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.
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;
Æneas,
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;
Æsymnus,
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,
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