The Iliad Part 42

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 G.o.d-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 G.o.ds 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 sh.o.r.e, 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GREEK EARRINGS.]

GREEK EARRINGS.

BOOK XIV.

ARGUMENT.(231)

JUNO DECEIVES JUPITER BY THE GIRDLE OF VENUS.

Nestor, sitting at the table with Machaon, is alarmed with the increasing clamour of war, and hastens to Agamemnon; on his way he meets that prince with Diomed and Ulysses, whom he informs of the extremity of the danger.

Agamemnon proposes to make their escape by night, which Ulysses withstands; to which Diomed adds his advice, that, wounded as they were, they should go forth and encourage the army with their presence, which advice is pursued. Juno, seeing the partiality of Jupiter to the Trojans, forms a design to over-reach him: she sets off her charms with the utmost care, and (the more surely to enchant him) obtains the magic girdle of Venus. She then applies herself to the G.o.d of sleep, and, with some difficulty, persuades him to seal the eyes of Jupiter: this done, she goes to mount Ida, where the G.o.d, at first sight, is ravished with her beauty, sinks in her embraces, and is laid asleep. Neptune takes advantage of his slumber, and succours the Greeks: Hector is struck to the ground with a prodigious stone by Ajax, and carried off from the battle: several actions succeed, till the Trojans, much distressed, are obliged to give way: the lesser Ajax signalizes himself in a particular manner.

But not the genial feast, nor flowing bowl, Could charm the cares of Nestor's watchful soul; His startled ears the increasing cries attend; Then thus, impatient, to his wounded friend:

"What new alarm, divine Machaon, say, What mix'd events attend this mighty day?

Hark! how the shouts divide, and how they meet, And now come full, and thicken to the fleet!

Here with the cordial draught dispel thy care, Let Hecamede the strengthening bath prepare, Refresh thy wound, and cleanse the clotted gore; While I the adventures of the day explore."

He said: and, seizing Thrasymedes' s.h.i.+eld, (His valiant offspring,) hasten'd to the field; (That day the son his father's buckler bore;) Then s.n.a.t.c.h'd a lance, and issued from the door.

Soon as the prospect open'd to his view, His wounded eyes the scene of sorrow knew; Dire disarray! the tumult of the fight, The wall in ruins, and the Greeks in flight.

As when old ocean's silent surface sleeps, The waves just heaving on the purple deeps: While yet the expected tempest hangs on high, Weighs down the cloud, and blackens in the sky, The ma.s.s of waters will no wind obey; Jove sends one gust, and bids them roll away.

While wavering counsels thus his mind engage, Fluctuates in doubtful thought the Pylian sage, To join the host, or to the general haste; Debating long, he fixes on the last: Yet, as he moves, the sight his bosom warms, The field rings dreadful with the clang of arms, The gleaming falchions flash, the javelins fly; Blows echo blows, and all or kill or die.

Him, in his march, the wounded princes meet, By tardy steps ascending from the fleet: The king of men, Ulysses the divine, And who to Tydeus owes his n.o.ble line.(232) (Their s.h.i.+ps at distance from the battle stand, In lines advanced along the shelving strand: Whose bay, the fleet unable to contain At length; beside the margin of the main, Rank above rank, the crowded s.h.i.+ps they moor: Who landed first, lay highest on the sh.o.r.e.) Supported on the spears, they took their way, Unfit to fight, but anxious for the day.

Nestor's approach alarm'd each Grecian breast, Whom thus the general of the host address'd:

"O grace and glory of the Achaian name; What drives thee, Nestor, from the field of fame?

Shall then proud Hector see his boast fulfill'd, Our fleets in ashes, and our heroes kill'd?

Such was his threat, ah! now too soon made good, On many a Grecian bosom writ in blood.

Is every heart inflamed with equal rage Against your king, nor will one chief engage?

And have I lived to see with mournful eyes In every Greek a new Achilles rise?"

Gerenian Nestor then: "So fate has will'd; And all-confirming time has fate fulfill'd.

Not he that thunders from the aerial bower, Not Jove himself, upon the past has power.

The wall, our late inviolable bound, And best defence, lies smoking on the ground: Even to the s.h.i.+ps their conquering arms extend, And groans of slaughter'd Greeks to heaven ascend.

On speedy measures then employ your thought In such distress! if counsel profit aught: Arms cannot much: though Mars our souls incite, These gaping wounds withhold us from the fight."

To him the monarch: "That our army bends, That Troy triumphant our high fleet ascends, And that the rampart, late our surest trust And best defence, lies smoking in the dust; All this from Jove's afflictive hand we bear, Who, far from Argos, wills our ruin here.

Past are the days when happier Greece was blest, And all his favour, all his aid confess'd; Now heaven averse, our hands from battle ties, And lifts the Trojan glory to the skies.

Cease we at length to waste our blood in vain, And launch what s.h.i.+ps lie nearest to the main; Leave these at anchor, till the coming night: Then, if impetuous Troy forbear the fight, Bring all to sea, and hoist each sail for flight.

Better from evils, well foreseen, to run, Than perish in the danger we may shun."

Thus he. The sage Ulysses thus replies, While anger flash'd from his disdainful eyes: "What shameful words (unkingly as thou art) Fall from that trembling tongue and timorous heart?

Oh were thy sway the curse of meaner powers, And thou the shame of any host but ours!

A host, by Jove endued with martial might, And taught to conquer, or to fall in fight: Adventurous combats and bold wars to wage, Employ'd our youth, and yet employs our age.

And wilt thou thus desert the Trojan plain?

And have whole streams of blood been spilt in vain?

In such base sentence if thou couch thy fear, Speak it in whispers, lest a Greek should hear.

Lives there a man so dead to fame, who dares To think such meanness, or the thought declares?

And comes it even from him whose sovereign sway The banded legions of all Greece obey?

Is this a general's voice that calls to flight, While war hangs doubtful, while his soldiers fight?

What more could Troy? What yet their fate denies Thou givest the foe: all Greece becomes their prize.

No more the troops (our hoisted sails in view, Themselves abandon'd) shall the fight pursue; But thy s.h.i.+ps flying, with despair shall see; And owe destruction to a prince like thee."

"Thy just reproofs (Atrides calm replies) Like arrows pierce me, for thy words are wise.

Unwilling as I am to lose the host, I force not Greece to quit this hateful coast; Glad I submit, whoe'er, or young, or old, Aught, more conducive to our weal, unfold."

Tydides cut him short, and thus began: "Such counsel if you seek, behold the man Who boldly gives it, and what he shall say, Young though he be, disdain not to obey: A youth, who from the mighty Tydeus springs, May speak to councils and a.s.sembled kings.

Hear then in me the great OEnides' son, Whose honoured dust (his race of glory run) Lies whelm'd in ruins of the Theban wall; Brave in his life, and glorious in his fall.

With three bold sons was generous Prothous bless'd, Who Pleuron's walls and Calydon possess'd; Melas and Agrius, but (who far surpa.s.s'd The rest in courage) OEneus was the last.

From him, my sire. From Calydon expell'd, He pa.s.s'd to Argos, and in exile dwell'd; The monarch's daughter there (so Jove ordain'd) He won, and flourish'd where Adrastus reign'd; There, rich in fortune's gifts, his acres till'd, Beheld his vines their liquid harvest yield, And numerous flocks that whiten'd all the field.

Such Tydeus was, the foremost once in fame!

Nor lives in Greece a stranger to his name.

Then, what for common good my thoughts inspire, Attend, and in the son respect the sire.

Though sore of battle, though with wounds oppress'd, Let each go forth, and animate the rest, Advance the glory which he cannot share, Though not partaker, witness of the war.

But lest new wounds on wounds o'erpower us quite, Beyond the missile javelin's sounding flight, Safe let us stand; and, from the tumult far, Inspire the ranks, and rule the distant war."

He added not: the listening kings obey, Slow moving on; Atrides leads the way.

The G.o.d of ocean (to inflame their rage) Appears a warrior furrowed o'er with age; Press'd in his own, the general's hand he took, And thus the venerable hero spoke:

"Atrides! lo! with what disdainful eye Achilles sees his country's forces fly; Blind, impious man! whose anger is his guide, Who glories in unutterable pride.

So may he perish, so may Jove disclaim The wretch relentless, and o'erwhelm with shame!

But Heaven forsakes not thee: o'er yonder sands Soon shall thou view the scattered Trojan bands Fly diverse; while proud kings, and chiefs renown'd, Driven heaps on heaps, with clouds involved around Of rolling dust, their winged wheels employ To hide their ignominious heads in Troy."

He spoke, then rush'd amid the warrior crew, And sent his voice before him as he flew, Loud, as the shout encountering armies yield When twice ten thousand shake the labouring field; Such was the voice, and such the thundering sound Of him whose trident rends the solid ground.

Each Argive bosom beats to meet the fight, And grisly war appears a pleasing sight.