As actively commanding all, them in their men as well
As men in them, most terribly exhorting to repell,
To save their navy and their tents. But Hector nothing needs
To stand on exhortations now at home, he strives for deeds.
And look how Jove’s great queen of birds, sharp-set, looks out for prey,
Knows floods that nourish wild-wing’d fowls, and, from her airy way,
Beholds where cranes, swans, cormorants, have made their foody fall,
Darkens the river with her wings, and stoops amongst them all;
So Hector flew amongst the Greeks, directing his command,
In chief, against one opposite ship; Jove with a mighty hand
Still backing him and all his men. And then again there grew
A bitter conflict at the fleet. You would have said none drew
A weary breath, nor ever would, they laid so freshly on.
And this was it that fir’d them both: The Greeks did build upon
No hope but what the field would yield, flight an impossible course;
The Trojans all hope entertain’d, that sword and fire should force
Both ships and lives of all the Greeks. And thus, unlike affects
Bred like strenuity in both. Great Hector still directs
His pow’rs against the first near ship. ’Twas that fair bark that brought
Protesilaus to those wars, and now her self to nought,
With many Greek and Trojan lives, all spoil’d about her spoil.
One slew another desp’rately, and close the deadly toil
Was pitch’d on both parts. Not a shaft, nor far-off striking dart
Was us’d through all. One fight fell out, of one despiteful heart.
Sharp axes, twybills, two-hand swords, and spears with two heads borne,
Were then the weapons; fair short swords, with sanguine hilts still worn,
Had use in like sort; of which last, ye might have numbers view’d
Drop with dissolv’d arms from their hands, as many down-right hew’d
From off their shoulders as they fought, their bawdrics cut in twain.
And thus the black blood flow’d on earth, from soldiers hurt and slain.
When Hector once had seiz’d the ship, he clapt his fair broad hand
Fast on the stern, and held it there, and there gave this command:
“Bring fire, and all together shout. Now Jove hath drawn the veil
From such a day as makes amends, for all his storms of hail;
By whose blest light we take those ships, that, in despite of heav’n,
Took sea, and brought us worlds of woe, all since our peers were giv’n
To such a laziness and fear; they would not let me end
Our ling’ring banes, and charge thus home, but keep home and defend,
And so they rul’d the men I led. But though Jove then withheld
My natural spirit, now by Jove ’tis freed, and thus impell’d.”
This more inflam’d them; in so much that Ajax now no more
Kept up, he was so drown’d in darts; a little he forbore
The hatches to a seat beneath, of sev’n foot long, but thought
It was impossible to scape; he sat yet where he fought,
And hurl’d out lances thick as hail, at all men that assay’d
To fire the ship; with whom he found his hands so overlaid,
That on his soldiers thus he cried: “O friends, fight I alone?
Expect ye more walls at your backs? Towns rampir’d here are none,
No citizens to take ye in, no help of any kind.
We are, I tell you, in Troy’s fields; have nought but seas behind,
And foes before; far, far from Greece. For shame, obey commands,
There is no mercy in the wars; your healths lie in your hands.”
Thus rag’d he, and pour’d out his darts. Whoever he espied
Come near the vessel arm’d with fire, on his fierce dart he died.
All that pleas’d Hector made him mad, all that his thanks would earn;
Of which twelve men, his most resolv’d, lay dead before his stern.
THE END OF THE FIFTEENTH BOOK.
THE SIXTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ILIADS
THE ARGUMENT
Achilles, at Patroclus’ suit, doth yield
His arms and Myrmidons; which brought to field,
The Trojans fly. Patroclus hath the grace
Of great Sarpedon’s death, sprung of the race
Of Jupiter, he having slain the horse
Of Thetis’ son, fierce Pedasus. The force
Of Hector doth revenge the much-rued end
Of most renown’d Sarpedon on the friend
Of Thetides, first by Euphorbus harm’d,
And by Apollo’s personal pow’r disarm’d.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
In Πι̑ Patroclus bears the chance
Of death, impos’d by Hector’s lance.
Thus fighting for this well-built ship; Patroclus all that space
Stood by his friend, preparing words to win the Greeks his grace,
With pow’r of uncontainéd tears; and, like a fountain pour’d
In black streams from a lofty rock, the Greeks so plagu’d deplor’d.
Achilles, ruthful for his tears, said: “Wherefore weeps my friend
So like a girl, who, though she sees her mother cannot tend
Her childish humours, hangs on her, and would be taken up,
Still viewing her with tear-drown’d eyes, when she hath made her stoop,
To nothing liker I can shape thy so unseemly tears.
What causeth them? Hath any ill solicited thine ears
Befall’n my Myrmidons? Or news from lovéd Phthia brought,
Told only thee, lest I should grieve, and therefore thus hath wrought
On thy kind spirit? Actor’s son, the good Menœtius,
Thy father, lives, and Peleus, mine, great son of Æacus,
Amongst his Myrmidons; whose deaths, in duty we should mourn,
Or is it what the Greeks sustain, that doth thy stomach turn,
On whom, for their injustice’ sake, plagues are so justly laid?
Speak, man, let both know either’s heart.” Patroclus, sighing, said:
“O Peleus’ son, thou strongest Greek by all degrees that lives,
Still be not angry, our sad state such cause of pity gives,
Our greatest Greeks lie at their ships sore wounded; Ithacus,
King Agamemnon, Diomed, and good Eurypylus;
But these much-med’cine-knowing men, physicians, can recure,
Thou yet unmed’cinable still, though thy wound all endure,
Heav’n bless my bosom from such wrath as thou sooth’st as thy bliss,
Unprofitably virtuous. How shall our progenies,
Born in thine age, enjoy thine aid, when these friends, in thy flow’r,
Thou leav’st to such unworthy death? O idle, cruel pow’r!
Great Peleus never did beget, nor Thetis bring forth thee,
Thou from the blue sea, and her rocks, deriv’st thy pedigree,
What so declines thee? If thy mind shuns any augury,
Related by thy mother-queen from heav’n’s foreseeing eye,
And therefore thou forsak’st thy friends, let me go ease their moans
With those brave relics of our host, thy mighty Myrmidons,
That I may bring to field more light to conquest than hath been.
To which end grace me with thine arms, since, any shadow seen
Of thy resemblance, all the pow’r of perjur’d Troy will fly,
And our so-tiréd friend’s will breathe; our fresh-set-on supply
Will eas’ly drive their wearied off.” Thus, foolish man, he sued
For his sure death; of all whose speech Achilles first renew’d
The last part thus: “O worthy friend, what have thy speeches been?
&n
bsp; I shun the fight for oracles, or what my mother queen
Hath told from Jove? I take no care, nor note of one such thing!
But this fit anger stings me still, that the insulting king
Should from his equal take his right, since he exceeds in pow’r.
This, still his wrong, is still my grief: He took my paramour
That all men gave, and whom I won by virtue of my spear,
That, for her, overturn’d a town. This rape he made of her,
And used me like a fugitive, an inmate in a town,
That is no city libertine, nor capable of their gown.
But bear we this as out of date; ’tis past, nor must we still
Feed anger in our noblest parts; yet thus, I have my will
As well as our great king of men, for I did ever vow
Never to cast off my disdain till, as it falls out now,
Their miss of me knock’d at my fleet, and told me in their cries
I was reveng’d, and had my wish of all my enemies.
And so of this repeat enough. Take thou my fame-blaz’d arms,
And my fight-thirsty Myrmidons lead to these hot alarms.
Whole clouds of Trojans circle us with hateful eminence;
The Greeks shut in a little shore, a sort of citizens
Skipping upon them; all because their proud eyes do not see
The radiance of my helmet there, whose beams had instantly
Thrust back, and all these ditches fill’d with carrion of their flesh,
If Agamemnon had been kind; where now they fight as fresh,
As thus far they had put at ease, and at our tents contend.
And may; for the repulsive hand of Diomed doth not spend
His raging darts there, that their death could fright out of our fleet;
Nor from that head of enmity, can my poor hearers meet
The voice of great Atrides now. Now Hector’s only voice
Breaks all the air about both hosts, and, with the very noise
Bred by his loud encouragements, his forces fill the field,
And fight the poor Achaians down. But on, put thou my shield
Betwixt the fire-plague and our fleet. Rush bravely on, and turn
War’s tide as headlong on their throats. No more let them ajourn
Our sweet home-turning. But observe the charge I lay on thee
To each least point, that thy rul’d hand may highly honour me,
And get such glory from the Greeks, that they may send again
My most sweet wench, and gifts to boot, when thou hast cast a rein
On these so headstrong citizens, and forc’d them from our fleet.
With which grace if the God of sounds thy kind egression greet; 1
Retire, and be not tempted on (with pride to see thy hand
Rain slaughter’d carcasses on earth) to run forth thy command
As far as Ilion, lest the Gods, that favour Troy, come forth
To thy encounter, for the Sun much loves it; and my worth,
In what thou suffer’st, will be wrong’d, that I would let my friend
Assume an action of such weight without me, and transcend
His friend’s prescription. Do not then affect a further fight
Than I may strengthen. Let the rest, when thou hast done this right,
Perform the rest. O would to Jove, thou Pallas, and thou Sun,
That not a man hous’d underneath those tow’rs of Ilion,
Nor anyone of all the Greeks, how infinite a sum
Soever all together make, might live unovercome;
But only we two, ‘scaping death, might have the thund’ring down
Of ev’ry stone stuck in the walls of this so sacred town!”
Thus spake they only ‘twixt themselves. And now the foe no more
Could Ajax stand, being so oppress’d with all the iron store
The Trojans pour’d on; with whose darts, and with Jove’s will beside,
His pow’rs were cloy’d, and his bright helm did deaf’ning blows abide,
His plume, and all bead-ornaments, could never hang in rest.
His arm yet labour’d up his shield, and having done their best,
They could not stir him from his stand, although he wrought it out
With short respirings, and with sweat, that ceaseless flow’d about
His reeking limbs; no least time giv’n to take in any breath;
Ill strengthen’d ill; when one was up, another was beneath.
Now, Muses, you that dwell in heav’n, the dreadful mean inspire,
That first enforc’d the Grecian fleet, to take in Trojan fire.
First Hector, with his huge broad sword, cut off, at setting on,
The head of Ajax’ ashen lance; which Ajax seeing gone,
And that he shook a headless spear, a little while unware,
His wary spirits told him straight the hand of Heav’n was there;
And trembling under his conceit, which was that ’twas Jove’s deed,
Who, as be poll’d off his dart’s heads, so sure he had decreed
That all the counsels of their war, he would poll off like it,
And give the Trojans victory; so trusted he his wit,
And left his darts. And then the ship was heap’d with horrid brands
Of kindling fire; which instantly was seen through all the strands
In unextinguishable flames, that all the ship embrac’d.
And then Achilles beat his thighs, cried out, “Patroclus, haste,
Make way with horse. I see at fleet, a fire of fearful rage.
Arm, arm, lest all our fleet it fire, and all our pow’r engage.
Arm quickly, I’ll bring up the troops.” To these so dreadful wars
Patroclus, in Achilles’ arms, enlighten’d all with stars,
And richly amell’d, all haste made. He wore his sword, his shield,
His huge-plum’d helm, and two such spears, as he could nimbly wield.
But the most fam’d Achilles’ spear, big, solid, full of weight,
He only left of all his arms; for that far pass’d the might
Of any Greek to shake but his; Achilles’ only ire
Shook that huge weapon, that was giv’n by Chiron to his sire,
Cut from the top of Pelion, to be heroës’ deaths.
His steeds Automedon straight join’d; like whom no man that breathes,
Next Peleus’ son, Patroclus lov’d; for, like him, none so great
He found in faith at ev’ry fight, nor to out-look a threat,
Automedon did therefore guide for him Achilles’ steeds,
Xanthius and Balius swift as wind, begotten by the seeds
Of Zephyr, and the Harpy born, Podarge, in a mead
Close to the wavy oceán, where that fierce Harpy fed.
Automedon join’d these before, and with the hindmost gears
He fasten’d famous Pedasus, whom, from the massacres
Made by Achilles, when he took Eëtion’s wealthy town,
He brought, and, though of mortal race, yet gave him the renown
To follow his immortal horse. And now, before his tents,
Himself had seen his Myrmidons, in all habiliments
Of dreadful war. And when ye see, upon a mountain bred, 2
A den of wolves, about whose hearts unmeasur’d strengths are fed,
New come from currie of a stag, their jaws all blood-besmear’d,
And when from some black-water fount they all together herd,
There having plentifully lapp’d, with thin and thrust out tongues,
The top and clearest of the spring, go belching from their lungs
The clotter’d gore, look dreadfully, and entertain no dread,
Their bellies gaunt all taken up, with being so rawly fed;
Then say, that such, in strength and look, were great Achilles’ men
Now order’d for the dreadful fight; and so with all them then
His friend, and all, about himself; who chiefly did intend
Th’ embattelling of horse and foot. To that siege, held so long,
Twice-five-and-twenty sail he brought, twice-five-and-twenty strong
Of able men was ev’rv sail. Five colonels he made
Of all those forces; trusty men, and all of pow’r to lead,
But he of pow’r beyond them all. Menesthius was one,
That ever wore discolour’d arms; he was a river’s son
That fell from heav’n, and good to drink was his delightful stream,
His name unwearied Sperchius, he lov’d the lovely dame
Fair Polydora, Peleus’ seed, and dear in Borus’ sight,
And she to that celestial Flood gave this Menesthius light,
A woman mixing with a God. Yet Borus bore the name
Of father to Menesthius, he marrying the dame,
And giving her a mighty dow’r; he was the kind descent
Of Perieres. The next man, renown’d with regiment,
Was strong Eudorus, brought to life by one suppos’d a maid,
Bright Polymela, Phylas’ seed, but had the wanton play’d
With Argus-killing Mercury; who (fir’d with her fair eyes,
As she was singing in the quire of Her that makes the cries
In clam’rous hunting, and doth bear the crooked bow of gold)
Stole to her bed in that chaste room, that Phœbe chaste did hold,
And gave her that swift-warlike son, Eudorus, brought to light
As she was dancing; but as soon, as She that rules the plight
Of labouring women eas’d her throes, and show’d her son the sun,
Strong Echecæus, Actor’s heir, woo’d earnestly, and won
Her second favour, feeing her with gifts of infinite prize;
And after brought her to his house, where, in his grandsire’s eyes,
Old Phylas, Polymela’s son obtain’d exceeding grace,
And found as careful bringing up, as of his natural race
He had descended. The third chief was fair Mæmalides
Pisandrus, who in skill of darts obtain’d supremest praise
Of all the Myrmidons, except their lord’s companion.
The fourth charge, aged Phœnix had. The fifth, Alcimedon,
Son of Laerces, and much fam’d. All these digested thus
In fit place by the mighty son of royal Peleüs,
This stern remembrance he gave all: “You, Myrmidons,” said he,
“Lest any of you should forget his threat’nings us’d to me
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 85