Repuls’d he stands, nor from his stand retires;
But with repeated shouts his army fires.
‘Trojans! be firm; this arm shall make your way 205
Thro’ yon square body, and that black array;
Stand, and my spear shall rout their scatt’ring power,
Strong as they seem, embattled like a tower.
For he that Juno’s heav’nly bosom warms,
The first of Gods, this day inspires our arms.’ 210
He said, and rous’d the soul in ev’ry breast;
Urged with desire of fame, beyond the rest,
Forth march’d Deïphobus; but marching held
Before his wary steps his ample shield.
Bold Merion aim’d a stroke, nor aim’d it wide; 215
The glitt’ring jav’lin pierc’d the tough bull-hide;
But pierc’d not thro’: unfaithful to his hand,
The point broke short, and sparkled in the sand.
The Trojan warrior, touch’d with timely fear,
On the rais’d orb to distance bore the spear: 220
The Greek retreating mourn’d his frustrate blow,
And curs’d the treach’rous lance that spared a foe;
Then to the ships with surly speed he went,
To seek a surer jav’lin in his tent.
Meanwhile with rising rage the battle glows, 225
The tumult thickens, and the clamour grows.
By Teucer’s arm the warlike Imbrius bleeds,
The son of Mentor, rich in gen’rous steeds.
Ere yet to Troy the sons of Greece were led,
In fair Pedæus’ verdant pastures bred, 230
The youth had dwelt; remote from war’s alarms,
And bless’d in bright Medesicaste’s arms:
(This nymph, the fruit of Priam’s ravish’d joy,
Allied the warrior to the house of Troy.)
To Troy, when glory call’d his arms, he came: 235
And match’d the bravest of her Chiefs in fame:
With Priam’s sons, a guardian of the throne,
He liv’d, belov’d and honour’d as his own.
Him Teucer pierc’d between the throat and ear:
He groans beneath the Telamonian spear. 240
As from some far-seen mountain’s airy crown,
Subdued by steel, a tall ash tumbles down,
And soils its verdant tresses on the ground:
So falls the youth; his arms the fall resound.
Then, Teucer rushing to despoil the dead, 245
From Hector’s hand a shining jav’lin fled:
He saw, and shunn’d the death; the forceful dart
Sung on, and pierc’d Amphimachus’s heart,
Cteatus’ son, of Neptune’s forceful line;
Vain was his courage, and his race divine! 250
Prostrate he falls; his clanging arms resound,
And his broad buckler thunders on the ground.
To seize his beamy helm the victor flies,
And just had fasten’d on the dazzling prize,
When Ajax’ manly arm a jav’lin flung; 255
Full on the shield’s round boss the weapon rung;
He felt the shock, nor more was doom’d to feel,
Secure in mail, and sheathed in shining steel.
Repuls’d he yields; the victor Greeks obtain
The spoils contested, and bear off the slain. 260
Between the leaders of th’ Athenian line,
(Stichius the brave, Menestheus the divine,)
Deplor’d Amphimachus, sad object! lies;
Imbrius remains the fierce Ajaces’ prize.
As two grim lions bear across the lawn, 265
Snatch’d from devouring hounds, a slaughter’d fawn
In their fell jaws high lifting thro’ the wood,
And sprinkling all the shrubs with drops of blood;
So these the Chief: great Ajax from the dead
Strips his bright arms, Oïleus lops his head: 270
Toss’d like a ball, and whirl’d in air away,
At Hector’s feet the gory visage lay.
The God of Ocean, fired with stern disdain,
And pierc’d with sorrow for his grandson slain,
Inspires the Grecian hearts, confirms their hands, 275
And breathes destruction to the Trojan bands.
Swift as a whirlwind rushing to the fleet,
He finds the lance-famed Idomen of Crete;
His pensive brow the gen’rous care express’d
With which a wounded soldier touch’d his breast, 280
Whom in the chance of war a jav’lin tore,
And his sad comrades from the battle bore;
Him to the surgeons of the camp he sent;
That office paid, he issued from his tent,
Fierce for the fight: to him the God begun, 285
In Thoas’ voice, Andræmon’s valiant son,
Who ruled where Calydon’s white rocks arise,
And Pleuron’s chalky cliffs emblaze the skies:
‘Where ‘s now th’ impetuous vaunt, the daring boast,
Of Greece victorious, and proud Ilion lost?’ 290
To whom the King: ‘On Greece no blame be thrown,
Arms are her trade, and war is all her own.
Her hardy heroes from the well-fought plains
Nor Fear withholds, nor shameful Sloth detains.
‘T is Heav’n, alas! and Jove’s all-powerful doom, 295
That far, far distant from our native home
Wills us to fall, inglorious! Oh, my friend!
Once foremost in the fight, still prone to lend
Or arms, or counsels; now perform thy best,
And what thou canst not singly, urge the rest.’ 300
Thus he; and thus the God whose force can make
The solid globe’s eternal basis shake:
‘Ah! never may he see his native land,
But feed the vultures on this hateful strand,
Who seeks ignobly in his ships to stay, 305
Nor dares to combat on this signal day!
For this, behold! in horrid arms I shine,
And urge thy soul to rival acts with mine;
Together let us battle on the plain;
Two, not the worst; nor ev’n this succour vain: 310
Not vain the weakest, if their force unite;
But ours, the bravest have confess’d in fight.’
This said, he rushes where the combat burns;
Swift to his tent the Cretan King returns.
From thence, two jav’lins glitt’ring in his hand, 315
And clad in arms that lighten’d all the strand,
Fierce on the foe th’ impetuous hero drove;
Like lightning bursting from the arm of Jove,
Which to pale man the wrath of Heav’n declares,
Or terrifies th’ offending world with wars; 320
In streamy sparkles, kindling all the skies,
From pole to pole the trail of glory flies.
Thus his bright armour o’er the dazzled throng
Gleam’d dreadful as the Monarch flash’d along.
Him, near his tent, Meriones attends; 325
Whom thus he questions: ‘Ever best of friends!
O say, in every art of battle skill’d,
What holds thy courage from so brave a field?
On some important message art thou bound,
Or bleeds my friend by some unhappy wound? 330
Inglorious here, my soul abhors to stay,
And glows with prospects of th’ approaching day.’
‘O Prince!’ (Meriones replies), ‘whose care
Leads forth th’ embattled sons of Crete to war;
This speaks my grief: this headless lance I wield; 335
The rest lies rooted in a Trojan shield.’
To whom the Cretan: ‘Enter, and receive
The wanted weapons; those my tent can give;
&n
bsp; Spears I have store (and Trojan lances all),
That shed a lustre round th’ illumin’d wall. 340
Tho’ I, disdainful of the distant war,
Nor trust the dart, nor aim th’ uncertain spear,
Yet hand to hand I fight, and spoil the slain;
And thence these trophies, and these arms I gain.
Enter, and see on heaps the helmets roll’d, 345
And high-hung spears, and shields that flame with gold.’
‘Nor vain’ (said Merion) ‘are our martial toils;
We too can boast of no ignoble spoils.
But those my ship contains, whence distant far,
I fight conspicuous in the van of war. 350
What need I more? If any Greek there be
Who knows not Merion, I appeal to thee.’
To this Idomeneus: ‘The fields of fight
Have prov’d thy valour, and unconquer’d might:
And were some ambush for the foes design’d, 355
Ev’n there thy courage would not lag behind.
In that sharp service, singled from the rest,
The fear of each, or valour, stands confess’d.
No force, no firmness, the pale coward shews;
He shifts his place; his colour comes and goes; 360
A dropping sweat creeps cold on ev’ry part;
Against his bosom beats his quiv’ring heart;
Terror and death in his wild eye-balls stare;
With chatt’ring teeth he stands, and stiff’ning hair,
And looks a bloodless image of despair! 365
Not so the brave; still dauntless, still the same,
Unchanged his colour, and unmov’d his frame;
Composed his thought, determin’d is his eye,
And fix’d his soul, to conquer or to die:
If aught disturb the tenor of his breast, 370
T is but the wish to strike before the rest.
‘In such assays thy blameless worth is known,
And ev’ry art of dangerous war thy own.
By chance of fight whatever wounds you bore,
Those wounds were glorious all, and all before: 375
Such as may teach, ‘t was still thy brave delight
T’ oppose thy bosom where the foremost fight.
But why, like infants, cold to honour’s charms,
Stand we to talk, when glory calls to arms?
Go — from my conquer’d spears the choicest take, 380
And to their owners send them nobly back.’
Swift as the word bold Merion snatch’d a spear,
And, breathing slaughter, follow’d to the war.
So Mars armipotent invades the plain,
(The wide destroyer of the race of man;) 385
Terror, his best-lov’d son, attends his course,
Arm’d with stern boldness, and enormous force;
The pride of haughty warriors to confound,
And lay the strength of tyrants on the ground.
From Thrace they fly, call’d to the dire alarms 390
Of warring Phlegians, and Ephyrian arms:
Invoked by both, relentless they dispose
To these glad conquest, murd’rous rout to those.
So march’d the leaders of the Cretan train,
And their bright arms shot horror o’er the plain. 395
Then first spake Merion: ‘Shall we join the right,
Or combat in the centre of the fight?
Or to the left our wanted succour lend?
Hazard and Fame all parts alike attend.’
‘Not in the centre’ (Idomen replied), 400
‘Our ablest Chieftains the main battle guide;
Each godlike Ajax makes that post his care,
And gallant Teucer deals destruction there:
Skill’d, or with shafts to gall the distant field
Or bear close battle on the sounding shield. 405
These can the rage of haughty Hector tame;
Safe in their arms, the navy fears no flame;
Till Jove himself descends, his bolts to shed,
And hurl the blazing ruin at our head.
Great must he be, of more than human birth, 410
Nor feed like mortals on the fruits of earth,
Him neither rocks can crush, nor steel can wound,
Whom Ajax fells not on th’ ensanguin’d ground.
In standing fight he mates Achilles’ force,
Excell’d alone in swiftness in the course. 415
Then to the left our ready arms apply,
And live with glory, or with glory die.’
He said: and Merion to th’ appointed place,
Fierce as the God of Battles, urged his pace.
Soon as the foe the shining chiefs beheld 420
Rush like a fiery torrent round the field,
Their force embodied in a tide they pour;
The rising combat sounds along the shore:
As warring winds, in Sirius’ sultry reign,
From diff’rent quarters sweep the sandy plain; 425
On every side the dusty whirlwinds rise,
And the dry fields are lifted to the skies:
Thus, by despair, hope, rage, together driv’n,
Met the black hosts, and, meeting, darken’d Heav’n.
All dreadful glared the iron face of war, 430
Bristled with upright spears, that flash’d afar;
Dire was the gleam of breast-plates, helms, and shields,
And polish’d arms emblazed the flaming fields:
Tremendous scene! that gen’ral horror gave,
But touch’d with joy the bosoms of the brave. 435
Saturn’s great sons in fierce contention vied,
And crowds of heroes in their anger died.
The Sire of Earth and Heav’n, by Thetis won
To crown with glory Peleus’ godlike son,
Will’d not destruction to the Grecian powers, 440
But spared awhile the destin’d Trojan towers:
While Neptune, rising from his azure main,
Warr’d on the King of Heav’n with stern disdain,
And breathed revenge, and fired the Grecian train.
Gods of one source, of one ethereal race, 445
Alike divine, and Heav’n their native place;
But Jove the greater; first-born of the skies,
And more than men, or Gods, supremely wise.
For this, of Jove’s superior might afraid,
Neptune in human form conceal’d his aid. 450
These Powers infold the Greek and Trojan train
In War and Discord’s adamantine chain;
Indissolubly strong, the fatal tie
Is stretch’d on both, and close-compell’d they die.
Dreadful in arms, and grown in combat grey, 455
The bold Idomeneus controls the day.
First by his hand Othryoneus was slain,
Swell’d with false hopes, with mad ambition vain;
Call’d by the voice of war to martial fame,
From high Cabesus’ distant walls he came; 460
Cassandra’s love he sought, with boasts of power,
And promis’d conquest was the proffer’d dower.
The King consented, by his vaunts abused;
The King consented, but the Fates refused.
Proud of himself, and of th’ imagin’d bride, 465
The field he measured with a larger stride.
Him, as he stalk’d, the Cretan jav’lin found;
Vain was his breast-plate to repel the wound:
His dream of glory lost, he plunged to Hell;
The plains resounded as the boaster fell. 470
The great Idomeneus bestrides the dead;
‘And thus’ (he cries) ‘behold thy promise sped!’
‘Such is the help thy arms to Ilion bring,
And such the contract of the Phrygian King!
Our offers now, illustrious Prin
ce! receive; 475
For such an aid what will not Argos give?
To conquer Troy, with ours thy forces join,
And count Atrides’ fairest daughter thine.
Meantime, on farther methods to advise,
Come, follow to the fleet thy new allies; 480
There hear what Greece has on her part to say.’
He spoke, and dragg’d the gory corse away.
This Asius view’d, unable to contain,
Before his chariot warring on the plain;
(His valued coursers, to his squire consign’d, 485
Impatient panted on his neck behind):
To vengeance rising with a sudden spring,
He hoped the conquest of the Cretan King.
The wary Cretan, as his foe drew near,
Full on his throat discharged the forceful spear: 490
Beneath the chin the point was seen to glide,
And, glitter’d, extant, at the farther side.
As when the mountain oak, or poplar tall,
Or pine, fit mast for some great admiral,
Groans to the oft-heav’d axe, with many a wound, 495
Then spreads a length of ruin o’er the ground:
So sunk proud Asius in that dreadful day,
And stretch’d before his much-lov’d coursers lay.
He grinds the dust distain’d with streaming gore,
And, fierce in death, lies foaming on the shore. 500
Deprived of motion, stiff with stupid fear,
Stands all aghast his trembling charioteer,
Nor shuns the foe, nor turns the steeds away,
But falls transfix’d, an unresisting prey:
Pierc’d by Antilochus, he pants beneath 505
The stately car, and labours out his breath.
Thus Asius’ steeds (their mighty master gone)
Remain the prize of Nestor’s youthful son.
Stabb’d at the sight, Deïphobus drew nigh,
And made, with force, the vengeful weapon fly: 510
The Cretan saw; and, stooping, caus’d to glance,
From his slope shield, the disappointed lance.
Beneath the spacious targe (a blazing round,
Thick with bull-hides, and brazen orbits bound,
On his rais’d arm by two strong braces stay’d), 515
He lay collected in defensive shade;
O’er his safe head the jav’lin idly sung,
And on the tinkling verge more faintly rung.
Ev’n then, the spear the vig’rous arm confess’d,
And pierc’d, obliquely, King Hypsenor’s breast; 520
Warm’d in his liver, to the ground it bore
The Chief, his people’s guardian now no more!
‘Not unattended’ (the proud Trojan cries)
‘Nor unrevenged, lamented Asius lies:
For thee, tho’ Hell’s black portals stand display’d, 525
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 93
