The good men of Boeotia dwelt. This slaughter grew so great,
It flew to heaven: Saturnia discern’d it, and cried out
To Pallas: ‘O unworthy sight, to see a field so fought,
And break our words to Sparta’s king, that Ilion should be rac’d,
And he return reveng’d, when thus we see his Greeks disgrac’d,
And bear the harmful rage of Mars! Come, let us use our care,
That we dishonour not our pow’rs.’ Minerva was as yare
As she, at the despite of Troy. Her golden-bridled steeds
Then Saturn’s daughter brought abroad, and Hebe, she proceeds
T’ address her chariot instantly; she gives it either wheel
Beam’d with eight spokes of sounding brass; the axle-tree was steel,
The fell’ffs incorruptible gold, their upper hands of brass,
Their matter most unvalued, their work of wondrous grace.
The naves in which the spokes were driv’n were all with silver bound;
The chariot’s seat two hoops of gold and silver strength’ned round,
Edg’d with a gold and silver fringe; the beam that look’d before
Was massy silver, on whose top geres all of gold it wore,
And golden poitrils. Juno mounts, and her hot horses rein’d,
That thirsted for contention, and still of peace complain’d.
Minerva wrapt her in the robe that curiously she wove,
With glorious colours, as she sate on th’ azure floor of Jove;
And wore the arms that he puts on, bent to the tearful field,
About her broad-spread shoulders hung his huge and horrid shield,
Fring’d round with ever-fighting snakes; through it was drawn to life
The miseries and deaths of fight; in it frown’d bloody Strife;
In it shin’d sacred Fortitude; in it fell Pursuit flew;
In it the monster Gorgon’s head, in which held out to view
Were all the dire ostents of Jove; on her big head she plac’d
His four-plum’d glittering casque of gold, so admirably vast
It would an hundred garrisons of soldiers comprehend.
Then to her shining chariot her vigorous feet ascend,
And in her violent hand she takes his grave, huge, solid lance,
With which the conquests of her wrath she useth to advance
And overturn whole fields of men, to show she was the seed
Of him that thunders. Then heaven’s queen, to urge her horses speed,
Takes up the scourge, and forth they fly; the ample gates of heaven
Rung, and flew open of themselves, the charge whereof is given,
With all Olympus and the sky, to the distinguish’d Hours,
That clear or hide it all in clouds, or pour it down in show’rs.
This way their scourge-obeying horse made haste, and soon they won
The top of all the topful heavens, where aged Saturn’s son
Sate sever’d from the other gods; then stay’d the white-arm’d queen
Her steeds, and ask’d of Jove, if Mars did not incense his spleen
With his foul deeds, in ruining so many and so great
In the command and grace of Greece, and in so rude a heat.
At which, she said, Apollo laugh’d, and Venus, who still sue
To that mad god for violence, that never justice knew;
For whose impiety she ask’d if with his wished love
Herself might free the field of him. He bade her rather move
Athenia to the charge she sought, who us’d of old to be
The bane of Mars, and had as well the gift of spoil as he.
This grace she slack’d not, but her horse scourg’d, that in nature flew
Betwixt the cope of stars and earth: and how far at a view
A man into the purple sea may from a hill descry,
So far a high-neighing horse of heaven at every jump would fly.
Arriv’d at Troy, where broke in curls the two floods mix their force,
Scamander and bright Simois, Saturnia stay’d her horse,
Took them from chariot, and a cloud of mighty depth diffus’d
About them; and the verdant banks of Simois produc’d
In nature what they eat in heaven. Then both the goddesses
March’d like a pair of timorous doves, in hasting their access
To th’ Argive succour. Being arriv’d, where both the most and best
Were heap’d together (showing all like lions at a feast
Of new-slain carcasses; or boars, beyond encounter strong);
There found they Diomed; and there, ’midst all th’ admiring throng,
Saturnia put on Stentor’s shape, that had a brazen voice,
And spake as loud as fifty men; like whom she made a noise,
And chid the Argives: ‘O ye Greeks, in name and outward rite
But princes only, not in act: what scandal, what despite
Use ye to honour! All the time the great Aeacides
Was conversant in arms, your foes durst not a foot address
Without their ports, so much they fear’d his lance that all controll’d;
And now they out-ray to your fleet.’ This did with shame make bold
The general spirit and power of Greece; when, with particular note
Of their disgrace, Athenia made Tydeus issue hote.
She found him at his chariot, refreshing of his wound
Inflicted by slain Pandarus; his sweat did so abound,
It much annoy’d him underneath the broad belt of his shield;
With which – and tired with his toil – his soul could hardly yield
His body motion. With his hand he lifted up the belt,
And wip’d away that clotter’d blood the fervent wound did melt.
Minerva lean’d against his horse, and near their withers laid
Her sacred hand, then spake to him: ‘Believe me, Diomed,
Tydeus exampled not himself in thee his son; not great,
But yet he was a soldier, a man of so much heat
That in his embassy for Thebes, when I forbad his mind
To be too vent’rous, and when feasts his heart might have declin’d,
With which they welcom’d him, he made a challenge to the best,
And foil’d the best; I gave him aid, because the rust of rest
That would have seiz’d another mind he suffer’d not, but us’d
The trial I made like a man, and their soft feasts refus’d.
Yet when I set thee on, thou faint’st; I guard thee, charge, exhort
That – I abetting thee – thou shouldst be to the Greeks a fort,
And a dismay to Ilion; yet thou obey’st in nought,
Afraid, or slothful, or else both: henceforth renounce all thought
That ever thou wert Tydeus’ son.’ He answer’d her: ‘I know
Thou art Jove’s daughter; and for that in all just duty owe
Thy speeches rev’rence, yet affirm ingenuously that fear
Doth neither hold me spiritless, nor sloth. I only bear
Thy charge in zealous memory, that I should never war
With any blessed deity, unless (exceeding far
The limits of her rule) the queen, that governs chamber sport,
Should press to field; and her thy will enjoin’d my lance to hurt.
But he whose pow’r hath right in arms, I knew in person here,
Besides the Cyprian deity, and therefore did forbear,
And here have gather’d in retreat these other
Greeks you see,
With note and rev’rence of your charge.’ ‘My dearest mind,’ said she,
‘What then was fit is chang’d: ’tis true, Mars hath just rule in war –
But just war; otherwise he raves, not fights; he’s alter’d far.
He vow’d to Juno and myself that his aid should be us’d
Against the Trojans; whom it guards, and therein he abus’d
His rule in arms, infring’d his word, and made his war unjust:
He is inconstant, impious, mad. Resolve then; firmly trust
My aid of thee against his worst, or any deity:
Add scourge to thy free horse, charge home: he fights perfidiously.’
This said, as that brave king, her knight, with his horse-guiding friend,
Were set before the chariot, for sign he should descend,
That she might serve for waggoness, she pluck’d the wagg’ner back,
And up into his seat she mounts: the beechen tree did crack
Beneath the burthen; and good cause, it bore so large a thing:
A goddess so replete with power, and such a puissant king.
She snatch’d the scourge up and the reins, and shut her heavenly look
In Hell’s vast helm, from Mars’s eyes; and full career she took
At him, who then had newly slain the mighty Periphas,
Renown’d son to Ochesius, and far the strongest was
Of all th’ Aetolians; to whose spoil the bloody god was run.
But when this man-plague saw th’ approach of god-like Tydeus’ son,
He let his mighty Periphas lie, and in full charge he ran
At Diomed, and he at him; both near, the god began,
And (thirsty of his blood) he throws a brazen lance, that bears
Full on the breast of Diomed, above the reins and gears;
But Pallas took it on her hand, and struck the eager lance
Beneath the chariot. Then the knight of Pallas doth advance,
And cast a javelin off at Mars; Minerva sent it on,
That (where his arming girdle girt) his belly graz’d upon,
Just at the rim, and ranch’d the flesh: the lance again he got,
But left the wound; that stung him so, lie laid out such a throat
As if nine or ten thousand men had bray’d out all their breaths
In one confusion, having felt as many sudden deaths.
The roar made both the hosts amaz’d. Up flew the god to heav’n,
And with him was through all the air as black a tincture driv’n
To Diomed’s eyes, as when the earth half chok’d with smoking heat
Of gloomy clouds, that stifle men, and pitchy tempests’ threat,
Usher’d with horrid gusts of wind: with such black vapours plum’d,
Mars flew t’ Olympus, and broad heav’n, and there his place resum’d.
Sadly he went and sat by Jove, show’d his immortal blood,
That from a mortal-man-made wound pour’d such an impious flood;
And weeping pour’d out these complaints: ‘O Father, storm’st thou not
To see us take these wrongs from men? Extreme griefs we have got
Ev’n by our own deep counsels held, for gratifying them;
And thou, our council’s president, conclud’st in this extreme
Of fighting ever: being rul’d by one that thou hast bred –
One never well, but doing ill, a girl so full of head
That though all other gods obey, her mad moods must command
By thy indulgence, nor by word nor any touch of hand
Correcting her; thy reason is, she is a spark of thee
And therefore she may kindle rage in men ’gainst gods, and she
May make men hurt gods, and those gods that are besides thy seed:
First in the palm’s height Cyprides; then runs the impious deed
On my hurt person; and could life give way to death in me,
Or had my feet not fetch’d me off, heaps of mortality
Had kept me consort.’
Jupiter, with a contracted brow,
Thus answer’d Mars: ‘Thou many minds, inconstant changeling thou,
Sit not complaining thus by me, whom most of all the gods
Inhabiting the starry hill I hate: no periods
Being set to thy contentions, brawls, fights, and pitching fields –
Just of thy mother Juno’s moods: stiff-neck’d, and never yields,
Though I correct her still, and chide; nor can forbear offence,
Though to her son; this wound I know tastes of her insolence.
But I will prove more natural; thou shalt be cur’d because
Thou com’st of me: but hadst thou been so cross to sacred laws,
Being born to any other god, thou hadst been thrown from heav’n
Long since, as low as Tartarus, beneath the giants driv’n.’
This said, he gave his wound in charge to Paeon, who applied
Such sov’reign medicines, that as soon the pain was qualified,
And he recur’d: as nourishing milk, when runnet is put in,
Runs all in heaps of tough thick curd, though in his nature thin:
Even so soon his wound’s parted sides ran close in his recure;
For he – all deathless – could not long the parts of death endure.
Then Hebe bath’d, and put on him fresh garments, and he sate
Exulting by his sire again, in top of all his state;
So, having from the spoils of men made his desir’d remove,
Juno and Pallas reascend the starry court of Jove.
The end of the fifth book
Book 6
The Argument
The gods now leaving an indifferent field,
The Greeks prevail, the slaughter’d Trojans yield:
Hector, by Helenus’ advice, retires
In haste to Troy, and Hecuba desires
To pray Minerva to remove from fight
The son of Tydeus, her affected knight;
Twelve oxen should be slain in sacrifice.
In mean space Glaucus and Tydides meet
And either other with remembrance greet
Of old love ’twixt their fathers, which inclines
Their hearts to friendship; who change arms for signs
Of a continued love for either’s life.
Hector, in his return, meets with his wife,
And taking in his armed arms his son,
He prophesies the fall of Ilion.
Another Argument
In Zeta, Hector prophesies;
Prays for his son; wills sacrifice.
Book 6
The stern fight freed of all the gods, conquest with doubtful wings
Flew on their lances: every way the restless field she flings
Betwixt the floods of Symois and Xanthus, that confin’d
All their affairs at Ilion, and round about them shin’d.
The first that weigh’d down all the field of one particular side
Was Ajax, son of Telamon, who like a bulwark plied
The Greeks protection, and of Troy the knotty orders brake;
Held out a light to all the rest, and show’d them how to make
Way to their conquest. He did wound the strongest man of Thrace,
The tallest and the biggest set, Eussorian Acamas:
His lance fell on his casque’s plum’d top in stooping; the fell head
Drove through his forehead to his jaws; his eyes night shadowed.
Tydides slew Teuthranides Axilus, that did dwell
In fair Arisba’s well-built tow’rs: he had of wealth a well,
And yet was kind and bountiful; he would a traveller pray
To be his guest; his friendly house stood in the broad highway,
In which he all sorts nobly us’d; yet none of them would stand
’Twixt him and death, but both himself and he that had command
Of his fair horse, Calisius, fell lifeless on the ground.
Euryalus Opheltius and Dresus dead did wound,
Nor ended there his fiery course, which he again begins,
And ran to it successfully, upon a pair of twins,
Aesepus and bold Pedasus, whom good Bucolion,
That first call’d father (though base born) renown’d Laomedon,
On Nais Abarbaraea got, a nymph that as she fed
Her curled flocks Bucolion woo’d, and mix’d in love and bed.
Both these were spoil’d of arms and life by Mecistiades.
Then Polypaetes for stern death Astialus did seize.
Ulysses slew Percosius; Teucer, Aretaön;
Antilochus (old Nestor’s joy) Ablerus; the great son
Of Atreus, and king of men, Elatus, whose abode
He held at upper Pedasus, where Satnius’ river flow’d.
The great heroë Leïtus stay’d Philacus in flight
From further life: Eurypilus Melanthius reft of light.
The brother to the king of men Adrestus took alive,
Whose horse, affrighted with the flight, their driver now did drive
Amongst the low-grown tamarisk trees, and at an arm of one
The chariot in the draught-tree brake, the horse brake loose, and ron
The same way other fliers fled, contending all to town:
Himself close at the chariot wheel upon his face was thrown,
And there lay flat, roll’d up in dust. Atrides inwards drave,
And holding at his breast his lance, Adrestus sought to save
His head by losing of his feet and trusting to his knees:
On which the same parts of the king he hugs, and offers fees
Of worthy value for his life, and thus pleads their receipt:
‘Take me alive, O Atreus’ son, and take a worthy weight
Of brass, elaborate iron, and gold: a heap of precious things
Are in my father’s riches hid, which when your servant brings