Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  Upon Cebriones, Patroclus, spring.

  Down from his car too Hector leap'd to earth.

  So, o'er Cebriones, oppos'd they stood;

  As on the mountain, o'er a slaughter'd stag,

  Both hunger-pinch'd, two lions fiercely fight,

  So o'er Cebriones two mighty chiefs,

  Menoetius' son and noble Hector, strove,

  Each in the other bent to plunge his spear.

  The head, with grasp unyielding, Hector held;

  Patroclus seiz'd the foot; and, crowding round,

  Trojans and Greeks in stubborn conflict clos'd.

  As when, encount'ring in some mountain-glen,

  Eurus and Notus shake the forest deep,

  Of oak, or ash, or slender cornel-tree,

  Whose tap'ring branches are together thrown,

  With fearful din, and crash of broke a boughs;

  So mix'd confus'dly, Greeks and Trojans fought,

  No thought of flight by either entertain'd.

  Thick o'er Cebriones the jav'lins flew,

  And feather'd arrows, bounding from the string;

  And pond'rous stones that on the bucklers rang,

  As round the dead they fought; amid the dust

  That eddying rose, his art forgotten all,

  A mighty warrior, mightily he lay.

  While in mid Heav'n the sun pursued his course,

  Thick flew the shafts, and fast the people fell

  On either side; but when declining day

  Brought on the hour that sees the loosen'd steers,

  The Greeks were stronger far; and from the darts

  And Trojan battle-cry Cebriones

  They drew, and from his breast his armour stripp'd.

  Fiercely Patroclus on the Trojans fell:

  Thrice he assail'd them, terrible as Mars,

  With fearful shouts; and thrice nine foes he slew:

  But when again, with more than mortal force

  His fourth assault he made, thy term of life,

  Patroclus, then approach'd its final close;

  For Phoebus' awful self encounter'd thee,

  Amid the battle-throng, of thee unseen,

  For thickest darkness shrouded all his form:

  He stood behind, and with extended palm

  Dealt on Patroclus' neck and shoulders broad

  A mighty buffet; dizzy swam his eyes,

  And from his head Apollo snatch'd the helm;

  Clank'd, as it roll'd beneath the horses' feet,

  The visor'd helm; the horsehair plume with blood

  And dust polluted; never till that day

  Was that proud helmet so with dust defil'd,

  That wont to deck a godlike chief, and guard

  Achilles' noble head, and graceful brow:

  Now by the will of Jove to Hector giv'n.

  Now death was near at hand; and in his grasp

  His spear was shiver'd, pond'rous, long, and tough,

  Brass-pointed; with its belt, the ample shield

  Fell from his shoulders; and Apollo's hand,

  The royal son of Jove, his corslet loos'd.

  Then was his mind bewilder'd; and his limbs

  Gave way beneath him; all aghast he stood:

  Him, from behind, a Dardan, Panthous' son,

  Euphorbus, peerless 'mid the Trojan youth,

  To hurl the spear, to run, to drive the car,

  Approaching close, between the shoulders stabb'd;

  He, train'd to warfare, from his car, ere this

  A score of Greeks had from their chariots hurl'd:

  Such was the man who thee, Patroclus, first

  Wounded, but not subdued; the ashen spear

  He, in all haste, withdrew; nor dar'd confront

  Patroclus, though disarm'd, in deadly strife.

  Back to his comrades' shelt'ring ranks retir'd,

  From certain death, Patroclus: by the stroke

  Of Phoebus vanquish'd, and Euphorbus' spear:

  But Hector, when Patroclus from the fight

  He saw retreating, wounded, through the ranks

  Advancing, smote him through the flank; right through

  The brazen spear was driv'n; thund'ring he fell;

  And deeply mourn'd his fall the Grecian host.

  As when a lion hath in fight o'erborne

  A tusked boar, when on the mountain top

  They two have met, in all their pride of strength,

  Both parch'd with thirst, around a scanty spring;

  And vanquish'd by the lion's force, the boar

  Hath yielded, gasping; so Menoetius' son,

  Great deeds achiev'd, at length beneath the spear

  Of noble Hector yielded up his life;

  Who o'er the vanquish'd, thus exulting, spoke:

  "Patroclus, but of late thou mad'st thy boast

  To raze our city walls, and in your ships

  To bear away to your far-distant land,

  Their days of freedom lost, our Trojan dames:

  Fool that thou wast! nor knew'st, in their defence,

  That Hector's flying coursers scour'd the plain;

  From them, the bravest of the Trojans, I

  Avert the day of doom; while on our shores

  Thy flesh shall glut the carrion birds of Troy.

  Poor wretch! though brave he be, yet Peleus' son

  Avail'd thee nought, when, hanging back himself,

  With sage advice he sent thee forth to fight:

  'Come not to me, Patroclus, car-borne chief,

  Nor to the ships return, until thou bear

  The warrior-slayer Hector's bloody spoils,

  Torn from his body;' such were, I suppose,

  His counsels; thou, poor fool, becam'st his dupe."

  To whom Patroclus thus in accents faint:

  "Hector, thou boastest loudly now, that Jove,

  With Phoebus join'd, hath thee with vict'ry crown'd:

  They wrought my death, who stripp'd me of my arms.

  Had I to deal with twenty such as thee,

  They all should perish, vanquish'd by my spear:

  Me fate hath slain, and Phoebus; and, of men,

  Euphorbus; thou wast but the third to strike.

  This too I say, and bear it in thy mind;

  Not long shalt thou survive me; death e'en now

  And final doom hangs o'er thee, by the hand

  Of great Achilles, Peleus' matchless son."

  Thus as he spoke, the gloom of death his eyes

  O'erspread, and to the shades his spirit fled,

  Mourning his fate, his youth and strength cut off.

  To whom, though dead, the noble Hector thus:

  "Patroclus, why predict my coming fate?

  Or who can say but fair-hair'd Thetis' son,

  Achilles, by my spear may first be slain?"

  He said, and planting firm his foot, withdrew

  The brazen spear, and backward drove the dead

  From off the weapon's point; then, spear in hand,

  Intent to slay, Automedon pursued,

  The godlike follower of AEacides:

  But him in safety bore th' immortal steeds,

  The noble prize the Gods to Peleus gave.

  ARGUMENT.

  THE SEVENTH BATTLE, FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS. — THE ACTS OF MENELAUS.

  Menelaus, upon the death of Patroclus, defends his body from the enemy; Euphorbus, who attempts it, is slain. Hector advancing, Menelaus retires; but soon returns with Ajax, and drives him off. This Glaucus objects to Hector as a flight, who thereupon puts on the armour he had won from Patroclus, and renews the battle. The Greeks give way, till Ajax rallies them: AEneas sustains the Trojans. AEneas and Hector attempt the chariot of Achilles, which is borne off by Automedon. The horses of Achilles deplore the loss of Patroclus; Jupiter covers his body with a thick darkness; the noble prayer of Ajax on that occasion. Menelaus sends Antilochus to Achilles, with the news of Patroclus's death: then returns to
the fight, where, though attacked with the utmost fury, he and Meriones, assisted by the Ajaces, bear off the body to the ships.

  The time is the evening of the eight-and-twentieth day. The scene lies in the fields before Troy.

  BOOK XVII.

  Nor was Patroclus' fall, by Trojans slain,

  Of warlike Menelaus unobserv'd;

  Forward he sprang, in dazzling arms array'd,

  And round him mov'd, as round her new-dropp'd calf

  Her first, a heifer moves with plaintive moan:

  So round Patroclus Menelaus mov'd,

  His shield's broad orb and spear before him held,

  To all who might oppose him threat'ning death.

  Nor, on his side, was Panthous' noble son

  Unmindful of the slain; but, standing near,

  The warlike Menelaus thus address'd:

  "Illustrious son of Atreus, Heav'n-born chief,

  Quit thou the dead; yield up the bloody spoils:

  For, of the Trojans and their fam'd Allies,

  Mine was the hand that in the stubborn fight

  First struck Patroclus; leave me then to wear

  Among the men of Troy my honours due,

  Lest by my spear thou lose thy cherish'd life."

  To whom in anger Menelaus thus:

  "O Father Jove, how ill this vaunting tone

  Beseems this braggart! In their own esteem,

  "With Panthous' sons for courage none may vie;

  Nor pard, nor lion, nor the forest boar,

  Fiercest of beasts, and proudest of his strength.

  Yet nought avail'd to Hyperenor's might

  His youthful vigour, when he held me cheap,

  And my encounter dar'd; of all the Greeks

  He deem'd my prowess least; yet he, I ween,

  On his own feet return'd not, to rejoice

  His tender wife's and honour'd parents' sight.

  So shall thy pride be quell'd, if me thou dare

  Encounter; but I warn thee, while 'tis time,

  Ere ill betide thee, 'mid the gen'ral throng

  That thou withdraw, nor stand to me oppos'd.

  After th' event may e'en a fool be wise."

  He spoke in vain; Euphorbus thus replied:

  "Now, Heav'n-born Menelaus, shalt thou pay

  The forfeit for my brother's life, o'er whom,

  Slain by thy hand, thou mak'st thy boasting speech.

  Thou in the chambers of her new-found home

  Hast made his bride a weeping widow; thou

  Hast fill'd with bitt'rest grief his parents' hearts:

  Some solace might those hapless mourners find,

  Could I thy head and armour in the hands

  Of Panthous and of honour'd Phrontis place;

  Nor uncontested shall the proof remain,

  Nor long deferr'd, of vict'ry or defeat."

  He said, and struck the centre of the shield,

  But broke not through; against the stubborn brass

  The point was bent; then with a pray'r to Jove

  The son of Atreus in his turn advanc'd;

  And, backward as he stepp'd, below his throat

  Took aim, and pressing hard with stalwart hand

  Drove through the yielding neck the pond'rous spear:

  Thund'ring he fell, and loud his armour rang.

  Those locks, that with the Graces' hair might vie,

  Those tresses bright, with gold and silver bound,

  Were dabbled all with blood. As when a man

  Hath rear'd a fair and vig'rous olive plant,

  In some lone spot, by copious-gushing springs,

  And seen expanding, nurs'd by ev'ry breeze,

  Its whit'ning blossoms; till with sudden gust

  A sweeping hurricane of wind and rain

  Uproots it from its bed, and prostrate lays;

  So lay the youthful son of Panthous, slain

  By Atreus' son, and of his arms despoil'd.

  And as a lion, in the mountains bred,

  In pride of strength, amid the pasturing herd

  Seizes a heifer in his pow'rful jaws,

  The choicest; and, her neck first broken, rends,

  And, on her entrails gorging, laps the blood;

  Though with loud clamour dogs and herdsmen round

  Assail him from afar, yet ventures none

  To meet his rage, for fear is on them all;

  So none was there so bold, with dauntless breast

  The noble Menelaus' wrath to meet.

  Now had Atrides borne away with ease

  The spoils of Panthous' son; but Phoebus grudg'd

  His prize of vict'ry, and against him launch'd

  The might of Hector, terrible as Mars:

  To whom his winged words, in Mentes' form,

  Chief of the Cicones, he thus address'd:

  "Hector, thy labour all is vain, pursuing

  Pelides' flying steeds; and hard are they

  For mortal man to harness, or control.

  Save for Achilles' self, the Goddess-born.

  The valiant Menelaus, Atreus' son,

  Defends meanwhile Patroclus; and e'en now

  Hath slain a noble Trojan, Panthous' son,

  Euphorbus, and his youthful vigour quell'd."

  He said, and join'd again the strife of men:

  Hector's dark soul with bitter grief was fill'd;

  He look'd amid the ranks, and saw the two,

  One slain, the other stripping off his arms,

  The blood outpouring from the gaping wound.

  Forward he sprang, in dazzling arms array'd,

  Loud shouting, blazing like the quenchless flames

  Of Vulcan: Menelaus heard the shout,

  And, troubled, commun'd with his valiant heart:

  "Oh, woe is me! for should I now the spoils

  Abandon, and Patroclus, who for me

  And in my cause lies slain, of any Greek

  Who saw me, I might well incur the blame:

  And yet if here alone I dare to fight

  With Hector and his Trojans, much I fear,

  Singly, to be by numbers overwhelm'd;

  For Hector all the Trojans hither brings.

  But wherefore entertain such thoughts, my soul?

  Who strives, against the will divine, with one

  Belov'd of Heav'n, a bitter doom must meet.

  Then none may blame me, though I should retreat

  From Hector, who with Heav'n's assistance wars.

  Yet could I hear brave Ajax' battle cry,

  We two, returning, would the encounter dare,

  E'en against Heav'n, if so for Peleus' son

  We might regain, and bear away the dead:

  Some solace of our loss might then be ours."

  While in his mind and spirit thus he mus'd,

  By Hector led, the Trojan ranks advanc'd:

  Backward he mov'd, abandoning the dead;

  But turning oft, as when by men and dogs

  A bearded lion from the fold is driv'n

  With shouts and spears; yet grieves his mighty heart,

  And with reluctant step he quits the yard:

  So from Patroclus Menelaus mov'd;

  Yet when he reach'd his comrades' ranks, he turn'd,

  And look'd around, if haply he might find

  The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon.

  Him on the battle's farthest left he spied,

  Cheering his friends and urging to the fight,

  For sorely Phoebus had their courage tried;

  And hast'ning to his side, address'd him thus:

  "Ajax, haste hither; to the rescue come

  Of slain Patroclus; if perchance we two

  May to Achilles, Peleus' son, restore

  His body: his naked body, for his arms

  Are prize to Hector of the glancing helm."

  He said, and Ajax' spirit within him stirr'd;

  Forward he sprang, and with him Atreus' son.

&nbs
p; Hector was dragging now Patroclus' corpse,

  Stripped of its glitt'ring armour, and intent

  The head to sever with his sword, and give

  The mangled carcase to the dogs of Troy:

  But Ajax, with his tow'r-like shield, approach'd;

  Then Hector to his comrades' ranks withdrew,

  Rush'd to his car, and bade the Trojans bear

  The glitt'ring arms, his glorious prize, to Troy:

  While Ajax with his mighty shield o'erspread

  Menoetius' son; and stood, as for his cubs

  A lion stands, whom hunters, unaware,

  Have with his offspring met amid the woods.

  Proud in his strength he stands; and down are drawn,

  Cov'ring his eyes, the wrinkles of his brow:

  So o'er Patroclus mighty Ajax stood,

  And by his side, his heart with grief oppress'd,

  The warlike Menelaus, Atreus' son.

  Then Glaucus, leader of the Lycian host,

  To Hector thus, with scornful glance, address'd

  His keen reproaches: "Hector, fair of form,

  How art thou wanting in the fight! thy fame,

  Coward and runaway, thou hast belied.

  Bethink thee now, if thou alone canst save

  The city, aided but by Trojans born;

  Henceforth no Lycian will go forth for Troy

  To fight with Greeks; since favour none we gain

  By unremitting toil against the foe.

  How can a meaner man expect thine aid,

  Who basely to the Greeks a prize and spoil

  Sarpedon leav'st, thy comrade and thy guest?

  Greatly he serv'd the city and thyself,

  While yet he liv'd; and now thou dar'st not save

  His body from the dogs! By my advice

  If Lycians will be rul'd, we take at once

  Our homeward way, and Troy may meet her doom.

  But if in Trojan bosoms there abode

  The daring, dauntless courage, meet for men

  Who in their country's cause against the foe

  Endure both toil and war, we soon should see

  Patroclus brought within the walls of Troy;

  Him from the battle could we bear away,

  And, lifeless, bring to royal Priam's town,

  Soon would the Greeks Sarpedon's arms release,

  And we to Ilium's heights himself might bear:

  For with his valiant comrades there lies slain

  The follower of the bravest chief of Greece.

  But thou before the mighty Ajax stood'st

  With downcast eyes, nor durst in manly fight

  Contend with one thy better far confess'd."

  To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm,

  With stern regard, replied: "Why, Glaucus, speak,

  Brave as thou art, in this o'erbearing strain?