Priam, to whom the Story was unknown, | |
| As dead, deplor’d his Metamorphos’d Son: | |
| A Cenotaph his Name and Title kept, | |
| And Hector round the Tomb, with all his Brothers wept. | |
| This pious Office Paris did not share; | 5 |
| Absent alone; and Author of the War, | |
| Which, for the Spartan Queen, the Grecians drew | |
| T’ avenge the Rape, and Asia to subdue. | |
| A thousand Ships were man’d, to sail the Sea: | |
| Nor had their just Resentments found delay, | 10 |
| Had not the Winds and Waves oppos’d their way. | |
| At Aulis, with United Pow’rs they meet, | |
| But there, Cross-winds or Calms detain’d the Fleet. | |
| Now, while they raise an Altar on the Shore, | |
| And Jove with solemn Sacrifice adore; | 15 |
| A boding Sign the Priests and People see: | |
| A Snake of size immense, ascends a Tree, | |
| And in the leafy Summet, spy’d a Neast, | |
| Which, o’er her Callow young, a Sparrow press’d. | |
| Eight were the Birds unfledg’d; their Mother flew; | 20 |
| And hover’d round her Care; but still in view: | |
| Till the fierce Reptile first devour’d the Brood; | |
| Then siez’d the flutt’ring Dam, and drunk her Blood. | |
| This dire Ostent, the fearful People view; | |
| Calchas alone, by Phœbus taught, foreknew | 25 |
| What Heav’n decreed: and with a smiling Glance, | |
| Thus gratulates to Greece her happy Chance. | |
| O Argives, we shall Conquer; Troy is ours, | |
| But long Delays shall first afflict our Pow’rs: | |
| Nine Years of Labour, the nine Birds portend; | 30 |
| The Tenth shall in the Town’s Destruction end. | |
| The Serpent, who his Maw obscene had fill’d, | |
| The Branches in his curl’d Embraces held: | |
| But as in Spires he stood, he turn’d to Stone: | |
| The stony Snake retain’d the Figure still his own. | 35 |
| Yet not for this the Wind-bound Navy weigh’d, | |
| Slack were their Sails; and Neptune disobey’d. | |
| Some thought him loath the Town shou’d be destroy’d, | |
| Whose Building had his Hands divine employ’d: | |
| Not so the Seer; who knew, and known foreshow’d, | 40 |
| The Virgin Phœbe with a Virgin’s Blood | |
| Must first be reconcil’d; the common Cause | |
| Prevail’d; and Pity yielding to the Laws, | |
| Fair Iphigenia the devoted Maid | |
| Was, by the weeping Priests, in Linnen-Robes array’d; | 45 |
| All mourn her Fate; but no Relief appear’d: | |
| The Royal Victim bound, the Knife already rear’d: | |
| When that offended Pow’r, who caus’d their Woe, | |
| Relenting ceas’d her Wrath; and stop’d the coming Blow. | |
| A Mist before the Ministers she cast; | 50 |
| And, in the Virgin’s room, a Hind she plac’d. | |
| Th’ Oblation slain, and Phœbe reconcil’d, | |
| The Storm was hush’d, and dimpled Ocean smil’d: | |
| A favourable Gale arose from Shore, | |
| Which to the Port desir’d the Grecian Gallies bore. | 55 |
| Full in the midst of this Created Space, | |
| Betwixt Heav’n, Earth, and Skies, there stands a Place, | |
| Confining on all three; with triple Bound; | |
| Whence all Things, though remote, are view’d around; | |
| And thither bring their Undulating Sound. | 60 |
| The Palace of loud Fame; her Seat of Pow’r; | |
| Plac’d on the Summet of a lofty Tow’r; | |
| A thousand winding Entries long and wide, | |
| Receive of fresh Reports a flowing Tide. | |
| A thousand Crannies in the Walls are made; | 65 |
| Nor Gate nor Bars exclude the busy Trade. | |
| ’Tis built of Brass the better to diffuse | |
| The spreading Sounds, and multiply the News: | |
| Where Eccho’s in repeated Eccho’s play: | |
| A Mart for ever full; and open Night and Day. | 70 |
| Nor Silence is within, nor Voice express, | |
| But a deaf Noise of Sounds that never cease; | |
| Confus’d, and Chiding, like the hollow Roar | |
| Of Tides, receding from th’ insulted Shore: | |
| Or like the broken Thunder, heard from far, | 75 |
| When Jove to distance drives the rowling War. | |
| The Courts are fill’d with a tumultuous Din | |
| Of Crowds, or issuing forth, or entring in: | |
| A thorough fare of News: Where some devise | |
| Things never heard; some mingle Truth with Lies: | 80 |
| The troubled Air with empty Sounds they beat; | |
| Intent to hear; and eager to repeat. | |
| Error sits brooding there; with added Train | |
| Of vain Credulity; and Joys as vain: | |
| Suspicion, with Sedition join’d, are near; | 85 |
| And Rumors rais’d, and Murmurs mix’d, and Panique Fear. | |
| Fame sits aloft; and sees the subject Ground, | |
| And Seas about, and Skies above; enquiring all around. | |
| The Goddess gives th’ Alarm; and soon is known | |
| The Grecian Fleet, descending on the Town. | 90 |
| Fix’d on Defence the Trojans are not slow | |
| To guard their Shore from an expected Foe. | |
| They meet in Fight: By Hector’s fatal Hand | |
| Protesilaus falls; and bites the Strand: | |
| Which with expence of Blood the Grecians won; | 95 |
| And prov’d the Strength unknown of Priam’s Son. | |
| And to their Cost the Trojan Leaders felt | |
| The Grecian Heroes; and what Deaths they dealt. | |
| From these first Onsets, the Sigæan Shore | |
| Was strew’d with Carcasses; and stain’d with Gore: | 100 |
| Neptunian Cygnus Troops of Greeks had slain; | |
| Achilles in his Carr had scow’r’d the Plain: | |
| And clear’d the Trojan Ranks: Where e’er he fought, | |
| Cygnus, or Hector, through the Fields he sought: | |
| Cygnus he found; on him his Force essay’d: | 105 |
| For Hector was to the tenth Year delay’d. | |
| His white man’d Steeds, that bow’d beneath the Yoke | |
| He chear’d to Courage, with a gentle Stroke; | |
| Then urg’d his fiery Chariot on the Foe: | |
| And rising, shook his Lance, in act to throw. | 110 |
| But first, he cry’d, O Youth, be proud to bear | |
| Thy Death, enobled, by Pelides Spear. | |
| The Lance pursu’d the Voice without delay; | |
| Nor did the whizzing Weapon miss the way: | |
| But pierc’d his Cuirass, with such Fury sent; | 115 |
| And sign’d his Bosom with a Purple Dint. | |
| At this the Seed of Neptune; Goddess-born, | |
| For Ornament, not Use, these Arms are worn; | |
| This Helm, and heavy Buckler, I can spare; | |
| As only Decorations of the War: | 120 |
| So Mars is arm’d for Glory, not for Need. | |
| ’Tis somewhat more from Neptune to proceed, | |
| Than from a Daughter of the Sea to spring: | |
| Thy Sire is Mortal; mine is Ocean’s King. | |
| Secure of Death, I shou’d contemn thy Dart, | 125 |
| Tho’ naked, and impassible depart: | |
| He said, and threw: The trembling Weapon pass’d | |
| Through nine Bull-hides, each under other plac’d, | |
| On his broad Shield, and stuck within the last. | |
| Achilles wrench’d it out; and sent again | 130 |
| The hostile Gift: The hostile Gift was vain. | |
| He try’d a third, a tough well-chosen Spear; | |
| Th’ inviolable Body stood sincere; | |
| Though Cygnus then did no Defence provide, | |
| But scornful offer’d his unshielded Side. | 135 |
| Not otherwise th’ impatient Hero far’d, | |
| Than as a Bull, incompass’d with a Guard | |
| Amid the Circus roars: Provok’d from far | |
| By sight of Scarlet, and a sanguine War: | |
| They quit their Ground; his bended Horns elude; | 140 |
| In vain pursuing, and in vain pursu’d. | |
| Before to farther Fight he wou’d advance, | |
| He stood considering, and survey’d his Lance. | |
| Doubts if he wielded not a Wooden Spear | |
| Without a Point: He look’d, the Point was there. | 145 |
| This is my Hand, and this my Lance, he se’d, | |
| By which so many thousand Foes are dead. | |
| O whether is their usual Virtue fled! | |
| I had it once; and the Lyrnessian Wall, | |
| And Tenedos confess’d it in their Fall. | 150 |
| Thy Streams, Caicus, rowl’d a Crimson-Flood; | |
| And Thebes ran Red with her own Natives Blood. | |
| Twice Telephus employ’d this piercing Steel, | |
| To wound him first, and afterward to heal. | |
| The Vigour of this Arm was never vain; | 155 |
| And that my wonted Prowess I retain, | |
| Witness these Heaps of Slaughter on the Plain. | |
| He said; and, doubtful of his former Deeds, | |
| To some new trial of his Force proceeds. | |
| He chose Menætes from among the rest; | 160 |
| At him he lanch’d his Spear; and pierc’d his Breast: | |
| On the hard Earth, the Lycian knock’d his Head, | |
| And lay supine; and forth the Spirit fled. | |
| Then thus the Hero: Neither can I blame, | |
| The Hand, or Javelin; both are still the same. | 165 |
| The same I will employ against this Foe; | |
| And wish but with the same Success to throw. | |
| So spoke the Chief; and while he spoke he threw; | |
| The Weapon with unerring Fury flew, | |
| At his left Shoulder aim’d: Nor Entrance found; | 170 |
| But back, as from a Rock, with swift rebound | |
| Harmless return’d: A bloody Mark appear’d, | |
| Which with false Joy the flatter’d Hero chear’d. | |
| Wound there was none; the Blood that was in view, | |
| The Lance before from slain Menætes drew | 175 |
| Headlong he leaps from off his lofty Car, | |
| And in close Fight on foot renews the War. | |
| Raging with high Disdain, repeats his Blows; | |
| Nor Shield nor Armour can their Force oppose; | |
| Huge Cantlets of his Buckler strew the Ground, | 180 |
| And no Defence in his bor’d Arms is found. | |
| But on his Flesh, no Wound or Blood is seen; | |
| The Sword it self is blunted on the Skin. | |
| This vain Attempt the Chief no longer bears; | |
| But round his hollow Temples and his Ears | 185 |
| His Buckler beats: The Son of Neptune, stun’d | |
| With these repeated Buffets, quits his Ground; | |
| A sickly Sweat succeeds; and Shades of Night: | |
| Inverted Nature swims before his Sight: | |
| Th’ insulting Victor presses on the more, | 190 |
| And treads the Steps the vanquish’d trod before, | |
| Nor Rest, nor Respite gives: A Stone there lay | |
| Behind his trembling Foe; and stop’d his way. | |
| Achilles took th’ Advantage which he found, | |
| O’er-turn’d, and push’d him backward on the Ground. | 195 |
| His Buckler held him under. while he press’d | |
| With both his Knees above, his panting Breast; | |
| Unlac’d his Helm: About his Chin the Twist | |
| He ty’d; and soon the strangled Soul dismiss’d. | |
| With eager haste he went to strip the Dead | 200 |
| The vanish’d Body from his Arms was fled. | |
| His Sea-God Sire t’ immortalize his Fame, | |
| Had turn’d it to the Bird that bears his Name. | |
| A Truce succeeds the Labours of this Day, | |
| And Arms suspended with a long delay. | 205 |
| While Trojan Walls are kept with Watch and Ward; | |
| The Greeks before their Trenches mount the Guard; | |
| The Feast approach’d; when to the blue-Ey’d Maid | |
| His Vows for Cygnus slain the Victor paid, | |
| And a white Heyfer, on her Altar laid. | 210 |
| The reeking Entrails on the Fire they threw; | |
| And to the Gods the grateful Odour flew: | |
| Heav’n had its part in Sacrifice: The rest | |
| Was broil’d and roasted for the future Feast. | |
| The chief invited Guests were set around; | 215 |
| And Hunger first asswag’d, the Bowls were crown’d, | |
| Which in deep Draughts their Cares and Labours drown’d. | |
| The mellow Harp did not their Ears employ: | |
| And mute was all the Warlike Symphony: | |
| Discourse, the Food of Souls, was their Delight, | 220 |
| And pleasing Chat prolong’d the Summers-night. | |
| The Subject, Deeds of Arms; and Valour shown | |
| Or on the Trojan side, or on their own. | |
| Of Dangers undertaken, Fame atchiev’d; | |
| They talk’d by turns; the Talk by turns reliev’d. | 225 |
| What Things but these, cou’d fierce Achilles tell, | |
| Or what cou’d fierce Achilles hear so well? | |
| The last great Act perform’d, of Cygnus slain, | |
| Did most the Martial Audience entertain: | |
| Wondring to find a Body, free by Fate | 230 |
| From Steel; and which could ev’n that Steel rebate: | |
| Amaz’d, their Admiration they renew; | |
| And scarce Pelides cou’d believe it true. | |
| Then Nestor thus; What once this Age has known, | |
| In fated Cygnus, and in him alone, | 235 |
| These Eyes have seen in Cæneus long before, | |
| Whose body not a thousand Swords cou’d bore. | |
| Cæneus, in Courage, and in Strength excell’d; | |
| And still his Othrys 2 with his Fame is fill’d: | |
| But what did most his Martial Deeds adorn, | 240 |
| (Though since he chang’d his Sex) a Woman born. | |
| A Novelty so strange, and full of Fate, | |
| His list’ning Audience ask’d him to relate. | |
| Achilles thus commends their common Sute; | |
| O Father, first for Prudence in repute, | 245 |
| Tell, with that Eloquence, so much thy own, | |
| What thou hast heard, or what of Cæneus known: | |
| What was he, whence his change of Sex begun, | |
| What Trophies, join’d in Wars with thee, he won? | |
| Who conquer’d him, and in what fatal Strife | 250 |
| The Youth without a Wound, cou’d lose his Life? | |
| Neleides then; Though tardy Age, and Time | |
| Have shrunk my Sinews, and decay’d my Prime: | |
| Though much I have forgotten of my Store, | |
| Yet not exhausted, I remember more. | 255 |
| Of all that Arms atchiev’d, or Peace design’d, | |
| That Action still is fresher in my Mind | |
| Than ought beside. If Reverend Age can give | |
| To Faith a Sanction, in my third I live. | |
| ’Twas in my second Cent’ry, I survey’d | 260 |
| Young Cænis, then a fair Thessalian Maid: | |
| Cænis the bright was born to high Command; | |
| A Princess; and a Native of thy Land, | |
| Divine Achilles: every Tongue proclaim’d | |
| Her Beauty; and her Eyes all Hearts inflam’d. | 265 |
| Peleus, thy sire, perhaps had sought her Bed, | |
| Among the rest; but he had either led | |
| Thy Mother then, or was by Promise ty’d; | |
| But she to him, and all alike her Love deny’d. | |
| It was her Fortune once, to take her way | 270 |
| Along the sandy Margin of the Sea: | |
| The Pow’r of Ocean view’d her as she pass’d, | |
| And lov’d as soon as seen, by Force embrac’d. | |
| So Fame reports. Her Virgin-Treasure seiz’d, | |
| And his new Joys, the Ravisher so pleas’d, | 275 |
| That thus, transported, to the Nymph he cry’d; | |
| Ask what thou wilt, no Pray’r shall be deny’d. | |
| This also Fame relates: The haughty Fair, | |
| Who not the Rape, ev’n of a God cou’d bear, | |
| This Answer, proud, return’d: To mighty Wrongs | 280 |
| A mighty Recompense, of right, belongs. | |
| Give me no more to suffer such a Shame; | |
| But change the Woman, for a better Name; | |
| One Gift for all: She said; and while she spoke, | |
| A stern, majestick, manly Tone she took. | 285 |
| A Man she was: And as the Godhead swore, | |
| To Cæneus turn’d, who Cænis was before. | |
| To this the Lover adds without request: | |
| No force of Steel shou’d violate his Breast. | |
| Glad of the Gift, the new-made Warrior goes; | 290 |
| And Arms among the Greeks; and longs for equal Foes. | |
| Now brave Perithous, bold Ixion’s Son, | |
| The Love of fair Hippodame had won. | |
| The Cloud-begotten Race, half Men, half Beast, | |
| Invited, came to grace the Nuptial Feast: | 295 |
| In a cool Cave’s recess the Treat was made, | |
| Whose entrance Trees with spreading Boughs o’ershade. | |
| They sate: And summon’d by the Bridegroom, came, | |
| To mix with those the Lapythæan Name: | |
| Nor wanted I: The Roofs with Joy resound: | 300 |
| And Hymen, Io Hymen, rung around, | |
| Rais’d Altars shone with holy Fires; the Bride, | |
| Lovely her self (and lovely by her side | |
| A Bevy of bright Nimphs, with sober Grace,) | |
| Came glitt’ring like a Star, and took her Place. | 305 |
| Her heav’nly Form beheld, all wish’d her Joy; | |
| And little wanted, but in vain, their Wishes all employ. | |
| For One, most Brutal of the Brutal Brood, | |
| Or whether Wine or Beauty fir’d his Blood | |
| Or both at once; beheld with lustful Eyes | 310 |
| The Bride; at once resolv’d to make his Prize. | |
| Down went the Board; and fastening on her Hair, | |
| He seiz’d with sudden Force the frighted Fair. | |
| ’Twas Eurytus began: His bestial Kind | |
| His Crime pursu’d; and each as pleas’d his Mind, | 315 |
| Or her, whom Chance presented, took: The Feast | |
| An Image of a taken Town express’d. | |
| The Cave resounds with Female Shrieks; we rise, | |
| Mad with Revenge, to make a swift Reprise | |
| And Theseus first; What Frenzy has possess’d | 320 |
| O Eurytus, he cry’d, thy brutal Breast, | |
| To wrong Perithous, and not him alone, | |
| But, while I live, two Friends conjoyn’d in one? | |
| To justify his Threat, he thrusts aside | |
| The Crowd of Centaurs; and redeems the Bride: | 325 |
| The Monster nought replied: For Words were vain; | |
| And Deeds cou’d only Deeds unjust maintain: | |
| But answers with his Hand; and forward press’d, | |
| With Blows redoubled, on his Face and Breast. | |
| An ample Goblet stood, of antick Mold, | 330 |
| And rough with Figures of the rising Gold; | |
| The Hero snatch’d it up, and toss’d in Air, | |
| Full at the Front of the foul Ravisher: | |
| He falls; and falling vomits forth a Flood | |
| Of Wine, and Foam and Brains, and mingled Blood. | 335 |
| Half roaring, and half neighing through the Hall, | |
| Arms, Arms, the double-form’d with Fury call; | |
| To wreak their Brother’s Death: A Medley-Flight | |
| Of Bowls and Jars, at first supply the Fight, | |
| Once Instruments of Feasts, but now of Fate; | 340 |
| Wine animates their Rage, and arms their Hate. | |
| Bold Amycus, from the robb’d Vestry brings | |
| The Chalices of Heav’n; and holy Things | |
| Of precious Weight: A Sconce, that hung on high, | |
| With Tapers fill’d, to light the Sacristy, | 345 |
| Torn from the Cord, with his unhallow’d Hand | |
| He threw amid the Lapythæan Band. | |
| On Celadon the Ruin fell, and left | |
| His Face of Feature and of Form bereft: | |
| So, when some brawny Sacrificer knocks, | 350 |
| Before an altar led, an offer’d Oxe, | |
| His Eye-balls rooted out are thrown to ground: | |
| His Nose dismantled in his Mouth is found, | |
| His Jaws, Cheeks, Front, one undistinguish’d Wound. | |
| This, Belates, th’ Avenger, cou’d not brook; | 355 |
| But, by the Foot a Maple-board he took; | |
| And hurl’d at Amycus; his Chin it bent | |
| Against his Chest, and down the Centaur sent; | |
| Whom sputtring bloody Teeth, the second Blow | |
| Of his drawn Sword dispatch’d to Shades below. | 360 |
| Grineus was near; and cast a furious Look | |
| On the side Altar, cens’d with sacred Smoke, | |
| And bright with flaming Fires: The Gods, he cry’d, | |
| Have with their holy Trade, our Hands supply’d: | |
| Why use we not their Gifts? Then from the Floor | 365 |
| An Altar-Stone he heav’d, with all the Load it bore: | |
| Altar and Altars freight together flew, | |
| Where thickest throng’d the Lapythæan Crew; | |
| And Broteas, and at once, 3 Oryus slew: | |
| Oryus mother, Mycale, was known | 370 |
| Down from her Sphere to draw the lab’ring Moon. | |
| Exadius cry’d, Unpunish’d shall not go | |
| This Fact, if Arms are found against the Foe. | |
| He look’d about, where on a Pine were spred | |
| The votive Horns of a Stags branching Head: | 375 |
| At Grineus these he throws; so just they fly, | |
| That the sharp Antlers stuck in either Eye: | |
| Breathless and Blind he fell; with Blood besmear’d; | |
| His Eye-balls beaten out hung dangling on his Beard. | |
| Fierce Rhætus, from the Hearth a burning Brand | 380 |
| Selects, and whirling waves; till, from his Hand | |
| The Fire took Flame; then dash’d it from the right, | |
| On fair Charaxus Temples near the Sight: | |
| The whistling Pest came on; and pierc’d the Bone, | |
| And caught the yellow Hair, that shrievel’d while it shone: | 385 |
| Caught, like dry Stubble fir’d; or like Seer-wood; | |
| Yet from the Wound ensu’d no Purple Flood; | |
| But look’d a bubbling Mass of frying Blood. | |
| His blazing Locks sent forth a crackling Sound; | |
| And hiss’d, like red hot Iron within the Smithy drown’d. | 390 |
| The wounded Warrior shook his flaming Hair, | |
| Then (what a Team of Horse cou’d hardly rear) | |
| He heaves the Threshold-Stone; but cou’d not throw; | |
| The Weight it self forbad the threaten’d Blow; | |
| Which dropping from his lifted Arms, came down, | 395 |
| Full on Cometes Head; and crush’d his Crown. | |
| Nor Rhætus then retain’d his Joy; but se’d; | |
| So by their Fellows may our Foes be sped, | |
| Then, with redoubled Strokes he plies his Head: | |
| The burning Lever not deludes his Pains, | 400 |
| But drives the batter’d Skull within the Brains. | |
| Thus flush’d, the Conqueror, with force renew’d, | |
| Evagrus, Dryas, Corythus, pursu’d: | |
| First Corythus, with downy Cheeks, he slew; | |
| Whose Fall when fierce Evagrus had in view, | 405 |
| He cry’d, What Palm is from a beardless Prey? | |
| Rhætus prevents what more he had to say; | |
| And drove within his Mouth the fiery Death, | |
| Which enter’d hissing in, and choak’d his Breath. | |
| At Dryas next he flew; But weary Chance | 410 |
| No longer wou’d the same Success advance. | |
| But while he whirl’d in fiery Circles round | |
| The Brand, a sharpen’d Stake strong Dryas found; | |
| And in the Shoulder’s Joint inflicts the Wound. | |
| The Weapon struck; which roaring out with Pain | 415 |
| He drew; nor longer durst the Fight maintain, | |
| But turn’d his Back, for fear; and fled amain. | |
| With him fled Orneus, with like Dread possess’d; | |
| Thaumas, and Medon, wounded in the Breast; | |
| And Mermeros in the late Race renown’d, | 420 |
| Now limping ran, and tardy with his Wound. | |
| Pholus and Melaneus from Fight withdrew, | |
| And Abas maim’d, who Boars encountring slew: | |
| And Augur Astylos, whose Art in vain | |
| From Fight dissuaded the four-footed Train, | 425 |
| Now beat the Hoof with Nessus on the Plain; | |
| But to his Fellow cry’d, Be safely slow, | |
| Thy Death deferr’d is due to great Alcides Bow. | |
| Mean time strong Dryas urg’d his Chance so well, | |
| That Lycidas, Areos, Imbreus fell; | 430 |
| All, one by one, and fighting Face to Face: | |
| Crenæus fled, to fall with more Disgrace: | |
| For, fearful, while he look’d behind, he bore | |
| Betwixt his Nose and Front, the Blow before. | |
| Amid the Noise and Tumult of the Fray, | 435 |
| Snoring, and drunk with Wine, Aphidas lay. | |
| Ev’n then the Bowl within his Hand he kept: | |
| And on a Bear’s rough Hide securely slept. | |
| Him Phorbas with his flying Dart, transfix’d; | |
| Take thy next Draught with Stygian Waters mix’d, | 440 |
| And sleep thy fill, th’ insulting Victor cry’d; | |
| Surpris’d with Death unfelt, the Centaur dy’d: | |
| The ruddy Vomit, as he breath’d his Soul, | |
| Repass’d his Throat; and fill’d his empty Bowl. | |
| I saw Petræus Arms employ’d around | 445 |
| A well-grown Oak, to root it from the Ground. | |
| This way, and that, he wrench’d the fibrous Bands, | |
| The Trunk was like a Sappling in his Hands, | |
| And still obey’d the Bent: While thus he stood, | |
| Perithous Dart drove on; and nail’d him to the Wood. | 450 |
| Lycus, and Chromis fell by him oppress’d: | |
| Helops and Dictys added to the rest | |
| A nobler Palm: Helops through either Ear | |
| Transfix’d, receiv’d the penetrating Spear. | |
| This Dictys saw; and seiz’d with suddain Fright | 455 |
| Leapt headlong from the Hill of steepy height; | |
| And crush’d an Ash beneath, that cou’d not bear his weight. | |
| The shatter’d Tree receives his Fall; and strikes | |
| Within his full-blown Paunch, the sharpen’d Spikes. | |
| Strong Aphareus had heav’d a mighty Stone, | 460 |
| The Fragment of a Rock; and wou’d have thrown; | |
| But Theseus with a Club of harden’d Oak, | |
| The Cubit-bone of the bold Centaur broke; | |
| And left him maim’d; nor seconded the Stroke. | |
| Then leapt on tall Bianor’s Back: (Who bore | 465 |
| No mortal Burden but his own, before) | |
| Press’d with his Knees his Sides; the double Man, | |
| His Speed with Spurs increas’d, unwilling ran. | |
| One Hand the Hero fasten’d on his Locks; | |
| His other ply’d him with repeated Strokes. | 470 |
| The Club rung round his Ears, and batter’d Brows; | |
| He falls; and lashing up his Heels, his Rider throws. | |
| The same Herculean Arms Nedymnus wound; | |
| And lay by him Lycotas on the Ground; | |
| And Hippasus, whose Beard his Breast invades; | 475 |
| And Ripheus, haunter of the Woodland Shades: | |
| And Tereus, us’d with Mountain Bears to strive; | |
| And from their Dens to draw th’ indignant Beasts alive. | |
| Demoleon cou’d not bear this hateful Sight, | |
| Or the long Fortune of th’ Athenian Knight: | 480 |
| But pull’d with all his Force, to disengage | |
| From Earth a Pine, the Product of an Age: | |
| The Root stuck fast: The broken Trunk he sent | |
| At Theseus: Theseus frustrates his Intent, | |
| And leaps aside, by Pallas warn’d, the Blow | 485 |
| To shun: (for so he said; and we believ’d it so.) | |
| Yet not in vain th’ enormous Weight was cast; | |
| Which Crantor’s Body sunder’d at the Waist, | |
| Thy Father’s Squire, Achilles, and his Care; | |
| Whom conquer’d in the Dolopeian War, | 490 |
| Their King, his present Ruin to prevent, | |
| A Pledge of Peace implor’d, to Peleus sent. | |
| Thy Sire, with grieving Eyes, beheld his Fate; | |
| And cry’d, Not long, lov’d Crantor, shalt thou wait | |
| Thy vow’d Revenge. At once he said, and threw | 495 |
| His Ashen-Spear; which quiver’d as it flew; | |
| With all his Force and all his Soul apply’d; | |
| The sharp Point enter’d in the Centaur’s Side: | |
| Both Hands, to wrench it out, the Monster join’d; | |
| And wrench’d it out; but left the Steel behind. | 500 |
| Stuck in his Lungs it stood: Inrag’d he rears | |
| His Hoofs, and down to Ground thy Father bears. | |
| Thus trampled under foot, his Shield defends | |
| His Head; his other Hand the Lance protends. 4 | |
| Ev’n while he lay extended on the Dust, | 505 |
| He sped the Centaur, with one single Thrust. | |
| Two more his Lance before transfix’d from far; | |
| And two his Sword had slain in closer War. | |
| To these was added Dorylas: Who spread | |
| A Bull’s two goring Horns around his Head. | 510 |
| With these he push’d; in Blood already dy’d: | |
| Him, fearless, I approach’d; and thus defy’d: | |
| Now, Monster, now, by Proof it shall appear, | |
| Whether thy Horns are sharper or my Spear. | |
| At this, I threw: For want of other Ward, | 515 |
| He lifted up his Hand, his Front to guard. | |
| His Hand it pass’d: And fix’d it to his Brow: | |
| Loud Shouts of ours attend the lucky Blow. | |
| Him Peleus finish’d, with a second Wound, | |
| Which through the Navel pierc’d: He reel’d around; | 520 |
| And drag’d his dangling Bowels on the Ground; | |
| Trod what he drag’d; and what he trod he crush’d: | |
| And to his Mother-Earth, with empty Belly rush’d. | |
| Nor cou’d thy Form, O Cyllarus, foreslow 5 | |
| Thy Fate; (if Form to Monsters Men allow:) | 525 |
| Just bloom’d thy Beard, thy 6 Beard of golden Hew: | |
| Thy Locks in golden Waves, about thy Shoulders flew. | |
| Sprightly thy Look: Thy Shapes in ev’ry part | |
| So clean; as might instruct the Sculptor’s Art: | |
| As far as Man extended: Where began | 530 |
| The Beast, the Beast was equal to the Man. | |
| Add but a Horses Head and Neck; and he, | |
| O Castor, was a Courser worthy thee. | |
| So was his Back proportion’d for the Seat; | |
| So rose his brawny Chest; so swiftly mov’d his Feet. | 535 |
| Coal-black his Colour; but like Jet it shone; | |
| His Legs and flowing Tail were White alone. | |
| Belov’d by many Maidens of his Kind, | |
| But fair Hylonome possess’d his Mind; | |
| Hylonome, for Features, and for Face | 540 |
| Excelling all the Nymphs of double Race: | |
| Nor less her Blandishments, than Beauty move; | |
| At once both loving, and confessing Love. | |
| For him she dress’d: For him with female care | |
| She comb’d, and set in Curls, her auborn Hair. | 545 |
| Of Roses, Violets, and Lillies mix’d | |
| And Sprigs of flowing Rosemary betwixt | |
| She form’d the Chaplet, that adorn’d her Front: | |
| In Waters of the Pagasæan Fount, | |
| And in the Streams that from the Fountain play, | 550 |
| She wash’d her Face; and bath’d her twice a Day. | |
| The Scarf of Furs, that hung below her Side, | |
| Was Ermin, or the Panther’s spotted Pride; | |
| Spoils of no common Beast: With equal Flame | |
| They lov’d: Their Sylvan 7 Pleasures were the same: | 555 |
| All Day they hunted; And when Day expir’d, | |
| Together to some shady Cave retir’d: | |
| Invited to the nuptials, both repair: | |
| And Side by Side, they both ingage in War. | |
| Uncertain from what Hand, a flying Dart | 560 |
| At Cyllarus was sent; which pierc’d his Heart. | |
| The Javelin drawn from out the mortal Wound, | |
| He faints with staggring Steps; and seeks the Ground: | |
| The Fair within her Arms receiv’d his Fall, | |
| And strove his wandring Spirits to recal: | 565 |
| And while her Hand the streaming Blood oppos’d, | |
| Join’d Face to Face, his Lips with hers she clos’d. | |
| Stiffled with Kisses, a sweet Death he dies; | |
| She fills the Fields with undistinguish’d Cries: | |
| At least her Words were in her Clamour drown’d; | 570 |
| For my stun’d Ears receiv’d no vocal Sound. | |
| In madness of her Grief, she seiz’d the Dart | |
| New-drawn, and reeking from her Lover’s Heart; | |
| To her bare Bosom the sharp Point apply’d; | |
| And wounded fell; and falling by his Side, | 575 |
| Embrac’d him in her Arms; and thus embracing, dy’d. | |
| Ev’n still, methinks, I see Phæocomes; | |
| Strange was his Habit; and as odd his Dress. | |
| Six Lion’s Hides, with Thongs together fast, | |
| His upper part defended to his Waist; | 580 |
| And where Man ended, the continued Vest, | |
| Spread on his Back, the Houss and Trappings of a Beast | |
| A Stump too heavy for a Team to draw, | |
| (It seems a Fable, tho’ the Fact I saw;) | |
| He threw at Pholon; the descending Blow | 585 |
| Divides the Skull, and cleaves his Head in two. | |
| The Brains, from Nose and Mouth, and either Ear | |
| Came issuing out, as through a Colendar | |
| The curdled Milk; or from the Press the Whey | |
| Driv’n down by Weights above, is drain’d away. | 590 |
| But him, while stooping down to spoil the Slain, | |
| Pierc’d through the Paunch, I tumbled on the Plain. | |
| Then Chthonyus and Teleboas I slew: | |
| A Fork the former arm’d; a Dart his Fellow threw. | |
| The Javelin wounded me; (behold the Skar,) | 595 |
| Then was my time to seek the Trojan War; | |
| Then I was Hector’s Match in open Field; | |
| But he was then unborn; at least a Child; | |
| Now, I am nothing. I forbear to tell | |
| By Periphantas how Pyretus fell; | 600 |
| The Centaur by the Knight: Now will I stay | |
| On Amphyx, or what Deaths he dealt that Day: | |
| What Honour with a pointless Lance he won, | |
| Stuck in the front of a four-footed Man; | |
| What fame young Macareus obtain’d in Fight: | 605 |
| Or dwell on Nessus, now return’d from Flight; | |
| How Prophet Mopsus not alone devin’d, | |
| Whose Valour equall’d his foreseeing Mind. | |
| Already Cæneus, with his conquering Hand, | |
| Had slaughter’d five the boldest of their Band; | 610 |
| Pyrachmus, Helymus, Antimachus, | |
| Bromus the Brave, and stronger Stiphelus; | |
| Their Names I number’d, and remember well, | |
| No Trace remaining, by what Wounds they fell. | |
| Latreus, the bulkiest of the double Race, | 615 |
| Whom the spoil’d Arms of slain Halesus grace, | |
| In Years retaining still his Youthful Might, | |
| Though his black Hairs were interspers’d with White, | |
| Betwixt th’ imbattled Ranks began to prance, | |
| Proud of his Helm, and Macedonian Lance; | 620 |
| And rode the Ring around; that either Hoast | |
| Might hear him, while he made this empty Boast. | |
| And from a Strumpet shall we suffer Shame, | |
| For Cænis still, not Cæneus is thy Name: | |
| And still the Native Softness of thy Kind | 625 |
| Prevails; and leaves the Woman in thy Mind? | |
| Remember what thou wert; what price was paid | |
| To change thy Sex: to make thee not a Maid; | |
| And but a Man in shew: go, Card and Spin; | |
| And leave the Business of the War to Men. | 630 |
| While thus the Boaster exercis’d his Pride, | |
| The fatal Spear of Cæneus reach’d his Side: | |
| Just in the mixture of the Kinds it ran; | |
| Betwixt the neather Beast, 8 and upper Man: | |
| The Monster mad with Rage, and stung with Smart, | 635 |
| His Lance directed at the Hero’s Heart: | |
| It strook: But bounded from his harden’d Breast, | |
| Like Hail from Tiles, which the safe House invest. | |
| Nor seem’d the Stroke with more effect to come, | |
| Than a small Pebble falling on a Drum. | 640 |
| He next his Fauchion try’d, in closer Fight; | |
| But the keen Fauchion had no Pow’r to bite. | |
| He thrust; the blunted Point return’d again: | |
| Since downright Blows, he cry’d, and Thrusts are vain, | |
| I’ll prove his Side: In strong Embraces held | 645 |
| He prov’d his Side; his Side the Sword repell’d: | |
| His hollow Belly eccho’d to the Stroke; | |
| Untouch’d his Body, as a solid Rock; | |
| Aim’d at his Neck at last, the Blade in Shivers broke. | |
| Th’ Impassive Knight stood Idle, to deride | 650 |
| His Rage, and offer’d oft his naked Side: | |
| At length, Now Monster, in thy turn, he cry’d, | |
| Try thou the Strength of Cæneus: At the Word | |
| He thrust; and in his Shoulder plung’d the Sword. | |
| Then writh’d his Hand; and as he drove it down, | 655 |
| Deep in his Breast, made many Wounds in one. | |
| The Centaurs saw inrag’d, th’ unhop’d Success; | |
| And rushing on, in Crowds, together press; | |
| At him, and him alone, their Darts they threw: | |
| Repuls’d they from his fated Body flew. | 660 |
| Amaz’d they stood; till Monychus began, | |
| O Shame, a Nation conquer’d by a Man! | |
| A Woman-Man; yet more a Man is He, | |
| Than all our Race; and what He was, are We. | |
| Now, what avail our Nerves? The united Force, | 665 |
| Of two the strongest Creatures, Man and Horse, | |
| Nor Goddess-born, nor of Ixion’s Seed | |
| We seem; (a Lover built for Juno’s Bed;) | |
| Master’d by this half Man. Whole Mountains throw | |
| With Woods at once, and bury him below. | 670 |
| This only way remains. Nor need we doubt | |
| To choak the Soul within; though not to force it out. | |
| Heap Weights, instead of Wounds: He chanc’d to see | |
| Where Southern Storms had rooted up a Tree; | |
| This, raised from Earth, against the Foe he threw; | 675 |
| Th’ Example shewn, his Fellow-Brutes pursue. | |
| With Forest-loads the Warrior they invade; | |
| Othrys and Pelion soon were void of Shade; | |
| And spreading Groves were naked Mountains made. | |
| Press’d with the Burden, Cæneus pants for Breath; | 680 |
| And on his Shoulders bears the Wooden Death. | |
| To heave th’ intolerable Weight he tries; | |
| At length it rose above his Mouth and Eyes: | |
| Yet still he heaves: And strugling with Despair, | |
| Shakes all aside; and gains a gulp of Air: | 685 |
| A short Relief, which but prolongs his Pain; | |
| He faints by Fits; and then respires again: | |
| At last, the Burden only nods above, | |
| As when an Earthquake stirs th’ Idæan Grove. | |
| Doubtful his Death: He suffocated seem’d | 690 |
| To most; but otherwise our Mopsus deem’d | |
| Who said he saw a yellow Bird arise | |
| From out the Pile, and cleave the liquid Skies: | |
| I saw it too, with golden feathers bright, | |
| Nor e’re before beheld so strange a Sight. | 695 |
| Whom Mopsus viewing, as it soar’d around | |
| Our Troop, and heard the Pinions rattling Sound, | |
| All hail, he cry’d, thy Countries Grace and Love; | |
| Once first of Men below; now first of Birds above. | |
| Its Author to the Story gave Belief: | 700 |
| For us, our Courage was increas’d by Grief: | |
| Asham’d to see a single Man, pursu’d | |
| With Odds, to sink beneath a Multitude: | |
| We push’d the Foe; and forc’d to shameful Flight, 9 | |
| Part fell; and part escap’d by favour of the Night. | 705 |
| This Tale, by Nestor told, did much displease | |
| Tlepolemus, the Seed of Hercules: | |
| For, often he had heard his Father say, | |
| That he himself was present at the Fray; | |
| And more than shar’d the Glories of the Day. | 710 |
| Old Chronicle, he said, among the rest, | |
| You might have nam’d Alcides at the least: | |
| Is he not worth your Praise? The Pylian Prince | |
| Sigh’d ere he spoke; then made this proud Defence. | |
| My former Woes, in long Oblivion drown’d | 715 |
| I would have lost; but you renew the Wound: | |
| Better to pass him o’er, than to relate | |
| The Cause I have your mighty Sire to hate. | |
| His Fame has fill’d the World, and reach’d the Sky; | |
| (Which, Oh, I wish, with Truth, I cou’d deny!) | 720 |
| We praise not Hector; though his name, we know, | |
| Is great in Arms; ’tis hard to praise a Foe. | |
| He, your Great Father, levell’d to the Ground | |
| Messenia’s Towers: Nor better Fortune found | |
| Elis, and Pylus; that a neighb’ring State | 725 |
| And this my own: Both guiltless of their Fate. | |
| To pass the rest, twelve wanting one, he slew, | |
| My Brethren, who their Birth from Neleus drew. | |
| All Youths of early Promise, had they liv’d; | |
| By him they perish’d: I alone surviv’d. | 730 |
| The rest were easy Conquest: But the Fate | |
| Of Periclymenos is wondrous to relate. | |
| To him our common Grandsire of the Main | |
| Had giv’n to change his Form, and chang’d, resume again. | |
| Vary’d at Pleasure, every Shape he try’d; | 735 |
| And in all Beasts Alcides still defy’d: | |
| Vanquish’d on Earth, at length he soar’d above; | |
| Chang’d to the Bird, that bears the Bolt of Jove. | |
| The new-dissembled Eagle, now endu’d | |
| With Beak and Pounces, Hercules pursu’d, | 740 |
| And cuff’d his manly Cheeks, and tore his Face; | |
| Then, safe retir’d, and tour’d 10 in empty space. | |
| Alcides bore not long his flying Foe: | |
| But bending his inevitable Bow, | |
| Reach’d him in Air, suspended as he stood; | 745 |
| And in his Pinion fix’d the feather’d Wood. | |
| Light was the Wound; but in the Sinew hung | |
| The Point: and his disabled Wing unstrung. | |
| He wheel’d in Air, and stretch’d his Vans in vain; | |
| His Vans no longer cou’d his Flight sustain: | 750 |
| For while one gather’d Wind, one unsupply’d | |
| Hung drooping down; nor pois’d his other Side. | |
| He fell: The Shaft that slightly was impress’d, | |
| Now from his heavy Fall with weight increas’d, | |
| Drove through his Neck, aslant; he spurns the Ground, | 755 |
| And the Soul issues through the Weazon’s Wound. | |
| Now, brave Commander of the Rhodian Seas, | |
| What Praise is due from me to Hercules? | |
| Silence is all the Vengeance I decree | |
| For my slain Brothers; but ’tis Peace with thee. | 760 |
| Thus with a flowing Tongue old Nestor spoke: | |
| Then, to full Bowls each other they provoke: | |
| At length, with Weariness, and Wine oppress’d | |
| They rise from Table; and withdraw to rest. | |
| The Sire of Cygnus, Monarch of the Main, | 765 |
| Mean time, laments his Son, in Battle slain: | |
| And vows the Victor’s Death; nor vows in vain. | |
| For nine long Years the smoother’d Pain he bore; | |
| (Achilles was not ripe for Fate, before:) | |
| Then when he saw the promis’d Hour was near, | 770 |
| He thus bespoke the God, that guides the Year. | |
| Immortal Offspring of my Brother Jove; | |
| My brightest Nephew, and whom best I love, | |
| Whose Hands were join’d with mine, to raise the Wall | |
| Of tottring Troy, now nodding to her fall; | 775 |
| Dost thou not mourn our Pow’r employ’d in vain; | |
| And the Defenders of our City slain? | |
| To pass the rest, cou’d noble Hector lie | |
| Unpity’d, drag’d around his Native Troy? | |
| And yet the Murd’rer lives: Himself by far | 780 |
| A greater Plague, than all the wastful War: | |
| He lives; the proud Pelides lives to boast | |
| Out Town destroy’d, our common Labour lost! | |
| O, cou’d I meet him! But I wish too late | |
| To prove my Trident is not in his Fate! | 785 |
| But let him try (for that’s allow’d) thy Dart, | |
| And pierce his only penetrable Part. | |
| Apollo bows to the superiour Throne | |
| And to his Uncle’s Anger, adds his own. | |
| Then in a Cloud involv’d, he takes his Flight, | 790 |
| Where Greeks and Trojans mix’d in mortal Fight; | |
| And found out Paris, lurking where he stood, | |
| And stain’d his Arrows with Plebeyan Blood: | |
| Phœbus to him alone the God confess’d, | |
| Then to the recreant Knight he thus address’d. | 795 |
| Dost thou not blush, to spend thy Shafts in vain | |
| On a degenerate, and ignoble Train? | |
| If Fame, or better Vengeance be thy Care, | |
| There aim: And with one Arrow, end the war. | |
| He said; and shew’d from far the blazing Shield | 800 |
| And Sword, which but Achilles none cou’d weild; | |
| And how he mov’d a God, and mow’d the standing Field. | |
| The Deity himself directs aright | |
| Th’ invenom’d Shaft; and wings the fatal Flight. | |
| Thus fell the foremost of the Grecian Name; | 805 |
| And He, the base Adult’rer, boasts the Fame. | |
| A Spectacle to glad the Trojan Train; | |
| And please old Priam, after Hector slain. | |
| If by a Female Hand he had foreseen | |
| He was to die, his Wish had rather been | 810 |
| The Lance and double Axe of the fair Warriour Queen. | |
| And now, the Terror of the Trojan Field, | |
| The Grecian Honour, Ornament, and Shield, | |
| High on a Pile th’ Unconquer’d Chief is plac’d: | |
| The God that arm’d him first, consum’d at last. | 815 |
| Of all the Mighty Man, the small Remains | |
| A little Urn, and scarcely fill’d, contains. | |
| Yet great in Homer, still Achilles lives; | |
| And equal to himself, himself survives. | |
| His Buckler owns its former Lord; and brings | 820 |
| New cause of Strife betwixt contending Kings; | |
| Who Worthiest after him, his Sword to wield, | |
| Or wear his Armour, or sustain his Shield. | |
| Ev’n Diomede sat mute, with down-cast Eyes; | |
| Conscious of wanted Worth to win the Prize: | 825 |
| Nor Menelas 11 presum’d these Arms to claim, | |
| Nor He the King of Men, a greater Name. | |
| Two Rivals only rose: Laertes Son, | |
| And the vast Bulk of Ajax Telamon: | |
| The King, who cherish’d each, with equal Love, | 830 |
| And from himself all Envy wou’d remove, | |
| Left both to be determin’d by the Laws; | |
| And to the Grecian Chiefs transferr’d the Cause. | |
