Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  On the cold earth divine Patroclus spread,

  Lies pierced with wounds among the vulgar dead.

  Great Menelaus, touch'd with generous woe,

  Springs to the front, and guards him from the foe.

  Thus round her new-fallen young the heifer moves,

  Fruit of her throes, and first-born of her loves;

  And anxious (helpless as he lies, and bare)

  Turns, and re-turns her, with a mother's care,

  Opposed to each that near the carcase came,

  His broad shield glimmers, and his lances flame.

  The son of Panthus, skill'd the dart to send,

  Eyes the dead hero, and insults the friend.

  "This hand, Atrides, laid Patroclus low;

  Warrior! desist, nor tempt an equal blow:

  To me the spoils my prowess won, resign:

  Depart with life, and leave the glory mine"

  The Trojan thus: the Spartan monarch burn'd

  With generous anguish, and in scorn return'd:

  "Laugh'st thou not, Jove! from thy superior throne,

  When mortals boast of prowess not their own?

  Not thus the lion glories in his might,

  Nor panther braves his spotted foe in fight,

  Nor thus the boar (those terrors of the plain;)

  Man only vaunts his force, and vaunts in vain.

  But far the vainest of the boastful kind,

  These sons of Panthus vent their haughty mind.

  Yet 'twas but late, beneath my conquering steel

  This boaster's brother, Hyperenor, fell;

  Against our arm which rashly he defied,

  Vain was his vigour, and as vain his pride.

  These eyes beheld him on the dust expire,

  No more to cheer his spouse, or glad his sire.

  Presumptuous youth! like his shall be thy doom,

  Go, wait thy brother to the Stygian gloom;

  Or, while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate;

  Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late."

  Unmoved, Euphorbus thus: "That action known,

  Come, for my brother's blood repay thy own.

  His weeping father claims thy destined head,

  And spouse, a widow in her bridal bed.

  On these thy conquer'd spoils I shall bestow,

  To soothe a consort's and a parent's woe.

  No longer then defer the glorious strife,

  Let heaven decide our fortune, fame, and life."

  Swift as the word the missile lance he flings;

  The well-aim'd weapon on the buckler rings,

  But blunted by the brass, innoxious falls.

  On Jove the father great Atrides calls,

  Nor flies the javelin from his arm in vain,

  It pierced his throat, and bent him to the plain;

  Wide through the neck appears the grisly wound,

  Prone sinks the warrior, and his arms resound.

  The shining circlets of his golden hair,

  Which even the Graces might be proud to wear,

  Instarr'd with gems and gold, bestrow the shore,

  With dust dishonour'd, and deform'd with gore.

  As the young olive, in some sylvan scene,

  Crown'd by fresh fountains with eternal green,

  Lifts the gay head, in snowy flowerets fair,

  And plays and dances to the gentle air;

  When lo! a whirlwind from high heaven 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,

  While the fierce Spartan tore his arms away.

  Proud of his deed, and glorious in the prize,

  Affrighted Troy the towering victor flies:

  Flies, as before some mountain lion's ire

  The village curs and trembling swains retire,

  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,

  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;

  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

  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: through all the war

  He darts his anxious eye; and, instant, view'd

  The breathless hero in his blood imbued,

  (Forth welling from the wound, as prone he lay)

  And in the victor's hands the shining prey.

  Sheath'd in bright arms, through cleaving ranks he flies,

  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 divined,

  And thus explored his own unconquer'd mind:

  "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 heaven bestow'd,

  To brave the hero were to brave the god:

  Forgive me, Greece, if once I quit the field;

  'Tis not to Hector, but to heaven I yield.

  Yet, nor the god, nor heaven, should give me fear,

  Did but the voice of Ajax reach my ear:

  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.

  Slow he recedes, and sighing quits the dead.

  So from the fold the unwilling lion parts,

  Forced by loud clamours, and a storm of darts;

  He flies indeed, but threatens as he flies,

  With heart indignant and retorted eyes.

  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 through the cloud the godlike Ajax knew;

  Where labouring on the left the warrior stood,

  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' loved remains defend:

  The body to Achilles to restore

  Demands our care; alas, we can no more!

  For naked now, despoiled of arms, he lies;

  And Hector glories in the dazzling prize."

  He said, and touch'd his heart. The raging pair

  Pierced the thick battle, and provoke the war.

  Already had stern Hector seized his head,

  And doom'd to Trojan gods the unhappy dead;

  But soon as Ajax rear'd his tower-like shield,

  Sprung to his car, and measured back the field,

  His train to Troy the radiant armour bear,

  To stand a t
rophy 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:

  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 lours.

  Fast by his side the generous 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?

  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 renounced, thy thoughts employ

  What other methods may preserve thy Troy:

  'Tis 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?

  Thy friend Sarpedon proves thy base neglect;

  Say, shall our slaughter'd bodies guard your walls,

  While unreveng'd the great Sarpedon falls?

  Even where he died for Troy, you left him there,

  A feast for dogs, and all the fowls of air.

  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

  The sword for glory, and his country's cause)

  Even yet our mutual arms we might employ,

  And drag yon carcase to the walls of Troy.

  Oh! were Patroclus ours, we might obtain

  Sarpedon's arms and honour'd corse again!

  Greece with Achilles' friend should be repaid,

  And thus due honours purchased to his shade.

  But words are vain — Let Ajax once appear,

  And Hector trembles and recedes with fear;

  Thou dar'st not meet the terrors of his eye;

  And lo! already thou prepar'st 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?

  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?

  'Tis mine to prove the rash assertion vain;

  I joy to mingle where the battle bleeds,

  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 man, and now

  Strikes the fresh garland from the victor's brow!

  Come, through yon 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:

  "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."

  He strode along the field, as thus he said:

  (The sable plumage nodded o'er his head:)

  Swift through the spacious plain he sent a look;

  One instant saw, one instant overtook

  The distant band, that on the sandy shore

  The radiant spoils to sacred Ilion bore.

  There his own mail unbraced the field bestrow'd;

  His train to Troy convey'd the massy load.

  Now blazing in the immortal arms he stands;

  The work and present of celestial hands;

  By aged Peleus to Achilles given,

  As first to Peleus by the court of heaven:

  His father's arms not long Achilles wears,

  Forbid by fate to reach his father's years.

  Him, proud in triumph, glittering from afar,

  The god whose thunder rends the troubled air

  Beheld with pity; as apart he sat,

  And, conscious, look'd through all the scene of fate.

  He shook the sacred honours of his head;

  Olympus trembled, and the godhead said;

  "Ah, wretched man! unmindful of thy end!

  A moment's glory; and what fates attend!

  In heavenly panoply divinely bright

  Thou stand'st, and armies tremble at thy sight,

  As at Achilles' self! beneath thy dart

  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 fad'st away.

  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

  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,

  Through all his veins a sudden vigour flew,

  The blood in brisker tides began to roll,

  And Mars himself came rushing on his soul.

  Exhorting loud through all the field he strode,

  And look'd, and moved, Achilles, or a god.

  Now Mesthles, Glaucus, Medon, he inspires,

  Now Phorcys, Chromius, and Hippothous fires;

  The great Thersilochus like fury found,

  Asteropaeus kindled at the sound,

  And Ennomus, in augury renown'd.

  "Hear, all ye hosts, and hear, unnumber'd bands

  Of neighbouring nations, or of distant lands!

  'Twas 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.

  Tor 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,

  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;

  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,

  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!

  'Tis not this corse alone we guard in vain,

  Condemn'd to vultures on the Trojan plain;

  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,

  The bravest Greeks: this hour demands them all."

  The warrior raised his voice, and wide around

  The field re-echoed the distressful sound.

  "O chiefs! O princes, to whose hand is given

  The rule of men; whose glory is from heaven!

  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 through this cloud of war;

  Come all! let generous rage your arms employ,

  And save Patroclus from the dogs of Troy."

  Oilean 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.

  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,

  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 re-bellow to the roar.

  Nor less resolved, 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

  Had lived not hateful, for he lived a friend:

  Dead he protects him with superior care.

  Nor dooms his carcase to the birds of air.

  FIGHT FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS.

  The first attack the Grecians scarce sustain,

  Repulsed, they yield; the Trojans seize the slain.

  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;

  So through the thicket bursts the mountain boar,

  And rudely scatters, for a distance round,

  The frighted hunter and the baying hound.

  The son of Lethus, brave Pelasgus' heir,

  Hippothous, dragg'd the carcase through the war;

  The sinewy ankles bored, the feet he bound