Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

by Alexander Pope

  So two young mountain lions, nurs’d with blood

  In deep recesses of the gloomy wood,

  Rush fearless to the plains, and uncontroll’d

  Depopulate the stalls and waste the fold;

  Till, pierc’d at distance from their native den, 685

  O’erpower’d they fall beneath the force of men.

  Prostrate on earth their beauteous bodies lay,

  Like mountain firs, as tall and straight as they.

  Great Menelaus views with pitying eyes,

  Lifts his bright lance, and at the victor flies; 690

  Mars urged him on; yet, ruthless in his hate,

  The God but urged him to provoke his fate.

  He thus advancing, Nestor’s valiant son

  Shakes for his danger, and neglects his own;

  Struck with the thought, should Helen’s lord be slain, 695

  And all his country’s glorious labours vain.

  Already met, the threat’ning heroes stand;

  The spears already tremble in their hand;

  In rush’d Antilochus, his aid to bring,

  And fall or conquer by the Spartan King. 700

  These seen, the Dardan backward turn’d his course,

  Brave as he was, and shunn’d unequal force.

  The breathless bodies to the Greeks they drew;

  Then mix in combat, and their toils renew.

  First Pylæmenes, great in battle, bled, 705

  Who, sheathed in brass, the Paphlagonians led.

  Atrides mark’d him where sublime he stood;

  Fix’d in his throat, the jav’lin drank his blood.

  The faithful Mydon, as he turn’d from fight

  His flying coursers, sunk to endless night: 710

  A broken rock by Nestor’s son was thrown;

  His bended arm receiv’d the falling stone;

  From his numb’d hand the ivory-studded reins,

  Dropp’d in the dust, are trail’d along the plains:

  Meanwhile his temples feel a deadly wound; 715

  He groans in death, and pond’rous sinks to ground:

  Deep drove his helmet in the sands, and there

  The head stood fix’d, the quiv’ring legs in air,

  Till trampled flat beneath the coursers’ feet:

  The youthful victor mounts his empty seat, 720

  And bears the prize in triumph to the fleet.

  Great Hector saw, and, raging at the view,

  Pours on the Greeks; the Trojan troops pursue

  He fires his host with animating cries,

  And brings along the furies of the skies. 725

  Mars, stern destroyer! and Bellona dread,

  Flame in the front, and thunder at their head:

  This swells the tumult and the rage of fight;

  That shakes a spear that casts a dreadful light;

  Where Hector march’d, the God of Battles shined, 730

  Now storm’d before him, and now raged behind.

  Tydides paus’d amidst his full career;

  Then first the hero’s manly breast knew fear.

  As when some simple swain his cot forsakes,

  And wide thro’ fens an unknown journey takes; 735

  If chance a swelling brook his passage stay,

  And foam impervious cross the wand’rer’s way,

  Confused he stops, a length of country past,

  Eyes the rough waves, and, tired, returns at last:

  Amazed no less the great Tydides stands; 740

  He stay’d, and, turning, thus address’d his bands:

  ‘No wonder, Greeks, that all to Hector yield:

  Secure of fav’ring Gods, he takes the field;

  His strokes they second, and avert our spears:

  Behold where Mars in mortal arms appears! 745

  Retire then, warriors, but sedate and slow;

  Retire, but with your faces to the foe.

  Trust not too much your unavailing might;

  ‘T is not with Troy, but with the Gods, ye fight.’

  Now near the Greeks the black battalions drew; 750

  And first, two leaders valiant Hector slew:

  His force Anchialus and Mnesthes found,

  In ev’ry art of glorious war renown’d:

  In the same car the Chiefs to combat ride,

  And fought united, and united died. 755

  Struck at the sight, the mighty Ajax glows

  With thirst of vengeance, and assaults the foes.

  His massy spear, with matchless fury sent,

  Thro’ Amphius’ belt and heaving belly went:

  Amphius Apæsus’ happy soil possess’d, 760

  With herds abounding, and with treasure bless’d;

  But fate resistless from his country led

  The Chief, to perish at his people’s head.

  Shook with his fall, his brazen armour rung,

  And fierce, to seize it, conqu’ring Ajax sprung; 765

  Around his head an iron tempest rain’d;

  A wood of spears his ample shield sustain’d;

  Beneath one foot the yet warm corpse he press’d,

  And drew his jav’lin from the bleeding breast:

  He could no more; the show’ring darts denied 770

  To spoil his glitt’ring arms, and plumy pride.

  Now foes on foes came pouring on the fields,

  With bristling lances, and compacted shields;

  Till, in the steely circle straiten’d round,

  Forc’d he gives way, and sternly quits the ground. 775

  While thus they strive, Tlepolemus the great,

  Urged by the force of unresisted Fate,

  Burns with desire Sarpedon’s strength to prove;

  Alcides’ offspring meets the son of Jove.

  Sheathed in bright arms each adverse Chief came on, 780

  Jove’s great descendant, and his greater son.

  Prepared for combat, ere the lance he toss’d,

  The daring Rhodian vents his haughty boast:

  ‘What brings this Lycian counsellor so far,

  To tremble at our arms, not mix in war? 785

  Know thy vain self; nor let their flatt’ry move,

  Who style thee son of cloud-compelling Jove.

  How far unlike those Chiefs of race divine!

  How vast the diff’rence of their deeds and thine!

  Jove got such heroes as my sire, whose soul 790

  No fear could daunt, nor Earth nor Hell control.

  Troy felt his arm, and yon proud ramparts stand.

  Rais’d on the ruins of his vengeful hand:

  With six small ships, and but a slender train,

  He left the town a wide deserted plain. 795

  But what art thou, who deedless look’st around,

  While unrevenged thy Lycians bite the ground?

  Small aid to Troy thy feeble force can be;

  But wert thou greater, thou must yield to me,

  Pierc’d by my spear, to endless darkness go! 800

  I make this present to the shades below.’

  The son of Hercules, the Rhodian guide,

  Thus haughty spoke. The Lycian King replied:

  ‘Thy sire, O Prince! o’erturn’d the Trojan state,

  Whose perjured monarch well deserv’d his fate; 805

  Those heav’nly steeds the hero sought so far,

  False he detain’d, the just reward of war:

  Nor so content, the gen’rous Chief defied,

  With base reproaches and unmanly pride.

  But you, unworthy the high race you boast, 810

  Shall raise my glory when thy own is lost:

  Now meet thy fate, and, by Sarpedon slain,

  Add one more ghost to Pluto’s gloomy reign.’

  He said: both jav’lins at an instant flew:

  Both struck, both wounded, but Sarpedon’s slew: 815

  Full in the boaster’s neck the weapon stood,

  Transfix’d his throa
t, and drank the vital blood;

  The soul disdainful seeks the caves of night,

  And his seal’d eyes for ever lose the light.

  Yet not in vain, Tlepolemus, was thrown 820

  Thy angry lance; which, piercing to the bone

  Sarpedon’s thigh, had robb’d the Chief of breath,

  But Jove was present, and forbade the death.

  Borne from the conflict by his Lycian throng,

  The wounded hero dragg’d the lance along 825

  (His friends, each busied in his sev’ral part,

  Thro’ haste, or danger, had not drawn the dart).

  The Greeks with slain Tlepolemus retired;

  Whose fall Ulysses view’d, with fury fired;

  Doubtful if Jove’s great son he should pursue, 830

  Or pour his vengeance on the Lycian crew.

  But Heav’n and Fate the first design withstand,

  Nor this great death must grace Ulysses’ hand.

  Minerva drives him on the Lycian train;

  Alastor, Cromius, Halius, strew’d the plain, 835

  Albander, Prytanis, Noëmon fell;

  And numbers more his sword had sent to Hell,

  But Hector saw; and, furious at the sight,

  Rush’d terrible amidst the ranks of fight.

  With joy Sarpedon view’d the wish’d relief, 840

  And faint, lamenting, thus implored the Chief:

  ‘Oh, suffer not the foe to bear away

  My helpless corpse, an unassisted prey!

  If I, unbless’d, must see my son no more,

  My much-lov’d consort, and my native shore, 845

  Yet let me die in Ilion’s sacred wall;

  Troy, in whose cause I fell, shall mourn my fall.’

  He said, nor Hector to the Chief replies,

  But shakes his plume, and fierce to combat flies,

  Swift as a whirlwind drives the scatt’ring foes, 850

  And dyes the ground with purple as he goes.

  Beneath a beech, Jove’s consecrated shade,

  His mournful friends divine Sarpedon laid:

  Brave Pelagon, his fav’rite Chief, was nigh,

  Who wrench’d the jav’lin from his sinewy thigh. 855

  The fainting soul stood ready wing’d for flight,

  And o’er his eyeballs swam the shades of night;

  But Boreas rising fresh, with gentle breath,

  Recall’d his spirit from the gates of death.

  The gen’rous Greeks recede with tardy pace, 860

  Tho’ Mars and Hector thunder in their face;

  None turn their backs to mean ignoble flight,

  Slow they retreat, and, ev’n retreating, fight.

  Who first, who last, by Mars’ and Hector’s hand,

  Stretch’d in their blood, lay gasping on the sand? 865

  Teuthras the great, Orestes the renown’d

  For managed steeds, and Trechus, press’d the ground;

  Next Œnomaus, and Œnops’ offspring died;

  Oresbius last fell groaning at their side:

  Oresbius, in his painted mitre gay, 870

  In fat Bœotia held his wealthy sway;

  Where lakes surround low Hyle’s wat’ry plain;

  A Prince and people studious of their gain.

  The carnage Juno from the skies survey’d,

  And touch’d with grief, bespoke the Blue-eyed Maid: 875

  ‘Oh sight accurs’d! shall faithless Troy prevail,

  And shall our promise to our people fail?

  How vain the word to Menelaus giv’n

  By Jove’s great daughter and the Queen of Heav’n,

  Beneath his arms that Priam’s towers should fall, 880

  If warring Gods for ever guard the wall!

  Mars, red with slaughter, aids our hated foes:

  Haste, let us arm, and force with force oppose!’

  She spoke; Minerva burns to meet the war:

  And now Heav’n’s Empress calls her blazing car. 885

  At her command rush forth the steeds divine;

  Rich with immortal gold their trappings shine.

  Bright Hebe waits; by Hebe, ever young,

  The whirling wheels are to the chariot hung.

  On the bright axle turns the bidden wheel 890

  Of sounding brass; the polish’d axle steel.

  Eight brazen spokes in radiant order flame;

  The circles gold, of uncorrupted frame,

  Such as the Heav’ns produce: and round the gold

  Two brazen rings of work divine were roll’d. 895

  The bossy naves of solid silver shone;

  Braces of gold suspend the moving throne:

  The car behind an arching figure bore;

  The bending concave form’d an arch before.

  Silver the beam, th’ extended yoke was gold, 900

  And golden reins th’ immortal coursers hold.

  Herself, impatient, to the ready car

  The coursers joins, and breathes revenge and war.

  Pallas disrobes; her radiant veil untied,

  With flowers adorn’d, with art diversified 905

  (The labour’d veil her heav’nly fingers wove),

  Flows on the pavement of the court of Jove.

  Now Heav’n’s dread arms her mighty limbs invest,

  Jove’s cuirass blazes on her ample breast;

  Deck’d in sad triumph for the mournful field, 910

  O’er her broad shoulders hangs his horrid shield,

  Dire, black, tremendous! round the margin roll’d,

  A fringe of serpents hissing guards the gold:

  Here all the terrors of grim war appear,

  Here rages Force, here tremble Flight and Fear, 915

  Here storm’d Contention, and here Fury frown’d,

  And the dire orb portentous Gorgon crown’d.

  The massy golden helm she next assumes,

  That dreadful nods with four o’ershading plumes:

  So vast, the broad circumference contains 920

  A hundred armies on a hundred plains.

  The Goddess thus th’ imperial car ascends;

  Shook by her arm the mighty jav’lin bends,

  Pond’rous and huge; that, when her fury burns,

  Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns. 925

  Swift at the scourge th’ ethereal coursers fly,

  While the smooth chariot cuts the liquid sky:

  Heav’n’s gates spontaneous open to the Powers,

  Heav’n’s golden gates, kept by the winged Hours;

  Commission’d in alternate watch they stand, 930

  The sun’s bright portals and the skies command,

  Involve in clouds th’ eternal gates of day,

  Or the dark barrier roll with ease away.

  The sounding hinges ring: on either side

  The gloomy volumes, pierc’d with light, divide. 935

  The chariot mounts, where deep in ambient skies

  Confused, Olympus’ hundred heads arise;

  Where far apart the Thund’rer fills his throne,

  O’er all the Gods, superior and alone.

  There with her snowy hand the Queen restrains 940

  The fiery steeds, and thus to Jove complains:

  ‘O Sire! can no resentment touch thy soul?

  Can Mars rebel, and does no thunder roll?

  What lawless rage on yon forbidden plain!

  What rash destruction! and what heroes slain! 945

  Venus, and Phœbus with the dreadful bow,

  Smile on the slaughter, and enjoy my woe.

  Mad, furious Power! whose unrelenting mind

  No God can govern, and no justice bind.

  Say, mighty Father! shall we scourge his pride, 950

  And drive from fight th’ impetuous homicide?’

  To whom assenting, thus the Thund’rer said:

  ‘Go! and the great Minerva be thy aid.

  To tame the monster-God
Minerva knows,

  And oft afflicts his brutal breast with woes.’ 955

  He said: Saturnia, ardent to obey,

  Lash’d her white steeds along th’ aërial way.

  Swift down the steep of Heav’n the chariot rolls,

  Between th’ expanded earth and starry poles.

  Far as a shepherd from some point on high, 960

  O’er the wide main extends his boundless eye;

  Thro’ such a space of air, with thund’ring sound,

  At ev’ry leap th’ immortal coursers bound.

  Troy now they reach’d, and touch’d those banks divine

  Where silver Simoïs and Scamander join. 965

  There Juno stopp’d, and (her fair steeds unloos’d)

  Of air condensed a vapour circumfused:

  For these, impregnate with celestial dew,

  On Simoïs’ brink ambrosial herbage grew.

  Thence to relieve the fainting Argive throng, 970

  Smooth as the sailing doves, they glide along.

  The best and bravest of the Grecian band

  (A warlike circle) round Tydides stand:

  Such was their look as lions bathed in blood,

  Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood. 975

  Heav’n’s Empress mingles with the mortal crowd,

  And shouts, in Stentor’s sounding voice, aloud:

  Stentor the strong, endued with brazen lungs,

  Whose throat surpass’d the force of fifty tongues:

  ‘Inglorious Argives! to your race a shame, 980

  And only men in figure and in name!

  Once from the walls your tim’rous foes engaged,

  While fierce in war divine Achilles raged;

  Now, issuing fearless, they possess the plain,

  Now win the shores, and scarce the seas remain.’ 985

  Her speech new fury to their hearts convey’d;

  While near Tydides stood th’ Athenian Maid:

  The King beside his panting steeds she found,

  O’erspent with toil, reposing on the ground:

  To cool his glowing wound he sat apart 990

  (The wound inflicted by the Lycian dart);

  Large drops of sweat from all his limbs descend,

  Beneath his pond’rous shield his sinews bend,

  Whose ample belt, that o’er his shoulder lay,

  He eased; and wash’d the clotted gore away. 995

  The Goddess, leaning o’er the bending yoke

  Beside his coursers, thus her silence broke:

  ‘Degen’rate Prince! and not of Tydeus’ kind:

  Whose little body lodg’d a mighty mind;

  Foremost he press’d in glorious toils to share, 1000

  And scarce refrain’d when I forbade the war.

  Alone, unguarded, once he dared to go,

  And feast encircled by the Theban foe;

  There braved and vanquish’d many a hardy knight;