Neptune, with zeal increas’d, renews his care,
And tow’ring in the foremost ranks of war, 420
Indignant thus: ‘Oh once of martial fame!
O Greeks! if yet ye can deserve the name!
This half-recover’d day shall Troy obtain?
Shall Hector thunder at your ships again?
Lo, still he vaunts, and threats the fleet with fires, 425
While stern Achilles in his wrath retires.
One hero’s loss too tamely you deplore,
Be still yourselves, and we shall need no more.
Oh yet, if glory any bosom warms,
Brace on your firmest helms, and stand to arms: 430
His strongest spear each valiant Grecian wield,
Each valiant Grecian seize his broadest shield;
Let to the weak the lighter arms belong,
The pond’rous targe be wielded by the strong.
Thus arm’d, not Hector shall our presence stay; 435
Myself, ye Greeks! myself will lead the way.’
The troops assent; their martial arms they change,
The busy chiefs their banded legions range.
The Kings, tho’ wounded, and oppress’d with pain,
With helpful hands themselves assist the train. 440
The strong and cumbrous arms the valiant wield,
The weaker warrior takes a lighter shield.
Thus sheathed in shining brass, in bright array
The legions march, and Neptune leads the way:
His brandish’d falchion flames before their eyes, 445
Like lightning flashing thro’ the frighted skies.
Clad in his might th’ earth-shaking Power appears;
Pale mortals tremble, and confess their fears.
Troy’s great defender stands alone unaw’d,
Arms his proud host, and dares oppose a God: 450
And lo! the God and wondrous man appear;
The sea’s stern ruler there, and Hector here.
The roaring main, at her great master’s call,
Rose in huge ranks, and form’d a wat’ry wall
Around the ships, seas hanging o’er the shores; 455
Both armies join; earth thunders, ocean roars.
Not half so loud the bell’wing deeps resound,
When stormy winds disclose the dark profound;
Less loud the winds that from th’ Æolian hall
Roar thro’ the woods, and make whole forests fall; 460
Less loud the woods, when flames in torrents pour,
Catch the dry mountain and its shades devour.
With such a rage the meeting hosts are driv’n,
And such a clamour shakes the sounding Heav’n.
The first bold jav’lin, urged by Hector’s force, 465
Direct at Ajax’ bosom wing’d its course;
But there no pass the crossing belts afford
(One braced his shield, and one sustain’d his sword).
Then back the disappointed Trojan drew,
And curs’d the lance that unavailing flew: 470
But ‘scaped not Ajax; his tempestuous hand
A pond’rous stone up-heaving from the sand
(Where heaps, laid loose beneath the warrior’s feet,
Or serv’d to ballast, or to prop the fleet),
Toss’d round and round, the missive marble flings; 475
On the rais’d shield the falling ruin rings,
Full on his breast and throat with force descends;
Nor deaden’d there its giddy fury spends,
But, whirling on, with many a fiery round,
Smokes in the dust, and ploughs into the ground. 480
As when the bolt, red-hissing from above,
Darts on the consecrated plant of Jove,
The mountain-oak in flaming ruin lies,
Black from the blow, and smokes of sulphur rise:
Stiff with amaze the pale beholders stand, 485
And own the terrors of th’ almighty hand!
So lies great Hector prostrate on the shore;
His slacken’d hand deserts the lance it bore;
His foll’wing shield the fallen chief o’er-spread;
Beneath his helmet dropp’d his fainting head; 490
His load of armour, sinking to the ground,
Clanks on the field: a dead and hollow sound.
Loud shouts of triumph fill the crowded plain;
Greece sees, in hope, Troy’s great defender slain:
All spring to seize him: storms of arrows fly; 495
And thicker jav’lins intercept the sky.
In vain an iron tempest hisses round:
He lies protected and without a wound.
Polydamas, Agenor the divine,
The pious warrior of Anchises’ line, 500
And each bold leader of the Lysian band,
With cov’ring shields (a friendly circle) stand.
His mournful foll’wers, with assistant care,
The groaning hero to his chariot bear;
His foaming coursers, swifter than the wind 505
Speed to the town, and leave the war behind.
When now they touch’d the mead’s enamell’d side,
Where gentle Xanthus rolls his easy tide,
With wat’ry drops the chief they sprinkle round,
Placed on the margin of the flowery ground. 510
Rais’d on his knees, he now ejects the gore;
Now faints anew, low sinking on the shore:
By fits he breathes, half views the fleeting skies,
And seals again, by fits, his swimming eyes.
Soon as the Greeks the chief’s retreat beheld, 515
With double fury each invades the field.
Oïlean Ajax first his jav’lin sped,
Pierc’d by whose point the son of Enops bled
(Satnius the brave, whom beauteous Neïs bore
Amidst her flocks, on Satnio’s silver shore). 520
Struck thro’ the belly’s rim, the warrior lies
Supine, and shades eternal veil his eyes.
An arduous battle rose around the dead;
By turns the Greeks, by turns the Trojans, bled.
Fired with revenge, Polydamas drew near, 525
And at Prothœnor shook the trembling spear:
The driving jav’lin thro’ his shoulder thrust,
He sinks to earth, and grasps the bloody dust.
‘Lo! thus’ (the Victor cries) ‘we rule the field,
And thus their arms the race of Panthus wield: 530
From this unerring hand there flies no dart,
But bathes its point within a Grecian heart.
Propp’d on that spear to which thou ow’st thy fall,
Go, guide thy darksome steps to Pluto’s dreary hall.’
He said, and sorrow touch’d each Argive breast; 535
The soul of Ajax burn’d above the rest.
As by his side the groaning warrior fell,
At the fierce foe he lanc’d his piercing steel;
The foe, reclining, shunn’d the flying death;
But Fate, Archilochus, demands thy breath; 540
Thy lofty birth no succour could impart,
The wings of death o’ertook thee on the dart:
Swift to perform Heav’n’s fatal will it fled,
Full on the juncture of the neck and head,
And took the joint, and cut the nerves in twain; 545
The drooping head first tumbled to the plain:
So just the stroke, that yet the body stood
Erect, then roll’d along the sands in blood.
‘Here, proud Polydamas, here turn thy eyes!’
The tow’ring Ajax loud-insulting cries: 550
‘Say, is this chief, extended on the plain,
A worthy vengeance for Prothœnor slain?
Mark well his port! his figure and his face
Nor speak him vulgar, nor of vulgar race;<
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Some lines, methinks, may make his lineage known, 555
Antenor’s brother, or perhaps his son.’
He spake, and smil’d severe, for well he knew
The bleeding youth: Troy sadden’d at the view.
But furious Acamas avenged his cause;
As Promachus his slaughter’d brother draws, 560
He pierc’d his heart—’Such fate attends you all,
Proud Argives! destin’d by our arms to fall.
Not Troy alone, but haughty Greece, shall share
The toils, the sorrows, and the wounds of war.
Behold your Promachus deprived of breath, 565
A victim owed to my brave brother’s death.
Not unappeas’d he enters Pluto’s gate,
Who leaves a brother to revenge his fate.’
Heart-piercing anguish struck the Grecian host,
But touch’d the breast of bold Peneleus most: 570
At the proud boaster he directs his course;
The boaster flies, and shuns superior force.
But young Ilioneus receiv’d the spear;
Ilioneus, his father’s only care
(Phorbas the rich, of all the Trojan train 575
Whom Hermes lov’d, and taught the arts of gain):
Full in his eye the weapon chanc’d to fall,
And from the fibres scoop’d the rooted ball,
Drove thro’ the neck, and hurl’d him to the plain:
He lifts his miserable arms in vain! 580
Swift his broad falchion fierce Peneleus spread,
And from the spouting shoulders struck his head;
To earth at once the head and helmet fly:
The lance, yet sticking thro’ the bleeding eye,
The victor seiz’d; and as aloft he shook 585
The gory visage, thus insulting spoke:
‘Trojans! your great Ilioneus beheld!
Haste, to his father let the tale be told.
Let his high roofs resound with frantic woe,
Such as the house of Promachus must know; 590
Let doleful tidings greet his mother’s ear,
Such as to Promachus’ sad spouse we bear;
When we victorious shall to Greece return,
And the pale matron in our triumphs mourn.’
Dreadful he spoke, then toss’d the head on high; 595
The Trojans hear, they tremble, and they fly:
Aghast they gaze around the fleet and wall,
And dread the ruin that impends on all.
Daughters of Jove! that on Olympus shine,
Ye all beholding, all-recording Nine! 600
O say, when Neptune made proud Ilion yield,
What Chief, what hero, first imbrued the field?
Of all the Grecians, what immortal name,
And whose bless’d trophies, will ye raise to Fame?
Thou first, great Ajax! on th’ ensanguin’d plain 605
Laid Hyrtius, leader of the Mysian train.
Phalces and Mermer, Nestor’s son o’er threw,
Bold Merion, Morys and Hippotion slew.
Strong Periphætes and Prothoön bled,
By Teucer’s arrows mingled with the dead. 610
Pierc’d in the flank by Menelaus’ steel,
His people’s pastor, Hyperenor fell;
Eternal darkness wrapp’d the warrior round,
And the fierce soul came rushing thro’ the wound.
But stretch’d in heaps before Oïleus’ son, 615
Fall mighty numbers, mighty numbers run,
Ajax the less, of all the Grecian race
Skill’d in pursuit, and swiftest in the chase.
Iliad Book XV. The Fifth Battle, at the Ships; and the Acts of Ajax
THE ARGUMENT
Jupiter, awaking, sees the Trojans repulsed from the trenches, Hector in a swoon, and Neptune at the head of the Greeks; he is highly incensed at the artifice of Juno, who appeases him by her submissions; she is then sent to Iris and Apollo. Juno, repairing to the assembly of the Gods, attempts with extraordinary address to incense them against Jupiter; in particular she touches Mars with a violent resentment; he is ready to take arms, but is prevented by Minerva. Iris and Apollo obey the orders of Jupiter; Iris commands Neptune to leave the battle, to which, after much reluctance and passion, he consents. Apollo reinspires Hector with vigour, brings him back to the battle, marches before him with his ægis, and turns the fortune of the fight. He breaks down a great part of the Grecian wall; the Trojans rush in, and attempt to fire the first line of the fleet, but are yet repelled by the greater Ajax with a prodigious slaughter.
NOW in swift flight they pass the trench profound,
And many a Chief lay gasping on the ground;
Then stopp’d and panted, where the chariots lie;
Fear on their cheek, and horror in their eye.
Meanwhile, awaken’d from his dream of love, 5
On Ida’s summit sat imperial Jove;
Round the wide fields he cast a careful view,
There saw the Trojans fly, the Greeks pursue;
These proud in arms, those scatter’d o’er the plain;
And, midst the war, the Monarch of the Main. 10
Not far, great Hector on the dust he spies
(His sad associates round with weeping eyes),
Ejecting blood, and panting yet for breath,
His senses wand’ring to the verge of death.
The God beheld him with a pitying look, 15
And thus, incens’d, to fraudful Juno spoke:
‘O thou, still adverse to th’ eternal will,
For ever studious in promoting ill!
Thy arts have made the godlike Hector yield,
And driv’n his conquering squadrons from the field. 20
Canst thou, unhappy in thy wiles! withstand
Our power immense, and brave th’ almighty hand?
Hast thou forgot, when, bound and fix’d on high,
From the vast concave of the spangled sky,
I hung thee trembling in a golden chain; 25
And all the raging Gods opposed in vain?
Headlong I hurl’d them from th’ Olympian hall,
Stunn’d in the whirl, and breathless with the fall.
For godlike Hercules these deeds were done,
Nor seem’d the vengeance worthy such a son; 30
When, by thy wiles induced, fierce Boreas toss’d
The shipwreck’d hero on the Coan coast:
Him thro’ a thousand forms of death I bore,
And sent to Argos, and his native shore.
Hear this, remember, and our fury dread, 35
Nor pull th’ unwilling vengeance on thy head;
Lest arts and blandishments successless prove,
Thy soft deceits, and well-dissembled love.’
The Thund’rer spoke: imperial Juno mourn’d,
And, trembling, these submissive words return’d: 40
‘By ev’ry oath that powers immortal ties,
The foodful earth, and all infolding skies,
By thy black waves, tremendous Styx! that flow
Thro’ the drear realms of gliding ghosts below:
By the dread honours of thy sacred head, 45
And that unbroken vow, our virgin bed!
Not by my arts the ruler of the main
Steeps Troy in blood, and ranges round the plain:
By his own ardour, his own pity, sway’d
To help his Greeks; he fought, and disobey’d: 50
Else had thy Juno better counsels giv’n,
And taught submission to the Sire of Heav’n.’
‘Thinkst thou with me? fair Empress of the Skies!’
Th’ immortal Father with a smile replies:
‘Then soon the haughty Sea-God shall obey, 55
Nor dare to act, but when we point the way.
If truth inspires thy tongue, proclaim our will
To yon bright Synod
on th’ Olympian Hill;
Our high decree let various Iris know,
And call the God that bears the silver bow. 60
Let her descend, and from th’ embattled plain
Command the Sea-God to his wat’ry reign:
While Phœbus hastes great Hector to prepare
To rise afresh, and once more wake the war;
His lab’ring bosom re-inspires with breath, 65
And calls his senses from the verge of death.
Greece, chased by Troy ev’n to Achilles’ fleet,
Shall fall by thousands at the hero’s feet.
He, not untouch’d with pity, to the plain
Shall send Patroclus, but shall send in vain. 70
What youths he slaughters under Ilion’s walls!
Ev’n my lov’d son, divine Sarpedon, falls!
Vanquish’d at last by Hector’s lance he lies,
Then, not till then, shall great Achilles rise:
And lo! that instant, godlike Hector dies. 75
From that great hour the war’s whole fortune turns,
Pallas assists, and lofty Ilion burns.
Not till that day shall Jove relax his rage,
Nor one of all the heav’nly host engage
In aid of Greece. The promise of a God 80
I gave, and seal’d it with th’ almighty nod,
Achilles’ glory to the stars to raise;
Such was our word, and Fate the word obeys.’
The trembling Queen (th’ almighty order given)
Swift from th’ Idæan summit shot to Heav’n. 85
As some wayfaring man, who wanders o’er,
In thought, a length of lands he trod before,
Sends forth his active mind from place to place,
Joins hill to dale, and measures space with space:
So swift flew Juno to the blest abodes, 90
If thought of man can match the speed of Gods.
There sat the Powers in awful Synod placed:
They bow’d, and made obeisance as she pass’d,
Thro’ all the brazen dome: with goblets crown’d
They hail her queen; the nectar streams around. 95
Fair Themis first presents the golden bowl,
And anxious asks what cares disturb her soul?
To whom the white-arm’d Goddess thus replies:
‘Enough thou know’st the Tyrant of the Skies;
Severely bent his purpose to fulfil, 100
Unmov’d his mind, and unrestrain’d his will.
Go thou, the feasts of Heav’n attend thy call;
Bid the crown’d nectar circle round the hall;
But Jove shall thunder thro’ th’ ethereal dome
Such stern decrees, such threaten’d woes to come, 105
As soon shall freeze mankind with dire surprise,
And damp th’ eternal banquets of the skies.’
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 97