by John Dryden
Through nine Bull-hides, each under other plac’d,
On his broad Shield, and stuck within the last.
Achilles wrench’d it out; and sent again 130
The hostile Gift: The hostile Gift was vain.
He try’d a third, a tough well-chosen Spear;
Th’ inviolable Body stood sincere;
Though Cygnus then did no Defence provide,
But scornful offer’d his unshielded Side. 135
Not otherwise th’ impatient Hero far’d,
Than as a Bull, incompass’d with a Guard
Amid the Circus roars: Provok’d from far
By sight of Scarlet, and a sanguine War:
They quit their Ground; his bended Horns elude; 140
In vain pursuing, and in vain pursu’d.
Before to farther Fight he wou’d advance,
He stood considering, and survey’d his Lance.
Doubts if he wielded not a Wooden Spear
Without a Point: He look’d, the Point was there. 145
This is my Hand, and this my Lance, he se’d,
By which so many thousand Foes are dead.
O whether is their usual Virtue fled!
I had it once; and the Lyrnessian Wall,
And Tenedos confess’d it in their Fall. 150
Thy Streams, Caicus, rowl’d a Crimson-Flood;
And Thebes ran Red with her own Natives Blood.
Twice Telephus employ’d this piercing Steel,
To wound him first, and afterward to heal.
The Vigour of this Arm was never vain; 155
And that my wonted Prowess I retain,
Witness these Heaps of Slaughter on the Plain.
He said; and, doubtful of his former Deeds,
To some new trial of his Force proceeds.
He chose Menætes from among the rest; 160
At him he lanch’d his Spear; and pierc’d his Breast:
On the hard Earth, the Lycian knock’d his Head,
And lay supine; and forth the Spirit fled.
Then thus the Hero: Neither can I blame,
The Hand, or Javelin; both are still the same. 165
The same I will employ against this Foe;
And wish but with the same Success to throw.
So spoke the Chief; and while he spoke he threw;
The Weapon with unerring Fury flew,
At his left Shoulder aim’d: Nor Entrance found; 170
But back, as from a Rock, with swift rebound
Harmless return’d: A bloody Mark appear’d,
Which with false Joy the flatter’d Hero chear’d.
Wound there was none; the Blood that was in view,
The Lance before from slain Menætes drew 175
Headlong he leaps from off his lofty Car,
And in close Fight on foot renews the War.
Raging with high Disdain, repeats his Blows;
Nor Shield nor Armour can their Force oppose;
Huge Cantlets of his Buckler strew the Ground, 180
And no Defence in his bor’d Arms is found.
But on his Flesh, no Wound or Blood is seen;
The Sword it self is blunted on the Skin.
This vain Attempt the Chief no longer bears;
But round his hollow Temples and his Ears 185
His Buckler beats: The Son of Neptune, stun’d
With these repeated Buffets, quits his Ground;
A sickly Sweat succeeds; and Shades of Night:
Inverted Nature swims before his Sight:
Th’ insulting Victor presses on the more, 190
And treads the Steps the vanquish’d trod before,
Nor Rest, nor Respite gives: A Stone there lay
Behind his trembling Foe; and stop’d his way.
Achilles took th’ Advantage which he found,
O’er-turn’d, and push’d him backward on the Ground. 195
His Buckler held him under. while he press’d
With both his Knees above, his panting Breast;
Unlac’d his Helm: About his Chin the Twist
He ty’d; and soon the strangled Soul dismiss’d.
With eager haste he went to strip the Dead 200
The vanish’d Body from his Arms was fled.
His Sea-God Sire t’ immortalize his Fame,
Had turn’d it to the Bird that bears his Name.
A Truce succeeds the Labours of this Day,
And Arms suspended with a long delay. 205
While Trojan Walls are kept with Watch and Ward;
The Greeks before their Trenches mount the Guard;
The Feast approach’d; when to the blue-Ey’d Maid
His Vows for Cygnus slain the Victor paid,
And a white Heyfer, on her Altar laid. 210
The reeking Entrails on the Fire they threw;
And to the Gods the grateful Odour flew:
Heav’n had its part in Sacrifice: The rest
Was broil’d and roasted for the future Feast.
The chief invited Guests were set around; 215
And Hunger first asswag’d, the Bowls were crown’d,
Which in deep Draughts their Cares and Labours drown’d.
The mellow Harp did not their Ears employ:
And mute was all the Warlike Symphony:
Discourse, the Food of Souls, was their Delight, 220
And pleasing Chat prolong’d the Summers-night.
The Subject, Deeds of Arms; and Valour shown
Or on the Trojan side, or on their own.
Of Dangers undertaken, Fame atchiev’d;
They talk’d by turns; the Talk by turns reliev’d. 225
What Things but these, cou’d fierce Achilles tell,
Or what cou’d fierce Achilles hear so well?
The last great Act perform’d, of Cygnus slain,
Did most the Martial Audience entertain:
Wondring to find a Body, free by Fate 230
From Steel; and which could ev’n that Steel rebate:
Amaz’d, their Admiration they renew;
And scarce Pelides cou’d believe it true.
Then Nestor thus; What once this Age has known,
In fated Cygnus, and in him alone, 235
These Eyes have seen in Cæneus long before,
Whose body not a thousand Swords cou’d bore.
Cæneus, in Courage, and in Strength excell’d;
And still his Othrys with his Fame is fill’d:
But what did most his Martial Deeds adorn, 240
(Though since he chang’d his Sex) a Woman born.
A Novelty so strange, and full of Fate,
His list’ning Audience ask’d him to relate.
Achilles thus commends their common Sute;
O Father, first for Prudence in repute, 245
Tell, with that Eloquence, so much thy own,
What thou hast heard, or what of Cæneus known:
What was he, whence his change of Sex begun,
What Trophies, join’d in Wars with thee, he won?
Who conquer’d him, and in what fatal Strife 250
The Youth without a Wound, cou’d lose his Life?
Neleides then; Though tardy Age, and Time
Have shrunk my Sinews, and decay’d my Prime:
Though much I have forgotten of my Store,
Yet not exhausted, I remember more. 255
Of all that Arms atchiev’d, or Peace design’d,
That Action still is fresher in my Mind
Than ought beside. If Reverend Age can give
To Faith a Sanction, in my third I live.
’Twas in my second Cent’ry, I survey’d 260
Young Cænis, then a fair Thessalian Maid:
Cænis the bright was born to high Command;
A Princess; and a Native of thy Land,
Divine Achilles: every Tongue proclaim’d
Her Beauty; and her Eyes all Hearts inflam’d. 265
Peleus, thy sire, perhaps
had sought her Bed,
Among the rest; but he had either led
Thy Mother then, or was by Promise ty’d;
But she to him, and all alike her Love deny’d.
It was her Fortune once, to take her way 270
Along the sandy Margin of the Sea:
The Pow’r of Ocean view’d her as she pass’d,
And lov’d as soon as seen, by Force embrac’d.
So Fame reports. Her Virgin-Treasure seiz’d,
And his new Joys, the Ravisher so pleas’d, 275
That thus, transported, to the Nymph he cry’d;
Ask what thou wilt, no Pray’r shall be deny’d.
This also Fame relates: The haughty Fair,
Who not the Rape, ev’n of a God cou’d bear,
This Answer, proud, return’d: To mighty Wrongs 280
A mighty Recompense, of right, belongs.
Give me no more to suffer such a Shame;
But change the Woman, for a better Name;
One Gift for all: She said; and while she spoke,
A stern, majestick, manly Tone she took. 285
A Man she was: And as the Godhead swore,
To Cæneus turn’d, who Cænis was before.
To this the Lover adds without request:
No force of Steel shou’d violate his Breast.
Glad of the Gift, the new-made Warrior goes; 290
And Arms among the Greeks; and longs for equal Foes.
Now brave Perithous, bold Ixion’s Son,
The Love of fair Hippodame had won.
The Cloud-begotten Race, half Men, half Beast,
Invited, came to grace the Nuptial Feast: 295
In a cool Cave’s recess the Treat was made,
Whose entrance Trees with spreading Boughs o’ershade.
They sate: And summon’d by the Bridegroom, came,
To mix with those the Lapythæan Name:
Nor wanted I: The Roofs with Joy resound: 300
And Hymen, Io Hymen, rung around,
Rais’d Altars shone with holy Fires; the Bride,
Lovely her self (and lovely by her side
A Bevy of bright Nimphs, with sober Grace,)
Came glitt’ring like a Star, and took her Place. 305
Her heav’nly Form beheld, all wish’d her Joy;
And little wanted, but in vain, their Wishes all employ.
For One, most Brutal of the Brutal Brood,
Or whether Wine or Beauty fir’d his Blood
Or both at once; beheld with lustful Eyes 310
The Bride; at once resolv’d to make his Prize.
Down went the Board; and fastening on her Hair,
He seiz’d with sudden Force the frighted Fair.
’Twas Eurytus began: His bestial Kind
His Crime pursu’d; and each as pleas’d his Mind, 315
Or her, whom Chance presented, took: The Feast
An Image of a taken Town express’d.
The Cave resounds with Female Shrieks; we rise,
Mad with Revenge, to make a swift Reprise
And Theseus first; What Frenzy has possess’d 320
O Eurytus, he cry’d, thy brutal Breast,
To wrong Perithous, and not him alone,
But, while I live, two Friends conjoyn’d in one?
To justify his Threat, he thrusts aside
The Crowd of Centaurs; and redeems the Bride: 325
The Monster nought replied: For Words were vain;
And Deeds cou’d only Deeds unjust maintain:
But answers with his Hand; and forward press’d,
With Blows redoubled, on his Face and Breast.
An ample Goblet stood, of antick Mold, 330
And rough with Figures of the rising Gold;
The Hero snatch’d it up, and toss’d in Air,
Full at the Front of the foul Ravisher:
He falls; and falling vomits forth a Flood
Of Wine, and Foam and Brains, and mingled Blood. 335
Half roaring, and half neighing through the Hall,
Arms, Arms, the double-form’d with Fury call;
To wreak their Brother’s Death: A Medley-Flight
Of Bowls and Jars, at first supply the Fight,
Once Instruments of Feasts, but now of Fate; 340
Wine animates their Rage, and arms their Hate.
Bold Amycus, from the robb’d Vestry brings
The Chalices of Heav’n; and holy Things
Of precious Weight: A Sconce, that hung on high,
With Tapers fill’d, to light the Sacristy, 345
Torn from the Cord, with his unhallow’d Hand
He threw amid the Lapythæan Band.
On Celadon the Ruin fell, and left
His Face of Feature and of Form bereft:
So, when some brawny Sacrificer knocks, 350
Before an altar led, an offer’d Oxe,
His Eye-balls rooted out are thrown to ground:
His Nose dismantled in his Mouth is found,
His Jaws, Cheeks, Front, one undistinguish’d Wound.
This, Belates, th’ Avenger, cou’d not brook; 355
But, by the Foot a Maple-board he took;
And hurl’d at Amycus; his Chin it bent
Against his Chest, and down the Centaur sent;
Whom sputtring bloody Teeth, the second Blow
Of his drawn Sword dispatch’d to Shades below. 360
Grineus was near; and cast a furious Look
On the side Altar, cens’d with sacred Smoke,
And bright with flaming Fires: The Gods, he cry’d,
Have with their holy Trade, our Hands supply’d:
Why use we not their Gifts? Then from the Floor 365
An Altar-Stone he heav’d, with all the Load it bore:
Altar and Altars freight together flew,
Where thickest throng’d the Lapythæan Crew;
And Broteas, and at once, Oryus slew:
Oryus mother, Mycale, was known 370
Down from her Sphere to draw the lab’ring Moon.
Exadius cry’d, Unpunish’d shall not go
This Fact, if Arms are found against the Foe.
He look’d about, where on a Pine were spred
The votive Horns of a Stags branching Head: 375
At Grineus these he throws; so just they fly,
That the sharp Antlers stuck in either Eye:
Breathless and Blind he fell; with Blood besmear’d;
His Eye-balls beaten out hung dangling on his Beard.
Fierce Rhætus, from the Hearth a burning Brand 380
Selects, and whirling waves; till, from his Hand
The Fire took Flame; then dash’d it from the right,
On fair Charaxus Temples near the Sight:
The whistling Pest came on; and pierc’d the Bone,
And caught the yellow Hair, that shrievel’d while it shone: 385
Caught, like dry Stubble fir’d; or like Seer-wood;
Yet from the Wound ensu’d no Purple Flood;
But look’d a bubbling Mass of frying Blood.
His blazing Locks sent forth a crackling Sound;
And hiss’d, like red hot Iron within the Smithy drown’d. 390
The wounded Warrior shook his flaming Hair,
Then (what a Team of Horse cou’d hardly rear)
He heaves the Threshold-Stone; but cou’d not throw;
The Weight it self forbad the threaten’d Blow;
Which dropping from his lifted Arms, came down, 395
Full on Cometes Head; and crush’d his Crown.
Nor Rhætus then retain’d his Joy; but se’d;
So by their Fellows may our Foes be sped,
Then, with redoubled Strokes he plies his Head:
The burning Lever not deludes his Pains, 400
But drives the batter’d Skull within the Brains.
Thus flush’d, the Conqueror, with force renew’d,
Evagrus, Dryas, Corythus, pursu’d:
First Corythus, with downy Cheeks, he slew;
Whose Fall when fierce Evagrus had in view, 405
He cry’d, What Palm is from a beardless Prey?
Rhætus prevents what more he had to say;
And drove within his Mouth the fiery Death,
Which enter’d hissing in, and choak’d his Breath.
At Dryas next he flew; But weary Chance 410
No longer wou’d the same Success advance.
But while he whirl’d in fiery Circles round
The Brand, a sharpen’d Stake strong Dryas found;
And in the Shoulder’s Joint inflicts the Wound.
The Weapon struck; which roaring out with Pain 415
He drew; nor longer durst the Fight maintain,
But turn’d his Back, for fear; and fled amain.
With him fled Orneus, with like Dread possess’d;
Thaumas, and Medon, wounded in the Breast;
And Mermeros in the late Race renown’d, 420
Now limping ran, and tardy with his Wound.
Pholus and Melaneus from Fight withdrew,
And Abas maim’d, who Boars encountring slew:
And Augur Astylos, whose Art in vain
From Fight dissuaded the four-footed Train, 425
Now beat the Hoof with Nessus on the Plain;
But to his Fellow cry’d, Be safely slow,
Thy Death deferr’d is due to great Alcides Bow.
Mean time strong Dryas urg’d his Chance so well,
That Lycidas, Areos, Imbreus fell; 430
All, one by one, and fighting Face to Face:
Crenæus fled, to fall with more Disgrace:
For, fearful, while he look’d behind, he bore
Betwixt his Nose and Front, the Blow before.
Amid the Noise and Tumult of the Fray, 435
Snoring, and drunk with Wine, Aphidas lay.
Ev’n then the Bowl within his Hand he kept:
And on a Bear’s rough Hide securely slept.
Him Phorbas with his flying Dart, transfix’d;
Take thy next Draught with Stygian Waters mix’d, 440
And sleep thy fill, th’ insulting Victor cry’d;
Surpris’d with Death unfelt, the Centaur dy’d:
The ruddy Vomit, as he breath’d his Soul,
Repass’d his Throat; and fill’d his empty Bowl.
I saw Petræus Arms employ’d around 445
A well-grown Oak, to root it from the Ground.
This way, and that, he wrench’d the fibrous Bands,
The Trunk was like a Sappling in his Hands,
And still obey’d the Bent: While thus he stood,
Perithous Dart drove on; and nail’d him to the Wood. 450
Lycus, and Chromis fell by him oppress’d:
Helops and Dictys added to the rest
A nobler Palm: Helops through either Ear