By lofty Boreas, their dams lov’d by him as they fed.
He took the brave form of a horse that shook an azure mane,
And slept with them. These twice six colts had pace so swift, they ran
Upon the top-ayles of corn-ears, nor bent them any whit.
And when the broad back of the sea their pleasure was to sit,
The superficies of his waves they slid upon, their hooves
Nor dipp’d in dank sweat of his brows. Of Ericthonius’ loves
Sprang Tros the king of Troÿans; Tros three young princes bred:
Ilus, renown’d Assaracus, and heav’nly Ganymed,
The fairest youth of all that breath’d; whom (for his beauty’s love)
The gods did ravish to their state, to bear the cup to Jove.
Ilus begot Laomedon; god-like Laomedon
Got Tithon, Priam, Clytius, Mars-like Hycetaon,
And Lampus. Great Assaracus Capys begot. And he,
Anchises. Prince Anchises, me. King Priam, Hector. We
Sprang both of one high family. Thus fortunate men give birth,
But Jove gives virtue; he augments, and he impairs the worth
Of all men; and his will, their rule; he strong’st all strength affords;
Why then paint we (like dames) the face of conflict with our words?
Both may give language that a ship driv’n with a hundred oars
Would overburthen: a man’s tongue is voluble, and pours
Words out of all sorts every way; such as you speak you hear.
What then need we vie calumnies, like women that will wear
Their tongues out, being once incens’d, and strife for strife to part
(Being on their way) they travel so. From words words may avert;
From virtue, not; it is your steel (divine Aeacides)
Must prove my proof, as mine shall yours.’ Thus amply did he ease
His great heart of his pedigree, and sharply sent away
A dart that caught Achilles’ shield, and rung so, it did fray
The son of Thetis, his fair hand far-thrusting out his shield,
For fear the long lance had driv’n through. O fool, to think ’twould yield,
And not to know the god’s firm gifts want want to yield so soon
To men’s poor pow’rs; the eager lance had only conquest won
Of two plates, and the shield had five: two forg’d of tin, two brass,
One (that was centre-plate) of gold, and that forbade the pass
Of Anchisiades his lance. Then sent Achilles forth
His lance, that through the first fold struck, where brass of little worth
And no great proof of hides was laid; through all which Pelias ran
His iron head; and after it, his ashen body wan
Pass’d to the earth, and there it stuck, his top on th’ other side,
And hung the shield up; which hard down Aeneas pluck’d to hide
His breast from sword blows, shrunk up round, and in his heavy eye
Was much grief shadow’d, much afraid that Pelias struck so nigh.
Then prompt Achilles rushing in, his sword drew, and the field
Rung with his voice. Aeneas now left and let hang his shield,
And (all distracted) up he snatch’d a two men’s strength of stone,
And either at his shield or cask he set it rudely gone,
Nor car’d where, so it struck a place that put on arms for death.
But he (Achilles came so close) had doubtless sunk beneath
His own death, had not Neptune seen and interpos’d the odds
Of his divine pow’r, uttering this to the Achaian gods:
‘I grieve for this great-hearted man; he will be sent to hell,
Ev’n instantly, by Peleus’ son, being only mov’d to deal
By Phoebus’ words. What fool is he! Phoebus did never mean
To add to his great words his guard against the ruin then
Summon’d against him: and what cause hath he to head him on
To others’ miseries, he being clear of any trespass done
Against the Grecians? Thankful gifts he oft hath given to us;
Let us then quit him, and withdraw this combat, for if thus
Achilles end him, Jove will rage, since his escape in fate
Is purpos’d – lest the progeny of Dardanus take date –
Whom Jove past all his issue lov’d, begot of mortal dames:
All Priam’s race he hates, and this must propagate the names
Of Trojans, and their sons’ sons rule, to all posterity.’
Saturnia said: ‘Make free your pleasure. Save, or let him die.
Pallas and I have taken many and most public oaths
That th’ ill day never shall avert her eye (red with our wroths)
From hated Troy: no, not when all in studied fire she flames
The Greek rage, blowing her last coal.’ This nothing turn’d his aims
From present rescue, but through all the whizzing spears he pass’d,
And came where both were combating; when instantly he cast
A mist before Achilles’ eyes, drew from the earth and shield
His lance, and laid it at his feet: and then took up and held
Aloft the light Anchises’ son, who pass’d (with Neptune’s force)
Whole orders of heroës’ heads, and many a troop of horse
Leap’d over, till the bounds he reach’d of all the fervent broil
Where all the Caucons’ quarters lay. Thus (far freed from the toil)
Neptune had time to use these words: ‘Aeneas, who was he
Of all the gods, that did so much neglect thy good, and thee,
To urge thy fight with Thetis’ son, who in immortal rates
Is better and more dear than thee? Hereafter, lest (past fates)
Hell be thy headlong home, retire; make bold stand never near
Where he advanceth: but his fate once satisfied, then bear
A free and full sail: no Greek else shall end thee.’ This reveal’d,
He left him, and dispers’d the cloud that all this act conceal’d
From vex’d Achilles: who again had clear light from the skies,
And (much disdaining the escape) said, ‘O ye gods, mine eyes
Discover miracles: my lance submitted, and he gone
At whom I sent it with desire of his confusion!
Aeneas sure was lov’d of heav’n; I thought his vaunt from thence
Had flow’d from glory. Let him go; no more experience
Will his mind long for of my hands, he flies them now so clear:
Cheer then the Greeks, and others try.’ Thus rang’d he everywhere
The Grecian orders; every man (of which the most look’d on
To see their fresh lord shake his lance) he thus put charge upon:
‘Divine Greeks, stand not thus at gaze, but man to man apply
Your several valours: ’tis a task laid too unequally
On me, left to so many men – one man oppos’d to all.
Not Mars, immortal and a god, nor war’s she-general
A field of so much fight could chase, and work it out with blows:
But what a man may execute, that all limbs will expose,
And all their strength to th’ utmost nerve – though now I lost some play
By some strange miracle, no more shall burn in vain the day
To any least beam – all this host I’ll ransack, and have hope
Of all; not one (again) will ’scape, whoever gives such scope
To his adventure, and so near dares tempt my angry lance.’
Thus he excited. Hector then as much strives to advance
The hearts of his men, adding threats, affirming he would stand
In combat with Aeacides. ‘Give fear,’ said he, ‘no hand
Of your great hearts, brave Ilians, for Peleus’ talking son;
I’ll fight with any god with words; but when their spears put on,
The work runs high, their strength exceeds mortality so far.
And they may make works crown their words, which hold not in the war
Achilles makes; his hands have bounds; this word he shall make good,
And leave another to the field: his worst shall be withstood
With sole objection of myself, though in his hands he bear
A rage like fire, though fire itself his raging fingers were
And burning steel flew in his strength.’ Thus he incited his;
And they rais’d lances, and to work with mixed courages,
And up flew Clamour; but the heat in Hector Phoebus gave
This temper: ‘Do not meet,’ said he, ‘in any single brave
The man thou threaten’st, but in press; and in thy strength impeach
His violence; for far off or near his sword or dart will reach.’
The god’s voice made a difference in Hector’s own conceit
Betwixt his and Achilles ’words, and gave such overweight
As weigh’d him back into his strength, and curb’d his flying out.
At all threw fierce Aeacides, and gave a horrid shout.
The first of all he put to dart was fierce Iphition,
Surnam’d Otryntides, whom Nais the water-nymph made son
To town-destroyer Otrynteus. Beneath the snowy hill
Of Tmolus in the wealthy town of Ide, at his will
Were many able men at arms. He, rushing in, took full
Pelides’ lance in his head’s midst, that cleft in two his skull.
Achilles knew him, one much fam’d, and thus insulted then:
‘Th’ art dead, Otryntides, though call’d the terriblest of men;
Thy race runs at Gygaeus lake, there thy inheritance lay,
Near fishy Hillus, and the gulfs of Hermus: but this day
Removes it to the fields of Troy.’ Thus left he night to seize
His closed eyes, his body laid in course of all the press,
Which Grecian horse broke with the strakes, nail’d to their chariot wheels.
Next (through the temples) the burst eyes his deadly javelin seels
Of great-in-Troy Antenor’s son, renown’d Demoleon,
A mighty turner of a field. His overthrow set gone
Hippodamas, who leap’d from horse, and as he fled before
Aeacides, his turned back he made fell Pelias gore,
And forth he puf
f
’
d his flying soul: and as a tortur’d bull
(To Neptune brought for sacrifice) a troop of youngsters pull
Down to the earth, and drag him round about the hallow’d shore
To please the wat’ry deity, with forcing him to roar,
And forth he pours his utmost throat: so bellow’d this slain friend
Of flying Ilion with the breath that gave his being end.
Then rush’d he on, and in his eye had heavenly Polydore,
Old Priam’s son; whom last of all his fruitful princess bore;
And for his youth (being dear to him) the king forbade to fight.
Yet (hot of unexperienc’d blood, to show how exquisite
He was of foot, for which of all the fifty sons he held
The special name) he flew before the first heat of the field,
Ev’n till he flew out breath and soul: which, through the back, the lance
Of swift Achilles put in air, and did his head advance
Out at his navel: on his knees the poor prince crying fell,
And gather’d with his tender hands his entrails, that did swell
Quite through the wide wound, till a cloud as black as death conceal’d
Their sight, and all the world from him. When Hector had beheld
His brother tumbled so to earth (his entrails still in hand),
Dark sorrow overcast his eyes; not far off could he stand
A minute longer, but like fire he brake out of the throng,
Shook his long lance at Thetis’ son, and then came he along
To feed th’ encounter: ‘O,’ said he, ‘here comes the man that most
Of all the world destroys my mind, the man by whom I lost
My dear Patroclus; now not long the crooked paths of war
Can yield us any privy scapes: come, keep not off so far,’
He cried to Hector. ‘Make the pain of thy sure death as short
As one so desperate of his life hath reason.’ In no sort
This frighted Hector, who bore close, and said: ‘Aeacides,
Leave threats for children; I have pow’r to thunder calumnies
As well as other, and well know thy strength superior far
To that my nerves hold, but the gods (not nerves) determine war.
And yet (for nerves) there will be found a strength of power in mine,
To drive a lance home to thy life; my lance as well as thine
Hath point and sharpness, and ’tis this. Thus brandishing his spear,
He set it flying; which a breath of Pallas back did bear
From Thetis’ son to Hector’s self, and at his feet it fell.
Achilles us’d no dart, but close flew in, and thought to deal
With no strokes but of sure dispatch; but what with all his blood
He labour’d, Phoebus clear’d with ease, as being a god, and stood
For Hector’s guard, as Pallas did, Aeacides, for thine.
He rapt him from him, and a cloud of much night cast between
His person and the point oppos’d. Achilles then exclaim’d,
‘O see yet more gods are at work; Apollo’s hand hath fram’d
(Dog that thou art) thy rescue now: to whom go pay the vows
Thy safety owes him; I shall vent in time those fatal blows
That yet beat in my heart, on thine, if any god remain
My equal fautor. In mean time, my anger must maintain
His fire on other Ilians.’ Then laid he at his feet
Great Demochus, Philetor’s son, and Dryope did greet
With like encounter. Dardanus and strong Laogonus
(Wise Byas’ sons) he hurl’d from horse, of one victorious
With his close sword, the other’s life he conquer’d with his lance.
Then Tros, Alastor’s son, made in, and sought to ’scape their chance
With free submission. Down he fell, and pray’d about his knees
He would not kill him, but take ruth, as one that destinies
Made to that purpose, being a man born in the self same year
That he himself was: O poor fool, to sue to him to bear
A ruthful mind; he well might know he could not fashion him
In ruth’s soft mould, he had no spirit to brook that interim
In his hot fury. He was none of these remorseful men,
Gentle and affable, but fierce at all times, and mad then.
He gladly would have made a pray’r, and still so hugg’d his knee