Preserv’d the son, in pity to the sire.
The steeds and chariot, to the navy led,
Increas’d the spoils of gallant Diomed.
Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew 35
Or slain, or fled, the sons of Dares view;
When by the blood-stain’d hand Minerva press’d
The God of Battles, and this speech address’d:
‘Stern Power of War! by whom the mighty fall,
Who bathe in blood, and shake the lofty wall! 40
Let the brave Chiefs their glorious toils divide;
And whose the conquest mighty Jove decide:
While we from interdicted fields retire,
Nor tempt the wrath of Heav’n’s avenging Sire.’
Her words allay th’ impetuous warrior’s heat, 45
The God of Arms and Martial Maid retreat;
Remov’d from fight, on Xanthus’ flowery bounds
They sat, and listen’d to the dying sounds.
Meantime, the Greeks the Trojan race pursue,
And some bold chieftain every leader slew: 50
First Odius falls and bites the bloody sand,
His death ennobled by Atrides’ hand;
As he to flight his wheeling car address’d,
The speedy jav’lin drove from back to breast.
In dust the mighty Halizonian lay, 55
His arms resound, the spirit wings its way.
Thy fate was next, O Phæstus! doom’d to feel
The great Idomeneus’ protended steel;
Whom Borus sent (his son and only joy)
From fruitful Tarne to the fields of Troy. 60
The Cretan Jav’lin reach’d him from afar,
And pierc’d his shoulder as he mounts his car;
Back from the car he tumbles to the ground,
And everlasting shades his eyes surround.
Then died Scamandrius, expert in the chase, 65
In woods and wilds to wound the savage race;
Diana taught him all her sylvan arts,
To bend the bow, and aim unerring darts;
But vainly here Diana’s arts he tries,
The fatal lance arrests him as he flies; 70
From Menelaus’ arm the weapon sent,
Thro’ his broad back and heaving bosom went:
Down sinks the warrior with a thund’ring sound,
His brazen armour rings against the ground.
Next artful Phereclus untimely fell; 75
Bold Merion sent him to the realms of Hell.
Thy father’s skill, O Phereclus, was thine,
The graceful fabric and the fair design;
For, lov’d by Pallas, Pallas did impart
To him the shipwright’s and the builder’s art. 80
Beneath his hand the fleet of Paris rose,
The fatal cause of all his country’s woes;
But he, the mystic will of Heav’n unknown,
Nor saw his country’s peril, nor his own.
The hapless artist, while confused he fled, 85
The spear of Merion mingled with the dead.
Thro’ his right hip, with forceful fury cast,
Between the bladder and the bone it pass’d;
Prone on his knees he falls with fruitless cries,
And death in lasting slumber seals his eyes. 90
From Meges’ force the swift Pedæus fled,
Antenor’s offspring from a foreign bed;
Whose gen’rous spouse, Theano, heav’nly fair,
Nurs’d the young stranger with a mother’s care.
How vain those cares! when Meges in the rear 95
Full in his nape infix’d the fatal spear;
Swift thro’ his crackling jaws the weapon glides,
And the cold tongue and grinning teeth divides.
Then died Hypsenor, gen’rous and divine,
Sprung from the brave Dolopion’s mighty line, 100
Who near ador’d Scamander made abode,
Priest of the stream, and honour’d as a God.
On him, amidst the flying numbers found,
Eurypylus inflicts a deadly wound;
On his broad shoulder fell the forceful brand, 105
Thence glancing downward lopp’d his holy hand,
Which stain’d with sacred blood the blushing sand.
Down sunk the priest: the purple hand of death
Closed his dim eye, and Fate suppress’d his breath.
Thus toil’d the Chiefs, in diff’rent parts engaged, 110
In ev’ry quarter fierce Tydides raged,
Amid the Greek, amid the Trojan train,
Rapt thro’ the ranks he thunders o’er the plain;
Now here, now there, he darts from place to place,
Pours on the rear, or lightens in their face. 115
Thus from high hills the torrents swift and strong
Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along;
Thro’ ruin’d moles the rushing wave resounds,
O’erwhelms the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds;
The yellow harvests of the ripen’d year, 120
And flatted vineyards, one sad waste appear!
While Jove descends in sluicy sheets of rain,
And all the labours of mankind are vain.
So raged Tydides, boundless in his ire,
Drove armies back, and made all Troy retire. 125
With grief the leader of the Lycian band
Saw the wide waste of his destructive hand:
His bended bow against the Chief he drew;
Swift to the mark the thirsty arrow flew,
Whose forky point the hollow breastplate tore, 130
Deep in his shoulder pierc’d, and drank the gore;
The rushing stream his brazen armour dyed,
While the proud archer thus exulting cried:
‘Hither, ye Trojans, hither drive your steeds!
Lo! by our hand the bravest Grecian bleeds. 135
Not long the deathful dart he can sustain;
Or Phœbus urged me to these fields in vain.’
So spoke he, boastful; but the winged dart
Stopp’d short of life, and mock’d the shooter’s art.
The wounded Chief, behind his car retired, 140
The helping hand of Sthenelus required;
Swift from his seat he leap’d upon the ground,
And tugg’d the weapon from the gushing wound;
When thus the King his guardian Power address’d,
The purple current wand’ring o’er his vest: 145
‘O progeny of Jove! unconquer’d maid!
If e’er my godlike sire deserv’d thy aid,
If e’er I felt thee in the fighting field;
Now, Goddess, now, thy sacred succour yield.
Oh give my lance to reach the Trojan knight, 150
Whose arrow wounds the Chief thou guard’st in fight;
And lay the boaster grov’ling on the shore,
That vaunts these eyes shall view the light no more.’
Thus pray’d Tydides, and Minerva heard,
His nerves confirm’d, his languid spirits cheer’d; 155
He feels each limb with wonted vigour light;
His beating bosom claims the promis’d fight.
‘Be bold’ (she cried), ‘in every combat shine,
War be thy province, thy protection mine;
Rush to the fight, and every foe control; 160
Wake each paternal virtue in thy soul:
Strength swells thy boiling breast infused by me,
And all thy godlike father breathes in thee!
Yet more, from mortal mists I purge thy eyes,
And set to view the warring deities. 165
These see thou shun, thro’ all th’ embattled plain,
Nor rashly strive where human force is vain.
If Venus mingle in the martial band,
Her shalt thou wound: so Pallas gives command.’
With that, the Blue-eyed Virgin wing’d her flight; 170
The hero rush’d impetuous to the fight;
With tenfold ardour now invades the plain,
Wild with delay, and more enraged by pain.
As on the fleecy flocks, when hunger calls,
Amidst the field a brindled lion falls; 175
If chance some shepherd with a distant dart
The savage wound, he rouses at the smart,
He foams, he roars; the shepherd dares not stay,
But trembling leaves the scatt’ring flocks a prey.
Heaps fall on heaps; he bathes with blood the ground, 180
Then leaps victorious o’er the lofty mound.
Not with less fury stern Tydides flew,
And two brave leaders at an instant slew;
Astynous breathless fell, and by his side
His people’s pastor, good Hypenor, died; 185
Astynous’ breast the deadly lance receives,
Hypenor’s shoulder his broad falchion cleaves.
Those slain he left; and sprung with noble rage
Abas and Polyïdus to engage;
Sons of Eurydamas, who, wise and old, 190
Could fates foresee, and mystic dreams unfold;
The youths return’d not from the doubtful plain,
And the sad father tried his arts in vain;
No mystic dream could make their fates appear,
Tho’ now determin’d by Tydides’ spear. 195
Young Xanthus next, and Thoön felt his rage,
The joy and hope of Phænops’ feeble age;
Vast was his wealth, and these the only heirs
Of all his labours, and a life of cares.
Cold death o’ertakes them in their blooming years, 200
And leaves the father unavailing tears:
To strangers now descends his heapy store,
The race forgotten, and the name no more.
Two sons of Priam in one chariot ride,
Glitt’ring in arms, and combat side by side. 205
As when the lordly lion seeks his food
Where grazing heifers range the lonely wood,
He leaps amidst them with a furious bound,
Bends their strong necks, and tears them to the ground:
So from their seats the brother Chiefs are torn, 210
Their steeds and chariots to the navy borne.
With deep concern divine Æneas view’d
The foe prevailing and his friends pursued;
Thro’ the thick storm of singing spears he flies,
Exploring Pandarus with careful eyes. 215
At length he found Lycaön’s mighty son;
To whom the Chief of Venus’ race begun:
‘Where, Pandarus, are all thy honours now,
Thy winged arrows and unerring bow,
Thy matchless skill, thy yet unrivall’d fame, 220
And boasted glory of the Lycian name?
Oh pierce that mortal! if we mortal call
That wondrous force by which whole armies fall;
Or God incens’d, who quits the distant skies
To punish Troy for slighted sacrifice; 225
(Which oh avert from our unhappy state!
For what so dreadful as celestial hate)?
Whoe’er he be, propitiate Jove with prayer;
If man, destroy; if God, entreat to spare.’
To him the Lycian: ‘Whom your eyes behold, 230
If right I judge, is Diomed the bold.
Such coursers whirl him o’er the dusty field,
So towers his helmet, and so flames his shield.
If ‘t is a God, he wears that Chief’s disguise;
Or if that Chief, some guardian of the skies, 235
Involv’d in clouds, protects him in the fray,
And turns unseen the frustrate dart away.
I wing’d an arrow, which not idly fell;
The stroke had fix’d him to the gates of Hell;
And, but some God, some angry God withstands, 240
His fate was due to these unerring hands.
Skill’d in the bow, on foot I sought the war,
Nor join’d swift horses to the rapid car.
Ten polish’d chariots I possess’d at home,
And still they grace Lycaön’s princely dome: 245
There veil’d in spacious coverlets they stand;
And twice ten coursers wait their lord’s command.
The good old warrior bade me trust to these,
When first for Troy I sail’d the sacred seas;
In fields, aloft, the whirling car to guide, 250
And thro’ the ranks of death triumphant ride.
But vain with youth, and yet to thrift inclin’d,
I heard his counsels with unheedful mind,
And thought the steeds (your large supplies unknown)
Might fail of forage in the straiten’d town; 255
So took my bow and pointed darts in hand,
And left the chariots in my native land.
‘Too late, O friend! my rashness I deplore;
These shafts, once fatal, carry death no more.
Tydeus’ and Atreus’ sons their points have found, 260
And undissembled gore pursued the wound.
In vain they bled: this unavailing bow
Serves not to slaughter, but provoke the foe.
In evil hour these bended horns I strung,
And seiz’d the quiver where it idly hung. 265
Curs’d be the fate that sent me to the field,
Without a warrior’s arms, the spear and shield!
If e’er with life I quit the Trojan plain,
If e’er I see my spouse and sire again,
This bow, unfaithful to my glorious aims, 270
Broke by my hand, shall feed the blazing flames.’
To whom the leader of the Dardan race:
‘Be calm, nor Phœbus’ honour’d gift disgrace.
The distant dart be prais’d, tho’ here we need
The rushing chariot, and the bounding steed. 275
Against yon hero let us bend our course,
And, hand to hand, encounter force with force.
Now mount my seat, and from the chariot’s height
Observe my father’s steeds, renown’d in fight;
Practis’d alike to turn, to stop, to chase, 280
To dare the shock, or urge the rapid race:
Secure with these, thro’ fighting fields we go,
Or safe to Troy, if Jove assist the foe.
Haste, seize the whip, and snatch the guiding rein;
The warrior’s fury let this arm sustain: 285
Or if to combat thy bold heart incline,
Take thou the spear, the chariot’s care be mine.’
‘O Prince’ (Lycaön’s valiant son replied),
‘As thine the steeds, be thine the task to guide.
The horses, practis’d to their lord’s command, 290
Shall hear the rein and answer to thy hand.
But if, unhappy, we desert the fight,
Thy voice alone can animate their flight:
Else shall our fates be number’d with the dead,
And these, the victor’s prize, the triumph led. 295
Thine be the guidance then: with spear and shield
Myself will charge this terror of the field.’
And now both heroes mount the glitt’ring car;
The bounding coursers rush amidst the war.
Their fierce approach bold Sthenelus espied, 300
Who thus, alarm’d, to great Tydides cried:
‘O friend! two Chiefs of force immense I see,
Dreadful they come, and bend their rage on thee:
Lo the brave heir of old Lycaön’s line,
And great Æneas, sprung from race divine! 305
Enough is giv’n to Fame. Ascend thy car;
And save a life, the bulwark of our war.’
At
this the hero cast a gloomy look,
Fix’d on the Chief with scorn, and thus he spoke:
‘Me dost thou bid to shun the coming fight? 310
Me wouldst thou move to base, inglorious flight?
Know, ‘t is not honest in my soul to fear,
Nor was Tydides born to tremble here.
I hate the cumbrous chariot’s slow advance,
And the long distance of the flying lance: 315
But while my nerves are strong, my force entire,
Thus front the foe, and emulate my sire.
Nor shall yon steeds, that fierce to fight convey
Those threat’ning heroes, bear them both away;
One Chief at least beneath this arm shall die; 320
So Pallas tells me, and forbids to fly.
But if she dooms, and if no God withstand,
That both shall fall by one victorious hand;
Then heed my words: my horses here detain,
Fix’d to the chariot by the straiten’d rein; 325
Swift to Æneas’ empty seat proceed,
And seize the coursers of ethereal breed,
The race of those, which once the Thund’ring God
For ravish’d Ganymede on Tros bestow’d,
The best that e’er on earth’s broad surface run 330
Beneath the rising or the setting sun.
Hence great Anchises stole a breed, unknown
By mortal mares, from fierce Laömedon:
Four of this race his ample stalls contain,
And two transport Æneas o’er the plain. 335
These, were the rich immortal prize our own,
Thro’ the wide world should make our glory known.’
Thus while they spoke, the foe came furious on,
And stern Lycaön’s warlike race begun:
‘Prince, thou art met. Tho’ late in vain assail’d, 340
The spear may enter where the arrow fail’d.’
He said, then shook the pond’rous lance, and flung;
On his broad shield the sounding weapon rung,
Pierc’d the tough orb, and in his cuirass hung.
‘He bleeds! the pride of Greece’ (the boaster cries), 345
‘Our triumph now the mighty warrior lies!’
‘Mistaken vaunter!’ Diomed replied;
‘Thy dart has err’d, and now my spear be tried:
Ye ‘scape not both; one headlong from his car,
With hostile blood shall glut the God of War.’ 350
He spoke, and, rising, hurl’d his forceful dart,
Which, driv’n by Pallas, pierc’d a vital part;
Full in his face it enter’d, and betwixt
The nose and eyeball the proud Lycian fix’d:
Crash’d all his jaws, and cleft the tongue within, 355
Till the bright point look’d out beneath the chin.
Headlong he falls, his helmet knocks the ground;
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 73