Rekindling rage each heavenly breast alarms:

With horrid clangour shock the ethereal arms:

Heaven in loud thunder bids the trumpet sound;

And wide beneath them groans the rending ground.

Jove, as his sport, the dreadful scene descries,

And views contending gods with careless eyes.

The power of battles lifts his brazen spear,

And first assaults the radiant queen of war:

“What moved thy madness, thus to disunite

Ethereal minds, and mix all heaven in fight?

What wonder this, when in thy frantic mood

Thou drovest a mortal to insult a god?

Thy impious hand Tydides’ javelin bore,

And madly bathed it in celestial gore.”

He spoke, and smote the long-resounding shield,

Which bears Jove’s thunder on its dreadful field:

The adamantine aegis of her sire,

That turns the glancing bolt and forked fire.

Then heaved the goddess in her mighty hand

A stone, the limit of the neighbouring land,

There fix’d from eldest times; black, craggy, vast;

This at the heavenly homicide she cast.

Thundering he falls, a mass of monstrous size:

And seven broad acres covers as he lies.

The stunning stroke his stubborn nerves unbound:

Loud o’er the fields his ringing arms resound:

The scornful dame her conquest views with smiles,

And, glorying, thus the prostrate god reviles:

“Hast thou not yet, insatiate fury! known

How far Minerva’s force transcends thy own?

Juno, whom thou rebellious darest withstand,

Corrects thy folly thus by Pallas’ hand;

Thus meets thy broken faith with just disgrace,

And partial aid to Troy’s perfidious race.”

The goddess spoke, and turn’d her eyes away,

That, beaming round, diffused celestial day.

Jove’s Cyprian daughter, stooping on the land,

Lent to the wounded god her tender hand:

Slowly he rises, scarcely breathes with pain,

And, propp’d on her fair arm, forsakes the plain.

This the bright empress of the heavens survey’d,

And, scoffing, thus to war’s victorious maid:

“Lo! what an aid on Mars’s side is seen!

The smiles’ and loves’ unconquerable queen!

Mark with what insolence, in open view,

She moves: let Pallas, if she dares, pursue.”

Minerva smiling heard, the pair o’ertook,

And slightly on her breast the wanton strook:

She, unresisting, fell (her spirits fled);

On earth together lay the lovers spread.

“And like these heroes be the fate of all

(Minerva cries) who guard the Trojan wall!

To Grecian gods such let the Phrygian be,

So dread, so fierce, as Venus is to me;

Then from the lowest stone shall Troy be moved.”

Thus she, and Juno with a smile approved.

Meantime, to mix in more than mortal fight,

The god of ocean dares the god of light.

“What sloth has seized us, when the fields around

Ring with conflicting powers, and heaven returns the sound:

Shall, ignominious, we with shame retire,

No deed perform’d, to our Olympian sire?

Come, prove thy arm! for first the war to wage,

Suits not my greatness, or superior age:

Rash as thou art to prop the Trojan throne,

(Forgetful of my wrongs, and of thy own,)

And guard the race of proud Laomedon!

Hast thou forgot, how, at the monarch’s prayer,

We shared the lengthen’d labours of a year?

Troy walls I raised (for such were Jove’s commands),

And yon proud bulwarks grew beneath my hands:

Thy task it was to feed the bellowing droves

Along fair Ida’s vales and pendant groves.

But when the circling seasons in their train

Brought back the grateful day that crown’d our pain,

With menace stern the fraudful king defied

Our latent godhead, and the prize denied:

Mad as he was, he threaten’d servile bands,

And doom’d us exiles far in barbarous lands.²⁷³

Incensed, we heavenward fled with swiftest wing,

And destined vengeance on the perjured king.

Dost thou, for this, afford proud Ilion grace,

And not, like us, infest the faithless race;

Like us, their present, future sons destroy,

And from its deep foundations heave their Troy?”

Apollo thus: “To combat for mankind

Ill suits the wisdom of celestial mind;

For what is man? Calamitous by birth,

They owe their life and nourishment to earth;

Like yearly leaves, that now, with beauty crown’d,

Smile on the sun; now, wither on the ground.

To their own hands commit the frantic scene,

Nor mix immortals in a cause so mean.”

Then turns his face, far-beaming heavenly fires,

And from the senior power submiss retires:

Him thus retreating, Artemis upbraids,

The quiver’d huntress of the sylvan shades:

“And is it thus the youthful Phoebus flies,

And yields to ocean’s hoary sire the prize?

How vain that martial pomp, and dreadful show

Of pointed arrows and the silver bow!

Now boast no more in yon celestial bower,

Thy force can match the great earth-shaking power.”

Silent he heard the queen of woods upbraid:

Not so Saturnia bore the vaunting maid:

But furious thus: “What insolence has driven

Thy pride to face the majesty of heaven?

What though by Jove the female plague design’d,

Fierce to the feeble race of womankind,

The wretched matron feels thy piercing dart;

Thy sex’s tyrant, with a tiger’s heart?

What though tremendous in the woodland chase

Thy certain arrows pierce the savage race?

How dares thy rashness on the powers divine

Employ those arms, or match thy force with mine?

Learn hence, no more unequal war to wage—”

She said, and seized her wrists with eager rage;

These in her left hand lock’d, her right untied

The bow, the quiver, and its plumy pride.

About her temples flies the busy bow;

Now here, now there, she winds her from the blow;

The scattering arrows, rattling from the case,

Drop round, and idly mark the dusty place.

Swift from the field the baffled huntress flies,

And scarce restrains the torrent in her eyes:

So, when the falcon wings her way above,

To the cleft cavern speeds the gentle dove;

(Not fated yet to die;) there safe retreats,

Yet still her heart against the marble beats.

To her Latona hastes with tender care;

Whom Hermes viewing, thus declines the war:

“How shall I face the dame, who gives delight

To him whose thunders blacken heaven with night?

Go, matchless goddess! triumph in the skies,

And boast my conquest, while I yield the prize.”

He spoke; and pass’d: Latona, stooping low,

Collects the scatter’d shafts and fallen bow,

That, glittering on the dust, lay here and there

Dishonour’d relics of Diana’s war:

Then swift pursued her to her blest abode,

Where, all confused, she sought the sovereign god;

Weeping, she grasp’d his knees: the ambrosial vest

Shook with her sighs, and panted on her breast.

The sire superior smiled, and bade her show

What heavenly hand had caused his daughter’s woe?

Abash’d, she names his own imperial spouse;

And the pale crescent fades upon her brows.

Thus they above: while, swiftly gliding down,

Apollo enters Ilion’s sacred town;

The guardian-god now trembled for her wall,

And fear’d the Greeks, though fate forbade her fall.

Back to Olympus, from the war’s alarms,

Return the shining bands of gods in arms;

Some proud in triumph, some with rage on fire;

And take their thrones around the ethereal sire.

Through blood, through death, Achilles still proceeds,

O’er slaughter’d heroes, and o’er rolling steeds.

As when avenging flames with fury driven

On guilty towns exert the wrath of heaven;

The pale inhabitants, some fall, some fly;

And the red vapours purple all the sky:

So raged Achilles: death and dire dismay,

And toils, and terrors, fill’d the dreadful day.

High on a turret hoary Priam stands,

And marks the waste of his destructive hands;

Views, from his arm, the Trojans’ scatter’d flight,

And the near hero rising on his sight!

No stop, no check, no aid! With feeble pace,

And settled sorrow on his aged face,

Fast as he could, he sighing quits the walls;

And thus descending, on the guards he calls:

“You to whose care our city-gates belong,

Set wide your portals to the flying throng:

For lo! he comes, with unresisted sway;

He comes, and desolation marks his way!

But when within the walls our troops take breath,

Lock fast the brazen bars, and shut out death.”

Thus charged the reverend monarch: wide were flung

The opening folds; the sounding hinges rung.

Phoebus rush’d forth, the flying bands to meet;

Struck slaughter back, and cover’d the retreat,

On heaps the Trojans crowd to gain the gate,

And gladsome see their last escape from fate.

Thither, all parch’d with thirst, a heartless train,

Hoary with dust, they beat the hollow plain:

And gasping, panting, fainting, labour on

With heavier strides, that lengthen toward the town.

Enraged Achilles follows with his spear;

Wild with revenge, insatiable of war.

Then had the Greeks eternal praise acquired,

And Troy inglorious to her walls retired;

But he, the god who darts ethereal flame,

Shot down to save her, and redeem her fame:

To young Agenor force divine he gave;

(Antenor’s offspring, haughty, bold, and brave;)

In aid of him, beside the beech he sate,

And wrapt in clouds, restrain’d the hand of fate.

When now the generous youth Achilles spies.

Thick beats his heart, the troubled motions rise.

(So, ere a storm, the waters heave and roll.)

He stops, and questions thus his mighty soul;

“What, shall I fly this terror of the plain!

Like others fly, and be like others slain?

Vain hope! to shun him by the self-same road

Yon line of slaughter’d Trojans lately trod.

No: with the common heap I scorn to fall—

What if they pass’d me to the Trojan wall,

While I decline to yonder path, that leads

To Ida’s forests and surrounding shades?

So may I reach, conceal’d, the cooling flood,

From my tired body wash the dirt and blood,

As soon as night her dusky veil extends,

Return in safety to my Trojan friends.

What if?—But wherefore all this vain debate?

Stand I to doubt, within the reach of fate?

Even now perhaps, ere yet I turn the wall,

The fierce Achilles sees me, and I fall:

Such is his swiftness, ’tis in vain to fly,

And such his valour, that who stands must die.

Howe’er ’tis better, fighting for the state,

Here, and in public view, to meet my fate.

Yet sure he too is mortal; he may feel

(Like all the sons of earth) the force of steel.

One only soul informs that dreadful frame:

And Jove’s sole favour gives him all his fame.”

He said, and stood, collected, in his might;

And all his beating bosom claim’d the fight.

So from some deep-grown wood a panther starts,

Roused from his thicket by a storm of darts:

Untaught to fear or fly, he hears the sounds

Of shouting hunters, and of clamorous hounds;

Though struck, though wounded, scarce perceives the pain;

And the barb’d javelin stings his breast in vain:

On their whole war, untamed, the savage flies;

And tears his hunter, or beneath him dies.

Not less resolved, Antenor’s valiant heir

Confronts Achilles, and awaits the war,

Disdainful of retreat: high held before,

His shield (a broad circumference) he bore;

Then graceful as he stood, in act to throw

The lifted javelin, thus bespoke the foe:

“How proud Achilles glories in his fame!

And hopes this day to sink the Trojan name

Beneath her ruins! Know, that hope is vain;

A thousand woes, a thousand toils remain.

Parents and children our just arms employ,

And strong and many are the sons of Troy.

Great as thou art, even thou may’st stain with gore

These Phrygian fields, and press a foreign shore.”

He said: with matchless force the javelin flung

Smote on his knee; the hollow cuishes rung

Beneath the pointed steel; but safe from harms

He stands impassive in the ethereal arms.

Then fiercely rushing on the daring foe,

His lifted arm prepares the fatal blow:

But, jealous of his fame, Apollo shrouds

The god-like Trojan in a veil of clouds.

Safe from pursuit, and shut from mortal view,

Dismiss’d with fame, the favoured youth withdrew.

Meanwhile the god, to cover their escape,

Assumes Agenor’s habit, voice and shape,

Flies from the furious chief in this disguise;

The furious chief still follows where he flies.

Now o’er the fields they stretch with lengthen’d strides,

Now urge the course where swift Scamander glides:

The god, now distant scarce a stride before,

Tempts his pursuit, and wheels about the shore;

While all the flying troops their speed employ,

And pour on heaps into the walls of Troy:

No stop, no stay; no thought to ask, or tell,

Who ’scaped by flight, or who by battle fell.

’Twas tumult all, and violence of flight;

And sudden joy confused, and mix’d affright.

Pale Troy against Achilles shuts her gate:

And nations breathe, deliver’d from their fate.