The Iliad Part 22

"Andromache! my soul's far better part, Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?

No hostile hand can antedate my doom, Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.

Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth; And such the hard condition of our birth: No force can then resist, no flight can save, All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.

No more--but hasten to thy tasks at home, There guide the spindle, and direct the loom: Me glory summons to the martial scene, The field of combat is the sphere for men.

Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, The first in danger as the first in fame."

Thus having said, the glorious chief resumes His towery helmet, black with shading plumes.

His princess parts with a prophetic sigh, Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye That stream'd at every look; then, moving slow, Sought her own palace, and indulged her woe.

There, while her tears deplored the G.o.dlike man, Through all her train the soft infection ran; The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed, And mourn the living Hector, as the dead.

But now, no longer deaf to honour's call, Forth issues Paris from the palace wall.

In brazen arms that cast a gleamy ray, Swift through the town the warrior bends his way.

The wanton courser thus with reins unbound(176) Breaks from his stall, and beats the trembling ground; Pamper'd and proud, he seeks the wonted tides, And laves, in height of blood his shining sides; His head now freed, he tosses to the skies; His mane dishevell'd o'er his shoulders flies; He snuffs the females in the distant plain, And springs, exulting, to his fields again.

With equal triumph, sprightly, bold, and gay, In arms refulgent as the G.o.d of day, The son of Priam, glorying in his might, Rush'd forth with Hector to the fields of fight.

And now, the warriors pa.s.sing on the way, The graceful Paris first excused his stay.

To whom the n.o.ble Hector thus replied: "O chief! in blood, and now in arms, allied!

Thy power in war with justice none contest; Known is thy courage, and thy strength confess'd.

What pity sloth should seize a soul so brave, Or G.o.dlike Paris live a woman's slave!

My heart weeps blood at what the Trojans say, And hopes thy deeds shall wipe the stain away.

Haste then, in all their glorious labours share, For much they suffer, for thy sake, in war.

These ills shall cease, whene'er by Jove's decree We crown the bowl to heaven and liberty: While the proud foe his frustrate triumphs mourns, And Greece indignant through her seas returns."

[Ill.u.s.tration: BOWS AND BOW CASE.]

BOWS AND BOW CASE.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IRIS.]

IRIS.

BOOK VII.

ARGUMENT

THE SINGLE COMBAT OF HECTOR AND AJAX.

The battle renewing with double ardour upon the return of Hector, Minerva is under apprehensions for the Greeks. Apollo, seeing her descend from Olympus, joins her near the Scaean gate. They agree to put off the general engagement for that day, and incite Hector to challenge the Greeks to a single combat. Nine of the princes accepting the challenge, the lot is cast and falls upon Ajax. These heroes, after several attacks, are parted by the night. The Trojans calling a council, Antenor purposes the delivery of Helen to the Greeks, to which Paris will not consent, but offers to restore them her riches. Priam sends a herald to make this offer, and to demand a truce for burning the dead, the last of which only is agreed to by Agamemnon. When the funerals are performed, the Greeks, pursuant to the advice of Nestor, erect a fortification to protect their fleet and camp, flanked with towers, and defended by a ditch and palisades. Neptune testifies his jealousy at this work, but is pacified by a promise from Jupiter. Both armies pa.s.s the night in feasting but Jupiter disheartens the Trojans with thunder, and other signs of his wrath.

The three and twentieth day ends with the duel of Hector and Ajax, the next day the truce is agreed; another is taken up in the funeral rites of the slain and one more in building the fortification before the ships. So that somewhat about three days is employed in this book. The scene lies wholly in the field.

So spoke the guardian of the Trojan state, Then rush'd impetuous through the Scaean gate.

Him Paris follow'd to the dire alarms; Both breathing slaughter, both resolved in arms.

As when to sailors labouring through the main, That long have heaved the weary oar in vain, Jove bids at length the expected gales arise; The gales blow grateful, and the vessel flies.

So welcome these to Troy's desiring train, The bands are cheer'd, the war awakes again.

Bold Paris first the work of death begun On great Menestheus, Areithous' son, Sprung from the fair Philomeda's embrace, The pleasing Arne was his native place.

Then sunk Eioneus to the shades below, Beneath his steely casque he felt the blow(177) Full on his neck, from Hector's weighty hand; And roll'd, with limbs relax'd, along the land.

By Glaucus' spear the bold Iphmous bleeds, Fix'd in the shoulder as he mounts his steeds; Headlong he tumbles: his slack nerves unbound, Drop the cold useless members on the ground.

When now Minerva saw her Argives slain, From vast Olympus to the gleaming plain Fierce she descends: Apollo marked her flight, Nor shot less swift from Ilion's towery height.

Radiant they met, beneath the beechen shade; When thus Apollo to the blue-eyed maid:

"What cause, O daughter of Almighty Jove!

Thus wings thy progress from the realms above?

Once more impetuous dost thou bend thy way, To give to Greece the long divided day?

Too much has Troy already felt thy hate, Now breathe thy rage, and hush the stern debate; This day, the business of the field suspend; War soon shall kindle, and great Ilion bend; Since vengeful G.o.ddesses confederate join To raze her walls, though built by hands divine."

To whom the progeny of Jove replies: "I left, for this, the council of the skies: But who shall bid conflicting hosts forbear, What art shall calm the furious sons of war?"

To her the G.o.d: "Great Hector's soul incite To dare the boldest Greek to single fight, Till Greece, provoked, from all her numbers show A warrior worthy to be Hector's foe."

At this agreed, the heavenly powers withdrew; Sage Helenus their secret counsels knew; Hector, inspired, he sought: to him address'd, Thus told the dictates of his sacred breast: "O son of Priam! let thy faithful ear Receive my words: thy friend and brother hear!

Go forth persuasive, and a while engage The warring nations to suspend their rage; Then dare the boldest of the hostile train To mortal combat on the listed plain.

For not this day shall end thy glorious date; The G.o.ds have spoke it, and their voice is fate."

He said: the warrior heard the word with joy; Then with his spear restrain'd the youth of Troy, Held by the midst athwart. On either hand The squadrons part; the expecting Trojans stand; Great Agamemnon bids the Greeks forbear: They breathe, and hush the tumult of the war.

The Athenian maid, and glorious G.o.d of day,(178) With silent joy the settling hosts survey: In form of vultures, on the beech's height They sit conceal'd, and wait the future fight.

The thronging troops obscure the dusky fields, Horrid with bristling spears, and gleaming shields.

As when a general darkness veils the main, (Soft Zephyr curling the wide wat'ry plain,) The waves scarce heave, the face of ocean sleeps, And a still horror saddens all the deeps; Thus in thick orders settling wide around, At length composed they sit, and shade the ground.

Great Hector first amidst both armies broke The solemn silence, and their powers bespoke:

"Hear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands, What my soul prompts, and what some G.o.d commands.

Great Jove, averse our warfare to compose, O'erwhelms the nations with new toils and woes; War with a fiercer tide once more returns, Till Ilion falls, or till yon navy burns.

You then, O princes of the Greeks! appear; 'Tis Hector speaks, and calls the G.o.ds to hear: From all your troops select the boldest knight, And him, the boldest, Hector dares to fight.

Here if I fall, by chance of battle slain, Be his my spoil, and his these arms remain; But let my body, to my friends return'd, By Trojan hands and Trojan flames be burn'd.

And if Apollo, in whose aid I trust, Shall stretch your daring champion in the dust; If mine the glory to despoil the foe; On Phoebus' temple I'll his arms bestow: The breathless carcase to your navy sent, Greece on the sh.o.r.e shall raise a monument; Which when some future mariner surveys, Wash'd by broad h.e.l.lespont's resounding seas, Thus shall he say, 'A valiant Greek lies there, By Hector slain, the mighty man of war,'

The stone shall tell your vanquish'd hero's name.

And distant ages learn the victor's fame."

This fierce defiance Greece astonish'd heard, Blush'd to refuse, and to accept it fear'd.

Stern Menelaus first the silence broke, And, inly groaning, thus opprobrious spoke:

"Women of Greece! O scandal of your race, Whose coward souls your manly form disgrace, How great the shame, when every age shall know That not a Grecian met this n.o.ble foe!

Go then! resolve to earth, from whence ye grew, A heartless, spiritless, inglorious crew!

Be what ye seem, unanimated clay, Myself will dare the danger of the day; 'Tis man's bold task the generous strife to try, But in the hands of G.o.d is victory."

These words scarce spoke, with generous ardour press'd, His manly limbs in azure arms he dress'd.

That day, Atrides! a superior hand Had stretch'd thee breathless on the hostile strand; But all at once, thy fury to compose, The kings of Greece, an awful band, arose; Even he their chief, great Agamemnon, press'd Thy daring hand, and this advice address'd: "Whither, O Menelaus! wouldst thou run, And tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun?

Grieved though thou art, forbear the rash design; Great Hectors arm is mightier far than thine: Even fierce Achilles learn'd its force to fear, And trembling met this dreadful son of war.

Sit thou secure, amidst thy social band; Greece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand.

The mightiest warrior of the Achaian name, Though bold and burning with desire of fame, Content the doubtful honour might forego, So great the danger, and so brave the foe."