ARGUMENT - THE FIFTH
BATTLE AT THE SHIPS; AND
THE ACTS OF AJAX
Jupiter, awaking, sees
the Trojans repulsed
from the trenches,
Hector in a
swoon, and Neptune at
the head of the Greeks:
he is highly incensed at
the
artifice of Juno, who
appeases him by her
submissions; she is then
sent to
Iris and Apollo. Juno,
repairing to the
assembly of the gods,
attempts,
with extraordinary
address, to incense them
against Jupiter; in
particular
she touches Mars with a
violent resentment; he
is ready to take arms,
but
is prevented by Minerva.
Iris and Apollo obey the
orders of Jupiter; Iris
commands Neptune to
leave the battle, to
which, after much
reluctance and
passion, he consents.
Apollo reinspires Hector
with vigour, brings him
back to the battle,
marches before him with
his aegis, and turns the
fortune of the fight. He
breaks down great part
of the Grecian wall: the
Trojans rush in, and
attempt to fire the
first line of the fleet,
but are,
as yet, repelled by the
greater Ajax with a
prodigious slaughter.
Now in swift
flight they
pass the
trench
profound,
And many a
chief lay
gasping on
the ground:
Then stopp'd
and panted,
where the
chariots lie
Fear on
their cheek,
and horror
in their
eye.
Meanwhile,
awaken'd
from his
dream of
love,
On Ida's
summit sat
imperial
Jove:
Round the
wide fields
he cast a
careful
view,
There saw
the Trojans
fly, the
Greeks
pursue;
These proud
in arms,
those
scatter'd
o'er the
plain
And, 'midst
the war, the
monarch of
the main.
Not far,
great Hector
on the dust
he spies,
(His sad
associates
round with
weeping
eyes,)
Ejecting
blood, and
panting yet
for breath,
His senses
wandering to
the verge of
death.
The god
beheld him
with a
pitying
look,
And thus,
incensed, to
fraudful
Juno spoke:
"O thou,
still
adverse to
the eternal
will,
For ever
studious in
promoting
ill!
Thy arts
have made
the godlike
Hector
yield,
And driven
his
conquering
squadrons
from the
field.
Canst thou,
unhappy in
thy wiles,
withstand
Our power
immense, and
brave the
almighty
hand?
Hast thou
forgot,
when, bound
and fix'd on
high,
From the
vast concave
of the
spangled
sky,
I hung thee
trembling in
a golden
chain,
And all the
raging gods
opposed in
vain?
Headlong I
hurl'd them
from the
Olympian
hall,
Stunn'd in
the whirl,
and
breathless
with the
fall.
For godlike
Hercules
these deeds
were done,
Nor seem'd
the
vengeance
worthy such
a son:
When, by thy
wiles
induced,
fierce
Boreas
toss'd
The
shipwreck'd
hero on the
Coan coast,
Him through
a thousand
forms of
death I
bore,
And sent to
Argos, and
his native
shore.
Hear this,
remember,
and our fury
dread,
Nor pull the
unwilling
vengeance on
thy head;
Lest arts
and
blandishments
successless
prove,
Thy soft
deceits, and
well-dissembled
love."
The
Thunderer
spoke:
imperial
Juno
mourn'd,
And,
trembling,
these
submissive
words
return'd:
"By every
oath that
powers
immortal
ties,
The foodful
earth and
all-infolding
skies;
By thy black
waves,
tremendous
Styx! that
flow
Through the
drear realms
of gliding
ghosts
below;
By the dread
honours of
thy sacred
head,
And that
unbroken
vow, our
virgin bed!
Not by my
arts the
ruler of the
main
Steeps Troy
in blood,
and ranges
round the
plain:
By his own
ardour, his
own pity
sway'd,
To help his
Greeks, he
fought and
disobey'd:
Else had thy
Juno better
counsels
given,
And taught
submission
to the sire
of heaven."
"Think'st
thou with
me? fair
empress of
the skies!
(The
immortal
father with
a smile
replies;)
Then soon
the haughty
sea-god
shall obey,
Nor dare to
act but when
we point the
way.
If truth
inspires thy
tongue,
proclaim our
will
To yon
bright synod
on the
Olympian
hill;
Our high
decree let
various Iris
know,
And call the
god that
bears the
silver bow.
Let her
descend, and
from the
embattled
plain
Command the
sea-god to
his watery
reign:
While
Phoebus
hastes great
Hector to
prepare
To rise
afresh, and
once more
wake the
war:
His
labouring
bosom
re-inspires
with breath,
And calls
his senses
from the
verge of
death.
Greece
chased by
Troy, even
to Achilles'
fleet,
Shall fall
by thousands
at the
hero's feet.
He, not
untouch'd
with pity,
to the plain
Shall send
Patroclus,
but shall
send in
vain.
What youths
he
slaughters
under
Ilion's
walls!
Even my
loved son,
divine
Sarpedon,
falls!
Vanquish'd
at last by
Hector's
lance he
lies.
Then, nor
till then,
shall great
Achilles
rise:
And lo! that
instant,
godlike
Hector dies.
From that
great hour
the war's
whole
fortune
turns,
Pallas
assists, and
lofty Ilion
burns.
Not till
that day
shall Jove
relax his
rage,
Nor one of
all the
heavenly
host engage
In aid of
Greece. The
promise of a
god
I gave, and
seal'd it
with the
almighty
nod,
Achilles'
glory to the
stars to
raise;
Such was our
word, and
fate the
word obeys."
The
trembling
queen (the
almighty
order given)
Swift from
the Idaean
summit shot
to heaven.
As some
wayfaring
man, who
wanders o'er
In thought a
length of
lands he
trod before,
Sends forth
his active
mind from
place to
place,
Joins hill
to dale, and
measures
space with
space:
So swift
flew Juno to
the bless'd
abodes,
If thought
of man can
match the
speed of
gods.
There sat
the powers
in awful
synod
placed;
They bow'd,
and made
obeisance as
she pass'd
Through all
the brazen
dome: with
goblets
crown'd(239)
They hail
her queen;
the nectar
streams
around.
Fair Themis
first
presents the
golden bowl,
And anxious
asks what
cares
disturb her
soul?
To whom the
white-arm'd
goddess thus
replies:
"Enough thou
know'st the
tyrant of
the skies,
Severely
bent his
purpose to
fulfil,
Unmoved his
mind, and
unrestrain'd
his will.
Go thou, the
feasts of
heaven
attend thy
call;
Bid the
crown'd
nectar
circle round
the hall:
But Jove
shall
thunder
through the
ethereal
dome
Such stern
decrees,
such
threaten'd
woes to
come,
As soon
shall freeze
mankind with
dire
surprise,
And damp the
eternal
banquets of
the skies."
The goddess
said, and
sullen took
her place;
Black horror
sadden'd
each
celestial
face.
To see the
gathering
grudge in
every
breast,
Smiles on
her lips a
spleenful
joy
express'd;
While on her
wrinkled
front, and
eyebrow
bent,
Sat stedfast
care, and
lowering
discontent.
Thus she
proceeds--"Attend,
ye powers
above!
But know,
'tis madness
to contest
with Jove:
Supreme he
sits; and
sees, in
pride of
sway.
Your vassal
godheads
grudgingly
obey:
Fierce in
the majesty
of power
controls;
Shakes all
the thrones
of heaven,
and bends
the poles.
Submiss,
immortals!
all he
wills, obey:
And thou,
great Mars,
begin and
show the
way.
Behold
Ascalaphus!
behold him
die,
But dare not
murmur, dare
not vent a
sigh;
Thy own
loved
boasted
offspring
lies
o'erthrown,
If that
loved
boasted
offspring be
thy own."
Stern Mars,
with anguish
for his
slaughter'd
son,
Smote his
rebelling
breast, and
fierce
begun:
"Thus then,
immortals!
thus shall
Mars obey;
Forgive me,
gods, and
yield my
vengeance
way:
Descending
first to yon
forbidden
plain,
The god of
battles
dares avenge
the slain;
Dares,
though the
thunder
bursting
o'er my head
Should hurl
me blazing
on those
heaps of
dead."
With that he
gives
command to
Fear and
Flight
To join his
rapid
coursers for
the fight:
Then grim in
arms, with
hasty
vengeance
flies;
Arms that
reflect a
radiance
through the
skies.
And now had
Jove, by
bold
rebellion
driven,
Discharged
his wrath on
half the
host of
heaven;
But Pallas,
springing
through the
bright
abode,
Starts from
her azure
throne to
calm the
god.
Struck for
the immortal
race with
timely fear,
From frantic
Mars she
snatch'd the
shield and
spear;
Then the
huge helmet
lifting from
his head,
Thus to the
impetuous
homicide she
said:
"By what
wild
passion,
furious! art
thou toss'd?
Striv'st
thou with
Jove? thou
art already
lost.
Shall not
the
Thunderer's
dread
command
restrain,
And was
imperial
Juno heard
in vain?
Back to the
skies
wouldst thou
with shame
be driven,
And in thy
guilt
involve the
host of
heaven?
Ilion and
Greece no
more should
Jove engage,
The skies
would yield
an ampler
scene of
rage;
Guilty and
guiltless
find an
equal fate
And one vast
ruin whelm
the Olympian
state.
Cease then
thy
offspring's
death unjust
to call;
Heroes as
great have
died, and
yet shall
fall.
Why should
heaven's law
with foolish
man comply
Exempted
from the
race
ordain'd to
die?"
This menace
fix'd the
warrior to
his throne;
Sullen he
sat, and
curb'd the
rising
groan.
Then Juno
call'd
(Jove's
orders to
obey)
The winged
Iris, and
the god of
day.
"Go wait the
Thunderer's
will
(Saturnia
cried)
On yon tall
summit of
the fountful
Ide:
There in the
father's
awful
presence
stand,
Receive, and
execute his
dread
command."
She said,
and sat; the
god that
gilds the
day,
And various
Iris, wing
their airy
way.
Swift as the
wind, to
Ida's hills
they came,
(Fair nurse
of
fountains,
and of
savage game)
There sat
the eternal;
he whose nod
controls
The
trembling
world, and
shakes the
steady
poles.
Veil'd in a
mist of
fragrance
him they
found,
With clouds
of gold and
purple
circled
round.
Well-pleased
the
Thunderer
saw their
earnest
care,
And prompt
obedience to
the queen of
air;
Then (while
a smile
serenes his
awful brow)
Commands the
goddess of
the showery
bow:
"Iris!
descend, and
what we here
ordain,
Report to
yon mad
tyrant of
the main.
Bid him from
fight to his
own deeps
repair,
Or breathe
from
slaughter in
the fields
of air.
If he
refuse, then
let him
timely weigh
Our elder
birthright,
and superior
sway.
How shall
his rashness
stand the
dire alarms,
If heaven's
omnipotence
descend in
arms?
Strives he
with me, by
whom his
power was
given,
And is there
equal to the
lord of
heaven?"
The
all-mighty
spoke; the
goddess
wing'd her
flight
To sacred
Ilion from
the Idaean
height.
Swift as the
rattling
hail, or
fleecy
snows,
Drive
through the
skies, when
Boreas
fiercely
blows;
So from the
clouds
descending
Iris falls,
And to blue
Neptune thus
the goddess
calls:
"Attend the
mandate of
the sire
above!
In me behold
the
messenger of
Jove:
He bids thee
from
forbidden
wars repair
To thine own
deeps, or to
the fields
of air.
This if
refused, he
bids thee
timely weigh
His elder
birthright,
and superior
sway.
How shall
thy rashness
stand the
dire alarms
If heaven's
omnipotence
descend in
arms?
Striv'st
thou with
him by whom
all power is
given?
And art thou
equal to the
lord of
heaven?"
"What means
the haughty
sovereign of
the skies?
(The king of
ocean thus,
incensed,
replies;)
Rule as he
will his
portion'd
realms on
high;
No vassal
god, nor of
his train,
am I.
Three
brother
deities from
Saturn came,
And ancient
Rhea,
earth's
immortal
dame:
Assign'd by
lot, our
triple rule
we know;
Infernal
Pluto sways
the shades
below;
O'er the
wide clouds,
and o'er the
starry
plain,
Ethereal
Jove extends
his high
domain;
My court
beneath the
hoary waves
I keep,
And hush the
roarings of
the sacred
deep;
Olympus, and
this earth,
in common
lie:
What claim
has here the
tyrant of
the sky?
Far in the
distant
clouds let
him control,
And awe the
younger
brothers of
the pole;
There to his
children his
commands be
given,
The
trembling,
servile,
second race
of heaven."
"And must I
then (said
she), O sire
of floods!
Bear this
fierce
answer to
the king of
gods?
Correct it
yet, and
change thy
rash intent;
A noble mind
disdains not
to repent.
To elder
brothers
guardian
fiends are
given,
To scourge
the wretch
insulting
them and
heaven."
"Great is
the profit
(thus the
god
rejoin'd)
When
ministers
are blest
with prudent
mind:
Warn'd by
thy words,
to powerful
Jove I
yield,
And quit,
though
angry, the
contended
field:
Not but his
threats with
justice I
disclaim,
The same our
honours, and
our birth
the same.
If yet,
forgetful of
his promise
given
To Hermes,
Pallas, and
the queen of
heaven,
To favour
Ilion, that
perfidious
place,
He breaks
his faith
with half
the ethereal
race;
Give him to
know, unless
the Grecian
train
Lay yon
proud
structures
level with
the plain,
Howe'er the
offence by
other gods
be pass'd,
The wrath of
Neptune
shall for
ever last."
Thus
speaking,
furious from
the field he
strode,
And plunged
into the
bosom of the
flood.
The lord of
thunders,
from his
lofty height
Beheld, and
thus bespoke
the source
of light:
"Behold! the
god whose
liquid arms
are hurl'd
Around the
globe, whose
earthquakes
rock the
world,
Desists at
length his
rebel-war to
wage,
Seeks his
own seas,
and trembles
at our rage;
Else had my
wrath,
heaven's
thrones all
shaking
round,
Burn'd to
the bottom
of his seas
profound;
And all the
gods that
round old
Saturn dwell
Had heard
the thunders
to the deeps
of hell.
Well was the
crime, and
well the
vengeance
spared;
Even power
immense had
found such
battle hard.
Go thou, my
son! the
trembling
Greeks
alarm,
Shake my
broad aegis
on thy
active arm,
Be godlike
Hector thy
peculiar
care,
Swell his
bold heart,
and urge his
strength to
war:
Let Ilion
conquer,
till the
Achaian
train
Fly to their
ships and
Hellespont
again:
Then Greece
shall
breathe from
toils." The
godhead
said;
His will
divine the
son of Jove
obey'd.
Not half so
swift the
sailing
falcon
flies,
That drives
a turtle
through the
liquid
skies,
As Phoebus,
shooting
from the
Idaean brow,
Glides down
the mountain
to the plain
below.
There Hector
seated by
the stream
he sees,
His sense
returning
with the
coming
breeze;
Again his
pulses beat,
his spirits
rise;
Again his
loved
companions
meet his
eyes;
Jove
thinking of
his pains,
they pass'd
away,
To whom the
god who
gives the
golden day:
"Why sits
great Hector
from the
field so
far?
What grief,
what wound,
withholds
thee from
the war?"
The fainting
hero, as the
vision
bright
Stood
shining o'er
him, half
unseal'd his
sight:
"What blest
immortal,
with
commanding
breath,
Thus wakens
Hector from
the sleep of
death?
Has fame not
told, how,
while my
trusty sword
Bathed
Greece in
slaughter,
and her
battle
gored,
The mighty
Ajax with a
deadly blow
Had almost
sunk me to
the shades
below?
Even yet,
methinks,
the gliding
ghosts I
spy,
And hell's
black
horrors swim
before my
eye."
To him
Apollo: "Be
no more
dismay'd;
See, and be
strong! the
Thunderer
sends thee
aid.
Behold! thy
Phoebus
shall his
arms employ,
Phoebus,
propitious
still to
thee and
Troy.
Inspire thy
warriors
then with
manly force,
And to the
ships impel
thy rapid
horse:
Even I will
make thy
fiery
coursers
way,
And drive
the Grecians
headlong to
the sea."
Thus to bold
Hector spoke
the son of
Jove,
And breathed
immortal
ardour from
above.
As when the
pamper'd
steed, with
reins
unbound,
Breaks from
his stall,
and pours
along the
ground;
With ample
strokes he
rushes to
the flood,
To bathe his
sides, and
cool his
fiery blood;
His head,
now freed,
he tosses to
the skies;
His mane
dishevell'd
o'er his
shoulders
flies:
He snuffs
the females
in the
well-known
plain,
And springs,
exulting, to
his fields
again:
Urged by the
voice
divine, thus
Hector flew,
Full of the
god; and all
his hosts
pursue.
As when the
force of men
and dogs
combined
Invade the
mountain
goat, or
branching
hind;
Far from the
hunter's
rage secure
they lie
Close in the
rock, (not
fated yet to
die)
When lo! a
lion shoots
across the
way!
They fly: at
once the
chasers and
the prey.
So Greece,
that late in
conquering
troops
pursued,
And mark'd
their
progress
through the
ranks in
blood,
Soon as they
see the
furious
chief
appear,
Forget to
vanquish,
and consent
to fear.
Thoas with
grief
observed his
dreadful
course,
Thoas, the
bravest of
the Ætolian
force;
Skill'd to
direct the
javelin's
distant
flight,
And bold to
combat in
the standing
fight,
Not more in
councils
famed for
solid sense,
Than winning
words and
heavenly
eloquence.
"Gods! what
portent (he
cried) these
eyes
invades?
Lo! Hector
rises from
the Stygian
shades!
We saw him,
late, by
thundering
Ajax kill'd:
What god
restores him
to the
frighted
field;
And not
content that
half of
Greece lie
slain,
Pours new
destruction
on her sons
again?
He comes
not, Jove!
without thy
powerful
will;
Lo! still he
lives,
pursues, and
conquers
still!
Yet hear my
counsel, and
his worst
withstand:
The Greeks'
main body to
the fleet
command;
But let the
few whom
brisker
spirits
warm,
Stand the
first onset,
and provoke
the storm.
Thus point
your arms;
and when
such foes
appear,
Fierce as he
is, let
Hector learn
to fear."
The warrior
spoke; the
listening
Greeks obey,
Thickening
their ranks,
and form a
deep array.
Each Ajax,
Teucer,
Merion gave
command,
The valiant
leader of
the Cretan
band;
And
Mars-like
Meges: these
the chiefs
excite,
Approach the
foe, and
meet the
coming
fight.
Behind,
unnumber'd
multitudes
attend,
To flank the
navy, and
the shores
defend.
Full on the
front the
pressing
Trojans
bear,
And Hector
first came
towering to
the war.
Phoebus
himself the
rushing
battle led;
A veil of
clouds
involved his
radiant
head:
High held
before him,
Jove's
enormous
shield
Portentous
shone, and
shaded all
the field;
Vulcan to
Jove the
immortal
gift
consign'd,
To scatter
hosts and
terrify
mankind,
The Greeks
expect the
shock, the
clamours
rise
From
different
parts, and
mingle in
the skies.
Dire was the
hiss of
darts, by
heroes
flung,
And arrows
leaping from
the
bow-string
sung;
These drink
the life of
generous
warriors
slain:
Those
guiltless
fall, and
thirst for
blood in
vain.
As long as
Phoebus bore
unmoved the
shield,
Sat doubtful
conquest
hovering
o'er the
field;
But when
aloft he
shakes it in
the skies,
Shouts in
their ears,
and lightens
in their
eyes,
Deep horror
seizes every
Grecian
breast,
Their force
is humbled,
and their
fear
confess'd.
So flies a
herd of
oxen,
scatter'd
wide,
No swain to
guard them,
and no day
to guide,
When two
fell lions
from the
mountain
come,
And spread
the carnage
through the
shady gloom.
Impending
Phoebus
pours around
them fear,
And Troy and
Hector
thunder in
the rear.
Heaps fall
on heaps:
the
slaughter
Hector
leads,
First great
Arcesilas,
then
Stichius
bleeds;
One to the
bold
Boeotians
ever dear,
And one
Menestheus'
friend and
famed
compeer.
Medon and
Iasus, Æneas
sped;
This sprang
from Phelus,
and the
Athenians
led;
But hapless
Medon from
Oileus came;
Him Ajax
honour'd
with a
brother's
name,
Though born
of lawless
love: from
home
expell'd,
A banish'd
man, in
Phylace he
dwell'd,
Press'd by
the
vengeance of
an angry
wife;
Troy ends at
last his
labours and
his life.
Mecystes
next
Polydamas
o'erthrew;
And thee,
brave
Clonius,
great Agenor
slew.
By Paris,
Deiochus
inglorious
dies,
Pierced
through the
shoulder as
he basely
flies.
Polites' arm
laid Echius
on the
plain;
Stretch'd on
one heap,
the victors
spoil the
slain.
The Greeks
dismay'd,
confused,
disperse or
fall,
Some seek
the trench,
some skulk
behind the
wall.
While these
fly
trembling,
others pant
for breath,
And o'er the
slaughter
stalks
gigantic
death.
On rush'd
bold Hector,
gloomy as
the night;
Forbids to
plunder,
animates the
fight,
Points to
the fleet:
"For, by the
gods! who
flies,(240)
Who dares
but linger,
by this hand
he dies;
No weeping
sister his
cold eye
shall close,
No friendly
hand his
funeral pyre
compose.
Who stops to
plunder at
this signal
hour,
The birds
shall tear
him, and the
dogs
devour."
Furious he
said; the
smarting
scourge
resounds;
The coursers
fly; the
smoking
chariot
bounds;
The hosts
rush on;
loud
clamours
shake the
shore;
The horses
thunder,
earth and
ocean roar!
Apollo,
planted at
the trench's
bound,
Push'd at
the bank:
down sank
the enormous
mound:
Roll'd in
the ditch
the heapy
ruin lay;
A sudden
road! a long
and ample
way.
O'er the
dread fosse
(a late
impervious
space)
Now steeds,
and men, and
cars
tumultuous
pass.
The
wondering
crowds the
downward
level trod;
Before them
flamed the
shield, and
march'd the
god.
Then with
his hand he
shook the
mighty wall;
And lo! the
turrets nod,
the bulwarks
fall:
Easy as when
ashore an
infant
stands,
And draws
imagined
houses in
the sands;
The sportive
wanton,
pleased with
some new
play,
Sweeps the
slight works
and
fashion'd
domes away:
Thus
vanish'd at
thy touch,
the towers
and walls;
The toil of
thousands in
a moment
falls.
The Grecians
gaze around
with wild
despair,
Confused,
and weary
all the
powers with
prayer:
Exhort their
men, with
praises,
threats,
commands;
And urge the
gods, with
voices,
eyes, and
hands.
Experienced
Nestor chief
obtests the
skies,
And weeps
his country
with a
father's
eyes.
"O Jove! if
ever, on his
native
shore,
One Greek
enrich'd thy
shrine with
offer'd
gore;
If e'er, in
hope our
country to
behold,
We paid the
fattest
firstlings
of the fold;
If e'er thou
sign'st our
wishes with
thy nod:
Perform the
promise of a
gracious
god!
This day
preserve our
navies from
the flame,
And save the
relics of
the Grecian
name."
Thus prayed
the sage:
the eternal
gave
consent,
And peals of
thunder
shook the
firmament.
Presumptuous
Troy mistook
the
accepting
sign,
And catch'd
new fury at
the voice
divine.
As, when
black
tempests mix
the seas and
skies,
The roaring
deeps in
watery
mountains
rise,
Above the
sides of
some tall
ship ascend,
Its womb
they deluge,
and its ribs
they rend:
Thus loudly
roaring, and
o'erpowering
all,
Mount the
thick
Trojans up
the Grecian
wall;
Legions on
legions from
each side
arise:
Thick sound
the keels;
the storm of
arrows
flies.
Fierce on
the ships
above, the
cars below,
These wield
the mace,
and those
the javelin
throw.
While thus
the thunder
of the
battle
raged,
And
labouring
armies round
the works
engaged,
Still in the
tent
Patroclus
sat to tend
The good
Eurypylus,
his wounded
friend.
He sprinkles
healing
balms, to
anguish
kind,
And adds
discourse,
the medicine
of the mind.
But when he
saw,
ascending up
the fleet,
Victorious
Troy; then,
starting
from his
seat,
With bitter
groans his
sorrows he
express'd,
He wrings
his hands,
he beats his
manly
breast.
"Though yet
thy state
require
redress (he
cries)
Depart I
must: what
horrors
strike my
eyes!
Charged with
Achilles'
high command
I go,
A mournful
witness of
this scene
of woe;
I haste to
urge him by
his
country's
care
To rise in
arms, and
shine again
in war.
Perhaps some
favouring
god his soul
may bend;
The voice is
powerful of
a faithful
friend."
He spoke;
and,
speaking,
swifter than
the wind
Sprung from
the tent,
and left the
war behind.
The embodied
Greeks the
fierce
attack
sustain,
But strive,
though
numerous, to
repulse in
vain:
Nor could
the Trojans,
through that
firm array,
Force to the
fleet and
tents the
impervious
way.
As when a
shipwright,
with
Palladian
art,
Smooths the
rough wood,
and levels
every part;
With equal
hand he
guides his
whole
design,
By the just
rule, and
the
directing
line:
The martial
leaders,
with like
skill and
care,
Preserved
their line,
and equal
kept the
war.
Brave deeds
of arms
through all
the ranks
were tried,
And every
ship
sustained an
equal tide.
At one proud
bark,
high-towering
o'er the
fleet,
Ajax the
great, and
godlike
Hector meet;
For one
bright prize
the
matchless
chiefs
contend,
Nor this the
ships can
fire, nor
that defend:
One kept the
shore, and
one the
vessel trod;
That fix'd
as fate,
this acted
by a god.
The son of
Clytius in
his daring
hand,
The deck
approaching,
shakes a
flaming
brand;
But, pierced
by Telamon's
huge lance,
expires:
Thundering
he falls,
and drops
the
extinguish'd
fires.
Great Hector
view'd him
with a sad
survey,
As stretch'd
in dust
before the
stern he
lay.
"Oh! all of
Trojan, all
of Lycian
race!
Stand to
your arms,
maintain
this arduous
space:
Lo! where
the son of
royal
Clytius
lies;
Ah, save his
arms, secure
his
obsequies!"
This said,
his eager
javelin
sought the
foe:
But Ajax
shunn'd the
meditated
blow.
Not vainly
yet the
forceful
lance was
thrown;
It stretch'd
in dust
unhappy
Lycophron:
An exile
long,
sustain'd at
Ajax' board,
A faithful
servant to a
foreign
lord;
In peace,
and war, for
ever at his
side,
Near his
loved
master, as
he lived, he
died.
From the
high poop he
tumbles on
the sand,
And lies a
lifeless
load along
the land.
With anguish
Ajax views
the piercing
sight,
And thus
inflames his
brother to
the fight:
"Teucer,
behold!
extended on
the shore
Our friend,
our loved
companion!
now no more!
Dear as a
parent, with
a parent's
care
To fight our
wars he left
his native
air.
This death
deplored, to
Hector's
rage we owe;
Revenge,
revenge it
on the cruel
foe.
Where are
those darts
on which the
fates
attend?
And where
the bow
which
Phoebus
taught to
bend?"
Impatient
Teucer,
hastening to
his aid,
Before the
chief his
ample bow
display'd;
The
well-stored
quiver on
his
shoulders
hung:
Then hiss'd
his arrow,
and the
bowstring
sung.
Clytus,
Pisenor's
son,
renown'd in
fame,
(To thee,
Polydamas!
an honour'd
name)
Drove
through the
thickest of
the
embattled
plains
The
startling
steeds, and
shook his
eager reins.
As all on
glory ran
his ardent
mind,
The pointed
death
arrests him
from behind:
Through his
fair neck
the
thrilling
arrow flies;
In youth's
first bloom
reluctantly
he dies.
Hurl'd from
the lofty
seat, at
distance
far,
The headlong
coursers
spurn his
empty car;
Till sad
Polydamas
the steeds
restrain'd,
And gave,
Astynous, to
thy careful
hand;
Then, fired
to
vengeance,
rush'd
amidst the
foe:
Rage edged
his sword,
and
strengthen'd
every blow.
Once more
bold Teucer,
in his
country's
cause,
At Hector's
breast a
chosen arrow
draws:
And had the
weapon found
the destined
way,
Thy fall,
great
Trojan! had
renown'd
that day.
But Hector
was not
doom'd to
perish then:
The all-wise
disposer of
the fates of
men
(Imperial
Jove) his
present
death
withstands;
Nor was such
glory due to
Teucer's
hands.
At its full
stretch as
the tough
string he
drew,
Struck by an
arm unseen,
it burst in
two;
Down dropp'd
the bow: the
shaft with
brazen head
Fell
innocent,
and on the
dust lay
dead.
The
astonish'd
archer to
great Ajax
cries;
"Some god
prevents our
destined
enterprise:
Some god,
propitious
to the
Trojan foe,
Has, from my
arm
unfailing,
struck the
bow,
And broke
the nerve my
hands had
twined with
art,
Strong to
impel the
flight of
many a
dart."
"Since
heaven
commands it
(Ajax made
reply)
Dismiss the
bow, and lay
thy arrows
by:
Thy arms no
less suffice
the lance to
wield,
And quit the
quiver for
the
ponderous
shield.
In the first
ranks
indulge thy
thirst of
fame,
Thy brave
example
shall the
rest
inflame.
Fierce as
they are, by
long
successes
vain;
To force our
fleet, or
even a ship
to gain,
Asks toil,
and sweat,
and blood:
their utmost
might
Shall find
its
match--No
more: 'tis
ours to
fight."
Then Teucer
laid his
faithless
bow aside;
The fourfold
buckler o'er
his shoulder
tied;
On his brave
head a
crested helm
he placed,
With nodding
horse-hair
formidably
graced;
A dart,
whose point
with brass
refulgent
shines,
The warrior
wields; and
his great
brother
joins.
This Hector
saw, and
thus
express'd
his joy:
"Ye troops
of Lycia,
Dardanus,
and Troy!
Be mindful
of
yourselves,
your ancient
fame,
And spread
your glory
with the
navy's
flame.
Jove is with
us; I saw
his hand,
but now,
From the
proud archer
strike his
vaunted bow:
Indulgent
Jove! how
plain thy
favours
shine,
When happy
nations bear
the marks
divine!
How easy
then, to see
the sinking
state
Of realms
accursed,
deserted,
reprobate!
Such is the
fate of
Greece, and
such is
ours:
Behold, ye
warriors,
and exert
your powers.
Death is the
worst; a
fate which
all must
try;
And for our
country,
'tis a bliss
to die.
The gallant
man, though
slain in
fight he be,
Yet leaves
his nation
safe, his
children
free;
Entails a
debt on all
the grateful
state;
His own
brave
friends
shall glory
in his fate;
His wife
live
honour'd,
all his race
succeed,
And late
posterity
enjoy the
deed!"
This roused
the soul in
every Trojan
breast:
The godlike
Ajax next
his Greeks
address'd:
"How long,
ye warriors
of the
Argive race,
(To generous
Argos what a
dire
disgrace!)
How long on
these cursed
confines
will ye lie,
Yet
undetermined,
or to live
or die?
What hopes
remain, what
methods to
retire,
If once your
vessels
catch the
Trojan fire?
Make how the
flames
approach,
how near
they fall,
How Hector
calls, and
Troy obeys
his call!
Not to the
dance that
dreadful
voice
invites,
It calls to
death, and
all the rage
of fights.
'Tis now no
time for
wisdom or
debates;
To your own
hands are
trusted all
your fates;
And better
far in one
decisive
strife,
One day
should end
our labour
or our life,
Than keep
this
hard-got
inch of
barren
sands,
Still
press'd, and
press'd by
such
inglorious
hands."
The
listening
Grecians
feel their
leader's
flame,
And every
kindling
bosom pants
for fame.
Then mutual
slaughters
spread on
either side;
By Hector
here the
Phocian
Schedius
died;
There,
pierced by
Ajax, sunk
Laodamas,
Chief of the
foot, of old
Antenor's
race.
Polydamas
laid Otus on
the sand,
The fierce
commander of
the Epeian
band.
His lance
bold Meges
at the
victor
threw;
The victor,
stooping,
from the
death
withdrew;
(That valued
life, O
Phoebus! was
thy care)
But
Croesmus'
bosom took
the flying
spear:
His corpse
fell
bleeding on
the slippery
shore;
His radiant
arms
triumphant
Meges bore.
Dolops, the
son of
Lampus,
rushes on,
Sprung from
the race of
old
Laomedon,
And famed
for prowess
in a
well-fought
field,
He pierced
the centre
of his
sounding
shield:
But Meges,
Phyleus'
ample
breastplate
wore,
(Well-known
in fight on
Selle's
winding
shore;
For king
Euphetes
gave the
golden mail,
Compact, and
firm with
many a
jointed
scale)
Which oft,
in cities
storm'd, and
battles won,
Had saved
the father,
and now
saves the
son.
Full at the
Trojan's
head he
urged his
lance,
Where the
high plumes
above the
helmet
dance,
New ting'd
with Tyrian
dye: in dust
below,
Shorn from
the crest,
the purple
honours
glow.
Meantime
their fight
the Spartan
king
survey'd,
And stood by
Meges' side
a sudden
aid.
Through
Dolops'
shoulder
urged his
forceful
dart,
Which held
its passage
through the
panting
heart,
And issued
at his
breast. With
thundering
sound
The warrior
falls,
extended on
the ground.
In rush the
conquering
Greeks to
spoil the
slain:
But Hector's
voice
excites his
kindred
train;
The hero
most, from
Hicetaon
sprung,
Fierce
Melanippus,
gallant,
brave, and
young.
He (ere to
Troy the
Grecians
cross'd the
main)
Fed his
large oxen
on Percote's
plain;
But when
oppress'd,
his country
claim'd his
care,
Return'd to
Ilion, and
excell'd in
war;
For this, in
Priam's
court, he
held his
place,
Beloved no
less than
Priam's
royal race.
Him Hector
singled, as
his troops
he led,
And thus
inflamed
him,
pointing to
the dead.
"Lo,
Melanippus!
lo, where
Dolops lies;
And is it
thus our
royal
kinsman
dies?
O'ermatch'd
he falls; to
two at once
a prey,
And lo! they
bear the
bloody arms
away!
Come on--a
distant war
no longer
wage,
But hand to
hand thy
country's
foes engage:
Till Greece
at once, and
all her
glory end;
Or Ilion
from her
towery
height
descend,
Heaved from
the lowest
stone; and
bury all
In one sad
sepulchre,
one common
fall."
Hector (this
said) rush'd
forward on
the foes:
With equal
ardour
Melanippus
glows:
Then Ajax
thus--"O
Greeks!
respect your
fame,
Respect
yourselves,
and learn an
honest
shame:
Let mutual
reverence
mutual
warmth
inspire,
And catch
from breast
to breast
the noble
fire,
On valour's
side the
odds of
combat lie;
The brave
live
glorious, or
lamented
die;
The wretch
that
trembles in
the field of
fame,
Meets death,
and worse
than death,
eternal
shame."
His generous
sense he not
in vain
imparts;
It sunk, and
rooted in
the Grecian
hearts:
They join,
they throng,
they thicken
at his call,
And flank
the navy
with a
brazen wall;
Shields
touching
shields, in
order blaze
above,
And stop the
Trojans,
though
impell'd by
Jove.
The fiery
Spartan
first, with
loud
applause.
Warms the
bold son of
Nestor in
his cause.
"Is there
(he said) in
arms a youth
like you,
So strong to
fight, so
active to
pursue?
Why stand
you distant,
nor attempt
a deed?
Lift the
bold lance,
and make
some Trojan
bleed."
He said; and
backward to
the lines
retired;
Forth rush'd
the youth
with martial
fury fired,
Beyond the
foremost
ranks; his
lance he
threw,
And round
the black
battalions
cast his
view.
The troops
of Troy
recede with
sudden fear,
While the
swift
javelin
hiss'd along
in air.
Advancing
Melanippus
met the dart
With his
bold breast,
and felt it
in his
heart:
Thundering
he falls;
his falling
arms
resound,
And his
broad
buckler
rings
against the
ground.
The victor
leaps upon
his
prostrate
prize:
Thus on a
roe the
well-breath'd
beagle
flies,
And rends
his side,
fresh-bleeding
with the
dart
The distant
hunter sent
into his
heart.
Observing
Hector to
the rescue
flew;
Bold as he
was,
Antilochus
withdrew.
So when a
savage,
ranging o'er
the plain,
Has torn the
shepherd's
dog, or
shepherd's
swain,
While
conscious of
the deed, he
glares
around,
And hears
the
gathering
multitude
resound,
Timely he
flies the
yet-untasted
food,
And gains
the friendly
shelter of
the wood:
So fears the
youth; all
Troy with
shouts
pursue,
While stones
and darts in
mingled
tempest
flew;
But enter'd
in the
Grecian
ranks, he
turns
His manly
breast, and
with new
fury burns.
Now on the
fleet the
tides of
Trojans
drove,
Fierce to
fulfil the
stern
decrees of
Jove:
The sire of
gods,
confirming
Thetis'
prayer,
The Grecian
ardour
quench'd in
deep
despair;
But lifts to
glory Troy's
prevailing
bands,
Swells all
their
hearts, and
strengthens
all their
hands.
On Ida's top
he waits
with longing
eyes,
To view the
navy blazing
to the
skies;
Then, nor
till then,
the scale of
war shall
turn,
The Trojans
fly, and
conquer'd
Ilion burn.
These fates
revolved in
his almighty
mind,
He raises
Hector to
the work
design'd,
Bids him
with more
than mortal
fury glow,
And drives
him, like a
lightning,
on the foe.
So Mars,
when human
crimes for
vengeance
call,
Shakes his
huge
javelin, and
whole armies
fall.
Not with
more rage a
conflagration
rolls,
Wraps the
vast
mountains,
and involves
the poles.
He foams
with wrath;
beneath his
gloomy brow
Like fiery
meteors his
red
eye-balls
glow:
The radiant
helmet on
his temple
burns,
Waves when
he nods, and
lightens as
he turns:
For Jove his
splendour
round the
chief had
thrown,
And cast the
blaze of
both the
hosts on
one.
Unhappy
glories! for
his fate was
near,
Due to stern
Pallas, and
Pelides'
spear:
Yet Jove
deferr'd the
death he was
to pay,
And gave
what fate
allow'd, the
honours of a
day!
Now all on
fire for
fame, his
breast, his
eyes
Burn at each
foe, and
single every
prize;
Still at the
closest
ranks, the
thickest
fight,
He points
his ardour,
and exerts
his might.
The Grecian
phalanx,
moveless as
a tower,
On all sides
batter'd,
yet resists
his power:
So some tall
rock
o'erhangs
the hoary
main,(241)
By winds
assail'd, by
billows beat
in vain,
Unmoved it
hears,
above, the
tempest
blow,
And sees the
watery
mountains
break below.
Girt in
surrounding
flames, he
seems to
fall
Like fire
from Jove,
and bursts
upon them
all:
Bursts as a
wave that
from the
cloud
impends,
And, swell'd
with
tempests, on
the ship
descends;
White are
the decks
with foam;
the winds
aloud
Howl o'er
the masts,
and sing
through
every
shroud:
Pale,
trembling,
tired, the
sailors
freeze with
fears;
And instant
death on
every wave
appears.
So pale the
Greeks the
eyes of
Hector meet,
The chief so
thunders,
and so
shakes the
fleet.
As when a
lion,
rushing from
his den,
Amidst the
plain of
some
wide-water'd
fen,
(Where
numerous
oxen, as at
ease they
feed,
At large
expatiate
o'er the
ranker mead)
Leaps on the
herds before
the
herdsman's
eyes;
The
trembling
herdsman far
to distance
flies;
Some lordly
bull (the
rest
dispersed
and fled)
He singles
out;
arrests, and
lays him
dead.
Thus from
the rage of
Jove-like
Hector flew
All Greece
in heaps;
but one he
seized, and
slew:
Mycenian
Periphes, a
mighty name,
In wisdom
great, in
arms well
known to
fame;
The minister
of stern
Eurystheus'
ire
Against
Alcides,
Copreus was
his sire:
The son
redeem'd the
honours of
the race,
A son as
generous as
the sire was
base;
O'er all his
country's
youth
conspicuous
far
In every
virtue, or
of peace or
war:
But doom'd
to Hector's
stronger
force to
yield!
Against the
margin of
his ample
shield
He struck
his hasty
foot: his
heels
up-sprung;
Supine he
fell; his
brazen
helmet rung.
On the
fallen chief
the invading
Trojan
press'd,
And plunged
the pointed
javelin in
his breast.
His circling
friends, who
strove to
guard too
late
The unhappy
hero, fled,
or shared
his fate.
Chased from
the foremost
line, the
Grecian
train
Now man the
next,
receding
toward the
main:
Wedged in
one body at
the tents
they stand,
Wall'd round
with sterns,
a gloomy,
desperate
band.
Now manly
shame
forbids the
inglorious
flight;
Now fear
itself
confines
them to the
fight:
Man courage
breathes in
man; but
Nestor most
(The sage
preserver of
the Grecian
host)
Exhorts,
adjures, to
guard these
utmost
shores;
And by their
parents, by
themselves
implores.
"Oh friends!
be men: your
generous
breasts
inflame
With mutual
honour, and
with mutual
shame!
Think of
your hopes,
your
fortunes;
all the care
Your wives,
your
infants, and
your parents
share:
Think of
each living
father's
reverend
head;
Think of
each
ancestor
with glory
dead;
Absent, by
me they
speak, by me
they sue,
They ask
their
safety, and
their fame,
from you:
The gods
their fates
on this one
action lay,
And all are
lost, if you
desert the
day."
He spoke,
and round
him breathed
heroic
fires;
Minerva
seconds what
the sage
inspires.
The mist of
darkness
Jove around
them threw
She clear'd,
restoring
all the war
to view;
A sudden ray
shot beaming
o'er the
plain,
And show'd
the shores,
the navy,
and the
main:
Hector they
saw, and all
who fly, or
fight,
The scene
wide-opening
to the blaze
of light,
First of the
field great
Ajax strikes
their eyes,
His port
majestic,
and his
ample size:
A ponderous
mace with
studs of
iron
crown'd,
Full twenty
cubits long,
he swings
around;
Nor fights,
like others,
fix'd to
certain
stands
But looks a
moving tower
above the
bands;
High on the
decks with
vast
gigantic
stride,
The godlike
hero stalks
from side to
side.
So when a
horseman
from the
watery mead
(Skill'd in
the manage
of the
bounding
steed)
Drives four
fair
coursers,
practised to
obey,
To some
great city
through the
public way;
Safe in his
art, as side
by side they
run,
He shifts
his seat,
and vaults
from one to
one;
And now to
this, and
now to that
he flies;
Admiring
numbers
follow with
their eyes.
From ship to
ship thus
Ajax swiftly
flew,
No less the
wonder of
the warring
crew.
As furious,
Hector
thunder'd
threats
aloud,
And rush'd
enraged
before the
Trojan
crowd;
Then swift
invades the
ships, whose
beaky prores
Lay rank'd
contiguous
on the
bending
shores;
So the
strong eagle
from his
airy height,
Who marks
the swans'
or cranes'
embodied
flight,
Stoops down
impetuous,
while they
light for
food,
And,
stooping,
darkens with
his wings
the flood.
Jove leads
him on with
his almighty
hand,
And breathes
fierce
spirits in
his
following
band.
The warring
nations
meet, the
battle
roars,
Thick beats
the combat
on the
sounding
prores.
Thou wouldst
have
thought, so
furious was
their fire,
No force
could tame
them, and no
toil could
tire;
As if new
vigour from
new fights
they won,
And the long
battle was
but then
begun.
Greece, yet
unconquer'd,
kept alive
the war,
Secure of
death,
confiding in
despair:
Troy in
proud hopes
already
view'd the
main
Bright with
the blaze,
and red with
heroes
slain:
Like
strength is
felt from
hope, and
from
despair,
And each
contends, as
his were all
the war.
"Twas thou,
bold Hector!
whose
resistless
hand
First seized
a ship on
that
contested
strand;
The same
which dead
Protesilaus
bore,(242)
The first
that touch'd
the unhappy
Trojan
shore:
For this in
arms the
warring
nations
stood,
And bathed
their
generous
breasts with
mutual
blood.
No room to
poise the
lance or
bend the
bow;
But hand to
hand, and
man to man,
they grow:
Wounded,
they wound;
and seek
each other's
hearts
With
falchions,
axes,
swords, and
shorten'd
darts.
The
falchions
ring,
shields
rattle, axes
sound,
Swords flash
in air, or
glitter on
the ground;
With
streaming
blood the
slippery
shores are
dyed,
And
slaughter'd
heroes swell
the dreadful
tide.
Still
raging,
Hector with
his ample
hand
Grasps the
high stern,
and gives
this loud
command:
"Haste,
bring the
flames! that
toil of ten
long years
Is finished;
and the day
desired
appears!
This happy
day with
acclamations
greet,
Bright with
destruction
of yon
hostile
fleet.
The
coward-counsels
of a
timorous
throng
Of reverend
dotards
check'd our
glory long:
Too long
Jove lull'd
us with
lethargic
charms,
But now in
peals of
thunder
calls to
arms:
In this
great day he
crowns our
full
desires,
Wakes all
our force,
and seconds
all our
fires."
He
spoke--the
warriors at
his fierce
command
Pour a new
deluge on
the Grecian
band.
Even Ajax
paused, (so
thick the
javelins
fly,)
Stepp'd
back, and
doubted or
to live or
die.
Yet, where
the oars are
placed, he
stands to
wait
What chief
approaching
dares
attempt his
fate:
Even to the
last his
naval charge
defends,
Now shakes
his spear,
now lifts,
and now
protends;
Even yet,
the Greeks
with
piercing
shouts
inspires,
Amidst
attacks, and
deaths, and
darts, and
fires.
"O friends!
O heroes!
names for
ever dear,
Once sons of
Mars, and
thunderbolts
of war!
Ah! yet be
mindful of
your old
renown,
Your great
forefathers'
virtues and
your own.
What aids
expect you
in this
utmost
strait?
What
bulwarks
rising
between you
and fate?
No aids, no
bulwarks
your retreat
attend,
No friends
to help, no
city to
defend.
This spot is
all you
have, to
lose or
keep;
There stand
the Trojans,
and here
rolls the
deep.
'Tis hostile
ground you
tread; your
native lands
Far, far
from hence:
your fates
are in your
hands."
Raging he
spoke; nor
further
wastes his
breath,
But turns
his javelin
to the work
of death.
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