The Iliad
So when two lordly bulls, with equal toil,
Force the bright ploughshare through the fallow soil,
Join’d to one yoke, the stubborn earth they tear,
And trace large furrows with the shining share;
O’er their huge limbs the foam descends in snow,
And streams of sweat down their sour foreheads flow.
A train of heroes followed through the field,
Who bore by turns great Ajax’ sevenfold shield;
Whene’er he breathed, remissive of his might,
Tired with the incessant slaughters of the fight.
No following troops his brave associate grace:
In close engagement an unpractised race,
The Locrian squadrons nor the javelin wield,
Nor bear the helm, nor lift the moony shield;
But skill’d from far the flying shaft to wing,
Or whirl the sounding pebble from the sling,
Dexterous with these they aim a certain wound,
Or fell the distant warrior to the ground.
Thus in the van the Telamonian train,
Throng’d in bright arms, a pressing fight maintain:
Far in the rear the Locrian archers lie,
Whose stones and arrows intercept the sky,
The mingled tempest on the foes they pour;
Troy’s scattering orders open to the shower.
Now had the Greeks eternal fame acquired,
And the gall’d Ilians to their walls retired;
But sage Polydamas, discreetly brave,
Address’d great Hector, and this counsel gave:
“Though great in all, thou seem’st averse to lend
Impartial audience to a faithful friend;
To gods and men thy matchless worth is known,
And every art of glorious war thy own;
But in cool thought and counsel to excel,
How widely differs this from warring well!
Content with what the bounteous gods have given,
Seek not alone to engross the gifts of Heaven.
To some the powers of bloody war belong,
To some sweet music and the charm of song;
To few, and wondrous few, has Jove assign’d
A wise, extensive, all-considering mind;
Their guardians these, the nations round confess,
And towns and empires for their safety bless.
If Heaven have lodged this virtue in my breast,
Attend, O Hector! what I judge the best,
See, as thou mov’st, on dangers dangers spread,
And war’s whole fury burns around thy head.
Behold! distress’d within yon hostile wall,
How many Trojans yield, disperse, or fall!
What troops, out-number’d, scarce the war maintain!
And what brave heroes at the ships lie slain!
Here cease thy fury: and, the chiefs and kings
Convoked to council, weigh the sum of things.
Whether (the gods succeeding our desires)
To yon tall ships to bear the Trojan fires;
Or quit the fleet, and pass unhurt away,
Contented with the conquest of the day.
I fear, I fear, lest Greece, not yet undone,
Pay the large debt of last revolving sun;
Achilles, great Achilles, yet remains
On yonder decks, and yet o’erlooks the plains!”
The counsel pleased; and Hector, with a bound,
Leap’d from his chariot on the trembling ground;
Swift as he leap’d his clanging arms resound.
“To guard this post (he cried) thy art employ,
And here detain the scatter’d youth of Troy;
Where yonder heroes faint, I bend my way,
And hasten back to end the doubtful day.”
This said, the towering chief prepares to go,
Shakes his white plumes that to the breezes flow,
And seems a moving mountain topp’d with snow.
Through all his host, inspiring force, he flies,
And bids anew the martial thunder rise.
To Panthus’ son, at Hector’s high command
Haste the bold leaders of the Trojan band:
But round the battlements, and round the plain,
For many a chief he look’d, but look’d in vain;
Deiphobus, nor Helenus the seer,
Nor Asius’ son, nor Asius’ self appear:
For these were pierced with many a ghastly wound,
Some cold in death, some groaning on the ground;
Some low in dust, (a mournful object) lay;
High on the wall some breathed their souls away.
Far on the left, amid the throng he found
(Cheering the troops, and dealing deaths around)
The graceful Paris; whom, with fury moved,
Opprobrious thus, th’ impatient chief reproved:
“Ill-fated Paris! slave to womankind,
As smooth of face as fraudulent of mind!
Where is Deiphobus, where Asius gone?
The godlike father, and th’ intrepid son?
The force of Helenus, dispensing fate;
And great Othryoneus, so fear’d of late?
Black fate hang’s o’er thee from th’ avenging gods,
Imperial Troy from her foundations nods;
Whelm’d in thy country’s ruin shalt thou fall,
And one devouring vengeance swallow all.”
When Paris thus: “My brother and my friend,
Thy warm impatience makes thy tongue offend,
In other battles I deserved thy blame,
Though then not deedless, nor unknown to fame:
But since yon rampart by thy arms lay low,
I scatter’d slaughter from my fatal bow.
The chiefs you seek on yonder shore lie slain;
Of all those heroes, two alone remain;
Deiphobus, and Helenus the seer,
Each now disabled by a hostile spear.
Go then, successful, where thy soul inspires:
This heart and hand shall second all thy fires:
What with this arm I can, prepare to know,
Till death for death be paid, and blow for blow.
But ’tis not ours, with forces not our own
To combat: strength is of the gods alone.”
These words the hero’s angry mind assuage:
Then fierce they mingle where the thickest rage.
Around Polydamas, distain’d with blood,
Cebrion, Phalces, stern Orthaeus stood,
Palmus, with Polypœtes the divine,
And two bold brothers of Hippotion’s line
(Who reach’d fair Ilion, from Ascania far,
The former day; the next engaged in war).
As when from gloomy clouds a whirlwind springs,
That bears Jove’s thunder on its dreadful wings,
Wide o’er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps;
Then, gather’d, settles on the hoary deeps;
The afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar;
The waves behind impel the waves before,
Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore:
Thus rank on rank, the thick battalions throng,
Chief urged on chief, and man drove man along.
Far o’er the plains, in dreadful order bright,
The brazen arms reflect a beamy light:
Full in the blazing van great Hector shined,
Like Mars commission’d to confound mankind.
Before him flaming his enormous shield,
Like the broad sun, illumined all the field;
His nodding helm emits a streamy ray;
His piercing eyes through all the battle stray,
And, while beneath his targe he flash’d along,
Shot terrors round, that wither’d e’en the strong.
Thus stalk’d he, dreadful; death was in his look:
Whole nations fear’d; but not an Argive shook.
The towering Ajax, with an ample stride,
Advanced the first, and thus the chief defied:
“Hector! come on; thy empty threats forbear;
’Tis not thy arm, ’tis thundering Jove we fear:
The skill of war to us not idly given,
Lo! Greece is humbled, not by Troy, but Heaven.
Vain are the hopes that haughty mind imparts,
To force our fleet: the Greeks have hands and hearts.
Long ere in flames our lofty navy fall,
Your boasted city, and your god-built wall,
Shall sink beneath us, smoking on the ground;
And spread a long unmeasured ruin round.
The time shall come, when, chased along the plain,
Even thou shalt call on Jove, and call in vain;
Even thou shalt wish, to aid thy desperate course,
The wings of falcons for thy flying horse;
Shalt run, forgetful of a warrior’s fame,
While clouds of friendly dust conceal thy shame.”
As thus he spoke, behold, in open view,
On sounding wings a dexter eagle flew.
To Jove’s glad omen all the Grecians rise,
And hail, with shouts, his progress through the skies:
Far-echoing clamours bound from side to side;
They ceased; and thus the chief of Troy replied:
“From whence this menace, this insulting strain?
Enormous boaster! doom’d to vaunt in vain.
So may the gods on Hector life bestow,
(Not that short life which mortals lead below,
But such as those of Jove’s high lineage born,
The blue-eyed maid, or he that gilds the morn,)
As this decisive day shall end the fame
Of Greece, and Argos be no more a name.
And thou, imperious! if thy madness wait
The lance of Hector, thou shalt meet thy fate:
That giant-corse, extended on the shore,
Shall largely feast the fowls with fat and gore.”
He said; and like a lion stalk’d along:
With shouts incessant earth and ocean rung,
Sent from his following host: the Grecian train
With answering thunders fill’d the echoing plain;
A shout that tore heaven’s concave, and, above,
Shook the fix’d splendours of the throne of Jove.
[Illustration: ] GREEK EARRINGS
BOOK XIV.
ARGUMENT.[231]
JUNO DECEIVES JUPITER BY THE GIRDLE OF VENUS.
Nestor, sitting at the table with Machaon, is alarmed with the
increasing clamour of war, and hastens to Agamemnon; on his way he
meets that prince with Diomed and Ulysses, whom he informs of the
extremity of the danger. Agamemnon proposes to make their escape by
night, which Ulysses withstands; to which Diomed adds his advice, that,
wounded as they were, they should go forth and encourage the army with
their presence, which advice is pursued. Juno, seeing the partiality of
Jupiter to the Trojans, forms a design to over-reach him: she sets off
her charms with the utmost care, and (the more surely to enchant him)
obtains the magic girdle of Venus. She then applies herself to the god
of sleep, and, with some difficulty, persuades him to seal the eyes of
Jupiter: this done, she goes to mount Ida, where the god, at first
sight, is ravished with her beauty, sinks in her embraces, and is laid
asleep. Neptune takes advantage of his slumber, and succours the
Greeks: Hector is struck to the ground with a prodigious stone by Ajax,
and carried off from the battle: several actions succeed, till the
Trojans, much distressed, are obliged to give way: the lesser Ajax
signalizes himself in a particular manner.
But not the genial feast, nor flowing bowl,
Could charm the cares of Nestor’s watchful soul;
His startled ears the increasing cries attend;
Then thus, impatient, to his wounded friend:
“What new alarm, divine Machaon, say,
What mix’d events attend this mighty day?
Hark! how the shouts divide, and how they meet,
And now come full, and thicken to the fleet!
Here with the cordial draught dispel thy care,
Let Hecamede the strengthening bath prepare,
Refresh thy wound, and cleanse the clotted gore;
While I the adventures of the day explore.”
He said: and, seizing Thrasymedes’ shield,
(His valiant offspring,) hasten’d to the field;
(That day the son his father’s buckler bore;)
Then snatch’d a lance, and issued from the door.
Soon as the prospect open’d to his view,
His wounded eyes the scene of sorrow knew;
Dire disarray! the tumult of the fight,
The wall in ruins, and the Greeks in flight.
As when old ocean’s silent surface sleeps,
The waves just heaving on the purple deeps:
While yet the expected tempest hangs on high,
Weighs down the cloud, and blackens in the sky,
The mass of waters will no wind obey;
Jove sends one gust, and bids them roll away.
While wavering counsels thus his mind engage,
Fluctuates in doubtful thought the Pylian sage,
To join the host, or to the general haste;
Debating long, he fixes on the last:
Yet, as he moves, the sight his bosom warms,
The field rings dreadful with the clang of arms,
The gleaming falchions flash, the javelins fly;
Blows echo blows, and all or kill or die.
Him, in his march, the wounded princes meet,
By tardy steps ascending from the fleet:
The king of men, Ulysses the divine,
And who to Tydeus owes his noble line[232]
(Their ships at distance from the battle stand,
In lines advanced along the shelving strand:
Whose bay, the fleet unable to contain
At length; beside the margin of the main,
Rank above rank, the crowded ships they moor:
Who landed first, lay highest on the shore.)
Supported on the spears, they took their way,
Unfit to fight, but anxious for the day.
Nestor’s approach alarm’d each Grecian breast,
Whom thus the general of the host address’d:
“O grace and glory of the Achaian name;