SO spoke the guardian of the Trojan state, | |
| Then rush’d impetuous thro’ the Scæan gate. | |
| Him Paris follow’d to the dire alarms; | |
| Both breathing slaughter, both resolv’d in arms. | |
| As when to sailors lab’ring thro’ the main, | 5 |
| That long had heav’d the weary oar in vain, | |
| Jove bids at length th’ expected gales arise; | |
| The gales blow grateful, and the vessel flies: | |
| So welcome these to Troy’s desiring train: | |
| The bands are cheer’d, the war awakes again. | 10 |
| Bold Paris first the work of death begun | |
| On great Menestheus, Areïthous’ son; | |
| Sprung from the fair Philomeda’s embrace, | |
| The pleasing Arne was his native place. | |
| Then sunk Eioneus to the shades below; | 15 |
| Beneath his steely casque he felt the blow | |
| Full on his neck, from Hector’s weighty hand; | |
| And roll’d, with limbs relax’d, along the land. | |
| By Glaucus’ spear the bold Iphinous bleeds, | |
| Fix’d in the shoulder as he mounts his steeds; | 20 |
| Headlong he tumbles: his slack nerves unbound | |
| Drop the cold useless members on the ground. | |
| When now Minerva saw her Argives slain, | |
| From vast Olympus to the gleaming plain | |
| Fierce she descends: Apollo mark’d her flight, | 25 |
| Nor shot less swift from Ilion’s tow’ry height: | |
| Radiant they met, beneath the beechen shade; | |
| When thus Apollo to the Blue-eyed Maid: | |
| ‘What cause, O daughter of almighty Jove! | |
| Thus wings thy progress from the realms above? | 30 |
| Once more impetuous dost thou bend thy way, | |
| To give to Greece the long-divided day? | |
| Too much has Troy already felt thy hate, | |
| Now breathe thy rage, and hush the stern debate: | |
| This day the bus’ness of the field suspend; | 35 |
| War soon shall kindle, and great Ilion bend; | |
| Since vengeful Goddesses confed’rate join | |
| To raze her walls, tho’ built by hands divine.’ | |
| To whom the progeny of Jove replies: | |
| ‘I left for this the council of the skies: | 40 |
| But who shall bid conflicting hosts forbear, | |
| What art shall calm the furious sons of war?’ | |
| To her the God: ‘Great Hector’s soul incite | |
| To dare the boldest Greek to single fight, | |
| Till Greece, provoked, from all her numbers shew | 45 |
| A warrior worthy to be Hector’s foe.’ | |
| At this agreed, the heav’nly Powers withdrew; | |
| Sage Helenus their secret counsels knew: | |
| Hector inspired he sought: to him address’d, | |
| Thus told the dictates of his sacred breast: | 50 |
| ‘O son of Priam! let thy faithful ear | |
| Receive my words; thy friend and brother hear! | |
| Go forth persuasive, and awhile engage | |
| The warring nations to suspend their rage; | |
| Then dare the boldest of the hostile train | 55 |
| To mortal combat on the listed plain, | |
| For not this day shall end thy glorious date; | |
| The Gods have spoke it, and their voice is Fate.’ | |
| He said: the warrior heard the word with joy; | |
| Then with his spear restrain’d the youth of Troy, | 60 |
| Held by the midst athwart. On either hand | |
| The squadrons part; th’ expecting Trojans stand. | |
| Great Agamemnon bids the Greeks forbear; | |
| They breathe, and hush the tumult of the war. | |
| Th’ Athenian Maid, and glorious God of Day, | 65 |
| With silent joy the settling hosts survey: | |
| In form of vultures, on the beech’s height | |
| They sit conceal’d, and wait the future fight. | |
| The thronging troops obscure the dusky fields, | |
| Horrid with bristling spears, and gleaming shields. | 70 |
| As when a gen’ral darkness veils the main | |
| (Soft Zephyr curling the wide wat’ry plain), | |
| The waves scarce heave, the face of ocean sleeps, | |
| And a still horror saddens all the deeps: | |
| Thus in thick orders settling wide around, | 75 |
| At length composed they sit, and shade the ground. | |
| Great Hector first amidst both armies broke | |
| The solemn silence, and their powers bespoke: | |
| ‘Hear all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands, | |
| What my soul prompts, and what some God commands. | 80 |
| Great Jove, averse our warfare to compose, | |
| O’erwhelms the nations with new toils and woes; | |
| War with a fiercer tide once more returns, | |
| Till Ilion falls, or till yon navy burns. | |
| You then, O Princes of the Greeks! appear; | 85 |
| ’T is Hector speaks, and calls the Gods to hear: | |
| From all your troops select the boldest knight, | |
| And him, the boldest, Hector dares to fight. | |
| Here if I fall, by chance of battle slain, | |
| Be his my spoil, and his these arms remain; | 90 |
| But let my body, to my friends return’d, | |
| By Trojan hands, and Trojan flames be burn’d. | |
| And if Apollo, in whose aid I trust, | |
| Shall stretch your daring champion in the dust; | |
| If mine the glory to despoil the foe, | 95 |
| On Phœbus’ temple I ’ll his arms bestow; | |
| The breathless carcass to your navy sent, | |
| Greece on the shore shall raise a monument; | |
| Which when some future mariner surveys, | |
| Wash’d by broad Hellespont’s resounding seas, | 100 |
| Thus shall he say, A valiant Greek lies there, | |
| By Hector slain, the mighty man of war. | |
| The stone shall tell your vanquish’d hero’s name, | |
| And distant ages learn the victor’s fame.’ | |
| This fierce defiance Greece astonish’d heard, | 105 |
| Blush’d to refuse, and to accept it fear’d. | |
| Stern Menelaus first the silence broke, | |
| And, inly groaning, thus opprobrious spoke: | |
| ‘Women of Greece! Oh scandal of your race, | |
| Whose coward souls your manly forms disgrace, | 110 |
| How great the shame, when ev’ry age shall know | |
| That not a Grecian met this noble foe! | |
| Go then, resolve to earth from whence ye grew, | |
| A heartless, spiritless, inglorious crew! | |
| Be what ye seem, unanimated clay! | 115 |
| Myself will dare the danger of the day. | |
| ’T is man’s bold task the gen’rous strife to try, | |
| But in the hands of God is victory.’ | |
| These words scarce spoke, with gen’rous ardour press’d, | |
| His manly limbs in azure arms he dress’d: | 120 |
| That day, Atrides! a superior hand | |
| Had stretch’d thee breathless on the hostile strand; | |
| But all at once, thy fury to compose, | |
| The Kings of Greece, an awful band, arose: | |
| Ev’n he their Chief, great Agamemnon, press’d | 125 |
| Thy daring hand, and this advice address’d: | |
| ‘Whither, O Menelaus! wouldst thou run, | |
| And tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun? | |
| Griev’d tho’ thou art, forbear the rash design; | |
| Great Hector’s arm is mightier far than thine. | 130 |
| Ev’n fierce Achilles learn’d its force to fear, | |
| And trembling met this dreadful son of war. | |
| Sit thou secure amidst thy social band; | |
| Greece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand. | |
| The mightiest warrior of th’ Achaian name, | 135 |
| Tho’ bold, and burning with desire of Fame, | |
| Content, the doubtful honour might forego, | |
| So great the danger, and so brave the foe.’ | |
| He said, and turn’d his brother’s vengeful mind; | |
| He stoop’d to reason, and his rage resign’d, | 140 |
| No longer bent to rush on certain harms: | |
| His joyful friends unbrace his azure arms. | |
| He, from whose lips divine persuasion flows, | |
| Grave Nestor then, in graceful act arose. | |
| Thus to the Kings he spoke: ‘What grief, what shame, | 145 |
| Attend on Greece, and all the Grecian name! | |
| How shall, alas! her hoary heroes mourn | |
| Their sons degen’rate, and their race a scorn; | |
| What tears shall down thy silver beard be roll’d, | |
| Oh Peleus, old in arms, in wisdom old! | 150 |
| Once with what joy the gen’rous Prince would hear | |
| Of ev’ry Chief, who fought this glorious war, | |
| Participate their fame, and pleas’d inquire | |
| Each name, each action, and each hero’s sire! | |
| Gods! should he see our warriors trembling stand, | 155 |
| And trembling all before one hostile hand; | |
| How would he lift his aged arms on high, | |
| Lament inglorious Greece, and beg to die! | |
| Oh! would to all th’ immortal Powers above, | |
| Minerva, Phæbus, and almighty Jove! | 160 |
| Years might again roll back, my youth renew, | |
| And give this arm the spring which once it knew: | |
| When, fierce in war, where Jardan’s waters fall | |
| I led my troops to Phea’s trembling wall, | |
| And with th’ Arcadian spears my prowess tried, | 165 |
| Where Celadon rolls down his rapid tide. | |
| There Ereuthalion braved us in the field, | |
| Proud Areithous’ dreadful arms to wield; | |
| Great Areithous, known from shore to shore | |
| By the huge, knotted, iron mace he bore; | 170 |
| No lance he shook, nor bent the twanging bow, | |
| But broke, with this, the battle of the foe. | |
| Him not by manly force Lycurgus slew, | |
| Whose guileful jav’lin from the thicket flew, | |
| Deep in a winding way his breast assail’d, | 175 |
| Nor aught the warrior’s thund’ring mace avail’d: | |
| Supine he fell: those arms which Mars before | |
| Had giv’n the vanquish’d, now the victor bore: | |
| But when old age had dimm’d Lycurgus’ eyes, | |
| To Ereuthalion he consign’d the prize. | 180 |
| Furious with this, he crush’d our levell’d bands, | |
| And dared the trial of the strongest hands; | |
| Nor could the strongest hands his fury stay; | |
| All saw, and fear’d, his huge tempestuous sway; | |
| Till I, the youngest of the host, appear’d, | 185 |
| And, youngest, met whom all our army fear’d. | |
| I fought the Chief; my arms Minerva crown’d: | |
| Prone fell the giant o’er a length of ground. | |
| What then he was, oh were your Nestor now! | |
| Not Hector’s self should want an equal foe. | 190 |
| But, warriors, you that youthful vigour boast, | |
| The flower of Greece, th’ examples of our host, | |
| Sprung from such fathers, who such numbers sway, | |
| Can you stand trembling, and desert the day?’ | |
| His warm reproofs the list’ning Kings inflame; | 195 |
| And nine, the noblest of the Grecian name, | |
| Upstarted fierce: but far before the rest | |
| The King of men advanc’d his dauntless breast; | |
| Then bold Tydides, great in arms, appear’d; | |
| And next his bulk gigantic Ajax rear’d. | 200 |
| Oïleus follow’d: Idomen was there, | |
| And Merion, dreadful as the God of War: | |
| With these Eurypylus and Thoas stand, | |
| And wise Ulysses closed the daring band. | |
| All these, alike inspired with noble rage, | 205 |
| Demand the fight. To whom the Pylian sage: | |
| ‘Lest thirst of glory your brave souls divide, | |
| What Chief shall combat, let the lots decide. | |
| Whom Heav’n shall choose, be his the chance to raise | |
| His country’s fame, his own immortal praise.’ | 210 |
| The lots produced, each hero signs his own; | |
| Then in the Gen’ral’s helm the fates are thrown. | |
| The people pray with lifted eyes and hands, | |
| And vows like these ascend from all the bands: | |
| ‘Grant thou, Almighty! in whose hand is fate, | 215 |
| A worthy champion for the Grecian state. | |
| This task let Ajax or Tydides prove, | |
| Or he, the King of Kings, belov’d by Jove.’ | |
| Old Nestor shook the casque. By Heav’n inspired, | |
| Leap’d forth the lot, of ev’ry Greek desired. | 220 |
| This from the right to left the herald bears, | |
| Held out in order to the Grecian peers; | |
| Each to his rival yields the mark unknown, | |
| Till godlike Ajax finds the lot his own; | |
| Surveys th’ inscription with rejoicing eyes, | 225 |
| Then casts before him, and with transport cries: | |
| ‘Warriors! I claim the lot, and arm with joy; | |
| Be mine the conquest of this Chief of Troy. | |
| Now, while my brightest arms my limbs invest, | |
| To Saturn’s son be all your vows address’d: | 230 |
| But pray in secret, lest the foes should hear, | |
| And deem your prayers the mean effect of fear. | |
| Said I in secret? No, your vows declare, | |
| In such a voice as fills the earth and air. | |
| Lives there a Chief, whom Ajax ought to dread, | 235 |
| Ajax, in all the toils of battle bred? | |
| From warlike Salamis I drew my birth, | |
| And, born to combats, fear no force of earth.’ | |
| He said. The troops with elevated eyes, | |
| Implore the God whose thunder rends the skies: | 240 |
| ‘O Father of Mankind, superior Lord! | |
| On lofty Ida’s holy hill ador’d; | |
| Who in the highest Heav’n hast fix’d thy throne, | |
| Supreme of Gods! unbounded, and alone: | |
| Grant thou, that Telamon may bear away | 245 |
| The praise and conquest of this doubtful day; | |
| Or if illustrious Hector be thy care, | |
| That both may claim it, and that both may share.’ | |
| Now Ajax braced his dazzling armour on; | |
| Sheathed in bright steel the giant warrior shone: | 250 |
| He moves to combat with majestic pace; | |
| So stalks in arms the grisly God of Thrace, | |
| When Jove to punish faithless men prepares, | |
| And gives whole nations to the waste of wars. | |
| Thus march’d the Chief, tremendous as a God; | 255 |
| Grimly he smil’d: earth trembled as he strode: | |
| His massy jav’lin quiv’ring in his hand, | |
| He stood, the bulwark of the Grecian band. | |
| Thro’ every Argive heart new transport ran; | |
| All Troy stood trembling at the mighty man. | 260 |
| Ev’n Hector paus’d; and, with new doubt oppress’d, | |
| Felt his great heart suspended in his breast: | |
| ’T was vain to seek retreat, and vain to fear; | |
| Himself had challenged, and the foe drew near. | |
| Stern Telamon behind his ample shield, | 265 |
| As from a brazen tower, o’erlook’d the field. | |
| Huge was its orb, with seven thick folds o’ercast | |
| Of tough bull-hides; of solid brass the last | |
| (The work of Tychius, who in Hyle dwell’d, | |
| And all in arts of armoury excell’d). | 270 |
| This Ajax bore before his manly breast, | |
| And, threat’ning, thus his adverse Chief address’d: | |
| ‘Hector! approach my arm, and singly know | |
| What strength thou hast, and what the Grecian foe. | |
| Achilles shuns the fight; yet some there are | 275 |
| Not void of soul, and not unskill’d in war: | |
| Let him, inactive on the sea-beat shore, | |
| Indulge his wrath, and aid our arms no more; | |
| Whole troops of heroes Greece has yet to boast, | |
| And sends thee one, a sample of her host. | 280 |
| Such as I am, I come to prove thy might; | |
| No more—be sudden, and begin the fight.’ | |
| ‘O son of Telamon, thy country’s pride’ | |
| (To Ajax thus the Trojan Prince replied), | |
| ‘Me, as a boy or woman, would’st thou fright, | 285 |
| New to the field, and trembling at the fight? | |
| Thou meet’st a Chief deserving of thy arms, | |
| To combat born, and bred amidst alarms: | |
| I know to shift my ground, remount the car, | |
| Turn, charge, and answer every call of war: | 290 |
| To right, to left, the dext’rous lance I wield, | |
| And bear thick battle on my sounding shield. | |
| But open be our fight, and bold each blow; | |
| I steal no conquest from a noble foe.’ | |
| He said, and, rising high above the field, | 295 |
| Whirl’d the long lance against the sev’nfold shield. | |
| Full on the brass descending from above | |
| Thro’ six bull-hides the furious weapon drove, | |
| Till in the sev’nth it fix’d. Then Ajax threw; | |
| Thro’ Hector’s shield the forceful jav’lin flew; | 300 |
| His corslet enters, and his garment rends, | |
| And glancing downwards, near his flank descends. | |
| The wary Trojan shrinks, and, bending low | |
| Beneath his buckler, disappoints the blow. | |
| From their bored shields the Chiefs their jav’lins drew, | 305 |
| Then close impetuous, and the charge renew: | |
| Fierce as the mountain lions bathed in blood, | |
| Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood. | |
| At Ajax, Hector his long lance extends; | |
| The blunted point against the buckler bends. | 310 |
| But Ajax, watchful as his foe drew near, | |
| Drove thro’ the Trojan targe the knotty spear; | |
| It reach’d his neck, with matchless strength impell’d; | |
| Spouts the black gore, and dims the shining shield. | |
| Yet ceas’d not Hector thus; but, stooping down, | 315 |
| In his strong hand upheav’d a flinty stone, | |
| Black, craggy, vast: to this his force he bends; | |
| Full on the brazen boss the stone descends; | |
| The hollow brass resounded with the shock. | |
| Then Ajax seiz’d the fragment of a rock, | 320 |
| Applied each nerve, and, swinging round on high, | |
| With force tempestuous let the ruin fly: | |
| The huge stone thund’ring thro’ his buckler broke; | |
| His slacken’d knees receiv’d the numbing stroke; | |
| Great Hector falls extended on the field, | 325 |
| His bulk supporting on the shatter’d shield: | |
| Nor wanted heav’nly aid: Apollo’s might | |
| Confirm’d his sinews, and restored to fight. | |
| And now both heroes their broad falchions drew; | |
| In flaming circles round their heads they flew; | 330 |
| But then by heralds’ voice the word was giv’n, | |
| The sacred Ministers of earth and Heav’n: | |
| Divine Talthybius whom the Greeks employ, | |
| And sage Idæus on the part of Troy, | |
| Between the swords their peaceful sceptres rear’d; | 335 |
| And first Idæus’ awful voice was heard: | |
| ‘Forbear, my sons! your farther force to prove, | |
| Both dear to men, and both belov’d of Jove. | |
| To either host your matchless worth is known, | |
| Each sounds your praise, and war is all your own. | 340 |
| But now the Night extends her awful shade: | |
| The Goddess parts you: be the night obey’d.’ | |
| To whom great Ajax his high soul express’d: | |
| ‘O sage! to Hector be these words address’d. | |
| Let him, who first provoked our Chiefs to fight, | 345 |
| Let him demand the sanction of the night; | |
| If first he ask it, I content obey, | |
| And cease the strife when Hector shews the way.’ | |
| ‘O first of Greeks’ (his noble foe rejoin’d), | |
| ‘Whom Heav’n adorns, superior to thy kind, | 350 |
| With strength of body, and with worth of mind! | |
| Now martial law commands us to forbear; | |
| Hereafter we shall meet in glorious war; | |
| Some future day shall lengthen out the strife, | |
| And let the Gods decide of death or life! | 355 |
| Since then the Night extends her gloomy shade, | |
| And Heav’n enjoins it, be the night obey’d. | |
| Return, brave Ajax, to thy Grecian friends, | |
| And joy the nations whom thy arm defends; | |
| As I shall glad each Chief, and Trojan wife, | 360 |
| Who wearies Heav’n with vows for Hector’s life. | |
| But let us, on this memorable day, | |
| Exchange some gift; that Greece and Troy may say, | |
| “Not hate, but glory, made these Chiefs contend; | |
| And each brave foe was in his soul a friend.”’ | 365 |
| With that, a sword with stars of silver graced, | |
| The baldrick studded, and the sheath enchased, | |
| He gave the Greek. The gen’rous Greek bestow’d | |
| A radiant belt that rich with purple glow’d. | |
| Then with majestic grace they quit the plain; | 370 |
| This seeks the Grecian, that the Phrygian train. | |
| The Trojan bands returning Hector wait, | |
| And hail with joy the champion of their state: | |
| Escaped great Ajax, they survey’d him round, | |
| Alive, unharm’d, and vig’rous from his wound. | 375 |
| To Troy’s high gates the godlike man they bear, | |
| Their present triumph, as their late despair. | |
| But Ajax, glorying in his hardy deed, | |
| The well-arm’d Greeks to Agamemnon lead. | |
| A steer for sacrifice the King design’d, | 380 |
| Of full five years, and of the nobler kind. | |
| The victim falls; they strip the smoking hide, | |
| The beast they quarter, and the joints divide; | |
| Then spread the tables, the repast prepare, | |
| Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. | 385 |
| The King himself (an honorary sign) | |
| Before great Ajax placed the mighty chine. | |
| When now, the rage of hunger was remov’d, | |
| Nestor, in each persuasive art approv’d, | |
| The sage whose counsels long had sway’d the rest, | 390 |
| In words like these his prudent thought express’d: | |
| ‘How dear, O King! this fatal day has cost! | |
| What Greeks are perish’d! what a people lost! | |
| What tides of blood have drench’d Scamander’s shore! | |
| What crowds of heroes sunk, to rise no more! | 395 |
| Then hear me, Chief! nor let the morrow’s light | |
| Awake thy squadrons to new toils of fight: | |
| Some space at least permit the war to breathe, | |
| While we to flames our slaughter’d friends bequeath, | |
| From the red field their scatter’d bodies bear, | 400 |
| And nigh the fleet a funeral structure rear: | |
| So decent urns their snowy bones may keep, | |
| And pious children o’er their ashes weep. | |
| Here, where on one promiscuous pile they blaz’d, | |
| High o’er them all a gen’ral tomb be rais’d; | 405 |
| Next, to secure our camp, and naval powers, | |
| Raise an embattled wall, with lofty towers; | |
| From space to space be ample gates around, | |
| For passing chariots, and a trench profound. | |
| So Greece to combat shall in safety go, | 410 |
| Nor fear the fierce incursions of the foe.’ | |
| ’T was thus the sage his wholesome counsel mov’d; | |
| The sceptred Kings of Greece his words approv’d. | |
| Meanwhile, convened at Priam’s palace gate, | |
| The Trojan peers in nightly council sate: | 415 |
| A senate void of order, as of choice, | |
| Their hearts were fearful, and confused their voice. | |
| Antenor rising, thus demands their ear: | |
| ‘Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliars, hear! | |
| ’T is Heav’n the counsel of my breast inspires, | 420 |
| And I but move what ev’ry God requires: | |
| Let Sparta’s treasures be this hour restor’d, | |
| And Argive Helen own her ancient lord. | |
| The ties of faith, the sworn alliance broke | |
| Our impious battles the just Gods provoke. | 425 |
| As this advice ye practise, or reject, | |
| So hope success, or dread the dire effect.’ | |
| The senior spoke, and sat. To whom replied | |
| The graceful husband of the Spartan bride: | |
| ‘Cold counsels, Trojan, may become thy years, | 430 |
| But sound ungrateful in a warrior’s ears: | |
| Old man, if void of fallacy or art, | |
| Thy words express the purpose of thy heart, | |
| Thou, in thy time, more sound advice hast giv’n; | |
| But wisdom has its date, assign’d by Heav’n. | 435 |
| Then hear me, Princes of the Trojan name! | |
| Their treasures I ’ll restore, but not the dame; | |
| My treasures, too, for peace I will resign; | |
| But be this bright possession ever mine.’ | |
| ’T was then, the growing discord to compose, | 440 |
| Slow from his seat the rev’rend Priam rose: | |
| His godlike aspect deep attention drew: | |
| He paus’d, and these pacific words ensue: | |
| ‘Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliar bands! | |
| Now take refreshment as the hour demands; | 445 |
| Guard well the walls, relieve the watch of night, | |
| Till the new sun restores the cheerful light: | |
| Then shall our herald, to th’ Atrides sent, | |
| Before their ships proclaim my son’s intent. | |
| Next let a truce be ask’d, that Troy may burn | 450 |
| Her slaughter’d heroes, and their bones inurn; | |
| That done, once more the fate of war be tried, | |
| And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!’ | |
| The Monarch spoke: the warriors snatch’d with haste | |
| (Each at his post in arms) a short repast. | 455 |
| Soon as the rosy morn had waked the day, | |
| To the black ships Idæus bent his way; | |
| There, to the sons of Mars, in council found, | |
| He rais’d his voice: the hosts stood list’ning round: | |
| ‘Ye sons of Atreus, and ye Greeks, give ears! | 460 |
| The words of Troy, and Troy’s great monarch, hear. | |
| Pleas’d may ye hear (so Heav’n succeed my prayers) | |
| What Paris, author of the war, declares. | |
| The spoils and treasures he to Ilion bore | |
| (O had he perish’d ere they touch’d our shore) | 465 |
| He proffers injured Greece; with large increase | |
| Of added Trojan wealth, to buy the peace. | |
| But, to restore the beauteous bride again, | |
| This Greece demands, and Troy requests in vain. | |
| Next, O ye Chiefs! we ask a truce to burn | 470 |
| Our slaughter’d heroes, and their bones inurn. | |
| That done, once more the fate of war be tried, | |
| And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!’ | |
| The Greeks give ear, but none the silence broke; | |
| At length Tydides rose, and rising spoke: | 475 |
| ‘O take not, friends! defrauded of your fame, | |
| Their proffer’d wealth, nor ev’n the Spartan dame. | |
| Let conquest make them ours: Fate shakes their wall, | |
| And Troy already totters to her fall.’ | |
| Th’ admiring Chiefs, and all the Grecian name, | 480 |
| With gen’ral shouts return’d him loud acclaim. | |
| Then thus the King of Kings rejects the peace: | |
| ‘Herald! in him thou hear’st the voice of Greece. | |
| For what remains, let funeral flames be fed | |
| With hero’s corpse: I war not with the dead: | 485 |
| Go, search your slaughter’d Chiefs on yonder plain, | |
| And gratify the Manes of the slain. | |
| Be witness, Jove, whose thunder rolls on high!’ | |
| He said, and rear’d his sceptre to the sky. | |
| To sacred Troy, where all her Princes lay | 490 |
| To wait th’ event, the herald bent his way. | |
| He came, and, standing in the midst, explain’d; | |
| The peace rejected, but the truce obtain’d, | |
| Straight to their sev’ral cares the Trojans move; | |
| Some search the plain, some fell the sounding grove: | 495 |
| Nor less the Greeks, descending on the shore, | |
| Hew’d the green forests, and the bodies bore. | |
| And now from forth the chambers of the main, | |
| To shed his sacred light on earth again, | |
| Arose the golden chariot of the day, | 500 |
| And tipp’d the mountains with a purple ray. | |
| In mingled throngs the Greek and Trojan train | |
| Thro’ heaps of carnage search’d the mournful plain. | |
| Scarce could the friend his slaughter’d friend explore, | |
| With dust dishonour’d, and deform’d with gore. | 505 |
| The wounds they wash’d, their pious tears they shed, | |
| And, laid along their cars, deplored the dead. | |
| Sage Priam check’d their grief: with silent haste | |
| The bodies decent on the piles were placed: | |
| With melting hearts the cold remains they burn’d; | 510 |
| And sadly slow to sacred Troy return’d. | |
| Nor less the Greeks their pious sorrows shed, | |
| And decent on the pile dispose the dead; | |
| The cold remains consume with equal care; | |
| And slowly, sadly, to their fleet repair. | 515 |
| Now, ere the morn had streak’d with redd’ning light | |
| The doubtful confines of the day and night; | |
| About the dying flames the Greeks appear’d, | |
| And round the dying a gen’ral tomb they rear’d. | |
| Then, to secure the camp and naval powers, | 520 |
| They rais’d embattled walls with lofty towers: | |
| From space to space were ample gates around, | |
| For passing chariots; and a trench profound, | |
| Of large extent: and deep in earth below | |
| Strong piles infix’d stood adverse to the foe. | 525 |
| So toil’d the Greeks: meanwhile the Gods above, | |
| In shining circle round their father Jove, | |
| Amazed beheld the wondrous works of man: | |
| Then he whose trident shakes the earth began: | |
| ‘What mortals henceforth shall our power adore, | 530 |
| Our fanes frequent, our oracles implore, | |
| If the proud Grecians thus successful boast | |
| Their rising bulwarks on the sea-beat coast? | |
| See the long walls extending to the main, | |
| No God consulted, and no victim slain! | 535 |
| Their fame shall fill the world’s remotest ends; | |
| Wide as the morn her golden beam extends: | |
| While old Laömedon’s divine abodes, | |
| Those radiant structures rais’d by lab’ring Gods, | |
| Shall, razed and lost, in long oblivion sleep.’ | 540 |
| Thus spoke the hoary monarch of the deep. | |
| Th’ almighty Thund’rer with a frown replies, | |
| That clouds the world, and blackens half the skies: | |
| ‘Strong God of Ocean! thou, whose rage can make | |
| The solid earth’s eternal basis shake! | 545 |
| What cause of fear from mortal works could move | |
| The meanest subject of our realms above? | |
| Where’er the sun’s refulgent rays are cast, | |
| Thy power is honour’d and thy fame shall last. | |
| But yon proud work no future age shall view, | 550 |
| No trace remain where once the glory grew. | |
| The sapp’d foundations by thy force shall fall, | |
| And, whelm’d beneath thy waves, drop the huge wall; | |
| Vast drifts of sand shall change the former shore; | |
| The ruin vanish’d, and the name no more.’ | 555 |
| Thus they in Heav’n: while o’er the Grecian train | |
| The rolling sun descending to the main | |
| Beheld the finish’d work. Their bulls they slew; | |
| Black from the tents the sav’ry vapours flew. | |
| And now the fleet, arrived from Lemnos’ strands, | 560 |
| With Bacchus’ blessings cheer’d the gen’rous bands. | |
| Of fragrant wines the rich Eunæus sent | |
| A thousand measures to the royal tent | |
| (Eunæus, whom Hypsipyle of yore | |
| To Jason, shepherd of his people, bore). | 565 |
| The rest they purchas’d at their proper cost, | |
| And well the plenteous freight supplied the host: | |
| Each, in exchange, proportion’d treasures gave, | |
| Some brass, or iron, some an ox or slave. | |
| All night they feast, the Greek and Trojan powers; | 570 |
| Those on the fields, and these within their towers. | |
| But Jove averse the signs of wrath display’d, | |
| And shot red lightnings thro’ the gloomy shade: | |
| Humbled they stood; pale horror seized on all, | |
| While the deep thunder shook th’ aërial hall. | 575 |
| Each pour’d to Jove, before the bowl was crown’d, | |
| And large libations drench’d the thirsty ground; | |
| Then late, refresh’d with sleep from toils of fight, | |
| Enjoy’d the balmy blessings of the night. | |
| |
