When lo! a whirlwind from high Heav’n invades
The tender plant, and withers all its shades;
It lies uprooted from its genial bed,
A lovely ruin now defaced and dead:
Thus young, thus beautiful, Euphorbus lay, 65
While the fierce Spartan tore his arms away.
Proud of his deed, and glorious in the prize,
Affrighted Troy the tow’ring victor flies;
Flies, as before some mountain lion’s ire
The village curs and trembling swains retire; 70
When o’er the slaughter’d bull they hear him roar,
And see his jaws distil with smoking gore;
All pale with fear, at distance scatter’d round,
They shout incessant, and the vales resound.
Meanwhile Apollo view’d with envious eyes, 75
And urged great Hector to dispute the prize
(In Mentes’ shape, beneath whose martial care
The rough Ciconians learn’d the trade of war):
‘Forbear,’ he cried, ‘with fruitless speed to chase
Achilles’ coursers, of ethereal race; 80
They stoop not, these, to mortal man’s command,
Or stoop to none but great Achilles’ hand.
Too long amused with a pursuit so vain,
Turn, and behold the brave Euphorbus slain!
By Sparta slain; for ever now suppress’d 85
The fire which burn’d in that undaunted breast!’
Thus having spoke, Apollo wing’d his flight,
And mix’d with mortals in the toils of fight:
His words infix’d unutterable care
Deep in great Hector’s soul: thro’ all the war 90
He darts his anxious eye: and instant view’d
The breathless hero in his blood imbrued
(Forth welling from the wound, as prone he lay),
And in the victor’s hand the shining prey.
Sheathed in bright arms, thro’ cleaving ranks he flies, 95
And sends his voice in thunder to the skies:
Fierce as a flood of flame by Vulcan sent,
It flew, and fired the nations as it went.
Atrides from the voice the storm divin’d,
And thus explor’d his own unconquer’d mind: 100
‘Then shall I quit Patroclus on the plain,
Slain in my cause, and for my honour slain;
Desert the arms, the relics of my friend?
Or singly Hector and his troops attend?
Sure, where such partial favour Heav’n bestow’d, 105
To brave the Hero were to brave the God:
Forgive me, Greece, if once I quit the field;
‘T is not to Hector, but to Heav’n, I yield.
Yet, nor the God nor Heav’n should give me fear,
Did but the voice of Ajax reach my ear: 110
Still would we turn, still battle on the plains,
And give Achilles all that yet remains
Of his and our Patroclus.’ This, no more,
The time allow’d: Troy thicken’d on the shore;
A sable scene! The terrors Hector led; 115
Slow he recedes, and sighing quits the dead.
So from the fold th’ unwilling lion parts,
Forc’d by loud clamours, and a storm of darts;
He flies indeed, but threatens as he flies,
With heart indignant and retorted eyes. 120
Now, enter’d in the Spartan ranks, he turn’d
His manly breast, and with new fury burn’d:
O’er all the black battalions sent his view,
And thro’ the cloud the godlike Ajax knew;
Where lab’ring on the left the warrior stood, 125
All grim in arms, and cover’d o’er with blood;
There breathing courage, where the God of Day
Had sunk each heart with terror and dismay.
To him the King: ‘Oh! Ajax, oh my friend!
Haste, and Patroclus’ lov’d remains defend: 130
The body to Achilles to restore,
Demands our care; alas! we can no more!
For naked now, despoil’d of arms, he lies;
And Hector glories in the dazzling prize.’
He said, and touch’d his heart. The raging pair 135
Pierce the thick battle, and provoke the war.
Already had stern Hector seiz’d his head,
And doom’d to Trojan dogs th’ unhappy dead;
But soon as Ajax rear’d his tower-like shield,
Sprung to his car, and measured back the field. 140
His train to Troy the radiant armour bear,
To stand a trophy of his fame in war.
Meanwhile great Ajax (his broad shield display’d)
Guards the dead hero with the dreadful shade;
And now before, and now behind he stood: 145
Thus, in the centre of some gloomy wood,
With many a step the lioness surrounds
Her tawny young, beset by men and hounds;
Elate her heart, and rousing all her powers,
Dark o’er the fiery balls each hanging eyebrow lowers. 150
Fast by his side the gen’rous Spartan glows
With great revenge, and feeds his inward woes.
But Glaucus, leader of the Lycian aids,
On Hector frowning, thus his flight upbraids:
‘Where now in Hector shall we Hector find? 155
A manly form, without a manly mind!
Is this, O Chief! a hero’s boasted fame?
How vain, without the merit, is the name!
Since battle is renounc’d, thy thoughts employ
What other methods may preserve thy Troy: 160
‘T is time to try if Ilion’s state can stand
By thee alone, nor ask a foreign hand;
Mean, empty boast! but shall the Lycians stake
Their lives for you? those Lycians you forsake?
What from thy thankless arms can we expect? 165
Thy friend Sarpedon proves thy base neglect:
Say, shall our slaughter’d bodies guard your walls,
While unrevenged the great Sarpedon falls?
Ev’n where he died for Troy, you left him there,
A feast for dogs, and all the fowls of air. 170
On my command if any Lycian wait,
Hence let him march, and give up Troy to fate.
Did such a spirit as the Gods impart
Impel one Trojan hand, or Trojan heart
(Such as should burn in every soul that draws 175
The sword for glory, and his country’s cause),
Ev’n yet our mutual arms we might employ,
And drag yon carcass to the walls of Troy.
Oh! were Patroclus ours, we might obtain
Sarpedon’s arms, and honour’d corse, again! 180
Greece with Achilles’ friend should be repaid,
And thus due honours purchas’d to his shade.
But words are vain. Let Ajax once appear,
And Hector trembles and recedes with fear;
Thou darest not meet the terrors of his eye; 185
And lo, already thou preparest to fly.’
The Trojan Chief with fix’d resentment eyed
The Lycian leader, and sedate replied:
‘Say, is it just (my friend) that Hector’s ear
From such a warrior such a speech should hear? 190
I deem’d thee once the wisest of thy kind,
But ill this insult suits a prudent mind.
I shun great Ajax? I desert my train?
‘T is mine to prove the rash assertion vain;
I joy to mingle where the battle bleeds, 195
And hear the thunder of the sounding steeds.
But Jove’s high will is ever uncontroll’d,
The strong he withers, and confounds the bold:
Now crowns with fame the mighty ma
n, and now
Strikes the fresh garland from the victor’s brow! 200
Come, thro’ you squadrons let us hew the way,
And thou be witness if I fear to-day;
If yet a Greek the sight of Hector dread,
Or yet their hero dare defend the dead.’
Then, turning to the martial hosts, he cries, 205
‘Ye Trojans, Dardans, Lycians, and allies!
Be men (my friends) in action as in name,
And yet be mindful of your ancient fame.
Hector in proud Achilles’ arms shall shine,
Torn from his friend, by right of conquest mine.’ 210
He strode along the field as thus he said
(The sable plumage nodded o’er his head):
Swift thro’ the spacious plain he sent a look;
One instant saw, one instant overtook
The distant band, that on the sandy shore 215
The radiant spoils to sacred Ilion bore.
There his own mail unbraced the field bestrew’d;
His train to Troy convey’d the massy load.
Now blazing in th’ immortal arms he stands,
The work and present of celestial hands; 220
By aged Peleus to Achilles giv’n,
As first to Peleus by the court of Heav’n:
His father’s arms not long Achilles wears,
Forbid by Fate to reach his father’s years.
Him, proud in triumph, glitt’ring from afar, 225
The God whose thunder rends the troubled air
Beheld with pity! as apart he sat,
And, conscious, look’d thro’ all the scene of fate,
He shook the sacred honours of his head;
Olympus trembled, and the Godhead said: 230
‘Ah, wretched man! unmindful of thy end!
A moment’s glory, and what fates attend!
In heav’nly panoply, divinely bright
Thou stand’st, and armies tremble at thy sight,
As at Achilles’ self! beneath thy dart 235
Lies slain the great Achilles’ dearer part:
Thou from the mighty dead those arms hast torn,
Which once the greatest of mankind had worn.
Yet live! I give thee one illustrious day,
A blaze of glory ere thou fadest away. 240
For ah! no more Andromache shall come,
With joyful tears to welcome Hector home;
No more officious, with endearing charms,
From thy tired limbs unbrace Pelides’ arms!’
Then with his sable brow he gave the nod, 245
That seals his word; the sanction of the God.
The stubborn arms (by Jove’s command disposed)
Conform’d spontaneous, and around him closed:
Fill’d with the God, enlarged his members grew,
Thro’ all his veins a sudden vigour flew: 250
The blood in brisker tides began to roll,
And Mars himself came rushing on his soul.
Exhorting loud thro’ all the field he strode,
And look’d, and mov’d, Achilles, or a God.
Now Mesthles, Glaucus, Medon he inspires, 255
Now Phorcys, Chromius, and Hippothoüs fires;
The great Thersilochus like fury found,
Asteropæus kindled at the sound,
And Ennomus, in augury renown’d.
‘Hear, all ye hosts, and hear, unnumber’d bands 260
Of neighb’ring nations, or of distant lands!
‘T was not for state we summon’d you so far,
To boast our numbers, and the pomp of war;
Ye came to fight; a valiant foe to chase,
To save our present and our future race. 265
For this, our wealth, our products, you enjoy,
And glean the relics of exhausted Troy.
Now, then, to conquer or to die prepare,
To die or conquer are the terms of war.
Whatever hand shall win Patroclus slain, 270
Whoe’er shall drag him to the Trojan train,
With Hector’s self shall equal honours claim;
With Hector part the spoil, and share the fame.’
Fired by his words, the troops dismiss their fears,
They join, they thicken, they protend their spears; 275
Full on the Greeks they drive in firm array,
And each from Ajax hopes the glorious prey:
Vain hope! what numbers shall the field o’erspread,
What victims perish round the mighty dead!
Great Ajax mark’d the growing storm from far, 280
And thus bespoke his brother of the war:
‘Our fatal day, alas! is come, my friend,
And all our wars and glories at an end!
‘T is not this corse alone we guard in vain,
Condemn’d to vultures on the Trojan plain; 285
We too must yield; the same sad fate must fall
On thee, on me, perhaps (my friend) on all.
See what a tempest direful Hector spreads,
And lo! it bursts, it thunders on our heads!
Call on our Greeks, if any hear the call, 290
The bravest Greeks: this hour demands them all.’
The warrior rais’d his voice, and wide around
The field re-echoed the distressful sound:
‘Oh Chiefs! oh Princes! to whose hand is giv’n
The rule of men; whose glory is from Heav’n! 295
Whom with due honours both Atrides grace:
Ye guides and guardians of our Argive race!
All, whom this well-known voice shall reach from far,
All, whom I see not thro’ this cloud of war,
Come all! let gen’rous rage your arms employ, 300
And save Patroclus from the dogs of Troy.’
Oïlean Ajax first the voice obey’d,
Swift was his pace and ready was his aid;
Next him Idomeneus, more slow with age,
And Merion, burning with a hero’s rage. 305
The long-succeeding numbers who can name?
But all were Greeks, and eager all for fame.
Fierce to the charge great Hector led the throng;
Whole Troy, embodied, rush’d with shouts along.
Thus, when a mountain billow foams and raves, 310
Where some swoln river disembogues his waves,
Full in the mouth is stopp’d the rushing tide,
The boiling ocean works from side to side,
The river trembles to his utmost shore,
And distant rocks rebellow to the roar. 315
Nor less resolv’d, the firm Achaian band
With brazen shields in horrid circle stand:
Jove, pouring darkness o’er the mingled fight,
Conceals the warriors’ shining helms in night:
To him the Chief, for whom the hosts contend, 320
Had liv’d not hateful, for he liv’d a friend:
Dead he protects him with superior care,
Nor dooms his carcass to the birds of air.
The first attack the Grecians scarce sustain,
Repuls’d, they yield; the Trojans seize the slain: 325
Then fierce they rally, to revenge led on
By the swift rage of Ajax Telamon
(Ajax, to Peleus’ son the second name,
In graceful stature next, and next in fame).
With headlong force the foremost ranks he tore: 330
So thro’ the thicket bursts the mountain boar,
And rudely scatters, far to distance round,
The frighted hunter and the baying hound.
The son of Lethus, brave Pelasgus’ heir,
Hippothoüs, dragg’d the carcass thro’ the war; 335
The sinewy ancles bored, the feet he bound
With thongs, inserted thro’ the double wound;
Inevitable Fate o’ertakes the deed;
Doom’d by
great Ajax’ vengeful lance to bleed;
It cleft the helmet’s brazen cheeks in twain; 340
The shatter’d crest and horsehair strew the plain:
With nerves relax’d he tumbles to the ground,
The brain comes gushing thro’ the ghastly wound:
He drops Patroclus’ foot, and, o’er him spread,
Now lies a sad companion of the dead: 345
Far from Larissa lies, his native air,
And ill requites his parent’s tender care.
Lamented youth! in life’s first bloom he fell,
Sent by great Ajax to the shades of Hell.
Once more at Ajax Hector’s jav’lin flies; 350
The Grecian marking as it cut the skies,
Shunn’d the descending death, which, hissing on,
Stretch’d in the dust the great Iphitus’ son,
Schedius the brave, of all the Phocian kind
The boldest warrior, and the noblest mind: 355
In little Panope, for strength renown’d,
He held his seat, and ruled the realms around.
Plunged in his throat, the weapon drank his blood,
And, deep transpiercing, thro’ the shoulder stood;
In clanging arms the hero fell, and all 360
The fields resounded with his weighty fall.
Phorcys, as slain Hippothous he defends,
The Telamonian lance his belly rends;
The hollow armour burst before the stroke,
And thro’ the wound the rushing entrails broke. 365
In strong convulsions panting on the sands
He lies, and grasps the dust with dying hands.
Struck at the sight, recede the Trojan train:
The shouting Argives strip the heroes slain.
And now had Troy, by Greece compell’d to yield, 370
Fled to her ramparts, and resign’d the field;
Greece, in her native fortitude elate,
With Jove averse, had turn’d the scale of Fate;
But Phœbus urged Æneas to the fight;
He seem’d like aged Periphas to sight 375
(A herald in Anchises’ love grown old,
Revered for prudence, and, with prudence, bold).
Thus he: ‘What methods yet, oh Chief! remain,
To save your Troy, tho’ Heav’n its fall ordain?
There have been heroes, who, by virtuous care, 380
By valour, numbers, and by arts of war,
Have forc’d the Powers to spare a sinking state,
And gain’d at length the glorious odds of Fate.
But you, when Fortune smiles, when Jove declares
His partial favour, and assists your wars, 385
Your shameful efforts ‘gainst yourselves employ,
And force th’ unwilling God to ruin Troy.’
Æneas, thro’ the form assumed, descries
The power conceal’d, and thus to Hector cries:
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 104