Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

by Alexander Pope

  Described by Dolon, with the arms of gold.

  Now, brave Tydides! now thy courage try,

  Approach the chariot, and the steeds untie; 555

  Or if thy soul aspire to fiercer deeds,

  Urge thou the slaughter, while I seize the steeds.’

  Pallas (this said) her hero’s bosom warms,

  Breathed in his heart, and strung his nervous arms;

  Where’er he pass’d, a purple stream pursued; 560

  His thirsty falchion, fat with hostile blood,

  Bathed all his footsteps, dyed the fields with gore,

  And a low groan remurmur’d thro’ the shore.

  So the grim lion, from his nightly den,

  O’erleaps the fences, and invades the pen; 565

  On sheep or goats, resistless in his way,

  He falls, and foaming rends the guardless prey.

  Nor stopp’d the furry of his vengeful hand,

  Till twelve lay breathless of the Thracian band.

  Ulysses foll’wing as his partner slew, 570

  Back by the foot each slaughter’d warrior drew;

  The milk-white coursers studious to convey

  Safe to the ships, he wisely clear’d the way;

  Lest the fierce steeds, not yet to battles bred,

  Should start and tremble at the heaps of dead. 575

  Now twelve despatch’d, the Monarch last they found;

  Tydides’ falchion fix’d him to the ground.

  Just then a dreadful dream Minerva sent;

  A warlike form appear’d before his tent,

  Whose visionary steel his bosom tore: 580

  So dream’d the Monarch, and awaked no more.

  Ulysses now the snowy steeds detains,

  And leads them fasten’d by the silver reins;

  These, with his bow unbent, he lash’d along

  (The scourge, forgot, on Rhesus’ chariot hung). 585

  Then gave his friend the signal to retire;

  But him new dangers, new achievements, fire:

  Doubtful he stood, or with his reeking blade

  To send more heroes to th’ infernal shade,

  Drag off the car where Rhesus’ armour lay, 590

  Or heave with manly force, and lift away.

  While unresolv’d the son of Tydeus stands,

  Pallas appears, and thus her Chief commands:

  ‘Enough, my son; from farther slaughter cease,

  Regard thy safety, and depart in peace; 595

  Haste to the ships, the gotten spoils enjoy,

  Nor tempt too far the hostile Gods of Troy.’

  The voice divine confess’d the Martial Maid;

  In haste he mounted, and her word obey’d;

  The coursers fly before Ulysses’ bow, 600

  Swift as the wind, and white as winter snow.

  Not unobserv’d they pass’d: the God of Light

  Had watch’d his Troy, and mark’d Minerva’s flight,

  Saw Tydeus’ son with heav’nly succour bless’d,

  And vengeful anger fill’d his sacred breast. 605

  Swift to the Trojan camp descends the power,

  And wakes Hippocoön in the morning hour

  (On Rhesus’ side accustom’d to attend,

  A faithful kinsman and instructive friend).

  He rose, and saw the field deform’d with blood, 610

  An empty space where late the coursers stood,

  The yet warm Thracians panting on the coast;

  For each he wept, but for his Rhesus most.

  Now, while on Rhesus’ name he calls in vain,

  The gath’ring tumult spread o’er all the plain; 615

  On heaps the Trojans rush, with wild affright,

  And wond’ring view the slaughter of the night.

  Meanwhile the Chiefs arriving at the shade

  Where late the spoils of Hector’s spy were laid,

  Ulysses stopp’d; to him Tydides bore 620

  The trophy, dropping yet with Dolon’s gore:

  Then mounts again; again their nimble feet

  The coursers ply, and thunder towards the fleet.

  Old Nestor first perceiv’d th’ approaching sound,

  Bespeaking thus the Grecian peers around: 625

  ‘Methinks the noise of trampling steeds I hear,

  Thick’ning this way, and gath’ring on my ear;

  Perhaps some horses of the Trojan breed

  (So may, ye Gods! my pious hopes succeed)

  The great Tydides and Ulysses bear, 630

  Return’d triumphant with this prize of war.

  Yet much I fear (ah may that fear be vain)!

  The Chiefs outnumber’d by the Trojan train;

  Perhaps, ev’n now pursued, they seek the shore;

  Or, oh! perhaps those heroes are no more.’ 635

  Scarce had he spoke, when lo! the Chiefs appear,

  And spring to earth; the Greeks dismiss their fear:

  With words of friendship and extended hands

  They greet the Kings; and Nestor first demands:

  ‘Say thou, whose praises all our host proclaim, 640

  Thou living glory of the Grecian name!

  Say, whence these coursers? by what chance bestow’d,

  The spoil of foes, or present of a God?

  Not those fair steeds so radiant and so gay,

  That draw the burning chariot of the day. 645

  Old as I am, to age I scorn to yield,

  And daily mingle in the martial field;

  But sure till now no coursers struck my sight

  Like these, conspicuous thro’ the ranks of fight.

  Some God, I deem, conferr’d the glorious prize, 650

  Bless’d as ye are, and fav’rites of the skies:

  The care of him who bids the thunder roar,

  And her, whose fury bathes the world with gore!’

  ‘Father! not so (sage Ithacus rejoin’d),

  The gifts of Heav’n are of a nobler kind. 655

  Of Thracian lineage are the steeds ye view,

  Whose hostile King the brave Tydides slew;

  Sleeping he died, with all his guards around,

  And twelve beside lay gasping on the ground.

  These other spoils from conquer’d Dolon came, 660

  A wretch, whose swiftness was his only fame;

  By Hector sent our forces to explore,

  He now lies headless on the sandy shore.’

  Then o’er the trench the bounding coursers flew;

  The joyful Greeks with loud acclaim pursue. 665

  Straight to Tydides’ high pavilion borne,

  The matchless steeds his ample stalls adorn:

  The neighing coursers their new fellows greet,

  And the full racks are heap’d with gen’rous wheat.

  But Dolon’s armour to his ships convey’d, 670

  High on the painted stern Ulysses laid,

  A trophy destin’d to the blue-eyed maid.

  Now from nocturnal sweat, and sanguine stain,

  They cleanse their bodies in the neighb’ring main:

  Then in the polish’d bath, refresh’d from toil, 675

  Their joints they supple with dissolving with oil,

  In due repast indulge the genial hour,

  And first to Pallas the libations pour:

  They sit rejoicing in her aid divine,

  And the crown’d goblet foams with floods of wine. 680

  Iliad Book XI. The Third Battle, and the Acts of Agamemnon

  THE ARGUMENT

  Agamemnon, having armed himself, leads the Grecians to battle; Hector prepares the Trojans to receive them: while Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva give the signals of war. Agamemnon bears all before him; and Hector is commanded by Jupiter (who sends Iris for that purpose) to decline the engagement, till the king should be wounded and retire from the field. He then makes a great slaughter of the enemy; Ulysses and Diomede put a stop to him for a time; but the latter, being wo
unded by Paris, is obliged to desert his companion, who is encompassed by the Trojans, wounded, and in the utmost danger, till Menelaus and Ajax rescue him. Hector comes against Ajax, but that hero alone opposes multitudes and rallies the Greeks. In the meantime Machaon, in the other wing of the army, is pierced with an arrow by Paris, and carried from the fight in Nestor’s chariot. Achilles (who overlooked the action from his ship) sends Patroclus to inquire which of the Greeks was wounded in that manner. Nestor entertains him in his tent with an account of the accidents of the day, and a long recital of some former wars which he had remembered, tending to put Patroclus upon persuading Achilles to fight for his countrymen, or at least to permit him to do it clad in Achilles’ armour. Patroclus in his return meets Eurypylus also wounded, and assists in that distress.

  This book opens with the eight-and-twentieth day of the poem; and the same day, with its various actions and adventures, is extended through the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and part of the eighteenth books. The scene lies in the field near the monument of Ilus.

  THE SAFFRON Morn, with early blushes spread,

  Now rose refulgent from Tithonus’ bed;

  With new-born day to gladden mortal sight,

  And gild the courts of Heav’n with sacred light:

  When baleful Eris, sent by Jove’s command, 5

  The torch of discord blazing in her hand,

  Thro’ the red skies her bloody sign extends,

  And, wrapp’d in tempests, o’er the fleet descends.

  High on Ulysses’ bark her horrid stand

  She took, and thunder’d thro’ the seas and land. 10

  Ev’n Ajax and Achilles heard the sound,

  Whose ships, remote, the guarded navy bound.

  Thence the black fury thro’ the Grecian throng

  With horror sounds the loud Orthian song:

  The navy shakes, and at the dire alarms 15

  Each bosom boils, each warrior starts to arms:

  No more they sigh inglorious to return,

  But breathe revenge, and for the combat burn.

  The King of Men his hardy host inspires

  With loud command, with great example fires: 20

  Himself first rose, himself before the rest

  His mighty limbs in radiant armour dress’d.

  And first he cased his manly legs around

  In shining greaves, with silver buckles bound:

  The beaming cuirass next adorn’d his breast, 25

  The same which once King Cinyras possess’d:

  (The fame of Greece and her assembled host

  Had reach’d that Monarch on the Cyprian coast;

  ‘T was then, the friendship of the Chief to gain,

  This glorious gift he sent, nor sent in vain.) 30

  Ten rows of azure steel the work infold,

  Twice ten of tin, and twelve of ductile gold;

  Three glitt’ring dragons to the gorget rise,

  Whose imitated scales against the skies

  Reflected various light, and arching bow’d, 35

  Like colour’d rainbows o’er a showery cloud

  (Jove’s wondrous bow, of three celestial dyes,

  Placed as a sign to man amid the skies).

  A radiant baldrick, o’er his shoulder tied,

  Sustain’d the sword that glitter’d at his side; 40

  Gold was the hilt, a silver sheath encased

  The shining blade, and golden hangers graced.

  His buckler’s mighty orb was next display’d,

  That round the warrior cast a dreadful shade;

  Ten zones of brass its ample brim surround, 45

  And twice ten bosses the bright convex crown’d;

  Tremendous Gorgon frown’d upon its field,

  And circling terrors fill th’ expressive shield:

  Within its concave hung a silver thong,

  On which a mimic serpent creeps along, 50

  His azure length in easy waves extends,

  Till in three heads th’ embroider’d monster ends.

  Last o’er his brows his fourfold helm he placed,

  With nodding horse-hair formidably graced;

  And in his hands two steely jav’lins wields, 55

  That blaze to Heav’n, and lighten all the fields.

  That instant Juno and the Martial Maid

  In happy thunders promis’d Greece their aid;

  High o’er the Chief they clash’d their arms in air,

  And, leaning from the clouds, expect the war. 60

  Close to the limits of the trench and mound,

  The fiery coursers, to their chariots bound,

  The squires restrain’d; the foot, with those who wield

  The lighter arms, rush forward to the field.

  To second these, in close array combin’d, 65

  The squadrons spread their sable wings behind.

  Now shouts and tumults wake the tardy sun,

  As with the light the warriors’ toils begun;

  Ev’n Jove, whose thunder spoke his wrath, distill’d

  Red drops of blood o’er all the fatal field; 70

  The woes of men unwilling to survey,

  And all the slaughters that must stain the day.

  Near Ilus’ tomb in order ranged around,

  The Trojan lines possess’d the rising ground.

  There wise Polydamas and Hector stood; 75

  Æneas, honour’d as a guardian God;

  Bold Polybus, Agenor the divine;

  The brother-warriors of Antenor’s line;

  With youthful Acamas, whose beauteous face,

  And fair proportions, match’d th’ ethereal race. 80

  Great Hector, cover’d with his spacious shield,

  Plies all the troops, and orders all the field.

  As the red star now shews his sanguine fires,

  Thro’ the dark clouds, and now in night retires;

  Thus thro’ the ranks appear’d the godlike man, 85

  Plunged in the rear, or blazing in the van;

  While streamy sparkles, restless as he flies,

  Flash from his arms, as lightning from the skies.

  As sweating reapers in some wealthy field,

  Ranged in two bands, their crooked weapons wield, 90

  Bear down the furrows till their labours meet;

  Thick fall the heapy harvests at their feet:

  So Greece and Troy the field of war divide,

  And falling ranks are strew’d on ev’ry side.

  None stoop’d a thought to base inglorious flight; 95

  But horse to horse and man to man they fight.

  Not rabid wolves more fierce contest their prey;

  Each wounds, each bleeds, but none resign the day.

  Discord with joy the scene of death descries,

  And drinks large slaughter at her sanguine eyes: 100

  Discord alone, of all th’ immortal train,

  Swells the red horrors of this direful plain:

  The Gods in peace their golden mansions fill,

  Ranged in bright order on th’ Olympian hill;

  But gen’ral murmurs told their griefs above, 105

  And each accused the partial will of Jove.

  Meanwhile apart, superior, and alone,

  Th’ Eternal Monarch, on his awful throne,

  Wrapp’d in the blaze of boundless glory sat:

  And, fix’d, fulfill’d the just decrees of fate. 110

  On earth he turn’d his all-consid’ring eyes,

  And mark’d the spot where Ilion’s towers arise;

  The sea with ships, the field with armies spread,

  The victor’s rage, the dying, and the dead.

  Thus while the morning beams increasing bright 115

  O’er Heav’n’s pure azure spread the glowing light,

  Commutual Death the fate of War confounds,

  Each adverse battle gored with equal wounds.

  But now (what time
in some sequester’d vale

  The weary woodman spreads his sparing meal, 120

  When his tired arms refuse the axe to rear,

  And claim a respite from the sylvan war;

  But not till half the prostrate forests lay

  Stretch’d in long ruin, and exposed to day;)

  Then, nor till then, the Greeks’ impulsive might 125

  Pierc’d the black phalanx, and let in the light.

  Great Agamemnon then the slaughter led,

  And slew Bienor at his people’s head;

  Whose squire Oïleus, with a sudden spring,

  Leap’d from the chariot to revenge his King, 130

  But in his front he felt the fatal wound,

  Which pierc’d his brain, and stretch’d him on the ground:

  Atrides spoil’d, and left them on the plain:

  Vain was their youth, their glitt’ring armour vain:

  Now soil’d with dust, and naked to the sky, 135

  Their snowy limbs and beauteous bodies lie.

  Two sons of Priam next to battle move,

  The product one of marriage, one of love;

  In the same car the brother warriors ride,

  This took the charge to combat, that to guide: 140

  Far other task, than when they went to keep,

  On Ida’s tops, their father’s fleecy sheep!

  These on the mountains once Achilles found,

  And captive led, with pliant osiers bound;

  Then to their sire for ample sums restor’d; 145

  But now to perish by Atrides’ sword:

  Pierc’d in the breast the base-born Isus bleeds:

  Cleft thro’ the head, his brother’s fate succeeds.

  Swift to the spoil the hasty victor falls,

  And, stripp’d, their features to his mind recalls. 150

  The Trojans see the youths untimely die,

  But helpless tremble for themselves, and fly.

  So when a lion, ranging o’er the lawns,

  Finds, on some grassy lair, the couching fawns,

  Their bones he cracks, their reeking vitals draws, 155

  And grinds the quiv’ring flesh with bloody jaws;

  The frighted hind beholds, and dares not stay,

  But swift thro’ rustling thickets bursts her way;

  All drown’d in sweat the panting mother flies,

  And the big tears roll trickling from her eyes. 160

  Amidst the tumult of the routed train,

  The sons of false Antimachus were slain,

  He, who for bribes his faithless counsels sold,

  And voted Helen’s stay for Paris’ gold.

  Atrides mark’d, as these their safety sought, 165

  And slew the children for the father’s fault;