Rapt up her helmet, lance, and shield, and made her fane’s porch groan
With her egression to his stay, and thus his rage defers:
“Furious and foolish, th’ art undone! Hast thou for nought thine ears?
Heard’st thou not Juno being arriv’d from heav’n’s great King but now?
Or wouldst thou he himself should rise, forc’d with thy rage, to show
The dreadful pow’r she urg’d in him, so justly being stirr’d?
Know, thou most impudent and mad, thy wrath had not inferr’d
Mischief to thee, but to us all. His spirit had instantly
Left both the hosts, and turn’d his hands to uproars in the sky,
Guilty and guiltless both to wrack in his high rage had gone.
And therefore, as thou lov’st thyself, cease fury for thy son;
Another, far exceeding him in heart and strength of hand,
Or is, or will be shortly, slain. It were a work would stand
Jove in much trouble, to free all from death that would not die.”
This threat ev’n nail’d him to his throne; when heav’n’s chief
Majesty
Call’d bright Apollo from his fane, and Iris that had place
Of internunciess from the Gods, to whom she did the grace
Of Jupiter, to this effect: “It is Saturnius’ will,
That both, with utmost speed, should stoop to the Idalian hill,
To know his further pleasure there. And this let me advise,
When you arrive, and are in reach of his refulgent eyes,
His pleasure heard, perform it all, of whatsoever kind.”
Thus mov’d she back, and us’d her throne. Those two outstripp’d the wind,
And Ida all-enchas’d with springs they soon attain’d, and found
Where far-discerning Jupiter, in his repose, had crown’d
The brows of Gargarus, and wrapt an odorif’rous cloud
About his bosom. Coming near, they stood. Nor now he show’d
His angry count’nance, since so soon he saw they made th’ access
That his lov’d wife enjoin’d; but first the fair ambassadress
He thus commanded: “Iris, go to Neptune, and relate
Our pleasure truly, and at large. Command him from the fate
Of human war, and either greet the Gods’ society,
Or the divine sea make his seat. If proudly he deny,
Let better counsels be his guides, than such as bid me war,
And tempt my charge, though he be strong, for I am stronger far,
And elder born. Nor let him dare, to boast even state with me
Whom all Gods else prefer in fear.” This said, down hasted she
From Ida’s top to Ilion; and like a mighty snow,
Or gelid hail, that from the clouds the northern spirit doth blow;
So fell the windy-footed dame, and found with quick repair
The wat’ry God, to whom she said: “God with the sable hair,
I came from Ægis-bearing Jove, to bid thee cease from fight,
And visit heav’n, or th’ ample seas. Which if, in his despite,
Or disobedience, thou deniest, he threatens thee to come,
In opposite fight, to field himself; and therefore warns thee home,
His hands eschewing, since his pow’r is far-superior,
His birth before thee; and affirms, thy lov’d heart should abhor
To vaunt equality with him, whom ev’ry Deity fears.”
He answer’d: “O unworthy thing! Though he be great, he bears
His tongue too proudly, that ourself, born to an equal share
Of state and freedom, he would force. Three brothers born we are
To Saturn, Rhea brought us forth, this Jupiter, and I.
And Pluto, God of under-grounds. The world indiff’rently
Dispos’d betwixt us; ev’ry one his kingdom; I the seas,
Pluto the black lot, Jupiter the principalities
Of broad heav’n, all the sky and clouds, was sorted out. The earth
And high Olympus common are, and due to either’s birth.
Why then should I be aw’d by him? Content he his great heart
With his third portion, and not think, to amplify his part,
With terrors of his stronger hands, on me, as if I were
The most ignoble of us all. Let him contain in fear
His daughters and his sons, begot by his own person, This
Holds more convenience. They must hear these violent threats of his.”
“Shall I,” said Iris, “bear from thee, an answer so austere?
Or wilt thou change it? Changing minds, all noble natures bear.
And well thou know’st, these greatest born, the Furies follow still.”
He answer’d: “Iris, thy reply keeps time, and shows thy skill.
O ’tis a most praiseworthy thing, when messengers can tell,
Besides their messages, such things, as fit th’ occasion well.
But this much grieves my heart and soul, that being in pow’r and state
All-ways his equal, and so fix’d by one decree in fate,
He should to me, as under him, ill language give, and chide.
Yet now, though still incens’d, I yield, affirming this beside,
And I enforce it with a threat: That if without consent
Of me, Minerva, Mercury, the Queen of regiment,
And Vulcan, he will either spare high Ilion, or not race
Her turrets to the lowest stone, and, with both these, not grace
The Greeks as victors absolute, inform him this from me —
His pride and my contempt shall live at endless enmity.”
This said, he left the Greeks, and rush’d into his wat’ry throne,
Much miss’d of all th’ heroic host. When Jove discern’d him gone,
Apollo’s service he employ’d, and said: “Lov’d Phœbus, go
To Hector; now th’ earth-shaking God hath taken sea, and so
Shrunk from the horrors I denounc’d; which standing, he, and all
The under-seated Deities, that circle Saturn’s fall,
Had heard of me in such a fight as had gone hard for them.
But both for them and me ’tis best, that thus they fly th’ extreme,
That had not pass’d us without sweat. Now then, in thy hands take
My adder-fring’d affrighting shield, which with such terror shake,
That fear may shake the Greeks to flight. Besides this, add thy care,
O Phœbus, far-off shooting God, that this so sickly fare
Of famous Hector be recur’d, and quickly so excite
His amplest pow’rs, that all the Greeks may grace him with their flight,
Ev’n to their ships, and Hellespont; and then will I devise
All words and facts again for Greece, that largely may suffice
To breathe them from their instant toils.” Thus from th’ Idæan height,
Like air’s swift pigeon-killer, stoop’d the far-shot God of light,
And found great Hector sitting up, not stretch’d upon his bed,
Not wheezing with a stopp’d-up spirit, not in cold sweats, but fed
With fresh and comfortable veins, but his mind all his own,
But round about him all his friends, as well as ever known.
And this was with the mind of Jove, that flew to him before
Apollo came; who, as he saw no sign of any sore,
Ask’d, like a cheerful visitant: “Why in this sickly kind,
Great Hector, sitt’st thou so apart? Can any grief of mind
Invade thy fortitude?” He spake, but with a feeble voice:
“O thou, the best of Deities! Why, since I thus rejoice
By thy so serious benefit, demand’st thou, as in mirth,
And to my face, if I were ill? For, more than what thy worth
Must needs take note of, doth not Fame from all mouths fill thine
ears,
That, as my hand at th’ Achive fleet was making massacres
Of men whom valiant Ajax led, his strength strook with a stone
All pow’r of more hurt from my breast? My very soul was gone,
And once to-day I thought to see the house of Dis and Death.”
“Be strong,” said he, “for such a spirit now sends the God of breath
From airy Ida, as shall run through all Greek spirits in thee.
Apollo with the golden sword, the clear Far-seer, see,
Him, who betwixt death and thy life, ‘twixt ruin and those tow’rs,
Ere this day oft hath held his shield. Come then, be all thy pow’rs
In wonted vigour, let thy knights with all their horse assay
The Grecian fleet, myself will lead, and scour so clear the way,
That flight shall leave no Greek a rub.” Thus instantly inspir’d
Were all his nerves with matchless strength; and then his friends he fir’d
Against their foes, when to his eyes his ears confirm’d the God.
Then, as a goodly-headed hart, or goat, bred in the wood,
A rout of country huntsmen chase, with all their hounds in cry,
The beast yet or the shady woods, or rocks excessive high,
Keep safe, or our unwieldy fates (that ev’n in hunters sway)
Bar them the poor beast’s pulling down; when straight the clam’rous fray
Calls out a lion, hugely-man’d, and his abhorréd view
Turns headlong in unturning flight (though vent’rous) all the crew;
So hitherto the chasing Greeks their slaughter dealt by troops;
But, after Hector was beheld range here and there, then stoops
The boldest courage, then their heels took in their drooping hearts,
And then spake Andræmonides, a man of far-best parts
Of all the Ætolians, skill’d in darts, strenuous in fights of stand,
And one of whom few of the Greeks could get the better hand
For rhetoric, when they fought with words; with all which being wise,
Thus spake he to his Grecian friends: “O mischief! Now mine eyes
Discern no little miracle; Hector escap’d from death,
And all-recover’d, when all thought his soul had sunk beneath
The hands of Ajax. But some God hath sav’d and freed again
Him that but now dissolv’d the knees of many a Grecian,
And now I fear will weaken more; for, not without the hand
Of Him that thunders, can his pow’rs thus still the forefights stand,
Thus still triumphant. Hear me then: Our troops in quick retreat
Let’s draw up to our fleet, and we, that boast ourselves the great,
Stand firm, and try if these that raise so high their charging darts
May be resisted. I believe, ev’n this great heart of hearts
Will fear himself to be too bold, in charging thorow us.”
They eas’ly heard him, and obey’d; when all the generous
They call’d t’ encounter Hector’s charge, and turn’d the common men
Back to the fleet. And these were they, that bravely furnish’d then
The fierce forefight: Th’ Ajaces both, the worthy Cretan king,
The Mars-like Meges, Merion, and Teucer. Up then bring
The Trojan chiefs their men in heaps; before whom, amply-pac’d,
March’d Hector, and in front of him Apollo, who had cast
About his bright aspect a cloud, and did before him bear
Jove’s huge and each-where-shaggy shield, which, to contain in fear
Offending men, the God-smith gave to Jove; with this he led
The Trojan forces. The Greeks stood. A fervent clamour spread
The air on both sides as they join’d. Out flew the shafts and darts,
Some falling short, but other some found butts in breasts and hearts.
As long as Phœbus held but out his horrid shield, so long
The darts flew raging either way, and death grew both ways strong;
But when the Greeks had seen his face, and, who it was that shook
The bristled targe, knew by his voice, then all their strengths forsook
Their nerves and minds. And then look how a goodly herd of neat,
Or wealthy flock of sheep, being close, and dreadless at their meet,
In some black midnight, suddenly, and not a keeper near,
A brace of horrid bears rush in, and then fly here and there
The poor affrighted flocks or herds; so ev’ry way dispers’d
The heartless Grecians, so the Sun their headstrong chace revers’d
To headlong flight, and that day rais’d, with all grace, Hector’s head.
Arcesilaus then he slew, and Stichius; Stichius led
Bœotia’s brazen-coated men; the other was the friend
Of mighty-soul’d Menestheüs. Æneas brought to end
Medon and Jasus; Medon was the brother, though but base,
Of swift Oïliades, and dwelt, far from his breeding place,
In Phylace; the other led th’ Athenian bands, his sire
Was Spelus, Bucolus’s son. Mecistheus did expire
Beneath Polydamas’s hand. Polites, Echius slew,
Just at the joining of the hosts. Agenor overthrew
Clonius. Bold Deïochus felt Alexander’s lance;
It strook his shoulder’s upper part, and did his head advance
Quite through his breast, as from the fight he turn’d him for retreat.
While these stood spoiling of the slain, the Greeks found time to get
Beyond the dike and th’ undik’d pales; all scapes they gladly gain’d,
Till all had pass’d the utmost wall; Necessity so reign’d.
Then Hector cried out: “Take no spoil, but rush on to the fleet;
From whose assault, for spoil or flight, if any man I meet,
He meets his death; nor in the fire of holy funeral
His brother’s or his sister’s hands shall cast within our wall
His loathéd body; but, without, the throats of dogs shall grave
His manless limbs.” This said, the scourge his forward horses drave
Through ev’ry order; and, with him, all whipp’d their chariots on,
All threat’ningly, out-thund’ring shouts as earth were overthrown.
Before them march’d Apollo still, and, as he march’d, digg’d down,
Without all labour, with his feet the dike, till, with his own,
He fill’d it to the top, and made way both for man and horse
As broad and long as with a lance, cast out to try one’s force,
A man could measure. Into this they pour’d whole troops as fast
As num’rous; Phœbus still, before, for all their haste,
Still shaking Jove’s unvalu’d shield, and held it up to all.
And then, as he had chok’d their dike, he tumbled down their wall.
And look how eas’ly any boy, upon the sea-ebb’d shore,
Makes with a little sand a toy, and cares for it no more,
But as he rais’d it childishly, so in his wanton vein,
Both with his hands and feet he pulls, and spurns it down again;
So slight, O Phœbus, thy hands made of that huge Grecian toil,
And their late stand, so well-resolv’d, as eas’ly mad’st recoil.
Thus stood they driv’n up at their fleet; where each heard other’s thought,
Exhorted, passing humbly pray’d, all all the Gods besought,
With hands held up to heav’n, for help. ‘Mongst all the good old man,
Grave Nestor, for his counsels call’d the Argives’ guardian,
Fell on his aged knees, and pray’d, and to the starry host
Stretch’d out his hands for aid to theirs, of all thus moving most:
“O father Jove, if ever man, of all our host, did burn
Fat thighs of oxen or of sheep, for grace of safe return,
In fruitful Argos, and obtain’d the bowing of thy head
For promise of his humble pray’rs, O now remember him,
Thou merely heav’nly, and clear up the foul brows of this dim
And cruel day; do not destroy our zeal for Trojan pride.”
He pray’d, and heav’n’s great Counsellor with store of thunder tried
His former grace good, and so heard the old man’s hearty pray’rs.
The Trojans took Jove’s sign for them, and pour’d out their affairs
In much more violence on the Greeks, and thought on nought but fight.
And as a huge wave of a sea, swoln to his rudest height,
Breaks over both sides of a ship, being all-urg’d by the wind,
For that’s it makes the wave so proud; in such a borne-up kind
The Trojans overgat the wall, and, getting in their horse,
Fought close at fleet, which now the Greeks ascended for their force.
Then from their chariots they with darts, the Greeks with bead-hooks fought,
Kept still aboard for naval fights, their heads with iron wrought
In hooks and pikes. Achilles’ friend, still while he saw the wall,
That stood without their fleet, afford employment for them all,
Was never absent from the tent of that man-loving Greek,
Late-hurt Eurypylus, but sate, and ev’ry way did seek,
To spend the sharp time of his wound, with all the ease he could
In med’cines, and in kind discourse. But when he might behold
The Trojans past the wall, the Greeks flight-driv’n, and all in cries,
Then cried he out, cast down his hands, and beat with grief his thighs,
Then, “O Eurypylus,” he cried, “now all thy need of me
Must bear my absence, now a work of more necessity
Calls hence, and I must haste to call Achilles to the field.
Who knows, but, God assisting me, my words may make him yield?
The motion of a friend is strong.” His feet thus took him thence.
The rest yet stood their enemies firm; but all their violence
(Though Troy fought there with fewer men) lack’d vigour to repell
Those fewer from their navy’s charge, and so that charge as well
Lack’d force to spoil their fleet or tents. And as a shipwright’s line
(Dispos’d by such a hand as learn’d from th’ Artizan divine
The perfect practice of his art) directs or guards so well
The naval timber then in frame, that all the laid-on steel
Can hew no further than may serve, to give the timber th’ end
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 83
