‘Oh lasting shame! to our own fears a prey, 390
We seek our ramparts, and desert the day.
A God (nor is he less) my bosom warms,
And tells me Jove asserts the Trojan arms.’
He spoke, and foremost to the combat flew;
The bold example all his hosts pursue. 395
Then first Leocritus beneath him bled,
In vain beloved by valiant Lycomede;
Who view’d his fall, and, grieving at the chance,
Swift to revenge it, sent his angry lance:
The whirling lance, with vig’rous force address’d, 400
Descends, and pants in Apisaon’s breast:
From rich Pæonia’s vales the warrior came;
Next thee, Asteropeus! in place and fame,
Asteropeus with grief beheld the slain,
And rush’d to combat, but he rush’d in vain: 405
Indissolubly firm, around the dead,
Rank within rank, on buckler buckler spread,
And hemm’d with bristled spears, the Grecians stood;
A brazen bulwark, and an iron wood.
Great Ajax eyes them with incessant care, 410
And in an orb contracts the crowded war,
Close in their ranks commands to fight or fall,
And stands the centre and the soul of all:
Fix’d on the spot they war, and wounded, wound;
A sanguine torrent steeps the reeking ground; 415
On heaps the Greeks, on heaps the Trojans bled,
And, thick’ning round them, rise the hills of dead.
Greece, in close order and collected might,
Yet suffers least, and sways the wav’ring fight;
Fierce as conflicting fires, the combat burns, 420
And now it rises, now it sinks, by turns.
In one thick darkness all the fight was lost:
The sun, the moon, and all th’ ethereal host,
Seem’d as extinct; day ravish’d from their eyes,
And all Heav’n’s splendours blotted from the skies. 425
Such o’er Patroclus’ body hung the night,
The rest in sunshine fought, and open light:
Unclouded there, th’ aërial azure spread,
No vapour rested on the mountain’s head,
The golden sun pour’d forth a stronger ray, 430
And all the broad expansion flamed with day.
Dispers’d around the plain, by fits they fight,
And here, and there, their scatter’d arrows light:
But death and darkness o’er the carcass spread,
There burn’d the war, and there the mighty bled. 435
Meanwhile the sons of Nestor, in the rear
(Their fellows routed), toss the distant spear,
And skirmish wide: so Nestor gave command,
When from the ships he sent the Pylian band.
The youthful brothers thus for fame contend, 440
Nor knew the fortune of Achilles’ friend;
In thought they view’d him still, with martial joy,
Glorious in arms, and dealing deaths to Troy.
But round the corse the heroes pant for breath,
And thick and heavy grows the work of death: 445
O’erlabour’d now, with dust, and sweat, and gore,
Their knees, their legs, their feet, are cover’d o’er;
Drops follow drops, the clouds on clouds arise,
And carnage clogs their hands, and darkness fills their eyes.
As when a slaughter’d bull’s yet reeking hide, 450
Strain’d with full force, and tugg’d from side to side,
The brawny curriers stretch; and labour o’er
Th’ extended surface, drunk with fat and gore;
So tugging round the corse both armies stood;
The mangled body bathed in sweat and blood: 455
While Greeks and Ilians equal strength employ,
Now to the ships to force it, now to Troy.
Not Pallas’ self, her breast when fury warms,
Nor he whose anger sets the world in arms,
Could blame this scene; such rage, such horror, reign’d; 460
Such Jove to honour the great dead ordain’d.
Achilles in his ships at distance lay,
Nor knew the fatal fortune of the day;
He, yet unconscious of Patroclus’ fall,
In dust extended under Ilion’s wall, 465
Expects him glorious from the conquer’d plain,
And for his wish’d return prepares in vain;
Tho’ well he knew, to make proud Ilion bend,
Was more than Heav’n had destin’d to his friend,
Perhaps to him: this Thetis had reveal’d; 470
The rest, in pity to her son, conceal’d.
Still raged the conflict round the hero dead,
And heaps on heaps by mutual wounds they bled.
‘Curs’d be the man’ (ev’n private Greeks would say)
‘Who dares desert this well-disputed day! 475
First may the cleaving earth before our eyes
Gape wide, and drink our blood for sacrifice!
First perish all, ere haughty Troy shall boast
We lost Patroclus, and our glory lost.’
Thus they. While with one voice the Trojans said, 480
‘Grant this day, Jove! or heap us on the dead!’
Then clash their sounding arms; the clangors rise,
And shake the brazen concave of the skies.
Meantime, at distance from the scene of blood,
The pensive steeds of great Achilles stood; 485
Their godlike master slain before their eyes,
They wept, and shared in human miseries.
In vain Automedon now shakes the rein,
Now plies the lash, and soothes and threats in vain;
Nor to the fight, nor Hellespont they go; 490
Restive they stood, and obstinate in woe:
Still as a tombstone, never to be mov’d,
On some good man, or woman unreprov’d,
Lays its eternal weight; or fix’d as stands
A marble courser by the sculptor’s hands 495
Placed on the hero’s grave. Along their face
The big round drops cours’d down with silent pace,
Conglobing on the dust. Their manes, that late
Circled their arched necks, and waved in state,
Trail’d on the dust beneath the yoke were spread, 500
And prone to earth was hung their languid head:
Nor Jove disdain’d to cast a pitying look,
While thus relenting to the steeds he spoke:
‘Unhappy coursers of immortal strain!
Exempt from age, and deathless now in vain; 505
Did we your race on mortal man bestow,
Only, alas! to share in mortal woe?
For ah! what is there, of inferior birth,
That breathes or creeps upon the dust of earth;
What wretched creature of what wretched kind, 510
Than man more weak, calamitous, and blind?
A miserable race! but cease to mourn:
For not by you shall Priam’s son be borne
High on the splendid car: one glorious prize
He rashly boasts; the rest our will denies. 515
Ourself will swiftness to your nerves impart,
Ourself with rising spirits swell your heart.
Automedon your rapid flight shall bear
Safe to the navy thro’ the storm of war.
For yet ‘t is given to Troy, to ravage o’er 520
The field, and spread her slaughters to the shore;
The sun shall see her conquer, till his fall
With sacred darkness shades the face of all.’
He said; and breathing in th’ immortal horse
Excessive spirit, urged them to the course; 525
From their high man
es they shake the dust, and bear
The kindling chariot thro’ the parted war.
So flies a vulture thro’ the clam’rous train
Of geese, that scream, and scatter round the plain.
From danger now with swiftest speed they flew, 530
And now to conquest with like speed pursue;
Sole in the seat the charioteer remains,
Now plies the jav’lin, now directs the reins:
Him brave Alcimedon beheld distress’d,
Approach’d the chariot, and the Chief address’d: 535
‘What God provokes thee, rashly thus to dare,
Alone, unaided, in the thickest war?
Alas! thy friend is slain, and Hector wields
Achilles’ arms triumphant in the fields.’
‘In happy time (the charioteer replies), 540
The bold Alcimedon now greets my eyes;
No Greek like him the heav’nly steeds restrains,
Or holds their fury in suspended reins:
Patroclus, while he liv’d, their rage could tame,
But now Patroclus is an empty name! 545
To thee I yield the seat, to thee resign
The ruling charge: the task of fight be mine.’
He said. Alcimedon, with active heat,
Snatches the reins, and vaults into the seat.
His friend descends. The Chief of Troy descried, 550
And call’d Æneas fighting near his side:
‘Lo, to my sight beyond our hope restor’d,
Achilles’ car, deserted of its lord!
The glorious steeds our ready arms invite,
Scarce their weak drivers guide them thro’ the fight: 555
Can such opponents stand, when we assail?
Unite thy force, my friend, and we prevail.’
The son of Venus to the counsel yields:
Then o’er their backs they spread their solid shields;
With brass refulgent the broad surface shin’d, 560
And thick bull-hides the spacious concave lin’d.
Them Chromius follows, Aretus succeeds,
Each hopes the conquest of the lofty steeds;
In vain, brave youths, with glorious hopes ye burn,
In vain advance! not fated to return. 565
Unmov’d, Automedon attends the fight,
Implores th’ Eternal, and collects his might.
Then, turning to his friend, with dauntless mind:
‘Oh keep the foaming coursers close behind!
Full on my shoulders let their nostrils blow, 570
For hard the fight, determin’d is the foe;
‘T is Hector comes; and when he seeks the prize,
War knows no mean: he wins it, or he dies.’
Then thro’ the fiels he sends his voice aloud,
And calls th’ Ajaces from the warring crowd, 575
With great Atrides. ‘Hither turn’ (he said),
‘Turn where distress demands immediate aid;
The dead, encircled by his friends, forego,
And save the living from a fiercer foe.
Unhelp’d we stand, unequal to engage 580
The force of Hector and Æneas’ rage:
Yet mighty as they are, my force to prove
Is only mine; th’ event belongs to Jove.’
He spoke, and high the sounding jav’lin flung,
Which pass’d the shield of Aretus the young; 585
It pierc’d his belt, emboss’d with curious art;
Then in the lower belly stuck the dart.
As when a pond’rous axe, descending full,
Cleaves the broad forehead of some brawny bull;
Struck ‘twixt the horns, he springs with many a bound, 590
Then tumbling rolls enormous on the ground:
Thus fell the youth; the air his soul receiv’d,
And the spear trembled as his entrails heav’d.
Now at Automedon the Trojan foe
Discharged his lance; the meditated blow, 595
Stooping, he shunn’d; the jav’lin idly fled,
And hiss’d innoxious o’er the hero’s head:
Deep rooted in the ground, the forceful spear
In long vibrations spent its fury there.
With clashing flachions now the Chief had closed, 600
But each brave Ajax heard, and interposed;
Nor longer Hector with his Trojans stood,
But left their slain companion in his blood:
His arms Automedon divests, and cries,
‘Accept, Patroclus, this mean sacrifice. 605
Thus have I soothed my griefs, and thus have paid,
Poor as it is, some off’ring to thy shade.’
So looks the lion o’er a mangled boar,
All grim with rage, and horrible with gore:
High on the chariot at one bound he sprung, 610
And o’er his seat the bloody trophies hung.
And now Minerva, from the realms of air,
Descends impetuous, and renews the war;
For, pleas’d at length the Grecian arms to aid,
The Lord of Thunders sent the Blue-eyed Maid. 615
As when high Jove, denouncing future woe,
O’er the dark clouds extends his purple bow
(In sign of tempests from the troubled air,
Or, from the rage of man, destructive war);
The drooping cattle dread th’ impending skies, 620
And from his half-till’d field the lab’rer flies:
In such a form the Goddess round her drew
A livid cloud, and to the battle flew.
Assuming Phœnix’ shape, on earth she falls,
And in his well-known voice to Sparta calls: 625
‘And lies Achilles’ friend, belov’d by all,
A prey to dogs beneath the Trojan wall?
What shame to Greece for future times to tell,
To thee the greatest, in whose cause he fell!’
‘O Chief, oh Father!’ (Atreus’ son replies) 630
‘O full of days! by long experience wise!
What more desires my soul, than here, unmov’d,
To guard the body of the man I lov’d?
Ah would Minerva send me strength to rear
This wearied arm, and ward the storm of war! 635
But Hector, like the rage of fire, we dread,
And Jove’s own glories blaze around his head.’
Pleas’d to be first of all the Powers address’d,
She breathes new vigour in her hero’s breast,
And fills with keen revenge, with fell despite, 640
Desire of blood, and rage, and lust of fight.
So burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o’er),
Repuls’d in vain, and thirsty still of gore
(Bold son of air and heat), on angry wings
Untamed, untired, he turns, attacks, and stings: 645
Fired with like ardour fierce Atrides flew,
And sent his soul with every lance he threw.
There stood a Trojan, not unknown to Fame,
Eëtion’s son, and Podes was his name;
With riches honour’d, and with courage bless’d, 650
By Hector lov’d, his comrade, and his guest;
Thro’ his broad belt the spear a passage found,
And, pond’rous as he falls, his arms resound.
Sudden at Hector’s side Apollo stood,
Like Phænops, Asius’ son, appear’d the God 655
(Asius the great, who held his wealthy reign
In fair Abydos, by the rolling main).
‘Oh Prince’ (he cried), ‘oh foremost once in Fame!
What Grecian now shall tremble at thy name?
Dost thou at length to Menelaüs yield? 660
A Chief, once thought no terror of the field!
Yet singly, now, the long-disputed prize
He bears victorious, while our army flies.
By t
he same arm illustrious Podes bled,
The friend of Hector, unrevenged, is dead!’ 665
This heard, o’er Hector spreads a cloud of woe,
Rage lifts his lance, and drives him on the foe.
But now th’ Eternal shook his sable shield,
That shaded Ide, and all the subject field,
Beneath its ample verge. A rolling cloud 670
Involv’d the mount, the thunder roar’d aloud:
Th’ affrighted hills from their foundations nod,
And blaze beneath the lightnings of the God:
At one regard of his all-seeing eye,
The vanquish’d triumph, and the victors fly. 675
Then trembled Greece: the flight Peneleus led;
For, as the brave Bœotian turn’d his head
To face the foe, Polydamas drew near,
And razed his shoulder with a shorten’d spear:
By Hector wounded, Leitus quits the plain, 680
Pierc’d thro’ the wrist; and, raging with the pain,
Grasps his once formidable lance in vain.
As Hector follow’d, Idomen address’d
The flaming jav’lin to his manly breast;
The brittle point before his corslet yields; 685
Exulting Troy with clamour fills the fields:
High on his chariot as the Cretan stood,
The son of Priam whirl’d the missive wood:
But, erring from its aim, th’ impetuous spear
Struck to the dust the squire and charioteer 690
Of martial Merion: Cœranus his name,
Who left fair Lyetus for the fields of fame.
On foot bold Merion fought; and now, laid low,
Had graced the triumphs of his Trojan foe;
But the brave squire the ready coursers brought, 695
And with his life his master’s safety bought.
Between his cheek and ear the weapon went,
The teeth it shatter’d, and the tongue it rent.
Prone from the seat he tumbles to the plain;
His dying hand forgets the falling rein: 700
This Merion reaches, bending from the car,
And urges to desert the hopeless war;
Idomeneus consents; the lash applies;
And the swift chariot to the navy flies.
Nor Ajax less the will of Heav’n descried, 705
And conquest shifting to the Trojan side,
Turn’d by the hand of Jove. Then thus begun,
To Atreus’ seed, the godlike Telamon:
‘Alas! who sees not Jove’s almighty hand
Transfers the glory to the Trojan band! 710
Whether the weak or strong discharge the dart,
He guides each arrow to a Grecian heart:
Not so our spears: incessant tho’ they rain,
He suffers ev’ry lance to fall in vain.
Deserted of the God, yet let us try 715
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 105