ARGUMENT - THE FOURTH
BATTLE CONTINUED, IN
WHICH NEPTUNE ASSISTS
THE GREEKS: THE ACTS OF
IDOMENEUS
Neptune, concerned for
the loss of the
Grecians, upon seeing
the
fortification forced by
Hector, (who had entered
the gate near the
station
of the Ajaces,) assumes
the shape of Calchas,
and inspires those
heroes to
oppose him: then, in the
form of one of the
generals, encourages the
other
Greeks who had retired
to their vessels. The
Ajaces form their troops
in a
close phalanx, and put a
stop to Hector and the
Trojans. Several deeds
of
valour are performed;
Meriones, losing his
spear in the encounter,
repairs
to seek another at the
tent of Idomeneus: this
occasions a conversation
between those two
warriors, who return
together to the battle.
Idomeneus
signalizes his courage
above the rest; he kills
Othryoneus, Asius, and
Alcathous: Deiphobus and
Æneas march against him,
and at length Idomeneus
retires. Menelaus wounds
Helenus, and kills
Pisander. The Trojans
are
repulsed on the left
wing; Hector still keeps
his ground against the
Ajaces, till, being
galled by the Locrian
slingers and archers,
Polydamas
advises to call a
council of war: Hector
approves of his advice,
but goes
first to rally the
Trojans; upbraids Paris,
rejoins Polydamas, meets
Ajax
again, and renews the
attack.
The eight-and-twentieth
day still continues. The
scene is between the
Grecian wall and the
sea-shore.
When now the
Thunderer on
the sea-beat
coast
Had fix'd
great Hector
and his
conquering
host,
He left them
to the
fates, in
bloody fray
To toil and
struggle
through the
well-fought
day.
Then turn'd
to Thracia
from the
field of
fight
Those eyes
that shed
insufferable
light,
To where the
Mysians
prove their
martial
force,
And hardy
Thracians
tame the
savage
horse;
And where
the
far-famed
Hippomolgian
strays,
Renown'd for
justice and
for length
of days;(229)
Thrice happy
race! that,
innocent of
blood,
From milk,
innoxious,
seek their
simple food:
Jove sees
delighted;
and avoids
the scene
Of guilty
Troy, of
arms, and
dying men:
No aid, he
deems, to
either host
is given,
While his
high law
suspends the
powers of
Heaven.
Meantime the
monarch of
the watery
main
Observed the
Thunderer,
nor observed
in vain.
In
Samothracia,
on a
mountain's
brow,
Whose waving
woods
o'erhung the
deeps below,
He sat; and
round him
cast his
azure eyes
Where Ida's
misty tops
confusedly
rise;
Below, fair
Ilion's
glittering
spires were
seen;
The crowded
ships and
sable seas
between.
There, from
the crystal
chambers of
the main
Emerged, he
sat, and
mourn'd his
Argives
slain.
At Jove
incensed,
with grief
and fury
stung,
Prone down
the rocky
steep he
rush'd
along;
Fierce as he
pass'd, the
lofty
mountains
nod,
The forest
shakes;
earth
trembled as
he trod,
And felt the
footsteps of
the immortal
god.
From realm
to realm
three ample
strides he
took,
And, at the
fourth, the
distant Ægae
shook.
Far in the
bay his
shining
palace
stands,
Eternal
frame! not
raised by
mortal
hands:
This having
reach'd, his
brass-hoof'd
steeds he
reins,
Fleet as the
winds, and
deck'd with
golden
manes.
Refulgent
arms his
mighty limbs
infold,
Immortal
arms of
adamant and
gold.
He mounts
the car, the
golden
scourge
applies,
He sits
superior,
and the
chariot
flies:
His whirling
wheels the
glassy
surface
sweep;
The enormous
monsters
rolling o'er
the deep
Gambol
around him
on the
watery way,
And heavy
whales in
awkward
measures
play;
The sea
subsiding
spreads a
level plain,
Exults, and
owns the
monarch of
the main;
The parting
waves before
his coursers
fly;
The
wondering
waters leave
his axle
dry.
Deep in the
liquid
regions lies
a cave,
Between
where
Tenedos the
surges lave,
And rocky
Imbrus
breaks the
rolling
wave:
There the
great ruler
of the azure
round
Stopp'd his
swift
chariot, and
his steeds
unbound,
Fed with
ambrosial
herbage from
his hand,
And link'd
their
fetlocks
with a
golden band,
Infrangible,
immortal:
there they
stay:
The father
of the
floods
pursues his
way:
Where, like
a tempest,
darkening
heaven
around,
Or fiery
deluge that
devours the
ground,
The
impatient
Trojans, in
a gloomy
throng,
Embattled
roll'd, as
Hector
rush'd
along:
To the loud
tumult and
the
barbarous
cry
The heavens
re-echo, and
the shores
reply:
They vow
destruction
to the
Grecian
name,
And in their
hopes the
fleets
already
flame.
But Neptune,
rising from
the seas
profound,
The god
whose
earthquakes
rock the
solid
ground,
Now wears a
mortal form;
like Calchas
seen,
Such his
loud voice,
and such his
manly mien;
His shouts
incessant
every Greek
inspire,
But most the
Ajaces,
adding fire
to fire.
"'Tis yours,
O warriors,
all our
hopes to
raise:
Oh recollect
your ancient
worth and
praise!
'Tis yours
to save us,
if you cease
to fear;
Flight, more
than
shameful, is
destructive
here.
On other
works though
Troy with
fury fall,
And pour her
armies o'er
our batter'd
wall:
There Greece
has
strength:
but this,
this part
o'erthrown,
Her strength
were vain; I
dread for
you alone:
Here Hector
rages like
the force of
fire,
Vaunts of
his gods,
and calls
high Jove
his sire:
If yet some
heavenly
power your
breast
excite,
Breathe in
your hearts,
and string
your arms to
fight,
Greece yet
may live,
her
threaten'd
fleet
maintain:
And Hector's
force, and
Jove's own
aid, be
vain."
Then with
his sceptre,
that the
deep
controls,
He touch'd
the chiefs,
and steel'd
their manly
souls:
Strength,
not their
own, the
touch divine
imparts,
Prompts
their light
limbs, and
swells their
daring
hearts.
Then, as a
falcon from
the rocky
height,
Her quarry
seen,
impetuous at
the sight,
Forth-springing
instant,
darts
herself from
high,
Shoots on
the wing,
and skims
along the
sky:
Such, and so
swift, the
power of
ocean flew;
The wide
horizon shut
him from
their view.
The
inspiring
god Oileus'
active son
Perceived
the first,
and thus to
Telamon:
"Some god,
my friend,
some god in
human form
Favouring
descends,
and wills to
stand the
storm.
Not Calchas
this, the
venerable
seer;
Short as he
turned, I
saw the
power
appear:
I mark'd his
parting, and
the steps he
trod;
His own
bright
evidence
reveals a
god.
Even now
some energy
divine I
share,
And seem to
walk on
wings, and
tread in
air!"
"With equal
ardour
(Telamon
returns)
My soul is
kindled, and
my bosom
burns;
New rising
spirits all
my force
alarm,
Lift each
impatient
limb, and
brace my
arm.
This ready
arm,
unthinking,
shakes the
dart;
The blood
pours back,
and
fortifies my
heart:
Singly,
methinks,
yon towering
chief I
meet,
And stretch
the dreadful
Hector at my
feet."
Full of the
god that
urged their
burning
breast,
The heroes
thus their
mutual
warmth
express'd.
Neptune
meanwhile
the routed
Greeks
inspired;
Who,
breathless,
pale, with
length of
labours
tired,
Pant in the
ships; while
Troy to
conquest
calls,
And swarms
victorious
o'er their
yielding
walls:
Trembling
before the
impending
storm they
lie,
While tears
of rage
stand
burning in
their eye.
Greece sunk
they
thought, and
this their
fatal hour;
But breathe
new courage
as they feel
the power.
Teucer and
Leitus first
his words
excite;
Then stern
Peneleus
rises to the
fight;
Thoas,
Deipyrus, in
arms
renown'd,
And Merion
next, the
impulsive
fury found;
Last
Nestor's son
the same
bold ardour
takes,
While thus
the god the
martial fire
awakes:
"Oh lasting
infamy, oh
dire
disgrace
To chiefs of
vigorous
youth, and
manly race!
I trusted in
the gods,
and you, to
see
Brave Greece
victorious,
and her navy
free:
Ah, no--the
glorious
combat you
disclaim,
And one
black day
clouds all
her former
fame.
Heavens!
what a
prodigy
these eyes
survey,
Unseen,
unthought,
till this
amazing day!
Fly we at
length from
Troy's
oft-conquer'd
bands?
And falls
our fleet by
such
inglorious
hands?
A rout
undisciplined,
a straggling
train,
Not born to
glories of
the dusty
plain;
Like
frighted
fawns from
hill to hill
pursued,
A prey to
every savage
of the wood:
Shall these,
so late who
trembled at
your name,
Invade your
camps,
involve your
ships in
flame?
A change so
shameful,
say, what
cause has
wrought?
The
soldiers'
baseness, or
the
general's
fault?
Fools! will
ye perish
for your
leader's
vice;
The purchase
infamy, and
life the
price?
'Tis not
your cause,
Achilles'
injured
fame:
Another's is
the crime,
but yours
the shame.
Grant that
our chief
offend
through rage
or lust,
Must you be
cowards, if
your king's
unjust?
Prevent this
evil, and
your country
save:
Small
thought
retrieves
the spirits
of the
brave.
Think, and
subdue! on
dastards
dead to fame
I waste no
anger, for
they feel no
shame:
But you, the
pride, the
flower of
all our
host,
My heart
weeps blood
to see your
glory lost!
Nor deem
this day,
this battle,
all you
lose;
A day more
black, a
fate more
vile,
ensues.
Let each
reflect, who
prizes fame
or breath,
On endless
infamy, on
instant
death:
For, lo! the
fated time,
the
appointed
shore:
Hark! the
gates burst,
the brazen
barriers
roar!
Impetuous
Hector
thunders at
the wall;
The hour,
the spot, to
conquer, or
to fall."
These words
the
Grecians'
fainting
hearts
inspire,
And
listening
armies catch
the godlike
fire.
Fix'd at his
post was
each bold
Ajax found,
With
well-ranged
squadrons
strongly
circled
round:
So close
their order,
so disposed
their fight,
As Pallas'
self might
view with
fix'd
delight;
Or had the
god of war
inclined his
eyes,
The god of
war had
own'd a just
surprise.
A chosen
phalanx,
firm,
resolved as
fate,
Descending
Hector and
his battle
wait.
An iron
scene gleams
dreadful
o'er the
fields,
Armour in
armour
lock'd, and
shields in
shields,
Spears lean
on spears,
on targets
targets
throng,
Helms stuck
to helms,
and man
drove man
along.
The floating
plumes
unnumber'd
wave above,
As when an
earthquake
stirs the
nodding
grove;
And levell'd
at the skies
with
pointing
rays,
Their
brandish'd
lances at
each motion
blaze.
Thus
breathing
death, in
terrible
array,
The close
compacted
legions
urged their
way:
Fierce they
drove on,
impatient to
destroy;
Troy charged
the first,
and Hector
first of
Troy.
As from some
mountain's
craggy
forehead
torn,
A rock's
round
fragment
flies, with
fury borne,
(Which from
the stubborn
stone a
torrent
rends,)
Precipitate
the
ponderous
mass
descends:
From steep
to steep the
rolling ruin
bounds;
At every
shock the
crackling
wood
resounds;
Still
gathering
force, it
smokes; and
urged amain,
Whirls,
leaps, and
thunders
down,
impetuous to
the plain:
There
stops--so
Hector.
Their whole
force he
proved,(230)
Resistless
when he
raged, and,
when he
stopp'd,
unmoved.
On him the
war is bent,
the darts
are shed,
And all
their
falchions
wave around
his head:
Repulsed he
stands, nor
from his
stand
retires;
But with
repeated
shouts his
army fires.
"Trojans! be
firm; this
arm shall
make your
way
Through yon
square body,
and that
black array:
Stand, and
my spear
shall rout
their
scattering
power,
Strong as
they seem,
embattled
like a
tower;
For he that
Juno's
heavenly
bosom warms,
The first of
gods, this
day inspires
our arms."
He said; and
roused the
soul in
every
breast:
Urged with
desire of
fame, beyond
the rest,
Forth
march'd
Deiphobus;
but,
marching,
held
Before his
wary steps
his ample
shield.
Bold Merion
aim'd a
stroke (nor
aim'd it
wide);
The
glittering
javelin
pierced the
tough
bull-hide;
But pierced
not through:
unfaithful
to his hand,
The point
broke short,
and sparkled
in the sand.
The Trojan
warrior,
touch'd with
timely fear,
On the
raised orb
to distance
bore the
spear.
The Greek,
retreating,
mourn'd his
frustrate
blow,
And cursed
the
treacherous
lance that
spared a
foe;
Then to the
ships with
surly speed
he went,
To seek a
surer
javelin in
his tent.
Meanwhile
with rising
rage the
battle
glows,
The tumult
thickens,
and the
clamour
grows.
By Teucer's
arm the
warlike
Imbrius
bleeds,
The son of
Mentor, rich
in generous
steeds.
Ere yet to
Troy the
sons of
Greece were
led,
In fair
Pedaeus'
verdant
pastures
bred,
The youth
had dwelt,
remote from
war's
alarms,
And blest in
bright
Medesicaste's
arms:
(This nymph,
the fruit of
Priam's
ravish'd
joy,
Allied the
warrior to
the house of
Troy:)
To Troy,
when glory
call'd his
arms, he
came,
And match'd
the bravest
of her
chiefs in
fame:
With Priam's
sons, a
guardian of
the throne,
He lived,
beloved and
honour'd as
his own.
Him Teucer
pierced
between the
throat and
ear:
He groans
beneath the
Telamonian
spear.
As from some
far-seen
mountain's
airy crown,
Subdued by
steel, a
tall ash
tumbles
down,
And soils
its verdant
tresses on
the ground;
So falls the
youth; his
arms the
fall
resound.
Then Teucer
rushing to
despoil the
dead,
From
Hector's
hand a
shining
javelin
fled:
He saw, and
shunn'd the
death; the
forceful
dart
Sung on, and
pierced
Amphimachus's
heart,
Cteatus'
son, of
Neptune's
forceful
line;
Vain was his
courage, and
his race
divine!
Prostrate he
falls; his
clanging
arms
resound,
And his
broad
buckler
thunders on
the ground.
To seize his
beamy helm
the victor
flies,
And just had
fastened on
the dazzling
prize,
When Ajax'
manly arm a
javelin
flung;
Full on the
shield's
round boss
the weapon
rung;
He felt the
shock, nor
more was
doom'd to
feel,
Secure in
mail, and
sheath'd in
shining
steel.
Repulsed he
yields; the
victor
Greeks
obtain
The spoils
contested,
and bear off
the slain.
Between the
leaders of
the Athenian
line,
(Stichius
the brave,
Menestheus
the divine,)
Deplored
Amphimachus,
sad object!
lies;
Imbrius
remains the
fierce
Ajaces'
prize.
As two grim
lions bear
across the
lawn,
Snatch'd
from
devouring
hounds, a
slaughter'd
fawn.
In their
fell jaws
high-lifting
through the
wood,
And
sprinkling
all the
shrubs with
drops of
blood;
So these,
the chief:
great Ajax
from the
dead
Strips his
bright arms;
Oileus lops
his head:
Toss'd like
a ball, and
whirl'd in
air away,
At Hector's
feet the
gory visage
lay.
The god of
ocean, fired
with stern
disdain,
And pierced
with sorrow
for his
grandson
slain,
Inspires the
Grecian
hearts,
confirms
their hands,
And breathes
destruction
on the
Trojan
bands.
Swift as a
whirlwind
rushing to
the fleet,
He finds the
lance-famed
Idomen of
Crete,
His pensive
brow the
generous
care
express'd
With which a
wounded
soldier
touch'd his
breast,
Whom in the
chance of
war a
javelin
tore,
And his sad
comrades
from the
battle bore;
Him to the
surgeons of
the camp he
sent:
That office
paid, he
issued from
his tent
Fierce for
the fight:
to whom the
god begun,
In Thoas'
voice,
Andraemon's
valiant son,
Who ruled
where
Calydon's
white rocks
arise,
And
Pleuron's
chalky
cliffs
emblaze the
skies:
"Where's now
the
imperious
vaunt, the
daring
boast,
Of Greece
victorious,
and proud
Ilion lost?"
To whom the
king: "On
Greece no
blame be
thrown;
Arms are her
trade, and
war is all
her own.
Her hardy
heroes from
the
well-fought
plains
Nor fear
withholds,
nor shameful
sloth
detains:
'Tis heaven,
alas! and
Jove's
all-powerful
doom,
That far,
far distant
from our
native home
Wills us to
fall
inglorious!
Oh, my
friend!
Once
foremost in
the fight,
still prone
to lend
Or arms or
counsels,
now perform
thy best,
And what
thou canst
not singly,
urge the
rest."
Thus he: and
thus the god
whose force
can make
The solid
globe's
eternal
basis shake:
"Ah! never
may he see
his native
land,
But feed the
vultures on
this hateful
strand,
Who seeks
ignobly in
his ships to
stay,
Nor dares to
combat on
this signal
day!
For this,
behold! in
horrid arms
I shine,
And urge thy
soul to
rival acts
with mine.
Together let
us battle on
the plain;
Two, not the
worst; nor
even this
succour
vain:
Not vain the
weakest, if
their force
unite;
But ours,
the bravest
have
confess'd in
fight."
This said,
he rushes
where the
combat
burns;
Swift to his
tent the
Cretan king
returns:
From thence,
two javelins
glittering
in his hand,
And clad in
arms that
lighten'd
all the
strand,
Fierce on
the foe the
impetuous
hero drove,
Like
lightning
bursting
from the arm
of Jove,
Which to
pale man the
wrath of
heaven
declares,
Or terrifies
the
offending
world with
wars;
In streamy
sparkles,
kindling all
the skies,
From pole to
pole the
trail of
glory flies:
Thus his
bright
armour o'er
the dazzled
throng
Gleam'd
dreadful, as
the monarch
flash'd
along.
Him, near
his tent,
Meriones
attends;
Whom thus he
questions:
"Ever best
of friends!
O say, in
every art of
battle
skill'd,
What holds
thy courage
from so
brave a
field?
On some
important
message art
thou bound,
Or bleeds my
friend by
some unhappy
wound?
Inglorious
here, my
soul abhors
to stay,
And glows
with
prospects of
th'
approaching
day."
"O prince!
(Meriones
replies)
whose care
Leads forth
the
embattled
sons of
Crete to
war;
This speaks
my grief:
this
headless
lance I
wield;
The rest
lies rooted
in a Trojan
shield."
To whom the
Cretan:
"Enter, and
receive
The wonted
weapons;
those my
tent can
give;
Spears I
have store,
(and Trojan
lances all,)
That shed a
lustre round
the
illumined
wall,
Though I,
disdainful
of the
distant war,
Nor trust
the dart,
nor aim the
uncertain
spear,
Yet hand to
hand I
fight, and
spoil the
slain;
And thence
these
trophies,
and these
arms I gain.
Enter, and
see on heaps
the helmets
roll'd,
And
high-hung
spears, and
shields that
flame with
gold."
"Nor vain
(said
Merion) are
our martial
toils;
We too can
boast of no
ignoble
spoils:
But those my
ship
contains;
whence
distant far,
I fight
conspicuous
in the van
of war,
What need I
more? If any
Greek there
be
Who knows
not Merion,
I appeal to
thee."
To this,
Idomeneus:
"The fields
of fight
Have proved
thy valour,
and
unconquer'd
might:
And were
some ambush
for the foes
design'd,
Even there
thy courage
would not
lag behind:
In that
sharp
service,
singled from
the rest,
The fear of
each, or
valour,
stands
confess'd.
No force, no
firmness,
the pale
coward
shows;
He shifts
his place:
his colour
comes and
goes:
A dropping
sweat creeps
cold on
every part;
Against his
bosom beats
his
quivering
heart;
Terror and
death in his
wild
eye-balls
stare;
With
chattering
teeth he
stands, and
stiffening
hair,
And looks a
bloodless
image of
despair!
Not so the
brave--still
dauntless,
still the
same,
Unchanged
his colour,
and unmoved
his frame:
Composed his
thought,
determined
is his eye,
And fix'd
his soul, to
conquer or
to die:
If aught
disturb the
tenour of
his breast,
'Tis but the
wish to
strike
before the
rest.
"In such
assays thy
blameless
worth is
known,
And every
art of
dangerous
war thy own.
By chance of
fight
whatever
wounds you
bore,
Those wounds
were
glorious
all, and all
before;
Such as may
teach, 'twas
still thy
brave
delight
T'oppose thy
bosom where
thy foremost
fight.
But why,
like
infants,
cold to
honour's
charms,
Stand we to
talk, when
glory calls
to arms?
Go--from my
conquer'd
spears the
choicest
take,
And to their
owners send
them nobly
back."
Swift at the
word bold
Merion
snatch'd a
spear
And,
breathing
slaughter,
follow'd to
the war.
So Mars
armipotent
invades the
plain,
(The wide
destroyer of
the race of
man,)
Terror, his
best-beloved
son, attends
his course,
Arm'd with
stern
boldness,
and enormous
force;
The pride of
haughty
warriors to
confound,
And lay the
strength of
tyrants on
the ground:
From Thrace
they fly,
call'd to
the dire
alarms
Of warring
Phlegyans,
and Ephyrian
arms;
Invoked by
both,
relentless
they
dispose,
To these
glad
conquest,
murderous
rout to
those.
So march'd
the leaders
of the
Cretan
train,
And their
bright arms
shot horror
o'er the
plain.
Then first
spake
Merion:
"Shall we
join the
right,
Or combat in
the centre
of the
fight?
Or to the
left our
wonted
succour
lend?
Hazard and
fame all
parts alike
attend."
"Not in the
centre
(Idomen
replied:)
Our ablest
chieftains
the main
battle
guide;
Each godlike
Ajax makes
that post
his care,
And gallant
Teucer deals
destruction
there,
Skill'd or
with shafts
to gall the
distant
field,
Or bear
close battle
on the
sounding
shield.
These can
the rage of
haughty
Hector tame:
Safe in
their arms,
the navy
fears no
flame,
Till Jove
himself
descends,
his bolts to
shed,
And hurl the
blazing ruin
at our head.
Great must
he be, of
more than
human birth,
Nor feed
like mortals
on the
fruits of
earth.
Him neither
rocks can
crush, nor
steel can
wound,
Whom Ajax
fells not on
the
ensanguined
ground.
In standing
fight he
mates
Achilles'
force,
Excell'd
alone in
swiftness in
the course.
Then to the
left our
ready arms
apply,
And live
with glory,
or with
glory die."
He said: and
Merion to
th'
appointed
place,
Fierce as
the god of
battles,
urged his
pace.
Soon as the
foe the
shining
chiefs
beheld
Rush like a
fiery
torrent o'er
the field,
Their force
embodied in
a tide they
pour;
The rising
combat
sounds along
the shore.
As warring
winds, in
Sirius'
sultry
reign,
From
different
quarters
sweep the
sandy plain;
On every
side the
dusty
whirlwinds
rise,
And the dry
fields are
lifted to
the skies:
Thus by
despair,
hope, rage,
together
driven,
Met the
black hosts,
and,
meeting,
darken'd
heaven.
All dreadful
glared the
iron face of
war,
Bristled
with upright
spears, that
flash'd
afar;
Dire was the
gleam of
breastplates,
helms, and
shields,
And polish'd
arms
emblazed the
flaming
fields:
Tremendous
scene! that
general
horror gave,
But touch'd
with joy the
bosoms of
the brave.
Saturn's
great sons
in fierce
contention
vied,
And crowds
of heroes in
their anger
died.
The sire of
earth and
heaven, by
Thetis won
To crown
with glory
Peleus'
godlike son,
Will'd not
destruction
to the
Grecian
powers,
But spared
awhile the
destined
Trojan
towers;
While
Neptune,
rising from
his azure
main,
Warr'd on
the king of
heaven with
stern
disdain,
And breathed
revenge, and
fired the
Grecian
train.
Gods of one
source, of
one ethereal
race,
Alike
divine, and
heaven their
native
place;
But Jove the
greater;
first-born
of the
skies,
And more
than men, or
gods,
supremely
wise.
For this, of
Jove's
superior
might
afraid,
Neptune in
human form
conceal'd
his aid.
These powers
enfold the
Greek and
Trojan train
In war and
discord's
adamantine
chain,
Indissolubly
strong: the
fatal tie
Is stretch'd
on both, and
close
compell'd
they die.
Dreadful in
arms, and
grown in
combats
grey,
The bold
Idomeneus
controls the
day.
First by his
hand
Othryoneus
was slain,
Swell'd with
false hopes,
with mad
ambition
vain;
Call'd by
the voice of
war to
martial
fame,
From high
Cabesus'
distant
walls he
came;
Cassandra's
love he
sought, with
boasts of
power,
And promised
conquest was
the
proffer'd
dower.
The king
consented,
by his
vaunts
abused;
The king
consented,
but the
fates
refused.
Proud of
himself, and
of the
imagined
bride,
The field he
measured
with a
larger
stride.
Him as he
stalk'd, the
Cretan
javelin
found;
Vain was his
breastplate
to repel the
wound:
His dream of
glory lost,
he plunged
to hell;
His arms
resounded as
the boaster
fell.
The great
Idomeneus
bestrides
the dead;
"And thus
(he cries)
behold thy
promise
sped!
Such is the
help thy
arms to
Ilion bring,
And such the
contract of
the Phrygian
king!
Our offers
now,
illustrious
prince!
receive;
For such an
aid what
will not
Argos give?
To conquer
Troy, with
ours thy
forces join,
And count
Atrides'
fairest
daughter
thine.
Meantime, on
further
methods to
advise,
Come, follow
to the fleet
thy new
allies;
There hear
what Greece
has on her
part to
say."
He spoke,
and dragg'd
the gory
corse away.
This Asius
view'd,
unable to
contain,
Before his
chariot
warring on
the plain:
(His crowded
coursers, to
his squire
consign'd,
Impatient
panted on
his neck
behind:)
To vengeance
rising with
a sudden
spring,
He hoped the
conquest of
the Cretan
king.
The wary
Cretan, as
his foe drew
near,
Full on his
throat
discharged
the forceful
spear:
Beneath the
chin the
point was
seen to
glide,
And
glitter'd,
extant at
the further
side.
As when the
mountain-oak,
or poplar
tall,
Or pine, fit
mast for
some great
admiral,
Groans to
the
oft-heaved
axe, with
many a
wound,
Then spreads
a length of
ruin o'er
the ground:
So sunk
proud Asius
in that
dreadful
day,
And
stretch'd
before his
much-loved
coursers
lay.
He grinds
the dust
distain'd
with
streaming
gore,
And, fierce
in death,
lies foaming
on the
shore.
Deprived of
motion,
stiff with
stupid fear,
Stands all
aghast his
trembling
charioteer,
Nor shuns
the foe, nor
turns the
steeds away,
But falls
transfix'd,
an
unresisting
prey:
Pierced by
Antilochus,
he pants
beneath
The stately
car, and
labours out
his breath.
Thus Asius'
steeds
(their
mighty
master gone)
Remain the
prize of
Nestor's
youthful
son.
Stabb'd at
the sight,
Deiphobus
drew nigh,
And made,
with force,
the vengeful
weapon fly.
The Cretan
saw; and,
stooping,
caused to
glance
From his
slope shield
the
disappointed
lance.
Beneath the
spacious
targe, (a
blazing
round,
Thick with
bull-hides
and brazen
orbits
bound,
On his
raised arm
by two
strong
braces
stay'd,)
He lay
collected in
defensive
shade.
O'er his
safe head
the javelin
idly sung,
And on the
tinkling
verge more
faintly
rung.
Even then
the spear
the vigorous
arm
confess'd,
And pierced,
obliquely,
king
Hypsenor's
breast:
Warm'd in
his liver,
to the
ground it
bore
The chief,
his people's
guardian now
no more!
"Not
unattended
(the proud
Trojan
cries)
Nor
unrevenged,
lamented
Asius lies:
For thee,
through
hell's black
portals
stand
display'd,
This mate
shall joy
thy
melancholy
shade."
Heart-piercing
anguish, at
the haughty
boast,
Touch'd
every Greek,
but Nestor's
son the
most.
Grieved as
he was, his
pious arms
attend,
And his
broad
buckler
shields his
slaughter'd
friend:
Till sad
Mecistheus
and Alastor
bore
His honour'd
body to the
tented
shore.
Nor yet from
fight
Idomeneus
withdraws;
Resolved to
perish in
his
country's
cause,
Or find some
foe, whom
heaven and
he shall
doom
To wail his
fate in
death's
eternal
gloom.
He sees
Alcathous in
the front
aspire:
Great
Æsyetes was
the hero's
sire;
His spouse
Hippodame,
divinely
fair,
Anchises'
eldest hope,
and darling
care:
Who charm'd
her parents'
and her
husband's
heart
With beauty,
sense, and
every work
of art:
He once of
Ilion's
youth the
loveliest
boy,
The fairest
she of all
the fair of
Troy.
By Neptune
now the
hapless hero
dies,
Who covers
with a cloud
those
beauteous
eyes,
And fetters
every limb:
yet bent to
meet
His fate he
stands; nor
shuns the
lance of
Crete.
Fix'd as
some column,
or
deep-rooted
oak,
While the
winds sleep;
his breast
received the
stroke.
Before the
ponderous
stroke his
corslet
yields,
Long used to
ward the
death in
fighting
fields.
The riven
armour sends
a jarring
sound;
His
labouring
heart heaves
with so
strong a
bound,
The long
lance
shakes, and
vibrates in
the wound;
Fast flowing
from its
source, as
prone he
lay,
Life's
purple tide
impetuous
gush'd away.
Then Idomen,
insulting
o'er the
slain:
"Behold,
Deiphobus!
nor vaunt in
vain:
See! on one
Greek three
Trojan
ghosts
attend;
This, my
third
victim, to
the shades I
send.
Approaching
now thy
boasted
might
approve,
And try the
prowess of
the seed of
Jove.
From Jove,
enamour'd of
a mortal
dame,
Great Minos,
guardian of
his country,
came:
Deucalion,
blameless
prince, was
Minos' heir;
His
first-born
I, the third
from
Jupiter:
O'er
spacious
Crete, and
her bold
sons, I
reign,
And thence
my ships
transport me
through the
main:
Lord of a
host, o'er
all my host
I shine,
A scourge to
thee, thy
father, and
thy line."
The Trojan
heard;
uncertain or
to meet,
Alone, with
venturous
arms the
king of
Crete,
Or seek
auxiliar
force; at
length
decreed
To call some
hero to
partake the
deed,
Forthwith
Æneas rises
to his
thought:
For him in
Troy's
remotest
lines he
sought,
Where he,
incensed at
partial
Priam,
stands,
And sees
superior
posts in
meaner
hands.
To him,
ambitious of
so great an
aid,
The bold
Deiphobus
approach'd,
and said:
"Now, Trojan
prince,
employ thy
pious arms,
If e'er thy
bosom felt
fair
honour's
charms.
Alcathous
dies, thy
brother and
thy friend;
Come, and
the
warrior's
loved
remains
defend.
Beneath his
cares thy
early youth
was train'd,
One table
fed you, and
one roof
contain'd.
This deed to
fierce
Idomeneus we
owe;
Haste, and
revenge it
on th'
insulting
foe."
Æneas heard,
and for a
space
resign'd
To tender
pity all his
manly mind;
Then rising
in his rage,
he burns to
fight:
The Greek
awaits him
with
collected
might.
As the fell
boar, on
some rough
mountain's
head,
Arm'd with
wild
terrors, and
to slaughter
bred,
When the
loud rustics
rise, and
shout from
far,
Attends the
tumult, and
expects the
war;
O'er his
bent back
the bristly
horrors
rise;
Fires stream
in lightning
from his
sanguine
eyes,
His foaming
tusks both
dogs and men
engage;
But most his
hunters
rouse his
mighty rage:
So stood
Idomeneus,
his javelin
shook,
And met the
Trojan with
a lowering
look.
Antilochus,
Deipyrus,
were near,
The youthful
offspring of
the god of
war,
Merion, and
Aphareus, in
field
renown'd:
To these the
warrior sent
his voice
around.
"Fellows in
arms! your
timely aid
unite;
Lo, great
Æneas rushes
to the
fight:
Sprung from
a god, and
more than
mortal bold;
He fresh in
youth, and I
in arms
grown old.
Else should
this hand,
this hour
decide the
strife,
The great
dispute, of
glory, or of
life."
He spoke,
and all, as
with one
soul,
obey'd;
Their lifted
bucklers
cast a
dreadful
shade
Around the
chief. Æneas
too demands
Th'
assisting
forces of
his native
bands;
Paris,
Deiphobus,
Agenor,
join;
(Co-aids and
captains of
the Trojan
line;)
In order
follow all
th' embodied
train,
Like Ida's
flocks
proceeding
o'er the
plain;
Before his
fleecy care,
erect and
bold,
Stalks the
proud ram,
the father
of the bold.
With joy the
swain
surveys
them, as he
leads
To the cool
fountains,
through the
well-known
meads:
So joys
Æneas, as
his native
band
Moves on in
rank, and
stretches
o'er the
land.
Round dread
Alcathous
now the
battle rose;
On every
side the
steely
circle
grows;
Now batter'd
breast-plates
and hack'd
helmets
ring,
And o'er
their heads
unheeded
javelins
sing.
Above the
rest, two
towering
chiefs
appear,
There great
Idomeneus,
Æneas here.
Like gods of
war,
dispensing
fate, they
stood,
And burn'd
to drench
the ground
with mutual
blood.
The Trojan
weapon
whizz'd
along in
air;
The Cretan
saw, and
shunn'd the
brazen
spear:
Sent from an
arm so
strong, the
missive wood
Stuck deep
in earth,
and quiver'd
where it
stood.
But OEnomas
received the
Cretan's
stroke;
The forceful
spear his
hollow
corslet
broke,
It ripp'd
his belly
with a
ghastly
wound,
And roll'd
the smoking
entrails on
the ground.
Stretch'd on
the plain,
he sobs away
his breath,
And,
furious,
grasps the
bloody dust
in death.
The victor
from his
breast the
weapon
tears;
His spoils
he could
not, for the
shower of
spears.
Though now
unfit an
active war
to wage,
Heavy with
cumbrous
arms, stiff
with cold
age,
His listless
limbs unable
for the
course,
In standing
fight he yet
maintains
his force;
Till faint
with labour,
and by foes
repell'd,
His tired
slow steps
he drags
from off the
field.
Deiphobus
beheld him
as he
pass'd,
And, fired
with hate, a
parting
javelin
cast:
The javelin
err'd, but
held its
course
along,
And pierced
Ascalaphus,
the brave
and young:
The son of
Mars fell
gasping on
the ground,
And gnash'd
the dust,
all bloody
with his
wound.
Nor knew the
furious
father of
his fall;
High-throned
amidst the
great
Olympian
hall,
On golden
clouds th'
immortal
synod sate;
Detain'd
from bloody
war by Jove
and Fate.
Now, where
in dust the
breathless
hero lay,
For slain
Ascalaphus
commenced
the fray,
Deiphobus to
seize his
helmet
flies,
And from his
temples
rends the
glittering
prize;
Valiant as
Mars,
Meriones
drew near,
And on his
loaded arm
discharged
his spear:
He drops the
weight,
disabled
with the
pain;
The hollow
helmet rings
against the
plain.
Swift as a
vulture
leaping on
his prey,
From his
torn arm the
Grecian rent
away
The reeking
javelin, and
rejoin'd his
friends.
His wounded
brother good
Polites
tends;
Around his
waist his
pious arms
he threw,
And from the
rage of
battle
gently drew:
Him his
swift
coursers, on
his splendid
car,
Rapt from
the
lessening
thunder of
the war;
To Troy they
drove him,
groaning
from the
shore,
And
sprinkling,
as he
pass'd, the
sands with
gore.
Meanwhile
fresh
slaughter
bathes the
sanguine
ground,
Heaps fall
on heaps,
and heaven
and earth
resound.
Bold
Aphareus by
great Æneas
bled;
As toward
the chief he
turn'd his
daring head,
He pierced
his throat;
the bending
head,
depress'd
Beneath his
helmet, nods
upon his
breast;
His shield
reversed
o'er the
fallen
warrior
lies,
And
everlasting
slumber
seals his
eyes.
Antilochus,
as Thoon
turn'd him
round,
Transpierced
his back
with a
dishonest
wound:
The hollow
vein, that
to the neck
extends
Along the
chine, his
eager
javelin
rends:
Supine he
falls, and
to his
social train
Spreads his
imploring
arms, but
spreads in
vain.
Th' exulting
victor,
leaping
where he
lay,
From his
broad
shoulders
tore the
spoils away;
His time
observed;
for closed
by foes
around,
On all sides
thick the
peals of
arms
resound.
His shield
emboss'd the
ringing
storm
sustains,
But he
impervious
and
untouch'd
remains.
(Great
Neptune's
care
preserved
from hostile
rage
This youth,
the joy of
Nestor's
glorious
age.)
In arms
intrepid,
with the
first he
fought,
Faced every
foe, and
every danger
sought;
His winged
lance,
resistless
as the wind,
Obeys each
motion of
the master's
mind!
Restless it
flies,
impatient to
be free,
And
meditates
the distant
enemy.
The son of
Asius,
Adamas, drew
near,
And struck
his target
with the
brazen spear
Fierce in
his front:
but Neptune
wards the
blow,
And blunts
the javelin
of th'
eluded foe:
In the broad
buckler half
the weapon
stood,
Splinter'd
on earth
flew half
the broken
wood.
Disarm'd, he
mingled in
the Trojan
crew;
But Merion's
spear
o'ertook him
as he flew,
Deep in the
belly's rim
an entrance
found,
Where sharp
the pang,
and mortal
is the
wound.
Bending he
fell, and
doubled to
the ground,
Lay panting.
Thus an ox
in fetters
tied,
While
death's
strong pangs
distend his
labouring
side,
His bulk
enormous on
the field
displays;
His heaving
heart beats
thick as
ebbing life
decays.
The spear
the
conqueror
from his
body drew,
And death's
dim shadows
swarm before
his view.
Next brave
Deipyrus in
dust was
laid:
King Helenus
waved high
the Thracian
blade,
And smote
his temples
with an arm
so strong,
The helm
fell off,
and roll'd
amid the
throng:
There for
some luckier
Greek it
rests a
prize;
For dark in
death the
godlike
owner lies!
Raging with
grief, great
Menelaus
burns,
And fraught
with
vengeance,
to the
victor
turns:
That shook
the
ponderous
lance, in
act to
throw;
And this
stood
adverse with
the bended
bow:
Full on his
breast the
Trojan arrow
fell,
But harmless
bounded from
the plated
steel.
As on some
ample barn's
well
harden'd
floor,
(The winds
collected at
each open
door,)
While the
broad fan
with force
is whirl'd
around,
Light leaps
the golden
grain,
resulting
from the
ground:
So from the
steel that
guards
Atrides'
heart,
Repell'd to
distance
flies the
bounding
dart.
Atrides,
watchful of
the unwary
foe,
Pierced with
his lance
the hand
that grasp'd
the bow.
And nailed
it to the
yew: the
wounded hand
Trail'd the
long lance
that mark'd
with blood
the sand:
But good
Agenor
gently from
the wound
The spear
solicits,
and the
bandage
bound;
A sling's
soft wool,
snatch'd
from a
soldier's
side,
At once the
tent and
ligature
supplied.
Behold!
Pisander,
urged by
fate's
decree,
Springs
through the
ranks to
fall, and
fall by
thee,
Great
Menelaus! to
enchance thy
fame:
High-towering
in the
front, the
warrior
came.
First the
sharp lance
was by
Atrides
thrown;
The lance
far distant
by the winds
was blown.
Nor pierced
Pisander
through
Atrides'
shield:
Pisander's
spear fell
shiver'd on
the field.
Not so
discouraged,
to the
future
blind,
Vain dreams
of conquest
swell his
haughty
mind;
Dauntless he
rushes where
the Spartan
lord
Like
lightning
brandish'd
his far
beaming
sword.
His left arm
high opposed
the shining
shield:
His right
beneath, the
cover'd
pole-axe
held;
(An olive's
cloudy grain
the handle
made,
Distinct
with studs,
and brazen
was the
blade;)
This on the
helm
discharged a
noble blow;
The plume
dropp'd
nodding to
the plain
below,
Shorn from
the crest.
Atrides
waved his
steel:
Deep through
his front
the weighty
falchion
fell;
The crashing
bones before
its force
gave way;
In dust and
blood the
groaning
hero lay:
Forced from
their
ghastly
orbs, and
spouting
gore,
The clotted
eye-balls
tumble on
the shore.
And fierce
Atrides
spurn'd him
as he bled,
Tore off his
arms, and,
loud-exulting,
said:
"Thus,
Trojans,
thus, at
length be
taught to
fear;
O race
perfidious,
who delight
in war!
Already
noble deeds
ye have
perform'd;
A princess
raped
transcends a
navy
storm'd:
In such bold
feats your
impious
might
approve,
Without th'
assistance,
or the fear
of Jove.
The violated
rites, the
ravish'd
dame;
Our heroes
slaughter'd
and our
ships on
flame,
Crimes
heap'd on
crimes,
shall bend
your glory
down,
And whelm in
ruins yon
flagitious
town.
O thou,
great
father! lord
of earth and
skies,
Above the
thought of
man,
supremely
wise!
If from thy
hand the
fates of
mortals
flow,
From whence
this favour
to an
impious foe?
A godless
crew,
abandon'd
and unjust,
Still
breathing
rapine,
violence,
and lust?
The best of
things,
beyond their
measure,
cloy;
Sleep's
balmy
blessing,
love's
endearing
joy;
The feast,
the dance;
whate'er
mankind
desire,
Even the
sweet charms
of sacred
numbers
tire.
But Troy for
ever reaps a
dire delight
In thirst of
slaughter,
and in lust
of fight."
This said,
he seized
(while yet
the carcase
heaved)
The bloody
armour,
which his
train
received:
Then sudden
mix'd among
the warring
crew,
And the bold
son of
Pylaemenes
slew.
Harpalion
had through
Asia
travell'd
far,
Following
his martial
father to
the war:
Through
filial love
he left his
native
shore,
Never, ah,
never to
behold it
more!
His
unsuccessful
spear he
chanced to
fling
Against the
target of
the Spartan
king;
Thus of his
lance
disarm'd,
from death
he flies,
And turns
around his
apprehensive
eyes.
Him, through
the hip
transpiercing
as he fled,
The shaft of
Merion
mingled with
the dead.
Beneath the
bone the
glancing
point
descends,
And, driving
down, the
swelling
bladder
rends:
Sunk in his
sad
companions'
arms he lay,
And in short
pantings
sobb'd his
soul away;
(Like some
vile worm
extended on
the ground;)
While life's
red torrent
gush'd from
out the
wound.
Him on his
car the
Paphlagonian
train
In slow
procession
bore from
off the
plain.
The pensive
father,
father now
no more!
Attends the
mournful
pomp along
the shore;
And
unavailing
tears
profusely
shed;
And,
unrevenged,
deplored his
offspring
dead.
Paris from
far the
moving sight
beheld,
With pity
soften'd and
with fury
swell'd:
His honour'd
host, a
youth of
matchless
grace,
And loved of
all the
Paphlagonian
race!
With his
full
strength he
bent his
angry bow,
And wing'd
the
feather'd
vengeance at
the foe.
A chief
there was,
the brave
Euchenor
named,
For riches
much, and
more for
virtue
famed.
Who held his
seat in
Corinth's
stately
town;
Polydus'
son, a seer
of old
renown.
Oft had the
father told
his early
doom,
By arms
abroad, or
slow disease
at home:
He climb'd
his vessel,
prodigal of
breath,
And chose
the certain
glorious
path to
death.
Beneath his
ear the
pointed
arrow went;
The soul
came issuing
at the
narrow vent:
His limbs,
unnerved,
drop useless
on the
ground,
And
everlasting
darkness
shades him
round.
Nor knew
great Hector
how his
legions
yield,
(Wrapp'd in
the cloud
and tumult
of the
field:)
Wide on the
left the
force of
Greece
commands,
And conquest
hovers o'er
th' Achaian
bands;
With such a
tide
superior
virtue
sway'd,
And he that
shakes the
solid earth
gave aid.
But in the
centre
Hector fix'd
remain'd,
Where first
the gates
were forced,
and bulwarks
gain'd;
There, on
the margin
of the hoary
deep,
(Their naval
station
where the
Ajaces keep.
And where
low walls
confine the
beating
tides,
Whose humble
barrier
scarce the
foe divides;
Where late
in fight
both foot
and horse
engaged,
And all the
thunder of
the battle
raged,)
There
join'd, the
whole
Boeotian
strength
remains,
The proud
Iaonians
with their
sweeping
trains,
Locrians and
Phthians,
and th'
Epaean
force;
But join'd,
repel not
Hector's
fiery
course.
The flower
of Athens,
Stichius,
Phidas, led;
Bias and
great
Menestheus
at their
head:
Meges the
strong the
Epaean bands
controll'd,
And Dracius
prudent, and
Amphion
bold:
The
Phthians,
Medon, famed
for martial
might,
And brave
Podarces,
active in
the fight.
This drew
from
Phylacus his
noble line;
Iphiclus'
son: and
that
(Oileus)
thine:
(Young Ajax'
brother, by
a stolen
embrace;
He dwelt far
distant from
his native
place,
By his
fierce
step-dame
from his
father's
reign
Expell'd and
exiled for
her brother
slain:)
These rule
the
Phthians,
and their
arms employ,
Mix'd with
Boeotians,
on the
shores of
Troy.
Now side by
side, with
like
unwearied
care,
Each Ajax
laboured
through the
field of
war:
So when two
lordly
bulls, with
equal toil,
Force the
bright
ploughshare
through the
fallow soil,
Join'd to
one yoke,
the stubborn
earth they
tear,
And trace
large
furrows with
the shining
share;
O'er their
huge limbs
the foam
descends in
snow,
And streams
of sweat
down their
sour
foreheads
flow.
A train of
heroes
followed
through the
field,
Who bore by
turns great
Ajax'
sevenfold
shield;
Whene'er he
breathed,
remissive of
his might,
Tired with
the
incessant
slaughters
of the
fight.
No following
troops his
brave
associate
grace:
In close
engagement
an
unpractised
race,
The Locrian
squadrons
nor the
javelin
wield,
Nor bear the
helm, nor
lift the
moony
shield;
But skill'd
from far the
flying shaft
to wing,
Or whirl the
sounding
pebble from
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