What human strength and prudence can supply;
If yet this honour’d corse, in triumph borne,
May glad the fleets that hope not our return,
Who tremble yet, scarce rescued from their fates,
And still hear Hector thund’ring at their gates. 720
Some hero too must be despatch’d to bear
The mournful message to Pelides’ ear;
For sure he knows not, distant on the shore,
His friend, his lov’d Patroclus, is no more.
But such a Chief I spy not thro’ the host: 725
The men, the steeds, the armies, all are lost
In gen’ral darkness: Lord of earth and air!
Oh King! oh Father! hear my humble prayer:
Dispel this cloud, the light of Heav’n restore;
Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more: 730
If Greece must perish, we thy will obey,
But let us perish in the face of day!’
With tears the Hero spoke, and at his prayer
The God relenting, clear’d the clouded air;
Forth burst the sun with all-enlight’ning ray; 735
The blaze of armour flash’d against the day.
‘Now, now, Atrides! cast around thy sight,
If yet Antilochus survives the fight,
Let him to great Achilles’ ear convey
The fatal news.’ Atrides hastes away. 740
So turns the lion from the nightly fold,
Tho’ high in courage, and with hunger bold,
Long gall’d by herdsmen, and long vex’d by hounds,
Stiff with fatigue, and fretted sore with wounds;
The darts fly round him from a hundred hands, 745
And the red terrors of the blazing brands:
Till late, reluctant, at the dawn of day
Sour he departs, and quits th’ untasted prey.
So mov’d Atrides from his dangerous place,
With weary limbs, but with unwilling pace; 750
The foe, he fear’d, might yet Patroclus gain,
And much admonish’d, much adjur’d his train:
‘Oh, guard these relics to your charge consign’d,
And bear the merits of the dead in mind;
How skill’d he was in each obliging art; 755
The mildest manners, and the gentlest heart:
He was, alas! but Fate decreed his end,
In death a hero, as in life a friend!’
So parts the Chief, from rank to rank he flew,
And round on all sides sent his piercing view. 760
As the bold bird, endued with sharpest eye
Of all that wing the mid aërial sky,
The sacred eagle, from his walks above
Looks down, and sees the distant thicket move;
Then stoops, and sousing on the quiv’ring hare, 765
Snatches his life amid the clouds of air:
Not with less quickness his exerted sight
Pass’d this and that way, thro’ the ranks of fight;
Till on the left the Chief he sought, he found,
Cheering his men, and spreading deaths around. 770
To him the King: ‘Belov’d of Jove! draw near,
For sadder tidings never touch’d thy ear.
Thy eyes have witness’d what a fatal turn!
How Ilion triumphs, and th’ Achaians mourn.
This is not all: Patroclus, on the shore 775
Now pale and dead, shall succour Greece no more.
Fly to the fleet, this instant fly, and tell
The sad Achilles how his lov’d one fell:
He too may haste the naked corse to gain;
The arms are Hector’s, who despoil’d the slain.’ 780
The youthful warrior heard with silent woe,
From his fair eyes the tears began to flow;
Big with the mighty grief, he strove to say
What sorrow dictates, but no word found way.
To brave Laodocus his arms he flung, 785
Who, near him wheeling, drove his steeds along;
Then ran, the mournful message to impart,
With tearful eyes, and with dejected heart.
Swift fled the youth: nor Menelaüs stands
(Tho’ sore distress’d) to aid the Pylian bands; 790
But bids bold Thrasymede those troops sustain;
Himself returns to his Patroclus slain.
‘Gone is Antilochus’ (the hero said),
‘But hope not, warriors, for Achilles’ aid:
Tho’ fierce his rage, unbounded be his woe, 795
Unarm’d he fights not with the Trojan foe.
‘T is in our hands alone our hopes remain,
‘T is our own vigour must the dead regain;
And save ourselves, while with impetuous hate
Troy pours along, and this way rolls our fate.’ 800
‘‘T is well’ (said Ajax); ‘be it then thy care,
With Merion’s aid, the weighty corse to rear;
Myself and my bold brother will sustain
The shock of Hector and his charging train:
Nor fear we armies, fighting side by side; 805
What Troy can dare, we have already tried,
Have tried it, and have stood.’ The hero said:
High from the ground the warriors heave the dead.
A gen’ral clamour rises at the sight:
Loud shout the Trojans, and renew the fight; 810
Not fiercer rush along the gloomy wood,
With rage insatiate, and with thirst of blood,
Voracious hounds, that many a length before
Their furious hunters, drive the wounded boar;
But if the savage turns his glaring eye, 815
They howl aloof, and round the forest fly.
Thus on retreating Greece the Trojans pour,
Wave their thick falchions, and their jav’lins shower:
But, Ajax turning, to their fears they yield,
All pale they tremble, and forsake the field. 820
While thus aloft the hero’s corse they bear,
Behind them rages all the storm of war;
Confusions, tumult, horror, o’er the throng
Of men, steeds, chariots, urged the rout along:
Less fierce the winds with rising flames conspire, 825
To whelm some city under waves of fire;
Now sink in gloomy clouds the proud abodes;
Now crack the blazing temples of the Gods;
The rumbling torrent thro’ the ruin rolls,
And sheets of smoke mount heavy to the poles. 830
The heroes sweat beneath their honour’d load:
As when two mules, along the rugged road,
From the steep mountain with exerted strength
Drag some vast beam, or mast’s unwieldly length;
Inly they groan, big drops of sweat distil, 835
Th’ enormous timber lumb’ring down the hill;
So these: Behind, the bulk of Ajax stands,
And breaks the torrent of the rushing bands.
Thus when a river, swell’d with sudden rains,
Spreads his broad waters o’er the level plains, 840
Some interposing hill the stream divides,
And breaks its force, and turns the winding tides.
Still close they follow, close the rear engage;
Æneas storms, and Hector foams with rage:
While Greece a heavy thick retreat maintains, 845
Wedg’d in one body, like a flight of cranes,
That shriek incessant while the falcon, hung
High on pois’d pinions, threats their callow young.
So from the Trojan Chiefs the Grecians fly,
Such the wild terror, and the mingled cry; 850
Within, without the trench, and all the way,
Strew’d in bright heaps, their arms and armour lay;
Such horror Jove impress’d! yet still
proceeds
The work of death, and still the battle bleeds.
Iliad Book XVIII. The Grief of Achilles, and New Armour Made Him by Vulcan
THE ARGUMENT
The news of the death of Patroclus is brought to Achilles by Antilochus. Thetis, hearing his lamentations, comes with all her sea-nymphs to comfort him. The speeches of the mother and son on this occasion. Iris appears to Achilles by the command of Juno, and orders him to show himself at the head of the intrenchments. The sight of him turns the fortune of the day, and the body of Patroclus is carried off by the Greeks. The Trojans call a council, where Hector and Polydamas disagree in their opinions; but the advice of the former prevails, to remain encamped in the field. The grief of Achilles over the body of Patroclus.
Thetis goes to the palace of Vulcan, to obtain new arms for her son. The description of the wonderful works of Vulcan; and, lastly, that noble one of the shield of Achilles.
The latter part of the nine-and-twentieth day, and the night ensuing, take up this book. The scene is at Achilles’ tent on the seashore, from whence it changes to the palace of Vulcan.
THUS like the rage of fire the combat burns,
And now it rises, now it sinks, by turns.
Meanwhile, where Hellespont’s broad waters flow,
Stood Nestor’s son, the messenger of woe.
There sat Achilles, shaded by his sails, 5
On hoisted yards extended to the gales;
Pensive he sat; for all that Fate design’d
Rose in sad prospect to his boding mind.
Thus to his soul he said: ‘Ah what constrains
The Greeks, late victors, now to quit the plains? 10
Is this the day, which Heav’n so long ago
Ordain’d, to sink me with the weight of woe
(So Thetis warn’d), when, by a Trojan hand,
The bravest of the Myrmidonian band
Should lose the light? Fulfill’d is that decree? 15
Fall’n is the warrior, and Patroclus he?
In vain I charged him soon to quit the plain,
And warn’d to shun Hectorean force in vain!’
Thus while he thinks, Antilochus appears,
And tells the melancholy tale with tears: 20
‘Sad tidings, son of Peleus! thou must hear;
And wretched I, th’ unwilling messenger!
Dead is Patroclus! for his corse they fight;
His naked corse: his arms are Hector’s right.’
A sudden horror shot thro’ all the Chief, 25
And wrapt his senses in the cloud of grief;
Cast on the ground, with furious hand he spread
The scorching ashes o’er his graceful head;
His purple garments, and his golden hairs,
Those he deforms with dust, and these he tears: 30
On the hard soil his groaning breast he threw,
And roll’d and grovell’d, as to earth he grew.
The virgin captives, with disorder’d charms
(Won by his own, or by Patroclus’ arms),
Rush’d from the tents with cries; and, gath’ring round, 35
Beat their white breasts, and fainted on the ground:
While Nestor’s son sustains a manlier part,
And mourns the warrior with a warrior’s heart;
Hangs on his arms, amidst his frantic woe,
And oft prevents the meditated blow. 40
Far in the deep abysses of the main,
With hoary Nereus, and the wat’ry train,
The Mother-Goddess from her crystal throne
Heard his loud cries, and answered groan for groan.
The circling Nereids with their mistress weep, 45
And all the sea-green Sisters of the Deep.
Thalia, Glauce (every wat’ry name),
Nesæa mild, and silver Spio came:
Cymothoë and Cymodoce were nigh,
And the blue languish of soft Alia’s eye: 50
Their locks Actæa and Limnoria rear,
Then Proto, Doris, Panope appear,
Thoa, Pherusa, Doto, Melita;
Agave gentle, and Amphithoë gay;
Next Callianira, Callianassa shew 55
Their sister looks; Dexamene the slow,
And swift Dynamene, now cut the tides:
Iæra now the verdant wave divides:
Nemertes with Apseudes lifts the head,
Bright Galatea quits her pearly bed; 60
These Orythia, Clymene, attend,
Mæra, Amphinome, the train extend,
And black Janira, and Janassa fair,
And Amatheia with her amber hair.
All these, and all that deep in ocean held 65
Their sacred seats, the glimm’ring grotto fill’d;
Each beat her iv’ry breast with silent woe,
Till Thetis’ sorrows thus began to flow:
‘Hear me, and judge, ye Sisters of the Main!
How just a cause has Thetis to complain! 70
How wretched, were I mortal, were my fate!
How more than wretched in th’ immortal state!
Sprung from my bed a godlike Hero came,
The bravest far that ever bore the name;
Like some fair olive, by my careful hand 75
He grew, he flourish’d, and adorn’d the land.
To Troy I sent him; but the Fates ordain
He never, never must return again.
So short a space the light of Heav’n to view,
So short, alas! and fill’d with anguish too. 80
Hear how his sorrows echo thro’ the shore!
I cannot ease them, but I must deplore;
I go at least to bear a tender part,
And mourn my lov’d one with a mother’s heart.’
She said, and left the caverns of the main. 85
All bathed in tears, the melancholy train
Attend her way. Wide-opening part the tides,
While the long pomp the silver wave divides,
Approaching now, they touch’d the Trojan land;
Then, two by two, ascended up the strand. 90
Th’ immortal mother, standing close beside
Her mournful offspring, to his sighs replied;
Along the coast their mingled clamours ran,
And thus the Silver-footed Dame began:
‘Why mourns my son? thy late-preferr’d request 95
The God has granted, and the Greeks distress’d:
Why mourns my son? thy anguish let me share,
Reveal the cause, and trust a parent’s care.’
He, deeply groaning, ‘To this cureless grief
Not ev’n the Thund’rer’s favour brings relief. 100
Patroclus — Ah! say, Goddess, can I boast
A pleasure now? Revenge itself is lost;
Patroclus, lov’d of all my martial train,
Beyond mankind, beyond myself, is slain!
Lost are those arms the Gods themselves bestow’d 105
On Peleus; Hector bears the glorious load.
Curs’d be that day, when all the powers above
Thy charms submitted to a mortal love:
Oh hadst thou still, a sister of the main,
Pursued the pleasures of the wat’ry reign; 110
And happier Peleus, less ambitious, led
A mortal beauty to his equal bed!
Ere the sad fruit of thy unhappy womb
Had caus’d such sorrows past, and woes to come.
For soon, alas! that wretched offspring slain, 115
New woes, new sorrows, shall create again.
‘T is not in Fate th’ alternate now to give;
Patroclus dead, Achilles hates to live.
Let me revenge it on proud Hector’s heart,
Let his last spirit smoke upon my dart; 120
On these conditions will I breathe: till then,
I blush to walk among the race of men.’
A flood of tears, at this,
the Goddess shed:
‘Ah then, I see thee dying, see thee dead!
When Hector falls, thou diest.’—’Let Hector die, 125
And let me fall!’ (Achilles made reply.)
‘Far lies Patroclus from his native plain;
He fell, and, falling, wish’d my aid in vain.
Ah then, since from this miserable day
I cast all hope of my return away; 130
Since, unrevenged, a hundred ghosts demand
The fate of Hector from Achilles’ hand;
Since here, for brutal courage far renown’d,
I live an idle burden to the ground
(Others in council famed for nobler skill, 135
More useful to preserve than I to kill);
Let me — But oh! ye gracious Powers above!
Wrath and revenge from men and Gods remove:
Far, far too dear to ev’ry mortal breast,
Sweet to the soul, as honey to the taste; 140
Gath’ring like vapours of a noxious kind
From fiery blood, and dark’ning all the mind.
Me Agamemnon urged to deadly hate;
‘T is past — I quell it; I resign to Fate.
Yes — I will meet the murd’rer of my friend, 145
Or (if the Gods ordain it) meet my end.
The stroke of Fate the bravest cannot shun:
The great Alcides, Jove’s unequall’d son,
To Juno’s hate at length resign’d his breath,
And sunk the victim of all-conquering death. 150
So shall Achilles fall! stretch’d pale and dead,
No more the Grecian hope, or Trojan dread!
Let me, this instant, rush into the fields,
And reap what glory life’s short harvest yields.
Shall I not force some widow’d dame to tear, 155
With frantic hands, her long dishevell’d hair?
Shall I not force her breast to heave with sighs,
And the soft tears to trickle from her eyes?
Yes, I shall give the fair those mournful charms —
In vain you hold me — Hence! my arms, my arms! 160
Soon shall the sanguine torrent spread so wide,
That all shall know Achilles swells the tide.’
‘My son’ (cœrulean Thetis made reply,
To Fate submitting with a secret sigh),
‘The host to succour and thy friends to save, 165
Is worthy thee; the duty of the brave.
But canst thou, naked, issue to the plains?
Thy radiant arms the Trojan foe detains.
Insulting Hector bears the spoils on high,
But vainly glories, for his fate is nigh. 170
Yet, yet, awhile, thy gen’rous ardour stay,
Assured I meet thee at the dawn of day,
Charged with refulgent arms (a glorious load),
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 106