Till faint with labour, and by foes repell’d,

His tired slow steps he drags from off the field.

Deiphobus beheld him as he pass’d,

And, fired with hate, a parting javelin cast:

The javelin err’d, but held its course along,

And pierced Ascalaphus, the brave and young:

The son of Mars fell gasping on the ground,

And gnash’d the dust, all bloody with his wound.

Nor knew the furious father of his fall;

High-throned amidst the great Olympian hall,

On golden clouds th’ immortal synod sate;

Detain’d from bloody war by Jove and Fate.

Now, where in dust the breathless hero lay,

For slain Ascalaphus commenced the fray,

Deiphobus to seize his helmet flies,

And from his temples rends the glittering prize;

Valiant as Mars, Meriones drew near,

And on his loaded arm discharged his spear:

He drops the weight, disabled with the pain;

The hollow helmet rings against the plain.

Swift as a vulture leaping on his prey,

From his torn arm the Grecian rent away

The reeking javelin, and rejoin’d his friends.

His wounded brother good Polites tends;

Around his waist his pious arms he threw,

And from the rage of battle gently drew:

Him his swift coursers, on his splendid car,

Rapt from the lessening thunder of the war;

To Troy they drove him, groaning from the shore,

And sprinkling, as he pass’d, the sands with gore.

Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground,

Heaps fall on heaps, and heaven and earth resound.

Bold Aphareus by great Æneas bled;

As toward the chief he turn’d his daring head,

He pierced his throat; the bending head, depress’d

Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast;

His shield reversed o’er the fallen warrior lies,

And everlasting slumber seals his eyes.

Antilochus, as Thoon turn’d him round,

Transpierced his back with a dishonest wound:

The hollow vein, that to the neck extends

Along the chine, his eager javelin rends:

Supine he falls, and to his social train

Spreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain.

Thv exulting victor, leaping where he lay,

From his broad shoulders tore the spoils away;

His time observed; for closed by foes around,

On all sides thick the peals of arms resound.

His shield emboss’d the ringing storm sustains,

But he impervious and untouch’d remains.

(Great Neptune’s care preserved from hostile rage

This youth, the joy of Nestor’s glorious age.)

In arms intrepid, with the first he fought,

Faced every foe, and every danger sought;

His winged lance, resistless as the wind,

Obeys each motion of the master’s mind!

Restless it flies, impatient to be free,

And meditates the distant enemy.

The son of Asius, Adamas, drew near,

And struck his target with the brazen spear

Fierce in his front: but Neptune wards the blow,

And blunts the javelin of th’ eluded foe:

In the broad buckler half the weapon stood,

Splinter’d on earth flew half the broken wood.

Disarm’d, he mingled in the Trojan crew;

But Merion’s spear o’ertook him as he flew,

Deep in the belly’s rim an entrance found,

Where sharp the pang, and mortal is the wound.

Bending he fell, and doubled to the ground,

Lay panting. Thus an ox in fetters tied,

While death’s strong pangs distend his labouring side,

His bulk enormous on the field displays;

His heaving heart beats thick as ebbing life decays.

The spear the conqueror from his body drew,

And death’s dim shadows swarm before his view.

Next brave Deipyrus in dust was laid:

King Helenus waved high the Thracian blade,

And smote his temples with an arm so strong,

The helm fell off, and roll’d amid the throng:

There for some luckier Greek it rests a prize;

For dark in death the godlike owner lies!

Raging with grief, great Menelaus burns,

And fraught with vengeance, to the victor turns:

That shook the ponderous lance, in act to throw;

And this stood adverse with the bended bow:

Full on his breast the Trojan arrow fell,

But harmless bounded from the plated steel.

As on some ample barn’s well harden’d floor,

(The winds collected at each open door,)

While the broad fan with force is whirl’d around,

Light leaps the golden grain, resulting from the ground:

So from the steel that guards Atrides’ heart,

Repell’d to distance flies the bounding dart.

Atrides, watchful of the unwary foe,

Pierced with his lance the hand that grasp’d the bow.

And nailed it to the yew: the wounded hand

Trail’d the long lance that mark’d with blood the sand:

But good Agenor gently from the wound

The spear solicits, and the bandage bound;

A sling’s soft wool, snatch’d from a soldier’s side,

At once the tent and ligature supplied.

Behold! Pisander, urged by fate’s decree,

Springs through the ranks to fall, and fall by thee,

Great Menelaus! to enchance thy fame:

High-towering in the front, the warrior came.

First the sharp lance was by Atrides thrown;

The lance far distant by the winds was blown.

Nor pierced Pisander through Atrides’ shield:

Pisander’s spear fell shiver’d on the field.

Not so discouraged, to the future blind,

Vain dreams of conquest swell his haughty mind;

Dauntless he rushes where the Spartan lord

Like lightning brandish’d his far beaming sword.

His left arm high opposed the shining shield:

His right beneath, the cover’d pole-axe held;

(An olive’s cloudy grain the handle made,

Distinct with studs, and brazen was the blade;)

This on the helm discharged a noble blow;

The plume dropp’d nodding to the plain below,

Shorn from the crest. Atrides waved his steel:

Deep through his front the weighty falchion fell;

The crashing bones before its force gave way;

In dust and blood the groaning hero lay:

Forced from their ghastly orbs, and spouting gore,

The clotted eye-balls tumble on the shore.

And fierce Atrides spurn’d him as he bled,

Tore off his arms, and, loud-exulting, said:

“Thus, Trojans, thus, at length be taught to fear;

O race perfidious, who delight in war!

Already noble deeds ye have perform’d;

A princess raped transcends a navy storm’d:

In such bold feats your impious might approve,

Without th’ assistance, or the fear of Jove.

The violated rites, the ravish’d dame;

Our heroes slaughter’d and our ships on flame,

Crimes heap’d on crimes, shall bend your glory down,

And whelm in ruins yon flagitious town.

O thou, great father! lord of earth and skies,

Above the thought of man, supremely wise!

If from thy hand the fates of mortals flow,

From whence this favour to an impious foe?

A godless crew, abandon’d and unjust,

Still breathing rapine, violence, and lust?

The best of things, beyond their measure, cloy;

Sleep’s balmy blessing, love’s endearing joy;

The feast, the dance; whate’er mankind desire,

Even the sweet charms of sacred numbers tire.

But Troy for ever reaps a dire delight

In thirst of slaughter, and in lust of fight.”

This said, he seized (while yet the carcase heaved)

The bloody armour, which his train received:

Then sudden mix’d among the warring crew,

And the bold son of Pylaemenes slew.

Harpalion had through Asia travell’d far,

Following his martial father to the war:

Through filial love he left his native shore,

Never, ah, never to behold it more!

His unsuccessful spear he chanced to fling

Against the target of the Spartan king;

Thus of his lance disarm’d, from death he flies,

And turns around his apprehensive eyes.

Him, through the hip transpiercing as he fled,

The shaft of Merion mingled with the dead.

Beneath the bone the glancing point descends,

And, driving down, the swelling bladder rends:

Sunk in his sad companions’ arms he lay,

And in short pantings sobb’d his soul away;

(Like some vile worm extended on the ground;)

While life’s red torrent gush’d from out the wound.

Him on his car the Paphlagonian train

In slow procession bore from off the plain.

The pensive father, father now no more!

Attends the mournful pomp along the shore;

And unavailing tears profusely shed;

And, unrevenged, deplored his offspring dead.

Paris from far the moving sight beheld,

With pity soften’d and with fury swell’d:

His honour’d host, a youth of matchless grace,

And loved of all the Paphlagonian race!

With his full strength he bent his angry bow,

And wing’d the feather’d vengeance at the foe.

A chief there was, the brave Euchenor named,

For riches much, and more for virtue famed.

Who held his seat in Corinth’s stately town;

Polydus’ son, a seer of old renown.

Oft had the father told his early doom,

By arms abroad, or slow disease at home:

He climb’d his vessel, prodigal of breath,

And chose the certain glorious path to death.

Beneath his ear the pointed arrow went;

The soul came issuing at the narrow vent:

His limbs, unnerved, drop useless on the ground,

And everlasting darkness shades him round.

Nor knew great Hector how his legions yield,

(Wrapp’d in the cloud and tumult of the field:)

Wide on the left the force of Greece commands,

And conquest hovers o’er th’ Achaian bands;

With such a tide superior virtue sway’d,

And he that shakes the solid earth gave aid.

But in the centre Hector fix’d remain’d,

Where first the gates were forced, and bulwarks gain’d;

There, on the margin of the hoary deep,

(Their naval station where the Ajaces keep.

And where low walls confine the beating tides,

Whose humble barrier scarce the foe divides;

Where late in fight both foot and horse engaged,

And all the thunder of the battle raged,)

There join’d, the whole Boeotian strength remains,

The proud Iaonians with their sweeping trains,

Locrians and Phthians, and th’ Epaean force;

But join’d, repel not Hector’s fiery course.

The flower of Athens, Stichius, Phidas, led;

Bias and great Menestheus at their head:

Meges the strong the Epaean bands controll’d,

And Dracius prudent, and Amphion bold:

The Phthians, Medon, famed for martial might,

And brave Podarces, active in the fight.

This drew from Phylacus his noble line;

Iphiclus’ son: and that (Oileus) thine:

(Young Ajax’ brother, by a stolen embrace;

He dwelt far distant from his native place,

By his fierce step-dame from his father’s reign

Expell’d and exiled for her brother slain:)

These rule the Phthians, and their arms employ,

Mix’d with Boeotians, on the shores of Troy.

Now side by side, with like unwearied care,

Each Ajax laboured through the field of war:

So when two lordly bulls, with equal toil,

Force the bright ploughshare through the fallow soil,

Join’d to one yoke, the stubborn earth they tear,

And trace large furrows with the shining share;

O’er their huge limbs the foam descends in snow,

And streams of sweat down their sour foreheads flow.

A train of heroes followed through the field,

Who bore by turns great Ajax’ sevenfold shield;

Whene’er he breathed, remissive of his might,

Tired with the incessant slaughters of the fight.

No following troops his brave associate grace:

In close engagement an unpractised race,

The Locrian squadrons nor the javelin wield,

Nor bear the helm, nor lift the moony shield;

But skill’d from far the flying shaft to wing,

Or whirl the sounding pebble from the sling,

Dexterous with these they aim a certain wound,

Or fell the distant warrior to the ground.

Thus in the van the Telamonian train,

Throng’d in bright arms, a pressing fight maintain:

Far in the rear the Locrian archers lie,

Whose stones and arrows intercept the sky,

The mingled tempest on the foes they pour;

Troy’s scattering orders open to the shower.

Now had the Greeks eternal fame acquired,

And the gall’d Ilians to their walls retired;

But sage Polydamas, discreetly brave,

Address’d great Hector, and this counsel gave:

“Though great in all, thou seem’st averse to lend

Impartial audience to a faithful friend;

To gods and men thy matchless worth is known,

And every art of glorious war thy own;

But in cool thought and counsel to excel,

How widely differs this from warring well!

Content with what the bounteous gods have given,

Seek not alone to engross the gifts of Heaven.

To some the powers of bloody war belong,

To some sweet music and the charm of song;

To few, and wondrous few, has Jove assign’d

A wise, extensive, all-considering mind;

Their guardians these, the nations round confess,

And towns and empires for their safety bless.

If Heaven have lodged this virtue in my breast,

Attend, O Hector! what I judge the best,

See, as thou mov’st, on dangers dangers spread,

And war’s whole fury burns around thy head.

Behold! distress’d within yon hostile wall,

How many Trojans yield, disperse, or fall!

What troops, out-number’d, scarce the war maintain!

And what brave heroes at the ships lie slain!

Here cease thy fury: and, the chiefs and kings

Convoked to council, weigh the sum of things.

Whether (the gods succeeding our desires)

To yon tall ships to bear the Trojan fires;

Or quit the fleet, and pass unhurt away,

Contented with the conquest of the day.

I fear, I fear, lest Greece, not yet undone,

Pay the large debt of last revolving sun;

Achilles, great Achilles, yet remains

On yonder decks, and yet o’erlooks the plains!”

The counsel pleased; and Hector, with a bound,

Leap’d from his chariot on the trembling ground;

Swift as he leap’d his clanging arms resound.

“To guard this post (he cried) thy art employ,

And here detain the scatter’d youth of Troy;

Where yonder heroes faint, I bend my way,

And hasten back to end the doubtful day.”

This said, the towering chief prepares to go,

Shakes his white plumes that to the breezes flow,

And seems a moving mountain topp’d with snow.

Through all his host, inspiring force, he flies,

And bids anew the martial thunder rise.

To Panthus’ son, at Hector’s high command

Haste the bold leaders of the Trojan band:

But round the battlements, and round the plain,

For many a chief he look’d, but look’d in vain;

Deiphobus, nor Helenus the seer,

Nor Asius’ son, nor Asius’ self appear:

For these were pierced with many a ghastly wound,

Some cold in death, some groaning on the ground;

Some low in dust, (a mournful object) lay;

High on the wall some breathed their souls away.

Far on the left, amid the throng he found

(Cheering the troops, and dealing deaths around)

The graceful Paris; whom, with fury moved,

Opprobrious thus, th’ impatient chief reproved:

“Ill-fated Paris! slave to womankind,

As smooth of face as fraudulent of mind!

Where is Deiphobus, where Asius gone?

The godlike father, and th’ intrepid son?

The force of Helenus, dispensing fate;

And great Othryoneus, so fear’d of late?

Black fate hang’s o’er thee from th’ avenging gods,

Imperial Troy from her foundations nods;

Whelm’d in thy country’s ruin shalt thou fall,

And one devouring vengeance swallow all.”

When Paris thus: “My brother and my friend,

Thy warm impatience makes thy tongue offend,

In other battles I deserved thy blame,

Though then not deedless, nor unknown to fame:

But since yon rampart by thy arms lay low,

I scatter’d slaughter from my fatal bow.

The chiefs you seek on yonder shore lie slain;

Of all those heroes, two alone remain;

Deiphobus, and Helenus the seer,

Each now disabled by a hostile spear.

Go then, successful, where thy soul inspires:

This heart and hand shall second all thy fires:

What with this arm I can, prepare to know,

Till death for death be paid, and blow for blow.

But ’tis not ours, with forces not our own

To combat: strength is of the gods alone.”

These words the hero’s angry mind assuage:

Then fierce they mingle where the thickest rage.

Around Polydamas, distain’d with blood,

Cebrion, Phalces, stern Orthaeus stood,

Palmus, with Polypoetes the divine,

And two bold brothers of Hippotion’s line

(Who reach’d fair Ilion, from Ascania far,

The former day; the next engaged in war).

As when from gloomy clouds a whirlwind springs,

That bears Jove’s thunder on its dreadful wings,

Wide o’er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps;

Then, gather’d, settles on the hoary deeps;

The afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar;

The waves behind impel the waves before,

Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore:

Thus rank on rank, the thick battalions throng,

Chief urged on chief, and man drove man along.

Far o’er the plains, in dreadful order bright,

The brazen arms reflect a beamy light:

Full in the blazing van great Hector shined,

Like Mars commission’d to confound mankind.

Before him flaming his enormous shield,

Like the broad sun, illumined all the field;

His nodding helm emits a streamy ray;

His piercing eyes through all the battle stray,

And, while beneath his targe he flash’d along,

Shot terrors round, that wither’d e’en the strong.

Thus stalk’d he, dreadful; death was in his look:

Whole nations fear’d; but not an Argive shook.

The towering Ajax, with an ample stride,

Advanced the first, and thus the chief defied:

“Hector! come on; thy empty threats forbear;

’Tis not thy arm, ’tis thundering Jove we fear:

The skill of war to us not idly given,

Lo! Greece is humbled, not by Troy, but Heaven.

Vain are the hopes that haughty mind imparts,

To force our fleet: the Greeks have hands and hearts.

Long ere in flames our lofty navy fall,

Your boasted city, and your god-built wall,

Shall sink beneath us, smoking on the ground;

And spread a long unmeasured ruin round.

The time shall come, when, chased along the plain,

Even thou shalt call on Jove, and call in vain;

Even thou shalt wish, to aid thy desperate course,

The wings of falcons for thy flying horse;

Shalt run, forgetful of a warrior’s fame,

While clouds of friendly dust conceal thy shame.”

As thus he spoke, behold, in open view,

On sounding wings a dexter eagle flew.

To Jove’s glad omen all the Grecians rise,

And hail, with shouts, his progress through the skies:

Far-echoing clamours bound from side to side;

They ceased; and thus the chief of Troy replied:

“From whence this menace, this insulting strain?

Enormous boaster! doom’d to vaunt in vain.

So may the gods on Hector life bestow,

(Not that short life which mortals lead below,

But such as those of Jove’s high lineage born,

The blue-eyed maid, or he that gilds the morn,)

As this decisive day shall end the fame

Of Greece, and Argos be no more a name.

And thou, imperious! if thy madness wait

The lance of Hector, thou shalt meet thy fate:

That giant-corse, extended on the shore,

Shall largely feast the fowls with fat and gore.”

He said; and like a lion stalk’d along:

With shouts incessant earth and ocean rung,

Sent from his following host: the Grecian train

With answering thunders fill’d the echoing plain;

A shout that tore heaven’s concave, and, above,

Shook the fix’d splendours of the throne of Jove.