
nor
sharpest
eyed,
Nor
youngest,
yet
the
readiest
to
decide.
Eumelus'
steeds,
high
bounding
in
the
chase,
Still,
as
at
first,
unrivall'd
lead
the
race:
I
well
discern
him,
as
he
shakes
the
rein,
And
hear
his
shouts
victorious
o'er
the
plain."
Thus
he.
Idomeneus,
incensed,
rejoin'd:
"Barbarous
of
words!
and
arrogant
of
mind!
Contentious
prince,
of
all
the
Greeks
beside
The
last
in
merit,
as
the
first
in
pride!
To
vile
reproach
what
answer
can
we
make?
A
goblet
or
a
tripod
let
us
stake,
And
be
the
king
the
judge.
The
most
unwise
Will
learn
their
rashness,
when
they
pay
the
price."
He
said:
and
Ajax,
by
mad
passion
borne,
Stern
had
replied;
fierce
scorn
enhancing
scorn
To
fell
extremes.
But
Thetis'
godlike
son
Awful
amidst
them
rose,
and
thus
begun:
"Forbear,
ye
chiefs!
reproachful
to
contend;
Much
would
ye
blame,
should
others
thus
offend:
And
lo!
the
approaching
steeds
your
contest
end."
No
sooner
had
he
spoke,
but
thundering
near,
Drives,
through
a
stream
of
dust,
the
charioteer.
High
o'er
his
head
the
circling
lash
he
wields:
His
bounding
horses
scarcely
touch
the
fields:
His
car
amidst
the
dusty
whirlwind
roll'd,
Bright
with
the
mingled
blaze
of
tin
and
gold,
Refulgent
through
the
cloud:
no
eye
could
find
The
track
his
flying
wheels
had
left
behind:
And
the
fierce
coursers
urged
their
rapid
pace
So
swift,
it
seem'd
a
flight,
and
not
a
race.
Now
victor
at
the
goal
Tydides
stands,
Quits
his
bright
car,
and
springs
upon
the
sands;
From
the
hot
steeds
the
sweaty
torrents
stream;
The
well-plied
whip
is
hung
athwart
the
beam:
With
joy
brave
Sthenelus
receives
the
prize,
The
tripod-vase,
and
dame
with
radiant
eyes:
These
to
the
ships
his
train
triumphant
leads,
The
chief
himself
unyokes
the
panting
steeds.
Young
Nestor
follows
(who
by
art,
not
force,
O'erpass'd
Atrides)
second
in
the
course.
Behind,
Atrides
urged
the
race,
more
near
Than
to
the
courser
in
his
swift
career
The
following
car,
just
touching
with
his
heel
And
brushing
with
his
tail
the
whirling
wheel:
Such,
and
so
narrow
now
the
space
between
The
rivals,
late
so
distant
on
the
green;
So
soon
swift
Ęthe
her
lost
ground
regain'd,
One
length,
one
moment,
had
the
race
obtain'd.
Merion
pursued,
at
greater
distance
still,
With
tardier
coursers,
and
inferior
skill.
Last
came,
Admetus!
thy
unhappy
son;
Slow
dragged
the
steeds
his
batter'd
chariot
on:
Achilles
saw,
and
pitying
thus
begun:
"Behold!
the
man
whose
matchless
art
surpass'd
The
sons
of
Greece!
the
ablest,
yet
the
last!
Fortune
denies,
but
justice
bids
us
pay
(Since
great
Tydides
bears
the
first
away)
To
him
the
second
honours
of
the
day."
The
Greeks
consent
with
loud-applauding
cries,
And
then
Eumelus
had
received
the
prize,
But
youthful
Nestor,
jealous
of
his
fame,
The
award
opposes,
and
asserts
his
claim.
"Think
not
(he
cries)
I
tamely
will
resign,
O
Peleus'
son!
the
mare
so
justly
mine.
What
if
the
gods,
the
skilful
to
confound,
Have
thrown
the
horse
and
horseman
to
the
ground?
Perhaps
he
sought
not
heaven
by
sacrifice,
And
vows
omitted
forfeited
the
prize.
If
yet
(distinction
to
thy
friend
to
show,
And
please
a
soul
desirous
to
bestow)
Some
gift
must
grace
Eumelus,
view
thy
store
Of
beauteous
handmaids,
steeds,
and
shining
ore;
An
ample
present
let
him
thence
receive,
And
Greece
shall
praise
thy
generous
thirst
to
give.
But
this
my
prize
I
never
shall
forego;
This,
who
but
touches,
warriors!
is
my
foe."
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."
He
said:
Automedon
at
his
command
The
corslet
brought,
and
gave
it
to
his
hand.
Distinguish'd
by
his
friend,
his
bosom
glows
With
generous
joy:
then
Menelaus
rose;
The
herald
placed
the
sceptre
in
his
hands,
And
still'd
the
clamour
of
the
shouting
bands.
Not
without
cause
incensed
at
Nestor's
son,
And
inly
grieving,
thus
the
king
begun:
"The
praise
of
wisdom,
in
thy
youth
obtain'd,
An
act
so
rash,
Antilochus!
has
stain'd.
Robb'd
of
my
glory
and
my
just
reward,
To
you,
O
Grecians!
be
my
wrong
declared:
So
not
a
leader
shall
our
conduct
blame,
Or
judge
me
envious
of
a
rival's
fame.
But
shall
not
we,
ourselves,
the
truth
maintain?
What
needs
appealing
in
a
fact
so
plain?
What
Greek
shall
blame
me,
if
I
bid
thee
rise,
And
vindicate
by
oath
th'
ill-gotten
prize?
Rise
if
thou
darest,
before
thy
chariot
stand,
The
driving
scourge
high-lifted
in
thy
hand;
And
touch
thy
steeds,
and
swear
thy
whole
intent
Was
but
to
conquer,
not
to
circumvent.
Swear
by
that
god
whose
liquid
arms
surround
The
globe,
and
whose
dread
earthquakes
heave
the
ground!"
The
prudent
chief
with
calm
attention
heard;
Then
mildly
thus:
"Excuse,
if
youth
have
err'd;
Superior
as
thou
art,
forgive
the
offence,
Nor
I
thy
equal,
or
in
years,
or
sense.
Thou
know'st
the
errors
of
unripen'd
age,
Weak
are
its
counsels,
headlong
is
its
rage.
The
prize
I
quit,
if
thou
thy
wrath
resign;
The
mare,
or
aught
thou
ask'st,
be
freely
thine
Ere
I
become
(from
thy
dear
friendship
torn)
Hateful
to
thee,
and
to
the
gods
forsworn."
So
spoke
Antilochus;
and
at
the
word
The
mare
contested
to
the
king
restored.
Joy
swells
his
soul:
as
when
the
vernal
grain
Lifts
the
green
ear
above
the
springing
plain,
The
fields
their
vegetable
life
renew,
And
laugh
and
glitter
with
the
morning
dew;
Such
joy
the
Spartan's
shining
face
o'erspread,
And
lifted
his
gay
heart,
while
thus
he
said:
"Still
may
our
souls,
O
generous
youth!
agree
'Tis
now
Atrides'
turn
to
yield
to
thee.
Rash
heat
perhaps
a
moment
might
control,
Not
break,
the
settled
temper
of
thy
soul.
Not
but
(my
friend)
'tis
still
the
wiser
way
To
waive
contention
with
superior
sway;
For
ah!
how
few,
who
should
like
thee
offend,
Like
thee,
have
talents
to
regain
the
friend!
To
plead
indulgence,
and
thy
fault
atone,
Suffice
thy
father's
merit
and
thy
own:
Generous
alike,
for
me,
the
sire
and
son
Have
greatly
suffer'd,
and
have
greatly
done.
I
yield;
that
all
may
know,
my
soul
can
bend,
Nor
is
my
pride
preferr'd
before
my
friend."
He
said;
and
pleased
his
passion
to
command,
Resign'd
the
courser
to
Noemon's
hand,
Friend
of
the
youthful
chief:
himself
content,
The
shining
charger
to
his
vessel
sent.
The
golden
talents
Merion
next
obtain'd;
The
fifth
reward,
the
double
bowl,
remain'd.
Achilles
this
to
reverend
Nestor
bears.
And
thus
the
purpose
of
his
gift
declares:
"Accept
thou
this,
O
sacred
sire!
(he
said)
In
dear
memorial
of
Patroclus
dead;
Dead
and
for
ever
lost
Patroclus
lies,
For
ever
snatch'd
from
our
desiring
eyes!
Take
thou
this
token
of
a
grateful
heart,
Though
'tis
not
thine
to
hurl
the
distant
dart,
The
quoit
to
toss,
the
ponderous
mace
to
wield,
Or
urge
the
race,
or
wrestle
on
the
field:
Thy
pristine
vigour
age
has
overthrown,
But
left
the
glory
of
the
past
thy
own."
He
said,
and
placed
the
goblet
at
his
side;
With
joy
the
venerable
king
replied:
"Wisely
and
well,
my
son,
thy
words
have
proved
A
senior
honour'd,
and
a
friend
beloved!
Too
true
it
is,
deserted
of
my
strength,
These
wither'd
arms
and
limbs
have
fail'd
at
length.
Oh!
had
I
now
that
force
I
felt
of
yore,
Known
through
Buprasium
and
the
Pylian
shore!
Victorious
then
in
every
solemn
game,
Ordain'd
to
Amarynces'
mighty
name;
The
brave
Epeians
gave
my
glory
way,
Ętolians,
Pylians,
all
resign'd
the
day.
I
quell'd
Clytomedes
in
fights
of
hand,
And
backward
hurl'd
Ancaeus
on
the
sand,
Surpass'd
Iphyclus
in
the
swift
career,
Phyleus
and
Polydorus
with
the
spear.
The
sons
of
Actor
won
the
prize
of
horse,
But
won
by
numbers,
not
by
art
or
force:
For
the
famed
twins,
impatient
to
survey
Prize
after
prize
by
Nestor
borne
away,
Sprung
to
their
car;
and
with
united
pains
One
lash'd
the
coursers,
while
one
ruled
the
reins.
Such
once
I
was!
Now
to
these
tasks
succeeds
A
younger
race,
that
emulate
our
deeds:
I
yield,
alas!
(to
age
who
must
not
yield?)
Though
once
the
foremost
hero
of
the
field.
Go
thou,
my
son!
by
generous
friendship
led,
With
martial
honours
decorate
the
dead:
While
pleased
I
take
the
gift
thy
hands
present,
(Pledge
of
benevolence,
and
kind
intent,)
Rejoiced,
of
all
the
numerous
Greeks,
to
see
Not
one
but
honours
sacred
age
and
me:
Those
due
distinctions
thou
so
well
canst
pay,
May
the
just
gods
return
another
day!"
Proud
of
the
gift,
thus
spake
the
full
of
days:
Achilles
heard
him,
prouder
of
the
praise.
The
prizes
next
are
order'd
to
the
field,
For
the
bold
champions
who
the
caestus
wield.
A
stately
mule,
as
yet
by
toils
unbroke,
Of
six
years'
age,
unconscious
of
the
yoke,
Is
to
the
circus
led,
and
firmly
bound;
Next
stands
a
goblet,
massy,
large,
and
round.
Achilles
rising,
thus:
"Let
Greece
excite
Two
heroes
equal
to
this
hardy
fight;
Who
dare
the
foe
with
lifted
arms
provoke,
And
rush
beneath
the
long-descending
stroke.
On
whom
Apollo
shall
the
palm
bestow,
And
whom
the
Greeks
supreme
by
conquest
know,
This
mule
his
dauntless
labours
shall
repay,
The
vanquish'd
bear
the
massy
bowl
away."
This
dreadful
combat
great
Epeus
chose;(291)
High
o'er
the
crowd,
enormous
bulk!
he
rose,
And
seized
the
beast,
and
thus
began
to
say:
"Stand
forth
some
man,
to
bear
the
bowl
away!
(Price
of
his
ruin:
for
who
dares
deny
This
mule
my
right;
the
undoubted
victor
I)
Others,
'tis
own'd,
in
fields
of
battle
shine,
But
the
first
honours
of
this
fight
are
mine;
For
who
excels
in
all?
Then
let
my
foe
Draw
near,
but
first
his
certain
fortune
know;
Secure
this
hand
shall
his
whole
frame
confound,
Mash
all
his
bones,
and
all
his
body
pound:
So
let
his
friends
be
nigh,
a
needful
train,
To
heave
the
batter'd
carcase
off
the
plain."
The
giant
spoke;
and
in
a
stupid
gaze
The
host
beheld
him,
silent
with
amaze!
'Twas
thou,
Euryalus!
who
durst
aspire
To
meet
his
might,
and
emulate
thy
sire,
The
great
Mecistheus;
who
in
days
of
yore
In
Theban
games
the
noblest
trophy
bore,
(The
games
ordain'd
dead
OEdipus
to
grace,)
And
singly
vanquish
the
Cadmean
race.
Him
great
Tydides
urges
to
contend,
Warm
with
the
hopes
of
conquest
for
his
friend;
Officious
with
the
cincture
girds
him
round;
And
to
his
wrist
the
gloves
of
death
are
bound.
Amid
the
circle
now
each
champion
stands,
And
poises
high
in
air
his
iron
hands;
With
clashing
gauntlets
now
they
fiercely
close,
Their
crackling
jaws
re-echo
to
the
blows,
And
painful
sweat
from
all
their
members
flows.
At
length
Epeus
dealt
a
weighty
blow
Full
on
the
cheek
of
his
unwary
foe;
Beneath
that
ponderous
arm's
resistless
sway
Down
dropp'd
he,
nerveless,
and
extended
lay.
As
a
large
fish,
when
winds
and
waters
roar,
By
some
huge
billow
dash'd
against
the
shore,
Lies
panting;
not
less
batter'd
with
his
wound,
The
bleeding
hero
pants
upon
the
ground.
To
rear
his
fallen
foe,
the
victor
lends,
Scornful,
his
hand;
and
gives
him
to
his
friends;
Whose
arms
support
him,
reeling
through
the
throng,
And
dragging
his
disabled
legs
along;
Nodding,
his
head
hangs
down
his
shoulder
o'er;
His
mouth
and
nostrils
pour
the
clotted
gore;(292)
Wrapp'd
round
in
mists
he
lies,
and
lost
to
thought;
His
friends
receive
the
bowl,
too
dearly
bought.
The
third
bold
game
Achilles
next
demands,
And
calls
the
wrestlers
to
the
level
sands:
A
massy
tripod
for
the
victor
lies,
Of
twice
six
oxen
its
reputed
price;
And
next,
the
loser's
spirits
to
restore,
A
female
captive,
valued
but
at
four.
Scarce
did
the
chief
the
vigorous
strife
prop
When
tower-like
Ajax
and
Ulysses
rose.
Amid
the
ring
each
nervous
rival
stands,
Embracing
rigid
with
implicit
hands.
Close
lock'd
above,
their
heads
and
arms
are
mix'd:
Below,
their
planted
feet
at
distance
fix'd;
Like
two
strong
rafters
which
the
builder
forms,
Proof
to
the
wintry
winds
and
howling
storms,
Their
tops
connected,
but
at
wider
space
Fix'd
on
the
centre
stands
their
solid
base.
Now
to
the
grasp
each
manly
body
bends;
The
humid
sweat
from
every
pore
descends;
Their
bones
resound
with
blows:
sides,
shoulders,
thighs
Swell
to
each
gripe,
and
bloody
tumours
rise.
Nor
could
Ulysses,
for
his
art
renown'd,
O'erturn
the
strength
of
Ajax
on
the
ground;
Nor
could
the
strength
of
Ajax
overthrow
The
watchful
caution
of
his
artful
foe.
While
the
long
strife
even
tired
the
lookers
on,
Thus
to
Ulysses
spoke
great
Telamon:
"Or
let
me
lift
thee,
chief,
or
lift
thou
me:
Prove
we
our
force,
and
Jove
the
rest
decree."
He
said;
and,
straining,
heaved
him
off
the
ground
With
matchless
strength;
that
time
Ulysses
found
The
strength
to
evade,
and
where
the
nerves
combine
His
ankle
struck:
the
giant
fell
supine;
Ulysses,
following,
on
his
bosom
lies;
Shouts
of
applause
run
rattling
through
the
skies.
Ajax
to
lift
Ulysses
next
essays;
He
barely
stirr'd
him,
but
he
could
not
raise:
His
knee
lock'd
fast,
the
foe's
attempt
denied;
And
grappling
close,
they
tumbled
side
by
side.
Defiled
with
honourable
dust
they
roll,
Still
breathing
strife,
and
unsubdued
of
soul:
Again
they
rage,
again
to
combat
rise;
When
great
Achilles
thus
divides
the
prize:
"Your
noble
vigour,
O
my
friends,
restrain;
Nor
weary
out
your
generous
strength
in
vain.
Ye
both
have
won:
let
others
who
excel,
Now
prove
that
prowess
you
have
proved
so
well."
The
hero's
words
the
willing
chiefs
obey,
From
their
tired
bodies
wipe
the
dust
away,
And,
clothed
anew,
the
following
games
survey.
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."
The
hero
said,
and
starting
from
his
place,
Oilean
Ajax
rises
to
the
race;
Ulysses
next;
and
he
whose
speed
surpass'd
His
youthful
equals,
Nestor's
son,
the
last.
Ranged
in
a
line
the
ready
racers
stand;
Pelides
points
the
barrier
with
his
hand;
All
start
at
once;
Oileus
led
the
race;
The
next
Ulysses,
measuring
pace
with
pace;
Behind
him,
diligently
close,
he
sped,
As
closely
following
as
the
running
thread
The
spindle
follows,
and
displays
the
charms
Of
the
fair
spinster's
breast
and
moving
arms:
Graceful
in
motion
thus,
his
foe
he
plies,
And
treads
each
footstep
ere
the
dust
can
rise;
His
glowing
breath
upon
his
shoulders
plays:
The
admiring
Greeks
loud
acclamations
raise:
To
him
they
give
their
wishes,
hearts,
and
eyes,
And
send
their
souls
before
him
as
he
flies.
Now
three
times
turn'd
in
prospect
of
the
goal,
The
panting
chief
to
Pallas
lifts
his
soul:
"Assist,
O
goddess!"
thus
in
thought
he
pray'd!
And
present
at
his
thought
descends
the
maid.
Buoy'd
by
her
heavenly
force,
he
seems
to
swim,
And
feels
a
pinion
lifting
every
limb.
All
fierce,
and
ready
now
the
prize
to
gain,
Unhappy
Ajax
stumbles
on
the
plain
(O'erturn'd
by
Pallas),
where
the
slippery
shore
Was
clogg'd
with
slimy
dung
and
mingled
gore.
(The
self-same
place
beside
Patroclus'
pyre,
Where
late
the
slaughter'd
victims
fed
the
fire.)
Besmear'd
with
filth,
and
blotted
o'er
with
clay,
Obscene
to
sight,
the
rueful
racer
lay;
The
well-fed
bull
(the
second
prize)
he
shared,
And
left
the
urn
Ulysses'
rich
reward.
Then,
grasping
by
the
horn
the
mighty
beast,
The
baffled
hero
thus
the
Greeks
address'd:
"Accursed
fate!
the
conquest
I
forego;
A
mortal
I,
a
goddess
was
my
foe;
She
urged
her
favourite
on
the
rapid
way,
And
Pallas,
not
Ulysses,
won
the
day."
Thus
sourly
wail'd
he,
sputtering
dirt
and
gore;
A
burst
of
laughter
echoed
through
the
shore.
Antilochus,
more
humorous
than
the
rest,
Takes
the
last
prize,
and
takes
it
with
a
jest:
"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."
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.
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."
Fierce
at
the
word
uprose
great
Tydeus'
son,
And
the
huge
bulk
of
Ajax
Telamon.
Clad
in
refulgent
steel,
on
either
hand,
The
dreadful
chiefs
amid
the
circle
stand;
Louring
they
meet,
tremendous
to
the
sight;
Each
Argive
bosom
beats
with
fierce
delight.
Opposed
in
arms
not
long
they
idly
stood,
But
thrice
they
closed,
and
thrice
the
charge
renew'd.
A
furious
pass
the
spear
of
Ajax
made
Through
the
broad
shield,
but
at
the
corslet
stay'd.
Not
thus
the
foe:
his
javelin
aim'd
above
The
buckler's
margin,
at
the
neck
he
drove.
But
Greece,
now
trembling
for
her
hero's
life,
Bade
share
the
honours,
and
surcease
the
strife.
Yet
still
the
victor's
due
Tydides
gains,
With
him
the
sword
and
studded
belt
remains.
Then
hurl'd
the
hero,
thundering
on
the
ground,
A
mass
of
iron
(an
enormous
round),
Whose
weight
and
size
the
circling
Greeks
admire,
Rude
from
the
furnace,
and
but
shaped
by
fire.
This
mighty
quoit
Aetion
wont
to
rear,
And
from
his
whirling
arm
dismiss
in
air;
The
giant
by
Achilles
slain,
he
stow'd
Among
his
spoils
this
memorable
load.
For
this,
he
bids
those
nervous
artists
vie,
That
teach
the
disk
to
sound
along
the
sky.
"Let
him,
whose
might
can
hurl
this
bowl,
arise;
Who
farthest
hurls
it,
take
it
as
his
prize;
If
he
be
one
enrich'd
with
large
domain
Of
downs
for
flocks,
and
arable
for
grain,
Small
stock
of
iron
needs
that
man
provide;
His
hinds
and
swains
whole
years
shall
be
supplied
From
hence;
nor
ask
the
neighbouring
city's
aid
For
ploughshares,
wheels,
and
all
the
rural
trade."
Stern
Polypoetes
stepp'd
before
the
throng,
And
great
Leonteus,
more
than
mortal
strong;
Whose
force
with
rival
forces
to
oppose,
Uprose
great
Ajax;
up
Epeus
rose.
Each
stood
in
order:
first
Epeus
threw;
High
o'er
the
wondering
crowds
the
whirling
circle
flew.
Leonteus
next
a
little
space
surpass'd;
And
third,
the
strength
of
godlike
Ajax
cast.
O'er
both
their
marks
it
flew;
till
fiercely
flung
From
Polypoetes'
arm
the
discus
sung:
Far
as
a
swain
his
whirling
sheephook
throws,
That
distant
falls
among
the
grazing
cows,
So
past
them
all
the
rapid
circle
flies:
His
friends,
while
loud
applauses
shake
the
skies,
With
force
conjoin'd
heave
off
the
weighty
prize.
Those,
who
in
skilful
archery
contend,
He
next
invites
the
twanging
bow
to
bend;
And
twice
ten
axes
casts
amidst
the
round,
Ten
double-edged,
and
ten
that
singly
wound
The
mast,
which
late
a
first-rate
galley
bore,
The
hero
fixes
in
the
sandy
shore;
To
the
tall
top
a
milk-white
dove
they
tie,
The
trembling
mark
at
which
their
arrows
fly.
"Whose
weapon
strikes
yon
fluttering
bird,
shall
bear
These
two-edged
axes,
terrible
in
war;
The
single,
he
whose
shaft
divides
the
cord."
He
said:
experienced
Merion
took
the
word;
And
skilful
Teucer:
in
the
helm
they
threw
Their
lots
inscribed,
and
forth
the
latter
flew.
Swift
from
the
string
the
sounding
arrow
flies;
But
flies
unbless'd!
No
grateful
sacrifice,
No
firstling
lambs,
unheedful!
didst
thou
vow
To
Phoebus,
patron
of
the
shaft
and
bow.
For
this,
thy
well-aim'd
arrow
turn'd
aside,
Err'd
from
the
dove,
yet
cut
the
cord
that
tied:
Adown
the
mainmast
fell
the
parted
string,
And
the
free
bird
to
heaven
displays
her
wing:
Sea,
shores,
and
skies,
with
loud
applause
resound,
And
Merion
eager
meditates
the
wound:
He
takes
the
bow,
directs
the
shaft
above,
And
following
with
his
eye
the
soaring
dove,
Implores
the
god
to
speed
it
through
the
skies,
With
vows
of
firstling
lambs,
and
grateful
sacrific
The
dove,
in
airy
circles
as
she
wheels,
Amid
the
clouds
the
piercing
arrow
feels;
Quite
through
and
through
the
point
its
passage
found,
And
at
his
feet
fell
bloody
to
the
ground.
The
wounded
bird,
ere
yet
she
breathed
her
last,
With
flagging
wings
alighted
on
the
mast,
A
moment
hung,
and
spread
her
pinions
there,
Then
sudden
dropp'd,
and
left
her
life
in
air.
From
the
pleased
crowd
new
peals
of
thunder
rise,
And
to
the
ships
brave
Merion
bears
the
prize.
To
close
the
funeral
games,
Achilles
last
A
massy
spear
amid
the
circle
placed,
And
ample
charger
of
unsullied
frame,
With
flowers
high-wrought,
not
blacken'd
yet
by
flame.
For
these
he
bids
the
heroes
prove
their
art,
Whose
dexterous
skill
directs
the
flying
dart.
Here
too
great
Merion
hopes
the
noble
prize;
Nor
here
disdain'd
the
king
of
men
to
rise.
With
joy
Pelides
saw
the
honour
paid,
Rose
to
the
monarch,
and
respectful
said:
"Thee
first
in
virtue,
as
in
power
supreme,
O
king
of
nations!
all
thy
Greeks
proclaim;
In
every
martial
game
thy
worth
attest,
And
know
thee
both
their
greatest
and
their
best.
Take
then
the
prize,
but
let
brave
Merion
bear
This
beamy
javelin
in
thy
brother's
war."
Pleased
from
the
hero's
lips
his
praise
to
hear,
The
king
to
Merion
gives
the
brazen
spear:
But,
set
apart
for
sacred
use,
commands
The
glittering
charger
to
Talthybius'
hands.
[Illustration:
CERES.]
CERES.
BOOK
XXIV.
ARGUMENT.
THE
REDEMPTION
OF
THE
BODY
OF
HECTOR.
The
gods
deliberate
about
the
redemption
of
Hector's
body.
Jupiter
sends
Thetis
to
Achilles,
to
dispose
him
for
the
restoring
it,
and
Iris
to
Priam,
to
encourage
him
to
go
in
person
and
treat
for
it.
The
old
king,
notwithstanding
the
remonstrances
of
his
queen,
makes
ready
for
the
journey,
to
which
he
is
encouraged
by
an
omen
from
Jupiter.
He
sets
forth
in
his
chariot,
with
a
waggon
loaded
with
presents,
under
the
charge
of
Idaeus
the
herald.
Mercury
descends
in
the
shape
of
a
young
man,
and
conducts
him
to
the
pavilion
of
Achilles.
Their
conversation
on
the
way.
Priam
finds
Achilles
at
his
table,
casts
himself
at
his
feet,
and
begs
for
the
body
of
his
son:
Achilles,
moved
with
compassion,
grants
his
request,
detains
him
one
night
in
his
tent,
and
the
next
morning
sends
him
home
with
the
body:
the
Trojans
run
out
to
meet
him.
The
lamentations
of
Andromache,
Hecuba,
and
Helen,
with
the
solemnities
of
the
funeral.
The
time
of
twelve
days
is
employed
in
this
book,
while
the
body
of
Hector
lies
in
the
tent
of
Achilles;
and
as
many
more
are
spent
in
the
truce
allowed
for
his
interment.
The
scene
is
partly
in
Achilles'
camp,
and
partly
in
Troy.
Now
from
the
finish'd
games
the
Grecian
band
Seek
their
black
ships,
and
clear
the
crowded
strand,
All
stretch'd
at
ease
the
genial
banquet
share,
And
pleasing
slumbers
quiet
all
their
care.
Not
so
Achilles:
he,
to
grief
resign'd,
His
friend's
dear
image
present
to
his
mind,
Takes
his
sad
couch,
more
unobserved
to
weep;
Nor
tastes
the
gifts
of
all-composing
sleep.
Restless
he
roll'd
around
his
weary
bed,
And
all
his
soul
on
his
Patroclus
fed:
The
form
so
pleasing,
and
the
heart
so
kind,
That
youthful
vigour,
and
that
manly
mind,
What
toils
they
shared,
what
martial
works
they
wrought,
What
seas
they
measured,
and
what
fields
they
fought;
All
pass'd
before
him
in
remembrance
dear,
Thought
follows
thought,
and
tear
succeeds
to
tear.
And
now
supine,
now
prone,
the
hero
lay,
Now
shifts
his
side,
impatient
for
the
day:
Then
starting
up,
disconsolate
he
goes
Wide
on
the
lonely
beach
to
vent
his
woes.
There
as
the
solitary
mourner
raves,
The
ruddy
morning
rises
o'er
the
waves:
Soon
as
it
rose,
his
furious
steeds
he
join'd!
The
chariot
flies,
and
Hector
trails
behind.
And
thrice,
Patroclus!
round
thy
monument
Was
Hector
dragg'd,
then
hurried
to
the
tent.
There
sleep
at
last
o'ercomes
the
hero's
eyes;
While
foul
in
dust
the
unhonour'd
carcase
lies,
But
not
deserted
by
the
pitying
skies:
For
Phoebus
watch'd
it
with
superior
care,
Preserved
from
gaping
wounds
and
tainting
air;
And,
ignominious
as
it
swept
the
field,
Spread
o'er
the
sacred
corse
his
golden
shield.
All
heaven
was
moved,
and
Hermes
will'd
to
go
By
stealth
to
snatch
him
from
the
insulting
foe:
But
Neptune
this,
and
Pallas
this
denies,
And
th'
unrelenting
empress
of
the
skies,
E'er
since
that
day
implacable
to
Troy,
What
time
young
Paris,
simple
shepherd
boy,
Won
by
destructive
lust
(reward
obscene),
Their
charms
rejected
for
the
Cyprian
queen.
But
when
the
tenth
celestial
morning
broke,
To
heaven
assembled,
thus
Apollo
spoke:
[Illustration:
HECTOR'S
BODY
AT
THE
CAR
OF
ACHILLES.]
HECTOR'S
BODY
AT
THE
CAR
OF
ACHILLES.
"Unpitying
powers!
how
oft
each
holy
fane
Has
Hector
tinged
with
blood
of
victims
slain?
And
can
ye
still
his
cold
remains
pursue?
Still
grudge
his
body
to
the
Trojans'
view?
Deny
to
consort,
mother,
son,
and
sire,
The
last
sad
honours
of
a
funeral
fire?
Is
then
the
dire
Achilles
all
your
care?
That
iron
heart,
inflexibly
severe;
A
lion,
not
a
man,
who
slaughters
wide,
In
strength
of
rage,
and
impotence
of
pride;
Who
hastes
to
murder
with
a
savage
joy,
Invades
around,
and
breathes
but
to
destroy!
Shame
is
not
of
his
soul;
nor
understood,
The
greatest
evil
and
the
greatest
good.
Still
for
one
loss
he
rages
unresign'd,
Repugnant
to
the
lot
of
all
mankind;
To
lose
a
friend,
a
brother,
or
a
son,
Heaven
dooms
each
mortal,
and
its
will
is
done:
Awhile
they
sorrow,
then
dismiss
their
care;
Fate
gives
the
wound,
and
man
is
born
to
bear.
But
this
insatiate,
the
commission
given
By
fate
exceeds,
and
tempts
the
wrath
of
heaven:
Lo,
how
his
rage
dishonest
drags
along
Hector's
dead
earth,
insensible
of
wrong!
Brave
though
he
be,
yet
by
no
reason
awed,
He
violates
the
laws
of
man
and
god."
[Illustration:
THE
JUDGMENT
OF
PARIS.]
THE
JUDGMENT
OF
PARIS.
"If
equal
honours
by
the
partial
skies
Are
doom'd
both
heroes,
(Juno
thus
replies,)
If
Thetis'
son
must
no
distinction
know,
Then
hear,
ye
gods!
the
patron
of
the
bow.
But
Hector
only
boasts
a
mortal
claim,
His
birth
deriving
from
a
mortal
dame:
Achilles,
of
your
own
ethereal
race,
Springs
from
a
goddess
by
a
man's
embrace
(A
goddess
by
ourself
to
Peleus
given,
A
man
divine,
and
chosen
friend
of
heaven)
To
grace
those
nuptials,
from
the
bright
abode
Yourselves
were
present;
where
this
minstrel-god,
Well
pleased
to
share
the
feast,
amid
the
quire
Stood
proud
to
hymn,
and
tune
his
youthful
lyre."
Then
thus
the
Thunderer
checks
the
imperial
dame:
"Let
not
thy
wrath
the
court
of
heaven
inflame;
Their
merits,
nor
their
honours,
are
the
same.
But
mine,
and
every
god's
peculiar
grace
Hector
deserves,
of
all
the
Trojan
race:
Still
on
our
shrines
his
grateful
offerings
lay,
(The
only
honours
men
to
gods
can
pay,)
Nor
ever
from
our
smoking
altar
ceased
The
pure
libation,
and
the
holy
feast:
Howe'er
by
stealth
to
snatch
the
corse
away,
We
will
not:
Thetis
guards
it
night
and
day.
But
haste,
and
summon
to
our
courts
above
The
azure
queen;
let
her
persuasion
move
Her
furious
son
from
Priam
to
receive
The
proffer'd
ransom,
and
the
corse
to
leave."
He
added
not:
and
Iris
from
the
skies,
Swift
as
a
whirlwind,
on
the
message
flies,
Meteorous
the
face
of
ocean
sweeps,
Refulgent
gliding
o'er
the
sable
deeps.
Between
where
Samos
wide
his
forests
spreads,
And
rocky
Imbrus
lifts
its
pointed
heads,
Down
plunged
the
maid;
(the
parted
waves
resound;)
She
plunged
and
instant
shot
the
dark
profound.
As
bearing
death
in
the
fallacious
bait,
From
the
bent
angle
sinks
the
leaden
weight;
So
pass'd
the
goddess
through
the
closing
wave,
Where
Thetis
sorrow'd
in
her
secret
cave:
There
placed
amidst
her
melancholy
train
(The
blue-hair'd
sisters
of
the
sacred
main)
Pensive
she
sat,
revolving
fates
to
come,
And
wept
her
godlike
son's
approaching
doom.
Then
thus
the
goddess
of
the
painted
bow:
"Arise,
O
Thetis!
from
thy
seats
below,
'Tis
Jove
that
calls."--"And
why
(the
dame
replies)
Calls
Jove
his
Thetis
to
the
hated
skies?
Sad
object
as
I
am
for
heavenly
sight!
Ah
may
my
sorrows
ever
shun
the
light!
Howe'er,
be
heaven's
almighty
sire
obey'd--"
She
spake,
and
veil'd
her
head
in
sable
shade,
Which,
flowing
long,
her
graceful
person
clad;
And
forth
she
paced,
majestically
sad.
Then
through
the
world
of
waters
they
repair
(The
way
fair
Iris
led)
to
upper
air.
The
deeps
dividing,
o'er
the
coast
they
rise,
And
touch
with
momentary
flight
the
skies.
There
in
the
lightning's
blaze
the
sire
they
found,
And
all
the
gods
in
shining
synod
round.
Thetis
approach'd
with
anguish
in
her
face,
(Minerva
rising,
gave
the
mourner
place,)
Even
Juno
sought
her
sorrows
to
console,
And
offer'd
from
her
hand
the
nectar-bowl:
She
tasted,
and
resign'd
it:
then
began
The
sacred
sire
of
gods
and
mortal
man:
"Thou
comest,
fair
Thetis,
but
with
grief
o'ercast;
Maternal
sorrows;
long,
ah,
long
to
last!
Suffice,
we
know
and
we
partake
thy
cares;
But
yield
to
fate,
and
hear
what
Jove
declares
Nine
days
are
past
since
all
the
court
above
In
Hector's
cause
have
moved
the
ear
of
Jove;
'Twas
voted,
Hermes
from
his
godlike
foe
By
stealth
should
bear
him,
but
we
will'd
not
so:
We
will,
thy
son
himself
the
corse
restore,
And
to
his
conquest
add
this
glory
more.
Then
hie
thee
to
him,
and
our
mandate
bear:
Tell
him
he
tempts
the
wrath
of
heaven
too
far;
Nor
let
him
more
(our
anger
if
he
dread)
Vent
his
mad
vengeance
on
the
sacred
dead;
But
yield
to
ransom
and
the
father's
prayer;
The
mournful
father,
Iris
shall
prepare
With
gifts
to
sue;
and
offer
to
his
hands
Whate'er
his
honour
asks,
or
heart
demands."
His
word
the
silver-footed
queen
attends,
And
from
Olympus'
snowy
tops
descends.
Arrived,
she
heard
the
voice
of
loud
lament,
And
echoing
groans
that
shook
the
lofty
tent:
His
friends
prepare
the
victim,
and
dispose
Repast
unheeded,
while
he
vents
his
woes;
The
goddess
seats
her
by
her
pensive
son,
She
press'd
his
hand,
and
tender
thus
begun:
"How
long,
unhappy!
shall
thy
sorrows
flow,
And
thy
heart
waste
with
life-consuming
woe:
Mindless
of
food,
or
love,
whose
pleasing
reign
Soothes
weary
life,
and
softens
human
pain?
O
snatch
the
moments
yet
within
thy
power;
Not
long
to
live,
indulge
the
amorous
hour!
Lo!
Jove
himself
(for
Jove's
command
I
bear)
Forbids
to
tempt
the
wrath
of
heaven
too
far.
No
longer
then
(his
fury
if
thou
dread)
Detain
the
relics
of
great
Hector
dead;
Nor
vent
on
senseless
earth
thy
vengeance
vain,
But
yield
to
ransom,
and
restore
the
slain."
To
whom
Achilles:
"Be
the
ransom
given,
And
we
submit,
since
such
the
will
of
heaven."
While
thus
they
communed,
from
the
Olympian
bowers
Jove
orders
Iris
to
the
Trojan
towers:
"Haste,
winged
goddess!
to
the
sacred
town,
And
urge
her
monarch
to
redeem
his
son.
Alone
the
Ilian
ramparts
let
him
leave,
And
bear
what
stern
Achilles
may
receive:
Alone,
for
so
we
will;
no
Trojan
near
Except,
to
place
the
dead
with
decent
care,
Some
aged
herald,
who
with
gentle
hand
May
the
slow
mules
and
funeral
car
command.
Nor
let
him
death,
nor
let
him
danger
dread,
Safe
through
the
foe
by
our
protection
led:
Him
Hermes
to
Achilles
shall
convey,
Guard
of
his
life,
and
partner
of
his
way.
Fierce
as
he
is,
Achilles'
self
shall
spare
His
age,
nor
touch
one
venerable
hair:
Some
thought
there
must
be
in
a
soul
so
brave,
Some
sense
of
duty,
some
desire
to
save."
[Illustration:
IRIS
ADVISES
PRIAM
TO
OBTAIN
THE
BODY
OF
HECTOR.]
IRIS
ADVISES
PRIAM
TO
OBTAIN
THE
BODY
OF
HECTOR.
Then
down
her
bow
the
winged
Iris
drives,
And
swift
at
Priam's
mournful
court
arrives:
Where
the
sad
sons
beside
their
father's
throne
Sat
bathed
in
tears,
and
answer'd
groan
with
groan.
And
all
amidst
them
lay
the
hoary
sire,
(Sad
scene
of
woe!)
his
face
his
wrapp'd
attire
Conceal'd
from
sight;
with
frantic
hands
he
spread
A
shower
of
ashes
o'er
his
neck
and
head.
From
room
to
room
his
pensive
daughters
roam;
Whose
shrieks
and
clamours
fill
the
vaulted
dome;
Mindful
of
those,
who
late
their
pride
and
joy,
Lie
pale
and
breathless
round
the
fields
of
Troy!
Before
the
king
Jove's
messenger
appears,
And
thus
in
whispers
greets
his
trembling
ears:
"Fear
not,
O
father!
no
ill
news
I
bear;
From
Jove
I
come,
Jove
makes
thee
still
his
care;
For
Hector's
sake
these
walls
he
bids
thee
leave,
And
bear
what
stern
Achilles
may
receive;
Alone,
for
so
he
wills;
no
Trojan
near,
Except,
to
place
the
dead
with
decent
care,
Some
aged
herald,
who
with
gentle
hand
May
the
slow
mules
and
funeral
car
command.
Nor
shalt
thou
death,
nor
shall
thou
danger
dread:
Safe
through
the
foe
by
his
protection
led:
Thee
Hermes
to
Pelides
shall
convey,
Guard
of
thy
life,
and
partner
of
thy
way.
Fierce
as
he
is,
Achilles'
self
shall
spare
Thy
age,
nor
touch
one
venerable
hair;
Some
thought
there
must
be
in
a
soul
so
brave,
Some
sense
of
duty,
some
desire
to
save."
She
spoke,
and
vanish'd.
Priam
bids
prepare
His
gentle
mules
and
harness
to
the
car;
There,
for
the
gifts,
a
polish'd
casket
lay:
His
pious
sons
the
king's
command
obey.
Then
pass'd
the
monarch
to
his
bridal-room,
Where
cedar-beams
the
lofty
roofs
perfume,
And
where
the
treasures
of
his
empire
lay;
Then
call'd
his
queen,
and
thus
began
to
say:
"Unhappy
consort
of
a
king
distress'd!
Partake
the
troubles
of
thy
husband's
breast:
I
saw
descend
the
messenger
of
Jove,
Who
bids
me
try
Achilles'
mind
to
move;
Forsake
these
ramparts,
and
with
gifts
obtain
The
corse
of
Hector,
at
yon
navy
slain.
Tell
me
thy
thought:
my
heart
impels
to
go
Through
hostile
camps,
and
bears
me
to
the
foe."
The
hoary
monarch
thus.
Her
piercing
cries
Sad
Hecuba
renews,
and
then
replies:
"Ah!
whither
wanders
thy
distemper'd
mind?
And
where
the
prudence
now
that
awed
mankind?
Through
Phrygia
once
and
foreign
regions
known;
Now
all
confused,
distracted,
overthrown!
Singly
to
pass
through
hosts
of
foes!
to
face
(O
heart
of
steel!)
the
murderer
of
thy
race!
To
view
that
deathful
eye,
and
wander
o'er
Those
hands
yet
red
with
Hector's
noble
gore!
Alas!
my
lord!
he
knows
not
how
to
spare.
And
what
his
mercy,
thy
slain
sons
declare;
So
brave!
so
many
fallen!
To
claim
his
rage
Vain
were
thy
dignity,
and
vain
thy
age.
No--pent
in
this
sad
palace,
let
us
give
To
grief
the
wretched
days
we
have
to
live.
Still,
still
for
Hector
let
our
sorrows
flow,
Born
to
his
own,
and
to
his
parents'
woe!
Doom'd
from
the
hour
his
luckless
life
begun,
To
dogs,
to
vultures,
and
to
Peleus'
son!
Oh!
in
his
dearest
blood
might
I
allay
My
rage,
and
these
barbarities
repay!
For
ah!
could
Hector
merit
thus,
whose
breath
Expired
not
meanly,
in
unactive
death?
He
poured
his
latest
blood
in
manly
fight,
And
fell
a
hero
in
his
country's
right."
"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!"
From
forth
his
open'd
stores,
this
said,
he
drew
Twelve
costly
carpets
of
refulgent
hue,
As
many
vests,
as
many
mantles
told,
And
twelve
fair
veils,
and
garments
stiff
with
gold,
Two
tripods
next,
and
twice
two
chargers
shine,
With
ten
pure
talents
from
the
richest
mine;
And
last
a
large
well-labour'd
bowl
had
place,
(The
pledge
of
treaties
once
with
friendly
Thrace:)
Seem'd
all
too
mean
the
stores
he
could
employ,
For
one
last
look
to
buy
him
back
to
Troy!
Lo!
the
sad
father,
frantic
with
his
pain,
Around
him
furious
drives
his
menial
train:
In
vain
each
slave
with
duteous
care
attends,
Each
office
hurts
him,
and
each
face
offends.
"What
make
ye
here,
officious
crowds!
(he
cries).
Hence!
nor
obtrude
your
anguish
on
my
eyes.
Have
ye
no
griefs
at
home,
to
fix
ye
there:
Am
I
the
only
object
of
despair?
Am
I
become
my
people's
common
show,
Set
up
by
Jove
your
spectacle
of
woe?
No,
you
must
feel
him
too;
yourselves
must
fall;
The
same
stern
god
to
ruin
gives
you
all:
Nor
is
great
Hector
lost
by
me
alone;
Your
sole
defence,
your
guardian
power
is
gone!
I
see
your
blood
the
fields
of
Phrygia
drown,
I
see
the
ruins
of
your
smoking
town!
O
send
me,
gods!
ere
that
sad
day
shall
come,
A
willing
ghost
to
Pluto's
dreary
dome!"
He
said,
and
feebly
drives
his
friends
away:
The
sorrowing
friends
his
frantic
rage
obey.
Next
on
his
sons
his
erring
fury
falls,
Polites,
Paris,
Agathon,
he
calls;
His
threats
Deiphobus
and
Dius
hear,
Hippothous,
Pammon,
Helenes
the
seer,
And
generous
Antiphon:
for
yet
these
nine
Survived,
sad
relics
of
his
numerous
line.
"Inglorious
sons
of
an
unhappy
sire!
Why
did
not
all
in
Hector's
cause
expire?
Wretch
that
I
am!
my
bravest
offspring
slain.
You,
the
disgrace
of
Priam's
house,
remain!
Mestor
the
brave,
renown'd
in
ranks
of
war,
With
Troilus,
dreadful
on
his
rushing
car,(293)
And
last
great
Hector,
more
than
man
divine,
For
sure
he
seem'd
not
of
terrestrial
line!
All
those
relentless
Mars
untimely
slew,
And
left
me
these,
a
soft
and
servile
crew,
Whose
days
the
feast
and
wanton
dance
employ,
Gluttons
and
flatterers,
the
contempt
of
Troy!
Why
teach
ye
not
my
rapid
wheels
to
run,
And
speed
my
journey
to
redeem
my
son?"
The
sons
their
father's
wretched
age
revere,
Forgive
his
anger,
and
produce
the
car.
High
on
the
seat
the
cabinet
they
bind:
The
new-made
car
with
solid
beauty
shined;
Box
was
the
yoke,
emboss'd
with
costly
pains,
And
hung
with
ringlets
to
receive
the
reins;
Nine
cubits
long,
the
traces
swept
the
ground:
These
to
the
chariot's
polish'd
pole
they
bound.
Then
fix'd
a
ring
the
running
reins
to
guide,
And
close
beneath
the
gather'd
ends
were
tied.
Next
with
the
gifts
(the
price
of
Hector
slain)
The
sad
attendants
load
the
groaning
wain:
Last
to
the
yoke
the
well-matched
mules
they
bring,
(The
gift
of
Mysia
to
the
Trojan
king.)
But
the
fair
horses,
long
his
darling
care,
Himself
received,
and
harness'd
to
his
car:
Grieved
as
he
was,
he
not
this
task
denied;
The
hoary
herald
help'd
him,
at
his
side.
While
careful
these
the
gentle
coursers
join'd,
Sad
Hecuba
approach'd
with
anxious
mind;
A
golden
bowl
that
foam'd
with
fragrant
wine,
(Libation
destined
to
the
power
divine,)
Held
in
her
right,
before
the
steed
she
stands,
And
thus
consigns
it
to
the
monarch's
hands:
"Take
this,
and
pour
to
Jove;
that
safe
from
harms
His
grace
restore
thee
to
our
roof
and
arms.
Since
victor
of
thy
fears,
and
slighting
mine,
Heaven,
or
thy
soul,
inspires
this
bold
design;
Pray
to
that
god,
who
high
on
Ida's
brow
Surveys
thy
desolated
realms
below,
His
winged
messenger
to
send
from
high,
And
lead
thy
way
with
heavenly
augury:
Let
the
strong
sovereign
of
the
plumy
race
Tower
on
the
right
of
yon
ethereal
space.
That
sign
beheld,
and
strengthen'd
from
above,
Boldly
pursue
the
journey
mark'd
by
Jove:
But
if
the
god
his
augury
denies,
Suppress
thy
impulse,
nor
reject
advice."
"'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:
"O
first
and
greatest!
heaven's
imperial
lord!
On
lofty
Ida's
holy
hill
adored!
To
stern
Achilles
now
direct
my
ways,
And
teach
him
mercy
when
a
father
prays.
If
such
thy
will,
despatch
from
yonder
sky
Thy
sacred
bird,
celestial
augury!
Let
the
strong
sovereign
of
the
plumy
race
Tower
on
the
right
of
yon
ethereal
space;
So
shall
thy
suppliant,
strengthen'd
from
above,
Fearless
pursue
the
journey
mark'd
by
Jove."
Jove
heard
his
prayer,
and
from
the
throne
on
high,
Despatch'd
his
bird,
celestial
augury!
The
swift-wing'd
chaser
of
the
feather'd
game,
And
known
to
gods
by
Percnos'
lofty
name.
Wide
as
appears
some
palace-gate
display'd.
So
broad,
his
pinions
stretch'd
their
ample
shade,
As
stooping
dexter
with
resounding
wings
The
imperial
bird
descends
in
airy
rings.
A
dawn
of
joy
in
every
face
appears:
The
mourning
matron
dries
her
timorous
tears:
Swift
on
his
car
the
impatient
monarch
sprung;
The
brazen
portal
in
his
passage
rung;
The
mules
preceding
draw
the
loaded
wain,
Charged
with
the
gifts:
Idaeus
holds
the
rein:
The
king
himself
his
gentle
steeds
controls,
And
through
surrounding
friends
the
chariot
rolls.
On
his
slow
wheels
the
following
people
wait,
Mourn
at
each
step,
and
give
him
up
to
fate;
With
hands
uplifted
eye
him
as
he
pass'd,
And
gaze
upon
him
as
they
gazed
their
last.
Now
forward
fares
the
father
on
his
way,
Through
the
lone
fields,
and
back
to
Ilion
they.
Great
Jove
beheld
him
as
he
cross'd
the
plain,
And
felt
the
woes
of
miserable
man.
Then
thus
to
Hermes:
"Thou
whose
constant
cares
Still
succour
mortals,
and
attend
their
prayers;
Behold
an
object
to
thy
charge
consign'd:
If
ever
pity
touch'd
thee
for
mankind,
Go,
guard
the
sire:
the
observing
foe
prevent,
And
safe
conduct
him
to
Achilles'
tent."
The
god
obeys,
his
golden
pinions
binds,(294)
And
mounts
incumbent
on
the
wings
of
winds,
That
high,
through
fields
of
air,
his
flight
sustain,
O'er
the
wide
earth,
and
o'er
the
boundless
main;
Then
grasps
the
wand
that
causes
sleep
to
fly,
Or
in
soft
slumbers
seals
the
wakeful
eye:
Thus
arm'd,
swift
Hermes
steers
his
airy
way,
And
stoops
on
Hellespont's
resounding
sea.
A
beauteous
youth,
majestic
and
divine,
He
seem'd;
fair
offspring
of
some
princely
line!
Now
twilight
veil'd
the
glaring
face
of
day,
And
clad
the
dusky
fields
in
sober
grey;
What
time
the
herald
and
the
hoary
king
(Their
chariots
stopping
at
the
silver
spring,
That
circling
Ilus'
ancient
marble
flows)
Allow'd
their
mules
and
steeds
a
short
repose,
Through
the
dim
shade
the
herald
first
espies
A
man's
approach,
and
thus
to
Priam
cries:
"I
mark
some
foe's
advance:
O
king!
beware;
This
hard
adventure
claims
thy
utmost
care!
For
much
I
fear
destruction
hovers
nigh:
Our
state
asks
counsel;
is
it
best
to
fly?
Or
old
and
helpless,
at
his
feet
to
fall,
Two
wretched
suppliants,
and
for
mercy
call?"
The
afflicted
monarch
shiver'd
with
despair;
Pale
grew
his
face,
and
upright
stood
his
hair;
Sunk
was
his
heart;
his
colour
went
and
came;
A
sudden
trembling
shook
his
aged
frame:
When
Hermes,
greeting,
touch'd
his
royal
hand,
And,
gentle,
thus
accosts
with
kind
demand:
"Say
whither,
father!
when
each
mortal
sight
Is
seal'd
in
sleep,
thou
wanderest
through
the
night?
Why
roam
thy
mules
and
steeds
the
plains
along,
Through
Grecian
foes,
so
numerous
and
so
strong?
What
couldst
thou
hope,
should
these
thy
treasures
view;
These,
who
with
endless
hate
thy
race
pursue?
For
what
defence,
alas!
could'st
thou
provide;
Thyself
not
young,
a
weak
old
man
thy
guide?
Yet
suffer
not
thy
soul
to
sink
with
dread;
From
me
no
harm
shall
touch
thy
reverend
head;
From
Greece
I'll
guard
thee
too;
for
in
those
lines
The
living
image
of
my
father
shines."
"Thy
words,
that
speak
benevolence
of
mind,
Are
true,
my
son!
(the
godlike
sire
rejoin'd:)
Great
are
my
hazards;
but
the
gods
survey
My
steps,
and
send
thee,
guardian
of
my
way.
Hail,
and
be
bless'd!
For
scarce
of
mortal
kind
Appear
thy
form,
thy
feature,
and
thy
mind."
"Nor
true
are
all
thy
words,
nor
erring
wide;
(The
sacred
messenger
of
heaven
replied;)
But
say,
convey'st
thou
through
the
lonely
plains
What
yet
most
precious
of
thy
store
remains,
To
lodge
in
safety
with
some
friendly
hand:
Prepared,
perchance,
to
leave
thy
native
land?
Or
fliest
thou
now?--What
hopes
can
Troy
retain,
Thy
matchless
son,
her
guard
and
glory,
slain?"
The
king,
alarm'd:
"Say
what,
and
whence
thou
art
Who
search
the
sorrows
of
a
parent's
heart,
And
know
so
well
how
godlike
Hector
died?"
Thus
Priam
spoke,
and
Hermes
thus
replied:
"You
tempt
me,
father,
and
with
pity
touch:
On
this
sad
subject
you
inquire
too
much.
Oft
have
these
eyes
that
godlike
Hector
view'd
In
glorious
fight,
with
Grecian
blood
embrued:
I
saw
him
when,
like
Jove,
his
flames
he
toss'd
On
thousand
ships,
and
wither'd
half
a
host:
I
saw,
but
help'd
not:
stern
Achilles'
ire
Forbade
assistance,
and
enjoy'd
the
fire.
For
him
I
serve,
of
Myrmidonian
race;
One
ship
convey'd
us
from
our
native
place;
Polyctor
is
my
sire,
an
honour'd
name,
Old
like
thyself,
and
not
unknown
to
fame;
Of
seven
his
sons,
by
whom
the
lot
was
cast
To
serve
our
prince,
it
fell
on
me,
the
last.
To
watch
this
quarter,
my
adventure
falls:
For
with
the
morn
the
Greeks
attack
your
walls;
Sleepless
they
sit,
impatient
to
engage,
And
scarce
their
rulers
check
their
martial
rage."
"If
then
thou
art
of
stern
Pelides'
train,
(The
mournful
monarch
thus
rejoin'd
again,)
Ah
tell
me
truly,
where,
oh!
where
are
laid
My
son's
dear
relics?
what
befals
him
dead?
Have
dogs
dismember'd
(on
the
naked
plains),
Or
yet
unmangled
rest,
his
cold
remains?"
"O
favour'd
of
the
skies!
(thus
answered
then
The
power
that
mediates
between
god
and
men)
Nor
dogs
nor
vultures
have
thy
Hector
rent,
But
whole
he
lies,
neglected
in
the
tent:
This
the
twelfth
evening
since
he
rested
there,
Untouch'd
by
worms,
untainted
by
the
air.
Still
as
Aurora's
ruddy
beam
is
spread,
Round
his
friend's
tomb
Achilles
drags
the
dead:
Yet
undisfigured,
or
in
limb
or
face,
All
fresh
he
lies,
with
every
living
grace,
Majestical
in
death!
No
stains
are
found
O'er
all
the
corse,
and
closed
is
every
wound,
Though
many
a
wound
they
gave.
Some
heavenly
care,
Some
hand
divine,
preserves
him
ever
fair:
Or
all
the
host
of
heaven,
to
whom
he
led
A
life
so
grateful,
still
regard
him
dead."
Thus
spoke
to
Priam
the
celestial
guide,
And
joyful
thus
the
royal
sire
replied:
"Blest
is
the
man
who
pays
the
gods
above
The
constant
tribute
of
respect
and
love!
Those
who
inhabit
the
Olympian
bower
My
son
forgot
not,
in
exalted
power;
And
heaven,
that
every
virtue
bears
in
mind,
Even
to
the
ashes
of
the
just
is
kind.
But
thou,
O
generous
youth!
this
goblet
take,
A
pledge
of
gratitude
for
Hector's
sake;
And
while
the
favouring
gods
our
steps
survey,
Safe
to
Pelides'
tent
conduct
my
way."
To
whom
the
latent
god:
"O
king,
forbear
To
tempt
my
youth,
for
apt
is
youth
to
err.
But
can
I,
absent
from
my
prince's
sight,
Take
gifts
in
secret,
that
must
shun
the
light?
What
from
our
master's
interest
thus
we
draw,
Is
but
a
licensed
theft
that
'scapes
the
law.
Respecting
him,
my
soul
abjures
the
offence;
And
as
the
crime,
I
dread
the
consequence.
Thee,
far
as
Argos,
pleased
I
could
convey;
Guard
of
thy
life,
and
partner
of
thy
way:
On
thee
attend,
thy
safety
to
maintain,
O'er
pathless
forests,
or
the
roaring
main."
He
said,
then
took
the
chariot
at
a
bound,
And
snatch'd
the
reins,
and
whirl'd
the
lash
around:
Before
the
inspiring
god
that
urged
them
on,
The
coursers
fly
with
spirit
not
their
own.
And
now
they
reach'd
the
naval
walls,
and
found
The
guards
repasting,
while
the
bowls
go
round;
On
these
the
virtue
of
his
wand
he
tries,
And
pours
deep
slumber
on
their
watchful
eyes:
Then
heaved
the
massy
gates,
removed
the
bars,
And
o'er
the
trenches
led
the
rolling
cars.
Unseen,
through
all
the
hostile
camp
they
went,
And
now
approach'd
Pelides'
lofty
tent.
On
firs
the
roof
was
raised,
and
cover'd
o'er
With
reeds
collected
from
the
marshy
shore;
And,
fenced
with
palisades,
a
hall
of
state,
(The
work
of
soldiers,)
where
the
hero
sat.
Large
was
the
door,
whose
well-compacted
strength
A
solid
pine-tree
barr'd
of
wondrous
length:
Scarce
three
strong
Greeks
could
lift
its
mighty
weight,
But
great
Achilles
singly
closed
the
gate.
This
Hermes
(such
the
power
of
gods)
set
wide;
Then
swift
alighted
the
celestial
guide,
And
thus
reveal'd--"Hear,
prince!
and
understand
Thou
ow'st
thy
guidance
to
no
mortal
hand:
Hermes
I
am,
descended
from
above,
The
king
of
arts,
the
messenger
of
Jove,
Farewell:
to
shun
Achilles'
sight
I
fly;
Uncommon
are
such
favours
of
the
sky,
Nor
stand
confess'd
to
frail
mortality.
Now
fearless
enter,
and
prefer
thy
prayers;
Adjure
him
by
his
father's
silver
hairs,
His
son,
his
mother!
urge
him
to
bestow
Whatever
pity
that
stern
heart
can
know."
Thus
having
said,
he
vanish'd
from
his
eyes,
And
in
a
moment
shot
into
the
skies:
The
king,
confirm'd
from
heaven,
alighted
there,
And
left
his
aged
herald
on
the
car,
With
solemn
pace
through
various
rooms
he
went,
And
found
Achilles
in
his
inner
tent:
There
sat
the
hero:
Alcimus
the
brave,
And
great
Automedon,
attendance
gave:
These
served
his
person
at
the
royal
feast;
Around,
at
awful
distance,
stood
the
rest.
Unseen
by
these,
the
king
his
entry
made:
And,
prostrate
now
before
Achilles
laid,
Sudden
(a
venerable
sight!)
appears;
Embraced
his
knees,
and
bathed
his
hands
in
tears;
Those
direful
hands
his
kisses
press'd,
embrued
Even
with
the
best,
the
dearest
of
his
blood!
As
when
a
wretch
(who,
conscious
of
his
crime,
Pursued
for
murder,
flies
his
native
clime)
Just
gains
some
frontier,
breathless,
pale,
amazed,
All
gaze,
all
wonder:
thus
Achilles
gazed:
Thus
stood
the
attendants
stupid
with
surprise:
All
mute,
yet
seem'd
to
question
with
their
eyes:
Each
look'd
on
other,
none
the
silence
broke,
Till
thus
at
last
the
kingly
suppliant
spoke:
"Ah
think,
thou
favour'd
of
the
powers
divine!(295)
Think
of
thy
father's
age,
and
pity
mine!
In
me
that
father's
reverend
image
trace,
Those
silver
hairs,
that
venerable
face;
His
trembling
limbs,
his
helpless
person,
see!
In
all
my
equal,
but
in
misery!
Yet
now,
perhaps,
some
turn
of
human
fate
Expels
him
helpless
from
his
peaceful
state;
Think,
from
some
powerful
foe
thou
seest
him
fly,
And
beg
protection
with
a
feeble
cry.
Yet
still
one
comfort
in
his
soul
may
rise;
He
hears
his
son
still
lives
to
glad
his
eyes,
And,
hearing,
still
may
hope
a
better
day
May
send
him
thee,
to
chase
that
foe
away.
No
comfort
to
my
griefs,
no
hopes
remain,
The
best,
the
bravest,
of
my
sons
are
slain!
Yet
what
a
race!
ere
Greece
to
Ilion
came,
The
pledge
of
many
a
loved
and
loving
dame:
Nineteen
one
mother
bore--Dead,
all
are
dead!
How
oft,
alas!
has
wretched
Priam
bled!
Still
one
was
left
their
loss
to
recompense;
His
father's
hope,
his
country's
last
defence.
Him
too
thy
rage
has
slain!
beneath
thy
steel,
Unhappy
in
his
country's
cause
he
fell!
"For
him
through
hostile
camps
I
bent
my
way,
For
him
thus
prostrate
at
thy
feet
I
lay;
Large
gifts
proportion'd
to
thy
wrath
I
bear;
O
hear
the
wretched,
and
the
gods
revere!
"Think
of
thy
father,
and
this
face
behold!
See
him
in
me,
as
helpless
and
as
old!
Though
not
so
wretched:
there
he
yields
to
me,
The
first
of
men
in
sovereign
misery!
Thus
forced
to
kneel,
thus
grovelling
to
embrace
The
scourge
and
ruin
of
my
realm
and
race;
Suppliant
my
children's
murderer
to
implore,
And
kiss
those
hands
yet
reeking
with
their
gore!"
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.
Satiate
at
length
with
unavailing
woes,
From
the
high
throne
divine
Achilles
rose;
The
reverend
monarch
by
the
hand
he
raised;
On
his
white
beard
and
form
majestic
gazed,
Not
unrelenting;
then
serene
began
With
words
to
soothe
the
miserable
man:
"Alas,
what
weight
of
anguish
hast
thou
known,
Unhappy
prince!
thus
guardless
and
alone
Two
pass
through
foes,
and
thus
undaunted
face
The
man
whose
fury
has
destroy'd
thy
race!
Heaven
sure
has
arm'd
thee
with
a
heart
of
steel,
A
strength
proportion'd
to
the
woes
you
feel.
Rise,
then:
let
reason
mitigate
your
care:
To
mourn
avails
not:
man
is
born
to
bear.
Such
is,
alas!
the
gods'
severe
decree:
They,
only
they
are
blest,
and
only
free.
Two
urns
by
Jove's
high
throne
have
ever
stood,
The
source
of
evil
one,
and
one
of
good;
From
thence
the
cup
of
mortal
man
he
fills,
Blessings
to
these,
to
those
distributes
ill;
To
most
he
mingles
both:
the
wretch
decreed
To
taste
the
bad
unmix'd,
is
cursed
indeed;
Pursued
by
wrongs,
by
meagre
famine
driven,
He
wanders,
outcast
both
of
earth
and
heaven.
The
happiest
taste
not
happiness
sincere;
But
find
the
cordial
draught
is
dash'd
with
care.
Who
more
than
Peleus
shone
in
wealth
and
power
What
stars
concurring
bless'd
his
natal
hour!
A
realm,
a
goddess,
to
his
wishes
given;
Graced
by
the
gods
with
all
the
gifts
of
heaven.
One
evil
yet
o'ertakes
his
latest
day:
No
race
succeeding
to
imperial
sway;
An
only
son;
and
he,
alas!
ordain'd
To
fall
untimely
in
a
foreign
land.
See
him,
in
Troy,
the
pious
care
decline
Of
his
weak
age,
to
live
the
curse
of
thine!
Thou
too,
old
man,
hast
happier
days
beheld;
In
riches
once,
in
children
once
excell'd;
Extended
Phrygia
own'd
thy
ample
reign,
And
all
fair
Lesbos'
blissful
seats
contain,
And
all
wide
Hellespont's
unmeasured
main.
But
since
the
god
his
hand
has
pleased
to
turn,
And
fill
thy
measure
from
his
bitter
urn,
What
sees
the
sun,
but
hapless
heroes'
falls?
War,
and
the
blood
of
men,
surround
thy
walls!
What
must
be,
must
be.
Bear
thy
lot,
nor
shed
These
unavailing
sorrows
o'er
the
dead;
Thou
canst
not
call
him
from
the
Stygian
shore,
But
thou,
alas!
may'st
live
to
suffer
more!"
To
whom
the
king:
"O
favour'd
of
the
skies!
Here
let
me
grow
to
earth!
since
Hector
lies
On
the
bare
beach
deprived
of
obsequies.
O
give
me
Hector!
to
my
eyes
restore
His
corse,
and
take
the
gifts:
I
ask
no
more.
Thou,
as
thou
may'st,
these
boundless
stores
enjoy;
Safe
may'st
thou
sail,
and
turn
thy
wrath
from
Troy;
So
shall
thy
pity
and
forbearance
give
A
weak
old
man
to
see
the
light
and
live!"
"Move
me
no
more,
(Achilles
thus
replies,
While
kindling
anger
sparkled
in
his
eyes,)
Nor
seek
by
tears
my
steady
soul
to
bend:
To
yield
thy
Hector
I
myself
intend:
For
know,
from
Jove
my
goddess-mother
came,
(Old
Ocean's
daughter,
silver-footed
dame,)
Nor
comest
thou
but
by
heaven;
nor
comest
alone,
Some
god
impels
with
courage
not
thy
own:
No
human
hand
the
weighty
gates
unbarr'd,
Nor
could
the
boldest
of
our
youth
have
dared
To
pass
our
outworks,
or
elude
the
guard.
Cease;
lest,
neglectful
of
high
Jove's
command,
I
show
thee,
king!
thou
tread'st
on
hostile
land;
Release
my
knees,
thy
suppliant
arts
give
o'er,
And
shake
the
purpose
of
my
soul
no
more."
The
sire
obey'd
him,
trembling
and
o'eraw'd.
Achilles,
like
a
lion,
rush'd
abroad:
Automedon
and
Alcimus
attend,
(Whom
most
he
honour'd,
since
he
lost
his
friend,)
These
to
unyoke
the
mules
and
horses
went,
And
led
the
hoary
herald
to
the
tent;
Next,
heap'd
on
high,
the
numerous
presents
bear,
(Great
Hector's
ransom,)
from
the
polish'd
car.
Two
splendid
mantles,
and
a
carpet
spread,
They
leave:
to
cover
and
enwrap
the
dead.
Then
call
the
handmaids,
with
assistant
toil
To
wash
the
body
and
anoint
with
oil,
Apart
from
Priam:
lest
the
unhappy
sire,
Provoked
to
passion,
once
more
rouse
to
ire
The
stern
Pelides;
and
nor
sacred
age,
Nor
Jove's
command,
should
check
the
rising
rage.
This
done,
the
garments
o'er
the
corse
they
spread;
Achilles
lifts
it
to
the
funeral
bed:
Then,
while
the
body
on
the
car
they
laid,
He
groans,
and
calls
on
loved
Patroclus'
shade:
"If,
in
that
gloom
which
never
light
must
know,
The
deeds
of
mortals
touch
the
ghosts
below,
O
friend!
forgive
me,
that
I
thus
fulfil
(Restoring
Hector)
heaven's
unquestion'd
will.
The
gifts
the
father
gave,
be
ever
thine,
To
grace
thy
manes,
and
adorn
thy
shrine."(296)
He
said,
and,
entering,
took
his
seat
of
state;
Where
full
before
him
reverend
Priam
sate;
To
whom,
composed,
the
godlike
chief
begun:
"Lo!
to
thy
prayer
restored,
thy
breathless
son;
Extended
on
the
funeral
couch
he
lies;
And
soon
as
morning
paints
the
eastern
skies,
The
sight
is
granted
to
thy
longing
eyes:
But
now
the
peaceful
hours
of
sacred
night
Demand
reflection,
and
to
rest
invite:
Nor
thou,
O
father!
thus
consumed
with
woe,
The
common
cares
that
nourish
life
forego.
Not
thus
did
Niobe,
of
form
divine,
A
parent
once,
whose
sorrows
equall'd
thine:
Six
youthful
sons,
as
many
blooming
maids,
In
one
sad
day
beheld
the
Stygian
shades;
Those
by
Apollo's
silver
bow
were
slain,
These,
Cynthia's
arrows
stretch'd
upon
the
plain:
So
was
her
pride
chastised
by
wrath
divine,
Who
match'd
her
own
with
bright
Latona's
line;
But
two
the
goddess,
twelve
the
queen
enjoy'd;
Those
boasted
twelve,
the
avenging
two
destroy'd.
Steep'd
in
their
blood,
and
in
the
dust
outspread,
Nine
days,
neglected,
lay
exposed
the
dead;
None
by
to
weep
them,
to
inhume
them
none;
(For
Jove
had
turn'd
the
nation
all
to
stone.)
The
gods
themselves,
at
length
relenting
gave
The
unhappy
race
the
honours
of
a
grave.
Herself
a
rock
(for
such
was
heaven's
high
will)
Through
deserts
wild
now
pours
a
weeping
rill;
Where
round
the
bed
whence
Achelous
springs,
The
watery
fairies
dance
in
mazy
rings;
There
high
on
Sipylus's
shaggy
brow,
She
stands,
her
own
sad
monument
of
woe;
The
rock
for
ever
lasts,
the
tears
for
ever
flow.
"Such
griefs,
O
king!
have
other
parents
known;
Remember
theirs,
and
mitigate
thy
own.
The
care
of
heaven
thy
Hector
has
appear'd,
Nor
shall
he
lie
unwept,
and
uninterr'd;
Soon
may
thy
aged
cheeks
in
tears
be
drown'd,
And
all
the
eyes
of
Ilion
stream
around."
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:
"Permit
me
now,
beloved
of
Jove!
to
steep
My
careful
temples
in
the
dew
of
sleep:
For,
since
the
day
that
number'd
with
the
dead
My
hapless
son,
the
dust
has
been
my
bed;
Soft
sleep
a
stranger
to
my
weeping
eyes;
My
only
food,
my
sorrows
and
my
sighs!
Till
now,
encouraged
by
the
grace
you
give,
I
share
thy
banquet,
and
consent
to
live."
With
that,
Achilles
bade
prepare
the
bed,
With
purple
soft
and
shaggy
carpets
spread;
Forth,
by
the
flaming
lights,
they
bend
their
way,
And
place
the
couches,
and
the
coverings
lay.
Then
he:
"Now,
father,
sleep,
but
sleep
not
here;
Consult
thy
safety,
and
forgive
my
fear,
Lest
any
Argive,
at
this
hour
awake,
To
ask
our
counsel,
or
our
orders
take,
Approaching
sudden
to
our
open'd
tent,
Perchance
behold
thee,
and
our
grace
prevent.
Should
such
report
thy
honour'd
person
here,
The
king
of
men
the
ransom
might
defer;
But
say
with
speed,
if
aught
of
thy
desire
Remains
unask'd;
what
time
the
rites
require
To
inter
thy
Hector?
For,
so
long
we
stay
Our
slaughtering
arm,
and
bid
the
hosts
obey."
"If
then
thy
will
permit
(the
monarch
said)
To
finish
all
due
honours
to
the
dead,
This
of
thy
grace
accord:
to
thee
are
known
The
fears
of
Ilion,
closed
within
her
town;
And
at
what
distance
from
our
walls
aspire
The
hills
of
Ide,
and
forests
for
the
fire.
Nine
days
to
vent
our
sorrows
I
request,
The
tenth
shall
see
the
funeral
and
the
feast;
The
next,
to
raise
his
monument
be
given;
The
twelfth
we
war,
if
war
be
doom'd
by
heaven!"
"This
thy
request
(replied
the
chief)
enjoy:
Till
then
our
arms
suspend
the
fall
of
Troy."
Then
gave
his
hand
at
parting,
to
prevent
The
old
man's
fears,
and
turn'd
within
the
tent;
Where
fair
Briseis,
bright
in
blooming
charms,
Expects
her
hero
with
desiring
arms.
But
in
the
porch
the
king
and
herald
rest;
Sad
dreams
of
care
yet
wandering
in
their
breast.
Now
gods
and
men
the
gifts
of
sleep
partake;
Industrious
Hermes
only
was
awake,
The
king's
return
revolving
in
his
mind,
To
pass
the
ramparts,
and
the
watch
to
blind.
The
power
descending
hover'd
o'er
his
head:
"And
sleep'st
thou,
father!
(thus
the
vision
said:)
Now
dost
thou
sleep,
when
Hector
is
restored?
Nor
fear
the
Grecian
foes,
or
Grecian
lord?
Thy
presence
here
should
stern
Atrides
see,
Thy
still
surviving
sons
may
sue
for
thee;
May
offer
all
thy
treasures
yet
contain,
To
spare
thy
age;
and
offer
all
in
vain."
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:
"Turn
here
your
steps,
and
here
your
eyes
employ,
Ye
wretched
daughters,
and
ye
sons
of
Troy!
If
e'er
ye
rush'd
in
crowds,
with
vast
delight,
To
hail
your
hero
glorious
from
the
fight,
Now
meet
him
dead,
and
let
your
sorrows
flow;
Your
common
triumph,
and
your
common
woe."
In
thronging
crowds
they
issue
to
the
plains;
Nor
man
nor
woman
in
the
walls
remains;
In
every
face
the
self-same
grief
is
shown;
And
Troy
sends
forth
one
universal
groan.
At
Scaea's
gates
they
meet
the
mourning
wain,
Hang
on
the
wheels,
and
grovel
round
the
slain.
The
wife
and
mother,
frantic
with
despair,
Kiss
his
pale
cheek,
and
rend
their
scatter'd
hair:
Thus
wildly
wailing,
at
the
gates
they
lay;
And
there
had
sigh'd
and
sorrow'd
out
the
day;
But
godlike
Priam
from
the
chariot
rose:
"Forbear
(he
cried)
this
violence
of
woes;
First
to
the
palace
let
the
car
proceed,
Then
pour
your
boundless
sorrows
o'er
the
dead."
The
waves
of
people
at
his
word
divide,
Slow
rolls
the
chariot
through
the
following
tide;
Even
to
the
palace
the
sad
pomp
they
wait:
They
weep,
and
place
him
on
the
bed
of
state.
A
melancholy
choir
attend
around,
With
plaintive
sighs,
and
music's
solemn
sound:
Alternately
they
sing,
alternate
flow
The
obedient
tears,
melodious
in
their
woe.
While
deeper
sorrows
groan
from
each
full
heart,
And
nature
speaks
at
every
pause
of
art.
First
to
the
corse
the
weeping
consort
flew;
Around
his
neck
her
milk-white
arms
she
threw,
"And
oh,
my
Hector!
Oh,
my
lord!
(she
cries)
Snatch'd
in
thy
bloom
from
these
desiring
eyes!
Thou
to
the
dismal
realms
for
ever
gone!
And
I
abandon'd,
desolate,
alone!
An
only
son,
once
comfort
of
our
pains,
Sad
product
now
of
hapless
love,
remains!
Never
to
manly
age
that
son
shall
rise,
Or
with
increasing
graces
glad
my
eyes:
For
Ilion
now
(her
great
defender
slain)
Shall
sink
a
smoking
ruin
on
the
plain.
Who
now
protects
her
wives
with
guardian
care?
Who
saves
her
infants
from
the
rage
of
war?
Now
hostile
fleets
must
waft
those
infants
o'er
(Those
wives
must
wait
them)
to
a
foreign
shore:
Thou
too,
my
son,
to
barbarous
climes
shall
go,
The
sad
companion
of
thy
mother's
woe;
Driven
hence
a
slave
before
the
victor's
sword
Condemn'd
to
toil
for
some
inhuman
lord:
Or
else
some
Greek
whose
father
press'd
the
plain,
Or
son,
or
brother,
by
great
Hector
slain,
In
Hector's
blood
his
vengeance
shall
enjoy,
And
hurl
thee
headlong
from
the
towers
of
Troy.(297)
For
thy
stern
father
never
spared
a
foe:
Thence
all
these
tears,
and
all
this
scene
of
woe!
Thence
many
evils
his
sad
parents
bore,
His
parents
many,
but
his
consort
more.
Why
gav'st
thou
not
to
me
thy
dying
hand?
And
why
received
not
I
thy
last
command?
Some
word
thou
would'st
have
spoke,
which,
sadly
dear,
My
soul
might
keep,
or
utter
with
a
tear;
Which
never,
never
could
be
lost
in
air,
Fix'd
in
my
heart,
and
oft
repeated
there!"
Thus
to
her
weeping
maids
she
makes
her
moan,
Her
weeping
handmaids
echo
groan
for
groan.
The
mournful
mother
next
sustains
her
part:
"O
thou,
the
best,
the
dearest
to
my
heart!
Of
all
my
race
thou
most
by
heaven
approved,
And
by
the
immortals
even
in
death
beloved!
While
all
my
other
sons
in
barbarous
bands
Achilles
bound,
and
sold
to
foreign
lands,
This
felt
no
chains,
but
went
a
glorious
ghost,
Free,
and
a
hero,
to
the
Stygian
coast.
Sentenced,
'tis
true,
by
his
inhuman
doom,
Thy
noble
corse
was
dragg'd
around
the
tomb;
(The
tomb
of
him
thy
warlike
arm
had
slain;)
Ungenerous
insult,
impotent
and
vain!
Yet
glow'st
thou
fresh
with
every
living
grace;
No
mark
of
pain,
or
violence
of
face:
Rosy
and
fair!
as
Phoebus'
silver
bow
Dismiss'd
thee
gently
to
the
shades
below."
Thus
spoke
the
dame,
and
melted
into
tears.
Sad
Helen
next
in
pomp
of
grief
appears;
Fast
from
the
shining
sluices
of
her
eyes
Fall
the
round
crystal
drops,
while
thus
she
cries.
"Ah,
dearest
friend!
in
whom
the
gods
had
join'd(298)
Tne
mildest
manners
with
the
bravest
mind,
Now
twice
ten
years
(unhappy
years)
are
o'er
Since
Paris
brought
me
to
the
Trojan
shore,
(O
had
I
perish'd,
ere
that
form
divine
Seduced
this
soft,
this
easy
heart
of
mine!)
Yet
was
it
ne'er
my
fate,
from
thee
to
find
A
deed
ungentle,
or
a
word
unkind.
When
others
cursed
the
authoress
of
their
woe,
Thy
pity
check'd
my
sorrows
in
their
flow.
If
some
proud
brother
eyed
me
with
disdain,
Or
scornful
sister
with
her
sweeping
train,
Thy
gentle
accents
soften'd
all
my
pain.
For
thee
I
mourn,
and
mourn
myself
in
thee,
The
wretched
source
of
all
this
misery.
The
fate
I
caused,
for
ever
I
bemoan;
Sad
Helen
has
no
friend,
now
thou
art
gone!
Through
Troy's
wide
streets
abandon'd
shall
I
roam!
In
Troy
deserted,
as
abhorr'd
at
home!"
So
spoke
the
fair,
with
sorrow-streaming
eye.
Distressful
beauty
melts
each
stander-by.
On
all
around
the
infectious
sorrow
grows;
But
Priam
check'd
the
torrent
as
it
rose:
"Perform,
ye
Trojans!
what
the
rites
require,
And
fell
the
forests
for
a
funeral
pyre;
Twelve
days,
nor
foes
nor
secret
ambush
dread;
Achilles
grants
these
honours
to
the
dead."(299)
[Illustration:
FUNERAL
OF
HECTOR.]
FUNERAL
OF
HECTOR.
He
spoke,
and,
at
his
word,
the
Trojan
train
Their
mules
and
oxen
harness
to
the
wain,
Pour
through
the
gates,
and
fell'd
from
Ida's
crown,
Roll
back
the
gather'd
forests
to
the
town.
These
toils
continue
nine
succeeding
days,
And
high
in
air
a
sylvan
structure
raise.
But
when
the
tenth
fair
morn
began
to
shine,
Forth
to
the
pile
was
borne
the
man
divine,
And
placed
aloft;
while
all,
with
streaming
eyes,
Beheld
the
flames
and
rolling
smokes
arise.
Soon
as
Aurora,
daughter
of
the
dawn,
With
rosy
lustre
streak'd
the
dewy
lawn,
Again
the
mournful
crowds
surround
the
pyre,
And
quench
with
wine
the
yet
remaining
fire.
The
snowy
bones
his
friends
and
brothers
place
(With
tears
collected)
in
a
golden
vase;
The
golden
vase
in
purple
palls
they
roll'd,
Of
softest
texture,
and
inwrought
with
gold.
Last
o'er
the
urn
the
sacred
earth
they
spread,
And
raised
the
tomb,
memorial
of
the
dead.
(Strong
guards
and
spies,
till
all
the
rites
were
done,
Watch'd
from
the
rising
to
the
setting
sun.)
All
Troy
then
moves
to
Priam's
court
again,
A
solemn,
silent,
melancholy
train:
Assembled
there,
from
pious
toil
they
rest,
And
sadly
shared
the
last
sepulchral
feast.
Such
honours
Ilion
to
her
hero
paid,
And
peaceful
slept
the
mighty
Hector's
shade.(300)
***END
OF
THE
PROJECT
GUTENBERG
EBOOK
THE
ILIAD
OF
HOMER***
