by Homer
’Gainst Neptune, Phoebus with wing’d shafts; ’gainst Mars the blue-ey’d Maid;
’Gainst Juno, Phoebe, whose white hands bore singing darts of gold,
Her side arm’d with a sheaf of shafts, and (by the birth twofold
Of bright Latona) sister twin to him that shoots so far;
Against Latona, Hermes stood (grave guard, in peace and war,
Of human beings); against the god whose empire is in fire,
The wat’ry godhead, that great flood, to show whose pow’r entire
In spoil as th’ other, all his stream on lurking whirlpits trod –
Xanthus by gods, by men Scamander call’d. Thus god ’gainst god
Enter’d the field. Aeacides sustain’d a fervent mind
To cope with Hector; past all these, his spirit stood inclin’d
To glut Mars with the blood of him. And at Aeacides
Apollo set Anchises’ son. But first he did impress
A more than natural strength in him, and made him feel th’ excess
Infus’d from heav’n. Lycaon’s shape gave show to his address
(Old Priam’s son), and thus he spake: ‘Thou counsellor of Troy,
Where now fly out those threats that late put all our peers in joy
Of thy fight with Aeacides? Thy tongue once (steep’d in wine)
Durst vaunt as much.’ He answer’d him: ‘But why wouldst thou incline
My pow’rs ’gainst that proud enemy, and ’gainst my present heat?
I mean not now to bid him blows; that fear sounds my retreat,
That heretofore discourag’d me, when after he had ras’d
Lyrnessus and strong Pedasus, his still breath’d fury chas’d
Our oxen from th’ Idaean hill, and set on me; but Jove
Gave strength and knees, and bore me off, that had not walk’d above
This centre now, but propp’d by him. Minerva’s hand (that held
A light to this her favourite, whose beams show’d and impell’d
His pow’rs to spoil) had ruin’d me. For these ears heard her cry,
“Kill, kill the seed of Ilion, kill th’ Asian Lelegi.”
Mere man then must not fight with him that still hath gods to friend,
Averting death on others’ darts, and giving his no end
But with the ends of men. If god like fortune in the fight
Would give my forces, not with ease wing’d victory should light
On his proud shoulders, nor he ’scape, though all of brass he boasts
His plight consisteth.’ He replied: ‘Pray thou those gods of hosts,
Whom he implores, as well as he, and his chance may be thine;
Thou cam’st of gods like him: the queen that reigns in Salamine
Fame sounds thy mother, he deriv’d of lower deity,
Old Nereus’ daughter bearing him. Bear then thy heart as high,
And thy unwearied steel as right; nor utterly be beat
With only cruelty of words, not proof against a threat.’
This strengthen’d him, and forth he rush’d, nor could his strength’ning fly
White-wristed Juno, nor his drifts. She every deity
Of th’ Achive faction call’d to her, and said: ‘Ye must have care
(Neptune and Pallas) for the frame of this important war
Ye undertake here; Venus’ son (by Phoebus being impell’d)
Runs on Achilles. Turn him back, or see our friend upheld
By one of us. Let not the spirit of Aeacides
Be over-dar’d, but make him know the mightiest deities
Stand kind to him; and that the gods, protectors of these tow’rs
That fight against Greece, and were here before our eminent pow’rs,
Bear no importance. And besides, that all we stoop from heav’n
To curb this fight, that no impair be to his person giv’n
By any Trojans, nor their aids, while this day bears the sun.
Hereafter, all things that are wrapp’d in his birth thread, and spun
By Parcas (in that point of time his mother gave him air)
He must sustain. But if report perform not the repair
Of all this to him, by the voice of some immortal state,
He may be fearful (if some god should set on him) that fate
Makes him her minister. The gods, when they appear to men
And manifest their proper forms, are passing dreadful then.’
Neptune replied: ‘Saturnia, at no time let your care
Exceed your reason; ’tis not fit. Where only humans are,
We must not mix the hands of gods, our odds is too extreme.
Sit we by, in some place of height, where we may see to them,
And leave the wars of men to men. But if we see from thence
Or Mars or Phoebus enter fight, or offer least offence
To Thetis’ son, not giving free way to his conquering rage,
Then comes the conflict to our cares; we soon shall disengage
Achilles, and send them to heav’n, to settle their abode
With equals, flying under-strifes.’ This said, the black-hair’d god
Led to the tow’r of Hercules, built circular and high
By Pallas and the Ilians, for fit security
To Jove’s divine son, ’gainst the whale that drave him from the shore
To th’ ample field. There Neptune sat, and all the gods that bore
The Greeks good meaning, casting all thick mantles made of clouds
On their bright shoulders. Th’ oppos’d gods sat hid in other shrouds
On top of steep Callicolon, about thy golden sides,
O Phoebus, brandisher of darts; and thine, whose rage abides
No peace in cities. In this state, these gods in council sate,
All ling’ring purpos’d fight, to try who first would elevate
His heavenly weapon. High-thron’d Jove cried out to set them on,
Said all the field was full of men, and that the earth did groan
With feet of proud encounterers, burn’d with the arms of men
And barbed horse. Two champions for both the armies then
Met in their midst, prepar’d for blows: divine Aeacides
And Venus’ son. Aeneas first stepp’d threat’ning forth the press,
His high helm nodding, and his breast barr’d with a shady shield,
And shook his javelin. Thetis’ son did his part to the field.
As when the harmful king of beasts (sore threaten’d to be slain,
By all the country up in arms) at first makes coy disdain
Prepare resistance, but at last when any one hath led
Bold charge upon him with his dart, he then turns yawning head,
Fell anger lathers in his jaws, his great heart swells, his stern
Lasheth his strength up, sides and thighs waddled with stripes to learn
Their own pow’r, his eyes glow, he roars, and in he leaps to kill,
Secure of killing: so his pow’r then rous’d up to his will
Matchless Achilles, coming on to meet Anchises’ son.
Both near, Achilles thus inquir’d: ‘Why stand’st thou thus alone,
Thou son of Venus? Calls thy heart to change of blows with me?
Sure Troy’s whole kingdom is propos’d; some one hath promis’d thee
The throne of Priam for my life; but Priam’s self is wise,
And (for my slaughter) not so mad to make his throne thy prize.
Priam hath sons to second him. Is ’t then some piece of land,
Pa
st others fit to set and sow, that thy victorious hand
The Ilians offer for my head? I hope that prize will prove
No easy conquest: once, I think, my busy javelin drove
(With terror) those thoughts from your spleen. Retain’st thou not the time
When single on th’ Idaean hill I took thee with the crime
Of runaway, thy oxen left, and when thou hadst no face
That I could see; thy knees bereft it, and Lyrnessus was
The mask for that. Then that mask, too, I open’d to the air
(By Jove and Pallas’ help), and took the free light from the fair,
Your ladies bearing prisoners. But Jove and th’ other gods
Then sav’d thee; yet again I hope they will not add their odds
To save thy wants, as thou presum’st; retire then, aim not at
Troy’s throne by me. Fly ere thy soul flies; fools are wise too late.’
He answer’d him: ‘Hope not that words can child-like terrify
My stroke-proof breast. I well could speak in this indecency,
And use tart terms; but we know well what stock us both put out,
Too gentle to bear fruits so rude. Our parents ring about
The world’s round bosom; and by fame their dignities are blown
To both our knowledges, by sight neither to either known –
Thine to mine eyes, nor mine to thine. Fame sounds thy worthiness
From famous Peleus, the sea-nymph that hath the lovely tress
(Thetis) thy mother; I myself affirm my sire to be
Great-soul’d Anchises, she that holds the Paphian deity
My mother; and of these, this light is now t’ exhale the tears
For their lov’d issue – thee or me. Childish, unworthy dares
Are not enough to part our pow’rs; for if thy spirits want
Due excitation (by distrust of that desert I vaunt)
To set up all rests for my life, I’ll lineally prove
(Which many will confirm) my race. First, cloud-commanding Jove
Was sire to Dardanus that built Dardania; for the walls
Of sacred Ilion spread not yet, these fields, those fair-built halls
Of divers-languag’d men not rais’d; all then made populous
The foot of Ida’s fountful hill. This Jove-got Dardanus
Begot king Ericthonius, for wealth past all compares
Of living mortals; in his fens he fed three thousand mares,
All neighing by their tender foals; of which twice six were bred
By lofty Boreas, their dams lov’d by him as they fed.
He took the brave form of a horse that shook an azure mane,
And slept with them. These twice six colts had pace so swift, they ran
Upon the top-ayles of corn-ears, nor bent them any whit.
And when the broad back of the sea their pleasure was to sit,
The superficies of his waves they slid upon, their hooves
Nor dipp’d in dank sweat of his brows. Of Ericthonius’ loves
Sprang Tros the king of Troÿans; Tros three young princes bred:
Ilus, renown’d Assaracus, and heav’nly Ganymed,
The fairest youth of all that breath’d; whom (for his beauty’s love)
The gods did ravish to their state, to bear the cup to Jove.
Ilus begot Laomedon; god-like Laomedon
Got Tithon, Priam, Clytius, Mars-like Hycetaon,
And Lampus. Great Assaracus Capys begot. And he,
Anchises. Prince Anchises, me. King Priam, Hector. We
Sprang both of one high family. Thus fortunate men give birth,
But Jove gives virtue; he augments, and he impairs the worth
Of all men; and his will, their rule; he strong’st all strength affords;
Why then paint we (like dames) the face of conflict with our words?
Both may give language that a ship driv’n with a hundred oars
Would overburthen: a man’s tongue is voluble, and pours
Words out of all sorts every way; such as you speak you hear.
What then need we vie calumnies, like women that will wear
Their tongues out, being once incens’d, and strife for strife to part
(Being on their way) they travel so. From words words may avert;
From virtue, not; it is your steel (divine Aeacides)
Must prove my proof, as mine shall yours.’ Thus amply did he ease
His great heart of his pedigree, and sharply sent away
A dart that caught Achilles’ shield, and rung so, it did fray
The son of Thetis, his fair hand far-thrusting out his shield,
For fear the long lance had driv’n through. O fool, to think ’twould yield,
And not to know the god’s firm gifts want want to yield so soon
To men’s poor pow’rs; the eager lance had only conquest won
Of two plates, and the shield had five: two forg’d of tin, two brass,
One (that was centre-plate) of gold, and that forbade the pass
Of Anchisiades his lance. Then sent Achilles forth
His lance, that through the first fold struck, where brass of little worth
And no great proof of hides was laid; through all which Pelias ran
His iron head; and after it, his ashen body wan
Pass’d to the earth, and there it stuck, his top on th’ other side,
And hung the shield up; which hard down Aeneas pluck’d to hide
His breast from sword blows, shrunk up round, and in his heavy eye
Was much grief shadow’d, much afraid that Pelias struck so nigh.
Then prompt Achilles rushing in, his sword drew, and the field
Rung with his voice. Aeneas now left and let hang his shield,
And (all distracted) up he snatch’d a two men’s strength of stone,
And either at his shield or cask he set it rudely gone,
Nor car’d where, so it struck a place that put on arms for death.
But he (Achilles came so close) had doubtless sunk beneath
His own death, had not Neptune seen and interpos’d the odds
Of his divine pow’r, uttering this to the Achaian gods:
‘I grieve for this great-hearted man; he will be sent to hell,
Ev’n instantly, by Peleus’ son, being only mov’d to deal
By Phoebus’ words. What fool is he! Phoebus did never mean
To add to his great words his guard against the ruin then
Summon’d against him: and what cause hath he to head him on
To others’ miseries, he being clear of any trespass done
Against the Grecians? Thankful gifts he oft hath given to us;
Let us then quit him, and withdraw this combat, for if thus
Achilles end him, Jove will rage, since his escape in fate
Is purpos’d – lest the progeny of Dardanus take date –
Whom Jove past all his issue lov’d, begot of mortal dames:
All Priam’s race he hates, and this must propagate the names
Of Trojans, and their sons’ sons rule, to all posterity.’
Saturnia said: ‘Make free your pleasure. Save, or let him die.
Pallas and I have taken many and most public oaths
That th’ ill day never shall avert her eye (red with our wroths)
From hated Troy: no, not when all in studied fire she flames
The Greek rage, blowing her last coal.’ This nothing turn’d his aims
From present rescue, but through all the whizzing spears he pass’d,
&n
bsp; And came where both were combating; when instantly he cast
A mist before Achilles’ eyes, drew from the earth and shield
His lance, and laid it at his feet: and then took up and held
Aloft the light Anchises’ son, who pass’d (with Neptune’s force)
Whole orders of heroës’ heads, and many a troop of horse
Leap’d over, till the bounds he reach’d of all the fervent broil
Where all the Caucons’ quarters lay. Thus (far freed from the toil)
Neptune had time to use these words: ‘Aeneas, who was he
Of all the gods, that did so much neglect thy good, and thee,
To urge thy fight with Thetis’ son, who in immortal rates
Is better and more dear than thee? Hereafter, lest (past fates)
Hell be thy headlong home, retire; make bold stand never near
Where he advanceth: but his fate once satisfied, then bear
A free and full sail: no Greek else shall end thee.’ This reveal’d,
He left him, and dispers’d the cloud that all this act conceal’d
From vex’d Achilles: who again had clear light from the skies,
And (much disdaining the escape) said, ‘O ye gods, mine eyes
Discover miracles: my lance submitted, and he gone
At whom I sent it with desire of his confusion!
Aeneas sure was lov’d of heav’n; I thought his vaunt from thence
Had flow’d from glory. Let him go; no more experience
Will his mind long for of my hands, he flies them now so clear:
Cheer then the Greeks, and others try.’ Thus rang’d he everywhere
The Grecian orders; every man (of which the most look’d on
To see their fresh lord shake his lance) he thus put charge upon:
‘Divine Greeks, stand not thus at gaze, but man to man apply
Your several valours: ’tis a task laid too unequally
On me, left to so many men – one man oppos’d to all.
Not Mars, immortal and a god, nor war’s she-general
A field of so much fight could chase, and work it out with blows:
But what a man may execute, that all limbs will expose,
And all their strength to th’ utmost nerve – though now I lost some play
By some strange miracle, no more shall burn in vain the day
To any least beam – all this host I’ll ransack, and have hope
Of all; not one (again) will ’scape, whoever gives such scope