by Homer
A bow half drew at him; at once out flew both shaft and lance:
The shaft Atrides’ curets struck, and far away did glance:
Atrides’ dart of Hellenus the thrust-out bow-hand struck,
And through the hand stuck in the bow; Agenor’s hand did pluck
From forth the nailed prisoner the javelin quickly out,
And fairly with a little wool, enwrapping round about
The wounded hand, within a scarf he bore it, which his squire
Had ready for him: yet the wound would need he should retire.
Pisander, to revenge his hurt, right on the king ran he.
A bloody fate suggested him, to let him run on thee,
O Menelaus, that he might, by thee, in dangerous war
Be done to death. Both coming on, Atrides’ lance did err:
Pisander struck Atrides’ shield, that brake at point the dart,
Not running through, yet he rejoic’d as playing a victor’s part:
Atrides, drawing his fair sword, upon Pisander flew;
Pisander from beneath his shield his goodly weapon drew –
Two-edg’d, with right sharp steel, and long, the handle olive-tree,
Well polish’d – and to blows they go; upon the top struck he
Atrides’ horse-hair’d feather’d helm; Atrides on his brow
(Above th’ extreme part of the nose) laid such a heavy blow
That all the bones crash’d under it, and out his eyes did drop
Before his feet in bloody dust; he after, and shrunk up
His dying body: which the foot of his triumphing foe
Opened, and stood upon his breast, and off his arms did go,
This insultation us’d the while: ‘At length forsake our fleet
Thus (ye false Trojans) to whom war never enough is sweet:
Nor want ye more impieties, with which ye have abus’d
Me, ye bold dogs, that your chief friends so honourably us’d:
Nor fear you hospitable Jove that lets such thunders go:
But build upon’t, he will unbuild your tow’rs, that clamber so,
For ravishing my goods and wife, in flow’r of all her years,
And without cause; nay, when that fair and liberal hand of hers
Had us’d you so most lovingly; and now again ye would
Cast fire into our fleet, and kill our princes if ye could.
Go to, one day you will be curb’d (though never so ye thirst
Rude war) by war. O father Jove, they say thou art the first
In wisdom of all gods and men; yet all this comes from thee,
And still thou gratifiest these men, how lewd so e’er they be,
Though never they be cloy’d with sins, nor can be satiate,
As good men should, with this vile war. Satiety of state,
Satiety of sleep and love, satiety of ease,
Of music, dancing, can find place; yet harsh war still must please
Past all these pleasures, even past these. They will be cloy’d with these
Before their war joys: never war gives Troy satieties.’
This said, the bloody arms were off, and to his soldiers thrown,
He mixing in first fight again: and then Harpalion,
Kind king Pylemen’s son, gave charge; who to those wars of Troy
His loved father followed, nor ever did enjoy
His country’s sight again; he struck the targe of Atreus’ son
Full in the midst; his javelin’s steel yet had no power to run
The target through, nor had himself the heart to fetch his lance,
But took him to his strength, and cast on every side a glance,
Lest any his dear sides should dart: but Merion, as he fled,
Sent after him a brazen lance that ran his eager head
Through his right hip, and all along the bladder’s region
Beneath the bone; it settled him, and set his spirit gone
Amongst the hands of his best friends; and like a worm he lay
Stretch’d on the earth, with his black blood imbrued and flow’d away.
His corse the Paphlagonians did sadly wait upon
(Repos’d in his rich chariot) to sacred Ilion,
The king his father following, dissolv’d in kindly tears,
And no wreak sought for his slain son. But at his slaughterers
Incensed Paris spent a lance (since he had been a guest
To many Paphlagonians) and through the press it press’d.
There was a certain augur’s son, that did for wealth excel,
And yet was honest; he was born and did at Corinth dwell:
Who (though he knew his harmful fate) would needs his ship ascend:
His father, Polyidus, oft would tell him that his end
Would either seize him at his house, upon a sharp disease,
Or else amongst the Grecian ships, by Trojans slain. Both these
Together he desir’d to shun; but the disease (at last,
And ling’ring death in it) he left, and war’s quick stroke embrac’d:
The lance betwixt his ear and cheek ran in, and drave the mind
Of both those bitter fortunes out. Night struck his whole pow’rs blind.
Thus fought they like the spirit of fire, nor Jove-lov’d Hector knew
How in the fleet’s left wing the Greeks his down-put soldiers slew
Almost to victory: the god that shakes the earth so well
Help’d with his own strength, and the Greeks so fiercely did impell.
Yet Hector made the first place good, where both the ports and wall,
The thick rank of the Greek shields broke, he enter’d, and did skall,
Where on the gray sea’s shore were drawn (the wall being there but slight)
Protesilaus’ ships, and those of Ajax, where the fight
Of men and horse were sharpest set. There the Boeotian bands,
Long-rob’d Iaons, Locrians, and (brave men of their hands)
The Phthian and Epeian troops did spritefully assail
The god-like Hector rushing in, and yet could not prevail
To his repulse, though choicest men of Athens there made head:
Amongst whom was Menestheus chief, whom Phidias followed,
Stichius and Bias, huge in strength. Th’ Epeian troops were led
By Meges’ and Philides’ cares, Amphion, Dracius.
Before the Phthians Medon march’d, and Meneptolemus;
And these, with the Boeotian pow’rs, bore up the fleet’s defence.
Oïleus, by his brother’s side, stood close, and would not thence
For any moment of that time: but as through fallow fields
Black oxen draw a well-join’d plough, and either ev’nly yields
His thrifty labour; all heads couch’d so close to earth, they plow
The fallow with their horns, till out the sweat begins to flow,
The stretch’d yokes crack, and yet at last the furrow forth is driv’n:
So toughly stood these to their task, and made their work as ev’n.
But Ajax Telamonius had many helpful men,
That when sweat ran about his knees, and labour flow’d, would then
Help bear his mighty seven-fold shield: when swift Oïleades
The Locrians left, and would not make those murthrous fights of prease,
Because they wore no bright steel casks, nor bristled plumes for show,
Round shields, nor darts of solid ash, but with the trusty bow,
And jacks well quilted with soft wool, they came to Troy, and were,
In their fit place, as confident as those that fought so near,
And reach’d their foes so thick with shafts, that these were they that brake
The Trojan orders first, and then the brave-arm’d men did make
Good work with their close fights before. Behind whom, having shot,
The Locrians hid still; and their foes all thought of fight forgot
With shows of those far-striking shafts, their eyes were troubled so:
And then, assur’dly, from the ships and tents th’ insulting foe
Had miserably fled to Troy, had not Polydamas
Thus spake to Hector: ‘Hector, still impossible ’tis to pass
Good counsel upon you: but say some god prefers thy deeds,
In counsels wouldst thou pass us too? In all things none exceeds.
To some god gives the power of war; to some the sleight to dance;
To some the art of instruments; some doth for voice advance:
And that far-seeing god grants some the wisdom of the mind,
Which no man can keep to himself: that, though but few can find,
Doth profit many, that preserves the public weal and state,
And that, who hath, he best can prize: but, for me, I’ll relate
Only my censure what’s our best. The very crown of war
Doth burn about thee; yet our men, when they have reach’d thus far,
Suppose their valours crown’d, and cease. A few still stir their feet,
And so a few with many fight, spers’d thinly through the fleet.
Retire then, leave speech to the rout, and all thy princes call,
That here in counsels of most weight, we may resolve of all –
If having likelihood to believe that god will conquest give,
We shall charge through, or with this grace, make our retreat, and live:
For I must needs affirm, I fear the debt of yesterday
(Since war is such a god of change) the Grecians now will pay.
And since th’ insatiate man of war remains at fleet, if there
We tempt his safety, no hour more his hot soul can forbear.’
This sound stuff Hector lik’d, approv’d, jump’d from his chariot,
And said: ‘Polydamas, make good this place, and suffer not
One prince to pass it; I myself will there go, where you see
Those friends in skirmish, and return (when they have heard from me
Command that your advice obeys) with utmost speed.’ This said,
With day-bright arms, white plume, white scarf, his goodly limbs array’d,
He parted from them, like a hill removing, all of snow:
And to the Trojan peers and chiefs he flew, to let them know
The counsel of Polydamas. All turn’d, and did rejoice,
To haste to Panthus’ gentle son, being call’d by Hector’s voice.
Who, through the forefights making way, look’d for Deiphobus,
King Hellenus, Asiades, Hyrtasian Asius:
Of whom, some were not to be found unhurt, or undeceas’d,
Some only hurt, and gone from field. As further he address’d,
He found within the fight’s left wing the fair-hair’d Helen’s love,
By all means moving men to blows; which could by no means move
Hector’s forbearance, his friends’ miss so put his pow’rs in storm,
But thus in wonted terms he chid: ‘You with the finest form,
Impostor, woman’s man, where are (in your care mark’d) all these?
Deiphobus, King Hellenus, Asius Hyrtacides,
Othryoneus, Acamas? Now haughty Ilion
Shakes to his lowest groundwork: now just ruin falls upon
Thy head. past rescue.’ He replied: ‘Hector, why chid’st thou now
When I am guiltless? Other times there are for ease, I know,
Than these: for she that brought thee forth not utterly left me
Without some portion of thy spirit, to make me brother thee.
But since thou first brought’st in thy force to this our naval fight,
I and my friends have ceaseless fought, to do thy service right.
But all those friends thou seek’st are slain, excepting Hellenus,
(Who parted wounded in his hand) and so Deiphobus;
Jove yet averted death from them. And now lead thou as far
As thy great heart affects; all we will second any war
That thou endurest. And I hope my own strength is not lost;
Though least, I’ll fight it to his best; not further fights the most.’
This calm’d hot Hector’s spleen; and both turn’d where they saw the face
Of war most fierce: and that was where their friends made good the place
About renown’d Polydamas and god-like Polyphet,
Palmus, Ascanius, Morus, that Hippotion did beget,
And from Ascania’s wealthy fields but even the day before
Arriv’d at Troy, that with their aid they kindly might restore
Some kindness they receiv’d from thence: and in fierce fight with these
Phalces and tall Orthaeus stood, and bold Cebriones.
And then the doubt that in advice Polydamas disclos’d,
To fight or fly, Jove took away, and all to fight dispos’d.
And as the floods of troubled air to pitchy storms increase
That after thunder sweeps the fields, and ravish up the seas,
Encount’ring with abhorred roars, when the engrossed waves
Boil into foam, and endlessly one after other raves:
So rank’d and guarded th’ Ilians march’d, some now, more now, and then
More upon more, in shining steel; now captains, then their men.
And Hector, like man-killing Mars, advanc’d before them all,
His huge round target before him, through thicken’d like a wall,
With hides well couch’d, with store of brass; and on his temples shin’d
His bright helm, on which danc’d his plume: and in this horrid kind,
All hid within his world-like shield, he every troop assay’d
For entry, that in his despite stood firm and undismay’d.
Which when he saw, and kept more off, Ajax came stalking then,
And thus provok’d him: ‘O good man, why fright’st thou thus our men?
Come nearer; not art’s want in war makes us thus navy-bound,
But Jove’s direct scourge; his arm’d hand makes our hands give you ground:
Yet thou hop’st, of thyself, our spoil: but we have likewise hands
To hold our own, as you to spoil: and ere thy countermands
Stand good against our ransack’d fleet, your hugely-peopled town
Our hands shall take in, and her tow’rs from all their heights pull down.
And I must tell thee, time draws on, when flying thou shalt cry
To Jove and all the gods to make thy fair-man’d horses fly
More swift than falcons, that their hoofs may rouse the dust, and bear
Thy body, hid, to Ilion.’ This said, his bold words were
Confirm’d as soon as spoke; Jove’s bird, the high-flown eagle, took
The right hand of their host, whose wings high acclamations strook
From forth the glad breasts of the Greeks. Then Hector made reply:
‘Vain-spoken man, and glorious, what hast thou said? Would I
As surely were the son of Jove, and of great Juno born,
Adorn’d like Pallas, and the god that lifts to earth the morn,
As this day shall bri
ng harmful light to all your host; and thou
(If thou dar’st stand this lance) the earth before the ships shalt strow,
Thy bosom torn up; and the dogs, with all the fowl of Troy,
Be satiate with thy fat and flesh.’ This said, with shouting joy
His first troops follow’d, and the last their shouts with shouts repell’d:
Greece answer’d all, nor could her spirits from all show rest conceal’d.
And to so infinite a height all acclamations strove,
They reach’d the splendours stuck about the unreach’d throne of Jove.
The end of the thirteenth book
Book 14
The Argument
Atrides, to behold the skirmish, brings
Old Nestor, and the other wounded kings.
Juno (receiving of the Cyprian dame
Her Cestus, whence her sweet enticements came)
Descends to Somnus, and gets him to bind
The pow’rs of Jove with sleep, to free her mind.
Neptune assists the Greeks, and of the foe
Slaughter inflicts a mighty overthrow.
Ajax so sore strikes Hector with a stone,
It makes him spit blood, and his sense sets gone.
Another Argument
In Xi with sleep and bed, heav’n’s queen
Ev’n Jove himself makes overseen.
Book 14
Nor wine, nor feasts, could lay their soft chains on old Nestor’s ear
To this high clamour: who requir’d Machaon’s thoughts to bear
His care in part, about the cause: ‘For methink still,’ said he,
‘The cry increases. I must needs the watchtow’r mount to see
Which way the flood of war doth drive. Still drink thou wine, and eat
Till fair-hair’d Hecamed hath giv’n a little water heat,
To cleanse the quitture from thy wound.’ This said, the goodly shield
Of warlike Thrasimed his son (who had his own in field)
He took, snatch’d up a mighty lance, and so stept forth to view
Cause of that clamour. Instantly, th’ unworthy cause he knew –
The Grecians wholly put in rout, the Trojans routing still,
Close at the Greeks’ backs, their wall raz’d: the old man mourn’d this ill.
And as when with unwieldy waves the great sea forefeels winds,
That both ways murmur, and no way her certain current finds,