As scatter’d lambs the rushing lion fear.’ 490
He dauntless thus: ‘Thou conqueror of the Fair,
Thou woman-warrior with the curling hair;
Vain archer! trusting to the distant dart,
Unskill’d in arms to act a manly part!
Thou hast but done what boys or women can; 495
Such hands may wound, but not incense a man.
Nor boast the scratch thy feeble arrow gave,
A coward’s weapon never hurts the brave.
Not so this dart, which thou may’st one day feel:
Fate wings its flight, and death is on the steel. 500
Where this but lights, some noble life expires,
Its touch makes orphans, bathes the cheeks of sires,
Steeps earth in purple, gluts the birds of air,
And leaves such objects as distract the fair.’
Ulysses hastens with a trembling heart, 505
Before him steps, and bending draws the dart:
Forth flows the blood; an eager pang succeeds:
Tydides mounts, and to the navy speeds.
Now on the field Ulysses stands alone,
The Greeks all fled, the Trojans pouring on: 510
But stands collected in himself and whole,
And questions thus his own unconquer’d soul:
‘What farther subterfuge, what hopes remain?
What shame, inglorious if I quit the plain?
What danger, singly if I stand the ground, 515
My friends all scatter’d, all the foes around?
Yet wherefore doubtful? let this truth suffice:
The brave meets danger, and the coward flies;
To die, or conquer, proves a hero’s heart;
And, knowing this, I know a soldier’s part.’ 520
Such thoughts revolving in his careful breast,
Near, and more near, the shady cohorts press’d;
These, in the warrior, their own fate enclose:
And round him deep the steely circle grows.
So fares a boar, whom all the troop surrounds 525
Of shouting huntsmen, and of clam’rous hounds;
He grinds his iv’ry tusks; he foams with ire;
His sanguine eyeballs glare with living fire;
By these, by those, on every part is plied;
And the red slaughter spreads on every side. 530
Pierc’d thro’ the shoulder, first Deiopis fell;
Next Ennomus and Thoön sunk to hell;
Chersidamas, beneath the navel thrust,
Falls prone to earth, and grasps the bloody dust.
Charops, the son of Hippasus, was near; 535
Ulysses reach’d him with the fatal spear;
But to his aid his brother Socus flies,
Socus, the brave, the gen’rous, and the wise:
Near as he drew, the warrior thus began:
‘O great Ulysses, much-enduring man! 540
Not deeper skill’d in every martial sleight,
Than worn to toils, and active in the fight!
This day two brothers shall thy conquest grace,
And end at once the great Hippasian race,
Or thou beneath this lance must press the field.’ 545
He said, and forceful pierc’d his spacious shield;
Thro’ the strong brass the ringing jav’lin thrown,
Plough’d half his side, and bared it to the bone.
By Pallas’ care, the spear, tho’ deep infix’d,
Stopp’d short of life, nor with his entrails mix’d, 550
The wound not mortal wise Ulysses knew,
Then furious thus (but first some steps withdrew):
‘Unhappy man! whose death our hands shall grace!
Fate calls thee hence, and finish’d is thy race.
No longer check my conquests on the foe: 555
But, pierc’d by this, to endless darkness go,
And add one spectre to the realms below!’
He spoke, while Socus, seiz’d with sudden fright,
Trembling gave way, and turn’d his back to flight,
Between his shoulders pierc’d the foll’wing dart, 560
And held its passage thro’ the panting heart.
Wide in his breast appear’d the grizzly wound;
He falls: his armour rings against the ground.
Then thus Ulysses, gazing on the slain:
‘Famed son of Hippasus! there press the plain; 565
There ends thy narrow span assign’d by fate:
Heav’n owes Ulysses yet a longer date.
Ah wretch! no father shall thy corpse compose,
Thy dying eyes no tender mother close,
But hungry birds shall tear those balls away, 570
And hov’ring vultures scream around their prey.
Me Greece shall honour, when I meet my doom,
With solemn funerals, and a lasting tomb.’
Then, raging with intolerable smart,
He writhes his body, and extracts the dart. 575
The dart a tide of spouting gore pursued,
And gladden’d Troy with sight of hostile blood.
Now troops on troops the fainting Chief invade;
Forced he recedes, and loudly calls for aid.
Thrice to its pitch his lofty voice he rears; 580
The well-known voice thrice Menelaus hears;
Alarm’d, to Ajax Telamon he cried,
Who shares his labours, and defends his side:
‘O friend! Ulysses’ shouts invade my ear;
Distress’d he seems, and no assistance near: 585
Strong as he is, yet, one opposed to all,
Oppress’d by multitudes, the best may fall.
Greece, robb’d of him, must bid her host despair,
And feel a loss not ages can repair.’
Then, where the cry directs, his course he bends, 590
Great Ajax, like the God of War, attends.
The prudent Chief in sore distress they found,
With bands of furious Trojans compass’d round,
As when some huntsman, with a flying spear,
From the blind thicket wounds a stately deer; 595
Down his cleft side while fresh the blood distils,
He bounds aloft, and scuds from hills to hills:
Till, life’s warm vapour issuing thro’ the wound,
Wild mountain-wolves the fainting beast surround;
Just as their jaws his prostrate limbs invade, 600
The lion rushes thro’ the woodland shade;
The wolves, tho’ hungry, scour dispers’d away;
The lordly savage vindicates his prey.
Ulysses thus, unconquer’d by his pains,
A single warrior, half a host sustains: 605
But soon as Ajax heaves his tower-like shield,
The scatter’d crowds fly frighted o’er the field:
Atrides’ arm the sinking hero stays,
And, saved from numbers, to his car conveys.
Victorious Ajax plies the routed crew; 610
And first Doryclus, Priam’s son, he slew:
On strong Pandocus next inflicts a wound,
And lays Lysander bleeding on the ground.
As when a torrent, swell’d with wintry rains,
Pours from the mountains o’er the deluged plains, 615
And pines and oaks, from their foundation torn,
A country’s ruins! to the seas are borne:
Fierce Ajax thus o’erwhelms the yielding throng;
Men, steeds, and chariots, roll in heaps along.
But Hector, from this scene of slaughter far, 620
Raged on the left, and ruled the tide of war:
Loud groans proclaim his progress thro’ the plain,
And deep Scamander swells with heaps of slain.
There Nestor and Idomeneus oppose
The warrior’s fury; there the battle glows; 625
There fierce on fo
ot, or from the chariot’s height,
His sword deforms the beauteous ranks of fight.
The spouse of Helen, dealing darts around,
Had pierc’d Machaon with a distant wound:
In his right shoulder the broad shaft appear’d, 630
And trembling Greece for her physician fear’d.
To Nestor then Idomeneus begun:
‘Glory of Greece, old Neleus’ valiant son!
Ascend thy chariot, haste with speed away,
And great Machaon to the ships convey. 635
A wise physician, skill’d our wounds to heal,
Is more than armies to the public weal.’
Old Nestor mounts the seat. Beside him rode
The wounded offspring of the healing God.
He lends the lash; the steeds with sounding feet 640
Shake the dry field, and thunder toward the fleet.
But now Cebriones, from Hector’s car,
Survey’d the various fortune of the war.
‘While here’ (he cried) ‘the flying Greeks are slain,
Trojans on Trojans yonder load the plain. 645
Before great Ajax, see the mingled throng
Of men and chariots driv’n in heaps along!
I know him well, distinguish’d o’er the field
By the broad glitt’ring of the sev’nfold shield.
Thither, O Hector, thither urge thy steeds, 650
There danger calls, and there the combat bleeds;
There horse and foot in mingled deaths unite,
And groans of slaughter mix with shouts of fight.’
Thus having spoke, the driver’s lash resounds;
Swift thro’ the ranks the rapid chariot bounds; 655
Stung by the stroke, the coursers scour the fields,
O’er heaps of carcases, and hills of shields.
The horses’ hoofs are bathed in heroes’ gore,
And, dashing, purple all the car before:
The groaning axle sable drops distils, 660
And mangled carnage clogs the rapid wheels.
Here Hector, plunging thro’ the thickest fight,
Broke the dark phalanx, and let in the light:
(By the long lance, the sword, or pond’rous stone,
The ranks lie scatter’d, and the troops o’erthrown. 665
Ajax he shuns, thro’ all the dire debate,
And fears that arm whose force he felt so late.
But partial Jove, espousing Hector’s part,
Shot Heav’n-bred horror thro’ the Grecian’s heart;
Confused, unnerv’d in Hector’s presence grown, 670
Amazed he stood, with terrors not his own.
O’er his broad back his moony shield he threw,
And, glaring round, by tardy steps withdrew.
Thus the grim lion his retreat maintains,
Beset with watchful dogs and shouting swains, 675
Repuls’d by numbers from the nightly stalls,
Tho’ rage impels him, and tho’ hunger calls,
Long stands the show’ring darts, and missile fires;
Then sourly slow th’ indignant beast retires.
So turn’d stern Ajax, by whole hosts repell’d, 680
While his swoln heart at every step rebell’d.
As the slow beast, with heavy strength endued,
In some wide field by troops of boys pursued,
Tho’ round his sides a wooden tempest rain,
Crops the tall harvest, and lays waste the plain; 685
Thick on his hide the hollow blows resound;
The patient animal maintains his ground;
Scarce from the field with all their efforts chased,
And stirs but slowly when he stirs at last.
On Ajax thus a weight of Trojans hung, 690
The strokes redoubled on his buckler rung;
Confiding now in bulky strength he stands,
Now turns, and backward bears the yielding bands;
Now stiff recedes, yet hardly seems to fly,
And threats his foll’wers with retorted eye. 695
Fix’d as the bar between two warring powers,
While hissing darts descend in iron showers:
In his broad buckler many a weapon stood,
Its surface bristled with a quiv’ring wood;
And many a jav’lin, guiltless on the plain, 700
Marks the dry dust, and thirsts for blood in vain.
But bold Eurypylus his aid imparts,
And dauntless springs beneath a cloud of darts;
Whose eager jav’lin launch’d against the foe,
Great Apisaon felt the fatal blow; 705
From his torn liver the red current flow’d,
And his slack knees desert their dying load.
The victor rushing to despoil the dead,
From Paris’ bow a vengeful arrow fled:
Fix’d in his nervous thigh the weapon stood, 710
Fix’d was the point, but broken was the wood.
Back to the lines the wounded Greek retired,
Yet thus, retreating, his associates fired:
‘What God, O Grecians! has your hearts dismay’d?
Oh, turn to arms; ‘t is Ajax claims your aid. 715
This hour he stands the mark of hostile rage,
And this the last brave battle he shall wage:
Haste, join your forces; from the gloomy grave
The warrior rescue, and your country save.’
Thus urged the Chief; a gen’rous troop appears, 720
Who spread their bucklers, and advance their spears,
To guard their wounded friend: while thus they stand
With pious care, great Ajax joins the band:
Each takes new courage at the hero’s sight;
The hero rallies and renews the fight. 725
Thus raged both armies like conflicting fires,
While Nestor’s chariot far from fight retires:
His coursers steep’d in sweat, and stain’d with gore,
The Greeks’ preserver, great Machaon, bore.
That hour, Achilles, from the topmost height 730
Of his proud fleet, o’erlook’d the fields of fight;
His feasted eyes beheld around the plain
The Grecian rout, the slaying, and the slain.
His friend Machaon singled from the rest,
A transient pity touch’d his vengeful breast. 735
Straight to Menœtius’ much-lov’d son he sent;
Graceful as Mars, Patroclus quits his tent:
In evil hour! then Fate decreed his doom;
And fix’d the date of all his woes to come!
‘Why calls my friend? thy lov’d injunctions lay; 740
Whate’er thy will, Patroclus shall obey.’
‘O first of friends!’ (Pelides thus replied)
‘Still at my heart, and ever at my side!
The time is come, when you despairing host
Shall learn the value of the man they lost: 745
Now at my knees the Greeks shall pour their moan,
And proud Atrides tremble on his throne.
Go now to Nestor, and from him be taught
What wounded warrior late his chariot brought?
For, seen at distance, and but seen behind, 750
His form recall’d Machaon to my mind;
Nor could I, thro’ yon cloud, discern his face,
The coursers pass’d me with so swift a pace.’
The hero said. His friend obey’d with haste;
Thro’ intermingled ships and tents he pass’d; 755
The Chiefs descending from their car he found;
The panting steeds Eurymedon unbound.
The warriors, standing on the breezy shore,
To dry their sweat, and wash away the gore,
Here paus’d a moment, while the gentle gale 760
Convey’d that freshness the cool seas exhale;
Then to cons
ult on farther methods went,
And took their seats beneath the shady tent.
The draught prescribed fair Hecamede prepares,
Arsinous’ daughter, graced with golden hairs; 765
(Whom to his aged arms, a royal slave,
Greece, as the prize of Nestor’s wisdom, gave;)
A table first with azure feet she placed;
Whose ample orb a brazen charger graced:
Honey new press’d, the sacred flower of wheat, 770
And wholesome garlicks crown’d the sav’ry treat.
Next her white hand an antique goblet brings,
A goblet sacred to the Pylian Kings,
From eldest times: emboss’d with studs of gold,
Two feet support it, and four handles hold; 775
On each bright handle, bending o’er the brink,
In sculptured gold, two turtles seem to drink:
A massy weight, yet heav’d with ease by him,
When the brisk nectar overlook’d the brim.
Temper’d in this, the nymph of form divine 780
Pours a large portion of the Pramnian wine;
With goat’s-milk cheese a flav’rous taste bestows,
And last with flour the smiling surface strews.
This for the wounded Prince the dame prepares;
The cordial bev’rage rev’rend Nestor shares: 785
Salubrious draughts the warrior’s thirst allay,
And pleasing conference beguiles the day.
Meantime Patroclus, by Achilles sent,
Unheard approach’d, and stood before the tent.
Old Nestor, rising then, the hero led 790
To his high seat; the Chief refused, and said:
‘‘T is now no season for these kind delays;
The great Achilles with impatience stays.
To great Achilles this respect I owe;
Who asks what hero, wounded by the foe, 795
Was borne from combat by thy foaming steeds?
With grief I see the great Machaon bleeds.
This to report, my hasty course I bend;
Thou know’st the fiery temper of my friend.’
‘Can then the sons of Greece’ (the sage rejoin’d) 800
‘Excite compassion in Achilles’ mind?
Seeks he the sorrows of our host to know?
This is not half the story of our woe.
Tell him, not great Machaon bleeds alone,
Our bravest heroes in the navy groan; 805
Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed,
And stern Eurypylus, already bleed.
But ah! what flatt’ring hopes I entertain!
Achilles heeds not, but derides our pain;
Ev’n till the flames consume our fleet he stays, 810
And waits the rising of the fatal blaze.
Chief after Chief the raging foe destroys;
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 89