WHEN now the Thund’rer 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 thro’ the well-fought day. | |
| Then turned to Thracia from the field of fight | 5 |
| 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 Hippemolgian strays, | |
| Renown’d for justice and for length of days. | 10 |
| 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 giv’n, | 15 |
| While his high law suspends the Powers of Heav’n. | |
| Meantime the Monarch of the wat’ry main | |
| Observ’d the Thund’rer, nor observ’d in vain. | |
| In Samothracia, on a mountain’s brow, | |
| Whose waving woods o’erhung the deeps below, | 20 |
| He sat; and round him cast his azure eyes, | |
| Where Ida’s misty tops confusedly rise; | |
| Below, fair Ilion’s glitt’ring spires were seen; | |
| The crowded ships, and sable seas between. | |
| There, from the crystal chambers of the main | 25 |
| Emerged, he sat; and mourn’d his Argives slain. | |
| At Jove incens’d, with grief and fury stung, | |
| Prone down the rocky steep he rush’d along; | |
| Fierce as he pass’d, the lofty mountains nod, | |
| The forests shake; earth trembled as he trod, | 30 |
| And felt th’ footsteps of the immortal God. | |
| From realm to realm three ample strides he took, | |
| And, at the fourth, the distant Ægæ shook. | |
| Far in the bay his shining palace stands, | |
| Eternal frame! not rais’d by mortal hands: | 35 |
| 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 ear, the golden scourge applies, | 40 |
| He sits superior, and the chariot flies: | |
| His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep; | |
| Th’ enormous monsters, rolling o’er the deep, | |
| Gambol around him on the wat’ry way; | |
| And heavy whales in awkward measures play: | 45 |
| The sea subsiding spreads a level plain, | |
| Exults, and owns the monarch of the main; | |
| The parting waves before his coursers fly; | |
| The wond’ring waters leave his axle dry. | |
| Deep in the liquid regions lies a cave, | 50 |
| 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, | 55 |
| 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 dark’ning Heav’n around, | |
| Or fiery deluge that devours the ground, | 60 |
| Th’ impatient Trojans, in a gloomy throng, | |
| Embattled roll’d, as Hector rush’d along: | |
| To the loud tumult and the barb’rous cry, | |
| The Heav’ns re-echo, and the shores reply; | |
| They vow destruction to the Grecian name, | 65 |
| 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; | 70 |
| His shouts incessant every Greek inspire, | |
| But most th’ Ajaces, adding fire to fire: | |
| ‘’T is yours, O warriors, all our hopes to raise; | |
| Oh recollect your ancient worth and praise! | |
| ’T is yours to save us if you cease to fear; | 75 |
| Flight, more than shameful, is destructive | |
| On other works tho’ 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. | 80 |
| Here Hector rages like the force of fire, | |
| Vaunts of his Gods, and calls high Jove his sire. | |
| If yet some heav’nly power your breast excite, | |
| Breathe in your hearts and string your arms to flight, | |
| Greece yet may live, her threaten’d fleet maintain, | 85 |
| 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. | 90 |
| 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; | 95 |
| The wide horizon shut him from their view. | |
| Th’ inspiring God Oïleus’ active son | |
| Perceiv’d the first, and thus to Telamon: | |
| ‘Some God, my friend, some God in human form, | |
| Fav’ring descends, and wills to stand the storm; | 100 |
| Not Calchas this, the venerable seer; | |
| Short as he turn’d, I saw the Power appear: | |
| I mark’d his parting, and the steps he trod, | |
| His own bright evidence reveals a God. | |
| Ev’n now some energy divine I share, | 105 |
| 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. | 110 |
| This ready arm, unthinking, shakes the dart; | |
| The blood pours back, and fortifies my heart; | |
| Singly, methinks, yon tow’ring Chief I meet, | |
| And stretch the dreadful Hector at my feet.’ | |
| Full of the God that urged their burning breast, | 115 |
| 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: | 120 |
| Trembling before th’ 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; | 125 |
| Then stern Peneleus rises to the fight; | |
| Thoas, Deipyrus, in arms renown’d, | |
| And Merion next, th’ impulsive fury found; | |
| Last Nestor’s son the same bold ardour takes, | |
| While thus the God the martial fire awakes: | 130 |
| ‘Oh lasting infamy, oh dire disgrace | |
| To Chiefs of vig’rous 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, | 135 |
| And one black day clouds all her former fame. | |
| Heav’ns! 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? | 140 |
| A rout undisciplin’d, 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, | 145 |
| Invade your camps, involve your ships in flame? | |
| A change so shameful, say, what cause has wrought? | |
| The soldier’s baseness, or the gen’ral’s fault? | |
| Fools! will ye perish for your leader’s vice? | |
| The purchase infamy, and life the price! | 150 |
| ’T is not your cause, Achilles’ injur’d fame: | |
| Another’s is the crime, but yours the shame. | |
| Grant that our Chief offend thro’ rage or lust, | |
| Must you be cowards if your king’s unjust? | |
| Prevent this evil, and your country save: | 155 |
| 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! | 160 |
| 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, th’ appointed shore; | 165 |
| 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 list’ning armies catch the godlike fire. | 170 |
| 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 inclin’d his eyes, | 175 |
| The God of War had own’d a just surprise. | |
| A chosen phalanx, firm, resolv’d 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, | 180 |
| 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, | 185 |
| 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. | 190 |
| 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 pond’rous mass descends: | |
| From steep to steep the rolling ruin bounds; | 195 |
| At every shock the crackling wood resounds; | |
| Still gath’ring force, it smokes; and, urged amain, | |
| Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain: | |
| There stops—So Hector. Their whole force he prov’d, | |
| Resistless when he raged, and, when he stopp’d, unmov’d. | 200 |
| On him the war is bent, the darts are shed, | |
| And all their faulchions wave around his head: | |
| Repuls’d he stands, nor from his stand retires; | |
| But with repeated shouts his army fires. | |
| ‘Trojans! be firm; this arm shall make your way | 205 |
| Thro’ yon square body, and that black array; | |
| Stand, and my spear shall rout their scatt’ring power, | |
| Strong as they seem, embattled like a tower. | |
| For he that Juno’s heav’nly bosom warms, | |
| The first of Gods, this day inspires our arms.’ | 210 |
| He said, and rous’d the soul in ev’ry breast; | |
| Urged with desire of fame, beyond the rest, | |
| Forth march’d Deïphobus; but marching held | |
| Before his wary steps his ample shield. | |
| Bold Merion aim’d a stroke, nor aim’d it wide; | 215 |
| The glitt’ring jav’lin pierc’d the tough bull-hide; | |
| But pierc’d not thro’: unfaithful to his hand, | |
| The point broke short, and sparkled in the sand. | |
| The Trojan warrior, touch’d with timely fear, | |
| On the rais’d orb to distance bore the spear: | 220 |
| The Greek retreating mourn’d his frustrate blow, | |
| And curs’d the treach’rous lance that spared a foe; | |
| Then to the ships with surly speed he went, | |
| To seek a surer jav’lin in his tent. | |
| Meanwhile with rising rage the battle glows, | 225 |
| The tumult thickens, and the clamour grows. | |
| By Teucer’s arm the warlike Imbrius bleeds, | |
| The son of Mentor, rich in gen’rous steeds. | |
| Ere yet to Troy the sons of Greece were led, | |
| In fair Pedæus’ verdant pastures bred, | 230 |
| The youth had dwelt; remote from war’s alarms, | |
| And bless’d 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: | 235 |
| And match’d the bravest of her Chiefs in fame: | |
| With Priam’s sons, a guardian of the throne, | |
| He liv’d, belov’d and honour’d as his own. | |
| Him Teucer pierc’d between the throat and ear: | |
| He groans beneath the Telamonian spear. | 240 |
| 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, | 245 |
| From Hector’s hand a shining jav’lin fled: | |
| He saw, and shunn’d the death; the forceful dart | |
| Sung on, and pierc’d Amphimachus’s heart, | |
| Cteatus’ son, of Neptune’s forceful line; | |
| Vain was his courage, and his race divine! | 250 |
| 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 fasten’d on the dazzling prize, | |
| When Ajax’ manly arm a jav’lin flung; | 255 |
| 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 sheathed in shining steel. | |
| Repuls’d he yields; the victor Greeks obtain | |
| The spoils contested, and bear off the slain. | 260 |
| Between the leaders of th’ Athenian line, | |
| (Stichius the brave, Menestheus the divine,) | |
| Deplor’d Amphimachus, sad object! lies; | |
| Imbrius remains the fierce Ajaces’ prize. | |
| As two grim lions bear across the lawn, | 265 |
| Snatch’d from devouring hounds, a slaughter’d fawn | |
| In their fell jaws high lifting thro’ the wood, | |
| And sprinkling all the shrubs with drops of blood; | |
| So these the Chief: great Ajax from the dead | |
| Strips his bright arms, Oïleus lops his head: | 270 |
| 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 pierc’d with sorrow for his grandson slain, | |
| Inspires the Grecian hearts, confirms their hands, | 275 |
| And breathes destruction to the Trojan bands. | |
| Swift as a whirlwind rushing to the fleet, | |
| He finds the lance-famed Idomen of Crete; | |
| His pensive brow the gen’rous care express’d | |
| With which a wounded soldier touch’d his breast, | 280 |
| Whom in the chance of war a jav’lin 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 him the God begun, | 285 |
| In Thoas’ voice, Andræmon’s valiant son, | |
| Who ruled where Calydon’s white rocks arise, | |
| And Pleuron’s chalky cliffs emblaze the skies: | |
| ‘Where ’s now th’ impetuous vaunt, the daring boast, | |
| Of Greece victorious, and proud Ilion lost?’ | 290 |
| 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. | |
| ’T is Heav’n, alas! and Jove’s all-powerful doom, | 295 |
| 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.’ | 300 |
| 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, | 305 |
| 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 ev’n this succour vain: | 310 |
| 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 jav’lins glitt’ring in his hand, | 315 |
| And clad in arms that lighten’d all the strand, | |
| Fierce on the foe th’ impetuous hero drove; | |
| Like lightning bursting from the arm of Jove, | |
| Which to pale man the wrath of Heav’n declares, | |
| Or terrifies th’ offending world with wars; | 320 |
| 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; | 325 |
| 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? | 330 |
| Inglorious here, my soul abhors to stay, | |
| And glows with prospects of th’ approaching day.’ | |
| ‘O Prince!’ (Meriones replies), ‘whose care | |
| Leads forth th’ embattled sons of Crete to war; | |
| This speaks my grief: this headless lance I wield; | 335 |
| The rest lies rooted in a Trojan shield.’ | |
| To whom the Cretan: ‘Enter, and receive | |
| The wanted weapons; those my tent can give; | |
| Spears I have store (and Trojan lances all), | |
| That shed a lustre round th’ illumin’d wall. | 340 |
| Tho’ I, disdainful of the distant war, | |
| Nor trust the dart, nor aim th’ 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, | 345 |
| 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. | 350 |
| 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 prov’d thy valour, and unconquer’d might: | |
| And were some ambush for the foes design’d, | 355 |
| Ev’n 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 shews; | |
| He shifts his place; his colour comes and goes; | 360 |
| A dropping sweat creeps cold on ev’ry part; | |
| Against his bosom beats his quiv’ring heart; | |
| Terror and death in his wild eye-balls stare; | |
| With chatt’ring teeth he stands, and stiff’ning hair, | |
| And looks a bloodless image of despair! | 365 |
| Not so the brave; still dauntless, still the same, | |
| Unchanged his colour, and unmov’d his frame; | |
| Composed his thought, determin’d is his eye, | |
| And fix’d his soul, to conquer or to die: | |
| If aught disturb the tenor of his breast, | 370 |
| T is but the wish to strike before the rest. | |
| ‘In such assays thy blameless worth is known, | |
| And ev’ry art of dangerous war thy own. | |
| By chance of fight whatever wounds you bore, | |
| Those wounds were glorious all, and all before: | 375 |
| Such as may teach, ’t was still thy brave delight | |
| T’ oppose thy bosom where the 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, | 380 |
| And to their owners send them nobly back.’ | |
| Swift as 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;) | 385 |
| Terror, his best-lov’d 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 | 390 |
| Of warring Phlegians, and Ephyrian arms: | |
| Invoked by both, relentless they dispose | |
| To these glad conquest, murd’rous rout to those. | |
| So march’d the leaders of the Cretan train, | |
| And their bright arms shot horror o’er the plain. | 395 |
| Then first spake Merion: ‘Shall we join the right, | |
| Or combat in the centre of the fight? | |
| Or to the left our wanted succour lend? | |
| Hazard and Fame all parts alike attend.’ | |
| ‘Not in the centre’ (Idomen replied), | 400 |
| ‘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. | 405 |
| 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, | 410 |
| Nor feed like mortals on the fruits of earth, | |
| Him neither rocks can crush, nor steel can wound, | |
| Whom Ajax fells not on th’ ensanguin’d ground. | |
| In standing fight he mates Achilles’ force, | |
| Excell’d alone in swiftness in the course. | 415 |
| 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 | 420 |
| Rush like a fiery torrent round 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 diff’rent quarters sweep the sandy plain; | 425 |
| On every side the dusty whirlwinds rise, | |
| And the dry fields are lifted to the skies: | |
| Thus, by despair, hope, rage, together driv’n, | |
| Met the black hosts, and, meeting, darken’d Heav’n. | |
| All dreadful glared the iron face of war, | 430 |
| Bristled with upright spears, that flash’d afar; | |
| Dire was the gleam of breast-plates, helms, and shields, | |
| And polish’d arms emblazed the flaming fields: | |
| Tremendous scene! that gen’ral horror gave, | |
| But touch’d with joy the bosoms of the brave. | 435 |
| Saturn’s great sons in fierce contention vied, | |
| And crowds of heroes in their anger died. | |
| The Sire of Earth and Heav’n, by Thetis won | |
| To crown with glory Peleus’ godlike son, | |
| Will’d not destruction to the Grecian powers, | 440 |
| But spared awhile the destin’d Trojan towers: | |
| While Neptune, rising from his azure main, | |
| Warr’d on the King of Heav’n with stern disdain, | |
| And breathed revenge, and fired the Grecian train. | |
| Gods of one source, of one ethereal race, | 445 |
| Alike divine, and Heav’n 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. | 450 |
| These Powers infold 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 combat grey, | 455 |
| 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; | 460 |
| Cassandra’s love he sought, with boasts of power, | |
| And promis’d 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 th’ imagin’d bride, | 465 |
| The field he measured with a larger stride. | |
| Him, as he stalk’d, the Cretan jav’lin found; | |
| Vain was his breast-plate to repel the wound: | |
| His dream of glory lost, he plunged to Hell; | |
| The plains resounded as the boaster fell. | 470 |
| 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; | 475 |
| 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 farther methods to advise, | |
| Come, follow to the fleet thy new allies; | 480 |
| 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 valued coursers, to his squire consign’d, | 485 |
| 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: | 490 |
| Beneath the chin the point was seen to glide, | |
| And, glitter’d, extant, at the farther side. | |
| As when the mountain oak, or poplar tall, | |
| Or pine, fit mast for some great admiral, | |
| Groans to the oft-heav’d axe, with many a wound, | 495 |
| Then spreads a length of ruin o’er the ground: | |
| So sunk proud Asius in that dreadful day, | |
| And stretch’d before his much-lov’d coursers lay. | |
| He grinds the dust distain’d with streaming gore, | |
| And, fierce in death, lies foaming on the shore. | 500 |
| 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: | |
| Pierc’d by Antilochus, he pants beneath | 505 |
| 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, Deïphobus drew nigh, | |
| And made, with force, the vengeful weapon fly: | 510 |
| The Cretan saw; and, stooping, caus’d 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 rais’d arm by two strong braces stay’d), | 515 |
| He lay collected in defensive shade; | |
| O’er his safe head the jav’lin idly sung, | |
| And on the tinkling verge more faintly rung. | |
| Ev’n then, the spear the vig’rous arm confess’d, | |
| And pierc’d, obliquely, King Hypsenor’s breast; | 520 |
| 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, tho’ Hell’s black portals stand display’d, | 525 |
| This mate shall joy thy melancholy shade.’ | |
| Heart-piercing anguish, at the haughty boast, | |
| Touch’d every Greek, but Nestor’s son the most: | |
| Griev’d as he was, his pious arms attend, | |
| And his broad buckler shields his slaughter’d friend: | 530 |
| Till sad Mecistheus and Alastor bore | |
| His honour’d body to the tented shore. | |
| Nor yet from fight Idomeneus withdraws; | |
| Resolv’d to perish in his country’s cause, | |
| Or find some foe, whom Heav’n and he shall doom | 535 |
| To wail his fate in death’s eternal gloom. | |
| He sees Alcathoüs in the front aspire: | |
| Great Æsyetes was the hero’s sire: | |
| His spouse Hippodame, divinely fair, | |
| Anchises’ eldest hope, and darling care: | 540 |
| Who charm’d her parent’s 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, | 545 |
| 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 receiv’d the stroke. | 550 |
| Before the pond’rous stroke his corslet yields, | |
| Long used to ward the death in fighting fields. | |
| The riven armour sends a jarring sound: | |
| His lab’ring heart heaves with so strong a bound, | |
| The long lance shakes, and vibrates in the wound: | 555 |
| 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, Deïphobus! nor vaunt in vain: | |
| See! on one Greek three Trojan ghosts attend, | 560 |
| 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 on a mortal dame, | |
| Great Minos, guardian of his country, came; | 565 |
| 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 thro’ the main: | |
| Lord of a host, o’er all my host I shine, | 570 |
| 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. | 575 |
| Forthwith Æneas rises to his thought; | |
| For him, in Troy’s remotest lines he sought, | |
| Where he, incens’d at partial Priam, stands, | |
| And sees superior posts in meaner hands. | |
| To him, ambitious of so great an aid, | 580 |
| The bold Deïphobus approach’d, and said: | |
| ‘Now, Trojan Prince, employ thy pious arms, | |
| If e’er thy bosom felt fair honour’s charms. | |
| Alcathoüs dies, thy brother and thy friend. | |
| Come, and the warrior’s lov’d remains defend. | 585 |
| 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.’ | |
| Æneas heard, and for a space resign’d | 590 |
| 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, | 595 |
| 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, | 600 |
| But most his hunters rouse his mighty rage: | |
| So stood Idomeneus, his jav’lin shook, | |
| And met the Trojan with a low’ring look. | |
| Antilochus, Deïpyrus, were near, | |
| The youthful offspring of the God of War; | 605 |
| Merion, and Aphareus, in field renown’d: | |
| To these the warrior sent his voice around: | |
| ‘Fellows in arms! your timely aid unite: | |
| Lo, great Æneas rushes to the fight: | |
| Sprung from a God, and more than mortal bold: | 610 |
| 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 | 615 |
| Around the Chief. Æneas too demands | |
| Th’ assisting forces of his native bands: | |
| Paris, Deïphobus, Agenor join; | |
| (Co-aids and captains of the Trojan line;) | |
| In order follow all th’ embodied train; | 620 |
| Like Ida’s flocks proceeding o’er the plain: | |
| Before his fleecy care, erect and bold, | |
| Stalks the proud ram, the father of the fold: | |
| With joy the swain surveys them, as he leads | |
| To the cool fountains thro’ the well-known meads: | 625 |
| So joys Æneas, as his native band | |
| Moves on in rank, and stretches o’er the land. | |
| Round dead Alcathoüs now the battle rose; | |
| On ev’ry side the steely circle grows; | |
| Now batter’d breast-plates and hack’d helmets ring, | 630 |
| And o’er their heads unheeded jav’lins sing. | |
| Above the rest, two tow’ring Chiefs appear, | |
| There great Idomeneus, Æneas here. | |
| Like Gods of War, dispensing fate, they stood, | |
| And burn’d to drench the ground with mutual blood. | 635 |
| 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 Œnomas receiv’d the Cretan’s stroke; | 640 |
| The forceful spear his hollow corslet broke; | |
| It ripp’d his belly with a ghastly wound, | |
| And roll’d the smoking entrails to the ground. | |
| Stretch’d on the plain, he sobs away his breath, | |
| And furious grasps the bloody dust in death. | 645 |
| The victor from his breast the weapon tears | |
| (His spoils he could not, for the shower of spears); | |
| Tho’ now unfit an active war to wage, | |
| Heavy with cumbrous arms, stiff with cold age, | |
| His listless limbs unable for the course; | 650 |
| In standing fight he yet maintains his force: | |
| Till, faint with labour, and by foes repell’d, | |
| His tired slow steps he drags along the field. | |
| Deïphobus beheld him as he pass’d, | |
| And, fired with hate, a parting jav’lin cast: | 655 |
| The jav’lin err’d, but held its course along, | |
| And pierc’d 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; | 660 |
| High-throned amidst the great Olympian hall, | |
| On golden clouds th’ immortal synod sat; | |
| Detain’d from bloody war by Jove and Fate. | |
| Now, where in dust the breathless hero lay, | |
| For slain Ascalaphus commenc’d the fray. | 665 |
| Deïphobus to seize his helmet flies, | |
| And from his temples rends the glitt’ring prize: | |
| Valiant as Mars, Meriones drew near, | |
| And on his loaded arm discharged his spear. | |
| He drops the weight, disabled with the pain; | 670 |
| 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 jav’lin, and rejoin’d his friends. | |
| His wounded brother good Polites tends; | 675 |
| Around his waist his pious arms he threw, | |
| And from the rage of combat gently drew: | |
| Him his swift coursers, on his splendid car, | |
| Rapt from the less’ning thunder of the war; | |
| To Troy they drove him, groaning, from the shore, | 680 |
| And sprinkling, as he pass’d, the sands with gore. | |
| Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground, | |
| Heaps fall on heaps, and Heav’n and Earth resound. | |
| Bold Aphareus by great Æneas bled; | |
| As toward the Chief he turn’d his daring head, | 685 |
| He pierc’d his throat; the bending head, depress’d | |
| Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast; | |
| His shield revers’d o’er the fall’n warrior lies; | |
| And everlasting slumber seals his eyes. | |
| Antilochus, as Thoön turn’d him round, | 690 |
| Transpierc’d his back with a dishonest wound: | |
| The hollow vein that to the neck extends | |
| Along the chine, his eager jav’lin rends: | |
| Supine he falls, and to his social train | |
| Spreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain. | 695 |
| Th’ exulting victor, leaping where he lay, | |
| From his broad shoulders tore the spoils away; | |
| His time observ’d; for, closed by foes around, | |
| On all sides thick, the peals of arms resound. | |
| His shield, emboss’d, the ringing storm sustains, | 700 |
| But he impervious and untouch’d remains. | |
| (Great Neptune’s care preserv’d from hostile rage | |
| This youth, the joy of Nestor’s glorious age.) | |
| In arms intrepid with the first he fought, | |
| Faced ev’ry foe, and ev’ry danger sought; | 705 |
| 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, | 710 |
| And struck his target with the brazen spear, | |
| Fierce in his front; but Neptune wards the blow, | |
| And blunts the jav’lin of th’ eluded foe. | |
| In the broad buckler half the weapon stood; | |
| Splinter’d on earth flew half the broken wood. | 715 |
| 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, | 720 |
| Lay panting. Thus an ox, in fetters tied, | |
| While death’s strong pangs distend his lab’ring 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, | 725 |
| And death’s dim shadows swam before his view. | |
| Next brave Deïpyrus 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; | 730 |
| There, for some luckier Greek it rests a prize, | |
| For dark in death the godlike owner lies! | |
| With raging grief great Menelaus burns, | |
| And, fraught with vengeance, to the victor turns; | |
| That shook the pond’rous lance, in act to throw, | 735 |
| 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,) | 740 |
| 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 th’ unwary foe, | 745 |
| Pierc’d with his lance the hand that grasp’d the bow, | |
| And nail’d 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; | 750 |
| 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 thro’ the ranks to fall, and fall by thee, | |
| Great Menelaus! to enhance thy fame; | 755 |
| High tow’ring in the front, the warrior came. | |
| First the sharp lance was by Atrides thrown; | |
| The lance far distant by the winds was blown. | |
| Nor pierc’d Pisander thro’ Atrides’ shield; | |
| Pisander’s spear fell shiver’d on the field. | 760 |
| 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; | 765 |
| 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, | 770 |
| Shorn from the crest. Atrides waved his steel; | |
| Deep thro’ his front the weighty falchion fell; | |
| The crashing bones before its force gave way; | |
| In dust and blood the groaning hero lay; | |
| Forc’d from their ghastly orbs, and spouting gore, | 775 |
| The clotted eye-balls tumble on the shore. | |
| The 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! | 780 |
| 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, | 785 |
| 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! | 790 |
| 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; | 795 |
| Sleep’s balmy blessing, love’s endearing joy; | |
| The feast, the dance; whate’er mankind desire, | |
| Ev’n the sweet charms of sacred numbers tire. | |
| But Troy for ever reaps a dire delight | |
| In thirst of slaughter, and in lust of fight.’ | 800 |
| This said, he seiz’d (while yet the carcass heav’d) | |
| The bloody armour, which his train receiv’d: | |
| Then sudden mix’d among the warring crew, | |
| And the bold son of Pylæmenes slew. | |
| Harpalion had thro’ Asia travell’d far, | 805 |
| Following his martial father to the war; | |
| Thro’ filial love he left his native shore, | |
| Never, ah never, to behold it more! | |
| His unsuccessful spear he chanc’d to fling | |
| Against the target of the Spartan king; | 810 |
| Thus of his lance disarm’d, from death he flies, | |
| And turns around his apprehensive eyes. | |
| Him, thro’ the hip transpiercing as he fled, | |
| The shaft of Merion mingled with the dead. | |
| Beneath the bone the glancing point descends, | 815 |
| 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. | 820 |
| 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, | 825 |
| And unrevenged deplor’d 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 lov’d of all the Paphlagonian race! | 830 |
| 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; | 835 |
| 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. | 840 |
| Beneath his ear the pointed arrow went; | |
| The soul came issuing at the narrow vent; | |
| His limbs, unnerv’d, drop useless on the ground, | |
| And everlasting darkness shades him round. | |
| Nor knew great Hector how his legions yield | 845 |
| (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. | 850 |
| But in the centre Hector fix’d remain’d, | |
| Where first the gates were forc’d, and bulwarks gain’d; | |
| There, on the margin of the hoary deep | |
| (Their naval station where th’ Ajaces keep, | |
| And where low walls confine the beating tides, | 855 |
| 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 Bœotian strength remains, | |
| The proud Ionians with their sweeping trains, | 860 |
| Locrians and Phthians, and th’ Epeian 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 th’ Epeian bands controll’d, | 865 |
| 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, Oïleus, thine | 870 |
| (Young Ajax’ brother, by a stol’n embrace; | |
| He dwelt far distant from his native place; | |
| By his fierce stepdame from his father’s reign | |
| Expell’d and exiled for her brother slain): | |
| These rule the Phthians, and their arms employ, | 875 |
| Mix’d with Bœotians, on the shores of Troy. | |
| Now side by side, with like unwearied care, | |
| Each Ajax labour’d thro’ the field of war. | |
| So when two lordly bulls, with equal toil, | |
| Force the bright ploughshare thro’ the fallow soil, | 880 |
| 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 follow’d thro’ the field, | 885 |
| Who bore by turns great Ajax’ seven-fold shield; | |
| Whene’er he breathed, remissive of his might, | |
| Tired with th’ incessant slaughters of the fight. | |
| No foll’wing troops his brave associate grace; | |
| In close engagement an unpractis’d race, | 890 |
| The Locrian squadrons nor the jav’lin 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; | |
| Dext’rous with these they aim a certain wound, | 895 |
| 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: | 900 |
| The mingled tempest on the foes they pour; | |
| Troy’s scatt’ring 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, | 905 |
| Address’d great Hector, and this counsel gave: | |
| ‘Tho’ 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 ev’ry art of glorious war thy own; | 910 |
| But in cool thought and counsel to excel, | |
| How widely differs this from warring well! | |
| Content with what the bounteous Gods have giv’n, | |
| Seek not alone t’ engross the gifts of Heav’n. | |
| To some the powers of bloody war belong, | 915 |
| To some, sweet music, and the charm of song; | |
| To few, and wondrous few, has Jove assign’d | |
| A wise, extensive, all-consid’ring mind; | |
| Their guardians these the nations round confess, | |
| And towns and empires for their safety bless. | 920 |
| If Heav’n have lodg’d 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, | 925 |
| 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. | 930 |
| 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) | 935 |
| Pay the large debt of last revolving sun. | |
| Achilles, great Achilles, yet remains | |
| On yonder decks, and yet o’erlooks the plains!’ | |
| The counsel pleas’d; and Hector, with a bound, | |
| Leap’d from his chariot on the trembling ground; | 940 |
| 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.’ | 945 |
| This said, the tow’ring Chief prepares to go, | |
| Shakes his white plumes that to the breezes flow, | |
| And seems a moving mountain topp’d with snow. | |
| Thro’ all his host inspiring force, he flies, | |
| And bids anew the martial thunder rise. | 950 |
| 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; | |
| Deïphobus, nor Helenus the seer, | 955 |
| Nor Asius’ son, nor Asius’ self appear. | |
| For these were pierc’d 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. | 960 |
| Far on the left, amidst the throng he found | |
| (Cheering the troops, and dealing deaths around), | |
| The graceful Paris: whom, with fury mov’d, | |
| Opprobrious, thus th’ impatient Chief reprov’d: | |
| ‘Ill-fated Paris! slave to womankind, | 965 |
| As smooth of face as fraudulent of mind! | |
| Where is Deïphobus, where Asius gone? | |
| The godlike father, and th’ intrepid son? | |
| The force of Helenus, dispensing fate, | |
| And great Othryoneus, so fear’d of late? | 970 |
| Black fate hangs o’er thee from th’ avenging Gods, | |
| Imperial Troy from her foundation nods; | |
| Whelm’d in thy country’s ruins shalt thou fall, | |
| And one devouring vengeance swallow all.’ | |
| When Paris thus: ‘My brother and my friend, | 975 |
| Thy warm impatience makes thy tongue offend. | |
| In other battles I deserv’d thy blame, | |
| Tho’ then not deedless, nor unknown to Fame: | |
| But since you rampart by thy arms lay low, | |
| I scatter’d slaughter from my fatal bow. | 980 |
| The Chiefs you seek on yonder shore lie slain; | |
| Of all those heroes, two alone remain; | |
| Deïphobus, and Helenus the seer: | |
| Each now disabled by a hostile spear. | |
| Go then, successful, where thy soul inspires; | 985 |
| 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 ’t is not ours, with forces not our own | |
| To combat; strength is of the Gods alone.’ | 990 |
| 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 Orthæus, stood; | |
| Palmus, with Polypœtes the divine, | 995 |
| 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, | 1000 |
| Wide o’er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps, | |
| Then, gather’d, settles on the hoary deeps; | |
| Th’ afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar; | |
| The waves behind impel the waves before, | |
| Wide-rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore: | 1005 |
| Thus rank on rank the Chief 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, | 1010 |
| Like Mars commission’d to confound mankind. | |
| Before him flaming, his enormous shield, | |
| Like the broad sun, illumin’d all the field; | |
| His nodding helm emits a streamy ray; | |
| His piercing eyes thro’ all the battle stray, | 1015 |
| And, while beneath his targe he flash’d along, | |
| Shot terrors round, that wither’d ev’n the strong. | |
| Thus stalk’d he dreadful; death was in his look; | |
| Whole nations fear’d; but not an Argive shook. | |
| The tow’ring Ajax, with an ample stride, | 1020 |
| Advanc’d the first, and thus the Chief defied: | |
| ‘Hector! come on, thy empty threats forbear: | |
| ’T is not thy arm, ’t is thund’ring Jove, we fear: | |
| The skill of war to us not idly giv’n, | |
| Lo! Greece is humbled, not by Troy, but Heav’n. | 1025 |
| 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; | 1030 |
| And spread a long unmeasured ruin round. | |
| The time shall come, when, chased along the plain, | |
| Ev’n thou shalt call on Jove, and call in vain; | |
| Ev’n thou shalt wish, to aid thy desp’rate course, | |
| The wings of falcons for thy flying horse; | 1035 |
| 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, | 1040 |
| And hail, with shouts, his progress thro’ the skies. | |
| Far-echoing clamours bound from side to side; | |
| They ceas’d; and thus the Chief of Troy replied: | |
| ‘From whence this menace, this insulting strain? | |
| Enormous boaster! doom’d to vaunt in vain. | 1045 |
| 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 | 1050 |
| 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-corpse, extended on the shore, | |
| Shall largely feast the fowls with fat and gore.’ | 1055 |
| He said, and like a lion stalk’d along: | |
| With shouts incessant earth and ocean rung, | |
| Sent from his foll’wing host. The Grecian train | |
| With answering thunders fill’d the echoing plain; | |
| A shout that tore Heav’n’s concave, and above | 1060 |
| Shook the fix’d splendours of the throne of Jove. | |
| |
