Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series
Page 99
If e’er thou sign’st our wishes with thy nod;
Perform the promise of a gracious God!
This day preserve our navies from the flame,
And save the reliques of the Grecian name.’ 435
Thus pray’d the sage: th’ Eternal gave consent,
And peals of Thunder shook the firmament.
Presumptuous Troy mistook th’ accepting sign,
And catch’d new fury at the voice divine.
As, when black tempests mix the seas and skies, 440
The roaring deeps in wat’ry mountains rise,
Above the sides of some tall ship ascend,
Its womb they deluge, and its ribs they rend:
Thus loudly roaring, and o’erpowering all,
Mount the thick Trojans up the Grecian wall; 445
Legions on legions from each side arise:
Thick sound the keels; the storm of arrows flies:
Fierce on the ships above, the cars below,
These wield the mace, and those the jav’lin throw.
While thus the thunder of the battle raged, 450
And lab’ring armies round the works engaged;
Still in the tent Patroclus sat, to tend
The good Eurypylus, his wounded friend.
He sprinkles healing balms, to anguish kind,
And adds discourse, the med’cine of the mind. 455
But when he saw, ascending up the fleet,
Victorious Troy; then, starting from his seat,
With bitter groans his sorrows he express’d;
He wrings his hands, he beats his manly breast.
‘Tho’ yet thy state require redress’ (he cries), 460
‘Depart I must: what horrors strike my eyes!
Charged with Achilles’ high commands I go,
A mournful witness of this scene of woe:
I haste to urge him, by his country’s care,
To rise in arms, and shine again in war. 465
Perhaps some fav’ring God his soul may bend:
The voice is powerful of a faithful friend.’
He spoke; and, speaking, swifter than the wind
Sprung from the tent, and left the war behind.
Th’ embodied Greeks the fierce attack sustain, 470
But strive, tho’ numerous, to repulse in vain:
Nor could the Trojans, thro’ that firm array,
Force, to the fleet and tents, th’ impervious way.
As when a shipwright, with Palladian art,
Smooths the rough wood, and levels ev’ry part: 475
With equal hand he guides his whole design,
By the just rule, and the directing line:
The martial leaders, with like skill and care,
Preserv’d their line, and equal kept the war.
Brave deeds of arms thro’ all the ranks were tried, 480
And ev’ry ship sustain’d an equal tide.
At one proud bark, high-tow’ring o’er the fleet,
Ajax the great and Godlike Hector meet:
For one bright prize the matchless Chiefs contend,
Nor this the ships can fire, nor that defend; 485
One kept the shore, and one the vessel trod;
That fix’d as fate, this acted by a God.
The son of Clytius in his daring hand,
The deck approaching, shakes a flaming brand;
But pierc’d by Telamon’s huge lance expires; 490
Thund’ring he falls, and drops th’ extinguish’d fires.
Great Hector view’d him with a sad survey,
As stretch’d in dust before the stern he lay.
‘Oh! all of Trojan, all of Lycian race!
Stand to your arms, maintain this arduous space. 495
Lo! where the son of royal Clytius lies,
Ah, save his arms, secure his obsequies!’
This said, his eager, jav’lin sought the foe:
But Ajax shunn’d the meditated blow.
Not vainly yet the forceful lance was thrown; 500
It stretch’d in dust unhappy Lycophron:
An exile long, sustain’d at Ajax’ board,
A faithful servant to a foreign lord;
In peace, in war, for ever at his side,
Near his lov’d master, as he liv’d, he died. 505
From the high poop he tumbles on the sand,
And lies, a lifeless load, along the land.
With anguish Ajax views the piercing sight,
And thus inflames his brother to the fight:
‘Teucer, behold! extended on the shore, 510
Our friend, our lov’d companion! now no more!
Dear as a parent, with a parent’s care
To fight our wars, he left his native air.
This death deplor’d to Hector’s rage we owe;
Revenge, revenge it on the cruel foe! 515
Where are those darts on which the fates attend?
And where the bow which Phœbus taught to bend?’
Impatient Teucer, hast’ning to his aid,
Before the Chief his ample bow display’d;
The well-stored quiver on his shoulders hung: 520
Then hiss’d his arrow, and the bow-string sung.
Clytus, Pisenor’s son, renown’d in fame
(To thee, Polydamas! an honour’d name),
Drove thro’ the thickest of th’ embattled plains
The startling steeds, and shook his eager reins. 525
As all on glory ran his ardent mind,
The pointed death arrests him from behind:
Thro’ his fair neck the thrilling arrow flies;
In youth’s first bloom reluctantly he dies.
Hurl’d from the lofty seat, at distance far, 530
The headlong coursers spurn his empty car;
Till sad Polydamas the steeds restrain’d,
And gave, Astynous, to thy careful hand;
Then, fired to vengeance, rush’d amidst the foe;
Rage edg’d his sword, and strengthen’d ev’ry blow. 535
Once more bold Teucer, in his country’s cause,
At Hector’s breast a chosen arrow draws:
And had the weapon found the destin’d way,
Thy fall, great Trojan! had renown’d that day.
But Hector was not doom’d to perish then: 540
Th’ all-wise disposer of the fates of men
(Imperial Jove) his present death withstands;
Nor was such glory due to Teucer’s hands.
At his full stretch as the tough string he drew,
Struck by an arm unseen, it burst in two: 545
Down dropp’d the bow: the shaft with brazen head
Fell innocent, and on the dust lay dead.
Th’ astonish’d archer to great Ajax cries:
‘Some God prevents our destin’d enterprise:
Some God propitious to the Trojan foe, 550
Has, from my arm unfailing, struck the bow,
And broke the nerve my hands had twined with art,
Strong to impel the flight of many a dart.’
‘Since Heav’n commands it’ (Ajax made reply),
‘Dismiss the bow, and lay thy arrows by: 555
Thy arms no less suffice the lance to wield,
And quit the quiver for the pond’rous shield.
In the first ranks indulge thy thirst of fame,
Thy brave example shall the rest inflame.
Fierce as they are, by long successes vain, 560
To force our fleet, or ev’n a ship to gain,
Asks toil, and sweat, and blood: their utmost might
Shall find its match — No more; ‘t is ours to fight.’
Then Teucer laid his faithless bow aside:
The fourfold buckler o’er his shoulder tied; 565
On his brave head a crested helm he placed,
With nodding horsehair formidably graced;
A dart, whose point with brass refulgent shines,
This Hector saw, and thus express’d his joy; 570
‘Ye troops of Lycia, Dardanus, and Troy!
Be mindful of yourselves, your ancient fame,
And spread your glory with the navy’s flame.
Jove is with us; I saw his hand, but now,
From the proud archer strike his vaunted bow. 575
Indulgent Jove! how plain thy favours shine,
When happy nations bear the marks divine!
How easy then to see the sinking state
Of realms accurs’d, deserted, reprobate!
Such is the fate of Greece, and such is ours: 580
Behold, ye warriors, and exert your powers.
Death is the worst; a fate which all must try;
And for our country’ t is a bliss to die.
The gallant man, tho’ slain in fight he be,
Yet leaves his nation safe, his children free; 585
Entails a debt on all the grateful state;
His own brave friends shall glory in his fate;
His wife live honour’d, all his race succeed,
And late posterity enjoy the deed!’
This rous’d the soul in ev’ry Trojan breast. 590
The godlike Ajax next his Greeks address’d:
‘How long, ye warriors of the Argive race,
(To gen’rous Argos what a dire disgrace!)
How long on these curs’d confines will ye lie,
Yet undetermin’d, or to live, or die? 595
What hopes remain, what methods to retire,
If once your vessels catch the Trojan fire?
Mark how the flames approach, how near they fall,
How Hector calls, and Troy obeys his call!
Not to the dance that dreadful voice invites; 600
It calls to death, and all the rage of fights.
‘T is now no time for wisdom or debates;
To your own hands are trusted all your fates:
And better far, in one decisive strife,
One day should end our labour, or our life, 605
Than keep this hard-got inch of barren sands,
Still press’d, and press’d by such inglorious hands.’
The list’ning Grecians feel their leader’s flame,
And ev’ry kindling bosom pants for fame.
Then mutual slaughters spread on either side; 610
By Hector here the Phocian Schedius died;
There, pierc’d by Ajax, sank Laodamas,
Chief of the foot, of old Antenor’s race.
Polydamas laid Otus on the sand,
The fierce commander of th’ Epeian band. 615
His lance bold Meges at the victor threw;
The victor stooping, from the death withdrew
(That valued life, O Phœbus! was thy care),
But Crœsmus’ bosom took the flying spear:
His corpse fell bleeding on the slipp’ry shore: 620
His radiant arms triumphant Meges bore.
Dolops, the son of Lampus, rushes on,
Sprung from the race of old Laomedon,
And famed for prowess in a well-fought field;
He pierc’d the centre of his sounding shield: 625
But Meges Phyleus’ ample breast-plate wore
(Well known in fight on Selles’ winding shore:
For King Euphetes gave the golden mail,
Compact, and firm with many a jointed scale),
Which oft, in cities storm’d, and battles won, 630
Had saved the father, and now saves the son.
Full at the Trojan’s head he urged his lance,
Where the high plumes above the helmet dance,
New-tinged with Tyrian dye: in dust below,
Shorn from the crest, the purple honours glow; 635
Meantime their fight the Spartan King survey’d,
And stood by Meges’ side, a sudden aid,
Thro’ Dolops’ shoulder urged his forceful dart,
Which held its passage thro’ the panting heart,
And issued at his breast. With thund’ring sound 640
The warrior falls extended on the ground.
In rush the conquering Greeks to spoil the slain;
But Hector’s voice excites his kindred train;
The hero most from Hicetaon sprung,
Fierce Melanippus, gallant, brave, and young. 645
He (e’er to Troy the Grecians cross’d the main)
Fed his large oxen on Percote’s plain;
But when oppress’d, his country claim’d his care,
Return’d to Ilion, and excell’d in war:
For this in Priam’s court he held his place, 650
Belov’d no less than Priam’s royal race.
Him Hector singled, as his troops he led,
And thus inflamed him, pointing to the dead:
‘Lo, Melanippus! lo where Dolops lies;
And is it thus our royal kinsman dies? 655
O’ermatch’d he falls; to two at once a prey,
And lo, they bear the bloody arms away!
Come on — a distant war no longer wage,
But hand to hand thy country’s foes engage:
Till Greece at once, and all her glory, end; 660
Or Ilion from her tow’ry height descend,
Heav’d from the lowest stone; and bury all
In one sad sepulchre, one common fall.’
Hector (this said) rush’d forward on the foes:
With equal ardour Melanippus glows: 665
Then Ajax thus: ‘O Greeks! respect your fame,
Respect yourselves, and learn an honest shame:
Let mutual rev’rence mutual warmth inspire,
And catch from breast to breast the noble fire.
On valour’s side the odds of combat lie, 670
The brave live glorious, or lamented die;
The wretch that trembles in the Field of Fame,
Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame.’
His gen’rous sense he not in vain imparts;
It sunk, and rooted in the Grecian hearts. 675
They join, they throng, they thicken at his call,
And flank the navy with a brazen wall;
Shields touching shields, in order blaze above,
And stop the Trojans, tho’ impell’d by Jove.
The fiery Spartan first, with loud applause, 680
Warms the bold son of Nestor in his cause.
‘Is there’ (he said) ‘in arms a youth like you,
So strong to fight, so active to pursue?
Why stand you distant, nor attempt a deed?
Lift the bold lance, and make some Trojan bleed.’ 685
He said, and backwards to the lines retired;
Forth rush’d the youth, with martial fury fired,
Beyond the foremost ranks; his lance he threw
And round the black battalions cast his view.
The troops of Troy recede with sudden fear, 690
While the swift jav’lin hiss’d along in air.
Advancing Melanippus met the dart
With his bold breast, and felt it in his heart:
Thund’ring he falls; his falling arms resound,
And his broad buckler rings against the ground. 695
The victor leaps upon his prostrate prize;
Thus on a roe the well-breathed beagle flies,
And rends his side, fresh-bleeding with the dart
The distant hunter sent into his heart.
Observing Hector to the rescue flew; 700
Bold as he was, Antilochus withdrew:
So when a savage, ranging o’er the plain,
Has torn the shepherd’s dog, or shepherd swain;
While, conscious of the deed, he glares around,
And hears the gath’ring multitude resound, 705
Timely he flies the yet untasted food,
And gains the friendly shelter of
the wood.
So fears the youth; all Troy with shouts pursue,
While stones and darts in mingled tempests flew;
But, enter’d in the Grecian ranks, he turns 710
His manly breast, and with new fury burns.
Now on the fleet the tides of Trojans drove,
Fierce to fulfil the stern decrees of Jove:
The Sire of Gods, confirming Thetis’ prayer,
The Grecian ardour quench’d in deep despair; 715
But lifts to glory Troy’s prevailing bands,
Swells all their hearts, and strengthens all their hands.
On Ida’s top he waits with longing eyes,
To view the navy blazing to the skies;
Then, nor till then, the scale of war shall turn, 720
The Trojans fly, and conquer’d Ilion burn.
These fates revolv’d in his almighty mind,
He raises Hector to the work design’d,
Bids him with more than mortal fury glow,
And drives him, like a lightning, on the foe. 725
So Mars, when human crimes for vengeance call,
Shakes his huge jav’lin, and whole armies fall.
Not with more rage a conflagration rolls,
Wraps the vast mountains, and involves the poles.
He foams with wrath; beneath his gloomy brow 730
Like fiery meteors his red eye-balls glow:
The radiant helmet on his temple burns,
Waves when he nods, and lightens as he turns:
For Jove his splendour round the Chief had thrown,
And cast the blaze of both the hosts on one. 735
Unhappy glories! for his fate was near,
Due to stern Pallas, and Pelides’ spear:
Yet Jove deferr’d the death he was to pay,
And gave what Fate allow’d, the honours of a day!
Now all on fire for fame, his breast, his eyes 740
Burn at each foe, and single ev’ry prize;
Still at the closest ranks, the thickest fight,
He points his ardour, and exerts his might.
The Grecian phalanx, moveless as a tower,
On all sides batter’d, yet resists his power: 745
So some tall rock o’erhangs the hoary main,
By winds assail’d, by billows beat in vain;
Unmov’d it hears, above, the tempest blow,
And sees the wat’ry mountains break below.
Girt in surrounding flames, he seems to fall 750
Like fire from Jove, and bursts upon them all;
Bursts as a wave that from the clouds impends,
And swell’d with tempests on the ship descends;
White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud
Howl o’er the masts, and sing thro’ ev’ry shroud: 755
Pale, trembling, tired, the sailors freeze with fears;
And instant death on ev’ry wave appears.