Hector may vaunt, but who shall heed the boast? 185
Not those who felt thy arm, the Dardan host,
Nor Troy, yet bleeding in her heroes lost;
Not ev’n a Phrygian dame, who dreads the sword
That laid in dust her lov’d, lamented lord.’
He said: and hasty o’er the gasping throng 190
Drives the swift steeds; the chariot smokes along.
The shouts of Trojans thicken in the wind;
The storm of hissing jav’lins pours behind.
Then with a voice that shakes the solid skies,
Pleas’d Hector braves the warrior as he flies: 195
‘Go, mighty Hero! graced above the rest
In seats of council and the sumptuous feast:
Now hope no more those honours from thy train;
Go, less than woman, in the form of man!
To scale our walls, to wrap our towers in flames, 200
To lead in exile the fair Phrygian dames,
Thy once proud hopes, presumptuous Prince! are fled;
This arm shall reach thy heart, and stretch thee dead.’
Now fears dissuade him, and now hopes invite,
To stop his coursers, and to stand the fight; 205
Thrice turn’d the Chief, and thrice imperial Jove
On Ida’s summit thunder’d from above.
Great Hector heard; he saw the flashing light
(The sign of conquest), and thus urged the fight:
‘Hear, ev’ry Trojan, Lycian, Dardan band, 210
All famed in war, and dreadful hand to hand,
Be mindful of the wreaths your arms have won,
Your great forefathers’ glories, and your own.
Heard ye the voice of Jove? Success and fame
Await on Troy, on Greece eternal shame. 215
In vain they skulk behind their boasted wall,
Weak bulwarks! destin’d by this arm to fall.
High o’er their slighted trench our steeds shall bound,
And pass victorious o’er the levell’d mound.
Soon as before you hollow ships we stand, 220
Fight each with flames, and toss the blazing brand;
Till, their proud navy wrapt in smoke and fires,
All Greece, encompass’d, in one blaze expires.’
Furious he said: then, bending o’er the yoke,
Encouraged his proud steeds, while thus he spoke. 225
‘Now Xanthus, Æthon, Lampus! urge the chase,
And thou, Podargus! prove thy gen’rous race:
Be fleet, be fearless, this important day,
And all your master’s well-spent care repay.
For this, high fed in plenteous stalls ye stand, 230
Serv’d with pure wheat, and by a Princess’ hand;
For this, my spouse, of great Eëtion’s line,
So oft has steep’d the strength’ning grain in wine.
Now swift pursue, now thunder uncontroll’d;
Give me to seize rich Nestor’s shield of gold; 235
From Tydeus’ shoulders strip the costly load,
Vulcanian arms, the labour of a God:
These if we gain, then victory, ye Powers!
This night, this glorious night, the fleet is ours.’
That heard, deep anguish stung Saturnia’s soul; 240
She shook her throne that shook the starry pole:
And thus to Neptune: ‘Thou whose force can make
The steadfast earth from her foundations shake,
Seest thou the Greeks by Fates unjust oppress’d,
Nor swells thy heart in that immortal breast? 245
Yet Ægæ, Helice, thy power obey,
And gifts unceasing on thine altars lay.
Would all the deities of Greece combine,
In vain the gloomy Thund’rer might repine:
Sole should he sit, with scarce a God to friend, 250
And see his Trojans to the shades descend:
Such be the scene from his Idæan bower:
Ungrateful prospect to the sullen Power!’
Neptune with wrath rejects the rash design:
‘What rage, what madness, furious Queen! is thine? 255
I war not with the highest. All above
Submit and tremble at the hand of Jove.’
Now godlike Hector, to whose matchless might
Jove gave the glory of the destin’d fight,
Squadrons on squadrons drives, and fills the fields 260
With close-ranged chariots, and with thicken’d shields.
Where the deep trench in length extended lay,
Compacted troops stand wedg’d in firm array,
A dreadful front! they shake the bands, and threat
With long-destroying flames the hostile fleet. 265
The King of men, by Juno’s self inspired,
Toil’d thro’ the tents, and all his army fired.
Swift as he mov’d, he lifted in his hand
His purple robe, bright ensign of command.
High on the midmost bark the King appear’d; 270
There, from Ulysses’ deck, his voice was heard:
To Ajax and Achilles reach’d the sound,
Whose distant ships the guarded navy bound.
‘Oh Argives! shame of human race!’ he cried
(The hollow vessels to his voice replied), 275
‘Where now are all your glorious boasts of yore,
Your hasty triumphs on the Lemnian shore?
Each fearless hero dares a hundred foes,
While the feast lasts, and while the goblet flows;
But who to meet one martial man is found, 280
When the fight rages, and the flames surround?
O mighty Jove! oh Sire of the distress’d!
Was ever King like me, like me oppress’d?
With power immense, with justice arm’d in vain;
My glory ravish’d, and my people slain! 285
To thee my vows were breathed from ev’ry shore;
What altar smoked not with our victims’ gore?
With fat of bulls I fed the constant flame,
And ask’d destruction to the Trojan name.
Now, gracious God! far humbler our demand; 290
Give these at least to ‘scape from Hector’s hand,
And save the relics of the Grecian land!’
Thus pray’d the King, and Heav’n’s great Father heard
His vows, in bitterness of soul preferr’d;
The wrath appeas’d by happy signs declares, 295
And gives the people to their Monarch’s prayers.
His eagle, sacred bird of Heav’n! he sent,
A fawn his talons truss’d (divine portent),
High o’er the wond’ring hosts he soar’d above,
Who paid their vows to Panomphæan Jove; 300
Then let the prey before his altar fall:
The Greeks beheld, and transport seiz’d on all:
Encouraged by the sign, the troops revive,
And fierce on Troy with double fury drive.
Tydides first, of all the Grecian force, 305
O’er the broad ditch impell’d his foaming horse,
Pierc’d the deep ranks, their strongest battle tore,
And dyed his jav’lin red with Trojan gore.
Young Agelaüs (Phradmon was his sire)
With flying coursers shunn’d his dreadful ire: 310
Struck thro’ the back the Phrygian fell oppress’d;
The dart drove on, and issued at his breast:
Headlong he quits the car; his arms resound;
His pond’rous buckler thunders on the ground.
Forth rush a tide of Greeks, the passage freed; 315
Th’ Atridæ first, th’ Ajaces next succeed:
Meriones, like Mars in arms renown’d,
And godlike Idomen, now pass’d the mound;
Evæmon’s son next issues to the foe,
An
d last, young Teucer with his bended bow. 320
Secure behind the Telamonian shield
The skilful archer wide survey’d the field,
With ev’ry shaft some hostile victim slew,
Then close beneath the sev’n-fold orb withdrew:
The conscious infant so, when fear alarms, 325
Retires for safety to the mother’s arms.
Thus Ajax guards his brother in the field,
Moves as he moves, and turns the shining shield.
Who first by Teucer’s mortal arrows bled?
Orsilochus; then fell Ormenus dead: 330
The godlike Lycophon next press’d the plain,
With Chromius, Dætor, Ophelestes slain:
Bold Hamopaon breathless sunk to ground;
The bloody pile great Melanippus crown’d.
Heaps fell on heaps, sad trophies of his art, 335
A Trojan ghost attending every dart.
Great Agamemnon views with joyful eye
The ranks grow thinner as his arrows fly:
‘Oh youth, for ever dear’ (the Monarch cried),
‘Thus, always thus, thy early worth be tried; 340
Thy brave example shall retrieve our host,
Thy country’s saviour, and thy father’s boast!
Sprung from an alien’s bed thy sire to grace,
The vig’rous offspring of a stol’n embrace.
Proud of his boy, he own’d the gen’rous flame, 345
And the brave son repays his cares with fame.
Now hear a Monarch’s vow: If Heav’n’s high Powers
Give me to raze Troy’s long-defended towers;
Whatever treasures Greece for me design,
The next rich honorary gift be thine: 350
Some golden tripod, or distinguish’d car,
With coursers dreadful in the ranks of war;
Or some fair captive whom thy eyes approve,
Shall recompense the warrior’s toils with love.’
To this the Chief: ‘With praise the rest inspire, 355
Nor urge a soul already fill’d with fire.
What strength I have, be now in battle tried,
Till ev’ry shaft in Phrygian blood be dyed.
Since, rallying, from our wall we forced the foe,
Still aim’d at Hector have I bent my bow; 360
Eight forky arrows from this hand have fled,
And eight bold heroes by their points lie dead:
But sure some God denies me to destroy
This fury of the field, this dog of Troy.’
He said, and twang’d the string. The weapon flies 365
At Hector’s breast, and sings along the skies:
He miss’d the mark; but pierc’d Gorgythio’s heart
And drench’d in royal blood the thirsty dart
(Fair Castianira, nymph of form divine,
This offspring added to King Priam’s line). 370
As full-blown poppies overcharged with rain
Decline the head, and drooping kiss the plain;
So sinks the youth: his beauteous head, depress’d
Beneath his helmet, drops upon his breast.
Another shaft the raging archer drew: 375
That other shaft with erring fury flew
(From Hector Phæbus turn’d the flying wound),
Yet fell not dry or guiltless to the ground:
Thy breast, brave Archeptolemus! it tore,
And dipp’d its feathers in no vulgar gore. 380
Headlong he falls: his sudden fall alarms
The steeds, that startle at his sounding arms.
Hector with grief his charioteer beheld
All pale and breathless on the sanguine field.
Then bids Cebriones direct the rein, 385
Quits his bright car, and issues on the plain.
Dreadful he shouts: from earth a stone he took,
And rush’d on Teucer with a lifted rock.
The youth already strain’d the forceful yew;
The shaft already to his shoulder drew; 390
The feather in his hand, just wing’d for flight,
Touch’d where the neck and hollow chest unite;
There, where the juncture knits the channel bone,
The furious Chief discharged the craggy stone;
The bow-string burst beneath the pond’rous blow, 395
And his numb’d hand dismiss’d his useless bow.
He fell; but Ajax his broad shield display’d,
And screen’d his brother with a mighty shade;
Till great Alastor and Mecistheus bore
The batter’d archer groaning to the shore. 400
Troy yet found grace before th’ Olympian sire;
He arm’d their hands, and fill’d their breasts with fire.
The Greeks, repuls’d, retreat behind their wall,
Or in the trench on heaps confusedly fall.
First of the foe, great Hector march’d along, 405
With terror clothed, and more than mortal strong.
As the bold hound that gives the lion chase,
With beating bosom, and with eager pace,
Hangs on his haunch, or fastens on his heels,
Guards as he turns, and circles as he wheels; 410
Thus oft the Grecians turn’d, but still they flew;
Thus following, Hector still the hindmost slew.
When, flying, they had pass’d the trench profound,
And many a Chief lay gasping on the ground;
Before the ships a desp’rate stand they made; 415
And fired the troops, and call’d the Gods to aid.
Fierce on his rattling chariot Hector came;
His eyes like Gorgon shot a sanguine flame
That wither’d all their host: like Mars he stood,
Dire as the monster, dreadful as the God! 420
Their strong distress the wife of Jove survey’d;
Then pensive thus to War’s triumphant Maid:
‘Oh, Daughter of that God, whose arm can wield
Th’ avenging bolt, and shake the sable shield!
Now, in this moment of her last despair, 425
Condemn’d to suffer the full force of Fate,
And drain the dregs of Heav’n’s relentless hate?
Gods! shall one raging hand thus level all?
What numbers fell! what numbers yet shall fall! 430
What Power divine shall Hector’s wrath assuage?
Still swells the slaughter, and still grows the rage!’
So spoke th’ imperial Regent of the Skies;
To whom the Goddess with the azure eyes:
‘Long since had Hector stain’d these fields with gore, 435
Stretch’d by some Argive on his native shore:
But he above, the Sire of Heav’n, withstands,
Mocks our attempts, and slights our just demands.
The stubborn God, inflexible and hard,
Forgets my service and deserv’d reward; 440
Saved I, for this, his fav’rite son distress’d,
By stern Eurystheus with long labours press’d?
He begg’d, with tears he begg’d, in deep dismay;
I shot from Heav’n, and gave his arm the day.
Oh had my wisdom known this dire event, 445
When to grim Pluto’s gloomy gates he went;
The triple dog had never felt his chain,
Nor Styx been cross’d, nor Hell explor’d in vain.
Averse to me of all his Heav’n of Gods,
At Thetis’ suit the partial Thund’rer nods. 450
To grace her gloomy, fierce, resenting son,
My hopes are frustrate, and my Greeks undone.
Some future day, perhaps, he may be mov’d
To call his Blue-eyed Maid his best-be-lov’d.
Haste, launch thy chariot, thro’ yon ranks to ride; 455
Myself
will arm, and thunder at thy side.
Then, Goddess! say, shall Hector glory then
(That terror of the Greeks, that Man of men),
When Juno’s self, and Pallas shall appear,
All dreadful in the crimson walks of war? 460
What mighty Trojan then, on yonder shore,
Expiring, pale, and terrible no more,
Shall feast the fowls, and glut the dogs with gore?’
She ceas’d, and Juno rein’d the steeds with care
(Heav’n’s awful Empress, Saturn’s other heir): 465
Pallas, meanwhile, her various veil unbound,
With flowers adorn’d, with art immortal crown’d;
The radiant robe her sacred fingers wove
Floats in rich waves, and spreads the court of Jove.
Her father’s arms her mighty limbs invest, 470
His cuirass blazes on her ample breast.
The vig’rous Power the trembling car ascends;
Shook by her arm, the massy jav’lin bends;
Huge, pond’rous, strong! that, when her fury burns,
Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns. 475
Saturnia lends the lash; the coursers fly;
Smooth glides the chariot thro’ 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, 480
The sun’s bright portals and the skies command;
Close or unfold th’ eternal gates of day,
Bar Heav’n with clouds, or roll those clouds away:
The sounding hinges ring, the clouds divide;
Prone down the steep of Heav’n their course they guide. 485
But Jove, incens’d, from Ida’s top survey’d,
And thus enjoin’d the many-colour’d Maid:
‘Thaumantia! mount the winds, and stop their car;
Against the highest who shall wage the war?
If furious yet they dare the vain debate, 490
Thus have I spoke, and what I speak is Fate.
Their coursers crush’d beneath the wheels shall lie,
Their car in fragments scatter’d o’er the sky;
My lightning these rebellious shall confound,
And hurl them flaming, headlong to the ground, 495
Condemn’d for ten revolving years to weep
The wounds impress’d by burning Thunder deep.
So shall Minerva learn to fear our ire,
Nor dare to combat hers and Nature’s Sire.
For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, 500
She claims some title to transgress our will.’
Swift as the wind, the various-colour’d Maid
From Ida’s top her golden wings display’d;
To great Olympus’ shining gates she flies,