by Homer
Upon Cebriones, Patroclus, spring.
Down from his car too Hector leap'd to earth.
So, o'er Cebriones, oppos'd they stood;
As on the mountain, o'er a slaughter'd stag,
Both hunger-pinch'd, two lions fiercely fight,
So o'er Cebriones two mighty chiefs,
Menoetius' son and noble Hector, strove,
Each in the other bent to plunge his spear.
The head, with grasp unyielding, Hector held;
Patroclus seiz'd the foot; and, crowding round,
Trojans and Greeks in stubborn conflict clos'd.
As when, encount'ring in some mountain-glen,
Eurus and Notus shake the forest deep,
Of oak, or ash, or slender cornel-tree,
Whose tap'ring branches are together thrown,
With fearful din, and crash of broke a boughs;
So mix'd confus'dly, Greeks and Trojans fought,
No thought of flight by either entertain'd.
Thick o'er Cebriones the jav'lins flew,
And feather'd arrows, bounding from the string;
And pond'rous stones that on the bucklers rang,
As round the dead they fought; amid the dust
That eddying rose, his art forgotten all,
A mighty warrior, mightily he lay.
While in mid Heav'n the sun pursued his course,
Thick flew the shafts, and fast the people fell
On either side; but when declining day
Brought on the hour that sees the loosen'd steers,
The Greeks were stronger far; and from the darts
And Trojan battle-cry Cebriones
They drew, and from his breast his armour stripp'd.
Fiercely Patroclus on the Trojans fell:
Thrice he assail'd them, terrible as Mars,
With fearful shouts; and thrice nine foes he slew:
But when again, with more than mortal force
His fourth assault he made, thy term of life,
Patroclus, then approach'd its final close;
For Phoebus' awful self encounter'd thee,
Amid the battle-throng, of thee unseen,
For thickest darkness shrouded all his form:
He stood behind, and with extended palm
Dealt on Patroclus' neck and shoulders broad
A mighty buffet; dizzy swam his eyes,
And from his head Apollo snatch'd the helm;
Clank'd, as it roll'd beneath the horses' feet,
The visor'd helm; the horsehair plume with blood
And dust polluted; never till that day
Was that proud helmet so with dust defil'd,
That wont to deck a godlike chief, and guard
Achilles' noble head, and graceful brow:
Now by the will of Jove to Hector giv'n.
Now death was near at hand; and in his grasp
His spear was shiver'd, pond'rous, long, and tough,
Brass-pointed; with its belt, the ample shield
Fell from his shoulders; and Apollo's hand,
The royal son of Jove, his corslet loos'd.
Then was his mind bewilder'd; and his limbs
Gave way beneath him; all aghast he stood:
Him, from behind, a Dardan, Panthous' son,
Euphorbus, peerless 'mid the Trojan youth,
To hurl the spear, to run, to drive the car,
Approaching close, between the shoulders stabb'd;
He, train'd to warfare, from his car, ere this
A score of Greeks had from their chariots hurl'd:
Such was the man who thee, Patroclus, first
Wounded, but not subdued; the ashen spear
He, in all haste, withdrew; nor dar'd confront
Patroclus, though disarm'd, in deadly strife.
Back to his comrades' shelt'ring ranks retir'd,
From certain death, Patroclus: by the stroke
Of Phoebus vanquish'd, and Euphorbus' spear:
But Hector, when Patroclus from the fight
He saw retreating, wounded, through the ranks
Advancing, smote him through the flank; right through
The brazen spear was driv'n; thund'ring he fell;
And deeply mourn'd his fall the Grecian host.
As when a lion hath in fight o'erborne
A tusked boar, when on the mountain top
They two have met, in all their pride of strength,
Both parch'd with thirst, around a scanty spring;
And vanquish'd by the lion's force, the boar
Hath yielded, gasping; so Menoetius' son,
Great deeds achiev'd, at length beneath the spear
Of noble Hector yielded up his life;
Who o'er the vanquish'd, thus exulting, spoke:
"Patroclus, but of late thou mad'st thy boast
To raze our city walls, and in your ships
To bear away to your far-distant land,
Their days of freedom lost, our Trojan dames:
Fool that thou wast! nor knew'st, in their defence,
That Hector's flying coursers scour'd the plain;
From them, the bravest of the Trojans, I
Avert the day of doom; while on our shores
Thy flesh shall glut the carrion birds of Troy.
Poor wretch! though brave he be, yet Peleus' son
Avail'd thee nought, when, hanging back himself,
With sage advice he sent thee forth to fight:
'Come not to me, Patroclus, car-borne chief,
Nor to the ships return, until thou bear
The warrior-slayer Hector's bloody spoils,
Torn from his body;' such were, I suppose,
His counsels; thou, poor fool, becam'st his dupe."
To whom Patroclus thus in accents faint:
"Hector, thou boastest loudly now, that Jove,
With Phoebus join'd, hath thee with vict'ry crown'd:
They wrought my death, who stripp'd me of my arms.
Had I to deal with twenty such as thee,
They all should perish, vanquish'd by my spear:
Me fate hath slain, and Phoebus; and, of men,
Euphorbus; thou wast but the third to strike.
This too I say, and bear it in thy mind;
Not long shalt thou survive me; death e'en now
And final doom hangs o'er thee, by the hand
Of great Achilles, Peleus' matchless son."
Thus as he spoke, the gloom of death his eyes
O'erspread, and to the shades his spirit fled,
Mourning his fate, his youth and strength cut off.
To whom, though dead, the noble Hector thus:
"Patroclus, why predict my coming fate?
Or who can say but fair-hair'd Thetis' son,
Achilles, by my spear may first be slain?"
He said, and planting firm his foot, withdrew
The brazen spear, and backward drove the dead
From off the weapon's point; then, spear in hand,
Intent to slay, Automedon pursued,
The godlike follower of AEacides:
But him in safety bore th' immortal steeds,
The noble prize the Gods to Peleus gave.
ARGUMENT.
THE SEVENTH BATTLE, FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS. — THE ACTS OF MENELAUS.
Menelaus, upon the death of Patroclus, defends his body from the enemy; Euphorbus, who attempts it, is slain. Hector advancing, Menelaus retires; but soon returns with Ajax, and drives him off. This Glaucus objects to Hector as a flight, who thereupon puts on the armour he had won from Patroclus, and renews the battle. The Greeks give way, till Ajax rallies them: AEneas sustains the Trojans. AEneas and Hector attempt the chariot of Achilles, which is borne off by Automedon. The horses of Achilles deplore the loss of Patroclus; Jupiter covers his body with a thick darkness; the noble prayer of Ajax on that occasion. Menelaus sends Antilochus to Achilles, with the news of Patroclus's death: then returns to
the fight, where, though attacked with the utmost fury, he and Meriones, assisted by the Ajaces, bear off the body to the ships.
The time is the evening of the eight-and-twentieth day. The scene lies in the fields before Troy.
BOOK XVII.
Nor was Patroclus' fall, by Trojans slain,
Of warlike Menelaus unobserv'd;
Forward he sprang, in dazzling arms array'd,
And round him mov'd, as round her new-dropp'd calf
Her first, a heifer moves with plaintive moan:
So round Patroclus Menelaus mov'd,
His shield's broad orb and spear before him held,
To all who might oppose him threat'ning death.
Nor, on his side, was Panthous' noble son
Unmindful of the slain; but, standing near,
The warlike Menelaus thus address'd:
"Illustrious son of Atreus, Heav'n-born chief,
Quit thou the dead; yield up the bloody spoils:
For, of the Trojans and their fam'd Allies,
Mine was the hand that in the stubborn fight
First struck Patroclus; leave me then to wear
Among the men of Troy my honours due,
Lest by my spear thou lose thy cherish'd life."
To whom in anger Menelaus thus:
"O Father Jove, how ill this vaunting tone
Beseems this braggart! In their own esteem,
"With Panthous' sons for courage none may vie;
Nor pard, nor lion, nor the forest boar,
Fiercest of beasts, and proudest of his strength.
Yet nought avail'd to Hyperenor's might
His youthful vigour, when he held me cheap,
And my encounter dar'd; of all the Greeks
He deem'd my prowess least; yet he, I ween,
On his own feet return'd not, to rejoice
His tender wife's and honour'd parents' sight.
So shall thy pride be quell'd, if me thou dare
Encounter; but I warn thee, while 'tis time,
Ere ill betide thee, 'mid the gen'ral throng
That thou withdraw, nor stand to me oppos'd.
After th' event may e'en a fool be wise."
He spoke in vain; Euphorbus thus replied:
"Now, Heav'n-born Menelaus, shalt thou pay
The forfeit for my brother's life, o'er whom,
Slain by thy hand, thou mak'st thy boasting speech.
Thou in the chambers of her new-found home
Hast made his bride a weeping widow; thou
Hast fill'd with bitt'rest grief his parents' hearts:
Some solace might those hapless mourners find,
Could I thy head and armour in the hands
Of Panthous and of honour'd Phrontis place;
Nor uncontested shall the proof remain,
Nor long deferr'd, of vict'ry or defeat."
He said, and struck the centre of the shield,
But broke not through; against the stubborn brass
The point was bent; then with a pray'r to Jove
The son of Atreus in his turn advanc'd;
And, backward as he stepp'd, below his throat
Took aim, and pressing hard with stalwart hand
Drove through the yielding neck the pond'rous spear:
Thund'ring he fell, and loud his armour rang.
Those locks, that with the Graces' hair might vie,
Those tresses bright, with gold and silver bound,
Were dabbled all with blood. As when a man
Hath rear'd a fair and vig'rous olive plant,
In some lone spot, by copious-gushing springs,
And seen expanding, nurs'd by ev'ry breeze,
Its whit'ning blossoms; till with sudden gust
A sweeping hurricane of wind and rain
Uproots it from its bed, and prostrate lays;
So lay the youthful son of Panthous, slain
By Atreus' son, and of his arms despoil'd.
And as a lion, in the mountains bred,
In pride of strength, amid the pasturing herd
Seizes a heifer in his pow'rful jaws,
The choicest; and, her neck first broken, rends,
And, on her entrails gorging, laps the blood;
Though with loud clamour dogs and herdsmen round
Assail him from afar, yet ventures none
To meet his rage, for fear is on them all;
So none was there so bold, with dauntless breast
The noble Menelaus' wrath to meet.
Now had Atrides borne away with ease
The spoils of Panthous' son; but Phoebus grudg'd
His prize of vict'ry, and against him launch'd
The might of Hector, terrible as Mars:
To whom his winged words, in Mentes' form,
Chief of the Cicones, he thus address'd:
"Hector, thy labour all is vain, pursuing
Pelides' flying steeds; and hard are they
For mortal man to harness, or control.
Save for Achilles' self, the Goddess-born.
The valiant Menelaus, Atreus' son,
Defends meanwhile Patroclus; and e'en now
Hath slain a noble Trojan, Panthous' son,
Euphorbus, and his youthful vigour quell'd."
He said, and join'd again the strife of men:
Hector's dark soul with bitter grief was fill'd;
He look'd amid the ranks, and saw the two,
One slain, the other stripping off his arms,
The blood outpouring from the gaping wound.
Forward he sprang, in dazzling arms array'd,
Loud shouting, blazing like the quenchless flames
Of Vulcan: Menelaus heard the shout,
And, troubled, commun'd with his valiant heart:
"Oh, woe is me! for should I now the spoils
Abandon, and Patroclus, who for me
And in my cause lies slain, of any Greek
Who saw me, I might well incur the blame:
And yet if here alone I dare to fight
With Hector and his Trojans, much I fear,
Singly, to be by numbers overwhelm'd;
For Hector all the Trojans hither brings.
But wherefore entertain such thoughts, my soul?
Who strives, against the will divine, with one
Belov'd of Heav'n, a bitter doom must meet.
Then none may blame me, though I should retreat
From Hector, who with Heav'n's assistance wars.
Yet could I hear brave Ajax' battle cry,
We two, returning, would the encounter dare,
E'en against Heav'n, if so for Peleus' son
We might regain, and bear away the dead:
Some solace of our loss might then be ours."
While in his mind and spirit thus he mus'd,
By Hector led, the Trojan ranks advanc'd:
Backward he mov'd, abandoning the dead;
But turning oft, as when by men and dogs
A bearded lion from the fold is driv'n
With shouts and spears; yet grieves his mighty heart,
And with reluctant step he quits the yard:
So from Patroclus Menelaus mov'd;
Yet when he reach'd his comrades' ranks, he turn'd,
And look'd around, if haply he might find
The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon.
Him on the battle's farthest left he spied,
Cheering his friends and urging to the fight,
For sorely Phoebus had their courage tried;
And hast'ning to his side, address'd him thus:
"Ajax, haste hither; to the rescue come
Of slain Patroclus; if perchance we two
May to Achilles, Peleus' son, restore
His body: his naked body, for his arms
Are prize to Hector of the glancing helm."
He said, and Ajax' spirit within him stirr'd;
Forward he sprang, and with him Atreus' son.
&nbs
p; Hector was dragging now Patroclus' corpse,
Stripped of its glitt'ring armour, and intent
The head to sever with his sword, and give
The mangled carcase to the dogs of Troy:
But Ajax, with his tow'r-like shield, approach'd;
Then Hector to his comrades' ranks withdrew,
Rush'd to his car, and bade the Trojans bear
The glitt'ring arms, his glorious prize, to Troy:
While Ajax with his mighty shield o'erspread
Menoetius' son; and stood, as for his cubs
A lion stands, whom hunters, unaware,
Have with his offspring met amid the woods.
Proud in his strength he stands; and down are drawn,
Cov'ring his eyes, the wrinkles of his brow:
So o'er Patroclus mighty Ajax stood,
And by his side, his heart with grief oppress'd,
The warlike Menelaus, Atreus' son.
Then Glaucus, leader of the Lycian host,
To Hector thus, with scornful glance, address'd
His keen reproaches: "Hector, fair of form,
How art thou wanting in the fight! thy fame,
Coward and runaway, thou hast belied.
Bethink thee now, if thou alone canst save
The city, aided but by Trojans born;
Henceforth no Lycian will go forth for Troy
To fight with Greeks; since favour none we gain
By unremitting toil against the foe.
How can a meaner man expect thine aid,
Who basely to the Greeks a prize and spoil
Sarpedon leav'st, thy comrade and thy guest?
Greatly he serv'd the city and thyself,
While yet he liv'd; and now thou dar'st not save
His body from the dogs! By my advice
If Lycians will be rul'd, we take at once
Our homeward way, and Troy may meet her doom.
But if in Trojan bosoms there abode
The daring, dauntless courage, meet for men
Who in their country's cause against the foe
Endure both toil and war, we soon should see
Patroclus brought within the walls of Troy;
Him from the battle could we bear away,
And, lifeless, bring to royal Priam's town,
Soon would the Greeks Sarpedon's arms release,
And we to Ilium's heights himself might bear:
For with his valiant comrades there lies slain
The follower of the bravest chief of Greece.
But thou before the mighty Ajax stood'st
With downcast eyes, nor durst in manly fight
Contend with one thy better far confess'd."
To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm,
With stern regard, replied: "Why, Glaucus, speak,
Brave as thou art, in this o'erbearing strain?
