Call’d kindly by her name, and ask’d: “What God hath been so rude,
Sweet daughter, to chastise thee thus, as if thou wert pursu’d
Ev’n to the act of some light sin, and deprehended so?
For otherwise, each close escape is in the great let go.”
She answer’d: “Haughty Tydeus’ son hath been so insolent,
Since, him whom most my heart esteems of all my lov’d descent,
I rescu’d from his bloody hand. Now battle is not giv’n
To any Trojans by the Greeks, but by the Greeks to heav’n.”
She answer’d: “Daughter, think not much, though much it grieve thee; use
The patience, whereof many Gods examples may produce,
In many bitter ills receiv’d, as well that men sustain
By their inflictions as by men repaid to them again.
Mars suffer’d much more than thyself by Ephialtes’ pow’r,
And Otus’, Aloëus’ sons; who in a brazen tow’r,
And in inextricable chains, cast that war-greedy God,
Where twice-six months and one he liv’d, and there the period
Of his sad life perhaps had clos’d, if his kind step-dame’s eye,
Fair Erebæa, had not seen; who told it Mercury,
And he by stealth enfranchis’d him; though he could scarce enjoy
The benefit of franchisement, the chains did so destroy
His vital forces with their weight. So Juno suffer’d more
When, with a three-fork’d arrow’s head, Amphitryo’s son did gore
Her right breast, past all hope of cure. Pluto sustain’d no less
By that self man, and by a shaft of equal bitterness
Shot through his shoulder at hell gates; and there, amongst the dead,
Were he not deathless, he had died; but up to heav’n he fled,
Extremely tortur’d, for recure, which instantly he won
At Pæon’s hand, with sov’reign balm; and this did Jove’s great son,
Unblest, great-high-deed-daring man, that car’d not doing ill,
That with his bow durst wound the Gods! But, by Minerva’s will,
Thy wound the foolish Diomed was so profane to give;
Not knowing he that fights with Heav’n hath never long to live,
And for this deed, he never shall have child about his knee
To call him father, coming home. Besides, hear this from me,
Strength-trusting man, though thou be strong, and art in strength a tow’r,
Take heed a stronger meet thee not, and that a woman’s pow’r
Contains not that superior strength, and lest that woman be
Adrastus’ daughter, and thy wife, the wise Ægiale;
When, from this hour not far, she wakes, ev’n sighing with desire
To kindle our revenge on thee, with her enamouring fire,
In choosing her some fresh young friend, and so drown all thy fame,
Won here in war, in her court-piece, and in an opener shame.”
This said, with both her hands she cleans’d the tender back and palm
Of all the sacred blood they lost; and, never using balm,
The pain ceas’d, and the wound was cur’d of this kind Queen of love.
Juno and Pallas, seeing this, assay’d to anger Jove,
And quit his late-made mirth with them, about the loving Dame,
With some sharp jest, in like sort, built upon her present shame.
Gray-ey’d Athenia began, and ask’d the Thunderer,
If, nothing moving him to wrath, she boldly might prefer,
What she conceiv’d, to his conceit; and, staying no reply,
She bade him view the Cyprian fruit he lov’d so tenderly,
Whom she thought hurt, and by this means; — intending to suborn
Some other lady of the Greeks (whom lovely veils adorn)
To gratify some other friend of her much-lovéd Troy,
As she embrac’d and stirr’d her blood to the Venerean joy,
The golden clasp, those Grecian dames upon their girdles wear,
Took hold of her delicious hand, and hurt it, she had fear.
The Thund’rer smil’d, and call’d to him love’s golden Arbitress,
And told her those rough works of war were not for her access;
She should be making marriages, embracings, kisses, charms,
Stern Mars and Pallas had the charge of those affairs in arms.
While these thus talk’d, Tydides’ rage still thirsted to achieve
His prise upon Anchises’ son, though well he did perceive
The Sun himself protected him; but his desires (inflam’d
With that great Trojan prince’s blood, and arms so highly fam’d)
Not that great God did reverence. Thrice rush’d he rudely on,
And thrice, betwixt his darts and death, the Sun’s bright target shone;
But when upon the fourth assault, much like a spirit, he flew,
The far-off-working Deity exceeding wrathful grew,
And ask’d him: “What! Not yield to gods? Thy equals learn to know.
The race of Gods is far above men creeping here below.”
This drave him to some small retreat; he would not tempt more near
The wrath of him that strook so far; whose pow’r had now set clear
Æneas from the stormy field within the holy place
Of Pergamus, where, to the hope of his so sov’reign grace,
A goodly temple was advanc’d; in whose large inmost part
He left him, and to his supply inclin’d his mother’s heart,
Latona, and the dart-pleas’d Queen; who cur’d, and made him strong.
The silver-bow’d fair God then threw in the tumultuous throng
An image, that in stature, look, and arms, he did create
Like Venus’ son; for which the Greeks and Trojans made debate,
Laid loud strokes on their ox-hide shields, and bucklers eas’ly borne;
Which error Phœbus pleas’d to urge on Mars himself in scorn:
“Mars, Mars,” said he, “thou plague of men, smear’d with the dust and blood
Of humans, and their ruin’d walls, yet thinks thy Godhead good
To fright this fury from the field, who next will fight with Jove?
First in a bold approach he hurt, the moist palm of thy love,
And next, as if he did affect to have a Deity’s pow’r,
He held out his assault on me.” This said, the lofty tow’r
Of Pergamus he made his seat; and Mars did now excite
The Trojan forces, in the form of him that led to fight
The Thracian troops, swift Acamas. “O Priam’s sons,” said he,
“How long the slaughter of your men can ye sustain to see?
Ev’n till they brave you at your gates? Ye suffer beaten down
Æneas, great Anchises’ son, whose prowess we renown
As much as Hector’s; fetch him off from this contentious prease.”
With this, the strength and spirits of all his courage did increase;
And yet Sarpedon seconds him, with this particular taunt
Of noble Hector: “Hector, where is thy unthankful vaunt,
And that huge strength on which it built, that thou, and thy allies,
With all thy brothers (without aid of us or our supplies,
And troubling not a citizen) the city safe would hold?
In all which friends’ and brothers’ helps I see not, nor am told
Of anyone of their exploits, but (all held in dismay
Of Diomed, like a sort of dogs, that at a lion bay,
And entertain no spirit to pinch) we, your assistants here,
Fight for the town as you help’d us; and I, an aiding peer,
No citizen, ev’n out of care, that doth become a man
For men and children’s liberties, add all the aid I can;
Not out of my
particular cause; far hence my profit grows,
For far hence Asian Lycia lies, where gulfy Xanthus flows,
And where my lov’d wife, infant son, and treasure nothing scant,
I left behind me, which I see those men would have that want,
And therefore they that have would keep. Yet I, as I would lose
Their sure fruition, cheer my troops, and with their lives propose
Mine own life, both to gen’ral fight, and to particular cope
With this great soldier; though, I say, I entertain no hope
To have such gettings as the Greeks, nor fear to lose like Troy.
Yet thou, ev’n Hector, deedless stand’st, and car’st not to employ
Thy town-born friends, to bid them stand, to fight and save their wives,
Lest as a fowler casts his nets upon the silly lives
Of birds of all sorts, so the foe your walls and houses hales,
One with another, on all heads; or such as ‘scape their falls,
He made the prey and prise of them (as willing overthrown)
That hope not for you with their force; and so this brave-built town
Will prove a chaos. That deserves in thee so hot a care,
As should consume thy days and nights, to hearten and prepare
Th’ assistant princes; pray their minds to bear their far-brought toils;
To give them worth with worthy fight; in victories and foils
Still to be equal; and thyself, exampling them in all,
Need no reproofs nor spurs. All this in thy free choice should fall.”
This stung great Hector’s heart; and yet, as ev’ry gen’rous mind
Should silent bear a just reproof, and show what good they find
In worthy counsels, by their ends put into present deeds,
Not stomach nor be vainly sham’d; so Hector’s spirit proceeds,
And from his chariot, wholly arm’d, he jump’d upon the sand,
On foot so toiling through the host, a dart in either hand,
And all hands turn’d against the Greeks. The Greeks despis’d their worst,
And, thick’ning their instructed pow’rs, expected all they durst.
Then with the feet of horse and foot, the dust in clouds did rise.
And as, in sacred floors of barns, upon corn-winnow’rs flies
The chaff, driv’n with an opposite wind, when yellow Ceres dites,
Which all the diters’ feet, legs, arms, their heads and shoulders whites;
So look’d the Grecians gray with dust, that strook the solid heav’n,
Rais’d from returning chariots, and troops together driv’n.
Each side stood to their labours firm. Fierce Mars flew through the air,
And gather’d darkness from the fight, and, with his best affair,
Obey’d the pleasure of the Sun, that wears the golden sword
Who bade’him raise the spirits of Troy, when Pallas ceas’d t’ afford
Her helping office to the Greeks; and then his own hands wrought,
Which, from his fane’s rich chancel, cur’d, the true Æneas brought,
And plac’d him by his peers in field; who did with joy admire
To see him both alive and safe, and all his pow’rs entire
Yet stood not sifting how it chanc’d; another sort of task,
Then stirring th’ idle sieve of news, did all their forces ask,
Inflam’d by Phœbus, harmful Mars, and Eris eag’rer far.
The Greeks had none to hearten them; their hearts rose with the war;
But chiefly Diomed, Ithacus, and both th’ Ajaces us’d
Stirring examples and good words; their own fames had infus’d
Spirit enough into their bloods, to make them neither fear
The Trojans’ force, nor Fate itself, but still expecting were,
When most was done, what would be more; their ground they still made good,
And in their silence, and set pow’rs, like fair still clouds, they stood,
With which Jove crowns the tops of hills, in any quiet day,
When Boreas and the ruder winds (that use to drive away
Air’s dusky vapours, being loose, in many a whistling gale)
Are pleasingly bound up, and calm, and not a breath exhale;
So firmly stood the Greeks, nor fled for all the Ilion’s aid.
Atrides yet coasts through the troops, confirming men so staid:
“O friends,” said he, “hold up your minds; strength is but strength of will;
Rev’rence each other’s good in fight and shame at things done ill.
“There soldiers show an honest shame, and love of honour lives,
That ranks men with the first in fight, death fewer liveries gives
Than life, or than where Fame’s neglect makes cowards fight at length.
Flight neither doth the body grace, nor shows the mind hath strength.”
He said, and swiftly through the troops a mortal lance did send,
That reft a standard-bearer’s life, renown’d Æneas’ friend,
Deïcoon Pergasides, whom all the Trojans lov’d
As he were one of Priam’s sons, his mind was so approv’d
In always fighting with the first. The lance his target took,
Which could not interrupt the blow, that through it clearly strook,
And in his belly’s rim was sheath’d, beneath his girdle-stead.
He sounded falling, and his arms with him resounded, dead.
Then fell two princes of the Greeks by great Æneas’ ire,
Diocleus’ sons (Orsilochus and Crethon), whose kind sire
In bravely-builded Phæra dwelt, rich, and of sacred blood.
He was descended lineally from great Alphæus’ flood,
That broadly flows through Pyles’ fields; Alphæus did beget
Orsilochus, who in the rule of many men was set;
And that Orsilochus begat the rich Diocleüs;
Diocleus sire to Crethon was, and this Orsilochus.
Both these; arriv’d at man’s estate, with both th’ Atrides went,
To honour them in th’ Ilion wars; and both were one day sent,
To death as well as Troy, for death hid both in one black hour.
As two young lions (with their dam, sustain’d but to devour)
Bred on the tops of some steep hill, and in the gloomy deep
Of an inaccessible wood, rush out, and prey on sheep,
Steers, oxen, and destroy men’s stalls, so long that they come short,
And by the owner’s steel are slain; in such unhappy sort
Fell these beneath Æneas’ pow’r. When Menelaus view’d
Like two tall fir-trees these two fall, their timeless falls he rued,
And to the first fight, where they lay, a vengeful force he took;
His arms beat back the sun in flames, a dreadful lance he shook;
Mars put the fury in his mind, that by Æneas’ hands,
Who was to make the slaughter good, he might have strew’d the sands.
Antilochus, old Nestor’s son, observing he was bent
To urge a combat of such odds, and knowing, the event
Being ill on his part, all their pains (alone sustain’d for him)
Err’d from their end, made after hard, and took them in the trim
Of an encounter. Both their hands and darts advanc’d, and shook,
And both pitch’d in full stand of charge; when suddenly the look
Of Anchisiades took note of Nestor’s valiant son,
In full charge too; which, two to one, made Venus’ issue shun
The hot adventure, though he were a soldier well-approv’d.
Then drew they off their slaughter’d friends; who giv’n to their belov’d,
They turn’d where fight show’d deadliest hate; and there mix’d with the dead
Pylæmen, that the targeteers of Paphlagonia led,
A man like Mars
; and with him fell good Mydon that did guide
His chariot, Atymnus’ son. The prince Pylæmen died
By Menelaus; Nestor’s joy slew Mydon; one before
The other in the chariot. Atrides’ lance did gore
Pylæmen’s shoulder, in the blade. Antilochus did force
A mighty stone up from the earth, and, as he turn’d his horse,
Strook Mydon’s elbow in the midst; the reins of ivory
Fell from his hands into the dust; Antilochus let fly
His sword withal, and, rushing in, a blow so deadly laid
Upon his temples, that he groan’d, tumbled to earth, and stay’d
A mighty while preposterously (because the dust was deep)
Upon his neck and shoulders there, ev’n till his foe took keep
Of his pris’d horse, and made them stir; and then he prostrate fell.
His horse Antilochus took home. When Hector had heard tell,
Amongst the uproar, of their deaths, he laid out all his voice,
And ran upon the Greeks. Behind came many men of choice,
Before him march’d great Mars himself match’d with his female mate,
The dread Bellona. She brought on, to fight for mutual fate,
A tumult that was wild and mad. He shook a horrid lance,
And now led Hector, and anon behind would make the chance.
This sight when great Tydides saw, his hair stood up on end;
And him, whom all the skill and pow’r of arms did late attend,
Now like a man in counsel poor, that, travelling, goes amiss,
And having pass’d a boundless plain, not knowing where he is,
Comes on the sudden where he sees a river rough, and raves
With his own billows ravishéd into the king of waves,
Murmurs with foam, and frights him back; so he, amaz’d, retir’d,
And thus would make good his amaze: “O friends, we all admir’d
Great Hector, as one of himself, well-darting, bold in war,
When some God guards him still from death, and makes him dare so far.
Now Mars himself, form’d like a man, is present in his rage,
And therefore, whatsoever cause importunes you to wage
War with these Trojans, never strive, but gently take your rod,
Lest in your bosoms, for a man, ye ever find a God.”
As Greece retir’d, the pow’r of Troy did much more forward prease,
And Hector two brave men of war sent to the fields of peace;
Menesthes, and Anchialus; one chariot bare them both.
Their falls made Ajax Telamon ruthful of heart, and wroth
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 60
