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 shew'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 watry 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 fellow 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 Protesilaüs bore,
What aids expect you in this utmost strait?
What bulwarks rising between you and fate?
No aids, no bulwarks, your retreat attend;
805 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; no farther wastes his breath,
But turns his javelin to the work of death.
Whate'er bold Trojan arm'd his daring hands,
Against the sable ships with flaming brands;
So well the chief his naval weapon sped,
815 The luckless warrior at his stern lay dead:
Full twelve, the boldest, in a moment fell,
Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell.
The sixth Battle; the Acts and death of Patroclus. Patróclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh book) entreats Achilles to suffer him to go to the assistance of the Greeks with "Achilles' troops and armour. He agrees to it, but at the same time charges him to content himself with rescuing the fleet, without further pursuit of the enemy. The armour, horses, soldiers, and officers of Achilles are described. Achilles offers a libation for the success of his friend, after which Patroclus leads the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, at the sight of Patroclus in Achilles's armour, taking him for that hero, are cast into the utmost consternation: he beats them off from the vessels. Hector himself flies. Sarpedon is killed, though Jupiter was averse to his fate. Several other particulars of the battle are described; in the heat of which, Patroclus, neglecting the orders of Achilles, pursues the foe to the walls of Troy; where Apollo repulses and disarms him, Euphorbus wounds him, and Hector kills him: which concludes the book.
warr'd both armies on the ensanguined shore, While the black vessels smoked with human gore, Meantime Patroclus to Achilles flies;
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 his loud command:
Haste, bring the flames! the toil of ten long years S70
Is finish'd! 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.
E'en 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:
E'en to the last his naval charge defends,
Now shakes his spear, now lifts, and now protends;
E'en yet, the Greeks with piercing shouts inspires,
Amidst attacks, and deaths, and darts, and tires:
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.
The streaming tears fall copious from his eyes;
Not faster trickling to the plains below,
From the tall rock the sable waters flow.
Divine Pelides, with compassion moved,
Thus spoke, indulgent to his best beloved:
Patroclus, say, what grief thy bosom bears,
That flows so fast in these unmanly tears?
No girl, no infant whom the mother keeps
From her loved breast, with fonder passion weeps ;
Not more the mother's soul that infant warins,
Clung to her knees, and reaching at her arms,
Than thou hast mine! Oh tell me, to what end
Thy melting sorrows thus pursue thy friend?
Grievest thou for me, or for my martial band?
Or come sad tidings from our native land?
875 Our fathers live (our first, most tender care),
The good Mencetius breathes the vital air,
And hoary Peleus yet extends his days;
Pleased in their age to hear their children's praise
Or may some meaner cause thy pity claim?
880 Perhaps yon reliques of the Grecian name,
Doom'd in their ships to sink by fire and sword,
And pay the forfeit of their haughty lord?
Whate'er the cause, reveal thy secret care,
And speak those sorrows which a friend would share.
A sigh, that instant, from his bosom broke,
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Their pain, soft arts of pharmacy can ease,
Thy breast alone no lenitives appease.
May never rage like thine my soul enslave,
O great in vain! unprofitably brave!
Thy country slighted in her last distress,
What friend, what man, from thee shall hope redress?
No-men unborn, and ages yet behind,
Shall curse that fierce, that unforgiving mind.
O man unpitying! if of man thy race;
But sure thou spring'st not from a soft embrace,
Nor ever amorous hero caused thy birth,
Nor ever tender goddess brought thee forth.
Some rugged rock's hard entrails gave thee form,
And raging seas produced thee in a storm,
A soul well-suiting that tempestuous kind,
So rough thy manners, so untamed thy mind.
If some dire oracle thy breast alarm,
If aught from Jove, or Thetis, stop thy arm,
Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine,
If I but lead the Myrmidonian line:
Clad in thy dreadful arms if I appear,
Proud Troy shall tremble, and desert the war:
Without thy person Greece shall win the day,
And thy mere image chase her foes away.
Press'd by fresh forces, her o'erlabour'd train
Shall quit the ships, and Greece respire again.
Thus, blind to Fate! with supplicating breath,
Thou begg'st his arms, and in his arms thy death,
Unfortunately good! a boding sigh
Thy friend return'd; and with it this reply:
Patroclus! thy Achilles knows no fears;
Nor words from Jove, nor oracles he hears;
Nor aught a mother's caution can suggest;
The tyrant's pride lies rooted in my breast.
My wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thought engage;
Those, my sole oracles, inspire my rage.
I made him tyrant: gave him power to wrong
E'en me I felt it: and shall feel it long.
The maid, my black-eyed maid, he forced away,
Due to the toils of many a well-fought day;
Due to my conquest of her father's reign;
Due to the votes of all the Grecian train.
From me he forced her; me, the bold and brave;
Disgraced, dishonour'd, like the meanest slave.
But bear we this-the wrongs I grieve are past:
"Tis time our fury should relent at last :
I fix'd its date; the day I wish'd appears:
Now Hector to my ships his battle bears,
The flames my eyes, the shouts invade my ears.
Go, then, Patroclus! court fair honour's charms
In Troy's famed fields, and in Achilles' arms:
Lead forth my martial Myrmidons to fight,
Go, save the fleets, and conquer in my right.
See the thin reliques of their baffled band,
At the last edge of yon deserted land!
Behold all Ilion on their ships descends;
How the cloud blackens, how the storm impends;
It was not thus, when at my sight amazed,
Troy saw and trembled, as this helmet blazed:
Had not the injurious king our friendship lost,
Yon ample trench had buried half her host.
No camps, no bulwarks, now the Trojans fear,
Those are not dreadful, no Achilles there:
No longer flames the lance of Tydeus' son;
No more your general calls his heroes on;
Hector, alone, I hear; his dreadful breath
Commands your slaughter, or proclaims your death.
Yet now, Patroclus, issue to the plain;
Now save the ships, the rising fires restrain,
And give the Greeks to visit Greece again.
Ajax no more the sounding storm sustain'd,
So thick the darts an iron tempest rain'd:
40 On his tired arm the weighty buckler hung;
His hollow helm with falling javelins rung;
His breath, in quick, short pantings, comes and goes:
And painful sweat from all his members flows:
Spent and o'erpower'd, he barely breathes at most;
Yet scarce an army stirs him from his post:
Dangers on dangers all around him grow,
And toil to toil, and woe succeeds to woe.
Say, Muses, throned above the starry frame,
How first the navy blazed with Trojan flame?
Stern Hector waved his sword; and standing near
Where furious Ajax plied his ashen spear,
Full on the lance a stroke so justly sped,
That the broad falchion lepp'd its brazen head:
His pointless spear the warrior shakes in vain ;
55 The brazen head falls sounding on the plain.
Great Ajax saw, and own'd the hand divine,
Confessing Jove, and trembling at the sign;
Warn'd he retreats. Then swift on all sides pour
The hissing brands; thick streams the fiery shower;
60 O'er the high stern the curling volumes rise,
And sheets of rolling smoke involve the skies.
Divine Achilles view'd the rising flames,
And smote his thigh, and thus aloud exclaims:
Arm, arm, Patroclus! Lo, the blaze aspires!
65 The glowing ocean reddens with the fires.
Arm, ere our vessels catch the spreading flame;
Arm, ere the Grecians be no more a name;
I haste to bring the troops-the hero said;
The friend with ardour and with joy obey'd.
70 He cased his limbs in brass; and first around
His manly legs with silver buckles bound
The clasping greaves; then to his breast applies
The flaming cuirass, of a thousand dyes;
Emblazed with studs of gold his falchion shone
75 In the rich belt, as in the starry zone :
Achilles' shield his ample shoulders spread,
Achilles' helmet nodded o'er his head:
Adorn'd in all his terrible array,
He flash'd around intolerable day.
80 Alone, untouch'd, Pelides' javelin stands,
Not to be poised but by Pelides' hands;
From Pelion's shady brow the plant entire
Old Chiron rent, and shaped it for his site;
Whose son's great arm alone the weapon wields,
85 The death of heroes, and the dread of fields.
Then brave Automedon (an honour'd name,
The second to his lord in love and fame,
In peace his friend, and partner of the war)
The winged coursers harness'd to the car;
90 Xanthus and Balius, of immortal breed,
Sprung from the wind, and like the wind in speed;
Whom the wing'd Harpy, swift Podarge, bore,
By Zephyr pregnant on the breezy shore:
Swift Pedasus was added to their side
95 (Once great Aëtion's, now Achilles' pride),
Who, like in strength, in swiftness, and in grace,
A mortal courser, match'd the immortal race.
Achilles speeds from tent to tent, and warms
His hardy Myrmidons to blood and arms.
100 All breathing death, around their chief they stand,
A grim terrific formidable band:
But heed my words, and mark a friend's command
Who trusts his fame and honours in thy hand,
And from thy deeds expects the Achaian host
Shall render back the beauteous maid he lost.
Rage uncontroll'd through all the hostile crew,
But touch not Hector, Hector is my due.
Though Jove in thunder should command the war;
Be just, consult my glory, and forbear.
Grim as voracious wolves, that seek the springs
When scalding thirst their burning bowels wrings; 195
When some tall stag, fresh slaughter'd in the wood,
Has drench'd their wild insatiate throats with blood,
To the black fount they rush, a hideous throng,
With paunch distended, and with lolling tongue;
Fire fills their eye, their black jaws belch the gore, 200
And, gorged with slaughter, still they thirst for more.
Like furious rush'd the Myrmidonian crew,
Such their dread strength, and such their deathful view
High in the midst the great Achilles stands,
Directs their order, and the war commands.
He, loved of Jove, had launch'd for Ilion's shores
Full fifty vessels, mann'd with fifty oars:
Five chosen leaders the fierce bands obey,
Himself supreme in valour, as in sway.
The fleet once saved, desist from farther chase,
Nor lead to Ilion's walls the Grecian race;
Some adverse god thy rashness may destroy;
Some god, like Phoebus, ever kind to Troy.
Let Greece redeem'd from this destructive strait,
Do her own work; and leave the rest to Fate.
Oh! would to all the immortal powers above,
Apollo, Pallas, and almighty Jove;
That not one Trojan might be left alive,
And not a Greek of all the race survive;
Might only we the vast destruction shun,
And only we destroy the accursed town
First march'd Menestheus, of celestial birth,
Derived from thee, whose waters wash the earth,
120 Divine Spirchius! Jove-descending flood!
A mortal mother mixing with a god.
Such was Menestheus, but miscall'd by fame
The son of Borus, that espoused the dame.
Eudorus next; whom Polymele the gay,
125 Famed in the graceful dance, produced to day.
Her, sly Cyllenius loved, on her would gaze,
As with swift step she form'd the running maze:
To her high chamber from Diana's quire,
The god pursued her, urged, and crown'd his fire.
Such conference held the chiefs: while on the strand, Great Jove with conquest crown'd the Trojan band.
The son confess'd his father's heavenly race,
And heir'd his mother's swiftness in the chase.
Strong Echecleüs, bless'd in all those charms
That pleased a god, succeeded to her arms;
Not conscious of those loves, long hid from fame,
With gifts of price he sought and won the dame;
Her secret offspring to her sire she bare;
Her sire caress'd him with a parent's care.
Pisander follow'd; matchless in his art
To wing the spear or aim the distant dart;
No hand so sure of all the Emathian line,
Or if a surer, great Patroclus! thine.
As wasps, provoked by children in their play,
Pour from their mansions by the broad highway, 315
In swarms the guiltless traveller engage,
225 Whet all their stings, and call forth all their rage;
All rise in arms, and with a general cry
Assert their waxen domes and buzzing progeny:
Thus from the tents the fervent legion swarms,
So loud their clamour, and so keen their arms.
230 Their rising rage Patroclus' breath inspires,
Who thus inflames them with heroic fires:
The fourth by Phoenix' grave command was graced; Laërces' valiant offspring led the last.
Soon as Achilles with superior care
Had call'd the chiefs, and order'd all the war,
This stern remembrance to his troops he gave:
Ye far-famed Myrmidons, ye fierce and brave!
Think with what threats you dared the Trojan throng,
Think what reproach these ears endured so long.
"Stern son of Peleus,' (thus ye used to say,
While, restless, raging in your ships you lay.)
'Oh nursed with gall, unknowing how to yield;
Whose rage defrauds us of so famed a field,
If that dire fury must for ever burn,
What make we here? Return; ye chiefs, return!'
Such were your words-Now warriors, grieve no more;
Lo there the Trojans! bathe your swords in gore!
This day shall give you all your soul demands;
Glut all your hearts! and weary all your hands!
Thus while he roused the fire in every breast,
Close, and more close, the listening cohorts press'd;
Ranks wedged in ranks; of arms a steely ring
Still grows, and spreads, and thickens round the king. 255
As when a circling wall the builder forms,
Of strength defensive against winds and storms,
Compacted stones the thickening work compose,
And round him wide the rising structure grows:
So helm to helm, and crest to crest they throng,
Shield urged on shield, and man drove man along;
Thick, undistinguish'd plumes, together join'd,
Float in one sea, and wave before the wind.
Far o'er the rest, in glittering pomp appear
There bold Automedon, Patroclus here;
Brothers in arms, with equal fury fired;
Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired.
But mindful of the gods, Achilles went
To the rich coffer in his shady tent;
There lay on heaps his various garments roll'd,
And costly furs, and carpets stiff with gold
(The presents of the silver-footed dame).
From thence he took a bowl of antique frame,
Which never man had stain'd with ruddy wine,
Nor raised in offerings to the powers divine,
But Peleus' son, and Peleus' son to none
Had raised in offerings, but to Jove alone.
This tinged with sulphur, sacred first to flame,
He purged; and wash'd it in the running stream:
Then cleansed his hands; and fixing for a space
His eyes on heaven, his feet upon the place
Of sacrifice, the purple draught he pour'd
Forth in the midst; and thus the god implored:
Oh thou Supreme! high throned all height above! Oh great Pelasgic, Dodonæan Jove!
Who 'midst surrounding frosts, and vapours chill,
Presidest on bleak Dodona's vocal hill
(Whose groves, the Selli, race austere! surround,
Their feet unwash'd, their slumbers on the ground;
Who hear, from rustling oaks, thy dark decrees;
And catch the fates, low-whisper'd in the breeze):
Hear, as of old! Thou gavest, at Thetis' prayer,
Glory to me, and to the Greeks despair.
Lo, to the dangers of the fighting field
The best, the dearest of my friends, I yield:
Though still determined, to my ships confined;
Patroclus gone, I stay but half behind.
Oh! be his guard thy providential care,
Confirm his heart, and string his arm to war:
Pressed by his single force let Hector sec
His fame in arms not owing all to me.
But when the fleets are saved from foes and fire,
Let him with conquest and renown retire;
Preserve his arms, preserve his social train,
And safe return him to these eyes again!
Great Jove consents to half the chief's request,
But heaven's eternal doom denies the rest:
To free the fleet was granted to his prayer;
His safe return the winds dispersed in air.
Back to his tent the stern Achilles flies,
And waits the combat with impatient eyes.
Meanwhile the troops, beneath Patroclus' care,
Invade the Trojans, and commence the war.
Oh warriors, partners of Achilles' praise! Be mindful of your deeds in ancient days: Your godlike master let your acts proclaim, And add new glories to his mighty name. Think your Achilles sees you fight: be brave, And humble the proud monarch whom you save. Joyful they heard, and kindling as he spoke, Flew to the fleet, involved in fire and smoke. From shore to shore the doubling shouts resound, The hollow ships return a deeper sound The war stood still, and all around them gazed, When great Achilles' shining armour blazed: Troy saw, and thought the dread Achilles nigh; At once they see, they tremble, and they fly. Then first thy spear, divine Patroclus! flew, Where the war raged, and where the tumult grew: Close to the stern of that famed ship, which bore Unbless'd Protesilaus to Ilion's shore, The great Pæonian, bold Pyræchmes, stood (Who led his bands from Axius' winding flood); His shoulder-blade receives the facal wound: The groaning warrior pants upon the ground. His troops, that see their country's glory slain, Fly diverse, scatter'd o'er the distant plain. Patroclus' arm forbids the spreading fires, And from the half-burn'd ship proud Troy retires: Clear'd from the smoke the joyful navy lies; In heaps on heaps the foe tumultuous flies; Triumphant Greece her rescued decks ascends, And loud acclaim the starry region rends. So when thick clouds inwrap the mountain's head, O'er heaven's expanse like one black ceiling spread; 355 Sudden, the Thunderer, with a flashing ray,
265 Bursts through the darkness, and lets down the day:
The hills shine out, the rocks in prospect rise,
And streams, and vales, and forests, strike the eyes:
The smiling scene wide opens to the sight,
And all the unmeasured æther flames with light.
But Troy repulsed, and scatter'd o'er the plains; Forced from the navy, yet the fight maintains, Now every Greek some hostile hero slew; But still the foremost bold Patroclus flew : As Areïlycus had turn'd him round,
275 Sharp in his thigh he felt the piercing wound.
The brazen-pointed spear, with vigour thrown,
The thigh transfix'd, and broke the brittle bone:
Headlong he fell. Next, Thaos, was thy chance,
Thy breast unarm'd, received the Spartan lance.
Phylides' dart (as Amphiclus drew nigh)
His blow prevented, and transpierced his thigh,
Tore all the brawn, and rent the nerves away;
In darkness and in death the warrior lay.
In equal arms two sons of Nestor stand,
And two bold brothers of the Lycian band:
By great Antilochus, Atymnius dies,
Pierced in the flank, lamented youth! he lies.
Kind Maris, bleeding in his brother's wound,
Defends the breathless carcass on the ground.
Furious he flies, his murderer to engage,
But godlike Thrasymed prevents his rage;
Between his arm and shoulder aims a blow;
His arm falls spouting on the dust below:
He sinks, with endless darkness cover'd o'er;
295 And vents his soul, effused with gushing gore.
300 Skill'd in the dart in vain, his sons expire,
And pay the forfeit of their guilty sire.
Stopp'd in the tumult Cleobolus lies,
Beneath Oïleus' arm, a living prize,
A living prize not long the Trojan stood,
305 The thirsty falchion drank his reeking blood:
Plunged in his throat the smoking weapon lies;
Black death, and fate unpitying, seal his eyes.
Amid the ranks, with mutual thirst of fame,
Lycon the brave, and fierce Peneleus came;
310 In vain their javelins at each other flew,
Now, met in arms, their eager swords they drew.
On the plumed crest of his Boeotian foe,
The daring Lycon aim'd a noble blow;
Pierced through the shoulder as he mounts his steeds:
His swimming eyes eternal shades surround.
Next Erymas was doom'd his fate to feel:
His open mouth received the Cretan steel:
Beneath the brain the point a passage tore,
Crash'd the thin bones, and drown'd the teeth in gore:
His mouth, his eyes, his nostrils, pour a flood;
He sobs his soul out in the gush of blood.
As when the flocks, neglected by the swain
(Or kids, or lambs), lie scatter'd o'er the plain,
A troop of wolves the unguarded charge survey,
And rend the trembling, unresisting prey:
Thus on the foe the Greeks impetuous came;
Troy fled, unmindful of her former fame.
But still at Hector godlike Ajax aim'd,
Still pointed at his breast, his javelin flamed.
The Trojan chief experienced in the field,
O'er his broad shoulders spread the massy shield,
Observed the storm of darts the Grecians pour,
And on his buckler caught the ringing shower.
He sees for Greece the scale of conquest rise,
Yet stops, and turns, and saves his loved allies.
The gaping dastard: as the spear was shook,
He fell, and life his heartless breast forsook.
Next on Eryalus he flies; a stone,
Large as a rock, was by his fury thrown:
Full on his crown the pondrous fragment flew,
And burst the helm, and cleft the head in two:
Prone to the ground the breathless warrior fell,
And death involved him with the shades of hell.
Then low in dust Epaltes, Echius, lie;
Ipheas, Evippus, Polymelus, die;
Amphoterus and Erymas succeed;
And last Tlepolemus and Pyres bleed.
Where'er he moves, the growing slaughters spread 510
In heaps on heaps; a monument of dead.
When now Sarpedon his brave friends beheld
Grovelling in dust, and gasping on the field,
With this reproach his flying bost he warms:
Oh stain to honour! oh disgrace to arms!
Forsake, inglorious, the contended plain;
425 This band, unaided, shall the war sustain:
The task be mine, this hero's strength to try,
Who mows whole troops, and makes an army fly.
He spake; and speaking, leaps from off the car:
Patroclus lights, and sternly waits the war.
As when two vultures on the mountain's height
Stoop with resounding pinions to the fight;
They cuff, they tear, they raise a screaming cry;
The desert echoes, and the rocks reply:
The warriors thus opposed in arms, engage
435 With equal clamours, and with equal rage.
Jove view'd the combat; whose event foreseen,
He thus bespoke his sister and his queen:
The hour draws on the Destinies ordain
My godlike son shall press the Phrygian plain :
440 Already on the verge of death he stands,
His life is owed to fierce Patroclus' hands.
What passions in a parent's breast debate!
Say, shall I snatch him from impending fate
And send him safe to Lycia, distant far
From all the dangers and the toils of war;
Or to his doom my bravest offspring yield,
And fatten with celestial blood the field?
As when the hand of Jove a tempest forms,
And rolls the cloud to blacken heaven with storms,
Dark o'er the fields the ascending vapour flies,
And shades the sun, and blots the golden skies:
So from the ships, along the dusky plain,
Dire Flight and Terror drove the Trojan train.
E'en Hector fled; through heaps of disarray
The fiery coursers forced their lord away:
While far behind his Trojans fall confused;
Wedged in the trench, in one vast carnage bruised:
Chariots on chariots roll; the clashing spokes
Shook; while the madding steeds break short their yokes:
In vain they labour up the steepy mound;
Their charioteers lie foaming on the ground.
Fierce on the rear, with shouts, Patroclus flies;
Tumultuous clamour fills the fields and skies;
Thick drifts of dust involve their rapid flight;
Clouds rise on clouds, and heaven is snatch'd from sight.
The affrighted steeds, their dying lords cast down,
Scour o'er the fields, and stretch to reach the town.
Loud o'er the rout was heard the victor's cry,
Where the war bleeds, and where the thickest die,
Where horse, and arms, and chariots, lie o'erthrown,
And bleeding heroes under axles groan.
Then thus the goddess with the radiant eyes:
What words are these, O sovereign of the skies?
Short is the date prescribed to mortal man :
Shall Jove, for one, extend the narrow span,
Whose bounds were fix'd before his race began?
How many sons of gods, foredoom'd to death,
Before proud Ilion must resign their breath!
Were thine exempt, debate would rise above,
And murmuring powers condemn their partial Jove.
Give the bold chief a glorious fate in fight;
And when the ascending soul has wing'd her flight, 550
Let Sleep and Death convey by thy command,
The breathless body to his native land.
His friends and people, to his future praise,
A marble tomb and pyramid shall raise,
And lasting honours to his ashes give;
His fame ('tis all the dead can have) shall live.
She said: the Cloud-compeller, overcome,
Assents to fate, and ratifies the doom.
Not with less noise, with less impetuous force,
The tide of Trojans urge their desperate course,
Than when in autumn Jove his fury pours,
And earth is loaden with incessant showers
(When guilty mortals break the eternal laws,
Or judges bribed betray the righteous cause);
From their deep beds he bids the rivers rise,"
And opens all the flood-gates of the skies:
The impetuous torrents from their hills obey,
Whole fields are drown'd, and mountains swept away;
Loud roars the deluge till it meets the main ;
And trembling man sees all his labours vain.
And now the chief (the foremost troops repell'd)
Back to the ships his destined progress held,
Bore down half Troy in his resistless way,
And forced the routed ranks to stand the day.
Between the space where silver Simoïs flows,
Where lay the fleets, and where the rampires rose,
All grim in dust and blood, Patroclus stands,
And turns the slaughter on the conquering bands.
First Pronoüs died beneath his fiery dart,
Which pierced below the shield his valiant heart.
Thestor was next who saw the chief appear,
And fell a victim of his coward fear;
Shrunk up he sat, with wild and haggard eye,
Nor stood to combat, nor had force to fly:
Patroclus mark'd him as he shunn'd the war,
And with unmanly tremblings shook the car,
And dropp'd the flowing reins. Him 'twixt the jaws
The javelin sticks, and from the chariot draws,
As on a rock that overhangs the main,
An angler, studious of the line and cane,
Some mighty fish draws panting to the shore;
Not with less ease the barbed javelin bore
Then, touch'd with grief, the weeping heavens distill'd
A shower of blood o'er all the fatal field;
The god, his eyes averting from the plain,
470 Laments his son, predestined to be slain,
Far from the Lycian shores, his happy native reign.
Now met in arms, the combatants appear;
Each heaved the shield, and poised the lifted spear: 565
From strong Patroclus' hand the javelin fled,
And pass'd the groin of valiant Thrasymed;
The nerves unbraced, no more his bulk sustain,
He falls, and falling bites the bloody plain.
Two sounding darts the Lycian leader threw ;
The first aloof with erring fury flew,
The next transpierced Achilles' mortal steed,
The generous Pedasus of Theban breed;
Fix'd in the shoulder's joint, he reel'd around,
Roll'd in the bloody dust, and paw'd the slippery ground.
His sudden fall the entangled harness broke:
485 Each axle crackled, and the chariot shook:
When bold Automedon, to disengage
The starting coursers, and restrain their rage,
Divides the traces with his sword, and freed
The encumber'd chariot from the dying steed:
490 The rest move on, obedient to the rein;
Where the strong fibres bind the solid heart.
Then, as the mountain-oak, or poplar tall,
Or pine (fit mast for some great admiral),
Nods to the axe, till with a groaning sound
It sinks, and spreads its honours on the ground:
Thus fell the king; and, laid on earth supine,
Before his chariot stretch'd his form divine:
He grasp'd the dust distain'd with streaming gore,
And, pale in death, lay groaning on the shore.
So lies a bull beneath the lion's paws,
While the grim savage grinds with foaming jaws
The trembling limbs, and sucks the smoking blood;
Deep groans, and hollow roars, rebellow through
wood.
Then to the leader of the Lycian band
The dying chief address'd his last command:
Glaucus, be bold; thy task be first to dare
The glorious dangers of destructive war,
To lead my troops, to combat at their head,
Incite the living, and supply the dead.
Tell them, I charged them with my latest breath
Not unrevenged to bear Sarpedon's death.
What grief, what shame, must Glaucus undergo,
If these spoil'd arms adorn a Grecian foe!
Then as a friend, and as a warrior, fight;
Defend my body, conquer in my right;
That, taught by great examples, all may try
Like thee to vanquish, or like me to die.
Haste, strip his arms, the slaughter round him spread, And send the living Lycians to the dead.
The heroes kindle at his fierce command; The martial squadrons close on either hand: Here Troy and Lycia charge with loud alarms, Thessalia there and Greece oppose their arms. With horrid shouts they circle round the slain; The clash of armour rings o'er all the plain. 605 Great Jove, to swell the horrors of the fight, O'er the fierce armies pours pernicious night, And round his son confounds the warring hosts, His fate ennobling with a crowd of ghosts. Now Greece gives way, and great Epigeus falls; 610 Agacleus' son, from Budium's lofty walls: Who chased for murder thence, a suppliant came To Peleus and the silver-footed dame; Now sent to Troy, Achilles' arms to aid, He pays due vengeance to his kinsman's shade. Soon as his luckless hand had touch'd the dead, A rock's large fragment thunder'd on his head; Hurl'd by Hectorian force, it cleft in twain His shatter'd helm, and stretch'd him o'er the slain. Fierce to the van of fight Patroclus came;
He ceased; the Fates suppress'd his labouring breath,
And his eyes darken'd with the shades of death.
The insulting victor with disdain bestrode
The prostrate prince, and on his bosom trod;
Then drew the weapon from his panting heart,
The reeking fibres clinging to the dart;
From the wide wound gush'd out a stream of blood,
And the soul issued in the purple flood.
His flying steeds the Myrmidons detain,
Unguided now, their mighty master slain.
All-impotent of aid, transfix'd with grief,
Unhappy Glaucus heard the dying chief.
His painful arm, yet useless with the smart
Inflicted late by Teucer's deadly dart,
Supported on his better hand he stay'd:
To Phoebus then ('twas all he could) he pray'd:
All-seeing monarch: whether Lycia's coast,
Or sacred Ilion, thy bright presence boast,
Powerful alike to ease the wretch's smart;
Oh hear me god of every healing art!
Lo! stiff with clotted blood, and pierced with pain,
That thrills my arm, and shoots through every vein ;
I stand unable to sustain the spear,
And sigh, at distance from the glorious war.
Low in the dust is great Sarpedon laid,
Nor Jove vouchsafed his hapless offspring aid.
But thou, O god of health! thy succour lend,
To guard the reliques of my slaughter'd friend:
For thou, though distant, canst restore my might,
To head my Lycians, and support the fight.
Apollo heard; and, suppliant as he stood,
His heavenly hand restrain'd the flux of blood:
He drew the dolors from the wounded part,
And breathed a spirit in his rising heart.
Renew'd by art divine, the hero stands,
And owns the assistance of immortal hands.
First to the fight his native troops he warms,
Then loudly calls on Troy's vindictive arms:
With ample strides he stalks from place to place;
Now fires Agenor, now Polydamas!
Eneas next, and Hector he accosts;
Inflaming thus the rage of all their hosts:
620 And, like an eagle darting at his game,
Sprung on the Trojan and the Lycian band.
What grief thy heart, what fury urged thy hand,
Oh generous Greek! when with full vigour thrown
At Stenelaus flew the weighty stone,
Which sunk him to the dead: when Troy, too near 715
That arm, drew back; and Hector learn'd to fear.
Far as an able hand a lance can throw,
Or at the lists, or at the fighting foe;
So far the Trojans from their lines retired;
630 Till Glaucus, turning, all the rest inspired.
Then Bathyclæus fell beneath his rage,
The only hope of Chalcon's trembling age:
Wide o'er the land was stretch'd his large domain,
With stately seats and riches bless'd in vain.
Him, bold with youth, and eager to pursue
The flying Lycians, Glaucus inet, and slew;
Pierced through the bosom with a sudden wound,
He fell, and, falling, made the fields resound.
The Achaians sorrow for their hero slain;
With conquering shouts the Trojans shake the plain, 730
And crowd to spoil the dead: the Greeks oppose,
An iron circle round the carcass grows.
Then brave Laogonus resign'd his breath, Dispatch'd by Merion to the shades of death:
645 On Ida's holy hill he made abode,
The priest of Jove, and honour'd like his god.
Between the jaw and ear the javelin went :
The soul, exhaling, issued at the vent.
His spear Æneas at the victor threw,
650 Who stooping forward from the death withdrew; The lance hiss'd harmless o'er his covering shield, And trembling struck, and rooted in the field; There yet scarce spent, it quivers on the plain, Sent by the great Æneas' arm in vain.
What thoughts, regardless chief! thy breast employ?
Oh too forgetful of the friends of Troy!
Those generous friends, who, from their country far,
Breathe their brave souls out in another's war.
See! where in dust the great Sarpedon lies,
In action valiant, and in council wise,
Who guarded right, and kept his people free:
To all his Lycians lost, and lost to thee!
Stretch'd by Patroclus' arm on yonder plains;
Oh save from hostile rage his loved remains!
Ah! let not Greece his conquer'd trophies boast,
Nor on his corse revenge her heroes lost..
He spoke each leader in his grief partook ;
Troy, at the loss, through all her legions shook;
Transfix'd with deep regret, they view o'erthrown
At once his country's pillar, and their own;
A chief, who led to Troy's beleaguer'd wall
A host of heroes, and outshined them all.
Fired, they rush on; first Hector seeks the foes,
And with superior vengeance greatly glows.
655 Swift as thou art (the raging hero cries).
And skill'd in dancing to dispute the prize,
My spear, the destined passage had it found,
Had fix'd thy active vigour to the ground.
Oh valiant leader of the Dardan host!
(Insulted Merion thus retorts the boast)
Strong as you are, 'tis mortal force you trust,
An arm as strong may stretch thee in the dust.
And if to this my lance thy fate be given,
Vain are thy vaunts; success is still from heaven:
665 This instant sends thee down to Pluto's coast;
Mine is the glory, his thy parting ghost.
O friend! (Menoetius' son this answer gave)
With words to combat ill befits the brave:
Not empty boasts the sons of Troy repel,
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