With voice dissembled to his loves he neigh’d,
And cours’d the dappled beauties o’er the mead:
Hence sprung twelve others of unrivall’d kind,
Swift as their mother mares and father wind.
These lightly skimming, when they swept the plain, 270
Nor plied the grass, nor bent the tender grain;
And when along the level seas they flew,
Scarce on the surface curl’d the briny dew.
Such Erichthonius was: From him there came
The sacred Tros, of whom the Trojan name. 275
Three sons renown’d adorn’d his nuptial bed,
Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymed:
The matchless Ganymed, divinely fair,
Whom Heav’n, enamour’d, snatch’d to upper air,
To bear the cup of Jove (ethereal guest, 280
The grace and glory of th’ ambrosial feast).
The two remaining sons the line divide:
First rose Laomedon from Ilus’ side:
From him Tithonus, now in cares grown old,
And Priam (best with Hector, brave and bold); 285
Clytius and Lampus, ever-honour’d pair;
And Hicetaon, thunderbolt of war.
From great Assaracus sprung Capys, he
Begat Anchises, and Anchises me,
Such is our race: ‘t is Fortune gives us birth, 290
But Jove alone endues the soul with worth:
He, source of power and might! with boundless sway
All human courage gives or takes away.
Long in the field of words we may contend,
Reproach is infinite, and knows no end, 295
Arm’d or with truth or falsehood, right or wrong,
So voluble a weapon is the tongue;
Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail,
For ev’ry man has equal strength to rail:
Women alone, when in the streets they jar, 300
Perhaps excel us in this wordy war;
Like us they stand, encompass’d with the crowd,
And vent their anger, impotent and loud.
Cease then: our bus’ness in the Field of Fight
Is not to question, but to prove our might. 305
To all those insults thou hast offer’d here
Receive this answer: ‘t is my flying spear.’
He spoke. With all his force the jav’lin flung,
Fix’d deep, and loudly in the buckler rung.
Far on his outstretch’d arm Pelides held 310
(To meet the thund’ring lance) his dreadful shield,
That trembled as it struck; nor void of fear
Saw, ere it fell, th’ immeasurable spear.
His fears were vain; impenetrable charms
Secured the temper of th’ ethereal arms. 315
Thro’ two strong plates the point its passage held,
But stopp’d and rested, by the third repell’d;
Five plates of various metal, various mould,
Composed the shield; of brass each outward fold,
Of tin each inward, and the middle gold: 320
There stuck the lance. Then, rising ere he threw,
The forceful spear of great Achilles flew,
And pierc’d the Dardan shield’s extremest bound,
Where the shrill brass return’d a sharper sound:
Thro’ the thin verge the Pelian weapon glides, 325
And the slight cov’ring of expanded hides.
Æneas his contracted body bends,
And o’er him high the riven targe extends,
Sees, thro’ its parting plates, the upper air,
And at his back perceives the quiv’ring spear: 330
A fate so near him chills his soul with fright,
And swims before his eyes the many-colour’d light.
Achilles, rushing in with dreadful cries,
Draws his broad blade, and at Æneas flies:
Æneas, rousing as the foe came on 335
(With force collected), heaves a mighty stone;
A mass enormous! which, in modern days
No two of earth’s degen’rate sons could raise.
But ocean’s God, whose earthquakes rock the ground,
Saw the distress, and mov’d the Powers around: 340
‘Lo! on the brink of fate Æneas stands,
An instant victim to Achilles’ hands;
By Phœbus urged; but Phœbus has bestow’d
His aid in vain: the man o’erpowers the God.
And can ye see this righteous Chief atone, 345
With guiltless blood, for vices not his own?
To all the Gods his constant vows were paid;
Sure, tho’ he wars for Troy, he claims our aid.
Fate wills not this; nor thus can Jove resign
The future father of the Dardan line: 350
The first great ancestor obtain’d his grace,
And still his love descends on all the race.
For Priam now, and Priam’s faithless kind,
At length are odious to th’ all-seeing mind;
On great Æneas shall devolve the reign, 355
And sons succeeding sons the lasting line sustain.’
The great earth-shaker thus: to whom replies
Th’ imperial Goddess with the radiant eyes:
‘Good as he is, to immolate or spare
The Dardan Prince, O Neptune, be thy care; 360
Pallas and I, by all that Gods can bind,
Have sworn destruction to the Trojan kind;
Not ev’n an instant to protract their fate,
Or save one member of the sinking state;
Till her last flame be quench’d with her last gore, 365
And ev’n her crumbling ruins are no more.’
The King of Ocean to the fight descends;
Thro’ all the whistling darts his course he bends,
Swift interposed between the warriors flies,
And casts thick darkness o’er Achilles’ eyes. 370
From great Æneas’ shield the spear he drew,
And at its master’s feet the weapon threw.
That done, with force divine he snatch’d on high
The Dardan Prince, and bore him thro’ the sky,
Smooth-gliding without step, above the heads 375
Of warring heroes and of bounding steeds.
Till at the battle’s utmost verge they light,
Where the slow Caucons close the rear of fight:
The Godhead there (his heav’nly form confess’d)
With words like these the panting Chief address’d: 380
‘What Power, O Prince, with force inferior far
Urged thee to meet Achilles’ arm in war?
Henceforth beware, nor antedate thy doom,
Defrauding Fate of all thy fame to come.
But when the day decreed (for come it must), 385
Shall lay this dreadful hero in the dust,
Let then the furies of that arm be known,
Secure no Grecian force transcends thy own.’
With that, he left him wond’ring as he lay,
Then from Achilles chased the mist away: 390
Sudden, returning with the stream of light,
The scene of war came rushing on his sight.
Then thus amazed: ‘What wonders strike my mind!
My spear, that parted on the wings of wind,
Laid here before me! and the Dardan lord, 395
That fell this instant, vanish’d from my sword!
I thought alone with mortals to contend,
But Powers celestial sure this foe defend.
Great as he is, our arm he scarce will try,
Content for once, with all his Gods, to fly. 400
Now then let others bleed.’ This said, aloud
He vents his fury, and inflames the crowd:
‘O Greeks’ (he cries, and every rank alarms),
‘Join battle
, man to man, and arms to arms!
‘T is not in me, tho’ favour’d by the sky, 405
To mow whole troops, and make whole armies fly:
No God can singly such a host engage,
Not Mars himself, nor great Minerva’s rage.
But whatsoe’er Achilles can inspire,
Whate’er of active force, or acting fire, 410
Whate’er this heart can prompt, or hand obey;
All, all Achilles, Greeks, is yours to-day.
Thro’ you wide host this arm shall scatter fear,
And thin the squadrons with my single spear.’
He said: nor less elate with martial joy, 415
The godlike Hector warm’d the troops of Troy:
‘Trojans, to war! think Hector leads you on;
Nor dread the vaunts of Peleus’ haughty son.
Deeds must decide our fate. Ev’n those with words
Insult the brave, who tremble at their swords; 420
The weakest atheist-wretch all Heav’n defies,
But shrinks and shudders, when the thunder flies.
Nor from yon boaster shall your Chief retire,
Not tho’ his heart were steel, his hands were fire;
That fire, that steel, your Hector should withstand, 425
And brave that vengeful heart, that dreadful hand.’
Thus (breathing rage thro’ all) the hero said;
A wood of lances rises round his head,
Clamours on clamours tempest all the air;
They join, they throng, they thicken to the war. 430
But Phœbus warns him from high Heav’n to shun
The single fight with Thetis’ godlike son:
More safe to combat in the mingled band,
Nor tempt too near the terrors of his hand.
He hears, obedient to the God of Light, 435
And, plunged within the ranks, awaits the fight.
Then fierce Achilles, shouting to the skies,
On Troy’s whole force with boundless fury flies.
First falls Iphytion, at his army’s head;
Brave was the Chief, and brave the host he led; 440
From great Otrynteus he derived his blood,
His mother was a Naïs of the flood;
Beneath the shades of Tmolus, crown’d with snow,
From Hyde’s walls he ruled the lands below.
Fierce as he springs, the sword his head divides; 445
The parted visage falls on equal sides:
With loud resounding arms he strikes the plain;
While thus Achilles glories o’er the slain:
‘Lie there, Otryntides! the Trojan earth
Receives thee dead, tho’ Gygæ boast thy birth; 450
Those beauteous fields where Hyllus’ waves are roll’d,
And plenteous Hermus swells with tides of gold,
Are thine no more.’ Th’ insulting hero said,
And left him sleeping in eternal shade.
The rolling wheels of Greece the body tore, 455
And dash’d their axles with no vulgar gore.
Demoleon next, Antenor’s offspring, laid
Breathless in dust, the price of rashness paid.
Th’ impatient steel with full descending sway
Forc’d thro’ his brazen helm its furious way, 460
Resistless drove the batter’d skull before,
And dash’d and mingled all the brains with gore.
This sees Hippodamas, and, seiz’d with fright,
Deserts his chariot for a swifter flight:
The lance arrests him; an ignoble wound 465
The panting Trojan rivets to the ground.
He groans away his soul: not louder roars
At Neptune’s shrine on Helice’s high shores
The victim bull; the rocks rebellow round,
And ocean listens to the grateful sound. 470
Then fell on Polydore his vengeful rage,
The youngest hope of Priam’s stooping age
(Whose feet for swiftness in the race surpass’d);
Of all his sons, the dearest and the last.
To the forbidden field he takes his flight 475
In the first folly of a youthful knight;
To vaunt his swiftness wheels around the plain,
But vaunts not long, with all his swiftness slain;
Struck where the crossing belts unite behind,
And golden rings the double back-plate join’d. 480
Forth thro’ the navel burst the thrilling steel;
And on his knees with piercing shrieks he fell;
The rushing entrails pour’d upon the ground
His hands collect: and darkness wraps him round.
When Hector view’d, all ghastly in his gore, 485
Thus sadly slain, th’ unhappy Polydore;
A cloud of sorrow overcast his sight,
His soul no longer brook’d the distant fight;
Full in Achilles’ dreadful front he came,
And shook his jav’lin like a waving flame. 490
The son of Peleus sees, with joy possess’d,
His heart high-bounding in his rising breast:
And, ‘Lo! the man, on whom black fates attend;
The man that slew Achilles in his friend!
No more shall Hector’s and Pelides’ spear 495
Turn from each other in the walks of war.’
Then with revengeful eyes he scann’d him o’er —
‘Come, and receive thy Fate!’ He spake no more.
Hector, undaunted, thus: ‘Such words employ
To one that dreads thee, some unwarlike boy: 500
Such we could give, defying and defied,
Mean intercourse of obloquy and pride!
I know thy force to mine superior far;
But Heav’n alone confers success in war;
Mean as I am, the Gods may guide my dart, 505
And give it entrance in a braver heart.’
Then parts the lance: but Pallas’ heav’nly breath
Far from Achilles wafts the winged death:
The bidden dart again to Hector flies,
And at the feet of its great master lies. 510
Achilles closes with his hated foe,
His heart and eyes with flaming fury glow:
But, present to his aid, Apollo shrouds
The favour’d hero in a veil of clouds.
Thrice struck Pelides with indignant heart, 515
Thrice in impassive air he plunged the dart:
The spear a fourth time buried in the cloud,
He foams with fury, and exclaims aloud:
‘Wretch! thou hast ‘scaped again, once more thy flight
Has saved thee, and the partial God of Light; 520
But long thou shalt not thy just Fate withstand,
If any Power assist Achilles’ hand.
Fly then inglorious; but thy flight this day
Whole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay.’
With that he gluts his rage on numbers slain: 525
Then Dryops tumbled to th’ ensanguin’d plain
Pierc’d thro’ the neck: he left him panting there,
And stopp’d Demuchus, great Philetor’s heir,
Gigantic Chief! deep gash’d th’ enormous blade,
And for the soul an ample passage made. 530
Laogonus and Dardanus expire,
The valiant sons of an unhappy sire;
Both in one instant from the chariot hurl’d,
Sunk in one instant to the nether world;
This diff’rence only their sad fates afford, 535
That one the spear destroy’d, and one the sword.
Nor less unpitied, young Alastor bleeds;
In vain his youth, in vain his beauty pleads:
In vain he begs thee, with a suppliant’s moan
To spare a form and age so like thy own! 540
Unhappy boy! no prayer, no moving art
; E’er bent that fierce inexorable heart!
While yet he trembled at his knees, and cried,
The ruthless falchion oped his tender side;
The panting liver pours a flood of gore, 545
That drowns his bosom till he pants no more.
Thro’ Mulius’ head then drove th’ impetuous spear;
The warrior falls transfix’d from ear to ear.
Thy life, Echeclus! next the sword bereaves;
Deep thro’ the front the pond’rous falchion cleaves; 550
Warm’d in the brain the smoking weapon lies,
The purple death comes floating o’er his eyes.
Then brave Deucalion died: the dart was flung
Where the knit nerves the pliant elbow strung:
He dropp’d his arm, an unassisting weight, 555
And stood all impotent expecting Fate:
Full on his neck the falling falchion sped,
From his broad shoulders hew’d his crested head:
Forth from the bone the spinal marrow flies,
And sunk in dust the corpse extended lies. 560
Rhigmus, whose race from fruitful Thracia came
(The son of Pireus, an illustrious name),
Succeeds to Fate: the spear his belly rends;
Prone from his car the thund’ring Chief descends;
The squire who saw expiring on the ground 565
His prostrate master, rein’d the steeds around.
His back scarce turn’d, the Pelian jav’lin gored,
And stretch’d the servant o’er his dying lord.
As when a flame the winding valley fills,
And runs on crackling shrubs between the hills; 570
Then o’er the stubble up the mountain flies,
Fires the high woods, and blazes to the skies,
This way and that the spreading torrent roars;
So sweeps the hero thro’ the wasted shores:
Around him wide immense destruction pours, 575
And earth is deluged with the sanguine showers.
As with autumnal harvests cover’d o’er,
And thick bestrown, lies Ceres’ sacred floor,
When round and round, with never-wearied pain,
The trampling steers beat out th’ unnumber’d grain: 580
So the fierce coursers, as the chariot rolls,
Tread down whole ranks, and crush out heroes’ souls.
Dash’d from their hoofs, while o’er the dead they fly,
Black, bloody drops the smoking chariot dye:
The spiky wheels thro’ heaps of carnage tore; 585
And thick the groaning axles dropp’d with gore.
High o’er the scene of death Achilles stood,
All grim with dust, all horrible in blood:
Yet still insatiate, still with rage on flame;
Such is the lust of never-dying Fame! 590
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 111