Their headstrong horse unable to restrain,
They shook with fear, and dropp’d the silken rein;
Then in their chariot on their knees they fall,
And thus with lifted hands for mercy call: 170
‘O spare our youth, and, for the life we owe,
Antimachus shall copious gifts bestow;
Soon as he hears, that, not in battle slain,
The Grecian ships his captive sons detain,
Large heaps of brass in ransom shall be told, 175
And steel well-temper’d, and persuasive gold.’
These words, attended with a flood of tears,
The youths address’d to unrelenting ears:
The vengeful Monarch gave this stern reply:
‘If from Antimachus ye spring, ye die: 180
The daring wretch who once in council stood
To shed Ulysses’ and my brother’s blood,
For proffer’d peace! and sues his seed for grace?
No, die, and pay the forfeit of your race.’
This said, Pisander from the car he cast, 185
And pierc’d his breast: supine he breathed his last.
His brother leap’d to earth; but, as he lay,
The trenchant falchion lopp’d his hands away:
His sever’d head was toss’d among the throng,
And rolling drew a bloody trail along. 190
Then, where the thickest fought, the victor flew;
The King’s example all his Greeks pursue.
Now by the foot the flying foot were slain,
Horse trod by horse lay foaming on the plain.
From the dry fields thick clouds of dust arise, 195
Shade the black host, and intercept the skies.
The brass-hoof’d steeds tumultuous plunge and bound,
And the thick thunder beats the lab’ring ground.
Still, slaught’ring on, the King of Men proceeds;
The distanced army wonders at his deeds. 200
As when the winds with raging flames conspire,
And o’er the forests roll the flood of fire,
In blazing heaps the grove’s old honours fall,
And one refulgent ruin levels all:
Before Atrides’ rage so sinks the foe, 205
Whole squadrons vanish, and proud heads lie low.
The steeds fly trembling from his waving sword;
And many a car, now lighten’d of its lord,
Wide o’er the fields with guideless fury rolls,
Breaking their ranks, and crushing our their souls: 210
While his keen falchion drinks the warriors’ lives;
More grateful now to vultures than their wives!
Perhaps great Hector then had found his fate,
But Jove and Destiny prolong’d his date.
Safe from the darts, the care of Heav’n, he stood, 215
Amidst alarms, and death, and dust, and blood.
Now past the tomb where ancient Ilus lay,
Thro’ the mid field the routed urge their way
Where the wild figs th’ adjoining summit crown,
That path they take, and speed to reach the town. 220
As swift Atrides with loud shouts pursued,
Hot with his toil, and bathed in hostile blood.
Now near the beech-tree, and the Scæan gates,
The hero halts, and his associates waits.
Meanwhile, on ev’ry side, around the plain, 225
Dispers’d, disorder’d, fly the Trojan train.
So flies a herd of beeves, that hear dismay’d
The lion’s roaring thro’ the midnight shade:
On heaps they tumble with successless haste:
The savage seizes, draws, and rends the last: 230
Not with less fury stern Atrides flew,
Still press’d the rout, and still the hindmost slew;
Hurl’d from their cars the bravest Chiefs are kill’d,
And rage, and death, and carnage, load the field.
Now storms the victor at the Trojan wall; 235
Surveys the towers, and meditates their fall.
But Jove, descending, shook th’ Idæan hills,
And down their summits pour’d a hundred rills:
Th’ unkindled lightning in his hand he took,
And thus the many-colour’d maid bespoke: 240
‘Iris, with haste thy golden wings display,
To godlike Hector this our word convey.
While Agamemnon wastes the ranks around,
Fights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground,
Bid him give way; but issue forth commands, 245
And trust the war to less important hands:
But when, or wounded by the spear or dart,
That Chief shall mount his chariot and depart:
Then Jove shall string his arm, and fire his breast,
Then to her ships shall flying Greece be press’d, 250
Till to the main the burning sun descend,
And sacred night her awful shade extend.’
He spoke, and Iris at his word obey’d;
On wings of winds descends the various Maid.
The Chief she found amidst the ranks of war, 255
Close to the bulwarks, on his glitt’ring car.
The Goddess then: ‘O son of Priam, hear!
From Jove I come, and his high mandate bear.
While Agamemnon wastes the ranks around,
Fights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground, 260
Abstain from fight, yet issue forth commands,
And trust the war to less important hands:
But when, or wounded by the spear or dart,
The Chief shall mount his chariot, and depart;
Then Jove shall string thy arm, and fire thy breast, 265
Then to her ships shall flying Greece be press’d,
Till to the main the burning sun descend,
And sacred night her awful shade extend.’
She said, and vanish’d: Hector with a bound,
Springs from his chariot on the trembling ground, 270
In clanging arms: he grasps in either hand
A pointed lance, and speeds from band to band;
Revives their ardour, turns their steps from flight,
And wakes anew the dying flames of fight.
They stand to arms; the Greeks their onset dare, 275
Condense their powers, and wait the coming war.
New force, new spirit, to each breast returns;
The fight renew’d, with fiercer fury burns:
The King leads on; all fix on him their eye,
And learn, from him, to conquer, or to die. 280
Ye sacred Nine, celestial Muses! tell,
Who faced him first, and by his prowess fell?
The great Iphidamas, the bold and young:
From sage Antenor and Theano sprung;
Whom from his youth his grandsire Cisseus bred, 285
And nurs’d in Thrace, where snowy flocks are fed.
Scarce did the down his rosy cheeks invest,
And early honour warm his gen’rous breast,
When the kind sire consign’d his daughter’s charms
(Theano’s sister) to his youthful arms: 290
But, call’d by glory to the wars of Troy,
He leaves untasted the first fruits of joy;
From his lov’d bride departs with melting eyes,
And swift to aid his dearer country flies.
With twelve black ships he reach’d Percope’s strand, 295
Thence took the long laborious march by land.
Now fierce for Fame, before the ranks he springs,
Tow’ring in arms, and braves the King of Kings.
Atrides first discharged the missive spear;
The Trojan stoop’d, the jav’lin pass’d in air. 300
Then near the corslet, at the Monarch’s heart,
With all his strength the youth directs h
is dart:
But the broad belt, with plates of silver bound,
The point rebated, and repell’d the wound.
Encumber’d with the dart, Atrides stands, 305
Till, grasp’d with force, he wrench’d it from his hands.
At once his weighty sword discharged a wound
Full on his neck, that fell’d him to the ground.
Stretch’d in the dust th’ unhappy warrior lies,
And sleep eternal seals his swimming eyes. 310
Oh worthy better fate! oh early slain!
Thy country’s friend; and virtuous, tho’ in vain!
No more the youth shall join his consort’s side,
At once a virgin, and at once a bride!
No more with presents her embraces meet, 315
Or lay the spoils of conquest at her feet,
On whom his passion, lavish of his store,
Bestow’d so much, and vainly promis’d more!
Unwept, uncover’d, on the plain he lay,
While the proud victor bore his arms away. 320
Coön, Antenor’s eldest hope, was nigh:
Tears at the sight came starting from his eye,
While pierc’d with grief the much-lov’d youth he view’d,
And the pale features now deform’d with blood.
Then with his spear, unseen, his time he took, 325
Aim’d at the King, and near his elbow struck.
The thrilling steel transpierc’d the brawny part,
And thro’ his arm stood forth the barbed dart.
Surprised the Monarch feels, yet void of fear
On Coön rushes with his lifted spear: 330
His brother’s corpse the pious Trojan draws,
And calls his country to assert his cause,
Defends him breathless on the sanguine field,
And o’er the body spreads his ample shield.
Atrides, marking an unguarded part, 335
Transfix’d the warrior with his brazen dart;
Prone on his brother’s bleeding breast he lay
The Monarch’s falchion lopp’d his head away:
The social shades the same dark journey go,
And join each other in the realms below. 340
The vengeful victor rages round the fields,
With ev’ry weapon art or fury yields:
By the long lance, the sword, or pond’rous stone,
Whole ranks are broken, and whole troops o’erthrown.
This, while yet warm, distill’d the purple flood; 345
But when the wound grew stiff with clotted blood,
Then grinding tortures his strong bosom rend;
Less keen those darts the fierce Ilythiæ send
(The Powers that cause the teeming matron’s throes,
Sad mothers of unutterable woes!), 350
Stung with the smart, all panting with the pain,
He mounts the car, and gives his squire the rein:
Then with a voice which fury made more strong,
And pain augmented, thus exhorts the throng:
‘O friends! O Greeks! assert your honours won; 355
Proceed, and finish what this arm begun:
Lo! angry Jove forbids your Chief to stay,
And envies half the glories of the day.’
He said, the driver whirls his lengthful thong:
The horses fly, the chariot smokes along 360
Clouds from their nostrils the fierce coursers blow,
And from their sides the foam descends in snow;
Shot thro’ the battle in a moment’s space,
The wounded Monarch at his tent they place.
No sooner Hector saw the King retired, 365
But thus his Trojans and his aids he fired:
‘Hear, all ye Dardan, all ye Lycian race!
Famed in close fight, and dreadful face to face;
Now call to mind your ancient trophies won,
Your great forefathers’ virtues, and your own. 370
Behold, the gen’ral flies, deserts his powers!
Lo, Jove himself declares the conquest ours!
Now on yon ranks impel your foaming steeds;
And, sure of glory, dare immortal deeds.’
With words like these the fiery Chief alarms 375
His fainting host, and ev’ry bosom warms.
As the bold hunter cheers his hounds to tear
The brindled lion, or the tusky bear,
With voice and hand provokes their doubting heart,
And springs the foremost with his lifted dart: 380
So godlike Hector prompts his troops to dare:
Nor prompts alone, but leads himself the war.
On the black body of the foes he pours;
As from the cloud’s deep bosom, swell’d with showers,
A sudden storm the purple ocean sweeps, 385
Drives the wild waves, and tosses all the deeps.
Say, Muse! when Jove the Trojan’s glory crown’d,
Beneath his arm what heroes bit the ground?
Assæus, Dolops, and Autonous died,
Opites next was added to their side, 390
Then brave Hipponous, famed in many a fight,
Opheltius, Orus, sunk to endless night,
Æsymnus, Agelaus; all Chiefs of name
The rest were vulgar deaths, unknown to fame.
As when a western whirlwind, charged with storms, 395
Dispels the gather’d clouds that Notus forms;
The gust continued, violent, and strong,
Rolls sable clouds in heaps on heaps along;
Now to the skies the foaming billows rears,
Now breaks the surge, and wide the bottom bares: 400
Thus raging Hector, with resistless hands,
O’erturns, confounds, and scatters all their bands.
Now the last ruin the whole host appals;
Now Greece had trembled in her wooden walls;
But wise Ulysses call’d Tydides forth, 405
His soul rekindled, and awaked his worth:
‘And stand we deedless, O eternal shame!
Till Hector’s arm involve the ships in flame?
Haste, let us join, and combat side by side.’
The warrior thus, and thus the friend replied: 410
‘No martial toil I shun, no danger fear;
Let Hector come; I wait his fury here.
But Jove with conquest crowns the Trojan train;
And, Jove our foe, all human force is vain.’
He sigh’d; but, sighing, rais’d his vengeful steel, 415
And from his car the proud Thymbræus fell:
Molion, the charioteer, pursued his lord,
His death ennobled by Ulysses’ sword.
There slain, they left them in eternal night;
Then plunged amidst the thickest ranks of fight. 420
So two wild boars outstrip the foll’wing hounds,
Then swift revert, and wounds return for wounds.
Stern Hector’s conquests in the middle plain
Stood check’d awhile, and Greece respired again.
The sons of Merops shone amidst the war; 425
Tow’ring they rode in one refulgent car;
In deep prophetic arts their father skill’d,
Had warn’d his children from the Trojan field;
Fate urged them on; the father warn’d in vain,
They rush’d to fight, and perish’d on the plain! 430
Their breasts no more the vital spirit warms;
The stern Tydides strips their shining arms.
Hypirochus by great Ulysses dies,
And rich Hippodamus becomes his prize.
Great Jove from Ide with slaughter fills his sight, 435
And level hangs the doubtful scale of fight.
By Tydeus’ lance Agastrophus was slain,
The far-famed hero of Pæonian strain;
Wing’d with his fears, on foot he strove to fly,
His steeds too distant, and the foe too nigh; 440
Thro’ broken orders, swifter than the wind,
He fled, but, flying, left his life behind.
This Hector sees, as his experienced eyes
Traverse the files, and to the rescue flies;
Shouts, as he pass’d, the crystal regions rend, 445
And moving armies on his march attend.
Great Diomed himself was seiz’d with fear,
And thus bespoke his brother of the war:
‘Mark how this way yon bending squadrons yield!
The storm rolls on, and Hector rules the field: 450
Here stand his utmost force’ — The warrior said:
Swift at the word his pond’rous jav’lin fled;
Nor miss’d its aim, but, where the plumage danced,
Razed the smooth cone, and thence obliquely glanced.
Safe in his helm (the gift of Phœbus’ hands) 455
Without a wound the Trojan hero stands;
But yet so stunn’d, that, stagg’ring on the plain,
His arm and knee his sinking bulk sustain;
O’er his dim sight the misty vapours rise,
And a short darkness shades his swimming eyes. 460
Tydides follow’d to regain his lance;
While Hector rose, recover’d from the trance,
Remounts his car, and herds amidst the crowd;
The Greek pursues him, and exults aloud:
‘Once more thank Phœbus for thy forfeit breath, 465
Or thank that swiftness which outstrips the death.
Well by Apollo are thy prayers repaid,
And oft that partial power has lent his aid.
Thou shalt not long the death deserv’d withstand,
If any God assist Tydides’ hand. 470
Fly then, inglorious! but thy flight, this day,
Whole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay.’
Him, while he triumph’d, Paris eyed from far,
(The spouse of Helen, the fair cause of war):
Around the fields his feather’d shafts he sent, 475
From ancient Ilus’ ruin’d monument;
Behind the column placed, he bent his bow,
And wing’d an arrow at th’ unwary foe:
Just as he stoop’d, Agastrophus’s crest
To seize, and draw the corslet from his breast, 480
The bow-string twang’d; nor flew the shaft in vain,
But pierc’d his foot, and nail’d it to the plain.
The laughing Trojan, with a joyful spring,
Leaps from his ambush, and insults the King:
‘He bleeds!’ (he cries) ‘some God has sped my dart; 485
Would the same God had fix’d it in his heart!
So Troy, reliev’d from that wide-wasting hand,
Should breathe from slaughter, and in combat stand,
Whose sons now tremble at his darted spear,
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 88
