The Iliad Part 18

"No wonder, Greeks! that all to Hector yield; Secure of favouring G.o.ds, he takes the field; His strokes they second, and avert our spears.

Behold where Mars in mortal arms appears!

Retire then, warriors, but sedate and slow; Retire, but with your faces to the foe.

Trust not too much your unavailing might; 'Tis not with Troy, but with the G.o.ds ye fight."

Now near the Greeks the black battalions drew; And first two leaders valiant Hector slew: His force Anchialus and Mnesthes found, In every art of glorious war renown'd; In the same car the chiefs to combat ride, And fought united, and united died.

Struck at the sight, the mighty Ajax glows With thirst of vengeance, and a.s.saults the foes.

His ma.s.sy spear with matchless fury sent, Through Amphius' belt and heaving belly went; Amphius Apaesus' happy soil possess'd, With herds abounding, and with treasure bless'd; But fate resistless from his country led The chief, to perish at his people's head.

Shook with his fall his brazen armour rung, And fierce, to seize it, conquering Ajax sprung; Around his head an iron tempest rain'd; A wood of spears his ample shield sustain'd: Beneath one foot the yet warm corpse he press'd, And drew his javelin from the bleeding breast: He could no more; the showering darts denied To spoil his glittering arms, and plumy pride.

Now foes on foes came pouring on the fields, With bristling lances, and compacted shields; Till in the steely circle straiten'd round, Forced he gives way, and sternly quits the ground.

While thus they strive, Tlepolemus the great,(153) Urged by the force of unresisted fate, Burns with desire Sarpedon's strength to prove; Alcides' offspring meets the son of Jove.

Sheathed in bright arms each adverse chief came on.

Jove's great descendant, and his greater son.

Prepared for combat, ere the lance he toss'd, The daring Rhodian vents his haughty boast:

"What brings this Lycian counsellor so far, To tremble at our arms, not mix in war!

Know thy vain self, nor let their flattery move, Who style thee son of cloud-compelling Jove.

How far unlike those chiefs of race divine, How vast the difference of their deeds and thine!

Jove got such heroes as my sire, whose soul No fear could daunt, nor earth nor h.e.l.l control.

Troy felt his arm, and yon proud ramparts stand Raised on the ruins of his vengeful hand: With six small ships, and but a slender train, He left the town a wide-deserted plain.

But what art thou, who deedless look'st around, While unrevenged thy Lycians bite the ground!

Small aid to Troy thy feeble force can be; But wert thou greater, thou must yield to me.

Pierced by my spear, to endless darkness go!

I make this present to the shades below."

The son of Hercules, the Rhodian guide, Thus haughty spoke. The Lycian king replied:

"Thy sire, O prince! o'erturn'd the Trojan state, Whose perjured monarch well deserved his fate; Those heavenly steeds the hero sought so far, False he detain'd, the just reward of war.

Nor so content, the generous chief defied, With base reproaches and unmanly pride.

But you, unworthy the high race you boast, Shall raise my glory when thy own is lost: Now meet thy fate, and by Sarpedon slain, Add one more ghost to Pluto's gloomy reign."

He said: both javelins at an instant flew; Both struck, both wounded, but Sarpedon's slew: Full in the boaster's neck the weapon stood, Transfix'd his throat, and drank the vital blood; The soul disdainful seeks the caves of night, And his seal'd eyes for ever lose the light.

Yet not in vain, Tlepolemus, was thrown Thy angry lance; which piercing to the bone Sarpedon's thigh, had robb'd the chief of breath; But Jove was present, and forbade the death.

Borne from the conflict by his Lycian throng, The wounded hero dragg'd the lance along.

(His friends, each busied in his several part, Through haste, or danger, had not drawn the dart.) The Greeks with slain Tlepolemus retired; Whose fall Ulysses view'd, with fury fired; Doubtful if Jove's great son he should pursue, Or pour his vengeance on the Lycian crew.

But heaven and fate the first design withstand, Nor this great death must grace Ulysses' hand.

Minerva drives him on the Lycian train; Alastor, Cronius, Halius, strew'd the plain, Alcander, Prytanis, Noemon fell:(154) And numbers more his sword had sent to h.e.l.l, But Hector saw; and, furious at the sight, Rush'd terrible amidst the ranks of fight.

With joy Sarpedon view'd the wish'd relief, And, faint, lamenting, thus implored the chief:

"O suffer not the foe to bear away My helpless corpse, an una.s.sisted prey; If I, unbless'd, must see my son no more, My much-loved consort, and my native sh.o.r.e, Yet let me die in Ilion's sacred wall; Troy, in whose cause I fell, shall mourn my fall."

He said, nor Hector to the chief replies, But shakes his plume, and fierce to combat flies; Swift as a whirlwind, drives the scattering foes; And dyes the ground with purple as he goes.

Beneath a beech, Jove's consecrated shade, His mournful friends divine Sarpedon laid: Brave Pelagon, his favourite chief, was nigh, Who wrench'd the javelin from his sinewy thigh.

The fainting soul stood ready wing'd for flight, And o'er his eye-b.a.l.l.s swam the shades of night; But Boreas rising fresh, with gentle breath, Recall'd his spirit from the gates of death.

The generous Greeks recede with tardy pace, Though Mars and Hector thunder in their face; None turn their backs to mean ign.o.ble flight, Slow they retreat, and even retreating fight.

Who first, who last, by Mars' and Hector's hand, Stretch'd in their blood, lay gasping on the sand?

Tenthras the great, Orestes the renown'd For managed steeds, and Trechus press'd the ground;, Next OEnomaus and OEnops' offspring died; Oresbius last fell groaning at their side: Oresbius, in his painted mitre gay, In fat Boeotia held his wealthy sway, Where lakes surround low Hyle's watery plain; A prince and people studious of their gain.

The carnage Juno from the skies survey'd, And touch'd with grief bespoke the blue-eyed maid: "Oh, sight accursed! Shall faithless Troy prevail, And shall our promise to our people fail?

How vain the word to Menelaus given By Jove's great daughter and the queen of heaven, Beneath his arms that Priam's towers should fall, If warring G.o.ds for ever guard the wall!

Mars, red with slaughter, aids our hated foes: Haste, let us arm, and force with force oppose!"

She spoke; Minerva burns to meet the war: And now heaven's empress calls her blazing car.

At her command rush forth the steeds divine; Rich with immortal gold their trappings shine.

Bright Hebe waits; by Hebe, ever young, The whirling wheels are to the chariot hung.

On the bright axle turns the bidden wheel Of sounding bra.s.s; the polished axle steel.

Eight brazen spokes in radiant order flame; The circles gold, of uncorrupted frame, Such as the heavens produce: and round the gold Two brazen rings of work divine were roll'd.

The bossy naves of sold silver shone; Braces of gold suspend the moving throne: The car, behind, an arching figure bore; The bending concave form'd an arch before.

Silver the beam, the extended yoke was gold, And golden reins the immortal coursers hold.

Herself, impatient, to the ready car, The coursers joins, and breathes revenge and war.

Pallas disrobes; her radiant veil untied, With flowers adorn'd, with art diversified, (The laboured veil her heavenly fingers wove,) Flows on the pavement of the court of Jove.

Now heaven's dread arms her mighty limbs invest, Jove's cuira.s.s blazes on her ample breast; Deck'd in sad triumph for the mournful field, O'er her broad shoulders hangs his horrid shield, Dire, black, tremendous! Round the margin roll'd, A fringe of serpents hissing guards the gold: Here all the terrors of grim War appear, Here rages Force, here tremble Flight and Fear, Here storm'd Contention, and here Fury frown'd, And the dire orb portentous Gorgon crown'd.

The ma.s.sy golden helm she next a.s.sumes, That dreadful nods with four o'ershading plumes; So vast, the broad circ.u.mference contains A hundred armies on a hundred plains.

The G.o.ddess thus the imperial car ascends; Shook by her arm the mighty javelin bends, Ponderous and huge; that when her fury burns, Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o'erturns.

Swift at the scourge the ethereal coursers fly, While the smooth chariot cuts the liquid sky.

Heaven's gates spontaneous open to the powers,(155) Heaven's golden gates, kept by the winged Hours;(156) Commission'd in alternate watch they stand, The sun's bright portals and the skies command, Involve in clouds the eternal gates of day, Or the dark barrier roll with ease away.

The sounding hinges ring on either side The gloomy volumes, pierced with light, divide.

The chariot mounts, where deep in ambient skies, Confused, Olympus' hundred heads arise; Where far apart the Thunderer fills his throne, O'er all the G.o.ds superior and alone.

There with her snowy hand the queen restrains The fiery steeds, and thus to Jove complains:

"O sire! can no resentment touch thy soul?

Can Mars rebel, and does no thunder roll?

What lawless rage on yon forbidden plain, What rash destruction! and what heroes slain!

Venus, and Phoebus with the dreadful bow, Smile on the slaughter, and enjoy my woe.

Mad, furious power! whose unrelenting mind No G.o.d can govern, and no justice bind.

Say, mighty father! shall we scourge this pride, And drive from fight the impetuous homicide?"

To whom a.s.senting, thus the Thunderer said: "Go! and the great Minerva be thy aid.

To tame the monster-G.o.d Minerva knows, And oft afflicts his brutal breast with woes."

He said; Saturnia, ardent to obey, Lash'd her white steeds along the aerial way Swift down the steep of heaven the chariot rolls, Between the expanded earth and starry poles Far as a shepherd, from some point on high,(157) O'er the wide main extends his boundless eye, Through such a s.p.a.ce of air, with thundering sound, At every leap the immortal coursers bound Troy now they reach'd and touch'd those banks divine, Where silver Simois and Scamander join There Juno stopp'd, and (her fair steeds unloosed) Of air condensed a vapour circ.u.mfused For these, impregnate with celestial dew, On Simois, brink ambrosial herbage grew.

Thence to relieve the fainting Argive throng, Smooth as the sailing doves they glide along.

The best and bravest of the Grecian band (A warlike circle) round Tydides stand.

Such was their look as lions bathed in blood, Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood Heaven's empress mingles with the mortal crowd, And shouts, in Stentor's sounding voice, aloud; Stentor the strong, endued with brazen lungs,(158) Whose throats surpa.s.s'd the force of fifty tongues.

"Inglorious Argives! to your race a shame, And only men in figure and in name!

Once from the walls your timorous foes engaged, While fierce in war divine Achilles raged; Now issuing fearless they possess the plain, Now win the sh.o.r.es, and scarce the seas remain."

Her speech new fury to their hearts convey'd; While near Tydides stood the Athenian maid; The king beside his panting steeds she found, O'erspent with toil reposing on the ground; To cool his glowing wound he sat apart, (The wound inflicted by the Lycian dart.) Large drops of sweat from all his limbs descend, Beneath his ponderous shield his sinews bend, Whose ample belt, that o'er his shoulder lay, He eased; and wash'd the clotted gore away.

The G.o.ddess leaning o'er the bending yoke, Beside his coursers, thus her silence broke:

"Degenerate prince! and not of Tydeus' kind, Whose little body lodged a mighty mind; Foremost he press'd in glorious toils to share, And scarce refrain'd when I forbade the war.