Of Hector and his Trojan friends, and bring him where the fight
Made greatest tumult. But his strife for honour in their sight
Wrought not what sight or wishes help’d; for turning back his look,
The hollow of his neck the shaft came singing on, and strook,
And down he fell; his horses back, and hurried through the field
The empty chariot. Panthus’ son made all haste, and withheld
Their loose career, disposing them to Protiaon’s son,
Astinous, with special charge to keep them ever on,
And in his sight: so he again amongst the foremost went.
At Hector then another shaft incensed Teucer sent,
Which, had it hit him, sure had hurt; and had it hurt him, slain;
And had it slain him, it had driv’n all those to Troy again.
But Jove’s mind was not sleeping now; it wak’d to Hector’s fame
And Teucer’s infamy, himself (in Teucer’s deadly aim)
His well-wrought string dissevering, that serv’d his bravest bow;
His shaft flew quite another way, his bow the earth did strow.
At all which Teucer stood amaz’d, and to his brother cried,
‘O prodigy! Without all doubt our angel doth deride
The counsels of our fight; he brake a string my hands put on
This morning, and was newly made, and well might have set gone
A hundred arrows; and beside, he struck out of my hand
The bow Apollo gave.’ He said: ‘Then, good friend, do not stand
More on thy archery, since god (preventer of all grace
Desir’d by Grecians) slights it so. Take therefore in the place
A good large lance, and on thy neck a target cast, as bright;
With which come fight thyself with some, and other some excite,
That without labour at the least (though we prove worser men)
Troy may not brag it took our ships: come, mind our business then.’
This said, he hasted to his tent, left there his shafts and bow,
And then his double double shield did on his shoulders throw,
Upon his honour’d head he placed his helmet, thickly plum’d,
And then his strong and well-pil’d lance in his fair hand assum’d,
Return’d, and boldly took his place by his great brother’s side.
When Hector saw his arrows broke, out to his friends he cried:
‘O friends, be yet more comforted! I saw the hands of Jove
Break the great Grecian archer’s shafts: ’tis easy to approve
That Jove’s power is direct with men, as well in those set high
Upon the sudden, as in those depress’d as suddenly,
And those not put in state at all, as now he takes away
Strength from Greeks, and gives it us; then use it, and assay
With join’d hands this approached fleet. If any bravely buy
His fame or fate with wounds or death, in Jove’s name let him die.
Who for his country suffers death sustains no shameful thing:
His wife in honour shall survive, his progeny shall spring
In endless summers, and their roofs with patrimony swell;
And all this, though with all their freight the Greek ships we repel.’
His friends thus cheer’d, on th’ other part strong Ajax stirr’d his friends:
‘O Greeks,’ said he, ‘what shame is this, that no man more defends
His fame and safety than to live, and thus be forc’d to shrink:
Now either save your fleet, or die, unless ye vainly think
That you can live, and they destroy’d? Perceives not every ear
How Hector heartens up his men, and hath his firebrands here,
Now ready to inflame our fleet? He doth not bid them dance,
That you may take your ease, and see, but to the fight advance.
No counsel can serve us but this: to mix both hands and hearts,
And bear up close; ’tis better much t’expose our utmost parts
To one day’s certain life or death, than languish in a war
So base as this, beat to our ships by our inferiors far.’
Thus rous’d he up their spirits and strengths: to work then both side went,
When Hector, the Phocensian duke, to fields of darkness sent
Fierce Schedius, Perimedes’ son; which Ajax did requite
With slaughter of Laodamas, that led the foot to fight,
And was Antenor’s famous son. Polydamas did end
Otus, surnam’d Cyllenius, whom Phydas made his friend,
Being chief of the Epeians’ bands: whose fall when Meges view’d,
He let fly at his feller’s life; who (shrinking in) eschew’d
The well-aim’d lance: Apollo’s will denied that Panthus’ son
Should fall amongst the foremost fights: the dart the mid-breast won
Of Crasmus; Meges won his arms. At Meges Dolops then
Bestow’d his lance; he was the son of Lampus, best of men –
And Lampus of Laomedon, well skill’d in strength of mind.
He struck Phylides’ shield quite through, whose curets, better lin’d
And hollow’d fitly, sav’d his life: Phyleus left him them,
Who from Epirus brought them home, on that part where the stream
Of famous Seleës doth run; Euphetes did bestow
(Being guest with him) those well-prov’d arms, to wear against the foe,
And now they sav’d his son from death. At Dolops Meges threw
A spear well pil’d, that struck his casque full in the height; off flew
His purple feather, newly made, and in the dust it fell.
While these thus striv’d for victory, and either’s hope serv’d well,
Atrides came to Meges’ aid, and (hidden with his side)
Let loose a javelin at his foe, that through his back implied
His lusty head, even past his breast; the ground receiv’d his weight.
While these made into spoil his arms, great Hector did excite
All his allies to quick revenge; and first he wrought upon
Strong Melanippus (that was son to great Hycetaon)
With some reproof. Before these wars he in Percote fed
Clov’n-footed oxen, but did since return where he was bred,
Excell’d amongst the Ilians, was much of Priam lov’d,
And in his court kept as his son; him Hector thus reprov’d:
‘Thus, Melanippus, shall our blood accuse us of neglect?
Nor moves it thy lov’d heart (thus urg’d) thy kinsman to protect?
Seest thou not, how they seek his spoil? Come, follow, now no more
Our fight must stand at length, but close: nor leave the close before
We close the latest eye of them, or they the lowest stone
Tear up, and sack the citizens of lofty Ilion.’
He led; he follow’d like a god: and then must Ajax needs
(As well as Hector) cheer his men, and thus their spirits he feeds:
‘Good friends, bring but your selves to feel the noble stings of shame
For what ye suffer, and be men: respect each other’s fame,
For which who strives in shame’s fit fear, and puts on ne’er so far
Comes oft’ner off than stick engag’d: these fugitives of war
Save neither life, nor get renown, nor bear more mind than sheep.’
This short speech fir’d them in his aid, his spirit touch’d them deep,
And turn’d them all before the fleet into a wall of brass:
To whose assault Jove stirr’d their foes, and young Atrides was
Jove’s instrument, who thus set on the young Antilochus:
‘Antilochus, in all our host, there is not one of us
More young than you, more swift of foot, nor (with both those) so strong.
O would thou wouldst then (for thou canst) one of this lusty throng,
That thus comes skipping out before (whoever, any where)
May stick (for my sake) ’twixt both hosts, and leave his bold blood there.’
He said no sooner, and retir’d, but forth he rush’d before
The foremost fighters, yet his eye did every way explore
For doubt of odds; out flew his lance: the Trojans did abstain
While he was darting, yet his dart he cast not off in vain:
For Melanippus, that rare son of great Hycetaon,
(As bravely he put forth to fight) it fiercely flew upon,
And at the nipple of his breast his breast and life did part.
And then, much like an eager hound, cast off at some young hart
Hurt by the hunters that had left his covert then but new,
The great-in-war Antilochus (O Melanippus) flew
On thy torn bosom for thy spoil. But thy death could not lie
Hid to great Hector, who all haste made to thee, and made fly
Antilochus, although in war he were at all parts skill’d:
But as some wild beast, having done some shrewd turn (either kill’d
The herdsman, or the herdsman’s dog) and skulks away before
The gather’d multitude makes in: so Nestor’s son forbore,
But after him, with horrid cries, both Hector and the rest
Show’rs of tear-thirsty lances pour’d, who having arm’d his breast
With all his friends, he turn’d it then. Then on the ships all Troy,
Like raw-flesh-nourish’d lions rush’d, and knew they did employ
Their pow’rs to perfect Jove’s high will; who still their spirits enflam’d,
And quench’d the Grecians; one renown’d, the other often sham’d;
For Hector’s glory still he stood, and ever went about
To make him cast the fleet such fire as never should go out;
Heard Thetis’ foul petition, and wish’d in any wise
The splendour of the burning ships might satiate his eyes.
From him yet the repulse was then to be on Troy conferr’d,
The honour of it giv’n the Greeks; which (thinking on) he stirr’d
(With such addition of his spirit) the spirit Hector bore,
To burn the fleet, that of itself was hot enough before.
But now he far’d like Mars himself, so brandishing his lance
As through the deep shades of a hill a raging fire should glance,
Held up to all eyes by a hill; about his lips a foam
Stood, as when th’ ocean is enrag’d; his eyes were overcome
With fervour, and resembled flames, set off by his dark brows,
And from his temples his bright helm abhorred lightnings throws.
For Jove, from forth the sphere of stars, to his state put his own,
And all the blaze of both the hosts confin’d in him alone.
And all this was since after this he had not long to live,
This lightning flew before his death, which Pallas was to give
(A small time thence, and now prepar’d) beneath the violence
Of great Pelides. In mean time, his present eminence
Thought all things under it: and he still where he saw the stands
Of greatest strength and bravest arm’d, there he would prove his hands,
Or no where, offering to break through. But that pass’d all his pow’r,
Although his will were past all theirs; they stood him like a tow’r
Conjoin’d so firm, that as a rock, exceeding high and great,
And standing near the hoary sea, bears many a boisterous threat
Of high-voic’d winds and billows huge, belch’d on it by the storms:
So stood the Greeks great Hector’s charge, nor stirr’d their battellous forms.
He (girt in fire, borne for the fleet) still rush’d at every troop,
And fell upon it like a wave, high rais’d, that then doth stoop
Out from the clouds, grows as it stoops, with storms, then down doth come
And cuff a ship, when all her sides are hid in brackish foam,
Strong gales still raging in her sails, her sailors’ minds dismay’d,
Death being but little from their lives: so Jove-like Hector fray’d
And plied the Greeks, who knew not what would chance, for all their guards.
And as the baneful king of beasts, leapt in to oxen herds,
Fed in the meadows of a fen, exceeding great, the beasts
In number infinite,’mongst whom (their herdsmen wanting breasts
To fight with lions for the price of a black ox’s life)
He here and there jumps, first and last, in his bloodthirsty strife,
Chas’d and assaulted; and at length, down in the midst goes one,
And all the rest sperst through the fen: so now all Greece was gone.
So Hector (in a flight from heav’n upon the Grecians cast)
Turn’d all their backs, yet only one his deadly lance laid fast:
Brave Mycenaeus Periphes, Cypraeus’ dearest son,
Who of the heaven’s-queen-lov’d-king (great Eurysthaeus) won
The grace to greet in embassy the strength of Hercules,
Was far superior to his sire in feet, fight, nobleness
Of all the virtues; and all those did such a wisdom guide
As all Mycenae could not match: and this man dignified
(Still making greater his renown) the state of Priam’s son.
For his unhappy hasty foot, as he address’d to run,
Stuck in th’ extreme ring of his shield, that to his ankles reach’d,
And down he upwards fell; his fall up from the centre fetch’d
A huge sound with his head and helm, which Hector quickly spied,
Ran in, and in his worthy breast his lance’s head did hide,
And slew about him all his friends, who could not give him aid:
They griev’d, and of his god-like foe fled so extreme afraid.
And now amongst the nearest ships, that first were drawn to shore,
The Greeks were driv’n; beneath whose sides, behind them, and before,
And into them they pour’d themselves, and thence were driv’n again
Up to their tents, and there they stood, not daring to maintain
Their guards more outward, but betwixt the bounds of fear and shame,
Cheer’d still each other, when th’ old man, that of the Grecian name
Was call’d the pillar, every man thus by his parents pray’d:
‘O friends, be men, and in your minds let others’ shames be weigh’d;
Know you have friends besides yourselves: possessions, parents, wives,
As well those that are dead to you, as those ye love with lives,
All sharing still their good or bad with yours: by these I pray,
That are not present (and the more should therefore make ye weigh
Their miss of you, as yours of them), that you will bravely stand,