Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

by Alexander Pope

  He stoop’d to reason, and his rage resign’d, 140

  No longer bent to rush on certain harms:

  His joyful friends unbrace his azure arms.

  He, from whose lips divine persuasion flows,

  Grave Nestor then, in graceful act arose.

  Thus to the Kings he spoke: ‘What grief, what shame, 145

  Attend on Greece, and all the Grecian name!

  How shall, alas! her hoary heroes mourn

  Their sons degen’rate, and their race a scorn;

  What tears shall down thy silver beard be roll’d,

  Oh Peleus, old in arms, in wisdom old! 150

  Once with what joy the gen’rous Prince would hear

  Of ev’ry Chief, who fought this glorious war,

  Participate their fame, and pleas’d inquire

  Each name, each action, and each hero’s sire!

  Gods! should he see our warriors trembling stand, 155

  And trembling all before one hostile hand;

  How would he lift his aged arms on high,

  Lament inglorious Greece, and beg to die!

  Oh! would to all th’ immortal Powers above,

  Minerva, Phæbus, and almighty Jove! 160

  Years might again roll back, my youth renew,

  And give this arm the spring which once it knew:

  When, fierce in war, where Jardan’s waters fall

  I led my troops to Phea’s trembling wall,

  And with th’ Arcadian spears my prowess tried, 165

  Where Celadon rolls down his rapid tide.

  There Ereuthalion braved us in the field,

  Proud Areithous’ dreadful arms to wield;

  Great Areithous, known from shore to shore

  By the huge, knotted, iron mace he bore; 170

  No lance he shook, nor bent the twanging bow,

  But broke, with this, the battle of the foe.

  Him not by manly force Lycurgus slew,

  Whose guileful jav’lin from the thicket flew,

  Deep in a winding way his breast assail’d, 175

  Nor aught the warrior’s thund’ring mace avail’d:

  Supine he fell: those arms which Mars before

  Had giv’n the vanquish’d, now the victor bore:

  But when old age had dimm’d Lycurgus’ eyes,

  To Ereuthalion he consign’d the prize. 180

  Furious with this, he crush’d our levell’d bands,

  And dared the trial of the strongest hands;

  Nor could the strongest hands his fury stay;

  All saw, and fear’d, his huge tempestuous sway;

  Till I, the youngest of the host, appear’d, 185

  And, youngest, met whom all our army fear’d.

  I fought the Chief; my arms Minerva crown’d:

  Prone fell the giant o’er a length of ground.

  What then he was, oh were your Nestor now!

  Not Hector’s self should want an equal foe. 190

  But, warriors, you that youthful vigour boast,

  The flower of Greece, th’ examples of our host,

  Sprung from such fathers, who such numbers sway,

  Can you stand trembling, and desert the day?’

  His warm reproofs the list’ning Kings inflame; 195

  And nine, the noblest of the Grecian name,

  Upstarted fierce: but far before the rest

  The King of men advanc’d his dauntless breast;

  Then bold Tydides, great in arms, appear’d;

  And next his bulk gigantic Ajax rear’d. 200

  Oïleus follow’d: Idomen was there,

  And Merion, dreadful as the God of War:

  With these Eurypylus and Thoas stand,

  And wise Ulysses closed the daring band.

  All these, alike inspired with noble rage, 205

  Demand the fight. To whom the Pylian sage:

  ‘Lest thirst of glory your brave souls divide,

  What Chief shall combat, let the lots decide.

  Whom Heav’n shall choose, be his the chance to raise

  His country’s fame, his own immortal praise.’ 210

  The lots produced, each hero signs his own;

  Then in the Gen’ral’s helm the fates are thrown.

  The people pray with lifted eyes and hands,

  And vows like these ascend from all the bands:

  ‘Grant thou, Almighty! in whose hand is fate, 215

  A worthy champion for the Grecian state.

  This task let Ajax or Tydides prove,

  Or he, the King of Kings, belov’d by Jove.’

  Old Nestor shook the casque. By Heav’n inspired,

  Leap’d forth the lot, of ev’ry Greek desired. 220

  This from the right to left the herald bears,

  Held out in order to the Grecian peers;

  Each to his rival yields the mark unknown,

  Till godlike Ajax finds the lot his own;

  Surveys th’ inscription with rejoicing eyes, 225

  Then casts before him, and with transport cries:

  ‘Warriors! I claim the lot, and arm with joy;

  Be mine the conquest of this Chief of Troy.

  Now, while my brightest arms my limbs invest,

  To Saturn’s son be all your vows address’d: 230

  But pray in secret, lest the foes should hear,

  And deem your prayers the mean effect of fear.

  Said I in secret? No, your vows declare,

  In such a voice as fills the earth and air.

  Lives there a Chief, whom Ajax ought to dread, 235

  Ajax, in all the toils of battle bred?

  From warlike Salamis I drew my birth,

  And, born to combats, fear no force of earth.’

  He said. The troops with elevated eyes,

  Implore the God whose thunder rends the skies: 240

  ‘O Father of Mankind, superior Lord!

  On lofty Ida’s holy hill ador’d;

  Who in the highest Heav’n hast fix’d thy throne,

  Supreme of Gods! unbounded, and alone:

  Grant thou, that Telamon may bear away 245

  The praise and conquest of this doubtful day;

  Or if illustrious Hector be thy care,

  That both may claim it, and that both may share.’

  Now Ajax braced his dazzling armour on;

  Sheathed in bright steel the giant warrior shone: 250

  He moves to combat with majestic pace;

  So stalks in arms the grisly God of Thrace,

  When Jove to punish faithless men prepares,

  And gives whole nations to the waste of wars.

  Thus march’d the Chief, tremendous as a God; 255

  Grimly he smil’d: earth trembled as he strode:

  His massy jav’lin quiv’ring in his hand,

  He stood, the bulwark of the Grecian band.

  Thro’ every Argive heart new transport ran;

  All Troy stood trembling at the mighty man. 260

  Ev’n Hector paus’d; and, with new doubt oppress’d,

  Felt his great heart suspended in his breast:

  ‘T was vain to seek retreat, and vain to fear;

  Himself had challenged, and the foe drew near.

  Stern Telamon behind his ample shield, 265

  As from a brazen tower, o’erlook’d the field.

  Huge was its orb, with seven thick folds o’ercast

  Of tough bull-hides; of solid brass the last

  (The work of Tychius, who in Hyle dwell’d,

  And all in arts of armoury excell’d). 270

  This Ajax bore before his manly breast,

  And, threat’ning, thus his adverse Chief address’d:

  ‘Hector! approach my arm, and singly know

  What strength thou hast, and what the Grecian foe.

  Achilles shuns the fight; yet some there are 275

  Not void of soul, and not unskill’d in war:

  Let him, inactive on the sea-beat shore,


  Indulge his wrath, and aid our arms no more;

  Whole troops of heroes Greece has yet to boast,

  And sends thee one, a sample of her host. 280

  Such as I am, I come to prove thy might;

  No more — be sudden, and begin the fight.’

  ‘O son of Telamon, thy country’s pride’

  (To Ajax thus the Trojan Prince replied),

  ‘Me, as a boy or woman, would’st thou fright, 285

  New to the field, and trembling at the fight?

  Thou meet’st a Chief deserving of thy arms,

  To combat born, and bred amidst alarms:

  I know to shift my ground, remount the car,

  Turn, charge, and answer every call of war: 290

  To right, to left, the dext’rous lance I wield,

  And bear thick battle on my sounding shield.

  But open be our fight, and bold each blow;

  I steal no conquest from a noble foe.’

  He said, and, rising high above the field, 295

  Whirl’d the long lance against the sev’nfold shield.

  Full on the brass descending from above

  Thro’ six bull-hides the furious weapon drove,

  Till in the sev’nth it fix’d. Then Ajax threw;

  Thro’ Hector’s shield the forceful jav’lin flew; 300

  His corslet enters, and his garment rends,

  And glancing downwards, near his flank descends.

  The wary Trojan shrinks, and, bending low

  Beneath his buckler, disappoints the blow.

  From their bored shields the Chiefs their jav’lins drew, 305

  Then close impetuous, and the charge renew:

  Fierce as the mountain lions bathed in blood,

  Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood.

  At Ajax, Hector his long lance extends;

  The blunted point against the buckler bends. 310

  But Ajax, watchful as his foe drew near,

  Drove thro’ the Trojan targe the knotty spear;

  It reach’d his neck, with matchless strength impell’d;

  Spouts the black gore, and dims the shining shield.

  Yet ceas’d not Hector thus; but, stooping down, 315

  In his strong hand upheav’d a flinty stone,

  Black, craggy, vast: to this his force he bends;

  Full on the brazen boss the stone descends;

  The hollow brass resounded with the shock.

  Then Ajax seiz’d the fragment of a rock, 320

  Applied each nerve, and, swinging round on high,

  With force tempestuous let the ruin fly:

  The huge stone thund’ring thro’ his buckler broke;

  His slacken’d knees receiv’d the numbing stroke;

  Great Hector falls extended on the field, 325

  His bulk supporting on the shatter’d shield:

  Nor wanted heav’nly aid: Apollo’s might

  Confirm’d his sinews, and restored to fight.

  And now both heroes their broad falchions drew;

  In flaming circles round their heads they flew; 330

  But then by heralds’ voice the word was giv’n,

  The sacred Ministers of earth and Heav’n:

  Divine Talthybius whom the Greeks employ,

  And sage Idæus on the part of Troy,

  Between the swords their peaceful sceptres rear’d; 335

  And first Idæus’ awful voice was heard:

  ‘Forbear, my sons! your farther force to prove,

  Both dear to men, and both belov’d of Jove.

  To either host your matchless worth is known,

  Each sounds your praise, and war is all your own. 340

  But now the Night extends her awful shade:

  The Goddess parts you: be the night obey’d.’

  To whom great Ajax his high soul express’d:

  ‘O sage! to Hector be these words address’d.

  Let him, who first provoked our Chiefs to fight, 345

  Let him demand the sanction of the night;

  If first he ask it, I content obey,

  And cease the strife when Hector shews the way.’

  ‘O first of Greeks’ (his noble foe rejoin’d),

  ‘Whom Heav’n adorns, superior to thy kind, 350

  With strength of body, and with worth of mind!

  Now martial law commands us to forbear;

  Hereafter we shall meet in glorious war;

  Some future day shall lengthen out the strife,

  And let the Gods decide of death or life! 355

  Since then the Night extends her gloomy shade,

  And Heav’n enjoins it, be the night obey’d.

  Return, brave Ajax, to thy Grecian friends,

  And joy the nations whom thy arm defends;

  As I shall glad each Chief, and Trojan wife, 360

  Who wearies Heav’n with vows for Hector’s life.

  But let us, on this memorable day,

  Exchange some gift; that Greece and Troy may say,

  “Not hate, but glory, made these Chiefs contend;

  And each brave foe was in his soul a friend.”’ 365

  With that, a sword with stars of silver graced,

  The baldrick studded, and the sheath enchased,

  He gave the Greek. The gen’rous Greek bestow’d

  A radiant belt that rich with purple glow’d.

  Then with majestic grace they quit the plain; 370

  This seeks the Grecian, that the Phrygian train.

  The Trojan bands returning Hector wait,

  And hail with joy the champion of their state:

  Escaped great Ajax, they survey’d him round,

  Alive, unharm’d, and vig’rous from his wound. 375

  To Troy’s high gates the godlike man they bear,

  Their present triumph, as their late despair.

  But Ajax, glorying in his hardy deed,

  The well-arm’d Greeks to Agamemnon lead.

  A steer for sacrifice the King design’d, 380

  Of full five years, and of the nobler kind.

  The victim falls; they strip the smoking hide,

  The beast they quarter, and the joints divide;

  Then spread the tables, the repast prepare,

  Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. 385

  The King himself (an honorary sign)

  Before great Ajax placed the mighty chine.

  When now, the rage of hunger was remov’d,

  Nestor, in each persuasive art approv’d,

  The sage whose counsels long had sway’d the rest, 390

  In words like these his prudent thought express’d:

  ‘How dear, O King! this fatal day has cost!

  What Greeks are perish’d! what a people lost!

  What tides of blood have drench’d Scamander’s shore!

  What crowds of heroes sunk, to rise no more! 395

  Then hear me, Chief! nor let the morrow’s light

  Awake thy squadrons to new toils of fight:

  Some space at least permit the war to breathe,

  While we to flames our slaughter’d friends bequeath,

  From the red field their scatter’d bodies bear, 400

  And nigh the fleet a funeral structure rear:

  So decent urns their snowy bones may keep,

  And pious children o’er their ashes weep.

  Here, where on one promiscuous pile they blaz’d,

  High o’er them all a gen’ral tomb be rais’d; 405

  Next, to secure our camp, and naval powers,

  Raise an embattled wall, with lofty towers;

  From space to space be ample gates around,

  For passing chariots, and a trench profound.

  So Greece to combat shall in safety go, 410

  Nor fear the fierce incursions of the foe.’

  ‘T was thus the sage his wholesome counsel mov’d;

  The sceptred Kings of Greece his words approv’d.
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  Meanwhile, convened at Priam’s palace gate,

  The Trojan peers in nightly council sate: 415

  A senate void of order, as of choice,

  Their hearts were fearful, and confused their voice.

  Antenor rising, thus demands their ear:

  ‘Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliars, hear!

  ‘T is Heav’n the counsel of my breast inspires, 420

  And I but move what ev’ry God requires:

  Let Sparta’s treasures be this hour restor’d,

  And Argive Helen own her ancient lord.

  The ties of faith, the sworn alliance broke

  Our impious battles the just Gods provoke. 425

  As this advice ye practise, or reject,

  So hope success, or dread the dire effect.’

  The senior spoke, and sat. To whom replied

  The graceful husband of the Spartan bride:

  ‘Cold counsels, Trojan, may become thy years, 430

  But sound ungrateful in a warrior’s ears:

  Old man, if void of fallacy or art,

  Thy words express the purpose of thy heart,

  Thou, in thy time, more sound advice hast giv’n;

  But wisdom has its date, assign’d by Heav’n. 435

  Then hear me, Princes of the Trojan name!

  Their treasures I ‘ll restore, but not the dame;

  My treasures, too, for peace I will resign;

  But be this bright possession ever mine.’

  ‘T was then, the growing discord to compose, 440

  Slow from his seat the rev’rend Priam rose:

  His godlike aspect deep attention drew:

  He paus’d, and these pacific words ensue:

  ‘Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliar bands!

  Now take refreshment as the hour demands; 445

  Guard well the walls, relieve the watch of night,

  Till the new sun restores the cheerful light:

  Then shall our herald, to th’ Atrides sent,

  Before their ships proclaim my son’s intent.

  Next let a truce be ask’d, that Troy may burn 450

  Her slaughter’d heroes, and their bones inurn;

  That done, once more the fate of war be tried,

  And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!’

  The Monarch spoke: the warriors snatch’d with haste

  (Each at his post in arms) a short repast. 455

  Soon as the rosy morn had waked the day,

  To the black ships Idæus bent his way;

  There, to the sons of Mars, in council found,

  He rais’d his voice: the hosts stood list’ning round:

  ‘Ye sons of Atreus, and ye Greeks, give ears! 460

  The words of Troy, and Troy’s great monarch, hear.

  Pleas’d may ye hear (so Heav’n succeed my prayers)

  What Paris, author of the war, declares.

  The spoils and treasures he to Ilion bore