The two Moliones, two boys, untrained in the fear
Of horrid war, or use of strength. A certain city shines
Upon a lofty prominent, and in th’ extreme confines
Of sandy Pylos, seated where Alpheus’ flood doth run,
And call’d Thryessa: this they sieg’d, and gladly would have won;
But, having pass’d through all our fields, Minerva as our spy
Fell from Olympus in the night, and arm’d us instantly:
Nor must’ered she unwilling men, nor unprepar’d for force.
My sire yet would not let me arm, but hid away my horse,
Esteeming me no soldier yet; yet shin’d I nothing less
Amongst our gallants, though on foot; Minerva’s mightiness
Led me to fight, and made me bear a soldier’s worthy name.
There is a flood falls into sea, and his crook’d course doth frame
Close to Arena, and is call’d bright Myniaeus stream.
There made we halt: and there the sun cast many a glorious beam
On our bright armours; horse and foot insea’d together there,
Then march’d we on: by fiery noon we saw the sacred clear
Of great Alphaeus, where to Jove we did fair sacrifice:
And to the azure god, that rules the under-liquid skies,
We offer’d up a solemn bull; a bull t’ Alphaeus’ name,
And to the blue-ey’d Maid we burn’d a heifer never tame.
Now was it night; we supp’d and slept about the flood in arms,
The foe laid hard siege to our town, and shook it with alarms:
But for prevention of their spleens, a mighty work of war
Appear’d behind them. For as soon as Phoebus’ fiery car
Cast night’s foul darkness from his wheels (invoking rev’rend Jove,
And the unconquer’d Maid his birth), we did th’ event approve,
And gave them battle: first of all, I slew (the army saw)
The mighty soldier Mulius, Augeas’ son-in-law,
And spoil’d him of his one-hoo
f
’d horse: his elder daughter was
Bright Agamede, that for skill in simples did surpass
And knew as many kind of drugs as earth’s broad centre bred:
Him charg’d I with my brass-arm’d lance, the dust receiv’d him dead:
I (leaping to his chariot) amongst the foremost press’d,
And the great hearted Elians fled frighted, seeing their best
And loftiest soldier taken down, the general of their horse.
I follow’d like a black whirlwind, and did for prize enforce
Full fifty chariots, every one furnish’d with two arm’d men,
Who ate the earth, slain with my lance; and I had slaughter’d then
The two young boys, Moliones, if their world-circling sire
(Great Neptune) had not sav’d their lives, and cover’d their retire
With unpierc’d clouds: then Jove bestow’d a haughty victory
Upon us Pyleans. For so long we did the chase apply,
Slaught’ring and making spoil of arms, till sweet Buprasius’ soil,
Alesius, and Olenia, were fam’d with our recoil.
For there Minerva turn’d our pow’r, and there the last I slew,
As when our battle join’d, the first: the Pyleans then withdrew
To Pylos from Buprasius. Of all the immortals then,
They most thank’d Jove for victory, Nestor the most of men.
Such was I ever, if I were, employ’d with other peers,
And I had honour of my youth, which dies not in my years.
But great Achilles only joys hability of act
In his brave prime, and doth not deign t’ impart it where ’tis lack’d.
No doubt he will extremely mourn long after that black hour
Wherein our ruin shall be wrought, and rue his ruthless pow’r.
O friend, my memory revives, the charge Menetius gave
Thy towardness, when thou sett’st forth, to keep out of the grave
Our wounded honour; I myself and wise Ulysses were
Within the room, where every word then spoken we did hear:
For we were come to Peleus’ court, as we did must’ring pass
Through rich Achaia, where thy sire, renown’d Menoetius, was,
Thyself and great Aeacides, when Peleus the king
To thunder-loving Jove did burn an ox for offering,
In his court-yard: a cup of gold, crown’d with red wine, he held
On th’ holy incensory pour’d. You, when the ox was fell’d,
Were dressing his divided limbs, we in the portal stood.
Achilles seeing us come so near, his honourable blood
Was struck with a respective shame, rose, took us by the hands,
Brought us both in, and made us sit, and us’d his kind commands
For seemly hospitable rights, which quickly were appos’d.
Then (after needfulness of food) I first of all disclos’d
The royal cause of our repair, mov’d you and your great friend
To consort our renown’d designs: both straight did condescend;
Your fathers knew it, gave consent, and grave instruction
To both your valours. Peleus charg’d his most unequall’d son
To govern his victorious strength, and shine past all the rest
In honour, as in mere main force. Then were thy partings blest
With dear advices from thy sire. “My loved son,” said he,
“Achilles by his grace of birth superior is to thee,
And for his force more excellent, yet thou more ripe in years:
Then with sound counsels (age’s fruits) employ his honour’d years,
Command and overrule his moods; his nature will obey
In any charge discreetly given, that doth his good assay.”
Thus charg’d thy sire, which thou forgett’st; yet now at last approve
(With forced reference of these) th’ attraction of his love.
Who knows if sacred influence may bless thy good intent,
And enter with thy gracious words, even to his full consent?
The admonition of a friend is sweet and vehement.
If any oracle he shun, or if his mother queen
Hath brought him some instinct from Jove, that fortifies his spleen,
Let him resign command to thee of all his Myrmidons,
And yield by that means some repulse to our confusions,
Adorning thee in his bright arms, that his resembled form
May haply make thee thought himself, and calm this hostile storm:
That so a little we may ease our overcharged hands,
Draw some breath, not expire it all: the foe but faintly stands
Beneath his labours, and your charge being fierce, and freshly giv’n,
They easily from our tents and fleet may to their walls be driv’n.’
This mov’d the good Patroclus’ mind, who made his utmost haste
T’ inform his friend, and at the fleet of Ithacus he past,
(At which their markets were dispos’d, counsels and martial courts,
And where to th’ altars of the gods they made divine resorts)
He met renown’d Eurypilus, Evemon’s noble son,
Halting, his thigh hurt with a shaft: the liquid sweat did run
Down from his shoulders and his brows, and from his raging wound
Forth flow’d his melancholy blood; yet still his mind was sound.
His sight in kind Patroclus’ breast to sacred pity turn’d,
And (nothing more immartial for true ruth) thus he mourn’d:
‘Ah wretched progeny of Greece, princes, dejected kings,
Was it your fates to nourish beasts, and serve the outcast wings
Of savage vultures here in Troy? Tell me, Evemon’s fame,
Do yet the Greeks withstand his force, whom yet no force can tame,
Or are they hopeless thrown to death by his resistlesss lance?’
‘Divine Patroclus,’ he replied, ‘no more can Greece advance
Defensive weapons, but to fleet they headlong must retire:
For those that to this hour have held our fleet from hostile fire,
And are the bulwarks of our host, lie wounded at their tents,
And Troy’s unvanquishable pow’r, still as it toils, augments.
But take me to thy black-stern’d ship, save me, and from my thigh
Cut out this arrow; and the blood that is ingor’d and dry
Wash with warm water from the wound: then gentle salves apply,
Which thou know’st best; thy princely friend hath taught thee surgery,
Whom, of all centaurs the most just, Chiron did institute:
Thus to thy honourable hands my ease I prosecute,
Since our physicians cannot help: Machaon at his tent
Needs a physician himself, being leech and patient,
And Podalirius in the field the sharp conflict sustains.’
Strong Menetiades replied: ‘How shall I ease thy pains?
What shall we do, Eurypilus? I am to use all haste
To signify to Thetis’ son occurrents that have past,
At Nestor’s honourable suit; but be that work achiev’d,
When this is done, I will not leave thy torments unreliev’d.’
This said, athwart his back he cast, beneath his breast, his arm,
And nobly help’d him to his tent: his servants seeing his harm,
Dispread ox-hides upon the earth, whereon Machaon lay:
Patroclus cut out the sharp shaft, and clearly wash’d away
With lukewarm water the black blood: then ’twixt his hands he bruis’d
A sharp and mitigatory root, which when he had infus’d
Into the green, well-cleansed wound, the pains he felt before
Were well, and instantly allay’d, the wound did bleed no more.
The end of the eleventh book
Book 12
The Argument
The Trojans at the trench their pow’rs engage,
Though greeted by a bird of bad presage.
In five parts they divide their pow’r to scale,
And Prince Sarpedon forceth down the pale:
Great Hector from the ports tears out a stone,
And with so dead a strength he sets it gone
At those broad gates the Grecians made to guard
Their tents and ships that, broken and unbarr’d,
They yield way to his pow’r; when all contend
To reach the ships, which all at last ascend.
Another Argument
Mu
works the Trojans all the grace,
And doth the Grecian fort deface.
Book 12
Patroclus thus employ’d in cure of hurt Eurypilus,
Both hosts are all for other wounds doubly contentious,
One always labouring to expel, the other to invade.
Nor could the broad dike of the Greeks, nor that strong wall they made
To guard their fleet, be long unrac’t; because it was not rais’d
By grave direction of the gods; nor were their deities prais’d
(When they begun) with hecatombs, that then they might be sure
(Their strength being season’d well with heav’n’s) it should have force t’ endure,
And so the safeguard of their fleet, and all their treasure there,
Infallibly had been confirm’d: when now, their bulwarks were
Not only without pow’r of check to their assaulting foe
(Even now, as soon as they were built), but apt to overthrow;
Such as, in very little time, shall bury all their sight,
And thought that ever they were made: as long as the despight
Of great Aeacides held up, and Hector went not down,
And that by those two means stood safe king Priam’s sacred town,
So long their rampire had some use (though now it gave some way);
But when Troy’s best men suffer’d fate, and many Greeks did pay
Dear for their suf
f
’rance, then the rest home to their country turn’d,
The tenth year of their wars at Troy, and Troy was sack’d and burn’d,
And then the gods fell to their fort; then they their pow’rs employ
To ruin their work, and left less of that than they of Troy.
Neptune and Phoebus tumbled down from the Idalian hills
An inundation of all floods, that thence the broad sea fills
On their huge rampire; in one glut, all these together roar’d,
Rhesus, Heptaporus, Rhodius, Scamander (the ador’d),
Caresus, Simois, Grenicus, Aesepus: of them all
Apollo open’d the rough mouths, and made their lusty fall
Ravish the dusty champian, where many a helm and shield,
And half-god race of men, were strew’d: and that all these might yield
Full tribute to the heavenly work, Neptune and Phoebus won
Jove to unburthen the black wombs of clouds (fill’d by the sun),
And pour them into all their streams, that quickly they might send
The huge wall swimming to the sea. Nine days their lights did spend
To nights, in tempests; and when all their utmost depth had made,
Jove, Phoebus, Neptune, all came down, and all in state did wade
To ruin of that impious fort: great Neptune went before,
Wrought with his trident, and the stones, trunks, roots of trees he tore
Out of the rampire, toss’d them all into the Hellespont,
Ev’n all the proud toil of the Greeks, with which they durst confront
The to-be-shunned deities: and not a stone remain’d
Of all their huge foundations, all with the earth were plain’d.
Which done, again the gods turn’d back the silver-flowing floods,
By that vast channel through whose vaults they pour’d abroad their broods,
And cover’d all the ample shore again with dusty sand:
And this the end was of that wall, where now so many a hand
Was emptied of stones and darts, contending to invade,
Where Clamour spent so high a throat, and where the fell blows made
The new-built wooden turrets groan. And here the Greeks were pent,
Tam’d with the iron whip of Jove, that terrors vehement
Shook over them by Hector’s hand, who was in every thought,
The terror-master of the field, and like a whirlwind fought,
As fresh as in his morn’s first charge. And, as a savage boar
Or lion, hunted long, at last with hounds’ and hunters’ store
Is compass’d round, they charge him close, and stand (as in a tow’r
They had inchas’d him) pouring on of darts an iron show’r;
His glorious heart yet, nought appall’d, and forcing forth his way,
Here overthrows a troop, and there a running ring doth stay
His utter passage: when again that stay he overthrows,
And then the whole field frees his rage: so Hector wearies blows,
Runs out his charge upon the fort; and all his force would force
To pass the dike: which being so deep, they could not get their horse
To venture on, but trample, snore, and on the very brink,
To neigh with spirit, yet still stand off: nor would a human think
The passage safe, or if it were, ’twas less safe for retreat,
The dike being everywhere so deep; and (where ’twas least deep) set
With stakes exceeding thick, sharp, strong, that horse could never pass,
Much less their chariots after them: yet for the foot there was
Some hopeful service, which they wish’d. Polydamas then spake:
‘Hector, and all our friends of Troy, we indiscreetly make
Offer of passage with our horse: ye see the stakes, the wall,
Impossible for horse to take; nor can men fight at all,
The place being strait, and much more apt to let us take our bane,
Than give the enemy: and yet, if Jove decree the wane
Of Grecian glory utterly, and so bereave their hearts
That we may freely charge them thus, and then will take our parts,
I would with all speed wish th’ assault, that ugly shame might shed
(Thus far from home) these Grecians’ bloods. But if they once turn head
And sally on us from their fleet, when in so deep a dike
We shall lie struggling, not a man of all the host is like
To live and carry back the news; and therefore be it thus:
Here leave we horse, kept by our men, and all on foot let us
Hold close together, and attend the grace of Hector’s guide;
And then they shall not bear our charge, our conquest shall be dyed
In their lives’ purples.’ This advice pleas’d Hector, for ’twas sound;
Who first obey’d it, and full arm’d betook him to the ground,
And then all left their chariots when he was seen to lead,
Rushing about him, and gave up each chariot and steed
To their directors to be kept, in all procinct of war –
There, and on that side of the dike. And thus the rest prepare
Their onset: in five regiments they all their pow’r divide –
Each regiment allow’d three chiefs, of all which, ev’n the pride
Serv’d in great Hector’s regiment; for all were set on fire
(Their passage beaten through the wall) with hazardous desire
That they might once but fight at fleet. With Hector captains were
Polydamas and Cebriones, who was his charioteer,
But Hector found that place a worse. Chiefs of the second band
Were Paris and Alcathous, Agenor. The command
The third strong phalanx had was giv’n to th’ augur Hellenus,
Deiphobus, that god-like man, and mighty Asius –
Even Asius Hertacides, that from Arisba rode
The huge bay horse, and had his house where riv’r Selleës flow’d.
The fourth charge good Aeneas led, and with him were combin’d
Archelochus and Acamas (Antenor’s dearest kind,
And excellent at every fight). The fifth brave company
Sarpedon had to charge, who chose, for his command’s supply,
Asteropaeus great in arms, and Glaucus, for both these
Were best of all men but himself: but he was fellowless.
Thus fitted with their well-wrought shields, down the steep dike they go,
And (thirsty of the wall’s assault) believe in overthrow,
Not doubting but with headlong falls to tumble down the Greeks
From their black navy: in which trust, all on, and no man seeks
To cross Polydamas’ advice with any other course,
But Asius Hyrtacides, who (proud of his bay horse)
Would not forsake them; nor his man, that was their manager
(Fool that he was), but all to fleet, and little knew how near
An ill death sat him, and a sure, and that he never more
Must look on lofty Ilion: but looks, and all before
Put on th’ all-covering mist of fate, and then did bang upon
The lance of great Deucalides; he fatally rush’d on
The left hand way, by which the Greeks, with horse and chariot,
Came usually from field to fleet: close to the gates he got,
Which both unbarr’d and ope he found, that so the easier might
An entry be for any friend that was behind in flight –
Yet not much easier for a foe, because there was a guard
Maintain’d upon it, past his thought; who still put for it hard,
Eagerly shouting, and with him were five more friends of name,
That would not leave him, though none else would hunt that way for fame
(In their free choice) but he himself: Orestes, Iamenus,
And Acamas Asiades, Thoön, Oenomaus,
Were those that follow’d Asius: within the gates they found
Two eminently valorous, that from the race renown’d
Of the right valiant Lapithes deriv’d their high descent.
Fierce Leonteus was the one, like Mars in detriment,
The other mighty Polypaet, the great Pirithous’ son.
These stood within the lofty gates, and nothing more did shun
The charge of Asius and his friends, than two high hill-bred oaks,
Well rooted in the binding earth, obey the airy strokes
Of wind and weather, standing firm ’gainst every season’s spite.
Yet they pour on continu’d shouts, and bear their shields upright,
When in the mean space Polypaet and Leonteus cheer’d
Their soldiers to the fleet’s defence: but when the rest had heard
The Trojans in attempt to scale, clamour and flight did flow
Amongst the Grecians; and then (the rest dismay’d) these two
Met Asius ent’ring, thrust him back, and fought before their doors:
Nor far’d they then like oaks that stood, but as a brace of boars
Couch’d in their own bred hill, that hear a sort of hunter’s shout,
And hounds in hot trail coming on; then from their dens break out,
Traverse their force, and suffer not, in wildness of their way,
About them any plant to stand, but thickets, offering stay,
Break through, and rend up by the roots, whet gnashes into air,
Which Tumult fills with shouts, hounds, horns, and all the hot affair
Beats at their bosoms: so their arms rung with assailing blows,
And so they stirr’d them in repulse, right well assur’d that those
Who were within, and on the wall, would add their parts; who knew
They now fought for their tents, fleet, lives, and fames, and therefore threw
Stones from the walls and tow’rs, as thick as when a drift wind shakes
Black clouds in pieces, and plucks snow, in great and plumy flakes,
From their soft bosoms, till the ground be wholly cloth’d in white.
So earth was hid with stones and darts – darts from the Trojan fight,
Stones from the Greeks, that on the helms and bossy Trojan shields
Kept such a rapping, it amaz’d great Asius, who now yields
Sighs, beats his thighs, and in a rage his fault to Jove applies.
‘O Jove,’ said he, ‘now clear thou show’st, thou art a friend to lies,
Pretending, in the flight of Greece, the making of it good,
To all their ruins: which I thought could never be withstood.
Yet they, as yellow wasps or bees (that having made their nest
The gasping cranny of a hill) when for a hunter’s feast
Hunters come hot and hungry in, and dig for honeycombs,
They fly upon them, strike and sting, and from their hollow homes
Will not be beaten, but defend their labour’s fruit, and brood:
No more will these be from their port, but either lose their blood
(Although but two against all us) or be our prisoners made.’
All this, to do his action grace, could not firm Jove persuade,
Who for the general counsel stood, and (’gainst his singular brave)
Bestow’d on Hector that day’s fame. Yet he and these behave
Themselves thus nobly at this port: but how at other ports,
And all alongst the stony wall, sole force, ’gainst force and forts,
Rag’d in contention ’twixt both hosts, it were no easy thing
(Had I the bosom of a god) to tune to life, and sing.
The Trojans fought not of themselves, a fire from heav’n was thrown
That ran amongst them, through the wall, mere added to their own.
The Greeks held not their own: weak Grief went with her wither’d hand,
And dipp’d it deeply in their spirits, since they could not command
Their forces to abide the field, whom harsh Necessity
(To save those ships should bring them home) and their good forts’ supply
Drave to th’ expulsive fight they made; and this might stoop them more
Than Need itself could elevate, for ev’n gods did deplore
Their dire estates, and all the gods that were their aids in war:
Who (though they could not clear their plights) yet were their friends thus far,
Still to uphold the better sort: for then did Polypaet pass
A lance at Damasus, whose helm was made with cheeks of brass,
Yet had not proof enough; the pile drave through it, and his skull;
His brain in blood drown’d, and the man, so late so spiritful,
Fell now quite spiritless to earth. So emptied he the veins
Of Pylon and Ormenus’ lives: and then Leonteus gains
The life’s end of Hippomachus, Antimachus’s son;
His lance fell at his girdle stead, and with his end begun
Another end: Leonteus left him, and through the press
(His keen sword drawn) ran desperately upon Antiphates,
And lifeless tumbled him to earth. Nor could all these lives quench
His fiery spirit, that his flame in Menon’s blood did drench,
And rag’d up even to Iamen’s, and young Orestes’ life;
All heap’d together made their peace, in that red field of strife.
Whose fair arms while the victors spoil’d, the youth of Ilion