But fond of glory, with severe delight,

His beating bosom claim’d the rising fight.

No longer with his warlike steeds he stay’d,

Or press’d the car with polish’d brass inlaid

But left Eurymedon the reins to guide;

The fiery coursers snorted at his side.

On foot through all the martial ranks he moves

And these encourages, and those reproves.

“Brave men!” he cries, (to such who boldly dare

Urge their swift steeds to face the coming war),

“Your ancient valour on the foes approve;

Jove is with Greece, and let us trust in Jove.

’Tis not for us, but guilty Troy, to dread,

Whose crimes sit heavy on her perjured head;

Her sons and matrons Greece shall lead in chains,

And her dead warriors strew the mournful plains.”

Thus with new ardour he the brave inspires;

Or thus the fearful with reproaches fires:

“Shame to your country, scandal of your kind;

Born to the fate ye well deserve to find!

Why stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain,

Prepared for flight, but doom’d to fly in vain?

Confused and panting thus, the hunted deer

Falls as he flies, a victim to his fear.

Still must ye wait the foes, and still retire,

Till yon tall vessels blaze with Trojan fire?

Or trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chase,

To save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?”

This said, he stalk’d with ample strides along,

To Crete’s brave monarch and his martial throng;

High at their head he saw the chief appear,

And bold Meriones excite the rear.

At this the king his generous joy express’d,

And clasp’d the warrior to his armed breast.

“Divine Idomeneus! what thanks we owe

To worth like thine! what praise shall we bestow?

To thee the foremost honours are decreed,

First in the fight and every graceful deed.

For this, in banquets, when the generous bowls

Restore our blood, and raise the warriors’ souls,

Though all the rest with stated rules we bound,

Unmix’d, unmeasured, are thy goblets crown’d.

Be still thyself, in arms a mighty name;

Maintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame.”

To whom the Cretan thus his speech address’d:

“Secure of me, O king! exhort the rest.

Fix’d to thy side, in every toil I share,

Thy firm associate in the day of war.

But let the signal be this moment given;

To mix in fight is all I ask of Heaven.

The field shall prove how perjuries succeed,

And chains or death avenge the impious deed.”

Charm’d with this heat, the king his course pursues,

And next the troops of either Ajax views:

In one firm orb the bands were ranged around,

A cloud of heroes blacken’d all the ground.

Thus from the lofty promontory’s brow

A swain surveys the gathering storm below;

Slow from the main the heavy vapours rise,

Spread in dim streams, and sail along the skies,

Till black as night the swelling tempest shows,

The cloud condensing as the west-wind blows:

He dreads the impending storm, and drives his flock

To the close covert of an arching rock.

Such, and so thick, the embattled squadrons stood,

With spears erect, a moving iron wood:

A shady light was shot from glimmering shields,

And their brown arms obscured the dusky fields.

“O heroes! worthy such a dauntless train,

Whose godlike virtue we but urge in vain,

(Exclaim’d the king), who raise your eager bands

With great examples, more than loud commands.

Ah! would the gods but breathe in all the rest

Such souls as burn in your exalted breast,

Soon should our arms with just success be crown’d,

And Troy’s proud walls lie smoking on the ground.”

Then to the next the general bends his course;

(His heart exults, and glories in his force);

There reverend Nestor ranks his Pylian bands,

And with inspiring eloquence commands;

With strictest order sets his train in arms,

The chiefs advises, and the soldiers warms.

Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, round him wait,

Bias the good, and Pelagon the great.

The horse and chariots to the front assign’d,

The foot (the strength of war) he ranged behind;

The middle space suspected troops supply,

Inclosed by both, nor left the power to fly;

He gives command to “curb the fiery steed,

Nor cause confusion, nor the ranks exceed:

Before the rest let none too rashly ride;

No strength nor skill, but just in time, be tried:

The charge once made, no warrior turn the rein,

But fight, or fall; a firm embodied train.

He whom the fortune of the field shall cast

From forth his chariot, mount the next in haste;

Nor seek unpractised to direct the car,

Content with javelins to provoke the war.

Our great forefathers held this prudent course,

Thus ruled their ardour, thus preserved their force;

By laws like these immortal conquests made,

And earth’s proud tyrants low in ashes laid.”

So spoke the master of the martial art,

And touch’d with transport great Atrides’ heart.

“Oh! hadst thou strength to match thy brave desires,

And nerves to second what thy soul inspires!

But wasting years, that wither human race,

Exhaust thy spirits, and thy arms unbrace.

What once thou wert, oh ever mightst thou be!

And age the lot of any chief but thee.”

Thus to the experienced prince Atrides cried;

He shook his hoary locks, and thus replied:

“Well might I wish, could mortal wish renew¹³⁴

That strength which once in boiling youth I knew;

Such as I was, when Ereuthalion, slain

Beneath this arm, fell prostrate on the plain.

But heaven its gifts not all at once bestows,

These years with wisdom crowns, with action those:

The field of combat fits the young and bold,

The solemn council best becomes the old:

To you the glorious conflict I resign,

Let sage advice, the palm of age, be mine.”

He said. With joy the monarch march’d before,

And found Menestheus on the dusty shore,

With whom the firm Athenian phalanx stands;

And next Ulysses, with his subject bands.

Remote their forces lay, nor knew so far

The peace infringed, nor heard the sounds of war;

The tumult late begun, they stood intent

To watch the motion, dubious of the event.

The king, who saw their squadrons yet unmoved,

With hasty ardour thus the chiefs reproved:

“Can Peleus’ son forget a warrior’s part.

And fears Ulysses, skill’d in every art?

Why stand you distant, and the rest expect

To mix in combat which yourselves neglect?

From you ’twas hoped among the first to dare

The shock of armies, and commence the war;

For this your names are call’d before the rest,

To share the pleasures of the genial feast:

And can you, chiefs! without a blush survey

Whole troops before you labouring in the fray?

Say, is it thus those honours you requite?

The first in banquets, but the last in fight.”

Ulysses heard: the hero’s warmth o’erspread

His cheek with blushes: and severe, he said:

“Take back the unjust reproach! Behold we stand

Sheathed in bright arms, and but expect command.

If glorious deeds afford thy soul delight,

Behold me plunging in the thickest fight.

Then give thy warrior-chief a warrior’s due,

Who dares to act whate’er thou dar’st to view.”

Struck with his generous wrath, the king replies:

“O great in action, and in council wise!

With ours, thy care and ardour are the same,

Nor need I to commend, nor aught to blame.

Sage as thou art, and learn’d in human kind,

Forgive the transport of a martial mind.

Haste to the fight, secure of just amends;

The gods that make, shall keep the worthy, friends.”

He said, and pass’d where great Tydides lay,

His steeds and chariots wedged in firm array;

(The warlike Sthenelus attends his side;)¹³⁵

To whom with stern reproach the monarch cried:

“O son of Tydeus! (he, whose strength could tame

The bounding steed, in arms a mighty name)

Canst thou, remote, the mingling hosts descry,

With hands unactive, and a careless eye?

Not thus thy sire the fierce encounter fear’d;

Still first in front the matchless prince appear’d:

What glorious toils, what wonders they recite,

Who view’d him labouring through the ranks of fight?

I saw him once, when gathering martial powers,

A peaceful guest, he sought Mycenae’s towers;

Armies he ask’d, and armies had been given,

Not we denied, but Jove forbade from heaven;

While dreadful comets glaring from afar,

Forewarn’d the horrors of the Theban war.¹³⁶

Next, sent by Greece from where Asopus flows,

A fearless envoy, he approach’d the foes;

Thebes’ hostile walls unguarded and alone,

Dauntless he enters, and demands the throne.

The tyrant feasting with his chiefs he found,

And dared to combat all those chiefs around:

Dared, and subdued before their haughty lord;

For Pallas strung his arm and edged his sword.

Stung with the shame, within the winding way,

To bar his passage fifty warriors lay;

Two heroes led the secret squadron on,

Mason the fierce, and hardy Lycophon;

Those fifty slaughter’d in the gloomy vale.

He spared but one to bear the dreadful tale,

Such Tydeus was, and such his martial fire;

Gods! how the son degenerates from the sire!”

No words the godlike Diomed return’d,

But heard respectful, and in secret burn’d:

Not so fierce Capaneus’ undaunted son;

Stern as his sire, the boaster thus begun:

“What needs, O monarch! this invidious praise,

Ourselves to lessen, while our sire you raise?

Dare to be just, Atrides! and confess

Our value equal, though our fury less.

With fewer troops we storm’d the Theban wall,

And happier saw the sevenfold city fall,¹³⁷

In impious acts the guilty father died;

The sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side.

Far more than heirs of all our parents’ fame,

Our glories darken their diminish’d name.”

To him Tydides thus: “My friend, forbear;

Suppress thy passion, and the king revere:

His high concern may well excuse this rage,

Whose cause we follow, and whose war we wage:

His the first praise, were Ilion’s towers o’erthrown,

And, if we fail, the chief disgrace his own.

Let him the Greeks to hardy toils excite,

’Tis ours to labour in the glorious fight.”

He spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground

Sprung from his car: his ringing arms resound.

Dire was the clang, and dreadful from afar,

Of arm’d Tydides rushing to the war.

As when the winds, ascending by degrees,¹³⁸

First move the whitening surface of the seas,

The billows float in order to the shore,

The wave behind rolls on the wave before;

Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise,

Foam o’er the rocks, and thunder to the skies.

So to the fight the thick battalions throng,

Shields urged on shields, and men drove men along

Sedate and silent move the numerous bands;

No sound, no whisper, but the chief’s commands,

Those only heard; with awe the rest obey,

As if some god had snatch’d their voice away.

Not so the Trojans; from their host ascends

A general shout that all the region rends.

As when the fleecy flocks unnumber’d stand

In wealthy folds, and wait the milker’s hand,

The hollow vales incessant bleating fills,

The lambs reply from all the neighbouring hills:

Such clamours rose from various nations round,

Mix’d was the murmur, and confused the sound.

Each host now joins, and each a god inspires,

These Mars incites, and those Minerva fires,

Pale flight around, and dreadful terror reign;

And discord raging bathes the purple plain;

Discord! dire sister of the slaughtering power,

Small at her birth, but rising every hour,

While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound,

She stalks on earth, and shakes the world around;¹³⁹

The nations bleed, where’er her steps she turns,

The groan still deepens, and the combat burns.

Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet closed,

To armour armour, lance to lance opposed,

Host against host with shadowy squadrons drew,

The sounding darts in iron tempests flew,

Victors and vanquish’d join’d promiscuous cries,

And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise;

With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed,

And slaughter’d heroes swell the dreadful tide.

As torrents roll, increased by numerous rills,

With rage impetuous, down their echoing hills

Rush to the vales, and pour’d along the plain.

Roar through a thousand channels to the main:

The distant shepherd trembling hears the sound;

So mix both hosts, and so their cries rebound.

The bold Antilochus the slaughter led,

The first who struck a valiant Trojan dead:

At great Echepolus the lance arrives,

Razed his high crest, and through his helmet drives;

Warm’d in the brain the brazen weapon lies,

And shades eternal settle o’er his eyes.

So sinks a tower, that long assaults had stood

Of force and fire, its walls besmear’d with blood.

Him, the bold leader of the Abantian throng,¹⁴⁰

Seized to despoil, and dragg’d the corpse along:

But while he strove to tug the inserted dart,

Agenor’s javelin reach’d the hero’s heart.

His flank, unguarded by his ample shield,

Admits the lance: he falls, and spurns the field;

The nerves, unbraced, support his limbs no more;

The soul comes floating in a tide of gore.

Trojans and Greeks now gather round the slain;

The war renews, the warriors bleed again:

As o’er their prey rapacious wolves engage,

Man dies on man, and all is blood and rage.

In blooming youth fair Simoisius fell,

Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell;

Fair Simoisius, whom his mother bore

Amid the flocks on silver Simois’ shore:

The nymph descending from the hills of Ide,

To seek her parents on his flowery side,

Brought forth the babe, their common care and joy,

And thence from Simois named the lovely boy.

Short was his date! by dreadful Ajax slain,

He falls, and renders all their cares in vain!

So falls a poplar, that in watery ground

Raised high the head, with stately branches crown’d,

(Fell’d by some artist with his shining steel,

To shape the circle of the bending wheel,)

Cut down it lies, tall, smooth, and largely spread,

With all its beauteous honours on its head

There, left a subject to the wind and rain,

And scorch’d by suns, it withers on the plain

Thus pierced by Ajax, Simoisius lies

Stretch’d on the shore, and thus neglected dies.

At Ajax, Antiphus his javelin threw;

The pointed lance with erring fury flew,

And Leucus, loved by wise Ulysses, slew.

He drops the corpse of Simoisius slain,

And sinks a breathless carcase on the plain.

This saw Ulysses, and with grief enraged,

Strode where the foremost of the foes engaged;

Arm’d with his spear, he meditates the wound,

In act to throw; but cautious look’d around,

Struck at his sight the Trojans backward drew,

And trembling heard the javelin as it flew.

A chief stood nigh, who from Abydos came,

Old Priam’s son, Democoon was his name.

The weapon entered close above his ear,

Cold through his temples glides the whizzing spear;¹⁴¹

With piercing shrieks the youth resigns his breath,

His eye-balls darken with the shades of death;

Ponderous he falls; his clanging arms resound,

And his broad buckler rings against the ground.

Seized with affright the boldest foes appear;

E’en godlike Hector seems himself to fear;

Slow he gave way, the rest tumultuous fled;

The Greeks with shouts press on, and spoil the dead:

But Phoebus now from Ilion’s towering height

Shines forth reveal’d, and animates the fight.

“Trojans, be bold, and force with force oppose;

Your foaming steeds urge headlong on the foes!

Nor are their bodies rocks, nor ribb’d with steel;

Your weapons enter, and your strokes they feel.

Have ye forgot what seem’d your dread before?

The great, the fierce Achilles fights no more.”

Apollo thus from Ilion’s lofty towers,

Array’d in terrors, roused the Trojan powers:

While war’s fierce goddess fires the Grecian foe,

And shouts and thunders in the fields below.

Then great Diores fell, by doom divine,

In vain his valour and illustrious line.

A broken rock the force of Pyrus threw,

(Who from cold Ænus led the Thracian crew,)¹⁴²

Full on his ankle dropp’d the ponderous stone,

Burst the strong nerves, and crash’d the solid bone.

Supine he tumbles on the crimson sands,

Before his helpless friends, and native bands,

And spreads for aid his unavailing hands.

The foe rush’d furious as he pants for breath,

And through his navel drove the pointed death:

His gushing entrails smoked upon the ground,

And the warm life came issuing from the wound.

His lance bold Thoas at the conqueror sent,

Deep in his breast above the pap it went,

Amid the lungs was fix’d the winged wood,

And quivering in his heaving bosom stood:

Till from the dying chief, approaching near,

The Ætolian warrior tugg’d his weighty spear:

Then sudden waved his flaming falchion round,

And gash’d his belly with a ghastly wound;

The corpse now breathless on the bloody plain,

To spoil his arms the victor strove in vain;

The Thracian bands against the victor press’d,

A grove of lances glitter’d at his breast.

Stern Thoas, glaring with revengeful eyes,

In sullen fury slowly quits the prize.

Thus fell two heroes; one the pride of Thrace,

And one the leader of the Epeian race;

Death’s sable shade at once o’ercast their eyes,

In dust the vanquish’d and the victor lies.

With copious slaughter all the fields are red,

And heap’d with growing mountains of the dead.

Had some brave chief this martial scene beheld,

By Pallas guarded through the dreadful field;

Might darts be bid to turn their points away,

And swords around him innocently play;

The war’s whole art with wonder had he seen,

And counted heroes where he counted men.

So fought each host, with thirst of glory fired,

And crowds on crowds triumphantly expired.