Fired by his words, the troops dismiss their fears, They join, they thicken, they protend their spears; Full on the Greeks they drive in firm array, And each from Ajax hopes the glorious prey: Vain hope! what numbers shall the field o'erspread, What victims perish round the mighty dead!

Great Ajax mark'd the growing storm from far, And thus bespoke his brother of the war: "Our fatal day, alas! is come, my friend; And all our wars and glories at an end! 'Tis not this corse alone we guard in vain, Condemn'd to vultures on the Trojan plain; We too must yield: the same sad fate must fall On thee, on me, perhaps, my friend, on all. See what a tempest direful Hector spreads, And lo! it bursts, it thunders on our heads! Call on our Greeks, if any hear the call, The bravest Greeks: this hour demands them all."

The warrior raised his voice, and wide around The field re-echoed the distressful sound. "O chiefs! O princes, to whose hand is given The rule of men; whose glory is from heaven! Whom with due honours both Atrides grace: Ye guides and guardians of our Argive race! All, whom this well-known voice shall reach from far, All, whom I see not through this cloud of war; Come all! let generous rage your arms employ, And save Patroclus from the dogs of Troy."

Oilean Ajax first the voice obey'd, Swift was his pace, and ready was his aid: Next him Idomeneus, more slow with age, And Merion, burning with a hero's rage. The long-succeeding numbers who can name? But all were Greeks, and eager all for fame. Fierce to the charge great Hector led the throng; Whole Troy embodied rush'd with shouts along. Thus, when a mountain billow foams and raves, Where some swoln river disembogues his waves, Full in the mouth is stopp'd the rushing tide, The boiling ocean works from side to side, The river trembles to his utmost shore, And distant rocks re-bellow to the roar.

Nor less resolved, the firm Achaian band With brazen shields in horrid circle stand. Jove, pouring darkness o'er the mingled fight, Conceals the warriors' shining helms in night: To him, the chief for whom the hosts contend Had lived not hateful, for he lived a friend: Dead he protects him with superior care. Nor dooms his carcase to the birds of air.



FIGHT FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS.

The first attack the Grecians scarce sustain, Repulsed, they yield; the Trojans seize the slain. Then fierce they rally, to revenge led on By the swift rage of Ajax Telamon. (Ajax to Peleus' son the second name, In graceful stature next, and next in fame) With headlong force the foremost ranks he tore; So through the thicket bursts the mountain boar, And rudely scatters, for a distance round, The frighted hunter and the baying hound. The son of Lethus, brave Pelasgus' heir, Hippothous, dragg'd the carcase through the war; The sinewy ankles bored, the feet he bound With thongs inserted through the double wound: Inevitable fate o'ertakes the deed; Doom'd by great Ajax' vengeful lance to bleed: It cleft the helmet's brazen cheeks in twain; The shatter'd crest and horse-hair strow the plain: With nerves relax'd he tumbles to the ground: The brain comes gushing through the ghastly wound: He drops Patroclus' foot, and o'er him spread, Now lies a sad companion of the dead: Far from Larissa lies, his native air, And ill requites his parents' tender care. Lamented youth! in life's first bloom he fell, Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell.

Once more at Ajax Hector's javelin flies; The Grecian marking, as it cut the skies, Shunn'd the descending death; which hissing on, Stretch'd in the dust the great Iphytus' son, Schedius the brave, of all the Phocian kind The boldest warrior and the noblest mind: In little Panope, for strength renown'd, He held his seat, and ruled the realms around. Plunged in his throat, the weapon drank his blood, And deep transpiercing through the shoulder stood; In clanging arms the hero fell and all The fields resounded with his weighty fall.

Phorcys, as slain Hippothous he defends, The Telamonian lance his belly rends; The hollow armour burst before the stroke, And through the wound the rushing entrails broke: In strong convulsions panting on the sands He lies, and grasps the dust with dying hands.

Struck at the sight, recede the Trojan train: The shouting Argives strip the heroes slain. And now had Troy, by Greece compell'd to yield, Fled to her ramparts, and resign'd the field; Greece, in her native fortitude elate, With Jove averse, had turn'd the scale of fate: But Phoebus urged AEneas to the fight; He seem'd like aged Periphas to sight: (A herald in Anchises' love grown old, Revered for prudence, and with prudence bold.)

Thus he—"What methods yet, O chief! remain, To save your Troy, though heaven its fall ordain? There have been heroes, who, by virtuous care, By valour, numbers, and by arts of war, Have forced the powers to spare a sinking state, And gain'd at length the glorious odds of fate: But you, when fortune smiles, when Jove declares His partial favour, and assists your wars, Your shameful efforts 'gainst yourselves employ, And force the unwilling god to ruin Troy."

AEneas through the form assumed descries The power conceal'd, and thus to Hector cries: "Oh lasting shame! to our own fears a prey, We seek our ramparts, and desert the day. A god, nor is he less, my bosom warms, And tells me, Jove asserts the Trojan arms."

He spoke, and foremost to the combat flew: The bold example all his hosts pursue. Then, first, Leocritus beneath him bled, In vain beloved by valiant Lycomede; Who view'd his fall, and, grieving at the chance, Swift to revenge it sent his angry lance; The whirling lance, with vigorous force address'd, Descends, and pants in Apisaon's breast; From rich Paeonia's vales the warrior came, Next thee, Asteropeus! in place and fame. Asteropeus with grief beheld the slain, And rush'd to combat, but he rush'd in vain: Indissolubly firm, around the dead, Rank within rank, on buckler buckler spread, And hemm'd with bristled spears, the Grecians stood, A brazen bulwark, and an iron wood. Great Ajax eyes them with incessant care, And in an orb contracts the crowded war, Close in their ranks commands to fight or fall, And stands the centre and the soul of all: Fix'd on the spot they war, and wounded, wound A sanguine torrent steeps the reeking ground: On heaps the Greeks, on heaps the Trojans bled, And, thickening round them, rise the hills of dead.

Greece, in close order, and collected might, Yet suffers least, and sways the wavering fight; Fierce as conflicting fires the combat burns, And now it rises, now it sinks by turns. In one thick darkness all the fight was lost; The sun, the moon, and all the ethereal host Seem'd as extinct: day ravish'd from their eyes, And all heaven's splendours blotted from the skies. Such o'er Patroclus' body hung the night, The rest in sunshine fought, and open light; Unclouded there, the aerial azure spread, No vapour rested on the mountain's head, The golden sun pour'd forth a stronger ray, And all the broad expansion flamed with day. Dispersed around the plain, by fits they fight, And here and there their scatter'd arrows light: But death and darkness o'er the carcase spread, There burn'd the war, and there the mighty bled.

Meanwhile the sons of Nestor, in the rear, (Their fellows routed,) toss the distant spear, And skirmish wide: so Nestor gave command, When from the ships he sent the Pylian band. The youthful brothers thus for fame contend, Nor knew the fortune of Achilles' friend; In thought they view'd him still, with martial joy, Glorious in arms, and dealing death to Troy.

But round the corse the heroes pant for breath, And thick and heavy grows the work of death: O'erlabour'd now, with dust, and sweat, and gore, Their knees, their legs, their feet, are covered o'er; Drops follow drops, the clouds on clouds arise, And carnage clogs their hands, and darkness fills their eyes. As when a slaughter'd bull's yet reeking hide, Strain'd with full force, and tugg'd from side to side, The brawny curriers stretch; and labour o'er The extended surface, drunk with fat and gore: So tugging round the corse both armies stood; The mangled body bathed in sweat and blood; While Greeks and Ilians equal strength employ, Now to the ships to force it, now to Troy. Not Pallas' self, her breast when fury warms, Nor he whose anger sets the world in arms, Could blame this scene; such rage, such horror reign'd; Such, Jove to honour the great dead ordain'd.

Achilles in his ships at distance lay, Nor knew the fatal fortune of the day; He, yet unconscious of Patroclus' fall, In dust extended under Ilion's wall, Expects him glorious from the conquered plain, And for his wish'd return prepares in vain; Though well he knew, to make proud Ilion bend Was more than heaven had destined to his friend. Perhaps to him: this Thetis had reveal'd; The rest, in pity to her son, conceal'd.

Still raged the conflict round the hero dead, And heaps on heaps by mutual wounds they bled. "Cursed be the man (even private Greeks would say) Who dares desert this well-disputed day! First may the cleaving earth before our eyes Gape wide, and drink our blood for sacrifice; First perish all, ere haughty Troy shall boast We lost Patroclus, and our glory lost!"

Thus they: while with one voice the Trojans said, "Grant this day, Jove! or heap us on the dead!"

Then clash their sounding arms; the clangours rise, And shake the brazen concave of the skies.

Meantime, at distance from the scene of blood, The pensive steeds of great Achilles stood: Their godlike master slain before their eyes, They wept, and shared in human miseries.(248) In vain Automedon now shakes the rein, Now plies the lash, and soothes and threats in vain; Nor to the fight nor Hellespont they go, Restive they stood, and obstinate in woe: Still as a tombstone, never to be moved, On some good man or woman unreproved Lays its eternal weight; or fix'd, as stands A marble courser by the sculptor's hands, Placed on the hero's grave. Along their face The big round drops coursed down with silent pace, Conglobing on the dust. Their manes, that late Circled their arched necks, and waved in state, Trail'd on the dust beneath the yoke were spread, And prone to earth was hung their languid head: Nor Jove disdain'd to cast a pitying look, While thus relenting to the steeds he spoke:

"Unhappy coursers of immortal strain, Exempt from age, and deathless, now in vain; Did we your race on mortal man bestow, Only, alas! to share in mortal woe? For ah! what is there of inferior birth, That breathes or creeps upon the dust of earth; What wretched creature of what wretched kind, Than man more weak, calamitous, and blind? A miserable race! but cease to mourn: For not by you shall Priam's son be borne High on the splendid car: one glorious prize He rashly boasts: the rest our will denies. Ourself will swiftness to your nerves impart, Ourself with rising spirits swell your heart. Automedon your rapid flight shall bear Safe to the navy through the storm of war. For yet 'tis given to Troy to ravage o'er The field, and spread her slaughters to the shore; The sun shall see her conquer, till his fall With sacred darkness shades the face of all."

He said; and breathing in the immortal horse Excessive spirit, urged them to the course; From their high manes they shake the dust, and bear The kindling chariot through the parted war: So flies a vulture through the clamorous train Of geese, that scream, and scatter round the plain. From danger now with swiftest speed they flew, And now to conquest with like speed pursue; Sole in the seat the charioteer remains, Now plies the javelin, now directs the reins: Him brave Alcimedon beheld distress'd, Approach'd the chariot, and the chief address'd:

"What god provokes thee rashly thus to dare, Alone, unaided, in the thickest war? Alas! thy friend is slain, and Hector wields Achilles' arms triumphant in the fields."

"In happy time (the charioteer replies) The bold Alcimedon now greets my eyes; No Greek like him the heavenly steeds restrains, Or holds their fury in suspended reins: Patroclus, while he lived, their rage could tame, But now Patroclus is an empty name! To thee I yield the seat, to thee resign The ruling charge: the task of fight be mine."

He said. Alcimedon, with active heat, Snatches the reins, and vaults into the seat. His friend descends. The chief of Troy descried, And call'd AEneas fighting near his side.

"Lo, to my sight, beyond our hope restored, Achilles' car, deserted of its lord! The glorious steeds our ready arms invite, Scarce their weak drivers guide them through the fight. Can such opponents stand when we assail? Unite thy force, my friend, and we prevail."

The son of Venus to the counsel yields; Then o'er their backs they spread their solid shields: With brass refulgent the broad surface shined, And thick bull-hides the spacious concave lined. Them Chromius follows, Aretus succeeds; Each hopes the conquest of the lofty steeds: In vain, brave youths, with glorious hopes ye burn, In vain advance! not fated to return.

Unmov'd, Automedon attends the fight, Implores the Eternal, and collects his might. Then turning to his friend, with dauntless mind: "Oh keep the foaming coursers close behind! Full on my shoulders let their nostrils blow, For hard the fight, determined is the foe; 'Tis Hector comes: and when he seeks the prize, War knows no mean; he wins it or he dies."

Then through the field he sends his voice aloud, And calls the Ajaces from the warring crowd, With great Atrides. "Hither turn, (he said,) Turn where distress demands immediate aid; The dead, encircled by his friends, forego, And save the living from a fiercer foe. Unhelp'd we stand, unequal to engage The force of Hector, and AEneas' rage: Yet mighty as they are, my force to prove Is only mine: the event belongs to Jove."

He spoke, and high the sounding javelin flung, Which pass'd the shield of Aretus the young: It pierced his belt, emboss'd with curious art, Then in the lower belly struck the dart. As when a ponderous axe, descending full, Cleaves the broad forehead of some brawny bull:(249) Struck 'twixt the horns, he springs with many a bound, Then tumbling rolls enormous on the ground: Thus fell the youth; the air his soul received, And the spear trembled as his entrails heaved.

Now at Automedon the Trojan foe Discharged his lance; the meditated blow, Stooping, he shunn'd; the javelin idly fled, And hiss'd innoxious o'er the hero's head; Deep rooted in the ground, the forceful spear In long vibrations spent its fury there. With clashing falchions now the chiefs had closed, But each brave Ajax heard, and interposed; Nor longer Hector with his Trojans stood, But left their slain companion in his blood: His arms Automedon divests, and cries, "Accept, Patroclus, this mean sacrifice: Thus have I soothed my griefs, and thus have paid, Poor as it is, some offering to thy shade."

So looks the lion o'er a mangled boar, All grim with rage, and horrible with gore; High on the chariot at one bound he sprung, And o'er his seat the bloody trophies hung.

And now Minerva from the realms of air Descends impetuous, and renews the war; For, pleased at length the Grecian arms to aid, The lord of thunders sent the blue-eyed maid. As when high Jove denouncing future woe, O'er the dark clouds extends his purple bow, (In sign of tempests from the troubled air, Or from the rage of man, destructive war,) The drooping cattle dread the impending skies, And from his half-till'd field the labourer flies: In such a form the goddess round her drew A livid cloud, and to the battle flew. Assuming Phoenix' shape on earth she falls, And in his well-known voice to Sparta calls: "And lies Achilles' friend, beloved by all, A prey to dogs beneath the Trojan wall? What shame 'o Greece for future times to tell, To thee the greatest in whose cause he fell!" "O chief, O father! (Atreus' son replies) O full of days! by long experience wise! What more desires my soul, than here unmoved To guard the body of the man I loved? Ah, would Minerva send me strength to rear This wearied arm, and ward the storm of war! But Hector, like the rage of fire, we dread, And Jove's own glories blaze around his head!"

Pleased to be first of all the powers address'd, She breathes new vigour in her hero's breast, And fills with keen revenge, with fell despite, Desire of blood, and rage, and lust of fight. So burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o'er), Repulsed in vain, and thirsty still of gore; (Bold son of air and heat) on angry wings Untamed, untired, he turns, attacks, and stings. Fired with like ardour fierce Atrides flew, And sent his soul with every lance he threw.

There stood a Trojan, not unknown to fame, Aetion's son, and Podes was his name: With riches honour'd, and with courage bless'd, By Hector loved, his comrade, and his guest; Through his broad belt the spear a passage found, And, ponderous as he falls, his arms resound. Sudden at Hector's side Apollo stood, Like Phaenops, Asius' son, appear'd the god; (Asius the great, who held his wealthy reign In fair Abydos, by the rolling main.)

"Oh prince! (he cried) Oh foremost once in fame! What Grecian now shall tremble at thy name? Dost thou at length to Menelaus yield, A chief once thought no terror of the field? Yet singly, now, the long-disputed prize He bears victorious, while our army flies: By the same arm illustrious Podes bled; The friend of Hector, unrevenged, is dead!" This heard, o'er Hector spreads a cloud of woe, Rage lifts his lance, and drives him on the foe.

But now the Eternal shook his sable shield, That shaded Ide and all the subject field Beneath its ample verge. A rolling cloud Involved the mount; the thunder roar'd aloud; The affrighted hills from their foundations nod, And blaze beneath the lightnings of the god: At one regard of his all-seeing eye The vanquish'd triumph, and the victors fly.

Then trembled Greece: the flight Peneleus led; For as the brave Boeotian turn'd his head To face the foe, Polydamas drew near, And razed his shoulder with a shorten'd spear: By Hector wounded, Leitus quits the plain, Pierced through the wrist; and raging with the pain, Grasps his once formidable lance in vain.

As Hector follow'd, Idomen address'd The flaming javelin to his manly breast; The brittle point before his corslet yields; Exulting Troy with clamour fills the fields: High on his chariots the Cretan stood, The son of Priam whirl'd the massive wood. But erring from its aim, the impetuous spear Struck to the dust the squire and charioteer Of martial Merion: Coeranus his name, Who left fair Lyctus for the fields of fame. On foot bold Merion fought; and now laid low, Had graced the triumphs of his Trojan foe, But the brave squire the ready coursers brought, And with his life his master's safety bought. Between his cheek and ear the weapon went, The teeth it shatter'd, and the tongue it rent. Prone from the seat he tumbles to the plain; His dying hand forgets the falling rein: This Merion reaches, bending from the car, And urges to desert the hopeless war: Idomeneus consents; the lash applies; And the swift chariot to the navy flies.

Not Ajax less the will of heaven descried, And conquest shifting to the Trojan side, Turn'd by the hand of Jove. Then thus begun, To Atreus's seed, the godlike Telamon:

"Alas! who sees not Jove's almighty hand Transfers the glory to the Trojan band? Whether the weak or strong discharge the dart, He guides each arrow to a Grecian heart: Not so our spears; incessant though they rain, He suffers every lance to fall in vain. Deserted of the god, yet let us try What human strength and prudence can supply; If yet this honour'd corse, in triumph borne, May glad the fleets that hope not our return, Who tremble yet, scarce rescued from their fates, And still hear Hector thundering at their gates. Some hero too must be despatch'd to bear The mournful message to Pelides' ear; For sure he knows not, distant on the shore, His friend, his loved Patroclus, is no more. But such a chief I spy not through the host: The men, the steeds, the armies, all are lost In general darkness—Lord of earth and air! Oh king! Oh father! hear my humble prayer: Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more: If Greece must perish, we thy will obey, But let us perish in the face of day!"

With tears the hero spoke, and at his prayer The god relenting clear'd the clouded air; Forth burst the sun with all-enlightening ray; The blaze of armour flash'd against the day. "Now, now, Atrides! cast around thy sight; If yet Antilochus survives the fight, Let him to great Achilles' ear convey The fatal news"—Atrides hastes away.

So turns the lion from the nightly fold, Though high in courage, and with hunger bold, Long gall'd by herdsmen, and long vex'd by hounds, Stiff with fatigue, and fretted sore with wounds; The darts fly round him from a hundred hands, And the red terrors of the blazing brands: Till late, reluctant, at the dawn of day Sour he departs, and quits the untasted prey, So moved Atrides from his dangerous place With weary limbs, but with unwilling pace; The foe, he fear'd, might yet Patroclus gain, And much admonish'd, much adjured his train:

"O guard these relics to your charge consign'd, And bear the merits of the dead in mind; How skill'd he was in each obliging art; The mildest manners, and the gentlest heart: He was, alas! but fate decreed his end, In death a hero, as in life a friend!"

So parts the chief; from rank to rank he flew, And round on all sides sent his piercing view. As the bold bird, endued with sharpest eye Of all that wings the mid aerial sky, The sacred eagle, from his walks above Looks down, and sees the distant thicket move; Then stoops, and sousing on the quivering hare, Snatches his life amid the clouds of air. Not with less quickness, his exerted sight Pass'd this and that way, through the ranks of fight: Till on the left the chief he sought, he found, Cheering his men, and spreading deaths around:

To him the king: "Beloved of Jove! draw near, For sadder tidings never touch'd thy ear; Thy eyes have witness'd what a fatal turn! How Ilion triumphs, and the Achaians mourn. This is not all: Patroclus, on the shore Now pale and dead, shall succour Greece no more. Fly to the fleet, this instant fly, and tell The sad Achilles, how his loved-one fell: He too may haste the naked corse to gain: The arms are Hector's, who despoil'd the slain."

The youthful warrior heard with silent woe, From his fair eyes the tears began to flow: Big with the mighty grief, he strove to say What sorrow dictates, but no word found way. To brave Laodocus his arms he flung, Who, near him wheeling, drove his steeds along; Then ran the mournful message to impart, With tearful eyes, and with dejected heart.

Swift fled the youth: nor Menelaus stands (Though sore distress'd) to aid the Pylian bands; But bids bold Thrasymede those troops sustain; Himself returns to his Patroclus slain. "Gone is Antilochus (the hero said); But hope not, warriors, for Achilles' aid: Though fierce his rage, unbounded be his woe, Unarm'd, he fights not with the Trojan foe. 'Tis in our hands alone our hopes remain, 'Tis our own vigour must the dead regain, And save ourselves, while with impetuous hate Troy pours along, and this way rolls our fate."

"'Tis well (said Ajax), be it then thy care, With Merion's aid, the weighty corse to rear; Myself, and my bold brother will sustain The shock of Hector and his charging train: Nor fear we armies, fighting side by side; What Troy can dare, we have already tried, Have tried it, and have stood." The hero said. High from the ground the warriors heave the dead. A general clamour rises at the sight: Loud shout the Trojans, and renew the fight. Not fiercer rush along the gloomy wood, With rage insatiate, and with thirst of blood, Voracious hounds, that many a length before Their furious hunters, drive the wounded boar; But if the savage turns his glaring eye, They howl aloof, and round the forest fly. Thus on retreating Greece the Trojans pour, Wave their thick falchions, and their javelins shower: But Ajax turning, to their fears they yield, All pale they tremble and forsake the field.

While thus aloft the hero's corse they bear, Behind them rages all the storm of war: Confusion, tumult, horror, o'er the throng Of men, steeds, chariots, urged the rout along: Less fierce the winds with rising flames conspire To whelm some city under waves of fire; Now sink in gloomy clouds the proud abodes, Now crack the blazing temples of the gods; The rumbling torrent through the ruin rolls, And sheets of smoke mount heavy to the poles. The heroes sweat beneath their honour'd load: As when two mules, along the rugged road, From the steep mountain with exerted strength Drag some vast beam, or mast's unwieldy length; Inly they groan, big drops of sweat distil, The enormous timber lumbering down the hill: So these—Behind, the bulk of Ajax stands, And breaks the torrent of the rushing bands. Thus when a river swell'd with sudden rains Spreads his broad waters o'er the level plains, Some interposing hill the stream divides. And breaks its force, and turns the winding tides. Still close they follow, close the rear engage; Aeneas storms, and Hector foams with rage: While Greece a heavy, thick retreat maintains, Wedged in one body, like a flight of cranes, That shriek incessant, while the falcon, hung High on poised pinions, threats their callow young. So from the Trojan chiefs the Grecians fly, Such the wild terror, and the mingled cry: Within, without the trench, and all the way, Strow'd in bright heaps, their arms and armour lay; Such horror Jove impress'd! yet still proceeds The work of death, and still the battle bleeds.



VULCAN FROM AN ANTIQUE GEM.



BOOK XVIII.

ARGUMENT.

THE GRIEF OF ACHILLES, AND NEW ARMOUR MADE HIM BY VULCAN.

The news of the death of Patroclus is brought to Achilles by Antilochus. Thetis, hearing his lamentations, comes with all her sea- nymphs to comfort him. The speeches of the mother and son on this occasion. Iris appears to Achilles by the command of Juno, and orders him to show himself at the head of the intrenchments. The sight of him turns the fortunes of the day, and the body of Patroclus is carried off by the Greeks. The Trojans call a council, where Hector and Polydamas disagree in their opinions: but the advice of the former prevails, to remain encamped in the field. The grief of Achilles over the body of Patroclus.

Thetis goes to the palace of Vulcan to obtain new arms for her son. The description of the wonderful works of Vulcan: and, lastly, that noble one of the shield of Achilles.

The latter part of the nine-and-twentieth day, and the night ensuing, take up this book: the scene is at Achilles' tent on the sea-shore, from whence it changes to the palace of Vulcan.

Thus like the rage of fire the combat burns,(250) And now it rises, now it sinks by turns. Meanwhile, where Hellespont's broad waters flow, Stood Nestor's son, the messenger of woe: There sat Achilles, shaded by his sails, On hoisted yards extended to the gales; Pensive he sat; for all that fate design'd Rose in sad prospect to his boding mind. Thus to his soul he said: "Ah! what constrains The Greeks, late victors, now to quit the plains? Is this the day, which heaven so long ago Ordain'd, to sink me with the weight of woe? (So Thetis warn'd;) when by a Trojan hand The bravest of the Myrmidonian band Should lose the light! Fulfilled is that decree; Fallen is the warrior, and Patroclus he! In vain I charged him soon to quit the plain, And warn'd to shun Hectorean force in vain!"

Thus while he thinks, Antilochus appears, And tells the melancholy tale with tears. "Sad tidings, son of Peleus! thou must hear; And wretched I, the unwilling messenger! Dead is Patroclus! For his corse they fight; His naked corse: his arms are Hector's right."

A sudden horror shot through all the chief, And wrapp'd his senses in the cloud of grief; Cast on the ground, with furious hands he spread The scorching ashes o'er his graceful head; His purple garments, and his golden hairs, Those he deforms with dust, and these he tears; On the hard soil his groaning breast he threw, And roll'd and grovell'd, as to earth he grew. The virgin captives, with disorder'd charms, (Won by his own, or by Patroclus' arms,) Rush'd from their tents with cries; and gathering round, Beat their white breasts, and fainted on the ground: While Nestor's son sustains a manlier part, And mourns the warrior with a warrior's heart; Hangs on his arms, amidst his frantic woe, And oft prevents the meditated blow.

Far in the deep abysses of the main,(251) With hoary Nereus, and the watery train, The mother-goddess from her crystal throne Heard his loud cries, and answer'd groan for groan. The circling Nereids with their mistress weep, And all the sea-green sisters of the deep. Thalia, Glauce (every watery name), Nesaea mild, and silver Spio came: Cymothoe and Cymodoce were nigh, And the blue languish of soft Alia's eye. Their locks Actaea and Limnoria rear, Then Proto, Doris, Panope appear, Thoa, Pherusa, Doto, Melita; Agave gentle, and Amphithoe gay: Next Callianira, Callianassa show Their sister looks; Dexamene the slow, And swift Dynamene, now cut the tides: Iaera now the verdant wave divides: Nemertes with Apseudes lifts the head, Bright Galatea quits her pearly bed; These Orythia, Clymene, attend, Maera, Amphinome, the train extend; And black Janira, and Janassa fair, And Amatheia with her amber hair. All these, and all that deep in ocean held Their sacred seats, the glimmering grotto fill'd; Each beat her ivory breast with silent woe, Till Thetis' sorrows thus began to flow:

"Hear me, and judge, ye sisters of the main! How just a cause has Thetis to complain! How wretched, were I mortal, were my fate! How more than wretched in the immortal state! Sprung from my bed a godlike hero came, The bravest far that ever bore the name; Like some fair olive, by my careful hand He grew, he flourish'd and adorn'd the land To Troy I sent him: but the fates ordain He never, never must return again. So short a space the light of heaven to view, So short, alas! and fill'd with anguish too! Hear how his sorrows echo through the shore! I cannot ease them, but I must deplore; I go at least to bear a tender part, And mourn my loved-one with a mother's heart."

She said, and left the caverns of the main, All bathed in tears; the melancholy train Attend her way. Wide-opening part the tides, While the long pomp the silver wave divides. Approaching now, they touch'd the Trojan land; Then, two by two, ascended up the strand. The immortal mother, standing close beside Her mournful offspring, to his sighs replied; Along the coast their mingled clamours ran, And thus the silver-footed dame began:

"Why mourns my son? thy late preferr'd request The god has granted, and the Greeks distress'd: Why mourns my son? thy anguish let me share, Reveal the cause, and trust a parent's care."

He, deeply groaning—"To this cureless grief, Not even the Thunderer's favour brings relief. Patroclus—Ah!—say, goddess, can I boast A pleasure now? revenge itself is lost; Patroclus, loved of all my martial train, Beyond mankind, beyond myself is slain! Lost are those arms the gods themselves bestow'd On Peleus; Hector bears the glorious load. Cursed be that day, when all the powers above Thy charms submitted to a mortal love: O hadst thou still, a sister of the main, Pursued the pleasures of the watery reign: And happier Peleus, less ambitious, led A mortal beauty to his equal bed! Ere the sad fruit of thy unhappy womb Had caused such sorrows past, and woes to come. For soon, alas! that wretched offspring slain, New woes, new sorrows, shall create again. 'Tis not in fate the alternate now to give; Patroclus dead, Achilles hates to live. Let me revenge it on proud Hector's heart, Let his last spirit smoke upon my dart; On these conditions will I breathe: till then, I blush to walk among the race of men."

A flood of tears, at this, the goddess shed: "Ah then, I see thee dying, see thee dead! When Hector falls, thou diest."—"Let Hector die, And let me fall! (Achilles made reply) Far lies Patroclus from his native plain! He fell, and falling, wish'd my aid in vain. Ah then, since from this miserable day I cast all hope of my return away; Since, unrevenged, a hundred ghosts demand The fate of Hector from Achilles' hand; Since here, for brutal courage far renown'd, I live an idle burden to the ground, (Others in council famed for nobler skill, More useful to preserve, than I to kill,) Let me—But oh! ye gracious powers above! Wrath and revenge from men and gods remove: Far, far too dear to every mortal breast, Sweet to the soul, as honey to the taste: Gathering like vapours of a noxious kind From fiery blood, and darkening all the mind. Me Agamemnon urged to deadly hate; 'Tis past—I quell it; I resign to fate. Yes—I will meet the murderer of my friend; Or (if the gods ordain it) meet my end. The stroke of fate the strongest cannot shun: The great Alcides, Jove's unequall'd son, To Juno's hate, at length resign'd his breath, And sunk the victim of all-conquering death. So shall Achilles fall! stretch'd pale and dead, No more the Grecian hope, or Trojan dread! Let me, this instant, rush into the fields, And reap what glory life's short harvest yields. Shall I not force some widow'd dame to tear With frantic hands her long dishevell'd hair? Shall I not force her breast to heave with sighs, And the soft tears to trickle from her eyes? Yes, I shall give the fair those mournful charms— In vain you hold me—Hence! my arms! my arms!— Soon shall the sanguine torrent spread so wide, That all shall know Achilles swells the tide."

"My son (coerulean Thetis made reply, To fate submitting with a secret sigh,) The host to succour, and thy friends to save, Is worthy thee; the duty of the brave. But canst thou, naked, issue to the plains? Thy radiant arms the Trojan foe detains. Insulting Hector bears the spoils on high, But vainly glories, for his fate is nigh. Yet, yet awhile thy generous ardour stay; Assured, I meet thee at the dawn of day, Charged with refulgent arms (a glorious load), Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god."

Then turning to the daughters of the main, The goddess thus dismiss'd her azure train:

"Ye sister Nereids! to your deeps descend; Haste, and our father's sacred seat attend; I go to find the architect divine, Where vast Olympus' starry summits shine: So tell our hoary sire"—This charge she gave: The sea-green sisters plunge beneath the wave: Thetis once more ascends the bless'd abodes, And treads the brazen threshold of the gods.



THETIS ORDERING THE NEREIDS TO DESCEND INTO THE SEA.

And now the Greeks from furious Hector's force, Urge to broad Hellespont their headlong course; Nor yet their chiefs Patroclus' body bore Safe through the tempest to the tented shore. The horse, the foot, with equal fury join'd, Pour'd on the rear, and thunder'd close behind: And like a flame through fields of ripen'd corn, The rage of Hector o'er the ranks was borne. Thrice the slain hero by the foot he drew; Thrice to the skies the Trojan clamours flew: As oft the Ajaces his assault sustain; But check'd, he turns; repuls'd, attacks again. With fiercer shouts his lingering troops he fires, Nor yields a step, nor from his post retires: So watchful shepherds strive to force, in vain, The hungry lion from a carcase slain. Even yet Patroclus had he borne away, And all the glories of the extended day, Had not high Juno from the realms of air, Secret, despatch'd her trusty messenger. The various goddess of the showery bow, Shot in a whirlwind to the shore below; To great Achilles at his ships she came, And thus began the many-colour'd dame:

"Rise, son of Peleus! rise, divinely brave! Assist the combat, and Patroclus save: For him the slaughter to the fleet they spread, And fall by mutual wounds around the dead. To drag him back to Troy the foe contends: Nor with his death the rage of Hector ends: A prey to dogs he dooms the corse to lie, And marks the place to fix his head on high. Rise, and prevent (if yet you think of fame) Thy friend's disgrace, thy own eternal shame!"

"Who sends thee, goddess, from the ethereal skies?" Achilles thus. And Iris thus replies:

"I come, Pelides! from the queen of Jove, The immortal empress of the realms above; Unknown to him who sits remote on high, Unknown to all the synod of the sky." "Thou comest in vain (he cries, with fury warm'd); Arms I have none, and can I fight unarm'd? Unwilling as I am, of force I stay, Till Thetis bring me at the dawn of day Vulcanian arms: what other can I wield, Except the mighty Telamonian shield? That, in my friend's defence, has Ajax spread, While his strong lance around him heaps the dead: The gallant chief defends Menoetius' son, And does what his Achilles should have done."

"Thy want of arms (said Iris) well we know; But though unarm'd, yet clad in terrors, go! Let but Achilles o'er yon trench appear, Proud Troy shall tremble, and consent to fear; Greece from one glance of that tremendous eye Shall take new courage, and disdain to fly."

She spoke, and pass'd in air. The hero rose: Her aegis Pallas o'er his shoulder throws; Around his brows a golden cloud she spread; A stream of glory flamed above his head. As when from some beleaguer'd town arise The smokes, high curling to the shaded skies; (Seen from some island, o'er the main afar, When men distress'd hang out the sign of war;) Soon as the sun in ocean hides his rays, Thick on the hills the flaming beacons blaze; With long-projected beams the seas are bright, And heaven's high arch reflects the ruddy light: So from Achilles' head the splendours rise, Reflecting blaze on blaze against the skies. Forth march'd the chief, and distant from the crowd, High on the rampart raised his voice aloud; With her own shout Minerva swells the sound; Troy starts astonish'd, and the shores rebound. As the loud trumpet's brazen mouth from far With shrilling clangour sounds the alarm of war, Struck from the walls, the echoes float on high, And the round bulwarks and thick towers reply; So high his brazen voice the hero rear'd: Hosts dropp'd their arms, and trembled as they heard: And back the chariots roll, and coursers bound, And steeds and men lie mingled on the ground. Aghast they see the living lightnings play, And turn their eyeballs from the flashing ray. Thrice from the trench his dreadful voice he raised, And thrice they fled, confounded and amazed. Twelve in the tumult wedged, untimely rush'd On their own spears, by their own chariots crush'd: While, shielded from the darts, the Greeks obtain The long-contended carcase of the slain.

A lofty bier the breathless warrior bears: Around, his sad companions melt in tears. But chief Achilles, bending down his head, Pours unavailing sorrows o'er the dead, Whom late triumphant, with his steeds and car, He sent refulgent to the field of war; (Unhappy change!) now senseless, pale, he found, Stretch'd forth, and gash'd with many a gaping wound.

Meantime, unwearied with his heavenly way, In ocean's waves the unwilling light of day Quench'd his red orb, at Juno's high command, And from their labours eased the Achaian band. The frighted Trojans (panting from the war, Their steeds unharness'd from the weary car) A sudden council call'd: each chief appear'd In haste, and standing; for to sit they fear'd. 'Twas now no season for prolong'd debate; They saw Achilles, and in him their fate. Silent they stood: Polydamas at last, Skill'd to discern the future by the past, The son of Panthus, thus express'd his fears (The friend of Hector, and of equal years; The self-same night to both a being gave, One wise in council, one in action brave):



JUNO COMMANDING THE SUN TO SET.

"In free debate, my friends, your sentence speak; For me, I move, before the morning break, To raise our camp: too dangerous here our post, Far from Troy walls, and on a naked coast. I deem'd not Greece so dreadful, while engaged In mutual feuds her king and hero raged; Then, while we hoped our armies might prevail We boldly camp'd beside a thousand sail. I dread Pelides now: his rage of mind Not long continues to the shores confined, Nor to the fields, where long in equal fray Contending nations won and lost the day; For Troy, for Troy, shall henceforth be the strife, And the hard contest not for fame, but life. Haste then to Ilion, while the favouring night Detains these terrors, keeps that arm from fight. If but the morrow's sun behold us here, That arm, those terrors, we shall feel, not fear; And hearts that now disdain, shall leap with joy, If heaven permit them then to enter Troy. Let not my fatal prophecy be true, Nor what I tremble but to think, ensue. Whatever be our fate, yet let us try What force of thought and reason can supply; Let us on counsel for our guard depend; The town her gates and bulwarks shall defend. When morning dawns, our well-appointed powers, Array'd in arms, shall line the lofty towers. Let the fierce hero, then, when fury calls, Vent his mad vengeance on our rocky walls, Or fetch a thousand circles round the plain, Till his spent coursers seek the fleet again: So may his rage be tired, and labour'd down! And dogs shall tear him ere he sack the town."

"Return! (said Hector, fired with stern disdain) What! coop whole armies in our walls again? Was't not enough, ye valiant warriors, say, Nine years imprison'd in those towers ye lay? Wide o'er the world was Ilion famed of old For brass exhaustless, and for mines of gold: But while inglorious in her walls we stay'd, Sunk were her treasures, and her stores decay'd; The Phrygians now her scatter'd spoils enjoy, And proud Maeonia wastes the fruits of Troy. Great Jove at length my arms to conquest calls, And shuts the Grecians in their wooden walls, Darest thou dispirit whom the gods incite? Flies any Trojan? I shall stop his flight. To better counsel then attention lend; Take due refreshment, and the watch attend. If there be one whose riches cost him care, Forth let him bring them for the troops to share; 'Tis better generously bestow'd on those, Than left the plunder of our country's foes. Soon as the morn the purple orient warms, Fierce on yon navy will we pour our arms. If great Achilles rise in all his might, His be the danger: I shall stand the fight. Honour, ye gods! or let me gain or give; And live he glorious, whosoe'er shall live! Mars is our common lord, alike to all; And oft the victor triumphs, but to fall."

The shouting host in loud applauses join'd; So Pallas robb'd the many of their mind; To their own sense condemn'd, and left to choose The worst advice, the better to refuse.

While the long night extends her sable reign, Around Patroclus mourn'd the Grecian train. Stern in superior grief Pelides stood; Those slaughtering arms, so used to bathe in blood, Now clasp his clay-cold limbs: then gushing start The tears, and sighs burst from his swelling heart. The lion thus, with dreadful anguish stung, Roars through the desert, and demands his young; When the grim savage, to his rifled den Too late returning, snuffs the track of men, And o'er the vales and o'er the forest bounds; His clamorous grief the bellowing wood resounds. So grieves Achilles; and, impetuous, vents To all his Myrmidons his loud laments.

"In what vain promise, gods! did I engage, When to console Menoetius' feeble age, I vowed his much-loved offspring to restore, Charged with rich spoils, to fair Opuntia's shore?(252) But mighty Jove cuts short, with just disdain, The long, long views of poor designing man! One fate the warrior and the friend shall strike, And Troy's black sands must drink our blood alike: Me too a wretched mother shall deplore, An aged father never see me more! Yet, my Patroclus! yet a space I stay, Then swift pursue thee on the darksome way. Ere thy dear relics in the grave are laid, Shall Hector's head be offer'd to thy shade; That, with his arms, shall hang before thy shrine; And twelve, the noblest of the Trojan line, Sacred to vengeance, by this hand expire; Their lives effused around thy flaming pyre. Thus let me lie till then! thus, closely press'd, Bathe thy cold face, and sob upon thy breast! While Trojan captives here thy mourners stay, Weep all the night and murmur all the day: Spoils of my arms, and thine; when, wasting wide, Our swords kept time, and conquer'd side by side."

He spoke, and bade the sad attendants round Cleanse the pale corse, and wash each honour'd wound. A massy caldron of stupendous frame They brought, and placed it o'er the rising flame: Then heap'd the lighted wood; the flame divides Beneath the vase, and climbs around the sides: In its wide womb they pour the rushing stream; The boiling water bubbles to the brim. The body then they bathe with pious toil, Embalm the wounds, anoint the limbs with oil, High on a bed of state extended laid, And decent cover'd with a linen shade; Last o'er the dead the milk-white veil they threw; That done, their sorrows and their sighs renew.

Meanwhile to Juno, in the realms above, (His wife and sister,) spoke almighty Jove. "At last thy will prevails: great Peleus' son Rises in arms: such grace thy Greeks have won. Say (for I know not), is their race divine, And thou the mother of that martial line?"

"What words are these? (the imperial dame replies, While anger flash'd from her majestic eyes) Succour like this a mortal arm might lend, And such success mere human wit attend: And shall not I, the second power above, Heaven's queen, and consort of the thundering Jove, Say, shall not I one nation's fate command, Not wreak my vengeance on one guilty land?"



TRIPOD.

So they. Meanwhile the silver-footed dame Reach'd the Vulcanian dome, eternal frame! High-eminent amid the works divine, Where heaven's far-beaming brazen mansions shine. There the lame architect the goddess found, Obscure in smoke, his forges flaming round, While bathed in sweat from fire to fire he flew; And puffing loud, the roaring billows blew. That day no common task his labour claim'd: Full twenty tripods for his hall he framed, That placed on living wheels of massy gold, (Wondrous to tell,) instinct with spirit roll'd From place to place, around the bless'd abodes Self-moved, obedient to the beck of gods: For their fair handles now, o'erwrought with flowers, In moulds prepared, the glowing ore he pours. Just as responsive to his thought the frame Stood prompt to move, the azure goddess came: Charis, his spouse, a grace divinely fair, (With purple fillets round her braided hair,) Observed her entering; her soft hand she press'd, And, smiling, thus the watery queen address'd:

"What, goddess! this unusual favour draws? All hail, and welcome! whatsoe'er the cause; Till now a stranger, in a happy hour Approach, and taste the dainties of the bower."



THETIS AND EURYNOME RECEIVING THE INFANT VULCAN.

High on a throne, with stars of silver graced, And various artifice, the queen she placed; A footstool at her feet: then calling, said, "Vulcan, draw near, 'tis Thetis asks your aid." "Thetis (replied the god) our powers may claim, An ever-dear, an ever-honour'd name! When my proud mother hurl'd me from the sky, (My awkward form, it seems, displeased her eye,) She, and Eurynome, my griefs redress'd, And soft received me on their silver breast. Even then these arts employ'd my infant thought: Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys, I wrought. Nine years kept secret in the dark abode, Secure I lay, conceal'd from man and god: Deep in a cavern'd rock my days were led; The rushing ocean murmur'd o'er my head. Now, since her presence glads our mansion, say, For such desert what service can I pay? Vouchsafe, O Thetis! at our board to share The genial rites, and hospitable fare; While I the labours of the forge forego, And bid the roaring bellows cease to blow."

Then from his anvil the lame artist rose; Wide with distorted legs oblique he goes, And stills the bellows, and (in order laid) Locks in their chests his instruments of trade. Then with a sponge the sooty workman dress'd His brawny arms embrown'd, and hairy breast. With his huge sceptre graced, and red attire, Came halting forth the sovereign of the fire: The monarch's steps two female forms uphold, That moved and breathed in animated gold; To whom was voice, and sense, and science given Of works divine (such wonders are in heaven!) On these supported, with unequal gait, He reach'd the throne where pensive Thetis sate; There placed beside her on the shining frame, He thus address'd the silver-footed dame:

"Thee, welcome, goddess! what occasion calls (So long a stranger) to these honour'd walls? 'Tis thine, fair Thetis, the command to lay, And Vulcan's joy and duty to obey."



VULCAN AND CHARIS RECEIVING THETIS.

To whom the mournful mother thus replies: (The crystal drops stood trembling in her eyes:) "O Vulcan! say, was ever breast divine So pierced with sorrows, so o'erwhelm'd as mine? Of all the goddesses, did Jove prepare For Thetis only such a weight of care? I, only I, of all the watery race By force subjected to a man's embrace, Who, sinking now with age and sorrow, pays The mighty fine imposed on length of days. Sprung from my bed, a godlike hero came, The bravest sure that ever bore the name; Like some fair plant beneath my careful hand He grew, he flourish'd, and he graced the land: To Troy I sent him! but his native shore Never, ah never, shall receive him more; (Even while he lives, he wastes with secret woe;) Nor I, a goddess, can retard the blow! Robb'd of the prize the Grecian suffrage gave, The king of nations forced his royal slave: For this he grieved; and, till the Greeks oppress'd Required his arm, he sorrow'd unredress'd. Large gifts they promise, and their elders send; In vain—he arms not, but permits his friend His arms, his steeds, his forces to employ: He marches, combats, almost conquers Troy: Then slain by Phoebus (Hector had the name) At once resigns his armour, life, and fame. But thou, in pity, by my prayer be won: Grace with immortal arms this short-lived son, And to the field in martial pomp restore, To shine with glory, till he shines no more!"

To her the artist-god: "Thy griefs resign, Secure, what Vulcan can, is ever thine. O could I hide him from the Fates, as well, Or with these hands the cruel stroke repel, As I shall forge most envied arms, the gaze Of wondering ages, and the world's amaze!"

Thus having said, the father of the fires To the black labours of his forge retires. Soon as he bade them blow, the bellows turn'd Their iron mouths; and where the furnace burn'd, Resounding breathed: at once the blast expires, And twenty forges catch at once the fires; Just as the god directs, now loud, now low, They raise a tempest, or they gently blow; In hissing flames huge silver bars are roll'd, And stubborn brass, and tin, and solid gold; Before, deep fix'd, the eternal anvils stand; The ponderous hammer loads his better hand, His left with tongs turns the vex'd metal round, And thick, strong strokes, the doubling vaults rebound.

Then first he form'd the immense and solid shield; Rich various artifice emblazed the field; Its utmost verge a threefold circle bound;(253) A silver chain suspends the massy round; Five ample plates the broad expanse compose, And godlike labours on the surface rose. There shone the image of the master-mind: There earth, there heaven, there ocean he design'd; The unwearied sun, the moon completely round; The starry lights that heaven's high convex crown'd; The Pleiads, Hyads, with the northern team; And great Orion's more refulgent beam; To which, around the axle of the sky, The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye, Still shines exalted on the ethereal plain, Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.

Two cities radiant on the shield appear, The image one of peace, and one of war. Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight, And solemn dance, and hymeneal rite; Along the street the new-made brides are led, With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed: The youthful dancers in a circle bound To the soft flute, and cithern's silver sound: Through the fair streets the matrons in a row Stand in their porches, and enjoy the show.

There in the forum swarm a numerous train; The subject of debate, a townsman slain: One pleads the fine discharged, which one denied, And bade the public and the laws decide: The witness is produced on either hand: For this, or that, the partial people stand: The appointed heralds still the noisy bands, And form a ring, with sceptres in their hands: On seats of stone, within the sacred place,(254) The reverend elders nodded o'er the case; Alternate, each the attesting sceptre took, And rising solemn, each his sentence spoke Two golden talents lay amidst, in sight, The prize of him who best adjudged the right.

Another part (a prospect differing far)(255) Glow'd with refulgent arms, and horrid war. Two mighty hosts a leaguer'd town embrace, And one would pillage, one would burn the place. Meantime the townsmen, arm'd with silent care, A secret ambush on the foe prepare: Their wives, their children, and the watchful band Of trembling parents, on the turrets stand. They march; by Pallas and by Mars made bold: Gold were the gods, their radiant garments gold, And gold their armour: these the squadron led, August, divine, superior by the head! A place for ambush fit they found, and stood, Cover'd with shields, beside a silver flood. Two spies at distance lurk, and watchful seem If sheep or oxen seek the winding stream. Soon the white flocks proceeded o'er the plains, And steers slow-moving, and two shepherd swains; Behind them piping on their reeds they go, Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe. In arms the glittering squadron rising round Rush sudden; hills of slaughter heap the ground; Whole flocks and herds lie bleeding on the plains, And, all amidst them, dead, the shepherd swains! The bellowing oxen the besiegers hear; They rise, take horse, approach, and meet the war, They fight, they fall, beside the silver flood; The waving silver seem'd to blush with blood. There Tumult, there Contention stood confess'd; One rear'd a dagger at a captive's breast; One held a living foe, that freshly bled With new-made wounds; another dragg'd a dead; Now here, now there, the carcases they tore: Fate stalk'd amidst them, grim with human gore. And the whole war came out, and met the eye; And each bold figure seem'd to live or die.

A field deep furrow'd next the god design'd,(256) The third time labour'd by the sweating hind; The shining shares full many ploughmen guide, And turn their crooked yokes on every side. Still as at either end they wheel around, The master meets them with his goblet crown'd; The hearty draught rewards, renews their toil, Then back the turning ploughshares cleave the soil: Behind, the rising earth in ridges roll'd; And sable look'd, though form'd of molten gold.

Another field rose high with waving grain; With bended sickles stand the reaper train: Here stretched in ranks the levell'd swarths are found, Sheaves heap'd on sheaves here thicken up the ground. With sweeping stroke the mowers strow the lands; The gatherers follow, and collect in bands; And last the children, in whose arms are borne (Too short to gripe them) the brown sheaves of corn. The rustic monarch of the field descries, With silent glee, the heaps around him rise. A ready banquet on the turf is laid, Beneath an ample oak's expanded shade. The victim ox the sturdy youth prepare; The reaper's due repast, the woman's care.

Next, ripe in yellow gold, a vineyard shines, Bent with the ponderous harvest of its vines; A deeper dye the dangling clusters show, And curl'd on silver props, in order glow: A darker metal mix'd intrench'd the place; And pales of glittering tin the inclosure grace. To this, one pathway gently winding leads, Where march a train with baskets on their heads, (Fair maids and blooming youths,) that smiling bear The purple product of the autumnal year. To these a youth awakes the warbling strings, Whose tender lay the fate of Linus sings; In measured dance behind him move the train, Tune soft the voice, and answer to the strain.

Here herds of oxen march, erect and bold, Rear high their horns, and seem to low in gold, And speed to meadows on whose sounding shores A rapid torrent through the rushes roars: Four golden herdsmen as their guardians stand, And nine sour dogs complete the rustic band. Two lions rushing from the wood appear'd; And seized a bull, the master of the herd: He roar'd: in vain the dogs, the men withstood; They tore his flesh, and drank his sable blood. The dogs (oft cheer'd in vain) desert the prey, Dread the grim terrors, and at distance bay.

Next this, the eye the art of Vulcan leads Deep through fair forests, and a length of meads, And stalls, and folds, and scatter'd cots between; And fleecy flocks, that whiten all the scene.

A figured dance succeeds; such once was seen In lofty Gnossus for the Cretan queen, Form'd by Daedalean art; a comely band Of youths and maidens, bounding hand in hand. The maids in soft simars of linen dress'd; The youths all graceful in the glossy vest: Of those the locks with flowery wreath inroll'd; Of these the sides adorn'd with swords of gold, That glittering gay, from silver belts depend. Now all at once they rise, at once descend, With well-taught feet: now shape in oblique ways, Confusedly regular, the moving maze: Now forth at once, too swift for sight, they spring, And undistinguish'd blend the flying ring: So whirls a wheel, in giddy circle toss'd, And, rapid as it runs, the single spokes are lost. The gazing multitudes admire around: Two active tumblers in the centre bound; Now high, now low, their pliant limbs they bend: And general songs the sprightly revel end.

Thus the broad shield complete the artist crown'd With his last hand, and pour'd the ocean round: In living silver seem'd the waves to roll, And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole.

This done, whate'er a warrior's use requires He forged; the cuirass that outshone the fires, The greaves of ductile tin, the helm impress'd With various sculpture, and the golden crest. At Thetis' feet the finished labour lay: She, as a falcon cuts the aerial way, Swift from Olympus' snowy summit flies, And bears the blazing present through the skies.(257)



BOOK XIX.

ARGUMENT.

THE RECONCILIATION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.

Thetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She preserves the body of his friend from corruption, and commands him to assemble the army, to declare his resentment at an end. Agamemnon and Achilles are solemnly reconciled: the speeches, presents, and ceremonies on that occasion. Achilles is with great difficulty persuaded to refrain from the battle till the troops have refreshed themselves by the advice of Ulysses. The presents are conveyed to the tent of Achilles, where Briseis laments over the body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately refuses all repast, and gives himself up to lamentations for his friend. Minerva descends to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He arms for the fight: his appearance described. He addresses himself to his horses, and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his fate: but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with fury to the combat.

The thirteenth day. The scene is on the sea-shore.

Soon as Aurora heaved her Orient head Above the waves, that blush'd with early red, (With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light,) The immortal arms the goddess-mother bears Swift to her son: her son she finds in tears Stretch'd o'er Patroclus' corse; while all the rest Their sovereign's sorrows in their own express'd. A ray divine her heavenly presence shed, And thus, his hand soft touching, Thetis said:

"Suppress, my son, this rage of grief, and know It was not man, but heaven, that gave the blow; Behold what arms by Vulcan are bestow'd, Arms worthy thee, or fit to grace a god."

Then drops the radiant burden on the ground; Clang the strong arms, and ring the shores around; Back shrink the Myrmidons with dread surprise, And from the broad effulgence turn their eyes. Unmoved the hero kindles at the show, And feels with rage divine his bosom glow; From his fierce eyeballs living flames expire, And flash incessant like a stream of fire: He turns the radiant gift: and feeds his mind On all the immortal artist had design'd.

"Goddess! (he cried,) these glorious arms, that shine With matchless art, confess the hand divine. Now to the bloody battle let me bend: But ah! the relics of my slaughter'd friend! In those wide wounds through which his spirit fled, Shall flies, and worms obscene, pollute the dead?"

"That unavailing care be laid aside, (The azure goddess to her son replied,) Whole years untouch'd, uninjured shall remain, Fresh as in life, the carcase of the slain. But go, Achilles, as affairs require, Before the Grecian peers renounce thine ire: Then uncontroll'd in boundless war engage, And heaven with strength supply the mighty rage!"



THETIS BRINGING THE ARMOUR TO ACHILLES.

Then in the nostrils of the slain she pour'd Nectareous drops, and rich ambrosia shower'd O'er all the corse. The flies forbid their prey, Untouch'd it rests, and sacred from decay. Achilles to the strand obedient went: The shores resounded with the voice he sent. The heroes heard, and all the naval train That tend the ships, or guide them o'er the main, Alarm'd, transported, at the well-known sound, Frequent and full, the great assembly crown'd; Studious to see the terror of the plain, Long lost to battle, shine in arms again. Tydides and Ulysses first appear, Lame with their wounds, and leaning on the spear; These on the sacred seats of council placed, The king of men, Atrides, came the last: He too sore wounded by Agenor's son. Achilles (rising in the midst) begun:

"O monarch! better far had been the fate Of thee, of me, of all the Grecian state, If (ere the day when by mad passion sway'd, Rash we contended for the black-eyed maid) Preventing Dian had despatch'd her dart, And shot the shining mischief to the heart! Then many a hero had not press'd the shore, Nor Troy's glad fields been fatten'd with our gore. Long, long shall Greece the woes we caused bewail, And sad posterity repeat the tale. But this, no more the subject of debate, Is past, forgotten, and resign'd to fate. Why should, alas, a mortal man, as I, Burn with a fury that can never die? Here then my anger ends: let war succeed, And even as Greece has bled, let Ilion bleed. Now call the hosts, and try if in our sight Troy yet shall dare to camp a second night! I deem, their mightiest, when this arm he knows, Shall 'scape with transport, and with joy repose."

He said: his finish'd wrath with loud acclaim The Greeks accept, and shout Pelides' name. When thus, not rising from his lofty throne, In state unmoved, the king of men begun:

"Hear me, ye sons of Greece! with silence hear! And grant your monarch an impartial ear: Awhile your loud, untimely joy suspend, And let your rash, injurious clamours end: Unruly murmurs, or ill-timed applause, Wrong the best speaker, and the justest cause. Nor charge on me, ye Greeks, the dire debate: Know, angry Jove, and all-compelling Fate, With fell Erinnys, urged my wrath that day When from Achilles' arms I forced the prey. What then could I against the will of heaven? Not by myself, but vengeful Ate driven; She, Jove's dread daughter, fated to infest The race of mortals, enter'd in my breast. Not on the ground that haughty fury treads, But prints her lofty footsteps on the heads Of mighty men; inflicting as she goes Long-festering wounds, inextricable woes! Of old, she stalk'd amid the bright abodes; And Jove himself, the sire of men and gods, The world's great ruler, felt her venom'd dart; Deceived by Juno's wiles, and female art: For when Alcmena's nine long months were run, And Jove expected his immortal son, To gods and goddesses the unruly joy He show'd, and vaunted of his matchless boy: 'From us, (he said) this day an infant springs, Fated to rule, and born a king of kings.' Saturnia ask'd an oath, to vouch the truth, And fix dominion on the favour'd youth. The Thunderer, unsuspicious of the fraud, Pronounced those solemn words that bind a god. The joyful goddess, from Olympus' height, Swift to Achaian Argos bent her flight: Scarce seven moons gone, lay Sthenelus's wife; She push'd her lingering infant into life: Her charms Alcmena's coming labours stay, And stop the babe, just issuing to the day. Then bids Saturnius bear his oath in mind; 'A youth (said she) of Jove's immortal kind Is this day born: from Sthenelus he springs, And claims thy promise to be king of kings.' Grief seized the Thunderer, by his oath engaged; Stung to the soul, he sorrow'd, and he raged. From his ambrosial head, where perch'd she sate, He snatch'd the fury-goddess of debate, The dread, the irrevocable oath he swore, The immortal seats should ne'er behold her more; And whirl'd her headlong down, for ever driven From bright Olympus and the starry heaven: Thence on the nether world the fury fell; Ordain'd with man's contentious race to dwell. Full oft the god his son's hard toils bemoan'd, Cursed the dire fury, and in secret groan'd.(258) Even thus, like Jove himself, was I misled, While raging Hector heap'd our camps with dead. What can the errors of my rage atone? My martial troops, my treasures are thy own: This instant from the navy shall be sent Whate'er Ulysses promised at thy tent: But thou! appeased, propitious to our prayer, Resume thy arms, and shine again in war."

" O king of nations! whose superior sway (Returns Achilles) all our hosts obey! To keep or send the presents, be thy care; To us, 'tis equal: all we ask is war. While yet we talk, or but an instant shun The fight, our glorious work remains undone. Let every Greek, who sees my spear confound The Trojan ranks, and deal destruction round, With emulation, what I act survey, And learn from thence the business of the day.

The son of Peleus thus; and thus replies The great in councils, Ithacus the wise: "Though, godlike, thou art by no toils oppress'd, At least our armies claim repast and rest: Long and laborious must the combat be, When by the gods inspired, and led by thee. Strength is derived from spirits and from blood, And those augment by generous wine and food: What boastful son of war, without that stay, Can last a hero through a single day? Courage may prompt; but, ebbing out his strength, Mere unsupported man must yield at length; Shrunk with dry famine, and with toils declined, The drooping body will desert the mind: But built anew with strength-conferring fare, With limbs and soul untamed, he tires a war. Dismiss the people, then, and give command. With strong repast to hearten every band; But let the presents to Achilles made, In full assembly of all Greece be laid. The king of men shall rise in public sight, And solemn swear (observant of the rite) That, spotless, as she came, the maid removes, Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves. That done, a sumptuous banquet shall be made, And the full price of injured honour paid. Stretch not henceforth, O prince.! thy sovereign might Beyond the bounds of reason and of right; 'Tis the chief praise that e'er to kings belong'd, To right with justice whom with power they wrong'd."

To him the monarch: "Just is thy decree, Thy words give joy, and wisdom breathes in thee. Each due atonement gladly I prepare; And heaven regard me as I justly swear! Here then awhile let Greece assembled stay, Nor great Achilles grudge this short delay. Till from the fleet our presents be convey'd, And Jove attesting, the firm compact made. A train of noble youths the charge shall bear; These to select, Ulysses, be thy care: In order rank'd let all our gifts appear, And the fair train of captives close the rear: Talthybius shall the victim boar convey, Sacred to Jove, and yon bright orb of day."

"For this (the stern AEacides replies) Some less important season may suffice, When the stern fury of the war is o'er, And wrath, extinguish'd, burns my breast no more. By Hector slain, their faces to the sky, All grim with gaping wounds, our heroes lie: Those call to war! and might my voice incite, Now, now, this instant, shall commence the fight: Then, when the day's complete, let generous bowls, And copious banquets, glad your weary souls. Let not my palate know the taste of food, Till my insatiate rage be cloy'd with blood: Pale lies my friend, with wounds disfigured o'er, And his cold feet are pointed to the door. Revenge is all my soul! no meaner care, Interest, or thought, has room to harbour there; Destruction be my feast, and mortal wounds, And scenes of blood, and agonizing sounds."

"O first of Greeks, (Ulysses thus rejoin'd,) The best and bravest of the warrior kind! Thy praise it is in dreadful camps to shine, But old experience and calm wisdom mine. Then hear my counsel, and to reason yield, The bravest soon are satiate of the field; Though vast the heaps that strow the crimson plain, The bloody harvest brings but little gain: The scale of conquest ever wavering lies, Great Jove but turns it, and the victor dies! The great, the bold, by thousands daily fall, And endless were the grief, to weep for all. Eternal sorrows what avails to shed? Greece honours not with solemn fasts the dead: Enough, when death demands the brave, to pay The tribute of a melancholy day. One chief with patience to the grave resign'd, Our care devolves on others left behind. Let generous food supplies of strength produce, Let rising spirits flow from sprightly juice, Let their warm heads with scenes of battle glow, And pour new furies on the feebler foe. Yet a short interval, and none shall dare Expect a second summons to the war; Who waits for that, the dire effects shall find, If trembling in the ships he lags behind. Embodied, to the battle let us bend, And all at once on haughty Troy descend."

And now the delegates Ulysses sent, To bear the presents from the royal tent: The sons of Nestor, Phyleus' valiant heir, Thias and Merion, thunderbolts of war, With Lycomedes of Creiontian strain, And Melanippus, form'd the chosen train. Swift as the word was given, the youths obey'd: Twice ten bright vases in the midst they laid; A row of six fair tripods then succeeds; And twice the number of high-bounding steeds: Seven captives next a lovely line compose; The eighth Briseis, like the blooming rose, Closed the bright band: great Ithacus, before, First of the train, the golden talents bore: The rest in public view the chiefs dispose, A splendid scene! then Agamemnon rose: The boar Talthybius held: the Grecian lord Drew the broad cutlass sheath'd beside his sword: The stubborn bristles from the victim's brow He crops, and offering meditates his vow. His hands uplifted to the attesting skies, On heaven's broad marble roof were fixed his eyes. The solemn words a deep attention draw, And Greece around sat thrill'd with sacred awe.

"Witness thou first! thou greatest power above, All-good, all-wise, and all-surveying Jove! And mother-earth, and heaven's revolving light, And ye, fell furies of the realms of night, Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare For perjured kings, and all who falsely swear! The black-eyed maid inviolate removes, Pure and unconscious of my manly loves. If this be false, heaven all its vengeance shed, And levell'd thunder strike my guilty head!"

With that, his weapon deep inflicts the wound; The bleeding savage tumbles to the ground; The sacred herald rolls the victim slain (A feast for fish) into the foaming main.

Then thus Achilles: "Hear, ye Greeks! and know Whate'er we feel, 'tis Jove inflicts the woe; Not else Atrides could our rage inflame, Nor from my arms, unwilling, force the dame. 'Twas Jove's high will alone, o'erruling all, That doom'd our strife, and doom'd the Greeks to fall. Go then, ye chiefs! indulge the genial rite; Achilles waits ye, and expects the fight."

The speedy council at his word adjourn'd: To their black vessels all the Greeks return'd. Achilles sought his tent. His train before March'd onward, bending with the gifts they bore. Those in the tents the squires industrious spread: The foaming coursers to the stalls they led; To their new seats the female captives move Briseis, radiant as the queen of love, Slow as she pass'd, beheld with sad survey Where, gash'd with cruel wounds, Patroclus lay. Prone on the body fell the heavenly fair, Beat her sad breast, and tore her golden hair; All beautiful in grief, her humid eyes Shining with tears she lifts, and thus she cries:

"Ah, youth for ever dear, for ever kind, Once tender friend of my distracted mind! I left thee fresh in life, in beauty gay; Now find thee cold, inanimated clay! What woes my wretched race of life attend! Sorrows on sorrows, never doom'd to end! The first loved consort of my virgin bed Before these eyes in fatal battle bled: My three brave brothers in one mournful day All trod the dark, irremeable way: Thy friendly hand uprear'd me from the plain, And dried my sorrows for a husband slain; Achilles' care you promised I should prove, The first, the dearest partner of his love; That rites divine should ratify the band, And make me empress in his native land. Accept these grateful tears! for thee they flow, For thee, that ever felt another's woe!"

Her sister captives echoed groan for groan, Nor mourn'd Patroclus' fortunes, but their own. The leaders press'd the chief on every side; Unmoved he heard them, and with sighs denied.

"If yet Achilles have a friend, whose care Is bent to please him, this request forbear; Till yonder sun descend, ah, let me pay To grief and anguish one abstemious day."

He spoke, and from the warriors turn'd his face: Yet still the brother-kings of Atreus' race, Nestor, Idomeneus, Ulysses sage, And Phoenix, strive to calm his grief and rage: His rage they calm not, nor his grief control; He groans, he raves, he sorrows from his soul.

"Thou too, Patroclus! (thus his heart he vents) Once spread the inviting banquet in our tents: Thy sweet society, thy winning care, Once stay'd Achilles, rushing to the war. But now, alas! to death's cold arms resign'd, What banquet but revenge can glad my mind? What greater sorrow could afflict my breast, What more if hoary Peleus were deceased? Who now, perhaps, in Phthia dreads to hear His son's sad fate, and drops a tender tear. What more, should Neoptolemus the brave, My only offspring, sink into the grave? If yet that offspring lives; (I distant far, Of all neglectful, wage a hateful war.) I could not this, this cruel stroke attend; Fate claim'd Achilles, but might spare his friend. I hoped Patroclus might survive, to rear My tender orphan with a parent's care, From Scyros' isle conduct him o'er the main, And glad his eyes with his paternal reign, The lofty palace, and the large domain. For Peleus breathes no more the vital air; Or drags a wretched life of age and care, But till the news of my sad fate invades His hastening soul, and sinks him to the shades."

Sighing he said: his grief the heroes join'd, Each stole a tear for what he left behind. Their mingled grief the sire of heaven survey'd, And thus with pity to his blue-eyed maid:

"Is then Achilles now no more thy care, And dost thou thus desert the great in war? Lo, where yon sails their canvas wings extend, All comfortless he sits, and wails his friend: Ere thirst and want his forces have oppress'd, Haste and infuse ambrosia in his breast."

He spoke; and sudden, at the word of Jove, Shot the descending goddess from above. So swift through ether the shrill harpy springs, The wide air floating to her ample wings, To great Achilles she her flight address'd, And pour'd divine ambrosia in his breast,(259) With nectar sweet, (refection of the gods!) Then, swift ascending, sought the bright abodes.

Now issued from the ships the warrior-train, And like a deluge pour'd upon the plain. As when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow, And scatter o'er the fields the driving snow; From dusky clouds the fleecy winter flies, Whose dazzling lustre whitens all the skies: So helms succeeding helms, so shields from shields, Catch the quick beams, and brighten all the fields; Broad glittering breastplates, spears with pointed rays, Mix in one stream, reflecting blaze on blaze; Thick beats the centre as the coursers bound; With splendour flame the skies, and laugh the fields around,

Full in the midst, high-towering o'er the rest, His limbs in arms divine Achilles dress'd; Arms which the father of the fire bestow'd, Forged on the eternal anvils of the god. Grief and revenge his furious heart inspire, His glowing eyeballs roll with living fire; He grinds his teeth, and furious with delay O'erlooks the embattled host, and hopes the bloody day.

The silver cuishes first his thighs infold; Then o'er his breast was braced the hollow gold; The brazen sword a various baldric tied, That, starr'd with gems, hung glittering at his side; And, like the moon, the broad refulgent shield Blazed with long rays, and gleam'd athwart the field.

So to night-wandering sailors, pale with fears, Wide o'er the watery waste, a light appears, Which on the far-seen mountain blazing high, Streams from some lonely watch-tower to the sky: With mournful eyes they gaze, and gaze again; Loud howls the storm, and drives them o'er the main.

Next, his high head the helmet graced; behind The sweepy crest hung floating in the wind: Like the red star, that from his flaming hair Shakes down diseases, pestilence, and war; So stream'd the golden honours from his head, Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories shed. The chief beholds himself with wondering eyes; His arms he poises, and his motions tries; Buoy'd by some inward force, he seems to swim, And feels a pinion lifting every limb.

And now he shakes his great paternal spear, Ponderous and huge, which not a Greek could rear, From Pelion's cloudy top an ash entire Old Chiron fell'd, and shaped it for his sire; A spear which stern Achilles only wields, The death of heroes, and the dread of fields.

Automedon and Alcimus prepare The immortal coursers, and the radiant car; (The silver traces sweeping at their side;) Their fiery mouths resplendent bridles tied; The ivory-studded reins, return'd behind, Waved o'er their backs, and to the chariot join'd. The charioteer then whirl'd the lash around, And swift ascended at one active bound. All bright in heavenly arms, above his squire Achilles mounts, and sets the field on fire; Not brighter Phoebus in the ethereal way Flames from his chariot, and restores the day. High o'er the host, all terrible he stands, And thunders to his steeds these dread commands:

"Xanthus and Balius! of Podarges' strain, (Unless ye boast that heavenly race in vain,) Be swift, be mindful of the load ye bear, And learn to make your master more your care: Through falling squadrons bear my slaughtering sword, Nor, as ye left Patroclus, leave your lord."

The generous Xanthus, as the words he said, Seem'd sensible of woe, and droop'd his head: Trembling he stood before the golden wain, And bow'd to dust the honours of his mane. When, strange to tell! (so Juno will'd) he broke Eternal silence, and portentous spoke. "Achilles! yes! this day at least we bear Thy rage in safety through the files of war: But come it will, the fatal time must come, Not ours the fault, but God decrees thy doom. Not through our crime, or slowness in the course, Fell thy Patroclus, but by heavenly force; The bright far-shooting god who gilds the day (Confess'd we saw him) tore his arms way. No—could our swiftness o'er the winds prevail, Or beat the pinions of the western gale, All were in vain—the Fates thy death demand, Due to a mortal and immortal hand."

Then ceased for ever, by the Furies tied, His fateful voice. The intrepid chief replied With unabated rage—"So let it be! Portents and prodigies are lost on me. I know my fate: to die, to see no more My much-loved parents, and my native shore— Enough—when heaven ordains, I sink in night: Now perish Troy!" He said, and rush'd to fight.



HERCULES.



BOOK XX.

ARGUMENT.

THE BATTLE OF THE GODS, AND THE ACTS OF ACHILLES.

Jupiter, upon Achilles' return to the battle, calls a council of the gods, and permits them to assist either party. The terrors of the combat described, when the deities are engaged. Apollo encourages AEneas to meet Achilles. After a long conversation, these two heroes encounter; but AEneas is preserved by the assistance of Neptune. Achilles falls upon the rest of the Trojans, and is upon the point of killing Hector, but Apollo conveys him away in a cloud. Achilles pursues the Trojans with a great slaughter.

The same day continues. The scene is in the field before Troy.

Thus round Pelides breathing war and blood Greece, sheathed in arms, beside her vessels stood; While near impending from a neighbouring height, Troy's black battalions wait the shock of fight. Then Jove to Themis gives command, to call The gods to council in the starry hall: Swift o'er Olympus' hundred hills she flies, And summons all the senate of the skies. These shining on, in long procession come To Jove's eternal adamantine dome. Not one was absent, not a rural power That haunts the verdant gloom, or rosy bower; Each fair-hair'd dryad of the shady wood, Each azure sister of the silver flood; All but old Ocean, hoary sire! who keeps His ancient seat beneath the sacred deeps. On marble thrones, with lucid columns crown'd, (The work of Vulcan,) sat the powers around. Even he whose trident sways the watery reign Heard the loud summons, and forsook the main, Assumed his throne amid the bright abodes, And question'd thus the sire of men and gods:

"What moves the god who heaven and earth commands, And grasps the thunder in his awful hands, Thus to convene the whole ethereal state? Is Greece and Troy the subject in debate? Already met, the louring hosts appear, And death stands ardent on the edge of war."

"'Tis true (the cloud-compelling power replies) This day we call the council of the skies In care of human race; even Jove's own eye Sees with regret unhappy mortals die. Far on Olympus' top in secret state Ourself will sit, and see the hand of fate Work out our will. Celestial powers! descend, And as your minds direct, your succour lend To either host. Troy soon must lie o'erthrown, If uncontroll'd Achilles fights alone: Their troops but lately durst not meet his eyes; What can they now, if in his rage he rise? Assist them, gods! or Ilion's sacred wall May fall this day, though fate forbids the fall."

He said, and fired their heavenly breasts with rage. On adverse parts the warring gods engage: Heaven's awful queen; and he whose azure round Girds the vast globe; the maid in arms renown'd; Hermes, of profitable arts the sire; And Vulcan, the black sovereign of the fire: These to the fleet repair with instant flight; The vessels tremble as the gods alight. In aid of Troy, Latona, Phoebus came, Mars fiery-helm'd, the laughter-loving dame, Xanthus, whose streams in golden currents flow, And the chaste huntress of the silver bow. Ere yet the gods their various aid employ, Each Argive bosom swell'd with manly joy, While great Achilles (terror of the plain), Long lost to battle, shone in arms again. Dreadful he stood in front of all his host; Pale Troy beheld, and seem'd already lost; Her bravest heroes pant with inward fear, And trembling see another god of war.

But when the powers descending swell'd the fight, Then tumult rose: fierce rage and pale affright Varied each face: then Discord sounds alarms, Earth echoes, and the nations rush to arms. Now through the trembling shores Minerva calls, And now she thunders from the Grecian walls. Mars hovering o'er his Troy, his terror shrouds In gloomy tempests, and a night of clouds: Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours With voice divine, from Ilion's topmost towers: Now shouts to Simois, from her beauteous hill; The mountain shook, the rapid stream stood still.

Above, the sire of gods his thunder rolls, And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles. Beneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid ground; The forests wave, the mountains nod around; Through all their summits tremble Ida's woods, And from their sources boil her hundred floods. Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain, And the toss'd navies beat the heaving main. Deep in the dismal regions of the dead,(260) The infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head, Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay His dark dominions open to the day, And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful even to gods.(261)



THE GODS DESCENDING TO BATTLE.

Such war the immortals wage; such horrors rend The world's vast concave, when the gods contend First silver-shafted Phoebus took the plain Against blue Neptune, monarch of the main. The god of arms his giant bulk display'd, Opposed to Pallas, war's triumphant maid. Against Latona march'd the son of May. The quiver'd Dian, sister of the day, (Her golden arrows sounding at her side,) Saturnia, majesty of heaven, defied. With fiery Vulcan last in battle stands The sacred flood that rolls on golden sands; Xanthus his name with those of heavenly birth, But called Scamander by the sons of earth.

While thus the gods in various league engage, Achilles glow'd with more than mortal rage: Hector he sought; in search of Hector turn'd His eyes around, for Hector only burn'd; And burst like lightning through the ranks, and vow'd To glut the god of battles with his blood.

AEneas was the first who dared to stay; Apollo wedged him in the warrior's way, But swell'd his bosom with undaunted might, Half-forced and half-persuaded to the fight. Like young Lycaon, of the royal line, In voice and aspect, seem'd the power divine; And bade the chief reflect, how late with scorn In distant threats he braved the goddess-born.

Then thus the hero of Anchises' strain: "To meet Pelides you persuade in vain: Already have I met, nor void of fear Observed the fury of his flying spear; From Ida's woods he chased us to the field, Our force he scattered, and our herds he kill'd; Lyrnessus, Pedasus in ashes lay; But (Jove assisting) I survived the day: Else had I sunk oppress'd in fatal fight By fierce Achilles and Minerva's might. Where'er he moved, the goddess shone before, And bathed his brazen lance in hostile gore. What mortal man Achilles can sustain? The immortals guard him through the dreadful plain, And suffer not his dart to fall in vain. Were God my aid, this arm should check his power, Though strong in battle as a brazen tower."

To whom the son of Jove: "That god implore, And be what great Achilles was before. From heavenly Venus thou deriv'st thy strain, And he but from a sister of the main; An aged sea-god father of his line; But Jove himself the sacred source of thine. Then lift thy weapon for a noble blow, Nor fear the vaunting of a mortal foe."

This said, and spirit breathed into his breast, Through the thick troops the embolden'd hero press'd: His venturous act the white-arm'd queen survey'd, And thus, assembling all the powers, she said:

"Behold an action, gods! that claims your care, Lo great AEneas rushing to the war! Against Pelides he directs his course, Phoebus impels, and Phoebus gives him force. Restrain his bold career; at least, to attend Our favour'd hero, let some power descend. To guard his life, and add to his renown, We, the great armament of heaven, came down. Hereafter let him fall, as Fates design, That spun so short his life's illustrious line:(262) But lest some adverse god now cross his way, Give him to know what powers assist this day: For how shall mortal stand the dire alarms, When heaven's refulgent host appear in arms?"(263)

Thus she; and thus the god whose force can make The solid globe's eternal basis shake: "Against the might of man, so feeble known, Why should celestial powers exert their own? Suffice from yonder mount to view the scene, And leave to war the fates of mortal men. But if the armipotent, or god of light, Obstruct Achilles, or commence the fight. Thence on the gods of Troy we swift descend: Full soon, I doubt not, shall the conflict end; And these, in ruin and confusion hurl'd, Yield to our conquering arms the lower world."

Thus having said, the tyrant of the sea, Coerulean Neptune, rose, and led the way. Advanced upon the field there stood a mound Of earth congested, wall'd, and trench'd around; In elder times to guard Alcides made, (The work of Trojans, with Minerva's aid,) What time a vengeful monster of the main Swept the wide shore, and drove him to the plain.

Here Neptune and the gods of Greece repair, With clouds encompass'd, and a veil of air: The adverse powers, around Apollo laid, Crown the fair hills that silver Simois shade. In circle close each heavenly party sat, Intent to form the future scheme of fate; But mix not yet in fight, though Jove on high Gives the loud signal, and the heavens reply.

Meanwhile the rushing armies hide the ground; The trampled centre yields a hollow sound: Steeds cased in mail, and chiefs in armour bright, The gleaming champaign glows with brazen light. Amid both hosts (a dreadful space) appear, There great Achilles; bold AEneas, here. With towering strides Aeneas first advanced; The nodding plumage on his helmet danced: Spread o'er his breast the fencing shield he bore, And, so he moved, his javelin flamed before. Not so Pelides; furious to engage, He rush'd impetuous. Such the lion's rage, Who viewing first his foes with scornful eyes, Though all in arms the peopled city rise, Stalks careless on, with unregarding pride; Till at the length, by some brave youth defied, To his bold spear the savage turns alone, He murmurs fury with a hollow groan; He grins, he foams, he rolls his eyes around Lash'd by his tail his heaving sides resound; He calls up all his rage; he grinds his teeth, Resolved on vengeance, or resolved on death. So fierce Achilles on AEneas flies; So stands AEneas, and his force defies. Ere yet the stern encounter join'd, begun The seed of Thetis thus to Venus' son:

"Why comes AEneas through the ranks so far? Seeks he to meet Achilles' arm in war, In hope the realms of Priam to enjoy, And prove his merits to the throne of Troy? Grant that beneath thy lance Achilles dies, The partial monarch may refuse the prize; Sons he has many; those thy pride may quell: And 'tis his fault to love those sons too well, Or, in reward of thy victorious hand, Has Troy proposed some spacious tract of land An ample forest, or a fair domain, Of hills for vines, and arable for grain? Even this, perhaps, will hardly prove thy lot. But can Achilles be so soon forgot? Once (as I think) you saw this brandish'd spear And then the great AEneas seem'd to fear: With hearty haste from Ida's mount he fled, Nor, till he reach'd Lyrnessus, turn'd his head. Her lofty walls not long our progress stay'd; Those, Pallas, Jove, and we, in ruins laid: In Grecian chains her captive race were cast; 'Tis true, the great Aeneas fled too fast. Defrauded of my conquest once before, What then I lost, the gods this day restore. Go; while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate; Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late."

To this Anchises' son: "Such words employ To one that fears thee, some unwarlike boy; Such we disdain; the best may be defied With mean reproaches, and unmanly pride; Unworthy the high race from which we came Proclaim'd so loudly by the voice of fame: Each from illustrious fathers draws his line; Each goddess-born; half human, half divine. Thetis' this day, or Venus' offspring dies, And tears shall trickle from celestial eyes: For when two heroes, thus derived, contend, 'Tis not in words the glorious strife can end. If yet thou further seek to learn my birth (A tale resounded through the spacious earth) Hear how the glorious origin we prove From ancient Dardanus, the first from Jove: Dardania's walls he raised; for Ilion, then, (The city since of many-languaged men,) Was not. The natives were content to till The shady foot of Ida's fountful hill.(264) From Dardanus great Erichthonius springs, The richest, once, of Asia's wealthy kings; Three thousand mares his spacious pastures bred, Three thousand foals beside their mothers fed. Boreas, enamour'd of the sprightly train, Conceal'd his godhead in a flowing mane, With voice dissembled to his loves he neigh'd, And coursed the dappled beauties o'er the mead: Hence sprung twelve others of unrivall'd kind, Swift as their mother mares, and father wind. These lightly skimming, when they swept the plain, Nor plied the grass, nor bent the tender grain; And when along the level seas they flew,(265) Scarce on the surface curl'd the briny dew. Such Erichthonius was: from him there came The sacred Tros, of whom the Trojan name. Three sons renown'd adorn'd his nuptial bed, Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymed: The matchless Ganymed, divinely fair, Whom heaven, enamour'd, snatch'd to upper air, To bear the cup of Jove (ethereal guest, The grace and glory of the ambrosial feast). The two remaining sons the line divide: First rose Laomedon from Ilus' side; From him Tithonus, now in cares grown old, And Priam, bless'd with Hector, brave and bold; Clytius and Lampus, ever-honour'd pair; And Hicetaon, thunderbolt of war. From great Assaracus sprang Capys, he Begat Anchises, and Anchises me. Such is our race: 'tis fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth: He, source of power and might! with boundless sway, All human courage gives, or takes away. Long in the field of words we may contend, Reproach is infinite, and knows no end, Arm'd or with truth or falsehood, right or wrong; So voluble a weapon is the tongue; Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail, For every man has equal strength to rail: Women alone, when in the streets they jar, Perhaps excel us in this wordy war; Like us they stand, encompass'd with the crowd, And vent their anger impotent and loud. Cease then—Our business in the field of fight Is not to question, but to prove our might. To all those insults thou hast offer'd here, Receive this answer: 'tis my flying spear."

He spoke. With all his force the javelin flung, Fix'd deep, and loudly in the buckler rung. Far on his outstretch'd arm, Pelides held (To meet the thundering lance) his dreadful shield, That trembled as it stuck; nor void of fear Saw, ere it fell, the immeasurable spear. His fears were vain; impenetrable charms Secured the temper of the ethereal arms. Through two strong plates the point its passage held, But stopp'd, and rested, by the third repell'd. Five plates of various metal, various mould, Composed the shield; of brass each outward fold, Of tin each inward, and the middle gold: There stuck the lance. Then rising ere he threw, The forceful spear of great Achilles flew, And pierced the Dardan shield's extremest bound, Where the shrill brass return'd a sharper sound: Through the thin verge the Pelean weapon glides, And the slight covering of expanded hides. AEneas his contracted body bends, And o'er him high the riven targe extends, Sees, through its parting plates, the upper air, And at his back perceives the quivering spear: A fate so near him, chills his soul with fright; And swims before his eyes the many-colour'd light. Achilles, rushing in with dreadful cries, Draws his broad blade, and at AEneas flies: AEneas rousing as the foe came on, With force collected, heaves a mighty stone: A mass enormous! which in modern days No two of earth's degenerate sons could raise. But ocean's god, whose earthquakes rock the ground. Saw the distress, and moved the powers around: