To Hector: now th’ earth-shaking god hath taken sea, and so
Shrunk from the horrors I denounc’d, which standing, he and all
The under-seated deities, that circle Saturn’s fall,
Had heard of me in such a fight as had gone hard for them.
But both for them and me ’tis best that thus they fly th’ extreme,
That had not pass’d us without sweat. Now then, in thy hands take
My adder-fring’d affrighting shield, which with such terror shake,
That fear may shake the Greeks to flight: besides this, add thy care
(O Phoebus, far-off-shooting god!) that this so sickly fare
Of famous Hector be recur’d; and quickly so excite
His amplest pow’rs, that all the Greeks may grace him with their flight,
Even to their ships, and Hellespont; and then will I devise
All words and facts again for Greece, that largely may suffice
To breath them from their instant toils.’ Thus from th’ Idean height
(Like air’s swift-pigeon-killer) stoop’d the far-shot god of light,
And found great Hector sitting up, not stretch’d upon his bed,
Nor wheasing with a stopp’d up spirit, not in cold sweats, but fed
With fresh and comfortable veins, but his mind all his own,
But round about him all his friends, as well as ever known.
And this was with the mind of Jove, that flew to him before
Apollo came; who (as he saw no sign of any sore)
Ask’d (like a cheerful visitant): ‘Why in this sickly kind,
Great Hector, sitt’st thou so apart? Can any grief of mind
Invade thy fortitude?’ He spake, but with a feeble voice:
‘O thou, the best of deities, why (since I thus rejoice
By thy so serious benefit) demand’st thou (as in mirth,
And to my face) if I were ill? For (more than what thy worth
Must needs take note o
f
) doth not Fame from all mouths fill thine ears,
That (as my hand at th’ Achive fleet was making massacres
Of men, whom valiant Ajax led) his strength struck with a stone
All pow’r of more hurt from my breast? My very soul was gone,
And once to-day I thought to see the house of Dis and Death.’
‘Be strong,’ said he, ‘for such a spirit now sends the god of breath,
From airy Ida, as shall run through all Greek spirits in thee;
Apollo with the golden sword, the clear far-seer, see –
Him who betwixt death and thy life, ’twixt ruin and those tow’rs,
Ere this day oft hath held his shield. Come then, be all thy pow’rs
In wonted vigour: let thy knights with all their horse assay
The Grecian fleet, myself will lead, and scour so clear the way,
That flight shall leave no Greek a rub.’ Thus instantly inspir’d
Were all his nerves with matchless strength; and then his friends he fir’d
Against their foes, when (to his eyes) his ears confirm’d the god.
Then, as a goodly headed hart, or goat, bred in the wood,
A rout of country huntsmen chase, with all their hounds in cry,
The beast yet, or the shady woods or rocks excessive high,
Keep safe, or our unwieldy fates (that even in hunters sway)
Bar them the poor beast’s pulling down, when straight the clamorous fray
Calls out a lion, hugely man’d, and his abhorred view
Turns headlong in unturning flight (though vent’rous) all the crew:
So hitherto the chasing Greeks their slaughter dealt by troops,
But after Hector was beheld range here and there, then stoops
The boldest courage; then their heels took in their dropping hearts,
And then spake Andremonides, a man of far best parts
Of all th’ Aetolians, skill’d in darts, strenuous in fights of stand,
And one of whom few of the Greeks could get the better hand
(For rhetoric) when they fought with words, with all which, being wise,
Thus spake he to his Grecian friends: ‘O mischie
f
! Now mine eyes
Discern no little miracle: Hector escap’d from death,
And all recover’d, when all thought his soul had sunk beneath
The hands of Ajax; but some god hath sav’d and freed again
Him that but now dissolv’d the knees of many a Grecian,
And now I fear will weaken more, for not without the hand
Of him that thunders can his pow’rs thus still the forefight’s stand,
Thus still triumphant: hear me then, our troops in quick retreat
Let’s draw up to our fleet, and we, that boast ourselves the great,
Stand firm and try, if these that raise so high their charging darts
May be resisted: I believe, ev’n this great heart of hearts
Will fear himself to be too bold in charging thorow us.’
They easily heard him, and obey’d, when all the generous
They call’d t’ encounter Hector’s charge, and turn’d the common men
Back to the fleet: and these were they that bravely furnish’d then
The fierce forefight: the Ajaces both, the worthy Cretan king,
The Mars-like Meges, Merion, and Teucer. Up then bring
The Trojan chiefs their men in heaps; before whom (amply pac’d)
March’d Hector; and in front of him, Apollo, who had cast
About his bright aspect a cloud, and did before him bear
Jove’s huge and each-where-shaggy shield, which (to contain in fear
Offending men) the god-smith gave to Jove; with this he led
The Trojan forces. The Greeks stood, a fervent clamour spread
The air on both sides as they join’d; out flew the shafts and darts,
Some falling short, but other some found butts in breasts and hearts.
As long as Phoebus held but out his horrid shield, so long
The darts flew raging either way, and death grew both ways strong.
But when the Greeks had seen his face, and who it was that shook
The bristled targe, knew by his voice, then all their strengths forsook
Their nerves and minds; and then look how a goodly herd of neat,
Or wealthy flock of sheep, being close, and dreadless at their meat,
In some black midnight, suddenly (and not a keeper near)
A brace of horrid bears rush in, and then fly here and there
The poor affrighted flocks or herds: so every way dispers’d
The heartless Grecians; so the Sun their headstrong chace revers’d
To headlong flight, and that day rais’d, with all grace, Hector’s head.
Arcesilaus then he slew, and Stichius; Stichius led
Boeotia’s brazen-coated men, the other was the friend
Of mighty-soul’d Menestheus. Aeneas brought to end
Medon and Janus; Medon was the brother (though but base)
Of swift Oïleades, and dwelt far from his breeding place,
In Phylaca; the other led th’ Athenian bands: his sire
Was Spelus, Bucolus’s son. Mecistheus did expire
Beneath Polydamas’s hand. Polites, Echius slew
Just at the joining of the hosts. Agenor overthrew
Clonius. Bold Deiochus felt Alexander’s lance;
It struck his shoulder’s upper part, and did his head advance
Quite through his breast, as from the fight he turn’d him for retreat.
While these stood spoiling of the slain, the Greeks found time to get
Beyond the dike, and th’ undik’d pales: all scapes they gladly gain’d,
Till all had pass’d the utmost wall, necessity so reign’d.
Then Hector cried out: ‘Take no spoil, but rush on to the fleet,
From whose assault (for spoil or flight) if any man I meet,
He meets his death: nor in the fire of holy funeral
His brother’s or his sister’s hands shall cast (within our wall)
His loathed body, but without, the throats of dogs shall grave
His manless limbs.’ This said, the scourge his forward horses drave
Through every order, and with him all whipp’d their chariots on,
All threatningly, out thund’ring shouts, as earth were overthrown.
Before them march’d Apollo still, and as he march’d, digg’d down
(Without all labour) with his feet, the dike, till with his own
He fill’d it to the top, and made way both for man and horse,
As broad and long as with a lance (cast out to try one’s force)
A man could measure. Into this they pour’d whole troops as fast
As numerous, Phoebus still before, for all their haste,
Still shaking Jove’s unvalued shield, and held it up to all.
And then, as he had chok’d their dike, he tumbled down their wall.
And look how easily any boy, upon the sea-ebb’d shore,
Makes with a little sand a toy, and cares for it no more,
But as he rais’d it childlishly, so in his wanton vein,
Both with his hands and feet he pulls and spurns it down again:
So slight, O Phoebus, thy hands made of that huge Grecian toil,
And their late stand, so well resolv’d, as easily mad’st recoil.
Thus stood they driv’n up at their fleet, where each heard other’s thought,
Exhorted, passing humbly pray’d: all, all the gods besought
(With hands held up to heav’n) for help; ’mongst all, the good old man,
Grave Nestor (for his counsels call’d the Argives’ guardian)
Fell on his aged knees, and pray’d, and to the starry host
Stretch’d out his hands for aid to theirs, of all thus moving most:
‘O father Jove, if ever man of all our host did burn
Fat thighs of oxen or of sheep (for grace of safe return)
In fruitful Argos, and obtain’d the bowing of thy head
For promise of his humble prayers, O now remember him
(Thou merely heav’nly) and clear up the foul brows of this dim
And cruel day; do not destroy our zeal for Trojan pride.’
He pray’d, and heav’n’s great counsellor with store of thunder tried
His former grace good, and so heard the old man’s hearty prayers.
The Trojans took Jove’s sign for them, and pour’d out their affairs
In much more violence on the Greeks, and thought on nought but fight:
And as a huge wave of a sea, swoln to his rudest height,
Breaks over both sides of a ship, being all urg’d by the wind,
For that’s it makes the wave so proud: in such a borne-up kind
The Trojans overgat the wall; and getting in their horse,
Fought close at fleet, which now the Greeks ascended for their force:
Then from their chariots they with darts, the Greek with bead-hooks fought
(Kept still aboard for naval fights), their heads with iron wrought
In hooks and pikes. Achilles friend, still while he saw the wall
That stood without their fleet afford employment for them all,
Was never absent from the tent of that man-loving Greek,
Late-hurt Eurypilus, but sate, and every way did seek
To spend the sharp time of his wound with all the ease he could,
In med’cines and in kind discourse: but when he might behold
The Trojans past the wall, the Greeks flight-driv’n, and all in cries,
Then cried he out, cast down his hands, and beat with grief his thighs.
Then, ‘O Eurypilus,’ he cried, ‘now all thy need of me
Must bear my absence: now a work of more necessity
Calls hence, and I must haste to call Achilles to the field:
Who knows, but (god assisting me) my words may make him yield?
The motion of a friend is strong.’ His feet thus took him thence.
The rest yet stood their enemies firm, but all their violence
(Though Troy fought there with fewer men) lack’d vigour to repel
Those fewer from their navy’s charge; and so, that charge as well
Lack’d force to spoil their fleet or tents. And as a shipwright’s line
(Dispos’d by such a hand as learn’d, from th’ artizan divine,
The perfect practice of his art) directs or guards so well
The naval timber then in frame, that all the laid-on steel
Can hew no further than may serve to give the timber th’ end
Fore-purpos’d by the skilful wright: so both hosts did contend
With such a line or law applied to what their steel would gain.
At other ships fought other men, but Hector did maintain
His quarrel firm at Ajax’ ship; and so did both employ
About one vessel all their toil: nor could the one destroy
The ship with fire, nor force the man, nor that man yet get gone
The other from so near his ship, for god hath brought him on.
But now did Ajax with a dart wound deadly in the breast
Caletor, son of Clytius, as he with fire address’d
To burn the vessel; as he fell, the brand fell from his hand.
When Hector saw his sister’s son lie slaughter’d in the sand,
He call’d to all his friends, and pray’d they would not in that strait
Forsake his nephew, but maintain about his corse the fight,
And save it from the spoil of Greece. Then sent he out a lance
At Ajax, in his nephew’s wreak, which miss’d, but made the chance
On Lycophron Mestorides, that was the household friend
Of Ajax, born in Cythera, whom Ajax did defend
(Being fled to his protection) for killing of a man
Amongst the god-like Cytherans; the vengeful javelin ran
Quite through his head, above his ear, as he was standing by
His fautor, then astern his ship; from whence his soul did fly,
And to the earth his body fell: the hair stood up on end
On Ajax, who to Teucer call’d (his brother), saying: ‘Friend,
Our loved consort, whom we brought from Cythera and grac’d
So like our father, Hector’s hand hath made him breathe his last.
Where then are all thy death-borne shafts, and that unvalued bow
Apollo gave thee?’ Teucer straight his brother’s thoughts did know,
Stood near him, and dispatch’d a shaft amongst the Trojan fight:
It struck Pysenor’s goodly son, young Clytus, the delight
Of the renown’d Polydamas, the bridle in his hand,
As he was labouring his horse, to please the high command