Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring

Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing!

That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign

The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;

Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore,

Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.[1]

Since great Achilles and Atrides strove,

Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove![2]

Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour[3]

Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power

Latona's son a dire contagion spread,[4]

And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead;

The king of men his reverent priest defied,[5]

And for the king's offence the people died.

For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain

His captive daughter from the victor's chain.

Suppliant the venerable father stands;

Apollo's awful ensigns grace his hands

By these he begs; and lowly bending down,

Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown

He sued to all, but chief implored for grace

The brother-kings, of Atreus' royal race[6]

“Ye kings and warriors! may your vows be crown'd,

And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground.

May Jove restore you when your toils are o'er

Safe to the pleasures of your native shore.

But, oh! relieve a wretched parent's pain,

And give Chryseis to these arms again;

If mercy fail, yet let my presents move,

And dread avenging Phoebus, son of Jove.”

The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare,

The priest to reverence, and release the fair.

Not so Atrides; he, with kingly pride,

Repulsed the sacred sire, and thus replied:

“Hence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains,

Nor ask, presumptuous, what the king detains

Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod,

Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god.

Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain;

And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain;

Till time shall rifle every youthful grace,

And age dismiss her from my cold embrace,

In daily labours of the loom employ'd,

Or doom'd to deck the bed she once enjoy'd

Hence then; to Argos shall the maid retire,

Far from her native soil and weeping sire.”

The trembling priest along the shore return'd,

And in the anguish of a father mourn'd.

Disconsolate, not daring to complain,

Silent he wander'd by the sounding main;

Till, safe at distance, to his god he prays,

The god who darts around the world his rays.

“O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona's line,[7]

Thou guardian power of Cilla the divine,[8]

Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores,

And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's shores.

If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,[9]

Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain;

God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ,

Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy.”

Thus Chryses pray'd.-the favouring power attends,

And from Olympus' lofty tops descends.

Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;[10]

Fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound.

Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread,

And gloomy darkness roll'd about his head.

The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow,

And hissing fly the feather'd fates below.

On mules and dogs the infection first began;[11]

And last, the vengeful arrows fix'd in man.

For nine long nights, through all the dusky air,

The pyres, thick-flaming, shot a dismal glare.

But ere the tenth revolving day was run,

Inspired by Juno, Thetis' godlike son

Convened to council all the Grecian train;

For much the goddess mourn'd her heroes slain.[12]

The assembly seated, rising o'er the rest,

Achilles thus the king of men address'd:

“Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore,

And measure back the seas we cross'd before?

The plague destroying whom the sword would spare,

'Tis time to save the few remains of war.

But let some prophet, or some sacred sage,

Explore the cause of great Apollo's rage;

Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove

By mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove.[13]

If broken vows this heavy curse have laid,

Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid.

So Heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore,

And Phoebus dart his burning shafts no more.”

He said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied;

Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide,

That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view,

The past, the present, and the future knew:

Uprising slow, the venerable sage

Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age:

“Beloved of Jove, Achilles! would'st thou know

Why angry Phoebus bends his fatal bow?

First give thy faith, and plight a prince's word

Of sure protection, by thy power and sword:

For I must speak what wisdom would conceal,

And truths, invidious to the great, reveal,

Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise,

Instruct a monarch where his error lies;

For though we deem the short-lived fury past,

'Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last.”

To whom Pelides:-“From thy inmost soul

Speak what thou know'st, and speak without control.

E'en by that god I swear who rules the day,

To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey.

And whose bless'd oracles thy lips declare;

Long as Achilles breathes this vital air,

No daring Greek, of all the numerous band,

Against his priest shall lift an impious hand;

Not e'en the chief by whom our hosts are led,

The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head.”

Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies:

“Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice,

But he, our chief, provoked the raging pest,

Apollo's vengeance for his injured priest.

Nor will the god's awaken'd fury cease,

But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase,

Till the great king, without a ransom paid,

To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid.[14]

Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer,

The priest may pardon, and the god may spare.”

The prophet spoke: when with a gloomy frown

The monarch started from his shining throne;

Black choler fill'd his breast that boil'd with ire,

And from his eye-balls flash'd the living fire:

“Augur accursed! denouncing mischief still,

Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill!

Still must that tongue some wounding message bring,

And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king?

For this are Phoebus' oracles explored,

To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord?

For this with falsehood is my honour stain'd,

Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned;

Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold,

And heavenly charms prefer to proffer'd gold?

A maid, unmatch'd in manners as in face,

Skill'd in each art, and crown'd with every grace;

Not half so dear were Clytaemnestra's charms,

When first her blooming beauties bless'd my arms.

Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail;

Our cares are only for the public weal:

Let me be deem'd the hateful cause of all,

And suffer, rather than my people fall.

The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign,

So dearly valued, and so justly mine.

But since for common good I yield the fair,

My private loss let grateful Greece repair;

Nor unrewarded let your prince complain,

That he alone has fought and bled in vain.”

“Insatiate king (Achilles thus replies),

Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize!

Would'st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield,

The due reward of many a well-fought field?

The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain,

We share with justice, as with toil we gain;

But to resume whate'er thy avarice craves

(That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.

Yet if our chief for plunder only fight,

The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite,

Whene'er, by Jove's decree, our conquering powers

Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers.”

Then thus the king: “Shall I my prize resign

With tame content, and thou possess'd of thine?

Great as thou art, and like a god in fight,

Think not to rob me of a soldier's right.

At thy demand shall I restore the maid?

First let the just equivalent be paid;

Such as a king might ask; and let it be

A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.

Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim

This hand shall seize some other captive dame.

The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign;[15]

Ulysses' spoils, or even thy own, be mine.

The man who suffers, loudly may complain;

And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.

But this when time requires.-It now remains

We launch a bark to plough the watery plains,

And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa's shores,

With chosen pilots, and with labouring oars.

Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend,

And some deputed prince the charge attend:

This Creta's king, or Ajax shall fulfil,

Or wise Ulysses see perform'd our will;

Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain,

Achilles' self conduct her o'er the main;

Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage,

At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied:

“O tyrant, arm'd with insolence and pride!

Inglorious slave to interest, ever join'd

With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind!

What generous Greek, obedient to thy word,

Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword?

What cause have I to war at thy decree?

The distant Trojans never injured me;

To Phthia's realms no hostile troops they led:

Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed;

Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main,

And walls of rocks, secure my native reign,

Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace,

Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race.

Hither we sail'd, a voluntary throng,

To avenge a private, not a public wrong:

What else to Troy the assembled nations draws,

But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother's cause?

Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve;

Disgraced and injured by the man we serve?

And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away,

Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day?

A prize as small, O tyrant! match'd with thine,

As thy own actions if compared to mine.

Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey,

Though mine the sweat and danger of the day.

Some trivial present to my ships I bear:

Or barren praises pay the wounds of war.

But know, proud monarch, I'm thy slave no more;

My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia's shore:

Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain,

What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?”

To this the king: “Fly, mighty warrior! fly;

Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy.

There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight,

And Jove himself shall guard a monarch's right.

Of all the kings (the god's distinguish'd care)

To power superior none such hatred bear:

Strife and debate thy restless soul employ,

And wars and horrors are thy savage joy,

If thou hast strength, 'twas Heaven that strength bestow'd;

For know, vain man! thy valour is from God.

Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away;

Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway;

I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate

Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate.

Go, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons:-but here[16]

'Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear.

Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand,

My bark shall waft her to her native land;

But then prepare, imperious prince! prepare,

Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair:

Even in thy tent I'll seize the blooming prize,

Thy loved Briseis with the radiant eyes.

Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour

Thou stood'st a rival of imperial power;

And hence, to all our hosts it shall be known,

That kings are subject to the gods alone.”

Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppress'd,

His heart swell'd high, and labour'd in his breast;

Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled;

Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cool'd:

That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword,

Force through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord;

This whispers soft his vengeance to control,

And calm the rising tempest of his soul.

Just as in anguish of suspense he stay'd,

While half unsheathed appear'd the glittering blade,[17]

Minerva swift descended from above,

Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove

(For both the princes claim'd her equal care);

Behind she stood, and by the golden hair

Achilles seized; to him alone confess'd;

A sable cloud conceal'd her from the rest.

He sees, and sudden to the goddess cries,

Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes:

“Descends Minerva, in her guardian care,

A heavenly witness of the wrongs I bear

From Atreus' son? — Then let those eyes that view

The daring crime, behold the vengeance too.”

“Forbear (the progeny of Jove replies)

To calm thy fury I forsake the skies:

Let great Achilles, to the gods resign'd,

To reason yield the empire o'er his mind.

By awful Juno this command is given;

The king and you are both the care of heaven.

The force of keen reproaches let him feel;

But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel.

For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power)

Thy injured honour has its fated hour,

When the proud monarch shall thy arms implores

And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store.

Then let revenge no longer bear the sway;

Command thy passions, and the gods obey.”

To her Pelides:-“With regardful ear,

'Tis just, O goddess! I thy dictates hear.

Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress:

Those who revere the gods the gods will bless.”

He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid;

Then in the sheath return'd the shining blade.

The goddess swift to high Olympus flies,

And joins the sacred senate of the skies.

Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook,

Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke:

“O monster! mix'd of insolence and fear,

Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer!

When wert thou known in ambush'd fights to dare,

Or nobly face the horrid front of war?

'Tis ours, the chance of fighting fields to try;

Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die:

So much 'tis safer through the camp to go,

And rob a subject, than despoil a foe.

Scourge of thy people, violent and base!

Sent in Jove's anger on a slavish race;

Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past,

Are tamed to wrongs;-or this had been thy last.

Now by this sacred sceptre hear me swear,

Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear,

Which sever'd from the trunk (as I from thee)

On the bare mountains left its parent tree;

This sceptre, form'd by temper'd steel to prove

An ensign of the delegates of Jove,

From whom the power of laws and justice springs

(Tremendous oath! inviolate to kings);

By this I swear:-when bleeding Greece again

Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain.

When, flush'd with slaughter, Hector comes to spread

The purpled shore with mountains of the dead,

Then shall thou mourn the affront thy madness gave,

Forced to deplore when impotent to save:

Then rage in bitterness of soul to know

This act has made the bravest Greek thy foe.”

He spoke; and furious hurl'd against the ground

His sceptre starr'd with golden studs around:

Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain

The raging king return'd his frowns again.

To calm their passion with the words of age,

Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage,

Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill'd;

Words, sweet as honey, from his lips distill'd:[18]

Two generations now had pass'd away,

Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway;

Two ages o'er his native realm he reign'd,

And now the example of the third remain'd.

All view'd with awe the venerable man;

Who thus with mild benevolence began: —

“What shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy

To Troy's proud monarch, and the friends of Troy!

That adverse gods commit to stern debate

The best, the bravest, of the Grecian state.

Young as ye are, this youthful heat restrain,

Nor think your Nestor's years and wisdom vain.

A godlike race of heroes once I knew,

Such as no more these aged eyes shall view!

Lives there a chief to match Pirithous' fame,

Dryas the bold, or Ceneus' deathless name;

Theseus, endued with more than mortal might,

Or Polyphemus, like the gods in fight?

With these of old, to toils of battle bred,

In early youth my hardy days I led;

Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds,

And smit with love of honourable deeds,

Strongest of men, they pierced the mountain boar,

Ranged the wild deserts red with monsters' gore,

And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore:

Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway'd;

When Nestor spoke, they listen'd and obey'd.

If in my youth, even these esteem'd me wise;

Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise.

Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave;

That prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave:

Nor thou, Achilles, treat our prince with pride;

Let kings be just, and sovereign power preside.

Thee, the first honours of the war adorn,

Like gods in strength, and of a goddess born;

Him, awful majesty exalts above

The powers of earth, and sceptred sons of Jove.

Let both unite with well-consenting mind,

So shall authority with strength be join'd.

Leave me, O king! to calm Achilles' rage;

Rule thou thyself, as more advanced in age.

Forbid it, gods! Achilles should be lost,

The pride of Greece, and bulwark of our host.”

This said, he ceased. The king of men replies:

“Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise.

But that imperious, that unconquer'd soul,

No laws can limit, no respect control.

Before his pride must his superiors fall;

His word the law, and he the lord of all?

Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself obey?

What king can bear a rival in his sway?

Grant that the gods his matchless force have given;

Has foul reproach a privilege from heaven?”

Here on the monarch's speech Achilles broke,

And furious, thus, and interrupting spoke:

“Tyrant, I well deserved thy galling chain,

To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain,

Should I submit to each unjust decree:

Command thy vassals, but command not me.

Seize on Briseis, whom the Grecians doom'd

My prize of war, yet tamely see resumed;

And seize secure; no more Achilles draws

His conquering sword in any woman's cause.

The gods command me to forgive the past:

But let this first invasion be the last:

For know, thy blood, when next thou darest invade,

Shall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade.”

At this they ceased: the stern debate expired:

The chiefs in sullen majesty retired.

Achilles with Patroclus took his way

Where near his tents his hollow vessels lay.

Meantime Atrides launch'd with numerous oars

A well-rigg'd ship for Chrysa's sacred shores:

High on the deck was fair Chryseis placed,

And sage Ulysses with the conduct graced:

Safe in her sides the hecatomb they stow'd,

Then swiftly sailing, cut the liquid road.

The host to expiate next the king prepares,

With pure lustrations, and with solemn prayers.

Wash'd by the briny wave, the pious train[19]

Are cleansed; and cast the ablutions in the main.

Along the shore whole hecatombs were laid,

And bulls and goats to Phoebus' altars paid;

The sable fumes in curling spires arise,

And waft their grateful odours to the skies.

The army thus in sacred rites engaged,

Atrides still with deep resentment raged.

To wait his will two sacred heralds stood,

Talthybius and Eurybates the good.

“Haste to the fierce Achilles' tent (he cries),

Thence bear Briseis as our royal prize:

Submit he must; or if they will not part,

Ourself in arms shall tear her from his heart.”

The unwilling heralds act their lord's commands;

Pensive they walk along the barren sands:

Arrived, the hero in his tent they find,

With gloomy aspect on his arm reclined.

At awful distance long they silent stand,

Loth to advance, and speak their hard command;

Decent confusion! This the godlike man

Perceived, and thus with accent mild began:

“With leave and honour enter our abodes,

Ye sacred ministers of men and gods![20]

I know your message; by constraint you came;

Not you, but your imperious lord I blame.

Patroclus, haste, the fair Briseis bring;

Conduct my captive to the haughty king.

But witness, heralds, and proclaim my vow,

Witness to gods above, and men below!

But first, and loudest, to your prince declare

(That lawless tyrant whose commands you bear),

Unmoved as death Achilles shall remain,

Though prostrate Greece shall bleed at every vein:

The raging chief in frantic passion lost,

Blind to himself, and useless to his host,

Unskill'd to judge the future by the past,

In blood and slaughter shall repent at last.”

Patroclus now the unwilling beauty brought;

She, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought,

Pass'd silent, as the heralds held her hand,

And of look'd back, slow-moving o'er the strand.

Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore;

But sad, retiring to the sounding shore,

O'er the wild margin of the deep he hung,

That kindred deep from whence his mother sprung:[21]

There bathed in tears of anger and disdain,

Thus loud lamented to the stormy main:

“O parent goddess! since in early bloom

Thy son must fall, by too severe a doom;

Sure to so short a race of glory born,

Great Jove in justice should this span adorn:

Honour and fame at least the thunderer owed;

And ill he pays the promise of a god,

If yon proud monarch thus thy son defies,

Obscures my glories, and resumes my prize.”

Far from the deep recesses of the main,

Where aged Ocean holds his watery reign,

The goddess-mother heard. The waves divide;

And like a mist she rose above the tide;

Beheld him mourning on the naked shores,

And thus the sorrows of his soul explores.

“Why grieves my son? Thy anguish let me share;

Reveal the cause, and trust a parent's care.”

He deeply sighing said: “To tell my woe

Is but to mention what too well you know.

From Thebe, sacred to Apollo's name[22]

(Aetion's realm), our conquering army came,

With treasure loaded and triumphant spoils,

Whose just division crown'd the soldier's toils;

But bright Chryseis, heavenly prize! was led,

By vote selected, to the general's bed.

The priest of Phoebus sought by gifts to gain

His beauteous daughter from the victor's chain;

The fleet he reach'd, and, lowly bending down,

Held forth the sceptre and the laurel crown,

Intreating all; but chief implored for grace

The brother-kings of Atreus' royal race:

The generous Greeks their joint consent declare,

The priest to reverence, and release the fair;

Not so Atrides: he, with wonted pride,

The sire insulted, and his gifts denied:

The insulted sire (his god's peculiar care)

To Phoebus pray'd, and Phoebus heard the prayer:

A dreadful plague ensues: the avenging darts

Incessant fly, and pierce the Grecian hearts.

A prophet then, inspired by heaven, arose,

And points the crime, and thence derives the woes:

Myself the first the assembled chiefs incline

To avert the vengeance of the power divine;

Then rising in his wrath, the monarch storm'd;

Incensed he threaten'd, and his threats perform'd:

The fair Chryseis to her sire was sent,

With offer'd gifts to make the god relent;

But now he seized Briseis' heavenly charms,

And of my valour's prize defrauds my arms,

Defrauds the votes of all the Grecian train;[23]

And service, faith, and justice, plead in vain.

But, goddess! thou thy suppliant son attend.

To high Olympus' shining court ascend,

Urge all the ties to former service owed,

And sue for vengeance to the thundering god.

Oft hast thou triumph'd in the glorious boast,

That thou stood'st forth of all the ethereal host,

When bold rebellion shook the realms above,

The undaunted guard of cloud-compelling Jove:

When the bright partner of his awful reign,

The warlike maid, and monarch of the main,

The traitor-gods, by mad ambition driven,

Durst threat with chains the omnipotence of Heaven.

Then, call'd by thee, the monster Titan came

(Whom gods Briareus, men AEgeon name),

Through wondering skies enormous stalk'd along;

Not he that shakes the solid earth so strong:

With giant-pride at Jove's high throne he stands,

And brandish'd round him all his hundred hands:

The affrighted gods confess'd their awful lord,

They dropp'd the fetters, trembled, and adored.[24]

This, goddess, this to his remembrance call,

Embrace his knees, at his tribunal fall;

Conjure him far to drive the Grecian train,

To hurl them headlong to their fleet and main,

To heap the shores with copious death, and bring

The Greeks to know the curse of such a king.

Let Agamemnon lift his haughty head

O'er all his wide dominion of the dead,

And mourn in blood that e'er he durst disgrace

The boldest warrior of the Grecian race.”

“Unhappy son! (fair Thetis thus replies,

While tears celestial trickle from her eyes)

Why have I borne thee with a mother's throes,

To Fates averse, and nursed for future woes?[25]

So short a space the light of heaven to view!

So short a space! and fill'd with sorrow too!

O might a parent's careful wish prevail,

Far, far from Ilion should thy vessels sail,

And thou, from camps remote, the danger shun

Which now, alas! too nearly threats my son.

Yet (what I can) to move thy suit I'll go

To great Olympus crown'd with fleecy snow.

Meantime, secure within thy ships, from far

Behold the field, not mingle in the war.

The sire of gods and all the ethereal train,

On the warm limits of the farthest main,

Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace

The feasts of AEthiopia's blameless race,[26]

Twelve days the powers indulge the genial rite,

Returning with the twelfth revolving light.

Then will I mount the brazen dome, and move

The high tribunal of immortal Jove.”

The goddess spoke: the rolling waves unclose;

Then down the steep she plunged from whence she rose,

And left him sorrowing on the lonely coast,

In wild resentment for the fair he lost.

In Chrysa's port now sage Ulysses rode;

Beneath the deck the destined victims stow'd:

The sails they furl'd, they lash the mast aside,

And dropp'd their anchors, and the pinnace tied.

Next on the shore their hecatomb they land;

Chryseis last descending on the strand.

Her, thus returning from the furrow'd main,

Ulysses led to Phoebus' sacred fane;

Where at his solemn altar, as the maid

He gave to Chryses, thus the hero said:

“Hail, reverend priest! to Phoebus' awful dome

A suppliant I from great Atrides come:

Unransom'd, here receive the spotless fair;

Accept the hecatomb the Greeks prepare;

And may thy god who scatters darts around,

Atoned by sacrifice, desist to wound.”[27]

At this, the sire embraced the maid again,

So sadly lost, so lately sought in vain.

Then near the altar of the darting king,

Disposed in rank their hecatomb they bring;

With water purify their hands, and take

The sacred offering of the salted cake;

While thus with arms devoutly raised in air,

And solemn voice, the priest directs his prayer:

“God of the silver bow, thy ear incline,

Whose power incircles Cilla the divine;

Whose sacred eye thy Tenedos surveys,

And gilds fair Chrysa with distinguish'd rays!

If, fired to vengeance at thy priest's request,

Thy direful darts inflict the raging pest:

Once more attend! avert the wasteful woe,

And smile propitious, and unbend thy bow.”

So Chryses pray'd. Apollo heard his prayer:

And now the Greeks their hecatomb prepare;

Between their horns the salted barley threw,

And, with their heads to heaven, the victims slew:[28]

The limbs they sever from the inclosing hide;

The thighs, selected to the gods, divide:

On these, in double cauls involved with art,

The choicest morsels lay from every part.

The priest himself before his altar stands,

And burns the offering with his holy hands.

Pours the black wine, and sees the flames aspire;

The youth with instruments surround the fire:

The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress'd,

The assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest:

Then spread the tables, the repast prepare;

Each takes his seat, and each receives his share.

When now the rage of hunger was repress'd,

With pure libations they conclude the feast;

The youths with wine the copious goblets crown'd,

And, pleased, dispense the flowing bowls around;[29]

With hymns divine the joyous banquet ends,

The paeans lengthen'd till the sun descends:

The Greeks, restored, the grateful notes prolong;

Apollo listens, and approves the song.

'Twas night; the chiefs beside their vessel lie,

Till rosy morn had purpled o'er the sky:

Then launch, and hoist the mast: indulgent gales,

Supplied by Phoebus, fill the swelling sails;

The milk-white canvas bellying as they blow,

The parted ocean foams and roars below:

Above the bounding billows swift they flew,

Till now the Grecian camp appear'd in view.

Far on the beach they haul their bark to land,

(The crooked keel divides the yellow sand,)

Then part, where stretch'd along the winding bay,

The ships and tents in mingled prospect lay.

But raging still, amidst his navy sat

The stern Achilles, stedfast in his hate;

Nor mix'd in combat, nor in council join'd;

But wasting cares lay heavy on his mind:

In his black thoughts revenge and slaughter roll,

And scenes of blood rise dreadful in his soul.

Twelve days were past, and now the dawning light

The gods had summon'd to the Olympian height:

Jove, first ascending from the watery bowers,

Leads the long order of ethereal powers.

When, like the morning-mist in early day,

Rose from the flood the daughter of the sea:

And to the seats divine her flight address'd.

There, far apart, and high above the rest,

The thunderer sat; where old Olympus shrouds

His hundred heads in heaven, and props the clouds.

Suppliant the goddess stood: one hand she placed

Beneath his beard, and one his knees embraced.

“If e'er, O father of the gods! (she said)

My words could please thee, or my actions aid,

Some marks of honour on my son bestow,

And pay in glory what in life you owe.

Fame is at least by heavenly promise due

To life so short, and now dishonour'd too.

Avenge this wrong, O ever just and wise!

Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise;

Till the proud king and all the Achaian race

Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace.”

Thus Thetis spoke; but Jove in silence held

The sacred counsels of his breast conceal'd.

Not so repulsed, the goddess closer press'd,

Still grasp'd his knees, and urged the dear request.

“O sire of gods and men! thy suppliant hear;

Refuse, or grant; for what has Jove to fear?

Or oh! declare, of all the powers above,

Is wretched Thetis least the care of Jove?”

She said; and, sighing, thus the god replies,

Who rolls the thunder o'er the vaulted skies:

“What hast thou ask'd? ah, why should Jove engage

In foreign contests and domestic rage,

The gods' complaints, and Juno's fierce alarms,

While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms?

Go, lest the haughty partner of my sway

With jealous eyes thy close access survey;

But part in peace, secure thy prayer is sped:

Witness the sacred honours of our head,

The nod that ratifies the will divine,

The faithful, fix'd, irrevocable sign;

This seals thy suit, and this fulfils thy vows”

He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,[30]

Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,

The stamp of fate and sanction of the god:

High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,

And all Olympus to the centre shook.[31]

Swift to the seas profound the goddess flies,

Jove to his starry mansions in the skies.

The shining synod of the immortals wait

The coming god, and from their thrones of state

Arising silent, wrapp'd in holy fear,

Before the majesty of heaven appear.

Trembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne,

All, but the god's imperious queen alone:

Late had she view'd the silver-footed dame,

And all her passions kindled into flame.

“Say, artful manager of heaven (she cries),

Who now partakes the secrets of the skies?

Thy Juno knows not the decrees of fate,

In vain the partner of imperial state.

What favourite goddess then those cares divides,

Which Jove in prudence from his consort hides?”

To this the thunderer: “Seek not thou to find

The sacred counsels of almighty mind:

Involved in darkness likes the great decree,

Nor can the depths of fate be pierced by thee.

What fits thy knowledge, thou the first shalt know;

The first of gods above, and men below;

But thou, nor they, shall search the thoughts that roll

Deep in the close recesses of my soul.”

Full on the sire the goddess of the skies

Roll'd the large orbs of her majestic eyes,

And thus return'd:-“Austere Saturnius, say,

From whence this wrath, or who controls thy sway?

Thy boundless will, for me, remains in force,

And all thy counsels take the destined course.

But 'tis for Greece I fear: for late was seen,

In close consult, the silver-footed queen.

Jove to his Thetis nothing could deny,

Nor was the signal vain that shook the sky.

What fatal favour has the goddess won,

To grace her fierce, inexorable son?

Perhaps in Grecian blood to drench the plain,

And glut his vengeance with my people slain.”

Then thus the god: “O restless fate of pride,

That strives to learn what heaven resolves to hide;

Vain is the search, presumptuous and abhorr'd,

Anxious to thee, and odious to thy lord.

Let this suffice: the immutable decree

No force can shake: what is, that ought to be.

Goddess, submit; nor dare our will withstand,

But dread the power of this avenging hand:

The united strength of all the gods above

In vain resists the omnipotence of Jove.”

The thunderer spoke, nor durst the queen reply;

A reverent horror silenced all the sky.

The feast disturb'd, with sorrow Vulcan saw

His mother menaced, and the gods in awe;

Peace at his heart, and pleasure his design,

Thus interposed the architect divine:

“The wretched quarrels of the mortal state

Are far unworthy, gods! of your debate:

Let men their days in senseless strife employ,

We, in eternal peace and constant joy.

Thou, goddess-mother, with our sire comply,

Nor break the sacred union of the sky:

Lest, roused to rage, he shake the bless'd abodes,

Launch the red lightning, and dethrone the gods.

If you submit, the thunderer stands appeased;

The gracious power is willing to be pleased.”

Thus Vulcan spoke: and rising with a bound,

The double bowl with sparkling nectar crown'd,[32]

Which held to Juno in a cheerful way,

“Goddess (he cried), be patient and obey.

Dear as you are, if Jove his arm extend,

I can but grieve, unable to defend

What god so daring in your aid to move,

Or lift his hand against the force of Jove?

Once in your cause I felt his matchless might,

Hurl'd headlong down from the ethereal height;[33]

Toss'd all the day in rapid circles round,

Nor till the sun descended touch'd the ground.

Breathless I fell, in giddy motion lost;

The Sinthians raised me on the Lemnian coast;[34]

He said, and to her hands the goblet heaved,

Which, with a smile, the white-arm'd queen received

Then, to the rest he fill'd; and in his turn,

Each to his lips applied the nectar'd urn,

Vulcan with awkward grace his office plies,

And unextinguish'd laughter shakes the skies.

Thus the blest gods the genial day prolong,

In feasts ambrosial, and celestial song.[35]

Apollo tuned the lyre; the Muses round

With voice alternate aid the silver sound.

Meantime the radiant sun to mortal sight

Descending swift, roll'd down the rapid light:

Then to their starry domes the gods depart,

The shining monuments of Vulcan's art:

Jove on his couch reclined his awful head,

And Juno slumber'd on the golden bed.

Now pleasing sleep had seal'd each mortal eye,

Stretch'd in the tents the Grecian leaders lie:

The immortals slumber'd on their thrones above;

All, but the ever-wakeful eyes of Jove.[36]

To honour Thetis' son he bends his care,

And plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war:

Then bids an empty phantom rise to sight,

And thus commands the vision of the night.

“Fly hence, deluding Dream! and light as air,[37]

To Agamemnon's ample tent repair.

Bid him in arms draw forth the embattled train,

Lead all his Grecians to the dusty plain.

Declare, e'en now 'tis given him to destroy

The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.

For now no more the gods with fate contend,

At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end.

Destruction hangs o'er yon devoted wall,

And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.”

Swift as the word the vain illusion fled,

Descends, and hovers o'er Atrides' head;

Clothed in the figure of the Pylian sage,

Renown'd for wisdom, and revered for age:

Around his temples spreads his golden wing,

And thus the flattering dream deceives the king.

“Canst thou, with all a monarch's cares oppress'd,

O Atreus' son! canst thou indulge the rest?[38]

Ill fits a chief who mighty nations guides,

Directs in council, and in war presides,

To whom its safety a whole people owes,

To waste long nights in indolent repose.[39]

Monarch, awake! 'tis Jove's command I bear;

Thou, and thy glory, claim his heavenly care.

In just array draw forth the embattled train,

Lead all thy Grecians to the dusty plain;

E'en now, O king! 'tis given thee to destroy

The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.

For now no more the gods with fate contend,

At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end.

Destruction hangs o'er yon devoted wall,

And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.

Awake, but waking this advice approve,

And trust the vision that descends from Jove.”

The phantom said; then vanish'd from his sight,

Resolves to air, and mixes with the night.

A thousand schemes the monarch's mind employ;

Elate in thought he sacks untaken Troy:

Vain as he was, and to the future blind,

Nor saw what Jove and secret fate design'd,

What mighty toils to either host remain,

What scenes of grief, and numbers of the slain!

Eager he rises, and in fancy hears

The voice celestial murmuring in his ears.

First on his limbs a slender vest he drew,

Around him next the regal mantle threw,

The embroider'd sandals on his feet were tied;

The starry falchion glitter'd at his side;

And last, his arm the massy sceptre loads,

Unstain'd, immortal, and the gift of gods.

Now rosy Morn ascends the court of Jove,

Lifts up her light, and opens day above.

The king despatch'd his heralds with commands

To range the camp and summon all the bands:

The gathering hosts the monarch's word obey;

While to the fleet Atrides bends his way.

In his black ship the Pylian prince he found;

There calls a senate of the peers around:

The assembly placed, the king of men express'd

The counsels labouring in his artful breast.

“Friends and confederates! with attentive ear

Receive my words, and credit what you hear.

Late as I slumber'd in the shades of night,

A dream divine appear'd before my sight;

Whose visionary form like Nestor came,

The same in habit, and in mien the same.[40]

The heavenly phantom hover'd o'er my head,

'And, dost thou sleep, O Atreus' son? (he said)

Ill fits a chief who mighty nations guides,

Directs in council, and in war presides;

To whom its safety a whole people owes,

To waste long nights in indolent repose.

Monarch, awake! 'tis Jove's command I bear,

Thou and thy glory claim his heavenly care.

In just array draw forth the embattled train,

And lead the Grecians to the dusty plain;

E'en now, O king! 'tis given thee to destroy

The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.

For now no more the gods with fate contend,

At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end.

Destruction hangs o'er yon devoted wall,

And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.

This hear observant, and the gods obey!'

The vision spoke, and pass'd in air away.

Now, valiant chiefs! since heaven itself alarms,

Unite, and rouse the sons of Greece to arms.

But first, with caution, try what yet they dare,

Worn with nine years of unsuccessful war.

To move the troops to measure back the main,

Be mine; and yours the province to detain.”

He spoke, and sat: when Nestor, rising said,

(Nestor, whom Pylos' sandy realms obey'd,)

“Princes of Greece, your faithful ears incline,

Nor doubt the vision of the powers divine;

Sent by great Jove to him who rules the host,

Forbid it, heaven! this warning should be lost!

Then let us haste, obey the god's alarms,

And join to rouse the sons of Greece to arms.”

Thus spoke the sage: the kings without delay

Dissolve the council, and their chief obey:

The sceptred rulers lead; the following host,

Pour'd forth by thousands, darkens all the coast.

As from some rocky cleft the shepherd sees

Clustering in heaps on heaps the driving bees,

Rolling and blackening, swarms succeeding swarms,

With deeper murmurs and more hoarse alarms;

Dusky they spread, a close embodied crowd,

And o'er the vale descends the living cloud.[41]

So, from the tents and ships, a lengthen'd train

Spreads all the beach, and wide o'ershades the plain:

Along the region runs a deafening sound;

Beneath their footsteps groans the trembling ground.

Fame flies before the messenger of Jove,

And shining soars, and claps her wings above.

Nine sacred heralds now, proclaiming loud[42]

The monarch's will, suspend the listening crowd.

Soon as the throngs in order ranged appear,

And fainter murmurs died upon the ear,

The king of kings his awful figure raised:

High in his hand the golden sceptre blazed;

The golden sceptre, of celestial flame,

By Vulcan form'd, from Jove to Hermes came.

To Pelops he the immortal gift resign'd;

The immortal gift great Pelops left behind,

In Atreus' hand, which not with Atreus ends,

To rich Thyestes next the prize descends;

And now the mark of Agamemnon's reign,

Subjects all Argos, and controls the main.[43]

On this bright sceptre now the king reclined,

And artful thus pronounced the speech design'd:

“Ye sons of Mars, partake your leader's care,

Heroes of Greece, and brothers of the war!

Of partial Jove with justice I complain,

And heavenly oracles believed in vain

A safe return was promised to our toils,

Renown'd, triumphant, and enrich'd with spoils.

Now shameful flight alone can save the host,

Our blood, our treasure, and our glory lost.

So Jove decrees, resistless lord of all!

At whose command whole empires rise or fall:

He shakes the feeble props of human trust,

And towns and armies humbles to the dust

What shame to Greece a fruitful war to wage,

Oh, lasting shame in every future age!

Once great in arms, the common scorn we grow,

Repulsed and baffled by a feeble foe.

So small their number, that if wars were ceased,

And Greece triumphant held a general feast,

All rank'd by tens, whole decades when they dine

Must want a Trojan slave to pour the wine.[44]

But other forces have our hopes o'erthrown,

And Troy prevails by armies not her own.

Now nine long years of mighty Jove are run,

Since first the labours of this war begun:

Our cordage torn, decay'd our vessels lie,

And scarce insure the wretched power to fly.

Haste, then, for ever leave the Trojan wall!

Our weeping wives, our tender children call:

Love, duty, safety, summon us away,

'Tis nature's voice, and nature we obey,

Our shatter'd barks may yet transport us o'er,

Safe and inglorious, to our native shore.

Fly, Grecians, fly, your sails and oars employ,

And dream no more of heaven-defended Troy.”

His deep design unknown, the hosts approve

Atrides' speech. The mighty numbers move.

So roll the billows to the Icarian shore,

From east and south when winds begin to roar,

Burst their dark mansions in the clouds, and sweep

The whitening surface of the ruffled deep.

And as on corn when western gusts descend,[45]

Before the blast the lofty harvests bend:

Thus o'er the field the moving host appears,

With nodding plumes and groves of waving spears.

The gathering murmur spreads, their trampling feet

Beat the loose sands, and thicken to the fleet;

With long-resounding cries they urge the train

To fit the ships, and launch into the main.

They toil, they sweat, thick clouds of dust arise,

The doubling clamours echo to the skies.

E'en then the Greeks had left the hostile plain,

And fate decreed the fall of Troy in vain;

But Jove's imperial queen their flight survey'd,

And sighing thus bespoke the blue-eyed maid:

“Shall then the Grecians fly! O dire disgrace!

And leave unpunish'd this perfidious race?

Shall Troy, shall Priam, and the adulterous spouse,

In peace enjoy the fruits of broken vows?

And bravest chiefs, in Helen's quarrel slain,

Lie unrevenged on yon detested plain?

No: let my Greeks, unmoved by vain alarms,

Once more refulgent shine in brazen arms.

Haste, goddess, haste! the flying host detain,

Nor let one sail be hoisted on the main.”

Pallas obeys, and from Olympus' height

Swift to the ships precipitates her flight.

Ulysses, first in public cares, she found,

For prudent counsel like the gods renown'd:

Oppress'd with generous grief the hero stood,

Nor drew his sable vessels to the flood.

“And is it thus, divine Laertes' son,

Thus fly the Greeks (the martial maid begun),

Thus to their country bear their own disgrace,

And fame eternal leave to Priam's race?

Shall beauteous Helen still remain unfreed,

Still unrevenged, a thousand heroes bleed!

Haste, generous Ithacus! prevent the shame,

Recall your armies, and your chiefs reclaim.

Your own resistless eloquence employ,

And to the immortals trust the fall of Troy.”

The voice divine confess'd the warlike maid,

Ulysses heard, nor uninspired obey'd:

Then meeting first Atrides, from his hand

Received the imperial sceptre of command.

Thus graced, attention and respect to gain,

He runs, he flies through all the Grecian train;

Each prince of name, or chief in arms approved,

He fired with praise, or with persuasion moved.

“Warriors like you, with strength and wisdom bless'd,

By brave examples should confirm the rest.

The monarch's will not yet reveal'd appears;

He tries our courage, but resents our fears.

The unwary Greeks his fury may provoke;

Not thus the king in secret council spoke.

Jove loves our chief, from Jove his honour springs,

Beware! for dreadful is the wrath of kings.”

But if a clamorous vile plebeian rose,

Him with reproof he check'd or tamed with blows.

“Be still, thou slave, and to thy betters yield;

Unknown alike in council and in field!

Ye gods, what dastards would our host command!

Swept to the war, the lumber of a land.

Be silent, wretch, and think not here allow'd

That worst of tyrants, an usurping crowd.

To one sole monarch Jove commits the sway;

His are the laws, and him let all obey.”[46]

With words like these the troops Ulysses ruled,

The loudest silenced, and the fiercest cool'd.

Back to the assembly roll the thronging train,

Desert the ships, and pour upon the plain.

Murmuring they move, as when old ocean roars,

And heaves huge surges to the trembling shores;

The groaning banks are burst with bellowing sound,

The rocks remurmur and the deeps rebound.

At length the tumult sinks, the noises cease,

And a still silence lulls the camp to peace.

Thersites only clamour'd in the throng,

Loquacious, loud, and turbulent of tongue:

Awed by no shame, by no respect controll'd,

In scandal busy, in reproaches bold:

With witty malice studious to defame,

Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim: —

But chief he gloried with licentious style

To lash the great, and monarchs to revile.

His figure such as might his soul proclaim;

One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame:

His mountain shoulders half his breast o'erspread,

Thin hairs bestrew'd his long misshapen head.

Spleen to mankind his envious heart possess'd,

And much he hated all, but most the best:

Ulysses or Achilles still his theme;

But royal scandal his delight supreme,

Long had he lived the scorn of every Greek,

Vex'd when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak.

Sharp was his voice; which in the shrillest tone,

Thus with injurious taunts attack'd the throne.

“Amidst the glories of so bright a reign,

What moves the great Atrides to complain?

'Tis thine whate'er the warrior's breast inflames,

The golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames.

With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow,

Thy tents are crowded and thy chests o'erflow.

Thus at full ease in heaps of riches roll'd,

What grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold?

Say, shall we march with our unconquer'd powers

(The Greeks and I) to Ilion's hostile towers,

And bring the race of royal bastards here,

For Troy to ransom at a price too dear?

But safer plunder thy own host supplies;

Say, wouldst thou seize some valiant leader's prize?

Or, if thy heart to generous love be led,

Some captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed?

Whate'er our master craves submit we must,

Plagued with his pride, or punish'd for his lust.

Oh women of Achaia; men no more!

Hence let us fly, and let him waste his store

In loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore.

We may be wanted on some busy day,

When Hector comes: so great Achilles may:

From him he forced the prize we jointly gave,

From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave:

And durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong,

This mighty tyrant were no tyrant long.”

Fierce from his seat at this Ulysses springs,[47]

In generous vengeance of the king of kings.

With indignation sparkling in his eyes,

He views the wretch, and sternly thus replies:

“Peace, factious monster, born to vex the state,

With wrangling talents form'd for foul debate:

Curb that impetuous tongue, nor rashly vain,

And singly mad, asperse the sovereign reign.

Have we not known thee, slave! of all our host,

The man who acts the least, upbraids the most?

Think not the Greeks to shameful flight to bring,

Nor let those lips profane the name of king.

For our return we trust the heavenly powers;

Be that their care; to fight like men be ours.

But grant the host with wealth the general load,

Except detraction, what hast thou bestow'd?

Suppose some hero should his spoils resign,

Art thou that hero, could those spoils be thine?

Gods! let me perish on this hateful shore,

And let these eyes behold my son no more;

If, on thy next offence, this hand forbear

To strip those arms thou ill deserv'st to wear,

Expel the council where our princes meet,

And send thee scourged and howling through the fleet.”

He said, and cowering as the dastard bends,

The weighty sceptre on his bank descends.[48]

On the round bunch the bloody tumours rise:

The tears spring starting from his haggard eyes;

Trembling he sat, and shrunk in abject fears,

From his vile visage wiped the scalding tears;

While to his neighbour each express'd his thought:

“Ye gods! what wonders has Ulysses wrought!

What fruits his conduct and his courage yield!

Great in the council, glorious in the field.

Generous he rises in the crown's defence,

To curb the factious tongue of insolence,

Such just examples on offenders shown,

Sedition silence, and assert the throne.”

'Twas thus the general voice the hero praised,

Who, rising, high the imperial sceptre raised:

The blue-eyed Pallas, his celestial friend,

(In form a herald,) bade the crowds attend.

The expecting crowds in still attention hung,

To hear the wisdom of his heavenly tongue.

Then deeply thoughtful, pausing ere he spoke,

His silence thus the prudent hero broke:

“Unhappy monarch! whom the Grecian race

With shame deserting, heap with vile disgrace.

Not such at Argos was their generous vow:

Once all their voice, but ah! forgotten now:

Ne'er to return, was then the common cry,

Till Troy's proud structures should in ashes lie.

Behold them weeping for their native shore;

What could their wives or helpless children more?

What heart but melts to leave the tender train,

And, one short month, endure the wintry main?

Few leagues removed, we wish our peaceful seat,

When the ship tosses, and the tempests beat:

Then well may this long stay provoke their tears,

The tedious length of nine revolving years.

Not for their grief the Grecian host I blame;

But vanquish'd! baffled! oh, eternal shame!

Expect the time to Troy's destruction given.

And try the faith of Chalcas and of heaven.

What pass'd at Aulis, Greece can witness bear,[49]

And all who live to breathe this Phrygian air.

Beside a fountain's sacred brink we raised

Our verdant altars, and the victims blazed:

'Twas where the plane-tree spread its shades around,

The altars heaved; and from the crumbling ground

A mighty dragon shot, of dire portent;

From Jove himself the dreadful sign was sent.

Straight to the tree his sanguine spires he roll'd,

And curl'd around in many a winding fold;

The topmost branch a mother-bird possess'd;

Eight callow infants fill'd the mossy nest;

Herself the ninth; the serpent, as he hung,

Stretch'd his black jaws and crush'd the crying young;

While hovering near, with miserable moan,

The drooping mother wail'd her children gone.

The mother last, as round the nest she flew,

Seized by the beating wing, the monster slew;

Nor long survived: to marble turn'd, he stands

A lasting prodigy on Aulis' sands.

Such was the will of Jove; and hence we dare

Trust in his omen, and support the war.

For while around we gazed with wondering eyes,

And trembling sought the powers with sacrifice,

Full of his god, the reverend Chalcas cried,[50]

'Ye Grecian warriors! lay your fears aside.

This wondrous signal Jove himself displays,

Of long, long labours, but eternal praise.

As many birds as by the snake were slain,

So many years the toils of Greece remain;

But wait the tenth, for Ilion's fall decreed:'

Thus spoke the prophet, thus the Fates succeed.

Obey, ye Grecians! with submission wait,

Nor let your flight avert the Trojan fate.”

He said: the shores with loud applauses sound,

The hollow ships each deafening shout rebound.

Then Nestor thus-“These vain debates forbear,

Ye talk like children, not like heroes dare.

Where now are all your high resolves at last?

Your leagues concluded, your engagements past?

Vow'd with libations and with victims then,

Now vanish'd like their smoke: the faith of men!

While useless words consume the unactive hours,

No wonder Troy so long resists our powers.

Rise, great Atrides! and with courage sway;

We march to war, if thou direct the way.

But leave the few that dare resist thy laws,

The mean deserters of the Grecian cause,

To grudge the conquests mighty Jove prepares,

And view with envy our successful wars.

On that great day, when first the martial train,

Big with the fate of Ilion, plough'd the main,

Jove, on the right, a prosperous signal sent,

And thunder rolling shook the firmament.

Encouraged hence, maintain the glorious strife,

Till every soldier grasp a Phrygian wife,

Till Helen's woes at full revenged appear,

And Troy's proud matrons render tear for tear.

Before that day, if any Greek invite

His country's troops to base, inglorious flight,

Stand forth that Greek! and hoist his sail to fly,

And die the dastard first, who dreads to die.

But now, O monarch! all thy chiefs advise:[51]

Nor what they offer, thou thyself despise.

Among those counsels, let not mine be vain;

In tribes and nations to divide thy train:

His separate troops let every leader call,

Each strengthen each, and all encourage all.

What chief, or soldier, of the numerous band,

Or bravely fights, or ill obeys command,

When thus distinct they war, shall soon be known

And what the cause of Ilion not o'erthrown;

If fate resists, or if our arms are slow,

If gods above prevent, or men below.”

To him the king: “How much thy years excel

In arts of counsel, and in speaking well!

O would the gods, in love to Greece, decree

But ten such sages as they grant in thee;

Such wisdom soon should Priam's force destroy,

And soon should fall the haughty towers of Troy!

But Jove forbids, who plunges those he hates

In fierce contention and in vain debates:

Now great Achilles from our aid withdraws,

By me provoked; a captive maid the cause:

If e'er as friends we join, the Trojan wall

Must shake, and heavy will the vengeance fall!

But now, ye warriors, take a short repast;

And, well refresh'd, to bloody conflict haste.

His sharpen'd spear let every Grecian wield,

And every Grecian fix his brazen shield,

Let all excite the fiery steeds of war,

And all for combat fit the rattling car.

This day, this dreadful day, let each contend;

No rest, no respite, till the shades descend;

Till darkness, or till death, shall cover all:

Let the war bleed, and let the mighty fall;

Till bathed in sweat be every manly breast,

With the huge shield each brawny arm depress'd,

Each aching nerve refuse the lance to throw,

And each spent courser at the chariot blow.

Who dares, inglorious, in his ships to stay,

Who dares to tremble on this signal day;

That wretch, too mean to fall by martial power,

The birds shall mangle, and the dogs devour.”

The monarch spoke; and straight a murmur rose,

Loud as the surges when the tempest blows,

That dash'd on broken rocks tumultuous roar,

And foam and thunder on the stony shore.

Straight to the tents the troops dispersing bend,

The fires are kindled, and the smokes ascend;

With hasty feasts they sacrifice, and pray,

To avert the dangers of the doubtful day.

A steer of five years' age, large limb'd, and fed,[52]

To Jove's high altars Agamemnon led:

There bade the noblest of the Grecian peers;

And Nestor first, as most advanced in years.

Next came Idomeneus,[53]

and Tydeus' son,[54]

Ajax the less, and Ajax Telamon;[55]

Then wise Ulysses in his rank was placed;

And Menelaus came, unbid, the last.[56]

The chiefs surround the destined beast, and take

The sacred offering of the salted cake:

When thus the king prefers his solemn prayer;

“O thou! whose thunder rends the clouded air,

Who in the heaven of heavens hast fixed thy throne,

Supreme of gods! unbounded, and alone!

Hear! and before the burning sun descends,

Before the night her gloomy veil extends,

Low in the dust be laid yon hostile spires,

Be Priam's palace sunk in Grecian fires.

In Hector's breast be plunged this shining sword,

And slaughter'd heroes groan around their lord!”

Thus prayed the chief: his unavailing prayer

Great Jove refused, and toss'd in empty air:

The God averse, while yet the fumes arose,

Prepared new toils, and doubled woes on woes.

Their prayers perform'd the chiefs the rite pursue,

The barley sprinkled, and the victim slew.

The limbs they sever from the inclosing hide,

The thighs, selected to the gods, divide.

On these, in double cauls involved with art,

The choicest morsels lie from every part,

From the cleft wood the crackling flames aspire

While the fat victims feed the sacred fire.

The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress'd

The assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest;

Then spread the tables, the repast prepare,

Each takes his seat, and each receives his share.

Soon as the rage of hunger was suppress'd,

The generous Nestor thus the prince address'd.

“Now bid thy heralds sound the loud alarms,

And call the squadrons sheathed in brazen arms;

Now seize the occasion, now the troops survey,

And lead to war when heaven directs the way.”

He said; the monarch issued his commands;

Straight the loud heralds call the gathering bands

The chiefs inclose their king; the hosts divide,

In tribes and nations rank'd on either side.

High in the midst the blue-eyed virgin flies;

From rank to rank she darts her ardent eyes;

The dreadful aegis, Jove's immortal shield,

Blazed on her arm, and lighten'd all the field:

Round the vast orb a hundred serpents roll'd,

Form'd the bright fringe, and seem'd to burn in gold,

With this each Grecian's manly breast she warms,

Swells their bold hearts, and strings their nervous arms,

No more they sigh, inglorious, to return,

But breathe revenge, and for the combat burn.

As on some mountain, through the lofty grove,

The crackling flames ascend, and blaze above;

The fires expanding, as the winds arise,

Shoot their long beams, and kindle half the skies:

So from the polish'd arms, and brazen shields,

A gleamy splendour flash'd along the fields.

Not less their number than the embodied cranes,

Or milk-white swans in Asius' watery plains.

That, o'er the windings of Cayster's springs,[57]

Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings,

Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds,

Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds.

Thus numerous and confused, extending wide,

The legions crowd Scamander's flowery side;[58]

With rushing troops the plains are cover'd o'er,

And thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore.

Along the river's level meads they stand,

Thick as in spring the flowers adorn the land,

Or leaves the trees; or thick as insects play,

The wandering nation of a summer's day:

That, drawn by milky steams, at evening hours,

In gather'd swarms surround the rural bowers;

From pail to pail with busy murmur run

The gilded legions, glittering in the sun.

So throng'd, so close, the Grecian squadrons stood

In radiant arms, and thirst for Trojan blood.

Each leader now his scatter'd force conjoins

In close array, and forms the deepening lines.

Not with more ease the skilful shepherd-swain

Collects his flocks from thousands on the plain.

The king of kings, majestically tall,

Towers o'er his armies, and outshines them all;

Like some proud bull, that round the pastures leads

His subject herds, the monarch of the meads,

Great as the gods, the exalted chief was seen,

His strength like Neptune, and like Mars his mien;[59]

Jove o'er his eyes celestial glories spread,

And dawning conquest played around his head.

Say, virgins, seated round the throne divine,

All-knowing goddesses! immortal nine![60]

Since earth's wide regions, heaven's umneasur'd height,

And hell's abyss, hide nothing from your sight,

(We, wretched mortals! lost in doubts below,

But guess by rumour, and but boast we know,)

O say what heroes, fired by thirst of fame,

Or urged by wrongs, to Troy's destruction came.

To count them all, demands a thousand tongues,

A throat of brass, and adamantine lungs.

Daughters of Jove, assist! inspired by you

The mighty labour dauntless I pursue;

What crowded armies, from what climes they bring,

Their names, their numbers, and their chiefs I sing.

THE CATALOGUE OF THE SHIPS.[61]

The hardy warriors whom Boeotia bred,

Penelius, Leitus, Prothoenor, led:

With these Arcesilaus and Clonius stand,

Equal in arms, and equal in command.

These head the troops that rocky Aulis yields,

And Eteon's hills, and Hyrie's watery fields,

And Schoenos, Scholos, Graea near the main,

And Mycalessia's ample piny plain;

Those who in Peteon or Ilesion dwell,

Or Harma where Apollo's prophet fell;

Heleon and Hyle, which the springs o'erflow;

And Medeon lofty, and Ocalea low;

Or in the meads of Haliartus stray,

Or Thespia sacred to the god of day:

Onchestus, Neptune's celebrated groves;

Copae, and Thisbe, famed for silver doves;

For flocks Erythrae, Glissa for the vine;

Platea green, and Nysa the divine;

And they whom Thebe's well-built walls inclose,

Where Myde, Eutresis, Corone, rose;

And Arne rich, with purple harvests crown'd;

And Anthedon, Boeotia's utmost bound.

Full fifty ships they send, and each conveys

Twice sixty warriors through the foaming seas.[62]

To these succeed Aspledon's martial train,

Who plough the spacious Orchomenian plain.

Two valiant brothers rule the undaunted throng,

Ialmen and Ascalaphus the strong:

Sons of Astyoche, the heavenly fair,

Whose virgin charms subdued the god of war:

(In Actor's court as she retired to rest,

The strength of Mars the blushing maid compress'd)

Their troops in thirty sable vessels sweep,

With equal oars, the hoarse-resounding deep.

The Phocians next in forty barks repair;

Epistrophus and Schedius head the war:

From those rich regions where Cephisus leads

His silver current through the flowery meads;

From Panopea, Chrysa the divine,

Where Anemoria's stately turrets shine,

Where Pytho, Daulis, Cyparissus stood,

And fair Lilaea views the rising flood.

These, ranged in order on the floating tide,

Close, on the left, the bold Boeotians' side.

Fierce Ajax led the Locrian squadrons on,

Ajax the less, Oileus' valiant son;

Skill'd to direct the flying dart aright;

Swift in pursuit, and active in the fight.

Him, as their chief, the chosen troops attend,

Which Bessa, Thronus, and rich Cynos send;

Opus, Calliarus, and Scarphe's bands;

And those who dwell where pleasing Augia stands,

And where Boagrius floats the lowly lands,

Or in fair Tarphe's sylvan seats reside:

In forty vessels cut the yielding tide.

Euboea next her martial sons prepares,

And sends the brave Abantes to the wars:

Breathing revenge, in arms they take their way

From Chalcis' walls, and strong Eretria;

The Isteian fields for generous vines renown'd,

The fair Caristos, and the Styrian ground;

Where Dios from her towers o'erlooks the plain,

And high Cerinthus views the neighbouring main.

Down their broad shoulders falls a length of hair;

Their hands dismiss not the long lance in air;

But with protended spears in fighting fields

Pierce the tough corslets and the brazen shields.

Twice twenty ships transport the warlike bands,

Which bold Elphenor, fierce in arms, commands.

Full fifty more from Athens stem the main,

Led by Menestheus through the liquid plain.

(Athens the fair, where great Erectheus sway'd,

That owed his nurture to the blue-eyed maid,

But from the teeming furrow took his birth,

The mighty offspring of the foodful earth.

Him Pallas placed amidst her wealthy fane,

Adored with sacrifice and oxen slain;

Where, as the years revolve, her altars blaze,

And all the tribes resound the goddess' praise.)

No chief like thee, Menestheus! Greece could yield,

To marshal armies in the dusty field,

The extended wings of battle to display,

Or close the embodied host in firm array.

Nestor alone, improved by length of days,

For martial conduct bore an equal praise.

With these appear the Salaminian bands,

Whom the gigantic Telamon commands;

In twelve black ships to Troy they steer their course,

And with the great Athenians join their force.

Next move to war the generous Argive train,

From high Troezene, and Maseta's plain,

And fair AEgina circled by the main:

Whom strong Tyrinthe's lofty walls surround,

And Epidaure with viny harvests crown'd:

And where fair Asinen and Hermoin show

Their cliffs above, and ample bay below.

These by the brave Euryalus were led,

Great Sthenelus, and greater Diomed;

But chief Tydides bore the sovereign sway:

In fourscore barks they plough the watery way.

The proud Mycene arms her martial powers,

Cleone, Corinth, with imperial towers,[63]

Fair Araethyrea, Ornia's fruitful plain,

And AEgion, and Adrastus' ancient reign;

And those who dwell along the sandy shore,

And where Pellene yields her fleecy store,

Where Helice and Hyperesia lie,

And Gonoessa's spires salute the sky.

Great Agamemnon rules the numerous band,

A hundred vessels in long order stand,

And crowded nations wait his dread command.

High on the deck the king of men appears,

And his refulgent arms in triumph wears;

Proud of his host, unrivall'd in his reign,

In silent pomp he moves along the main.

His brother follows, and to vengeance warms

The hardy Spartans, exercised in arms:

Phares and Brysia's valiant troops, and those

Whom Lacedaemon's lofty hills inclose;

Or Messe's towers for silver doves renown'd,

Amyclae, Laas, Augia's happy ground,

And those whom OEtylos' low walls contain,

And Helos, on the margin of the main:

These, o'er the bending ocean, Helen's cause,

In sixty ships with Menelaus draws:

Eager and loud from man to man he flies,

Revenge and fury flaming in his eyes;

While vainly fond, in fancy oft he hears

The fair one's grief, and sees her falling tears.

In ninety sail, from Pylos' sandy coast,

Nestor the sage conducts his chosen host:

From Amphigenia's ever-fruitful land,

Where AEpy high, and little Pteleon stand;

Where beauteous Arene her structures shows,

And Thryon's walls Alpheus' streams inclose:

And Dorion, famed for Thamyris' disgrace,

Superior once of all the tuneful race,

Till, vain of mortals' empty praise, he strove

To match the seed of cloud-compelling Jove!

Too daring bard! whose unsuccessful pride

The immortal Muses in their art defied.

The avenging Muses of the light of day

Deprived his eyes, and snatch'd his voice away;

No more his heavenly voice was heard to sing,

His hand no more awaked the silver string.

Where under high Cyllene, crown'd with wood,

The shaded tomb of old AEpytus stood;

From Ripe, Stratie, Tegea's bordering towns,

The Phenean fields, and Orchomenian downs,

Where the fat herds in plenteous pasture rove;

And Stymphelus with her surrounding grove;

Parrhasia, on her snowy cliffs reclined,

And high Enispe shook by wintry wind,

And fair Mantinea's ever-pleasing site;

In sixty sail the Arcadian bands unite.

Bold Agapenor, glorious at their head,

(Ancaeus' son) the mighty squadron led.

Their ships, supplied by Agamemnon's care,

Through roaring seas the wondering warriors bear;

The first to battle on the appointed plain,

But new to all the dangers of the main.

Those, where fair Elis and Buprasium join;

Whom Hyrmin, here, and Myrsinus confine,

And bounded there, where o'er the valleys rose

The Olenian rock; and where Alisium flows;

Beneath four chiefs (a numerous army) came:

The strength and glory of the Epean name.

In separate squadrons these their train divide,

Each leads ten vessels through the yielding tide.

One was Amphimachus, and Thalpius one;

(Eurytus' this, and that Teatus' son;)

Diores sprung from Amarynceus' line;

And great Polyxenus, of force divine.

But those who view fair Elis o'er the seas

From the blest islands of the Echinades,

In forty vessels under Meges move,

Begot by Phyleus, the beloved of Jove:

To strong Dulichium from his sire he fled,

And thence to Troy his hardy warriors led.

Ulysses follow'd through the watery road,

A chief, in wisdom equal to a god.

With those whom Cephalenia's line inclosed,

Or till their fields along the coast opposed;

Or where fair Ithaca o'erlooks the floods,

Where high Neritos shakes his waving woods,

Where AEgilipa's rugged sides are seen,

Crocylia rocky, and Zacynthus green.

These in twelve galleys with vermilion prores,

Beneath his conduct sought the Phrygian shores.

Thoas came next, Andraemon's valiant son,

From Pleuron's walls, and chalky Calydon,

And rough Pylene, and the Olenian steep,

And Chalcis, beaten by the rolling deep.

He led the warriors from the AEtolian shore,

For now the sons of OEneus were no more!

The glories of the mighty race were fled!

OEneus himself, and Meleager dead!

To Thoas' care now trust the martial train,

His forty vessels follow through the main.

Next, eighty barks the Cretan king commands,

Of Gnossus, Lyctus, and Gortyna's bands;

And those who dwell where Rhytion's domes arise,

Or white Lycastus glitters to the skies,

Or where by Phaestus silver Jardan runs;

Crete's hundred cities pour forth all her sons.

These march'd, Idomeneus, beneath thy care,

And Merion, dreadful as the god of war.

Tlepolemus, the sun of Hercules,

Led nine swift vessels through the foamy seas,

From Rhodes, with everlasting sunshine bright,

Jalyssus, Lindus, and Camirus white.

His captive mother fierce Alcides bore

From Ephyr's walls and Selle's winding shore,

Where mighty towns in ruins spread the plain,

And saw their blooming warriors early slain.

The hero, when to manly years he grew,

Alcides' uncle, old Licymnius, slew;

For this, constrain'd to quit his native place,

And shun the vengeance of the Herculean race,

A fleet he built, and with a numerous train

Of willing exiles wander'd o'er the main;

Where, many seas and many sufferings past,

On happy Rhodes the chief arrived at last:

There in three tribes divides his native band,

And rules them peaceful in a foreign land;

Increased and prosper'd in their new abodes

By mighty Jove, the sire of men and gods;

With joy they saw the growing empire rise,

And showers of wealth descending from the skies.

Three ships with Nireus sought the Trojan shore,

Nireus, whom Aglae to Charopus bore,

Nireus, in faultless shape and blooming grace,

The loveliest youth of all the Grecian race;[64]

Pelides only match'd his early charms;

But few his troops, and small his strength in arms.

Next thirty galleys cleave the liquid plain,

Of those Calydnae's sea-girt isles contain;

With them the youth of Nisyrus repair,

Casus the strong, and Crapathus the fair;

Cos, where Eurypylus possess'd the sway,

Till great Alcides made the realms obey:

These Antiphus and bold Phidippus bring,

Sprung from the god by Thessalus the king.

Now, Muse, recount Pelasgic Argos' powers,

From Alos, Alope, and Trechin's towers:

From Phthia's spacious vales; and Hella, bless'd

With female beauty far beyond the rest.

Full fifty ships beneath Achilles' care,

The Achaians, Myrmidons, Hellenians bear;

Thessalians all, though various in their name;

The same their nation, and their chief the same.

But now inglorious, stretch'd along the shore,

They hear the brazen voice of war no more;

No more the foe they face in dire array:

Close in his fleet the angry leader lay;

Since fair Briseis from his arms was torn,

The noblest spoil from sack'd Lyrnessus borne,

Then, when the chief the Theban walls o'erthrew,

And the bold sons of great Evenus slew.

There mourn'd Achilles, plunged in depth of care,

But soon to rise in slaughter, blood, and war.

To these the youth of Phylace succeed,

Itona, famous for her fleecy breed,

And grassy Pteleon deck'd with cheerful greens,

The bowers of Ceres, and the sylvan scenes.

Sweet Pyrrhasus, with blooming flowerets crown'd,

And Antron's watery dens, and cavern'd ground.

These own'd, as chief, Protesilas the brave,

Who now lay silent in the gloomy grave:

The first who boldly touch'd the Trojan shore,

And dyed a Phrygian lance with Grecian gore;

There lies, far distant from his native plain;

Unfinish'd his proud palaces remain,

And his sad consort beats her breast in vain.

His troops in forty ships Podarces led,

Iphiclus' son, and brother to the dead;

Nor he unworthy to command the host;

Yet still they mourn'd their ancient leader lost.

The men who Glaphyra's fair soil partake,

Where hills incircle Boebe's lowly lake,

Where Phaere hears the neighbouring waters fall,

Or proud Iolcus lifts her airy wall,

In ten black ships embark'd for Ilion's shore,

With bold Eumelus, whom Alceste bore:

All Pelias' race Alceste far outshined,

The grace and glory of the beauteous kind,

The troops Methone or Thaumacia yields,

Olizon's rocks, or Meliboea's fields,

With Philoctetes sail'd whose matchless art

From the tough bow directs the feather'd dart.

Seven were his ships; each vessel fifty row,

Skill'd in his science of the dart and bow.

But he lay raging on the Lemnian ground,

A poisonous hydra gave the burning wound;

There groan'd the chief in agonizing pain,

Whom Greece at length shall wish, nor wish in vain.

His forces Medon led from Lemnos' shore,

Oileus' son, whom beauteous Rhena bore.

The OEchalian race, in those high towers contain'd

Where once Eurytus in proud triumph reign'd,

Or where her humbler turrets Tricca rears,

Or where Ithome, rough with rocks, appears,

In thirty sail the sparkling waves divide,

Which Podalirius and Machaon guide.

To these his skill their parent-god imparts,

Divine professors of the healing arts.

The bold Ormenian and Asterian bands

In forty barks Eurypylus commands.

Where Titan hides his hoary head in snow,

And where Hyperia's silver fountains flow.

Thy troops, Argissa, Polypoetes leads,

And Eleon, shelter'd by Olympus' shades,

Gyrtone's warriors; and where Orthe lies,

And Oloosson's chalky cliffs arise.

Sprung from Pirithous of immortal race,

The fruit of fair Hippodame's embrace,

(That day, when hurl'd from Pelion's cloudy head,

To distant dens the shaggy Centaurs fled)

With Polypoetes join'd in equal sway

Leonteus leads, and forty ships obey.

In twenty sail the bold Perrhaebians came

From Cyphus, Guneus was their leader's name.

With these the Enians join'd, and those who freeze

Where cold Dodona lifts her holy trees;

Or where the pleasing Titaresius glides,

And into Peneus rolls his easy tides;

Yet o'er the silvery surface pure they flow,

The sacred stream unmix'd with streams below,

Sacred and awful! from the dark abodes

Styx pours them forth, the dreadful oath of gods!

Last, under Prothous the Magnesians stood,

(Prothous the swift, of old Tenthredon's blood;)

Who dwell where Pelion, crown'd with piny boughs,

Obscures the glade, and nods his shaggy brows;

Or where through flowery Tempe Peneus stray'd:

(The region stretch'd beneath his mighty shade:)

In forty sable barks they stemm'd the main;

Such were the chiefs, and such the Grecian train.

Say next, O Muse! of all Achaia breeds,

Who bravest fought, or rein'd the noblest steeds?

Eumelus' mares were foremost in the chase,

As eagles fleet, and of Pheretian race;

Bred where Pieria's fruitful fountains flow,

And train'd by him who bears the silver bow.

Fierce in the fight their nostrils breathed a flame,

Their height, their colour, and their age the same;

O'er fields of death they whirl the rapid car,

And break the ranks, and thunder through the war.

Ajax in arms the first renown acquired,

While stern Achilles in his wrath retired:

(His was the strength that mortal might exceeds,

And his the unrivall'd race of heavenly steeds:)

But Thetis' son now shines in arms no more;

His troops, neglected on the sandy shore.

In empty air their sportive javelins throw,

Or whirl the disk, or bend an idle bow:

Unstain'd with blood his cover'd chariots stand;

The immortal coursers graze along the strand;

But the brave chiefs the inglorious life deplored,

And, wandering o'er the camp, required their lord.

Now, like a deluge, covering all around,

The shining armies sweep along the ground;

Swift as a flood of fire, when storms arise,

Floats the wild field, and blazes to the skies.

Earth groan'd beneath them; as when angry Jove

Hurls down the forky lightning from above,

On Arime when he the thunder throws,

And fires Typhoeus with redoubled blows,

Where Typhon, press'd beneath the burning load,

Still feels the fury of the avenging god.

But various Iris, Jove's commands to bear,

Speeds on the wings of winds through liquid air;

In Priam's porch the Trojan chiefs she found,

The old consulting, and the youths around.

Polites' shape, the monarch's son, she chose,

Who from AEsetes' tomb observed the foes,[65]

High on the mound; from whence in prospect lay

The fields, the tents, the navy, and the bay.

In this dissembled form, she hastes to bring

The unwelcome message to the Phrygian king.

“Cease to consult, the time for action calls;

War, horrid war, approaches to your walls!

Assembled armies oft have I beheld;

But ne'er till now such numbers charged a field:

Thick as autumnal leaves or driving sand,

The moving squadrons blacken all the strand.

Thou, godlike Hector! all thy force employ,

Assemble all the united bands of Troy;

In just array let every leader call

The foreign troops: this day demands them all!”

The voice divine the mighty chief alarms;

The council breaks, the warriors rush to arms.

The gates unfolding pour forth all their train,

Nations on nations fill the dusky plain,

Men, steeds, and chariots, shake the trembling ground:

The tumult thickens, and the skies resound.

Amidst the plain, in sight of Ilion, stands

A rising mount, the work of human hands;

(This for Myrinne's tomb the immortals know,

Though call'd Bateia in the world below;)

Beneath their chiefs in martial order here,

The auxiliar troops and Trojan hosts appear.

The godlike Hector, high above the rest,

Shakes his huge spear, and nods his plumy crest:

In throngs around his native bands repair,

And groves of lances glitter in the air.

Divine AEneas brings the Dardan race,

Anchises' son, by Venus' stolen embrace,

Born in the shades of Ida's secret grove;

(A mortal mixing with the queen of love;)

Archilochus and Acamas divide

The warrior's toils, and combat by his side.

Who fair Zeleia's wealthy valleys till,[66]

Fast by the foot of Ida's sacred hill,

Or drink, AEsepus, of thy sable flood,

Were led by Pandarus, of royal blood;

To whom his art Apollo deign'd to show,

Graced with the presents of his shafts and bow.

From rich Apaesus and Adrestia's towers,

High Teree's summits, and Pityea's bowers;

From these the congregated troops obey

Young Amphius and Adrastus' equal sway;

Old Merops' sons; whom, skill'd in fates to come,

The sire forewarn'd, and prophesied their doom:

Fate urged them on! the sire forewarn'd in vain,

They rush'd to war, and perish'd on the plain.

From Practius' stream, Percote's pasture lands,

And Sestos and Abydos' neighbouring strands,

From great Arisba's walls and Selle's coast,

Asius Hyrtacides conducts his host:

High on his car he shakes the flowing reins,

His fiery coursers thunder o'er the plains.

The fierce Pelasgi next, in war renown'd,

March from Larissa's ever-fertile ground:

In equal arms their brother leaders shine,

Hippothous bold, and Pyleus the divine.

Next Acamas and Pyrous lead their hosts,

In dread array, from Thracia's wintry coasts;

Round the bleak realms where Hellespontus roars,

And Boreas beats the hoarse-resounding shores.

With great Euphemus the Ciconians move,

Sprung from Troezenian Ceus, loved by Jove.

Pyraechmes the Paeonian troops attend,

Skill'd in the fight their crooked bows to bend;

From Axius' ample bed he leads them on,

Axius, that laves the distant Amydon,

Axius, that swells with all his neighbouring rills,

And wide around the floating region fills.

The Paphlagonians Pylaemenes rules,

Where rich Henetia breeds her savage mules,

Where Erythinus' rising cliffs are seen,

Thy groves of box, Cytorus! ever green,

And where AEgialus and Cromna lie,

And lofty Sesamus invades the sky,

And where Parthenius, roll'd through banks of flowers,

Reflects her bordering palaces and bowers.

Here march'd in arms the Halizonian band,

Whom Odius and Epistrophus command,

From those far regions where the sun refines

The ripening silver in Alybean mines.

There mighty Chromis led the Mysian train,

And augur Ennomus, inspired in vain;

For stern Achilles lopp'd his sacred head,

Roll'd down Scamander with the vulgar dead.

Phorcys and brave Ascanius here unite

The Ascanian Phrygians, eager for the fight.

Of those who round Maeonia's realms reside,

Or whom the vales in shades of Tmolus hide,

Mestles and Antiphus the charge partake,

Born on the banks of Gyges' silent lake.

There, from the fields where wild Maeander flows,

High Mycale, and Latmos' shady brows,

And proud Miletus, came the Carian throngs,

With mingled clamours and with barbarous tongues.[67]

Amphimachus and Naustes guide the train,

Naustes the bold, Amphimachus the vain,

Who, trick'd with gold, and glittering on his car,

Rode like a woman to the field of war.

Fool that he was! by fierce Achilles slain,

The river swept him to the briny main:

There whelm'd with waves the gaudy warrior lies

The valiant victor seized the golden prize.

The forces last in fair array succeed,

Which blameless Glaucus and Sarpedon lead

The warlike bands that distant Lycia yields,

Where gulfy Xanthus foams along the fields.

Thus by their leaders' care each martial band

Moves into ranks, and stretches o'er the land.

With shouts the Trojans, rushing from afar,

Proclaim their motions, and provoke the war

So when inclement winters vex the plain

With piercing frosts, or thick-descending rain,

To warmer seas the cranes embodied fly,[68]

With noise, and order, through the midway sky;

To pigmy nations wounds and death they bring,

And all the war descends upon the wing,

But silent, breathing rage, resolved and skill'd[69]

By mutual aids to fix a doubtful field,

Swift march the Greeks: the rapid dust around

Darkening arises from the labour'd ground.

Thus from his flaggy wings when Notus sheds

A night of vapours round the mountain heads,

Swift-gliding mists the dusky fields invade,

To thieves more grateful than the midnight shade;

While scarce the swains their feeding flocks survey,

Lost and confused amidst the thicken'd day:

So wrapp'd in gathering dust, the Grecian train,

A moving cloud, swept on, and hid the plain.

Now front to front the hostile armies stand,

Eager of fight, and only wait command;

When, to the van, before the sons of fame

Whom Troy sent forth, the beauteous Paris came:

In form a god! the panther's speckled hide

Flow'd o'er his armour with an easy pride:

His bended bow across his shoulders flung,

His sword beside him negligently hung;

Two pointed spears he shook with gallant grace,

And dared the bravest of the Grecian race.

As thus, with glorious air and proud disdain,

He boldly stalk'd, the foremost on the plain,

Him Menelaus, loved of Mars, espies,

With heart elated, and with joyful eyes:

So joys a lion, if the branching deer,

Or mountain goat, his bulky prize, appear;

Eager he seizes and devours the slain,

Press'd by bold youths and baying dogs in vain.

Thus fond of vengeance, with a furious bound,

In clanging arms he leaps upon the ground

From his high chariot: him, approaching near,

The beauteous champion views with marks of fear,

Smit with a conscious sense, retires behind,

And shuns the fate he well deserved to find.

As when some shepherd, from the rustling trees[70]

Shot forth to view, a scaly serpent sees,

Trembling and pale, he starts with wild affright

And all confused precipitates his flight:

So from the king the shining warrior flies,

And plunged amid the thickest Trojans lies.

As godlike Hector sees the prince retreat,

He thus upbraids him with a generous heat:

“Unhappy Paris! but to women brave![71]

So fairly form'd, and only to deceive!

Oh, hadst thou died when first thou saw'st the light,

Or died at least before thy nuptial rite!

A better fate than vainly thus to boast,

And fly, the scandal of thy Trojan host.

Gods! how the scornful Greeks exult to see

Their fears of danger undeceived in thee!

Thy figure promised with a martial air,

But ill thy soul supplies a form so fair.

In former days, in all thy gallant pride,

When thy tall ships triumphant stemm'd the tide,

When Greece beheld thy painted canvas flow,

And crowds stood wondering at the passing show,

Say, was it thus, with such a baffled mien,

You met the approaches of the Spartan queen,

Thus from her realm convey'd the beauteous prize,

And both her warlike lords outshined in Helen's eyes?

This deed, thy foes' delight, thy own disgrace,

Thy father's grief, and ruin of thy race;

This deed recalls thee to the proffer'd fight;

Or hast thou injured whom thou dar'st not right?

Soon to thy cost the field would make thee know

Thou keep'st the consort of a braver foe.

Thy graceful form instilling soft desire,

Thy curling tresses, and thy silver lyre,

Beauty and youth; in vain to these you trust,

When youth and beauty shall be laid in dust:

Troy yet may wake, and one avenging blow

Crush the dire author of his country's woe.”

His silence here, with blushes, Paris breaks:

“'Tis just, my brother, what your anger speaks:

But who like thee can boast a soul sedate,

So firmly proof to all the shocks of fate?

Thy force, like steel, a temper'd hardness shows,

Still edged to wound, and still untired with blows,

Like steel, uplifted by some strenuous swain,

With falling woods to strew the wasted plain.

Thy gifts I praise; nor thou despise the charms

With which a lover golden Venus arms;

Soft moving speech, and pleasing outward show,

No wish can gain them, but the gods bestow.

Yet, would'st thou have the proffer'd combat stand,

The Greeks and Trojans seat on either hand;

Then let a midway space our hosts divide,

And, on that stage of war, the cause be tried:

By Paris there the Spartan king be fought,

For beauteous Helen and the wealth she brought;

And who his rival can in arms subdue,

His be the fair, and his the treasure too.

Thus with a lasting league your toils may cease,

And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace;

Thus may the Greeks review their native shore,

Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.”

He said. The challenge Hector heard with joy,

Then with his spear restrain'd the youth of Troy,

Held by the midst, athwart; and near the foe

Advanced with steps majestically slow:

While round his dauntless head the Grecians pour

Their stones and arrows in a mingled shower.

Then thus the monarch, great Atrides, cried:

“Forbear, ye warriors! lay the darts aside:

A parley Hector asks, a message bears;

We know him by the various plume he wears.”

Awed by his high command the Greeks attend,

The tumult silence, and the fight suspend.

While from the centre Hector rolls his eyes

On either host, and thus to both applies:

“Hear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands,

What Paris, author of the war, demands.

Your shining swords within the sheath restrain,

And pitch your lances in the yielding plain.

Here in the midst, in either army's sight,

He dares the Spartan king to single fight;

And wills that Helen and the ravish'd spoil,

That caused the contest, shall reward the toil.

Let these the brave triumphant victor grace,

And different nations part in leagues of peace.”

He spoke: in still suspense on either side

Each army stood: the Spartan chief replied:

“Me too, ye warriors, hear, whose fatal right

A world engages in the toils of fight.

To me the labour of the field resign;

Me Paris injured; all the war be mine.

Fall he that must, beneath his rival's arms;

And live the rest, secure of future harms.

Two lambs, devoted by your country's rite,

To earth a sable, to the sun a white,

Prepare, ye Trojans! while a third we bring

Select to Jove, the inviolable king.

Let reverend Priam in the truce engage,

And add the sanction of considerate age;

His sons are faithless, headlong in debate,

And youth itself an empty wavering state;

Cool age advances, venerably wise,

Turns on all hands its deep-discerning eyes;

Sees what befell, and what may yet befall,

Concludes from both, and best provides for all.

The nations hear with rising hopes possess'd,

And peaceful prospects dawn in every breast.

Within the lines they drew their steeds around,

And from their chariots issued on the ground;

Next, all unbuckling the rich mail they wore,

Laid their bright arms along the sable shore.

On either side the meeting hosts are seen

With lances fix'd, and close the space between.

Two heralds now, despatch'd to Troy, invite

The Phrygian monarch to the peaceful rite.

Talthybius hastens to the fleet, to bring

The lamb for Jove, the inviolable king.

Meantime to beauteous Helen, from the skies

The various goddess of the rainbow flies:

(Like fair Laodice in form and face,

The loveliest nymph of Priam's royal race:)

Her in the palace, at her loom she found;

The golden web her own sad story crown'd,

The Trojan wars she weaved (herself the prize)

And the dire triumphs of her fatal eyes.

To whom the goddess of the painted bow:

“Approach, and view the wondrous scene below![72]

Each hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight,

So dreadful late, and furious for the fight,

Now rest their spears, or lean upon their shields;

Ceased is the war, and silent all the fields.

Paris alone and Sparta's king advance,

In single fight to toss the beamy lance;

Each met in arms, the fate of combat tries,

Thy love the motive, and thy charms the prize.”

This said, the many-coloured maid inspires

Her husband's love, and wakes her former fires;

Her country, parents, all that once were dear,

Rush to her thought, and force a tender tear,

O'er her fair face a snowy veil she threw,

And, softly sighing, from the loom withdrew.

Her handmaids, Clymene and AEthra, wait

Her silent footsteps to the Scaean gate.

There sat the seniors of the Trojan race:

(Old Priam's chiefs, and most in Priam's grace,)

The king the first; Thymoetes at his side;

Lampus and Clytius, long in council tried;

Panthus, and Hicetaon, once the strong;

And next, the wisest of the reverend throng,

Antenor grave, and sage Ucalegon,

Lean'd on the walls and bask'd before the sun:

Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage,

But wise through time, and narrative with age,

In summer days, like grasshoppers rejoice,

A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.

These, when the Spartan queen approach'd the tower,

In secret own'd resistless beauty's power:

They cried, “No wonder such celestial charms[73]

For nine long years have set the world in arms;

What winning graces! what majestic mien!

She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen!

Yet hence, O Heaven, convey that fatal face,

And from destruction save the Trojan race.”

The good old Priam welcomed her, and cried,

“Approach, my child, and grace thy father's side.

See on the plain thy Grecian spouse appears,

The friends and kindred of thy former years.

No crime of thine our present sufferings draws,

Not thou, but Heaven's disposing will, the cause

The gods these armies and this force employ,

The hostile gods conspire the fate of Troy.

But lift thy eyes, and say, what Greek is he

(Far as from hence these aged orbs can see)

Around whose brow such martial graces shine,

So tall, so awful, and almost divine!

Though some of larger stature tread the green,

None match his grandeur and exalted mien:

He seems a monarch, and his country's pride.”

Thus ceased the king, and thus the fair replied:

“Before thy presence, father, I appear,

With conscious shame and reverential fear.

Ah! had I died, ere to these walk I fled,

False to my country, and my nuptial bed;

My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind,

False to them all, to Paris only kind!

For this I mourn, till grief or dire disease

Shall waste the form whose fault it was to please!

The king of kings, Atrides, you survey,

Great in the war, and great in arts of sway:

My brother once, before my days of shame!

And oh! that still he bore a brother's name!”

With wonder Priam view'd the godlike man,

Extoll'd the happy prince, and thus began:

“O bless'd Atrides! born to prosperous fate,

Successful monarch of a mighty state!

How vast thy empire! Of your matchless train

What numbers lost, what numbers yet remain!

In Phrygia once were gallant armies known,

In ancient time, when Otreus fill'd the throne,

When godlike Mygdon led their troops of horse,

And I, to join them, raised the Trojan force:

Against the manlike Amazons we stood,[74]

And Sangar's stream ran purple with their blood.

But far inferior those, in martial grace,

And strength of numbers, to this Grecian race.”

This said, once more he view'd the warrior train;

“What's he, whose arms lie scatter'd on the plain?

Broad is his breast, his shoulders larger spread,

Though great Atrides overtops his head.

Nor yet appear his care and conduct small;

From rank to rank he moves, and orders all.

The stately ram thus measures o'er the ground,

And, master of the flock, surveys them round.”

Then Helen thus: “Whom your discerning eyes

Have singled out, is Ithacus the wise;

A barren island boasts his glorious birth;

His fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth.”

Antenor took the word, and thus began:[75]

“Myself, O king! have seen that wondrous man

When, trusting Jove and hospitable laws,

To Troy he came, to plead the Grecian cause;

(Great Menelaus urged the same request;)

My house was honour'd with each royal guest:

I knew their persons, and admired their parts,

Both brave in arms, and both approved in arts.

Erect, the Spartan most engaged our view;

Ulysses seated, greater reverence drew.

When Atreus' son harangued the listening train,

Just was his sense, and his expression plain,

His words succinct, yet full, without a fault;

He spoke no more than just the thing he ought.

But when Ulysses rose, in thought profound,[76]

His modest eyes he fix'd upon the ground;

As one unskill'd or dumb, he seem'd to stand,

Nor raised his head, nor stretch'd his sceptred hand;

But, when he speaks, what elocution flows!

Soft as the fleeces of descending snows,[77]

The copious accents fall, with easy art;

Melting they fall, and sink into the heart!

Wondering we hear, and fix'd in deep surprise,

Our ears refute the censure of our eyes.”

The king then ask'd (as yet the camp he view'd)

“What chief is that, with giant strength endued,

Whose brawny shoulders, and whose swelling chest,

And lofty stature, far exceed the rest?

“Ajax the great, (the beauteous queen replied,)

Himself a host: the Grecian strength and pride.

See! bold Idomeneus superior towers

Amid yon circle of his Cretan powers,

Great as a god! I saw him once before,

With Menelaus on the Spartan shore.

The rest I know, and could in order name;

All valiant chiefs, and men of mighty fame.

Yet two are wanting of the numerous train,

Whom long my eyes have sought, but sought in vain:

Castor and Pollux, first in martial force,

One bold on foot, and one renown'd for horse.

My brothers these; the same our native shore,

One house contain'd us, as one mother bore.

Perhaps the chiefs, from warlike toils at ease,

For distant Troy refused to sail the seas;

Perhaps their swords some nobler quarrel draws,

Ashamed to combat in their sister's cause.”

So spoke the fair, nor knew her brothers' doom;[78]

Wrapt in the cold embraces of the tomb;

Adorn'd with honours in their native shore,

Silent they slept, and heard of wars no more.

Meantime the heralds, through the crowded town.

Bring the rich wine and destined victims down.

Idaeus' arms the golden goblets press'd,[79]

Who thus the venerable king address'd:

“Arise, O father of the Trojan state!

The nations call, thy joyful people wait

To seal the truce, and end the dire debate.

Paris, thy son, and Sparta's king advance,

In measured lists to toss the weighty lance;

And who his rival shall in arms subdue,

His be the dame, and his the treasure too.

Thus with a lasting league our toils may cease,

And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace:

So shall the Greeks review their native shore,

Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.”

With grief he heard, and bade the chiefs prepare

To join his milk-white coursers to the car;

He mounts the seat, Antenor at his side;

The gentle steeds through Scaea's gates they guide:[80]

Next from the car descending on the plain,

Amid the Grecian host and Trojan train,

Slow they proceed: the sage Ulysses then

Arose, and with him rose the king of men.

On either side a sacred herald stands,

The wine they mix, and on each monarch's hands

Pour the full urn; then draws the Grecian lord

His cutlass sheathed beside his ponderous sword;

From the sign'd victims crops the curling hair;[81]

The heralds part it, and the princes share;

Then loudly thus before the attentive bands

He calls the gods, and spreads his lifted hands:

“O first and greatest power! whom all obey,

Who high on Ida's holy mountain sway,

Eternal Jove! and you bright orb that roll

From east to west, and view from pole to pole!

Thou mother Earth! and all ye living floods!

Infernal furies, and Tartarean gods,

Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare

For perjured kings, and all who falsely swear!

Hear, and be witness. If, by Paris slain,

Great Menelaus press the fatal plain;

The dame and treasures let the Trojan keep,

And Greece returning plough the watery deep.

If by my brother's lance the Trojan bleed,

Be his the wealth and beauteous dame decreed:

The appointed fine let Ilion justly pay,

And every age record the signal day.

This if the Phrygians shall refuse to yield,

Arms must revenge, and Mars decide the field.”

With that the chief the tender victims slew,

And in the dust their bleeding bodies threw;

The vital spirit issued at the wound,

And left the members quivering on the ground.

From the same urn they drink the mingled wine,

And add libations to the powers divine.

While thus their prayers united mount the sky,

“Hear, mighty Jove! and hear, ye gods on high!

And may their blood, who first the league confound,

Shed like this wine, disdain the thirsty ground;

May all their consorts serve promiscuous lust,

And all their lust be scatter'd as the dust!”

Thus either host their imprecations join'd,

Which Jove refused, and mingled with the wind.

The rites now finish'd, reverend Priam rose,

And thus express'd a heart o'ercharged with woes:

“Ye Greeks and Trojans, let the chiefs engage,

But spare the weakness of my feeble age:

In yonder walls that object let me shun,

Nor view the danger of so dear a son.

Whose arms shall conquer and what prince shall fall,

Heaven only knows; for heaven disposes all.”

This said, the hoary king no longer stay'd,

But on his car the slaughter'd victims laid:

Then seized the reins his gentle steeds to guide,

And drove to Troy, Antenor at his side.

Bold Hector and Ulysses now dispose

The lists of combat, and the ground inclose:

Next to decide, by sacred lots prepare,

Who first shall launch his pointed spear in air.

The people pray with elevated hands,

And words like these are heard through all the bands:

“Immortal Jove, high Heaven's superior lord,

On lofty Ida's holy mount adored!

Whoe'er involved us in this dire debate,

O give that author of the war to fate

And shades eternal! let division cease,

And joyful nations join in leagues of peace.”

With eyes averted Hector hastes to turn

The lots of fight and shakes the brazen urn.

Then, Paris, thine leap'd forth; by fatal chance

Ordain'd the first to whirl the weighty lance.

Both armies sat the combat to survey.

Beside each chief his azure armour lay,

And round the lists the generous coursers neigh.

The beauteous warrior now arrays for fight,

In gilded arms magnificently bright:

The purple cuishes clasp his thighs around,

With flowers adorn'd, with silver buckles bound:

Lycaon's corslet his fair body dress'd,

Braced in and fitted to his softer breast;

A radiant baldric, o'er his shoulder tied,

Sustain'd the sword that glitter'd at his side:

His youthful face a polish'd helm o'erspread;

The waving horse-hair nodded on his head:

His figured shield, a shining orb, he takes,

And in his hand a pointed javelin shakes.

With equal speed and fired by equal charms,

The Spartan hero sheathes his limbs in arms.

Now round the lists the admiring armies stand,

With javelins fix'd, the Greek and Trojan band.

Amidst the dreadful vale, the chiefs advance,

All pale with rage, and shake the threatening lance.

The Trojan first his shining javelin threw;

Full on Atrides' ringing shield it flew,

Nor pierced the brazen orb, but with a bound[82]

Leap'd from the buckler, blunted, on the ground.

Atrides then his massy lance prepares,

In act to throw, but first prefers his prayers:

“Give me, great Jove! to punish lawless lust,

And lay the Trojan gasping in the dust:

Destroy the aggressor, aid my righteous cause,

Avenge the breach of hospitable laws!

Let this example future times reclaim,

And guard from wrong fair friendship's holy name.”

Be said, and poised in air the javelin sent,

Through Paris' shield the forceful weapon went,

His corslet pierces, and his garment rends,

And glancing downward, near his flank descends.

The wary Trojan, bending from the blow,

Eludes the death, and disappoints his foe:

But fierce Atrides waved his sword, and strook

Full on his casque: the crested helmet shook;

The brittle steel, unfaithful to his hand,

Broke short: the fragments glitter'd on the sand.

The raging warrior to the spacious skies

Raised his upbraiding voice and angry eyes:

“Then is it vain in Jove himself to trust?

And is it thus the gods assist the just?

When crimes provoke us, Heaven success denies;

The dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies.”

Furious he said, and towards the Grecian crew

(Seized by the crest) the unhappy warrior drew;

Struggling he followed, while the embroider'd thong

That tied his helmet, dragg'd the chief along.

Then had his ruin crown'd Atrides' joy,

But Venus trembled for the prince of Troy:

Unseen she came, and burst the golden band;

And left an empty helmet in his hand.

The casque, enraged, amidst the Greeks he threw;

The Greeks with smiles the polish'd trophy view.

Then, as once more he lifts the deadly dart,

In thirst of vengeance, at his rival's heart;

The queen of love her favour'd champion shrouds

(For gods can all things) in a veil of clouds.

Raised from the field the panting youth she led,

And gently laid him on the bridal bed,

With pleasing sweets his fainting sense renews,

And all the dome perfumes with heavenly dews.

Meantime the brightest of the female kind,

The matchless Helen, o'er the walls reclined;

To her, beset with Trojan beauties, came,

In borrow'd form, the laughter-loving dame.

(She seem'd an ancient maid, well-skill'd to cull

The snowy fleece, and wind the twisted wool.)

The goddess softly shook her silken vest,

That shed perfumes, and whispering thus address'd:

“Haste, happy nymph! for thee thy Paris calls,

Safe from the fight, in yonder lofty walls,

Fair as a god; with odours round him spread,

He lies, and waits thee on the well-known bed;

Not like a warrior parted from the foe,

But some gay dancer in the public show.”

She spoke, and Helen's secret soul was moved;

She scorn'd the champion, but the man she loved.

Fair Venus' neck, her eyes that sparkled fire,

And breast, reveal'd the queen of soft desire.[83]

Struck with her presence, straight the lively red

Forsook her cheek; and trembling, thus she said:

“Then is it still thy pleasure to deceive?

And woman's frailty always to believe!

Say, to new nations must I cross the main,

Or carry wars to some soft Asian plain?

For whom must Helen break her second vow?

What other Paris is thy darling now?

Left to Atrides, (victor in the strife,)

An odious conquest and a captive wife,

Hence let me sail; and if thy Paris bear

My absence ill, let Venus ease his care.

A handmaid goddess at his side to wait,

Renounce the glories of thy heavenly state,

Be fix'd for ever to the Trojan shore,

His spouse, or slave; and mount the skies no more.

For me, to lawless love no longer led,

I scorn the coward, and detest his bed;

Else should I merit everlasting shame,

And keen reproach, from every Phrygian dame:

Ill suits it now the joys of love to know,

Too deep my anguish, and too wild my woe.”

Then thus incensed, the Paphian queen replies:

“Obey the power from whom thy glories rise:

Should Venus leave thee, every charm must fly,

Fade from thy cheek, and languish in thy eye.

Cease to provoke me, lest I make thee more

The world's aversion, than their love before;

Now the bright prize for which mankind engage,

Than, the sad victim, of the public rage.”

At this, the fairest of her sex obey'd,

And veil'd her blushes in a silken shade;

Unseen, and silent, from the train she moves,

Led by the goddess of the Smiles and Loves.

Arrived, and enter'd at the palace gate,

The maids officious round their mistress wait;

Then, all dispersing, various tasks attend;

The queen and goddess to the prince ascend.

Full in her Paris' sight, the queen of love

Had placed the beauteous progeny of Jove;

Where, as he view'd her charms, she turn'd away

Her glowing eyes, and thus began to say:

“Is this the chief, who, lost to sense of shame,

Late fled the field, and yet survives his fame?

O hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword

Of that brave man whom once I call'd my lord!

The boaster Paris oft desired the day

With Sparta's king to meet in single fray:

Go now, once more thy rival's rage excite,

Provoke Atrides, and renew the fight:

Yet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill'd

Shouldst fall an easy conquest on the field.”

The prince replies: “Ah cease, divinely fair,

Nor add reproaches to the wounds I bear;

This day the foe prevail'd by Pallas' power:

We yet may vanquish in a happier hour:

There want not gods to favour us above;

But let the business of our life be love:

These softer moments let delights employ,

And kind embraces snatch the hasty joy.

Not thus I loved thee, when from Sparta's shore

My forced, my willing heavenly prize I bore,

When first entranced in Cranae's isle I lay,[84]

Mix'd with thy soul, and all dissolved away!”

Thus having spoke, the enamour'd Phrygian boy

Rush'd to the bed, impatient for the joy.

Him Helen follow'd slow with bashful charms,

And clasp'd the blooming hero in her arms.

While these to love's delicious rapture yield,

The stern Atrides rages round the field:

So some fell lion whom the woods obey,

Roars through the desert, and demands his prey.

Paris he seeks, impatient to destroy,

But seeks in vain along the troops of Troy;

Even those had yielded to a foe so brave

The recreant warrior, hateful as the grave.

Then speaking thus, the king of kings arose,

“Ye Trojans, Dardans, all our generous foes!

Hear and attest! from Heaven with conquest crown'd,

Our brother's arms the just success have found:

Be therefore now the Spartan wealth restor'd,

Let Argive Helen own her lawful lord;

The appointed fine let Ilion justly pay,

And age to age record this signal day.”

He ceased; his army's loud applauses rise,

And the long shout runs echoing through the skies.

And now Olympus' shining gates unfold;

The gods, with Jove, assume their thrones of gold:

Immortal Hebe, fresh with bloom divine,

The golden goblet crowns with purple wine:

While the full bowls flow round, the powers employ

Their careful eyes on long-contended Troy.

When Jove, disposed to tempt Saturnia's spleen,

Thus waked the fury of his partial queen,

“Two powers divine the son of Atreus aid,

Imperial Juno, and the martial maid;[85]

But high in heaven they sit, and gaze from far,

The tame spectators of his deeds of war.

Not thus fair Venus helps her favour'd knight,

The queen of pleasures shares the toils of fight,

Each danger wards, and constant in her care,

Saves in the moment of the last despair.

Her act has rescued Paris' forfeit life,

Though great Atrides gain'd the glorious strife.

Then say, ye powers! what signal issue waits

To crown this deed, and finish all the fates!

Shall Heaven by peace the bleeding kingdoms spare,

Or rouse the furies, and awake the war?

Yet, would the gods for human good provide,

Atrides soon might gain his beauteous bride,

Still Priam's walls in peaceful honours grow,

And through his gates the crowding nations flow.”

Thus while he spoke, the queen of heaven, enraged,

And queen of war, in close consult engaged:

Apart they sit, their deep designs employ,

And meditate the future woes of Troy.

Though secret anger swell'd Minerva's breast,

The prudent goddess yet her wrath suppress'd;

But Juno, impotent of passion, broke

Her sullen silence, and with fury spoke:

“Shall then, O tyrant of the ethereal reign!

My schemes, my labours, and my hopes be vain?

Have I, for this, shook Ilion with alarms,

Assembled nations, set two worlds in arms?

To spread the war, I flew from shore to shore;

The immortal coursers scarce the labour bore.

At length ripe vengeance o'er their heads impends,

But Jove himself the faithless race defends.

Loth as thou art to punish lawless lust,

Not all the gods are partial and unjust.”

The sire whose thunder shakes the cloudy skies,

Sighs from his inmost soul, and thus replies:

“Oh lasting rancour! oh insatiate hate

To Phrygia's monarch, and the Phrygian state!

What high offence has fired the wife of Jove?

Can wretched mortals harm the powers above,

That Troy, and Troy's whole race thou wouldst confound,

And yon fair structures level with the ground!

Haste, leave the skies, fulfil thy stern desire,

Burst all her gates, and wrap her walls in fire!

Let Priam bleed! if yet you thirst for more,

Bleed all his sons, and Ilion float with gore:

To boundless vengeance the wide realm be given,

Till vast destruction glut the queen of heaven!

So let it be, and Jove his peace enjoy,[86]

When heaven no longer hears the name of Troy.

But should this arm prepare to wreak our hate

On thy loved realms, whose guilt demands their fate;

Presume not thou the lifted bolt to stay,

Remember Troy, and give the vengeance way.

For know, of all the numerous towns that rise

Beneath the rolling sun and starry skies,

Which gods have raised, or earth-born men enjoy,

None stands so dear to Jove as sacred Troy.

No mortals merit more distinguish'd grace

Than godlike Priam, or than Priam's race.

Still to our name their hecatombs expire,

And altars blaze with unextinguish'd fire.”

At this the goddess rolled her radiant eyes,

Then on the Thunderer fix'd them, and replies:

“Three towns are Juno's on the Grecian plains,

More dear than all the extended earth contains,

Mycenae, Argos, and the Spartan wall;[87]

These thou mayst raze, nor I forbid their fall:

'Tis not in me the vengeance to remove;

The crime's sufficient that they share my love.

Of power superior why should I complain?

Resent I may, but must resent in vain.

Yet some distinction Juno might require,

Sprung with thyself from one celestial sire,

A goddess born, to share the realms above,

And styled the consort of the thundering Jove;

Nor thou a wife and sister's right deny;[88]

Let both consent, and both by terms comply;

So shall the gods our joint decrees obey,

And heaven shall act as we direct the way.

See ready Pallas waits thy high commands

To raise in arms the Greek and Phrygian bands;

Their sudden friendship by her arts may cease,

And the proud Trojans first infringe the peace.”

The sire of men and monarch of the sky

The advice approved, and bade Minerva fly,

Dissolve the league, and all her arts employ

To make the breach the faithless act of Troy.

Fired with the charge, she headlong urged her flight,

And shot like lightning from Olympus' height.

As the red comet, from Saturnius sent

To fright the nations with a dire portent,

(A fatal sign to armies on the plain,

Or trembling sailors on the wintry main,)

With sweeping glories glides along in air,

And shakes the sparkles from its blazing hair:[89]

Between both armies thus, in open sight

Shot the bright goddess in a trail of light,

With eyes erect the gazing hosts admire

The power descending, and the heavens on fire!

“The gods (they cried), the gods this signal sent,

And fate now labours with some vast event:

Jove seals the league, or bloodier scenes prepares;

Jove, the great arbiter of peace and wars.”

They said, while Pallas through the Trojan throng,

(In shape a mortal,) pass'd disguised along.

Like bold Laodocus, her course she bent,

Who from Antenor traced his high descent.

Amidst the ranks Lycaon's son she found,

The warlike Pandarus, for strength renown'd;

Whose squadrons, led from black AEsepus' flood,[90]

With flaming shields in martial circle stood.

To him the goddess: “Phrygian! canst thou hear

A well-timed counsel with a willing ear?

What praise were thine, couldst thou direct thy dart,

Amidst his triumph, to the Spartan's heart?

What gifts from Troy, from Paris wouldst thou gain,

Thy country's foe, the Grecian glory slain?

Then seize the occasion, dare the mighty deed,

Aim at his breast, and may that aim succeed!

But first, to speed the shaft, address thy vow

To Lycian Phoebus with the silver bow,

And swear the firstlings of thy flock to pay,

On Zelia's altars, to the god of day.”[91]

He heard, and madly at the motion pleased,

His polish'd bow with hasty rashness seized.

'Twas form'd of horn, and smooth'd with artful toil:

A mountain goat resign'd the shining spoil.

Who pierced long since beneath his arrows bled;

The stately quarry on the cliffs lay dead,

And sixteen palms his brow's large honours spread:

The workmen join'd, and shaped the bended horns,

And beaten gold each taper point adorns.

This, by the Greeks unseen, the warrior bends,

Screen'd by the shields of his surrounding friends:

There meditates the mark; and couching low,

Fits the sharp arrow to the well-strung bow.

One from a hundred feather'd deaths he chose,

Fated to wound, and cause of future woes;

Then offers vows with hecatombs to crown

Apollo's altars in his native town.

Now with full force the yielding horn he bends,

Drawn to an arch, and joins the doubling ends;

Close to his breast he strains the nerve below,

Till the barb'd points approach the circling bow;

The impatient weapon whizzes on the wing;

Sounds the tough horn, and twangs the quivering string.

But thee, Atrides! in that dangerous hour

The gods forget not, nor thy guardian power,

Pallas assists, and (weakened in its force)

Diverts the weapon from its destined course:

So from her babe, when slumber seals his eye,

The watchful mother wafts the envenom'd fly.

Just where his belt with golden buckles join'd,

Where linen folds the double corslet lined,

She turn'd the shaft, which, hissing from above,

Pass'd the broad belt, and through the corslet drove;

The folds it pierced, the plaited linen tore,

And razed the skin, and drew the purple gore.

As when some stately trappings are decreed

To grace a monarch on his bounding steed,

A nymph in Caria or Maeonia bred,

Stains the pure ivory with a lively red;

With equal lustre various colours vie,

The shining whiteness, and the Tyrian dye:

So great Atrides! show'd thy sacred blood,

As down thy snowy thigh distill'd the streaming flood.

With horror seized, the king of men descried

The shaft infix'd, and saw the gushing tide:

Nor less the Spartan fear'd, before he found

The shining barb appear above the wound,

Then, with a sigh, that heaved his manly breast,

The royal brother thus his grief express'd,

And grasp'd his hand; while all the Greeks around

With answering sighs return'd the plaintive sound.

“Oh, dear as life! did I for this agree

The solemn truce, a fatal truce to thee!

Wert thou exposed to all the hostile train,

To fight for Greece, and conquer, to be slain!

The race of Trojans in thy ruin join,

And faith is scorn'd by all the perjured line.

Not thus our vows, confirm'd with wine and gore,

Those hands we plighted, and those oaths we swore,

Shall all be vain: when Heaven's revenge is slow,

Jove but prepares to strike the fiercer blow.

The day shall come, that great avenging day,

When Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay,

When Priam's powers and Priam's self shall fall,

And one prodigious ruin swallow all.

I see the god, already, from the pole

Bare his red arm, and bid the thunder roll;

I see the Eternal all his fury shed,

And shake his aegis o'er their guilty head.

Such mighty woes on perjured princes wait;

But thou, alas! deserv'st a happier fate.

Still must I mourn the period of thy days,

And only mourn, without my share of praise?

Deprived of thee, the heartless Greeks no more

Shall dream of conquests on the hostile shore;

Troy seized of Helen, and our glory lost,

Thy bones shall moulder on a foreign coast;

While some proud Trojan thus insulting cries,

(And spurns the dust where Menelaus lies,)

'Such are the trophies Greece from Ilion brings,

And such the conquest of her king of kings!

Lo his proud vessels scatter'd o'er the main,

And unrevenged, his mighty brother slain.'

Oh! ere that dire disgrace shall blast my fame,

O'erwhelm me, earth! and hide a monarch's shame.”

He said: a leader's and a brother's fears

Possess his soul, which thus the Spartan cheers:

“Let not thy words the warmth of Greece abate;

The feeble dart is guiltless of my fate:

Stiff with the rich embroider'd work around,

My varied belt repell'd the flying wound.”

To whom the king: “My brother and my friend,

Thus, always thus, may Heaven thy life defend!

Now seek some skilful hand, whose powerful art

May stanch the effusion, and extract the dart.

Herald, be swift, and bid Machaon bring

His speedy succour to the Spartan king;

Pierced with a winged shaft (the deed of Troy),

The Grecian's sorrow, and the Dardan's joy.”

With hasty zeal the swift Talthybius flies;

Through the thick files he darts his searching eyes,

And finds Machaon, where sublime he stands[92]

In arms incircled with his native bands.

Then thus: “Machaon, to the king repair,

His wounded brother claims thy timely care;

Pierced by some Lycian or Dardanian bow,

A grief to us, a triumph to the foe.”

The heavy tidings grieved the godlike man

Swift to his succour through the ranks he ran.

The dauntless king yet standing firm he found,

And all the chiefs in deep concern around.

Where to the steely point the reed was join'd,

The shaft he drew, but left the head behind.

Straight the broad belt with gay embroidery graced,

He loosed; the corslet from his breast unbraced;

Then suck'd the blood, and sovereign balm infused,[93]

Which Chiron gave, and AEsculapius used.

While round the prince the Greeks employ their care,

The Trojans rush tumultuous to the war;

Once more they glitter in refulgent arms,

Once more the fields are fill'd with dire alarms.

Nor had you seen the king of men appear

Confused, unactive, or surprised with fear;

But fond of glory, with severe delight,

His beating bosom claim'd the rising fight.

No longer with his warlike steeds he stay'd,

Or press'd the car with polish'd brass inlaid

But left Eurymedon the reins to guide;

The fiery coursers snorted at his side.

On foot through all the martial ranks he moves

And these encourages, and those reproves.

“Brave men!” he cries, (to such who boldly dare

Urge their swift steeds to face the coming war),

“Your ancient valour on the foes approve;

Jove is with Greece, and let us trust in Jove.

'Tis not for us, but guilty Troy, to dread,

Whose crimes sit heavy on her perjured head;

Her sons and matrons Greece shall lead in chains,

And her dead warriors strew the mournful plains.”

Thus with new ardour he the brave inspires;

Or thus the fearful with reproaches fires:

“Shame to your country, scandal of your kind;

Born to the fate ye well deserve to find!

Why stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain,

Prepared for flight, but doom'd to fly in vain?

Confused and panting thus, the hunted deer

Falls as he flies, a victim to his fear.

Still must ye wait the foes, and still retire,

Till yon tall vessels blaze with Trojan fire?

Or trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chase,

To save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?”

This said, he stalk'd with ample strides along,

To Crete's brave monarch and his martial throng;

High at their head he saw the chief appear,

And bold Meriones excite the rear.

At this the king his generous joy express'd,

And clasp'd the warrior to his armed breast.

“Divine Idomeneus! what thanks we owe

To worth like thine! what praise shall we bestow?

To thee the foremost honours are decreed,

First in the fight and every graceful deed.

For this, in banquets, when the generous bowls

Restore our blood, and raise the warriors' souls,

Though all the rest with stated rules we bound,

Unmix'd, unmeasured, are thy goblets crown'd.

Be still thyself, in arms a mighty name;

Maintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame.”

To whom the Cretan thus his speech address'd:

“Secure of me, O king! exhort the rest.

Fix'd to thy side, in every toil I share,

Thy firm associate in the day of war.

But let the signal be this moment given;

To mix in fight is all I ask of Heaven.

The field shall prove how perjuries succeed,

And chains or death avenge the impious deed.”

Charm'd with this heat, the king his course pursues,

And next the troops of either Ajax views:

In one firm orb the bands were ranged around,

A cloud of heroes blacken'd all the ground.

Thus from the lofty promontory's brow

A swain surveys the gathering storm below;

Slow from the main the heavy vapours rise,

Spread in dim streams, and sail along the skies,

Till black as night the swelling tempest shows,

The cloud condensing as the west-wind blows:

He dreads the impending storm, and drives his flock

To the close covert of an arching rock.

Such, and so thick, the embattled squadrons stood,

With spears erect, a moving iron wood:

A shady light was shot from glimmering shields,

And their brown arms obscured the dusky fields.

“O heroes! worthy such a dauntless train,

Whose godlike virtue we but urge in vain,

(Exclaim'd the king), who raise your eager bands

With great examples, more than loud commands.

Ah! would the gods but breathe in all the rest

Such souls as burn in your exalted breast,

Soon should our arms with just success be crown'd,

And Troy's proud walls lie smoking on the ground.”

Then to the next the general bends his course;

(His heart exults, and glories in his force);

There reverend Nestor ranks his Pylian bands,

And with inspiring eloquence commands;

With strictest order sets his train in arms,

The chiefs advises, and the soldiers warms.

Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, round him wait,

Bias the good, and Pelagon the great.

The horse and chariots to the front assign'd,

The foot (the strength of war) he ranged behind;

The middle space suspected troops supply,

Inclosed by both, nor left the power to fly;

He gives command to “curb the fiery steed,

Nor cause confusion, nor the ranks exceed:

Before the rest let none too rashly ride;

No strength nor skill, but just in time, be tried:

The charge once made, no warrior turn the rein,

But fight, or fall; a firm embodied train.

He whom the fortune of the field shall cast

From forth his chariot, mount the next in haste;

Nor seek unpractised to direct the car,

Content with javelins to provoke the war.

Our great forefathers held this prudent course,

Thus ruled their ardour, thus preserved their force;

By laws like these immortal conquests made,

And earth's proud tyrants low in ashes laid.”

So spoke the master of the martial art,

And touch'd with transport great Atrides' heart.

“Oh! hadst thou strength to match thy brave desires,

And nerves to second what thy soul inspires!

But wasting years, that wither human race,

Exhaust thy spirits, and thy arms unbrace.

What once thou wert, oh ever mightst thou be!

And age the lot of any chief but thee.”

Thus to the experienced prince Atrides cried;

He shook his hoary locks, and thus replied:

“Well might I wish, could mortal wish renew[94]

That strength which once in boiling youth I knew;

Such as I was, when Ereuthalion, slain

Beneath this arm, fell prostrate on the plain.

But heaven its gifts not all at once bestows,

These years with wisdom crowns, with action those:

The field of combat fits the young and bold,

The solemn council best becomes the old:

To you the glorious conflict I resign,

Let sage advice, the palm of age, be mine.”

He said. With joy the monarch march'd before,

And found Menestheus on the dusty shore,

With whom the firm Athenian phalanx stands;

And next Ulysses, with his subject bands.

Remote their forces lay, nor knew so far

The peace infringed, nor heard the sounds of war;

The tumult late begun, they stood intent

To watch the motion, dubious of the event.

The king, who saw their squadrons yet unmoved,

With hasty ardour thus the chiefs reproved:

“Can Peleus' son forget a warrior's part.

And fears Ulysses, skill'd in every art?

Why stand you distant, and the rest expect

To mix in combat which yourselves neglect?

From you 'twas hoped among the first to dare

The shock of armies, and commence the war;

For this your names are call'd before the rest,

To share the pleasures of the genial feast:

And can you, chiefs! without a blush survey

Whole troops before you labouring in the fray?

Say, is it thus those honours you requite?

The first in banquets, but the last in fight.”

Ulysses heard: the hero's warmth o'erspread

His cheek with blushes: and severe, he said:

“Take back the unjust reproach! Behold we stand

Sheathed in bright arms, and but expect command.

If glorious deeds afford thy soul delight,

Behold me plunging in the thickest fight.

Then give thy warrior-chief a warrior's due,

Who dares to act whate'er thou dar'st to view.”

Struck with his generous wrath, the king replies:

“O great in action, and in council wise!

With ours, thy care and ardour are the same,

Nor need I to commend, nor aught to blame.

Sage as thou art, and learn'd in human kind,

Forgive the transport of a martial mind.

Haste to the fight, secure of just amends;

The gods that make, shall keep the worthy, friends.”

He said, and pass'd where great Tydides lay,

His steeds and chariots wedged in firm array;

(The warlike Sthenelus attends his side;)[95]

To whom with stern reproach the monarch cried:

“O son of Tydeus! (he, whose strength could tame

The bounding steed, in arms a mighty name)

Canst thou, remote, the mingling hosts descry,

With hands unactive, and a careless eye?

Not thus thy sire the fierce encounter fear'd;

Still first in front the matchless prince appear'd:

What glorious toils, what wonders they recite,

Who view'd him labouring through the ranks of fight?

I saw him once, when gathering martial powers,

A peaceful guest, he sought Mycenae's towers;

Armies he ask'd, and armies had been given,

Not we denied, but Jove forbade from heaven;

While dreadful comets glaring from afar,

Forewarn'd the horrors of the Theban war.[96]

Next, sent by Greece from where Asopus flows,

A fearless envoy, he approach'd the foes;

Thebes' hostile walls unguarded and alone,

Dauntless he enters, and demands the throne.

The tyrant feasting with his chiefs he found,

And dared to combat all those chiefs around:

Dared, and subdued before their haughty lord;

For Pallas strung his arm and edged his sword.

Stung with the shame, within the winding way,

To bar his passage fifty warriors lay;

Two heroes led the secret squadron on,

Mason the fierce, and hardy Lycophon;

Those fifty slaughter'd in the gloomy vale.

He spared but one to bear the dreadful tale,

Such Tydeus was, and such his martial fire;

Gods! how the son degenerates from the sire!”

No words the godlike Diomed return'd,

But heard respectful, and in secret burn'd:

Not so fierce Capaneus' undaunted son;

Stern as his sire, the boaster thus begun:

“What needs, O monarch! this invidious praise,

Ourselves to lessen, while our sire you raise?

Dare to be just, Atrides! and confess

Our value equal, though our fury less.

With fewer troops we storm'd the Theban wall,

And happier saw the sevenfold city fall,[97]

In impious acts the guilty father died;

The sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side.

Far more than heirs of all our parents' fame,

Our glories darken their diminish'd name.”

To him Tydides thus: “My friend, forbear;

Suppress thy passion, and the king revere:

His high concern may well excuse this rage,

Whose cause we follow, and whose war we wage:

His the first praise, were Ilion's towers o'erthrown,

And, if we fail, the chief disgrace his own.

Let him the Greeks to hardy toils excite,

'Tis ours to labour in the glorious fight.”

He spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground

Sprung from his car: his ringing arms resound.

Dire was the clang, and dreadful from afar,

Of arm'd Tydides rushing to the war.

As when the winds, ascending by degrees,[98]

First move the whitening surface of the seas,

The billows float in order to the shore,

The wave behind rolls on the wave before;

Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise,

Foam o'er the rocks, and thunder to the skies.

So to the fight the thick battalions throng,

Shields urged on shields, and men drove men along

Sedate and silent move the numerous bands;

No sound, no whisper, but the chief's commands,

Those only heard; with awe the rest obey,

As if some god had snatch'd their voice away.

Not so the Trojans; from their host ascends

A general shout that all the region rends.

As when the fleecy flocks unnumber'd stand

In wealthy folds, and wait the milker's hand,

The hollow vales incessant bleating fills,

The lambs reply from all the neighbouring hills:

Such clamours rose from various nations round,

Mix'd was the murmur, and confused the sound.

Each host now joins, and each a god inspires,

These Mars incites, and those Minerva fires,

Pale flight around, and dreadful terror reign;

And discord raging bathes the purple plain;

Discord! dire sister of the slaughtering power,

Small at her birth, but rising every hour,

While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound,

She stalks on earth, and shakes the world around;[99]

The nations bleed, where'er her steps she turns,

The groan still deepens, and the combat burns.

Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet closed,

To armour armour, lance to lance opposed,

Host against host with shadowy squadrons drew,

The sounding darts in iron tempests flew,

Victors and vanquish'd join'd promiscuous cries,

And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise;

With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed,

And slaughter'd heroes swell the dreadful tide.

As torrents roll, increased by numerous rills,

With rage impetuous, down their echoing hills

Rush to the vales, and pour'd along the plain.

Roar through a thousand channels to the main:

The distant shepherd trembling hears the sound;

So mix both hosts, and so their cries rebound.

The bold Antilochus the slaughter led,

The first who struck a valiant Trojan dead:

At great Echepolus the lance arrives,

Razed his high crest, and through his helmet drives;

Warm'd in the brain the brazen weapon lies,

And shades eternal settle o'er his eyes.

So sinks a tower, that long assaults had stood

Of force and fire, its walls besmear'd with blood.

Him, the bold leader of the Abantian throng,[100]

Seized to despoil, and dragg'd the corpse along:

But while he strove to tug the inserted dart,

Agenor's javelin reach'd the hero's heart.

His flank, unguarded by his ample shield,

Admits the lance: he falls, and spurns the field;

The nerves, unbraced, support his limbs no more;

The soul comes floating in a tide of gore.

Trojans and Greeks now gather round the slain;

The war renews, the warriors bleed again:

As o'er their prey rapacious wolves engage,

Man dies on man, and all is blood and rage.

In blooming youth fair Simoisius fell,

Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell;

Fair Simoisius, whom his mother bore

Amid the flocks on silver Simois' shore:

The nymph descending from the hills of Ide,

To seek her parents on his flowery side,

Brought forth the babe, their common care and joy,

And thence from Simois named the lovely boy.

Short was his date! by dreadful Ajax slain,

He falls, and renders all their cares in vain!

So falls a poplar, that in watery ground

Raised high the head, with stately branches crown'd

(Fell'd by some artist with his shining steel,

To shape the circle of the bending wheel),

Cut down it lies, tall, smooth, and largely spread,

With all its beauteous honours on its head

There, left a subject to the wind and rain,

And scorch'd by suns, it withers on the plain

Thus pierced by Ajax, Simoisius lies

Stretch'd on the shore, and thus neglected dies.

At Ajax, Antiphus his javelin threw;

The pointed lance with erring fury flew,

And Leucus, loved by wise Ulysses, slew.

He drops the corpse of Simoisius slain,

And sinks a breathless carcase on the plain.

This saw Ulysses, and with grief enraged,

Strode where the foremost of the foes engaged;

Arm'd with his spear, he meditates the wound,

In act to throw; but cautious look'd around,

Struck at his sight the Trojans backward drew,

And trembling heard the javelin as it flew.

A chief stood nigh, who from Abydos came,

Old Priam's son, Democoon was his name.

The weapon entered close above his ear,

Cold through his temples glides the whizzing spear;[101]

With piercing shrieks the youth resigns his breath,

His eye-balls darken with the shades of death;

Ponderous he falls; his clanging arms resound,

And his broad buckler rings against the ground.

Seized with affright the boldest foes appear;

E'en godlike Hector seems himself to fear;

Slow he gave way, the rest tumultuous fled;

The Greeks with shouts press on, and spoil the dead:

But Phoebus now from Ilion's towering height

Shines forth reveal'd, and animates the fight.

“Trojans, be bold, and force with force oppose;

Your foaming steeds urge headlong on the foes!

Nor are their bodies rocks, nor ribb'd with steel;

Your weapons enter, and your strokes they feel.

Have ye forgot what seem'd your dread before?

The great, the fierce Achilles fights no more.”

Apollo thus from Ilion's lofty towers,

Array'd in terrors, roused the Trojan powers:

While war's fierce goddess fires the Grecian foe,

And shouts and thunders in the fields below.

Then great Diores fell, by doom divine,

In vain his valour and illustrious line.

A broken rock the force of Pyrus threw,

(Who from cold AEnus led the Thracian crew)[102]

Full on his ankle dropp'd the ponderous stone,

Burst the strong nerves, and crash'd the solid bone.

Supine he tumbles on the crimson sands,

Before his helpless friends, and native bands,

And spreads for aid his unavailing hands.

The foe rush'd furious as he pants for breath,

And through his navel drove the pointed death:

His gushing entrails smoked upon the ground,

And the warm life came issuing from the wound.

His lance bold Thoas at the conqueror sent,

Deep in his breast above the pap it went,

Amid the lungs was fix'd the winged wood,

And quivering in his heaving bosom stood:

Till from the dying chief, approaching near,

The AEtolian warrior tugg'd his weighty spear:

Then sudden waved his flaming falchion round,

And gash'd his belly with a ghastly wound;

The corpse now breathless on the bloody plain,

To spoil his arms the victor strove in vain;

The Thracian bands against the victor press'd,

A grove of lances glitter'd at his breast.

Stern Thoas, glaring with revengeful eyes,

In sullen fury slowly quits the prize.

Thus fell two heroes; one the pride of Thrace,

And one the leader of the Epeian race;

Death's sable shade at once o'ercast their eyes,

In dust the vanquish'd and the victor lies.

With copious slaughter all the fields are red,

And heap'd with growing mountains of the dead.

Had some brave chief this martial scene beheld,

By Pallas guarded through the dreadful field;

Might darts be bid to turn their points away,

And swords around him innocently play;

The war's whole art with wonder had he seen,

And counted heroes where he counted men.

So fought each host, with thirst of glory fired,

And crowds on crowds triumphantly expired.

But Pallas now Tydides' soul inspires,[103]

Fills with her force, and warms with all her fires,

Above the Greeks his deathless fame to raise,

And crown her hero with distinguish'd praise.

High on his helm celestial lightnings play,

His beamy shield emits a living ray;

The unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies,

Like the red star that fires the autumnal skies,

When fresh he rears his radiant orb to sight,

And, bathed in ocean, shoots a keener light.

Such glories Pallas on the chief bestow'd,

Such, from his arms, the fierce effulgence flow'd:

Onward she drives him, furious to engage,

Where the fight burns, and where the thickest rage.

The sons of Dares first the combat sought,

A wealthy priest, but rich without a fault;

In Vulcan's fane the father's days were led,

The sons to toils of glorious battle bred;

These singled from their troops the fight maintain,

These, from their steeds, Tydides on the plain.

Fierce for renown the brother-chiefs draw near,

And first bold Phegeus cast his sounding spear,

Which o'er the warrior's shoulder took its course,

And spent in empty air its erring force.

Not so, Tydides, flew thy lance in vain,

But pierced his breast, and stretch'd him on the plain.

Seized with unusual fear, Idaeus fled,

Left the rich chariot, and his brother dead.

And had not Vulcan lent celestial aid,

He too had sunk to death's eternal shade;

But in a smoky cloud the god of fire

Preserved the son, in pity to the sire.

The steeds and chariot, to the navy led,

Increased the spoils of gallant Diomed.

Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew,

Or slain, or fled, the sons of Dares view;

When by the blood-stain'd hand Minerva press'd

The god of battles, and this speech address'd:

“Stern power of war! by whom the mighty fall,

Who bathe in blood, and shake the lofty wall!

Let the brave chiefs their glorious toils divide;

And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide:

While we from interdicted fields retire,

Nor tempt the wrath of heaven's avenging sire.”

Her words allay the impetuous warrior's heat,

The god of arms and martial maid retreat;

Removed from fight, on Xanthus' flowery bounds

They sat, and listen'd to the dying sounds.

Meantime, the Greeks the Trojan race pursue,

And some bold chieftain every leader slew:

First Odius falls, and bites the bloody sand,

His death ennobled by Atrides' hand:

As he to flight his wheeling car address'd,

The speedy javelin drove from back to breast.

In dust the mighty Halizonian lay,

His arms resound, the spirit wings its way.

Thy fate was next, O Phaestus! doom'd to feel

The great Idomeneus' protended steel;

Whom Borus sent (his son and only joy)

From fruitful Tarne to the fields of Troy.

The Cretan javelin reach'd him from afar,

And pierced his shoulder as he mounts his car;

Back from the car he tumbles to the ground,

And everlasting shades his eyes surround.

Then died Scamandrius, expert in the chase,

In woods and wilds to wound the savage race;

Diana taught him all her sylvan arts,

To bend the bow, and aim unerring darts:

But vainly here Diana's arts he tries,

The fatal lance arrests him as he flies;

From Menelaus' arm the weapon sent,

Through his broad back and heaving bosom went:

Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound,

His brazen armour rings against the ground.

Next artful Phereclus untimely fell;

Bold Merion sent him to the realms of hell.

Thy father's skill, O Phereclus! was thine,

The graceful fabric and the fair design;

For loved by Pallas, Pallas did impart

To him the shipwright's and the builder's art.

Beneath his hand the fleet of Paris rose,

The fatal cause of all his country's woes;

But he, the mystic will of heaven unknown,

Nor saw his country's peril, nor his own.

The hapless artist, while confused he fled,

The spear of Merion mingled with the dead.

Through his right hip, with forceful fury cast,

Between the bladder and the bone it pass'd;

Prone on his knees he falls with fruitless cries,

And death in lasting slumber seals his eyes.

From Meges' force the swift Pedaeus fled,

Antenor's offspring from a foreign bed,

Whose generous spouse, Theanor, heavenly fair,

Nursed the young stranger with a mother's care.

How vain those cares! when Meges in the rear

Full in his nape infix'd the fatal spear;

Swift through his crackling jaws the weapon glides,

And the cold tongue and grinning teeth divides.

Then died Hypsenor, generous and divine,

Sprung from the brave Dolopion's mighty line,

Who near adored Scamander made abode,

Priest of the stream, and honoured as a god.

On him, amidst the flying numbers found,

Eurypylus inflicts a deadly wound;

On his broad shoulders fell the forceful brand,

Thence glancing downwards, lopp'd his holy hand,

Which stain'd with sacred blood the blushing sand.

Down sunk the priest: the purple hand of death

Closed his dim eye, and fate suppress'd his breath.

Thus toil'd the chiefs, in different parts engaged.

In every quarter fierce Tydides raged;

Amid the Greek, amid the Trojan train,

Rapt through the ranks he thunders o'er the plain;

Now here, now there, he darts from place to place,

Pours on the rear, or lightens in their face.

Thus from high hills the torrents swift and strong

Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along,

Through ruin'd moles the rushing wave resounds,

O'erwhelm's the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds;

The yellow harvests of the ripen'd year,

And flatted vineyards, one sad waste appear![104]

While Jove descends in sluicy sheets of rain,

And all the labours of mankind are vain.

So raged Tydides, boundless in his ire,

Drove armies back, and made all Troy retire.

With grief the leader of the Lycian band

Saw the wide waste of his destructive hand:

His bended bow against the chief he drew;

Swift to the mark the thirsty arrow flew,

Whose forky point the hollow breastplate tore,

Deep in his shoulder pierced, and drank the gore:

The rushing stream his brazen armour dyed,

While the proud archer thus exulting cried:

“Hither, ye Trojans, hither drive your steeds!

Lo! by our hand the bravest Grecian bleeds,

Not long the deathful dart he can sustain;

Or Phoebus urged me to these fields in vain.”

So spoke he, boastful: but the winged dart

Stopp'd short of life, and mock'd the shooter's art.

The wounded chief, behind his car retired,

The helping hand of Sthenelus required;

Swift from his seat he leap'd upon the ground,

And tugg'd the weapon from the gushing wound;

When thus the king his guardian power address'd,

The purple current wandering o'er his vest:

“O progeny of Jove! unconquer'd maid!

If e'er my godlike sire deserved thy aid,

If e'er I felt thee in the fighting field;

Now, goddess, now, thy sacred succour yield.

O give my lance to reach the Trojan knight,

Whose arrow wounds the chief thou guard'st in fight;

And lay the boaster grovelling on the shore,

That vaunts these eyes shall view the light no more.”

Thus pray'd Tydides, and Minerva heard,

His nerves confirm'd, his languid spirits cheer'd;

He feels each limb with wonted vigour light;

His beating bosom claim'd the promised fight.

“Be bold, (she cried), in every combat shine,

War be thy province, thy protection mine;

Rush to the fight, and every foe control;

Wake each paternal virtue in thy soul:

Strength swells thy boiling breast, infused by me,

And all thy godlike father breathes in thee;

Yet more, from mortal mists I purge thy eyes,[105]

And set to view the warring deities.

These see thou shun, through all the embattled plain;

Nor rashly strive where human force is vain.

If Venus mingle in the martial band,

Her shalt thou wound: so Pallas gives command.”

With that, the blue-eyed virgin wing'd her flight;

The hero rush'd impetuous to the fight;

With tenfold ardour now invades the plain,

Wild with delay, and more enraged by pain.

As on the fleecy flocks when hunger calls,

Amidst the field a brindled lion falls;

If chance some shepherd with a distant dart

The savage wound, he rouses at the smart,

He foams, he roars; the shepherd dares not stay,

But trembling leaves the scattering flocks a prey;

Heaps fall on heaps; he bathes with blood the ground,

Then leaps victorious o'er the lofty mound.

Not with less fury stern Tydides flew;

And two brave leaders at an instant slew;

Astynous breathless fell, and by his side,

His people's pastor, good Hypenor, died;

Astynous' breast the deadly lance receives,

Hypenor's shoulder his broad falchion cleaves.

Those slain he left, and sprung with noble rage

Abas and Polyidus to engage;

Sons of Eurydamus, who, wise and old,

Could fate foresee, and mystic dreams unfold;

The youths return'd not from the doubtful plain,

And the sad father tried his arts in vain;

No mystic dream could make their fates appear,

Though now determined by Tydides' spear.

Young Xanthus next, and Thoon felt his rage;

The joy and hope of Phaenops' feeble age:

Vast was his wealth, and these the only heirs

Of all his labours and a life of cares.

Cold death o'ertakes them in their blooming years,

And leaves the father unavailing tears:

To strangers now descends his heapy store,

The race forgotten, and the name no more.

Two sons of Priam in one chariot ride,

Glittering in arms, and combat side by side.

As when the lordly lion seeks his food

Where grazing heifers range the lonely wood,

He leaps amidst them with a furious bound,

Bends their strong necks, and tears them to the ground:

So from their seats the brother chiefs are torn,

Their steeds and chariot to the navy borne.

With deep concern divine AEneas view'd

The foe prevailing, and his friends pursued;

Through the thick storm of singing spears he flies,

Exploring Pandarus with careful eyes.

At length he found Lycaon's mighty son;

To whom the chief of Venus' race begun:

“Where, Pandarus, are all thy honours now,

Thy winged arrows and unerring bow,

Thy matchless skill, thy yet unrivall'd fame,

And boasted glory of the Lycian name?

O pierce that mortal! if we mortal call

That wondrous force by which whole armies fall;

Or god incensed, who quits the distant skies

To punish Troy for slighted sacrifice;

(Which, oh avert from our unhappy state!

For what so dreadful as celestial hate)?

Whoe'er he be, propitiate Jove with prayer;

If man, destroy; if god, entreat to spare.”

To him the Lycian: “Whom your eyes behold,

If right I judge, is Diomed the bold:

Such coursers whirl him o'er the dusty field,

So towers his helmet, and so flames his shield.

If 'tis a god, he wears that chief's disguise:

Or if that chief, some guardian of the skies,

Involved in clouds, protects him in the fray,

And turns unseen the frustrate dart away.

I wing'd an arrow, which not idly fell,

The stroke had fix'd him to the gates of hell;

And, but some god, some angry god withstands,

His fate was due to these unerring hands.

Skill'd in the bow, on foot I sought the war,

Nor join'd swift horses to the rapid car.

Ten polish'd chariots I possess'd at home,

And still they grace Lycaon's princely dome:

There veil'd in spacious coverlets they stand;

And twice ten coursers wait their lord's command.

The good old warrior bade me trust to these,

When first for Troy I sail'd the sacred seas;

In fields, aloft, the whirling car to guide,

And through the ranks of death triumphant ride.

But vain with youth, and yet to thrift inclined,

I heard his counsels with unheedful mind,

And thought the steeds (your large supplies unknown)

Might fail of forage in the straiten'd town;

So took my bow and pointed darts in hand

And left the chariots in my native land.

“Too late, O friend! my rashness I deplore;

These shafts, once fatal, carry death no more.

Tydeus' and Atreus' sons their points have found,

And undissembled gore pursued the wound.

In vain they bleed: this unavailing bow

Serves, not to slaughter, but provoke the foe.

In evil hour these bended horns I strung,

And seized the quiver where it idly hung.

Cursed be the fate that sent me to the field

Without a warrior's arms, the spear and shield!

If e'er with life I quit the Trojan plain,

If e'er I see my spouse and sire again,

This bow, unfaithful to my glorious aims,

Broke by my hand, shall feed the blazing flames.”

To whom the leader of the Dardan race:

“Be calm, nor Phoebus' honour'd gift disgrace.

The distant dart be praised, though here we need

The rushing chariot and the bounding steed.

Against yon hero let us bend our course,

And, hand to hand, encounter force with force.

Now mount my seat, and from the chariot's height

Observe my father's steeds, renown'd in fight;

Practised alike to turn, to stop, to chase,

To dare the shock, or urge the rapid race;

Secure with these, through fighting fields we go;

Or safe to Troy, if Jove assist the foe.

Haste, seize the whip, and snatch the guiding rein;

The warrior's fury let this arm sustain;

Or, if to combat thy bold heart incline,

Take thou the spear, the chariot's care be mine.”

“O prince! (Lycaon's valiant son replied)

As thine the steeds, be thine the task to guide.

The horses, practised to their lord's command,

Shall bear the rein, and answer to thy hand;

But, if, unhappy, we desert the fight,

Thy voice alone can animate their flight;

Else shall our fates be number'd with the dead,

And these, the victor's prize, in triumph led.

Thine be the guidance, then: with spear and shield

Myself will charge this terror of the field.”

And now both heroes mount the glittering car;

The bounding coursers rush amidst the war;

Their fierce approach bold Sthenelus espied,

Who thus, alarm'd, to great Tydides cried:

“O friend! two chiefs of force immense I see,

Dreadful they come, and bend their rage on thee:

Lo the brave heir of old Lycaon's line,

And great AEneas, sprung from race divine!

Enough is given to fame. Ascend thy car!

And save a life, the bulwark of our war.”

At this the hero cast a gloomy look,

Fix'd on the chief with scorn; and thus he spoke:

“Me dost thou bid to shun the coming fight?

Me wouldst thou move to base, inglorious flight?

Know, 'tis not honest in my soul to fear,

Nor was Tydides born to tremble here.

I hate the cumbrous chariot's slow advance,

And the long distance of the flying lance;

But while my nerves are strong, my force entire,

Thus front the foe, and emulate my sire.

Nor shall yon steeds, that fierce to fight convey

Those threatening heroes, bear them both away;

One chief at least beneath this arm shall die;

So Pallas tells me, and forbids to fly.

But if she dooms, and if no god withstand,

That both shall fall by one victorious hand,

Then heed my words: my horses here detain,

Fix'd to the chariot by the straiten'd rein;

Swift to AEneas' empty seat proceed,

And seize the coursers of ethereal breed;

The race of those, which once the thundering god[106]

For ravish'd Ganymede on Tros bestow'd,

The best that e'er on earth's broad surface run,

Beneath the rising or the setting sun.

Hence great Anchises stole a breed unknown,

By mortal mares, from fierce Laomedon:

Four of this race his ample stalls contain,

And two transport AEneas o'er the plain.

These, were the rich immortal prize our own,

Through the wide world should make our glory known.”

Thus while they spoke, the foe came furious on,

And stern Lycaon's warlike race begun:

“Prince, thou art met. Though late in vain assail'd,

The spear may enter where the arrow fail'd.”

He said, then shook the ponderous lance, and flung;

On his broad shield the sounding weapon rung,

Pierced the tough orb, and in his cuirass hung,

“He bleeds! the pride of Greece! (the boaster cries,)

Our triumph now, the mighty warrior lies!”

“Mistaken vaunter! (Diomed replied;)

Thy dart has erred, and now my spear be tried;

Ye 'scape not both; one, headlong from his car,

With hostile blood shall glut the god of war.”

He spoke, and rising hurl'd his forceful dart,

Which, driven by Pallas, pierced a vital part;

Full in his face it enter'd, and betwixt

The nose and eye-ball the proud Lycian fix'd;

Crash'd all his jaws, and cleft the tongue within,

Till the bright point look'd out beneath the chin.

Headlong he falls, his helmet knocks the ground:

Earth groans beneath him, and his arms resound;

The starting coursers tremble with affright;

The soul indignant seeks the realms of night.

To guard his slaughter'd friend, AEneas flies,

His spear extending where the carcase lies;

Watchful he wheels, protects it every way,

As the grim lion stalks around his prey.

O'er the fall'n trunk his ample shield display'd,

He hides the hero with his mighty shade,

And threats aloud! the Greeks with longing eyes

Behold at distance, but forbear the prize.

Then fierce Tydides stoops; and from the fields

Heaved with vast force, a rocky fragment wields.

Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise,

Such men as live in these degenerate days:[107]

He swung it round; and, gathering strength to throw,

Discharged the ponderous ruin at the foe.

Where to the hip the inserted thigh unites,

Full on the bone the pointed marble lights;

Through both the tendons broke the rugged stone,

And stripp'd the skin, and crack'd the solid bone.

Sunk on his knees, and staggering with his pains,

His falling bulk his bended arm sustains;

Lost in a dizzy mist the warrior lies;

A sudden cloud comes swimming o'er his eyes.

There the brave chief, who mighty numbers sway'd,

Oppress'd had sunk to death's eternal shade,

But heavenly Venus, mindful of the love

She bore Anchises in the Idaean grove,

His danger views with anguish and despair,

And guards her offspring with a mother's care.

About her much-loved son her arms she throws,

Her arms whose whiteness match the falling snows.

Screen'd from the foe behind her shining veil,

The swords wave harmless, and the javelins fail;

Safe through the rushing horse, and feather'd flight

Of sounding shafts, she bears him from the fight.

Nor Sthenelus, with unassisting hands,

Remain'd unheedful of his lord's commands:

His panting steeds, removed from out the war,

He fix'd with straiten'd traces to the car,

Next, rushing to the Dardan spoil, detains

The heavenly coursers with the flowing manes:

These in proud triumph to the fleet convey'd,

No longer now a Trojan lord obey'd.

That charge to bold Deipylus he gave,

(Whom most he loved, as brave men love the brave,)

Then mounting on his car, resumed the rein,

And follow'd where Tydides swept the plain.

Meanwhile (his conquest ravished from his eyes)

The raging chief in chase of Venus flies:

No goddess she, commission'd to the field,

Like Pallas dreadful with her sable shield,

Or fierce Bellona thundering at the wall,

While flames ascend, and mighty ruins fall;

He knew soft combats suit the tender dame,

New to the field, and still a foe to fame.

Through breaking ranks his furious course he bends,

And at the goddess his broad lance extends;

Through her bright veil the daring weapon drove,

The ambrosial veil which all the Graces wove;

Her snowy hand the razing steel profaned,

And the transparent skin with crimson stain'd,

From the clear vein a stream immortal flow'd,

Such stream as issues from a wounded god;[108]

Pure emanation! uncorrupted flood!

Unlike our gross, diseased, terrestrial blood:

(For not the bread of man their life sustains,

Nor wine's inflaming juice supplies their veins:)

With tender shrieks the goddess fill'd the place,

And dropp'd her offspring from her weak embrace.

Him Phoebus took: he casts a cloud around

The fainting chief, and wards the mortal wound.

Then with a voice that shook the vaulted skies,

The king insults the goddess as she flies:

“Ill with Jove's daughter bloody fights agree,

The field of combat is no scene for thee:

Go, let thy own soft sex employ thy care,

Go, lull the coward, or delude the fair.

Taught by this stroke renounce the war's alarms,

And learn to tremble at the name of arms.”

Tydides thus. The goddess, seized with dread,

Confused, distracted, from the conflict fled.

To aid her, swift the winged Iris flew,

Wrapt in a mist above the warring crew.

The queen of love with faded charms she found.

Pale was her cheek, and livid look'd the wound.

To Mars, who sat remote, they bent their way:

Far, on the left, with clouds involved he lay;

Beside him stood his lance, distain'd with gore,

And, rein'd with gold, his foaming steeds before.

Low at his knee, she begg'd with streaming eyes

Her brother's car, to mount the distant skies,

And show'd the wound by fierce Tydides given,

A mortal man, who dares encounter heaven.

Stern Mars attentive hears the queen complain,

And to her hand commits the golden rein;