by Homer
But after him, with horrid cries, both Hector and the rest
Show’rs of tear-thirsty lances pour’d, who having arm’d his breast
With all his friends, he turn’d it then. Then on the ships all Troy,
Like raw-flesh-nourish’d lions rush’d, and knew they did employ
Their pow’rs to perfect Jove’s high will; who still their spirits enflam’d,
And quench’d the Grecians; one renown’d, the other often sham’d;
For Hector’s glory still he stood, and ever went about
To make him cast the fleet such fire as never should go out;
Heard Thetis’ foul petition, and wish’d in any wise
The splendour of the burning ships might satiate his eyes.
From him yet the repulse was then to be on Troy conferr’d,
The honour of it giv’n the Greeks; which (thinking on) he stirr’d
(With such addition of his spirit) the spirit Hector bore,
To burn the fleet, that of itself was hot enough before.
But now he far’d like Mars himself, so brandishing his lance
As through the deep shades of a hill a raging fire should glance,
Held up to all eyes by a hill; about his lips a foam
Stood, as when th’ ocean is enrag’d; his eyes were overcome
With fervour, and resembled flames, set off by his dark brows,
And from his temples his bright helm abhorred lightnings throws.
For Jove, from forth the sphere of stars, to his state put his own,
And all the blaze of both the hosts confin’d in him alone.
And all this was since after this he had not long to live,
This lightning flew before his death, which Pallas was to give
(A small time thence, and now prepar’d) beneath the violence
Of great Pelides. In mean time, his present eminence
Thought all things under it: and he still where he saw the stands
Of greatest strength and bravest arm’d, there he would prove his hands,
Or no where, offering to break through. But that pass’d all his pow’r,
Although his will were past all theirs; they stood him like a tow’r
Conjoin’d so firm, that as a rock, exceeding high and great,
And standing near the hoary sea, bears many a boisterous threat
Of high-voic’d winds and billows huge, belch’d on it by the storms:
So stood the Greeks great Hector’s charge, nor stirr’d their battellous forms.
He (girt in fire, borne for the fleet) still rush’d at every troop,
And fell upon it like a wave, high rais’d, that then doth stoop
Out from the clouds, grows as it stoops, with storms, then down doth come
And cuff a ship, when all her sides are hid in brackish foam,
Strong gales still raging in her sails, her sailors’ minds dismay’d,
Death being but little from their lives: so Jove-like Hector fray’d
And plied the Greeks, who knew not what would chance, for all their guards.
And as the baneful king of beasts, leapt in to oxen herds,
Fed in the meadows of a fen, exceeding great, the beasts
In number infinite,’mongst whom (their herdsmen wanting breasts
To fight with lions for the price of a black ox’s life)
He here and there jumps, first and last, in his bloodthirsty strife,
Chas’d and assaulted; and at length, down in the midst goes one,
And all the rest sperst through the fen: so now all Greece was gone.
So Hector (in a flight from heav’n upon the Grecians cast)
Turn’d all their backs, yet only one his deadly lance laid fast:
Brave Mycenaeus Periphes, Cypraeus’ dearest son,
Who of the heaven’s-queen-lov’d-king (great Eurysthaeus) won
The grace to greet in embassy the strength of Hercules,
Was far superior to his sire in feet, fight, nobleness
Of all the virtues; and all those did such a wisdom guide
As all Mycenae could not match: and this man dignified
(Still making greater his renown) the state of Priam’s son.
For his unhappy hasty foot, as he address’d to run,
Stuck in th’ extreme ring of his shield, that to his ankles reach’d,
And down he upwards fell; his fall up from the centre fetch’d
A huge sound with his head and helm, which Hector quickly spied,
Ran in, and in his worthy breast his lance’s head did hide,
And slew about him all his friends, who could not give him aid:
They griev’d, and of his god-like foe fled so extreme afraid.
And now amongst the nearest ships, that first were drawn to shore,
The Greeks were driv’n; beneath whose sides, behind them, and before,
And into them they pour’d themselves, and thence were driv’n again
Up to their tents, and there they stood, not daring to maintain
Their guards more outward, but betwixt the bounds of fear and shame,
Cheer’d still each other, when th’ old man, that of the Grecian name
Was call’d the pillar, every man thus by his parents pray’d:
‘O friends, be men, and in your minds let others’ shames be weigh’d;
Know you have friends besides yourselves: possessions, parents, wives,
As well those that are dead to you, as those ye love with lives,
All sharing still their good or bad with yours: by these I pray,
That are not present (and the more should therefore make ye weigh
Their miss of you, as yours of them), that you will bravely stand,
And this forc’d flight you have sustain’d, at length yet countermand.’
Supplies of good words thus supplied the deeds and spirits of all,
And so at last Minerva clear’d the cloud that Jove let fall
Before their eyes: a mighty light flew beaming every way,
As well about their ships as where their darts did hottest play:
Then saw they Hector great in arms, and his associates,
As well all those that then abstain’d, as those that help’d the fates,
And all their own fight at the fleet. Nor did it now content
Ajax to keep down like the rest; he up the hatches went,
Stalk’d here and there; and in his hand a huge great head-hook held,
Twelve cubits long, and full of iron: and as a man well skill’d
In horse, made to the martial race, when (of a number more)
He chooseth four, and brings them forth to run them all before
Swarms of admiring citizens, amids their town’s high way,
And (in their full career) he leaps from one to one, no stay
Enforc’d on any, nor fails he in either seat or leap:
So Ajax with his bead-hook leap’d nimbly from ship to ship,
As actively, commanding all them in their men, as well
As men in them, most terribly exhorting to repel,
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) ’gainst 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 desperately, 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 downright 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 enflam’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 seven 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 back? Towns rampir’d here are none,
No citizens to take ye in, no help in 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; who ever 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
Book 16
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-ru’d 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 Pi, Patroclus bears the chance
Of death, impos’d by Hector’s lance.
Book 16
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 uncontained tears: and (like a fountain pour’d
In black streams from a lofty rock) the Greeks, so plagued, 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 has 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 loved Phthia brought,
Told only thee, lest I should grieve, and therefore thus hath wrought
On thy kind spirit? Actor’s son, the good Menoetius
(Thy father) lives, and Peleus (mine), great son of Aeacus,
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 Eurypilus.
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 heaven’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 my 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 tired friends will breathe: our fresh-set-on supply
Will easily drive their wearied off.’ Thus (foolish man) he su’d
For his sure death; of all whose speech Achilles first renew’d
The last part, thus: ‘O worthy friend, what have thy speeches been?
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 –