Defiled with honourable dust, they roll,
Still breathing strife, and unsubdued of soul:
Again they rage, again to combat rise;
When great Achilles thus divides the prize: 855
‘Your noble vigour, oh my friends, restrain;
Nor weary out your gen’rous strength in vain.
Ye both have won: let others who excel,
Now prove that prowess you have prov’d so well.’
The hero’s words the willing Chiefs obey, 860
From their tired bodies wipe the dust away,
And, clothed anew, the foll’wing games survey.
And now succeed the gifts ordain’d to grace
The youths contending in the rapid race:
A silver urn that full six measures held, 865
By none in weight or workmanship excell’d:
Sidonian artists taught the frame to shine,
Elaborate, with artifice divine;
Whence Tyrian sailors did the prize transport,
And gave to Thoas at the Lemnian port: 870
From him descended, good Eunæus heir’d
The glorious gift; and, for Lycaon spared,
To brave Patroclus gave the rich reward.
Now, the same hero’s funeral rites to grace,
It stands the prize of swiftness in the race. 875
A well-fed ox was for the second placed;
And half a talent must content the last.
Achilles rising then bespoke the train:
‘Who hope the palm of swiftness to obtain,
Stand forth, and bear these prizes from the plain.’ 880
The hero said, and, starting from his place,
Oïlean Ajax rises to the race;
Ulysses next; and he whose speed surpass’d
His youthful equals, Nestor’s son the last.
Ranged in a line the ready racers stand; 885
Pelides points the barrier with his hand:
All start at once; Oïleus led the race;
The next Ulysses, measuring pace with pace:
Behind him, diligently close, he sped,
As closely foll’wing as the running thread 890
The spindle follows, and displays the charms
Of the fair spinster’s breast, and moving arms:
Graceful in motion thus, his foe he plies,
And treads each footstep ere the dust can rise:
His glowing breath upon his shoulders plays; 895
Th’ admiring Greeks loud acclamations raise:
To him they give their wishes, hearts, and eyes,
And send their souls before him as he flies.
Now three times turn’d in prospect of the goal,
The panting chief to Pallas lifts his soul: 900
‘Assist, O Goddess!’ (thus in thought he pray’d)
And, present at his thought, descends the maid.
Buoy’d by her heav’nly force, he seems to swim,
And feels a pinion lifting ev’ry limb.
All fierce, and ready now the prize to gain, 905
Unhappy Ajax stumbles on the plain
(O’erturn’d by Pallas) where the slipp’ry shore
Was clogg’d with slimy dung, and mingled gore
(The self-same place beside Patroclus’ pyre,
Where late the slaughter’d victims fed the fire): 910
Besmear’d with filth, and blotted o’er with clay,
Obscene to sight, the rueful racer lay:
The well-fed bull (the second prize) he shared,
And left the urn Ulysses’ rich reward.
Then, grasping by the horn the mighty beast, 915
The baffled hero thus the Greeks address’d:
‘Accursed Fate! the conquest I forego;
A mortal I, a Goddess was my foe:
She urged her fav’rite on the rapid way,
And Pallas, not Ulysses, won the day.’ 920
Thus sourly wail’d he, sputt’ring dirt and gore;
A burst of laughter echoed thro’ the shore.
Antilochus, more humorous than the rest,
Takes the last prize and takes it with a jest:
‘Why with our wiser elders should we strive? 925
The Gods still love them, and they always thrive.
Ye see, to Ajax I must yield the prize;
He to Ulysses, still more aged and wise
(A green old age unconscious of decays,
That proves the hero born in better days); 930
Behold his vigour in this active race!
Achilles only boasts a swifter pace:
For who can match Achilles? He who can,
Must yet be more than hero, more than man.’
Th’ effect succeeds the speech. Pelides cries, 935
‘Thy artful praise deserves a better prize.
Nor Greece in vain shall hear thy friend extoll’d;
Receive a talent of the purest gold.’
The youth departs content. The host admire
The son of Nestor, worthy of his sire. 940
Next these a buckler, spear, and helm he brings;
Cast on the plain the brazen burthen rings:
Arms, which of late divine Sarpedon wore,
And great Patroclus in short triumph bore.
‘Stand forth, the bravest of our host’ (he cries), 945
‘Whoever dares deserve so rich a prize!
Now grace the lists before our army’s sight,
And, sheathed in steel, provoke his foe to fight.
Who first the jointed armour shall explore,
And stain his rival’s mail with issuing gore; 950
The sword Asteropæus possess’d of old
(A Thracian blade, distinct with studs of gold),
Shall pay the stroke, and grace the striker’s side;
These arms in common let the chiefs divide:
For each brave champion, when the combat ends, 955
A sumptuous banquet at our tent attends.’
Fierce at the word, up rose great Tydeus’ son,
And the huge bulk of Ajax Telamon:
Clad in refulgent steel, on either hand,
The dreadful chiefs amid the circle stand: 960
Low’ring they meet, tremendous to the sight;
Each Argive bosom beats with fierce delight.
Opposed in arms not long they idly stood,
But thrice they closed, and thrice the charge renew’d.
A furious pass the spear of Ajax made 965
Thro’ the broad shield, but at the corslet stay’d:
Not thus the foe; his jav’lin aim’d above
The buckler’s margin, at the neck he drove.
But Greece, now trembling for her hero’s life,
Bade share the honours, and surcease the strife. 970
Yet still the victor’s due Tydides gains,
With him the sword and studded belt remains.
Then hurl’d the hero, thund’ring on the ground,
A mass of iron (an enormous round),
Whose weight and size the circling Greeks admire, 975
Rude from the furnace, and but shaped by fire.
This might quoit Eëtion wont to rear,
And from his whirling arm dismiss in air:
The giant by Achilles slain, he stow’d
Among his spoils this memorable load. 980
For this he bids those nervous artists vie,
That teach the disc to sound along the sky:
‘Let him whose might can hurl this bowl, arise;
Who farthest hurls it, takes it as his prize:
If he be one enrich’d with large domain 985
Of downs for flocks, and arable for grain,
Small stock of iron needs that man provide;
His hinds and swains whole years shall be supplied
From hence; nor ask the neighb’ring city’s aid
For ploughshares, wheels, and all the rural trade.’ 990
> Stern Polypœtes stepp’d before the throng,
And great Leonteus, more than mortal strong:
Whose force with rival forces to oppose,
Up rose great Ajax; up Epeüs rose.
Each stood in order: first Epeüs threw; 995
High o’er the wond’ring crowds the whirling circle flew.
Leonteus next a little space surpass’d,
And third, the strength of godlike Ajax cast:
O’er both their marks it flew; till, fiercely flung
From Polypœtes’ arm, the discus sung: 1000
Far as a swain his whirling sheephook throws,
That distant falls among the grazing cows,
So past them all the rapid circle flies:
His friends (while loud applauses shake the skies)
With force conjoin’d heave off the weighty prize. 1005
Those who in skilful archery contend
He next invites, the twanging bow to bend:
And twice ten axes casts amidst the round
(Ten double-edg’d, and ten that singly wound).
The mast, which late a first-rate galley bore, 1010
The hero fixes in the sandy shore:
To the tall top a milk-white dove they tie,
The trembling mark at which their arrows fly.
‘Whose weapon strikes you flutt’ring bird shall bear
These two-edg’d axes, terrible in war: 1015
The single, he whose shaft divides the cord.’
He said: experienc’d Merion took the word;
And skilful Teucer: in the helm they threw
Their lots inscribed, and forth the latter flew.
Swift from the string the sounding arrow flies; 1020
But flies unblest! No grateful sacrifice,
No firstling lambs, unheedful! didst thou vow
To Phœbus, patron of the shaft and bow.
For this, thy well-aim’d arrow, turn’d aside,
Err’d from the dove, yet cut the cord that tied: 1025
Adown the main-mast fell the parted string,
And the free bird to Heav’n displays her wing:
Seas, shores, and skies with loud applause resound,
And Merion eager meditates the wound:
He takes the bow, directs the shaft above, 1030
And, foll’wing with his eye the soaring dove,
Implores the God to speed it thro’ the skies,
With vows of firstling lambs, and grateful sacrifice.
The dove, in airy circles as she wheels,
Amid the clouds the piercing arrow feels; 1035
Quite thro’ and thro’ the point its passage found,
And at his feet fell bloody to the ground.
The wounded bird, ere yet she breathed her last
With flagging wings alighted on the mast,
A moment hung, and spread her pinions there, 1040
Then sudden dropp’d, and left her life in air.
From the pleas’d crowd new peals of thunder rise,
And to the ships brave Merion bears the prize.
To close the funeral games, Achilles last
A massy spear amid the circle placed, 1045
And ample charger of unsullied frame,
With flowers high wrought, not blacken’d yet by flame.
For these he bids the heroes prove their art,
Whose dext’rous skill directs the flying dart.
Here too great Merion hopes the noble prize; 1050
Nor here disdain’d the King of Men to rise.
With joy Pelides saw the honour paid,
Rose to the Monarch, and respectful said:
‘Thee first in virtue, as in power supreme,
O King of Nations! all thy Greeks proclaim; 1055
In ev’ry martial game thy worth attest,
And know thee both their greatest and their best;
Take then the prize, but let brave Merion bear
This beamy jav’lin in thy brother’s war.’
Pleas’d from the hero’s lips his praise to hear, 1060
The King to Merion gives the brazen spear;
But, set apart for sacred use, commands
The glitt’ring charger to Talthybius’ hands.
Iliad Book XXIV. The Redemption of the Body of Hector
THE ARGUMENT
The Gods deliberate about the redemption of Hector’s body. Jupiter sends Thetis to Achilles to dispose him for the restoring it, and Iris to Priam, to encourage him to go in person, and treat for it. The old King, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his Queen, makes ready for the journey, to which he is encouraged by an omen from Jupiter. He sets forth in his chariot, with a wagon loaded with presents, under the charge of Idæus the herald. Mercury descends in the shape of a young man, and conducts him to the pavilion of Achilles. Their conversation on the way. Priam finds Achilles at his table, casts himself at his feet, and begs for the body of his son: Achilles, moved with compassion, grants his request, detains him one night in his tent, and the next morning sends him home with the body: the Trojans run out to meet him. The lamentation of Andromache, Hecuba, and Helen, with the solemnities of the funeral.
The time of twelve days is employed in this book, while the body of Hector lies in the tent of Achilles. And as many more are spent in the truce allowed for his interment. The scene is partly in Achilles’s camp, and partly in Troy.
NOW from the finish’d games the Grecian band
Seek their black ships, and clear the crowded strand:
All stretch’d at ease the genial banquet share,
And pleasing slumbers quiet all their care.
Not so Achilles: he, to grief resign’d, 5
His friend’s dear image present to his mind,
Takes his sad couch, more unobserv’d to weep,
Nor tastes the gifts of all-composing sleep;
Restless he roll’d around his weary bed,
And all his soul on his Patroclus fed: 10
The form so pleasing, and the heart so kind,
That youthful vigour, and that manly mind,
What toils they shared, what martial works they wrought,
What seas they measured, and what fields they fought;
All pass’d before him in remembrance dear, 15
Thought follows thought, and tear succeeds to tear.
And now supine, now prone, the hero lay,
Now shifts his side, impatient for the day;
Then starting up, disconsolate he goes
Wide on the lonely beach to vent his woes. 20
There as the solitary mourner raves,
The ruddy morning rises o’er the waves:
Soon as it rose, his furious steeds he join’d;
The chariot flies, and Hector trails behind.
And thrice, Patroclus! round thy monument 25
Was Hector dragg’d, then hurried to the tent.
There sleep at last o’ercomes the hero’s eyes:
While foul in dust th’ unhonour’d carcass lies,
But not deserted by the pitying skies.
For Phœbus watch’d it with superior care, 30
Preserv’d from gaping wounds, and tainting air;
And, ignominious as it swept the field,
Spread o’er the sacred corse his golden shield.
All Heav’n was mov’d, and Hermes will’d to go
By stealth to snatch him from th’ insulting foe: 35
But Neptune this, and Pallas this denies,
And th’ unrelenting Empress of the Skies:
E’er since that day implacable to Troy,
What time young Paris, simple shepherd boy,
Won by destructive lust (reward obscene) 40
Their charms rejected for the Cyprian Queen.
But when the tenth celestial morning broke,
To Heav’n assembled, thus Apollo spoke:
‘Unpitying Powers! how oft each holy fane
Has Hector tinged with blood of victi
ms slain? 45
And can ye still his cold remains pursue?
Still grudge his body to the Trojans’ view?
Deny to consort, mother, son, and sire,
The last sad honours of a funeral fire?
Is then the dire Achilles all your care? 50
That iron heart, inflexibly severe;
A lion, not a man, who slaughters wide
In strength of rage and impotence of pride,
Who hastes to murder with a savage joy,
Invades around, and breathes but to destroy. 55
Shame is not of his soul; nor understood,
The greatest evil and the greatest good.
Still for one loss he rages unresign’d,
Repugnant to the lot of all mankind;
To lose a friend, a brother, or a son, 60
Heav’n dooms each mortal, and its will is done:
A while they sorrow, then dismiss their care;
Fate gives the wound, and man is born to bear.
But this insatiate the commission giv’n
By Fate, exceeds; and tempts the wrath of Heav’n: 65
Lo how his rage dishonest drags along
Hector’s dead earth, insensible of wrong!
Brave tho’ he be, yet by no reason awed,
He violates the laws of man and God!
‘If equal honours by the partial skies 70
Are doom’d both heroes’ (Juno thus replies),
‘If Thetis’ son must no distinction know,
Then hear, ye Gods! the Patron of the Bow.
But Hector only boasts a mortal claim,
His birth deriving from a mortal dame: 75
Achilles of your own ethereal race
Springs from a Goddess, by a man’s embrace
(A Goddess by ourself to Peleus giv’n,
A man divine, and chosen friend of Heav’n):
To grace those nuptials, from the bright abode 80
Yourselves were present; where this Minstrel-God
(Well-pleas’d to share the feast) amid the quire
Stood proud to hymn, and tune his youthful lyre.’
Then thus the Thund’rer checks th’ Imperial Dame:
‘Let not thy wrath the Court of Heav’n inflame; 85
Their merits, nor their honours, are the same.
But mine, and ev’ry God’s peculiar grace
Hector deserves, of all the Trojan race:
Still on our shrines his grateful off’rings lay
(The only honours men to Gods can pay), 90
Nor ever from our smoking altar ceas’d
The pure libation, and the holy feast.
Howe’er, by stealth to snatch the corse away,
We will not: Thetis guards it night and day.
But haste, and summon to our courts above 95
The azure Queen: let her persuasion move
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 119
