by Homer
Wise Vulcan’s unresisted spirit. The flood out of a flame
Cried to him: ‘Cease, O Mulciber, no deity can tame
Thy matchless virtue: nor would I (since thou art thus hot) strive:
Cease then thy strife; let Thetis’ son, with all thy wish’d haste, drive
Ev’n to their gates these Ilians: what toucheth me their aid,
Or this contention?’ Thus in flames the burning river pray’d:
And as a cauldron, underput with store of fire, and wrought
With boiling of a well-fed brawn, up leaps his wave aloft,
Bavins of sere wood urging it, and spending flames apace,
Till all the cauldron be engirt with a consuming blaze:
So round this flood burn’d, and so sod his sweet and tortur’d streams,
Nor could flow forth, bound in the fumes of Vulcan’s fiery beams.
Who (then not mov’d) his mother’s ruth by all his means he craves,
And ask’d, why Vulcan should invade and so torment his waves
Past other floods, when his offence rose not to such degree
As that of other gods for Troy, and that himself would free
Her wrath to it, if she were pleas’d; and pray’d her, that her son
Might be reflected, adding this, that he would ne’er be won
To help keep off the ruinous day in which all Troy should burn,
Fir’d by the Grecians. This vow heard, she charg’d her son to turn
His fiery spirits to their homes, and said it was not fit
A god should suffer so for men. Then Vulcan did remit
His so unmeasur’d violence, and back the pleasant flood
Ran to his channel. Thus these gods she made friends, th’ others stood
At weighty diff’rence; both sides ran together with a sound
That earth resounded, and great heav’n about did surrebound.
Jove heard it, sitting on his hill, and laugh’d to see the gods
Buckle to arms like angry men; and (he pleas’d with their odds)
They laid it freely. Of them all, thump-buckler Mars began,
And at Minerva with a lance of brass he headlong ran,
These vile words ushering his blows: ‘Thou dog-fly, what’s the cause
Thou mak’st gods fight thus? Thy huge heart breaks all our peaceful laws
With thy insatiate shamelessness. Rememb’rest thou the hour
When Diomed charg’d me – and by thee – and thou with all thy pow’r
Took’st lance thyself, and in all sights rush’d on me with a wound?
Now vengeance falls on thee for all.’ This said, the shield fring’d round
With fighting adders, borne by Jove, that not to thunder yields,
He clapt his lance on, and this god that with the blood of fields
Pollutes his godhead, that shield pierc’d, and hurt the armed Maid:
But back she leapt, and with her strong hand rapt a huge stone laid
Above the champaign, black and sharp, that did in old time break
Partitions to men’s lands; and that she dusted in the neck
Of that impetuous challenger. Down to the earth he sway’d,
And overlaid seven acres land: his hair was all beray’d
With dust and blood mix’d, and his arms rung out. Minerva laugh’d,
And thus insulted: ‘O thou fool, yet hast thou not been taught
To know mine eminence? Thy strength opposest thou to mine?
So pay thy mother’s furies then; who for these aids of thine
(Ever afforded perjur’d Troy, Greece ever left) takes spleen
And vows thee mischief.’ Thus she turn’d her blue eyes, when love’s queen
The hand of Mars took, and from earth rais’d him with thick-drawn breath,
His spirits not yet got up again. But from the press of death
Kind Aphrodite was his guide. Which Juno seeing, exclaim’d:
‘Pallas, see, Mars is help’d from field! “Dog-fly” his rude tongue nam’d
Thyself even now, but that his love, that dog-fly, will not leave
Her old consort. Upon her fly.’ Minerva did receive
This excitation joyfully, and at the Cyprian flew,
Struck with her hard hand her soft breast, a blow that overthrew
Both her and Mars, and there both lay together in broad field;
When thus she triumph’d. ‘So lie all that any succours yield
To these false Trojans ’gainst the Greeks so bold and patient,
As Venus (shunning charge of me); and no less impotent
Be all their aids than hers to Mars, so short work would be made
In our depopulating Troy (this hardiest to invade
Of all earth’s cities).’ At this wish white-wristed Juno smil’d.
Next Neptune and Apollo stood upon the point of field,
And thus spake Neptune: ‘Phoebus! Come, why at the lance’s end
Stand we two thus?’ Twill be a shame for us to re-ascend
Jove’s golden house, being thus in field and not to fight. Begin,
For ’tis no graceful work for me: thou hast the younger chin,
I older, and know more. O fool! What a forgetful heart
Thou bear’st about thee, to stand here, press’d to take th’ Ilian part,
And fight with me! Forget’st thou then what we two, we alone
(Of all the gods) have suffer’d here, when proud Laomedon
Enjoy’d our service a whole year for our agreed reward?
Jove in his sway would have it so, and in that year I rear’d
This broad brave wall about his town, that (being a work of mine)
It might be inexpugnable. This service then was thine,
In Ida (that so many hills and curl’d-head forests crown)
To feed his oxen, crooked-shank’d, and headed like the moon.
But when the much-joy–bringing hours brought term for our reward,
The terrible Laomedon dismiss’d us both, and scar’d
Our high deservings – not alone to hold our promis’d fee,
But give us threats too. Hand and feet he swore to fetter thee
And sell thee as a slave, dismiss’d far hence to foreign isles;
Nay more, he would have both our ears. His vow’s breach, and reviles,
Made us part angry with him then, and dost thou gratulate now
Such a king’s subjects, or with us not their destruction vow,
Ev’n to their chaste wives and their babes?’ He answer’d, he might hold
His wisdom little, if with him (a god) for men he would
Maintain contention – wretched men that flourish for a time
Like leaves, eat some of that earth yields, and give earth in their prime
Their whole selves for it. ‘Quickly then let us fly fight for them,
Nor show it offer’d: let themselves bear out their own extreme.’
Thus he retir’d, and fear’d to change blows with his uncle’s hands.
His sister therefore chid him much (the goddess that commands
In games of hunting), and thus spake: ‘Fliest thou, and leav’st the field
To Neptune’s glory? And no blows? O fool! Why dost thou wield
Thy idle bow? No more my ears shall hear thee vaunt in skies –
Dares to meet Neptune – but I’ll tell thy coward’s tongue it lies.’
He answer’d nothing; yet Jove’s wife could put on no such reins,
But spake thus loosely: ‘How dar’st thou, dog, whom no fear contains,
Encounte
r me? ’Twill prove a match of hard condition:
Though the great Lady of the bow and Jove hath set thee down
For lion of thy sex, with gift to slaughter any dame
Thy proud will envies, yet some dames will prove th’ hadst better tame
Wild lions upon hills than them. But if this question rests
Yet under judgment in thy thoughts, and that thy mind contests,
I’ll make thee know it. Suddenly with her left hand she catch’d
Both Cynthia’s palms, lock’d fingers fast, and with her right she snatch’d
From her fair shoulders her gilt bow, and (laughing) laid it on
About her ears, and ev’ry way her turnings seiz’d upon,
Till all her arrows scatter’d out, her quiver emptied quite.
And as a dove, that (flying a hawk) takes to some rock her flight,
And in his hollow breasts sits safe, her fate not yet to die:
So fled she mourning, and her bow left there. Then Mercury
His opposite thus undertook: ‘Latona, at no hand
Will I bide combat; ’tis a work right dangerous to stand
At difference with the wives of Jove. Go, therefore, freely vaunt
Amongst the deities th’ hast subdued, and made thy combatant
Yield with plain pow’r.’ She answer’d not, but gather’d up the bow
And shafts fall’n from her daughter’s side, retiring. Up did go
Diana to Jove’s starry hall, her incorrupted veil
Trembling about her, so she shook. Phoebus (lest Troy should fail
Before her fate) flew to her walls, the other deities flew
Up to Olympus, some enrag’d, some glad. Achilles slew
Both men and horse of Ilion. And as a city fir’d
Casts up a heat that purples heaven, clamours and shrieks expir’d
In every corner; toil to all, to many misery;
Which fire th’ incensed gods let fall: Achilles so let fly
Rage on the Trojans, toils and shrieks as much by him impos’d.
Old Priam in his sacred tow’r stood, and the flight disclos’d
Of his forc’d people, all in rout, and not a stroke return’d,
But fled resistance. His eyes saw in what a fury burn’d
The son of Peleus, and down went weeping from the tow’r
To all the port-guards, and their chiefs, told of his flying pow’r,
Commanding th’ opening of the ports, but not to let their hands
Stir from them, for Aeacides would pour in with his bands.
‘Destruction comes. O shut them strait when we are in,’ he pray’d;
‘For not our walls, I fear, will check this violent man.’ This said,
Off lifted they the bars; the ports hal’d open, and they gave
Safety her entry, with the host; which yet they could not save
Had not Apollo sallied out, and struck destruction
(Brought by Achilles in their necks) back; when they right upon
The ports bore all, dry, dusty, spent, and on their shoulders rode
Rabid Achilles with his lance, still glory being the goad
That prick’d his fury. Then the Greeks high-ported Ilion
Had seiz’d, had not Apollo stirr’d Antenor’s famous son,
Divine Agenor, and cast in an undertaking spirit
To his bold bosom, and himself stood by to strengthen it,
And keep the heavy hand of death from breaking in. The god
Stood by him, leaning on a beech, and cover’d his abode
With night-like darkness; yet for all the spirit he inspir’d,
When that great city-raser’s force his thoughts struck, he retir’d,
Stood, and went on – a world of doubts still falling in his way –
When (angry with himself) he said: ‘Why suffer I this stay
In this so strong need to go on? If, like the rest, I fly,
’Tis his best weapon to give chase, being swift, and I should die
Like to a coward. If I stand, I fall too. These two ways
Please not my purpose; I would live. What if I suffer these
Still to be routed, and (my feet affording further length)
Pass all these fields of Ilion, till Ida’s sylvan strength
And steep heights shroud me, and at ev’n refresh me in the flood,
And turn to Ilion? O my soul! Why drown’st thou in the blood
Of these discourses? If this course that talks of further flight
I give my feet, his feet more swift have more odds. Get he sight
Of that pass, I pass least; for pace, and length of pace, his thighs
Will stand out all men. Meet him then, my steel hath faculties
Of pow’r to pierce him; his great breast but one soul holds, and that
Death claims his right in (all men say), but he holds special state
In Jove’s high bounty, that’s past man, that every way will hold;
And that serves all men, every way.’ This last heart made him bold
To stand Achilles, and stirr’d up a mighty mind to blows.
And as a panther (having heard the hounds’ trails) doth disclose
Her freckled forehead, and stares forth from out some deep-grown wood
To try what strength dares her abroad, and when her fiery blood
The hounds have kindled, no quench serves, of love to live or fear,
Though struck, though wounded, though quite through she feels the mortal spear,
But till the man’s close strength she tries, or strews earth with his dart,
She puts her strength out: so it far’d with brave Agenor’s heart,
And till Achilles he had prov’d, no thoughts, no deeds once stirr’d
His fixed foot. To his broad breast his round shield he preferr’d,
And up his arm went with his aim, his voice out with this cry:
‘Thy hope is too great, Peleus’ son, this day to show thine eye
Troy’s Ilion at thy foot; O fool! The Greeks with much more woes,
More than are suffer’d yet, must buy great Ilion’s overthrows.
We are within her many strong, that for our parents’ sakes,
Our wives and children, will save Troy, and thou (though he that makes
Thy name so terrible) shalt make a sacrifice to her
With thine own ruins.’ Thus he threw, nor did his javelin err,
But struck his foe’s leg near his knee; the fervent steel did ring
Against his tin greaves, and leap’d back. The fire’s strong-handed king
Gave virtue of repulse, and then Aeacides assail’d
Divine Agenor, but in vain; Apollo’s pow’r prevail’d,
And rapt Agenor from his reach, whom quietly he plac’d
Without the skirmish, casting mists to save from being chas’d
His tender’d person, and (he gone) to give his soldiers ’scape,
The deity turn’d Achilles still, by putting on the shape
Of him he thirsted; evermore he fed his eye, and fled,
And he with all his knees pursu’d. So cunningly he led,
That still he would be near his reach, to draw his rage with hope,
Far from the conflict, to the flood maintaining still the scope
Of his attraction. In mean time, the other frighted pow’rs
Came to the city, comforted, when Troy and all her tow’rs
Strooted with fillers; none would stand to see who staid without,
Who ’scap’d, and who came short: the ports cleft to receive the rout
&
nbsp; That pour’d itself in. Every man was for himself, most fleet
Most fortunate; whoever scap’d, his head might thank his feet.
The end of the twenty-first book
Book 22
The Argument
All Trojans hous’d but Hector, only he
Keeps field, and undergoes th’ extremity.
Aeacides assaulting, Hector flies.
Minerva stays him: he resists, and dies;
Achilles to his chariot doth enforce,
And to the naval station drags his corse.
Another Argument
Hector in Chi to death is done
By pow’r of Peleus’ angry son.
Book 22
Thus (chas’d like hinds) the Ilians took time to drink and eat,
And to refresh them, getting off the mingled dust and sweat,
And good strong rampires on instead. The Greeks then cast their shields
Aloft their shoulders; and now Fate their near invasion yields
Of those tough walls, her deadly hand compelling Hector’s stay
Before Troy at the Scaean ports. Achilles still made way
At Phoebus, who his bright head turn’d, and ask’d: ‘Why, Peleus’ son,
Pursu’st thou (being a man) a god? Thy rage hath never done.
Acknowledge not thine eyes my state? Esteems thy mind no more
Thy honour in the chase of Troy, but puts my chase before
Their utter conquest? They are all now hous’d in Ilion,
While thou hunt’st me. What wishest thou? My blood will never run
On thy proud javelin.’ ‘It is thou,’ replied Aeacides,
‘That putt’st dishonour thus on me, thou worst of deities;
Thou turnd’st me from the walls, whose ports had never entertain’d
Numbers now enter’d, over whom thy saving hand hath reign’d,
And robb’d my honour. And all is, since all thy actions stand
Past fear of reckoning: but held I the measure in my hand,
It should afford thee dear-bought scapes.’ Thus with elated spirits
(Steed-like, that at Olympus’ games wears garlands for his merits,
And rattles home his chariot, extending all his pride)
Achilles so parts with the god. When aged Priam spied
The great Greek come, spher’d round with beams, and show’ng as if the star