by Homer
The spirit of Hector, Phaenops like, surnam’d Asiades,
Whom Hector us’d (of all his guests) with greatest friendliness,
And in Abydus stood his house; in whose form thus he spake:
‘Hector! What man of all the Greeks will any terror make
Of meeting thy strength any more when thou art terrified
By Menelaus? Who before he slew thy friend, was tried
A passing easy soldier; where now (besides his end,
Impos’d by him) he draws him off (and not a man to friend)
From all the Trojans. This friend is Podes, Eëtion’s son.’
This hid him in a cloud of grief, and set him foremost on,
And then Jove took his snake-fring’d shield; and Ida cover’d all
With sulphury clouds, from whence he let abhorred lightnings fall,
And thunder’d till the mountain shook; and with his dreadful state
He usher’d victory to Troy, to Argos flight and fate.
Peneleus Boeotius was he that foremost fled,
Being wounded in his shoulder’s height; but there the lance’s head
Struck lightly, glancing to his mouth, because it struck him near,
Thrown from Polydamas: Leïtus next left the fight in fear,
(Being hurt by Hector in his hand) because he doubted sore
His hand in wished fight with Troy would hold his lance no more.
Idomeneus sent a dart at Hector (rushing in,
And following Leïtus) that struck his bosom near his chin,
And brake at top; the Ilians for his escape did shout.
When Hector at Deucalides another lance sent out
As in his chariot he stood, it miss’d him narrowly;
For (as it fell) Caeranus drave his speedy chariot by,
And took the Trojan lance himself; he was the charioteer
Of stern Meriones, and first on foot did service there;
Which well he left to govern horse, for saving now his king,
With driving ’twixt him and his death, though thence his own did spring,
Which kept a mighty victory from Troy, in keeping death
From his great sovereign: the fierce dart did enter him beneath
His ear, betwixt his jaw and it; drave down, cut through his tongue,
And struck his teeth out; from his hands the horses’ reins he flung,
Which now Meriones receiv’d as they bestrew’d the field,
And bade his sovereign scourge away; he saw that day would yield
No hope of victory for them. He fear’d the same, and fled.
Nor from the mighty-minded son of Telamon lay hid
(For all his clouds) high Jove himself, nor from the Spartan king,
They saw him in the victory he still was varying
For Troy; for which sight Ajax said: ‘O heav’ns, what fool is he
That sees not Jove’s hand in the grace now done our enemy?
Not any dart they touch, but takes, from whomsoever thrown,
Valiant or coward; what he wants, Jove adds; not any one
Wants his direction to strike sure; nor ours to miss, as sure:
But come, let us be sure of this, to put the best in ure
That lies in us; which two-fold is: both to fetch off our friend,
And so to fetch him off, as we may likeliest contend
To fetch ourselves off, that our friends surviving may have right
In joy of our secure retreat, as he that fell in fight
Being kept as sure from further wrong: of which perhaps they doubt,
And looking this way, grieve for us, not able to work out
Or pass from this man-slaughterer, great Hector and his hands,
That are too hot for men to touch, but that these thirsty sands
Before out fleet will be enforc’d to drink our headlong death.
Which to prevent by all fit means, I would the parted breath
Of good Patroclus to his friend with speed imparted were
By some he loves, for I believe no heavy messenger
Hath yet inform’d him; but alas! I see no man to send;
Both men and horse are hid in mists that every way descend.
O father Jupiter, do thou the sons of Greece release
Of this felt darkness; grace this day with fit transparences,
And give the eyes thou giv’st their use, destroy us in the light,
And work thy will with us, since needs thou wilt against us fight.’
This spake he weeping; and his tears Saturnius pity show’d,
Dispers’d the darkness instantly, and drew away the cloud
From whence it fell: the sun shin’d out, and all the host appear’d;
And then spake Ajax (whose heard prayer his spirits highly cheer’d):
‘Brave Menelaus, look about; and if thou canst descry
Nestor’s Antilochus alive, incite him instantly
To tell Achilles that his friend, most dear to him, is dead.’
He said, nor Menelaus stuck at any thing he said
(As loth to do it), but he went. As from the grazier’s stall
A lion goes, when overlaid with men, dogs, darts and all,
Not easily losing a fat ox, but strong watch all night held;
His teeth yet watering, oft he comes, and is as oft repell’d,
The adverse darts so thick are pour’d before his brow-hid eyes,
And burning firebrands, which for all his great heart’s heat, he flies,
And (grumbling) goes his way betimes: so from Patroclus went
Atrides, much against his mind, his doubts being vehement,
Lest (he gone from his guard) the rest would leave for very fear
The person to the spoil of Greece. And yet his guardians were
Th’ Ajaces and Meriones, whom much his care did press,
And thus exhort: ‘Ajaces both, and you, Meriones,
Now let some true friend call to mind the gentle and sweet nature
Of poor Patroclus; let him think, how kind to every creature
His heart was, living, though now dead.’ Thus urg’d the fair-hair’d king,
And parted, casting round his eye. As when upon her wing
An eagle is, whom men affirm to have the sharpest sight
Of all air’s region of fowls, and though of mighty height,
Sees yet within her leavy form of humble shrubs, close laid,
A light-foot hare, which straight she stoops, trusses, and strikes her dead:
So dead thou struck’st thy charge (O king) through all war’s thickets, so
Thou look’dst, and swiftly found’st thy man, exhorting ’gainst the foe,
And heart’ning his plied men to blows, us’d in the war’s left wing;
To whom thou saidst: ‘Thou god-lov’d man, come here, and hear a thing
Which I wish never were to hear; I think ev’n thy eye sees
What a destruction god hath laid upon the sons of Greece,
And what a conquest he gives Troy, in which the best of men
(Patroclus) lies exanimate, whose person, passing fain,
The Greeks would rescue and bear home; and therefore give thy speed
To his great friend, to prove if he will do so good a deed
To fetch the naked person off, for Hector’s shoulders wear
His prised arms.’ Antilochus was highly griev’d to hear
This heavy news, and stood surpris’d with stupid silence long,
His fair eyes standing full of tears, his voice, so sweet and strong,
Stuck in
his bosom; yet all this wrought in him no neglect
Of what Atrides gave in charge: but for that quick effect
He gave Laodocus his arms (his friend that had the guide
Of his swift horse), and then his knees were speedily applied
In his sad message, which his eyes told all the way in tears.
Nor would thy generous heart assist his sore-charg’d soldiers
(O Menelaus) in mean time, though left in much distress;
Thou sent’st them god-like Thrasymed, and mad’st thy kind regress
Back to Patroclus, where arriv’d, half breathless thou didst say
To both th’ Ajaces: ‘I have sent this messenger away
To swift Achilles, who, I fear, will hardly help us now
(Though mad with Hector) – without arms he cannot fight, ye know;
Let us then think of some best mean, both how we may remove
The body and get off ourselves from this vociferous drove
And fate of Trojans.’ ‘Bravely spoke at all parts,’ Ajax said,
‘O glorious son of Atreus; take thou then straight the dead,
And thou, Meriones. We two, of one mind, as one name,
Will back ye soundly, and on us receive the wild-fire flame
That Hector’s rage breathes after you before it come at you.’
This said, they took into their arms the body – all the show
That might be made to those of Troy, at arm’s end bearing it.
Out shriek’d the Trojans when they saw the body borne to fleet,
And rush’d on, as at any boar, gash’d with the hunter’s wounds,
A kennel of the sharpest set and sorest bitten hounds
Before their youthful huntsmen haste, and eagerly a while
Pursue, as if they were assur’d of their affected spoil.
But when the savage (in his strength as confident as they)
Turns head amongst them, back they fly, and every one his way:
So troop-meal’d Troy pursu’d a while, laying on with swords and darts;
But when th’ Ajaces turn’d on them, and made their stand, their hearts
Drunk from their faces all their bloods, and not a man sustain’d
The forechace, nor the after fight. And thus Greece nobly gain’d
The person towards home: but thus the changing war was rack’d
Out to a passing bloody length. For as, once put in act,
A fire invading city roofs is suddenly ingross’d
And made a wondrous mighty flame, in which is quickly lost
A house long building, all the while a boist’rous gust of wind
Lumb’ring amongst it: so the Greeks (in bearing off their friend)
More and more foes drew, at their heels a tumult thund’ring still
Of horse and foot. Yet as when mules, in haling from a hill
A beam or mast, through foul deep way, well clapp’d and heartened, close
Lie to their labour, tug and sweat, and passing hard it goes
(Urg’d by their drivers to all haste), so dragg’d they on the corse,
Still both th’ Ajaces at their backs, who back still turn’d the force,
Though after it grew still the more: yet as a sylvan hill
Thrusts back a torrent that hath kept a narrow channel still,
Till at his oaken breast it beats, but there a check it takes,
That sends it over all the vale with all the stir it makes,
Nor can with all the confluence break through his rooty sides:
In no less firm and brave repulse th’ Ajaces curb’d the prides
Of all the Trojans; yet all held the pursuit in his strength,
Their chiefs being Hector, and the son of Venus, who at length
Put all the youths of Greece besides in most amazeful rout,
Forgetting all their fortitudes, distraught, and shrieking out,
A number of their rich arms lost, fall’n from them here and there,
About and in the dike; and yet, the war concludes not here.
The end of the seventeenth book
Book 18
The Argument
Achilles mourns, told of Patroclus’ end;
When Thetis doth from forth the sea ascend
And comfort him, advising to abstain
From any fight, till her request could gain
Fit arms of Vulcan. Juno yet commands
To show himself. And at the dike he stands
In sight of th’ enemy, who with his sight
Flies; and a number perish in the flight.
Patroclus’ person (safe brought from the wars)
His soldiers wash. Vulcan the arms prepares.
Another Argument
Sigma continues the alarms,
And fashions the renowned arms.
Book 18
They fought still like the rage of fire. And now Antilochus
Came to Aeacides, whose mind was much solicitous
For that which (as he fear’d) was fall’n. He found him near the fleet
With upright sail-yards, uttering this to his heroic conceit:
‘Ay me, why see the Greeks themselves thus beaten from the field,
And routed headlong to their fleet. O let not heaven yield
Effect to what my sad soul fears; that (as I was foretold)
The strongest Myrmidon (next me), when I should still behold
The sun’s fair light, must part with it. Past doubt Menoetius’ son
Is he on whom that fate is wrought. O wretch, to leave undone
What I commanded, that the fleet once freed of hostile fire,
(Not meeting Hector) instantly he should his pow’rs retire.’
As thus his troubled mind discours’d, Antilochus appear’d,
And told with tears the sad news thus: ‘My lord, that must be heard
Which would to heav’n I might not tell: Menoetius’ son lies dead,
And for his naked corse (his arms already forfeited,
And worn by Hector) the debate is now most vehement.’
This said, grief darken’d all his pow’rs. With both his hands he rent
The black mould from the forced earth, and pour’d it on his head,
Smear’d all his lovely face; his weeds (divinely fashioned)
All ’fil’d and mangled; and himself he threw upon the shore,
Lay as laid out for funeral, then tumbled round, and tore
His gracious curls; his extasy he did so far extend,
That all the ladies won by him and his now slaughter’d friend
(Afflicted strangely for his plight) came shrieking from the tents,
And fell about him; beat their breasts, their tender lineaments
Dissolv’d with sorrow. And with them wept Nestor’s warlike son,
Fell by him, holding his fair hands, in fear he would have done
His person violence; his heart (extremely straiten’d) burn’d,
Beat, swell’d, and sigh’d as it would burst. So terribly he mourn’d
That Thetis, sitting in the deeps of her old father’s seas,
Heard, and lamented. To her plaints the bright Nereides
Flock’d all, how many those dark gulfs soever comprehend.
There Glauce and Cymodoce and Spyo did attend,
Nesaea and Cymothoa, and calm Amphithoë;
Thalia, Thoa, Panope, and swift Dynamene;
Actaea and Lymnoria, and Halia the fair,
Fam’d for the beauty of her eyes, Amathia for her hair;
Iaera, Proto, Clymene, and curl’d Dexamene;
Pherusa, Doris; and with these the smooth Amphinome;
Chaste Galathea so renown’d; and Callianira came
With Doto and Orythia, to cheer the mournful dame;
Apseudes likewise visited; and Callianassa gave
Her kind attendance; and with her Agave grac’d the cave.
Nemertes, Maera followed; Melita, Ianesse,
With Ianira, and the rest of those Nereides
That in the deep seas made abode; all which together beat
Their dewy bosoms, and to all thus Thetis did repeat
Her cause of mourning: ‘Sisters, hear how much the sorrows weigh
Whose cries now call’d ye: hapless I brought forth unhappily
The best of all the sons of men, who like a well-set plant
In best soils, grew and flourished, and when his spirit did want
Employment for his youth and strength, I sent him with a fleet
To fight at Ilion; from whence his fate-confined feet
Pass all my deity to retire. The court of his high birth,
The glorious court of Peleus, must entertain his worth
Never hereafter. All the life he hath to live with me
Must waste in sorrows; and this son I now am bent to see,
Being now afflicted with some grief, not usually grave,
Whose knowledge and recure I seek.’ This said, she left her cave,
Which all left with her; swimming forth, the green waves as they swom,
Cleft with their bosoms, curl’d, and gave quick way to Troy. Being come,
They all ascended, two and two, and trod the honour’d shore,
Till where the fleet of Myrmidons (drawn up in heaps) it bore.
There stay’d they at Achilles’ ship, and there did Thetis lay
Her fair hand on her son’s curl’d head, sigh’d, wept, and bade him say
What grief drew from his eyes those tears: ‘Conceal it not,’ said she;
‘Till this hour thy uplifted hands have all things granted thee.
The Greeks (all thrust up at their sterns) have pour’d out tears enow,
And in them seen how much they miss remission of thy vow.
He said, ‘Tis true, Olympius hath done me all that grace:
But what joy have I of it all, when thus thrusts in the place
Loss of my whole self, in my friend? Whom, when his foe had slain,
He spoil’d of those profaned arms that Peleus did obtain
From heaven’s high pow’rs, solemnizing thy sacred nuptial bands,