The wretch stood propp’d, and quiver’d as he stood;

A sudden palsy seized his turning head;

His loose teeth chatter’d, and his colour fled;

The panting warriors seize him as he stands,

And with unmanly tears his life demands.

“O spare my youth, and for the breath I owe,

Large gifts of price my father shall bestow:

Vast heaps of brass shall in your ships be told,

And steel well-temper’d and refulgent gold.”

To whom Ulysses made this wise reply:

“Whoe’er thou art, be bold, nor fear to die.

What moves thee, say, when sleep has closed the sight,

To roam the silent fields in dead of night?

Cam’st thou the secrets of our camp to find,

By Hector prompted, or thy daring mind?

Or art some wretch by hopes of plunder led,

Through heaps of carnage, to despoil the dead?”

Then thus pale Dolon, with a fearful look:

(Still, as he spoke, his limbs with horror shook:)

“Hither I came, by Hector’s words deceived;

Much did he promise, rashly I believed:

No less a bribe than great Achilles’ car,

And those swift steeds that sweep the ranks of war,

Urged me, unwilling, this attempt to make;

To learn what counsels, what resolves you take:

If now subdued, you fix your hopes on flight,

And, tired with toils, neglect the watch of night.”

“Bold was thy aim, and glorious was the prize,

(Ulysses, with a scornful smile, replies,)

Far other rulers those proud steeds demand,

And scorn the guidance of a vulgar hand;

Even great Achilles scarce their rage can tame,

Achilles sprung from an immortal dame.

But say, be faithful, and the truth recite!

Where lies encamp’d the Trojan chief to-night?

Where stand his coursers? in what quarter sleep

Their other princes? tell what watch they keep:

Say, since this conquest, what their counsels are;

Or here to combat, from their city far,

Or back to Ilion’s walls transfer the war?”

Ulysses thus, and thus Eumedes’ son:

“What Dolon knows, his faithful tongue shall own.

Hector, the peers assembling in his tent,

A council holds at Ilus’ monument.

No certain guards the nightly watch partake;

Where’er yon fires ascend, the Trojans wake:

Anxious for Troy, the guard the natives keep;

Safe in their cares, the auxiliar forces sleep,

Whose wives and infants, from the danger far,

Discharge their souls of half the fears of war.”

“Then sleep those aids among the Trojan train,

(Inquired the chief,) or scattered o’er the plain?”

To whom the spy: “Their powers they thus dispose

The Paeons, dreadful with their bended bows,

The Carians, Caucons, the Pelasgian host,

And Leleges, encamp along the coast.

Not distant far, lie higher on the land

The Lycian, Mysian, and Maeonian band,

And Phrygia’s horse, by Thymbras’ ancient wall;

The Thracians utmost, and apart from all.

These Troy but lately to her succour won,

Led on by Rhesus, great Eioneus’ son:

I saw his coursers in proud triumph go,

Swift as the wind, and white as winter-snow;

Rich silver plates his shining car infold;

His solid arms, refulgent, flame with gold;

No mortal shoulders suit the glorious load,

Celestial panoply, to grace a god!

Let me, unhappy, to your fleet be borne,

Or leave me here, a captive’s fate to mourn,

In cruel chains, till your return reveal

The truth or falsehood of the news I tell.”

To this Tydides, with a gloomy frown:

“Think not to live, though all the truth be shown:

Shall we dismiss thee, in some future strife

To risk more bravely thy now forfeit life?

Or that again our camps thou may’st explore?

No—once a traitor, thou betray’st no more.”

Sternly he spoke, and as the wretch prepared

With humble blandishment to stroke his beard,

Like lightning swift the wrathful falchion flew,

Divides the neck, and cuts the nerves in two;

One instant snatch’d his trembling soul to hell,

The head, yet speaking, mutter’d as it fell.

The furry helmet from his brow they tear,

The wolf’s grey hide, the unbended bow and spear;

These great Ulysses lifting to the skies,

To favouring Pallas dedicates the prize:

“Great queen of arms, receive this hostile spoil,

And let the Thracian steeds reward our toil;

Thee, first of all the heavenly host, we praise;

O speed our labours, and direct our ways!”

This said, the spoils, with dropping gore defaced,

High on a spreading tamarisk he placed;

Then heap’d with reeds and gathered boughs the plain,

To guide their footsteps to the place again.

Through the still night they cross the devious fields,

Slippery with blood, o’er arms and heaps of shields,

Arriving where the Thracian squadrons lay,

And eased in sleep the labours of the day.

Ranged in three lines they view the prostrate band:

The horses yoked beside each warrior stand.

Their arms in order on the ground reclined,

Through the brown shade the fulgid weapons shined:

Amidst lay Rhesus, stretch’d in sleep profound,

And the white steeds behind his chariot bound.

The welcome sight Ulysses first descries,

And points to Diomed the tempting prize.

“The man, the coursers, and the car behold!

Described by Dolon, with the arms of gold.

Now, brave Tydides! now thy courage try,

Approach the chariot, and the steeds untie;

Or if thy soul aspire to fiercer deeds,

Urge thou the slaughter, while I seize the steeds.”

Pallas (this said) her hero’s bosom warms,

Breathed in his heart, and strung his nervous arms;

Where’er he pass’d, a purple stream pursued

His thirsty falchion, fat with hostile blood,

Bathed all his footsteps, dyed the fields with gore,

And a low groan remurmur’d through the shore.

So the grim lion, from his nightly den,

O’erleaps the fences, and invades the pen,

On sheep or goats, resistless in his way,

He falls, and foaming rends the guardless prey;

Nor stopp’d the fury of his vengeful hand,

Till twelve lay breathless of the Thracian band.

Ulysses following, as his partner slew,

Back by the foot each slaughter’d warrior drew;

The milk-white coursers studious to convey

Safe to the ships, he wisely cleared the way:

Lest the fierce steeds, not yet to battles bred,

Should start, and tremble at the heaps of dead.

Now twelve despatch’d, the monarch last they found;

Tydides’ falchion fix’d him to the ground.

Just then a deathful dream Minerva sent,

A warlike form appear’d before his tent,

Whose visionary steel his bosom tore:

So dream’d the monarch, and awaked no more.²¹⁸

Ulysses now the snowy steeds detains,

And leads them, fasten’d by the silver reins;

These, with his bow unbent, he lash’d along;

(The scourge forgot, on Rhesus’ chariot hung;)

Then gave his friend the signal to retire;

But him, new dangers, new achievements fire;

Doubtful he stood, or with his reeking blade

To send more heroes to the infernal shade,

Drag off the car where Rhesus’ armour lay,

Or heave with manly force, and lift away.

While unresolved the son of Tydeus stands,

Pallas appears, and thus her chief commands:

“Enough, my son; from further slaughter cease,

Regard thy safety, and depart in peace;

Haste to the ships, the gotten spoils enjoy,

Nor tempt too far the hostile gods of Troy.”

The voice divine confess’d the martial maid;

In haste he mounted, and her word obey’d;

The coursers fly before Ulysses’ bow,

Swift as the wind, and white as winter-snow.

Not unobserved they pass’d: the god of light

Had watch’d his Troy, and mark’d Minerva’s flight,

Saw Tydeus’ son with heavenly succour bless’d,

And vengeful anger fill’d his sacred breast.

Swift to the Trojan camp descends the power,

And wakes Hippocoon in the morning-hour;

(On Rhesus’ side accustom’d to attend,

A faithful kinsman, and instructive friend;)

He rose, and saw the field deform’d with blood,

An empty space where late the coursers stood,

The yet-warm Thracians panting on the coast;

For each he wept, but for his Rhesus most:

Now while on Rhesus’ name he calls in vain,

The gathering tumult spreads o’er all the plain;

On heaps the Trojans rush, with wild affright,

And wondering view the slaughters of the night.

Meanwhile the chiefs, arriving at the shade

Where late the spoils of Hector’s spy were laid,

Ulysses stopp’d; to him Tydides bore

The trophy, dropping yet with Dolon’s gore:

Then mounts again; again their nimbler feet

The coursers ply, and thunder towards the fleet.

Old Nestor first perceived the approaching sound,

Bespeaking thus the Grecian peers around:

“Methinks the noise of trampling steeds I hear,

Thickening this way, and gathering on my ear;

Perhaps some horses of the Trojan breed

(So may, ye gods! my pious hopes succeed)

The great Tydides and Ulysses bear,

Return’d triumphant with this prize of war.

Yet much I fear (ah, may that fear be vain!)

The chiefs outnumber’d by the Trojan train;

Perhaps, even now pursued, they seek the shore;

Or, oh! perhaps those heroes are no more.”

Scarce had he spoke, when, lo! the chiefs appear,

And spring to earth; the Greeks dismiss their fear:

With words of friendship and extended hands

They greet the kings; and Nestor first demands:

“Say thou, whose praises all our host proclaim,

Thou living glory of the Grecian name!

Say whence these coursers? by what chance bestow’d,

The spoil of foes, or present of a god?

Not those fair steeds, so radiant and so gay,

That draw the burning chariot of the day.

Old as I am, to age I scorn to yield,

And daily mingle in the martial field;

But sure till now no coursers struck my sight

Like these, conspicuous through the ranks of fight.

Some god, I deem, conferred the glorious prize,

Bless’d as ye are, and favourites of the skies;

The care of him who bids the thunder roar,

And her, whose fury bathes the world with gore.”

“Father! not so, (sage Ithacus rejoin’d,)

The gifts of heaven are of a nobler kind.

Of Thracian lineage are the steeds ye view,

Whose hostile king the brave Tydides slew;

Sleeping he died, with all his guards around,

And twelve beside lay gasping on the ground.

These other spoils from conquer’d Dolon came,

A wretch, whose swiftness was his only fame;

By Hector sent our forces to explore,

He now lies headless on the sandy shore.”

Then o’er the trench the bounding coursers flew;

The joyful Greeks with loud acclaim pursue.

Straight to Tydides’ high pavilion borne,

The matchless steeds his ample stalls adorn:

The neighing coursers their new fellows greet,

And the full racks are heap’d with generous wheat.

But Dolon’s armour, to his ships convey’d,

High on the painted stern Ulysses laid,

A trophy destin’d to the blue-eyed maid.

Now from nocturnal sweat and sanguine stain

They cleanse their bodies in the neighb’ring main:

Then in the polished bath, refresh’d from toil,

Their joints they supple with dissolving oil,

In due repast indulge the genial hour,

And first to Pallas the libations pour:

They sit, rejoicing in her aid divine,

And the crown’d goblet foams with floods of wine.